The Silence of the Library

by Miranda James

  “Oh, Charlie, just awful,” Melba wailed into the phone. “I’m so upset about Carrie, I can’t tell you.” She paused for a sobbing breath. “I’ve got to talk to someone. Carrie told me all about helping you with the exhibit at the library. I know that’s what got her killed.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Melba, honey, where are you?” If I didn’t get her to calm down, she’d be in hysterics in three seconds flat. “I promise I’ll help you, but you’ve got to try to settle down.”

  I heard her draw a deep, albeit shaky, breath. “Thanks, Charlie. I’m at home. Can you come over right away? I’ve really got to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Diesel and I will look after you.”

  Melba thanked me again, and I ended the call. After a quick explanation to Laura, I grabbed my keys and headed for the garage. Diesel didn’t need an invitation. Whenever he saw me pick up keys, he was ready to go.

  The drive took almost ten minutes, since Melba lived across town in a section of Athena about fifty years newer than the neighborhood where my house stood. Diesel warbled from the backseat, and I told him we were going to see his buddy Melba. He probably thought we were headed to the college library, since that’s where he normally saw her—she was the administrative assistant to the director—but we usually walked the few blocks to campus. When I stopped the car in Melba’s driveway, he looked out the window, then turned his head toward me and meowed. Did he remember coming here with me a couple of times? I had no idea.

  Melba, dressed in a shabby orange bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers, swung the front door open before I could raise my hand to ring the bell. Her tearstained face and unkempt appearance startled me. I had never seen her like this. She always dressed so neatly, her hair and makeup immaculate. My heart went out to her.

  She motioned us in and shut the door. Then she sat on the floor and gathered Diesel in her arms. The cat started warbling and chirping for her, doing his best to cheer her as she rocked back and forth with him. After a moment I knelt by them and touched Melba lightly on the shoulder. She looked up at me, tears streaming from her eyes. She pulled a sodden handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face.

  I stood and held out a hand to her. “Come on, Melba,” I said gently. “Let’s get you into the kitchen and make you some coffee or maybe some hot tea. You’ve had a terrible shock.”

  She nodded and let me lift her up as Diesel moved out of her lap. I put my arm around her, and she leaned heavily against me as we walked down the hall to her kitchen at the back of the house. Diesel meowed anxiously as he followed us.

  The windows over the sink faced east, and the morning sun streamed in. I settled Melba in a chair at the elderly oaken table, and Diesel sat beside her, his head in her lap. She stroked his head and sighed. “I’m feeling a little better.”

  “Good. Now, which would you rather have, tea or coffee?” I glanced at the counter by the sink and spotted a coffeemaker, its pot empty.

  “I’d rather have a few shots of bourbon.” Melba spoke with a vestige of her usual spirit. “But it’s too early for that. Coffee will be fine. It’s in the canister there behind the coffeemaker.”

  I got the coffee going, and in the meantime let Diesel work his therapeutic magic with her. By the time the coffee was ready a few minutes later, she was looking much less distressed, almost calm.

  “Thanks.” She raised her mug, with its heavy dollop of cream and three sugars, and sipped several times. “Ah, that is better. I’m beginning to feel warm again.” She set the mug down.

  “I’m really sorry about Carrie Taylor,” I said. “I didn’t know her all that well, but she seemed like a sweet, decent person.”

  Melba nodded. “She was about ten years ahead of us in high school, so there was no reason you would have known her, I guess. I only got to know her myself about fifteen years ago, but she was probably my best friend.” For a moment she appeared as if the tears would start up again, but she drew a deep breath to steady herself. “She’d never in a million years hurt anyone, and I can’t imagine why someone would kill her. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know, it never does,” I said. “I guess Kanesha Berry has already talked to you?”

  Melba shook her head. “No, I haven’t heard a word from her. It was Carrie’s neighbor, Thelma Crocker, who called. She’s a busybody like you wouldn’t believe, but at least she’s taking care of Carrie’s poor little dog.” She paused. “I guess I’ll take him. Thelma isn’t that good with animals.”

  I was surprised that Kanesha hadn’t talked to Melba yet, but since I wasn’t privy to the details of the investigation, I had no idea what Kanesha was doing. She wouldn’t be happy that I talked to Melba before she did, but that couldn’t be helped. I certainly wasn’t going to turn my back on one of my oldest friends just to make the chief deputy happy. “I’m sure Carrie would be glad to know her dog will have a good home.”

  “That’s the least I can do.” Melba shrugged and drank more of her coffee. “What I’d really like to do is get ahold of the bastard that killed her and beat the crap out of him with a baseball bat. But I know Kanesha won’t let me.”

  That sounded like the feisty Melba I knew. “No, I don’t imagine she would.” I decided she was calm enough now for me to ask a few questions. “When you called, you told me you knew it was her involvement in the exhibit at the library that got her killed. What did you mean by that?” I thought she could be right, but I wondered what she might know.

  “It had to have something to do with the exhibit.” Melba sounded convinced. “There was nothing else unusual going on in her life these days. As soon as the library put that notice on their website about Electra what’s-her-name, Carrie was beside herself, like a kid about to get the best birthday present ever.”

  “She didn’t have any enemies that you’re aware of?” That sounded like a question Kanesha would ask. “From another aspect of her life?”

  “No, she sure didn’t. She was one of those Golden Rule kind of people. She treated everyone like she wanted to be treated. She was always nice to everybody.”

  Carrie Taylor hadn’t been particularly nice to Winston Eagleton, as I recalled. She also had a penchant for gossip, at least from what I had seen. Since Melba was herself an inveterate gossip, I wondered how to approach the subject tactfully.

  Melba saved me the trouble. “Now, Carrie was curious about people. She did like to know what was going on in their lives.” She cut a shrewd glance at me. “Guess that’s one reason we got along so well. But there wasn’t anything malicious about it. You know me, Charlie, I talk about people, but I don’t go around spreading dirt just for the heck of it.”

  That much was true. Melba liked to talk, but in general she didn’t bad-mouth people—unless they deserved it, in her estimation. Then she could be merciless.

  “I understand,” I said. “But a person who didn’t know Carrie well might not look at it quite the same way. Might not be happy if he or she thought Carrie knew something they didn’t want anyone else to know. Do you see what I mean?”

  Melba didn’t answer straightaway. Instead she got up and poured herself more coffee. Diesel padded after her, evidently determined to keep an eye on her in case she needed more comfort. Melba leaned against the counter and regarded me over the rim of her mug as she sipped. Diesel sat at her feet and looked up at her.

  “Yeah, I do see what you mean. But it’s hard to imagine that she knew something worth killing her over.” Melba shrugged. “I certainly don’t know anything.”

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Night before last,” Melba said. “Usually we talked for at least a few minutes every night, but last night my allergies were driving me crazy. I took one of my heavy-duty pills, and it zonked me out by eight o’clock. I usually sleep for nine or ten hours when I take one.” She shook her head. “And
then I feel groggy for half the day afterward.”

  “So if she called you last night, you wouldn’t have heard the phone ring?”

  Melba’s eyes widened. “Oh, my Lord, I hadn’t thought about that. No, I wouldn’t have heard.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her robe. “Where the heck is my cell phone?”

  The search of her pockets yielded nothing except the sodden handkerchief. Melba gazed around the kitchen, but the cell phone didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight.

  “Did you use it to call me this morning?” I asked. I hadn’t paid attention to the number. She could have used her landline.

  “No, I didn’t. Carrie’s neighbor doesn’t have my cell number. I called you right after I hung up with her.” Melba ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it back. “I must have left it in my purse when I got home yesterday. I’ll go check.”

  She disappeared down the hall, and Diesel followed her, a faithful shadow. I realized I was thirsty, so while I waited, I found a glass and filled it with water from the tap. I had just set the glass in the sink when Melba returned, cell phone in hand, manipulating it as she walked. Diesel was right beside her.

  “Still in my purse, and my purse was in the living room. No wonder I didn’t hear anything.” She looked up at me. “Carrie did call me, around nine forty-five, and there’s a voice mail message.” She sat at the table and motioned for me to do the same. She punched a few buttons, then turned on the speaker before setting the phone on the table between us.

  Carrie Taylor spoke clearly in the silence. “Hey, Melba, just me. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing. I know your allergies are playing up something awful. I’ll bet you took one of your pills and you’re sound asleep by now.” She paused for about three seconds. “It’s a shame because I really do need to talk to you. So much has been going on the past few days. I would’ve tried to call earlier tonight, but I actually had people over. First time in ages anybody besides you and Thelma have been in here. Oh, now hush, Zippy.” There was the sound of a barking dog in the background. “There must be somebody at the front door, otherwise he wouldn’t carry on so. I’ll just go see who it is.”

  There was another pause, of perhaps six or seven seconds, then she spoke again. “There is somebody at the door, but I can’t imagine who it could be at this time of night. Hang on a second while I check who it is.” Another pause, only a couple of seconds this time. “Now what on earth does he want? Hush, Zippy, it’s okay. Listen, honey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Better get this over with so I can get to bed. ’Bye.”

  The call ended, and Melba and I stared at each other. I was sure we shared the same thought, and it was an utterly chilling one.

  Had we just heard Carrie Taylor say “’Bye” before she opened the door to admit her killer?

  SIXTEEN

  While Melba and I stared at the phone, the voice mail program directed Melba to punch various numbers, depending on what she wanted to do with the messages. Though her hands shook, Melba picked up the phone and made a selection—to save the message, I presumed. She set the phone back on the table. We both stared at it.

  “That had to be the person who killed her.” Melba’s voice came out barely above a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears, and she pulled her hanky out of her pocket and scrubbed her face.

  I felt pretty shaken myself. Diesel quickly picked up on our mutual distress and meowed anxiously. He came to me and rubbed his head against my thigh, seeking reassurance. I scratched his head as I tried to collect my thoughts. Diesel quieted under my ministrations.

  Melba continued to sniffle, and I felt helpless in the face of her grief and horror. I would not soon forget the sound of Carrie Taylor’s voice as she left that final message for her best friend. I took a deep breath to steady my own nerves before going around the table to bend over my friend and give her a hug.

  Melba clung to me, and I muttered, “It’s okay, honey, I’m here,” over and over. Slowly she calmed, and I felt her relax in my arms. I released her gently, and she gave me a tremulous smile. I patted her shoulder before I went back to my chair opposite her.

  “Thank you, Charlie. I don’t know what I’d have done if I had been alone when I heard that.” Melba sighed. “I’ll have nightmares about that phone call. If only I’d been awake and able to talk to her, she might have told me who was at the door.”

  I felt a deep chill all of a sudden as a terrifying thought struck me. Had the man at the door seen Carrie Taylor on the phone? If he had, would he try to track down the person she had been talking to? Melba could be in grave danger if the killer thought Carrie had identified him to someone.

  Did I dare share that thought with Melba right now? She was upset enough, and I had no idea how she’d react if I told her she could be a target for the killer as well. I needed to talk to Kanesha. This was a job for the professionals.

  Melba apparently had not noticed my brief lapse of attention. She pushed back her chair. “Excuse me a minute. I’m going to wash my face. Lord only knows what I must look like by now. I’m ashamed to let you see me like this.” She scurried out of the room before I could voice a disclaimer.

  Diesel warbled at me, seeking more reassurance, and I rubbed his head and told him what a sweet boy he was for being so good to his friend Melba.

  The doorbell interrupted our little chat, and Melba called out, asking me to see who it was, if I didn’t mind.

  My pulse raced as I headed for the front door. My fears for Melba’s safety dominated my thoughts. What if the killer had come to call?

  I quickly dismissed that notion, because what killer would be stupid enough to call on someone in broad daylight, when there was a car in the driveway?

  Nevertheless, I paused in front of the door. I couldn’t believe Melba had no peephole. That wasn’t a good idea for a woman living alone. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Thank the Lord,” I said when I saw Kanesha Berry standing there.

  She did not look happy to see me, however, as I stood aside and waved her in. Diesel greeted her with a loud meow, and she muttered “Hello, cat” before she focused her attention on me again.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Harris?” Kanesha glared at me.

  “Who is it, Charlie?” Melba called from her bedroom. “Tell them I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “It’s Kanesha Berry.” I had to raise my voice to make sure Melba heard me clearly. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  I motioned for Kanesha to precede Diesel and me down the hall. Her laser stare became even more intense, but after a moment’s hesitation, she headed for the kitchen.

  “To answer your question,” I said as we stepped into the sunny room, “Melba called me about forty minutes ago. She had just heard about Carrie Taylor’s death, and she was terribly upset. She asked me if I would come over, and I couldn’t say no to her. She’s one of my oldest friends.”

  Kanesha’s eyes closed as she dropped into a chair. If anything, she looked even more exhausted than she had when I saw her earlier that morning. I could understand her frustration with me, but I hadn’t deliberately sought Melba out in order to interfere in the investigation.

  The chief deputy’s eyes popped open. “There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’ll have to deal with the situation like I always do.” She frowned at me. “I hope I don’t have to warn you again about sticking your nose into things you shouldn’t.”

  Diesel sat on the floor in front of her and stared at her. She pretended not to notice, but I could tell she was slightly unnerved by the attention. Her eyes flicked down to him every so often though she mostly focused intently on me.

  “I have no intention of getting involved in your investigation.” I kept my tone even, although I was worried and irritated. “It’s not something I deliberately do because I can’t think of any other way to occupy my time. These things just
happen, and somehow I end up in the middle of them.”

  Before she could respond to that, I hurried on. “Listen, I’m worried that Melba could be in danger. She had a voice mail from Carrie Taylor that ended with Mrs. Taylor answering her door. She didn’t say who it was, but it was a man. It might have been the killer. I haven’t said anything to Melba because I didn’t want her to get any more upset than she already is, but something needs to be done about it.”

  Kanesha rubbed a hand wearily across her eyes. “Let me talk to Mrs. Gilley and hear this message for myself. Then I’ll decide what to do.” She expelled a sharp breath. “I’m not about to let anything happen to her if I can help it, but first I have to determine whether there’s a legitimate threat. Understood?”

  I nodded. “Certainly. Do you want me to leave now so that you can talk to her alone?”

  Kanesha hesitated, obviously torn. I figured she would love to tell me to go home and mind my own business, but she might also have been thinking that Melba would find it easier to talk with me there.

  “No, you can stay if Mrs. Gilley wants you to.” Kanesha shook her head. “Even if you didn’t, I’m sure she’d be on the phone to you the minute I walked out the door.”

  “Good morning, Deputy.” Melba sounded more like her usual self when she entered the kitchen. She also looked more like her usual self. She had dressed in jeans and a sweater, combed her hair, and applied a little makeup. “Would you like some coffee? I think there’s still some in the pot, or I could make some fresh.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gilley, but I’m fine. Mr. Harris told me earlier this morning that you were a close friend of Mrs. Taylor’s, and I wanted to talk to you about her. First, though, let me tell you how sorry I am about the death of your friend.” Kanesha’s sympathy sounded sincere, not the rote words of a stranger observing the social niceties.

  “Thank you.” Melba resumed her place at the table, and I chose the chair to her left. Diesel gave up his close observation of the deputy and stretched out on the floor between Melba and me. “I’m glad you came by. There’s something I want you to hear.”