The Silence of the Library

by Miranda James

  Melba picked up the cell phone and played the eerie voice mail message for Kanesha. I found it even more affecting than I did the first time I heard it. If anything, my fears for Melba’s well-being increased.

  Kanesha sat stony-faced until the message ended. “Can you forward that message to me, Mrs. Gilley?” She pulled a business card from her pocket. “Here’s my number at the sheriff’s department.”

  “Certainly,” Melba said as she picked up the phone. “I’ll do it right now.”

  Kanesha and I waited until the task was complete and Melba set the phone aside once more. In the meantime the deputy had pulled out her notebook and pen and jotted something down in it.

  “Was that the only contact you had with Mrs. Taylor yesterday?” Kanesha asked.

  “Yes,” Melba said. She went on to explain the reason why she hadn’t taken the call. “I did talk to her the day before, but offhand I can’t think of anything she said to me that could have any bearing on this.”

  “Please think carefully about the conversations you had with her recently, and if there’s any odd detail you remember that could be connected, let me know.” Kanesha flipped back a couple of pages in her notebook. “Mrs. Taylor mentioned having people over last night. Her neighbor Mrs. Crocker told us she saw a couple of people going in the front door around eight last night. She couldn’t see them clearly but thought they might have been two women. Any idea who they could have been?”

  Melba frowned as she considered the question. “It could have been some of the ladies from church, I guess. Carrie was real involved in church work the past couple years. You might check with Althea Sprayberry. She and Carrie worked together lately on raising money for foreign missions.”

  Kanesha wrote in her notebook. I hesitated to interrupt, but I had a suggestion as to the identity of the two female visitors. “Deputy, I have an idea you might also want to follow up.”

  Kanesha glanced at me and nodded, so I continued. “It’s possible that the visitors were Marcella Marter and her mother, Mrs. Electra Barnes Cartwright.” I described the meeting at the library yesterday. “Perhaps Mrs. Cartwright wanted to talk to Mrs. Taylor about the newsletter she put out, or maybe her collection of material related to Mrs. Cartwright.”

  “Mrs. Cartwright and her books were some of Carrie’s main interests,” Melba said. “I can imagine how thrilled she was to meet her favorite author.” She paused. “I wonder why she didn’t mention her in the message, though. I’d have thought she’d be chattering all about it.”

  “We’ll follow up on both those leads.” Kanesha tapped the notebook with her pen.

  My cell phone rang, startling me. “Sorry,” I muttered as I pulled it from my pocket. Teresa Farmer was calling. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” I wondered whether she had heard the news yet about Carrie Taylor.

  Kanesha and Melba nodded as I stepped out of the kitchen and walked a few feet down the hallway. I answered the call.

  “Charlie, sorry to bother you,” Teresa said. “But I thought I should let you know that Winston Eagleton would like to get in touch with you. He asked me for your cell phone number, but of course I couldn’t give it to him without your permission.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Did he say why he wanted to talk to me?”

  “Eventually. Goodness, how that man can ramble,” Teresa said. “He wants to invite us both to a dinner party this evening.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “Dinner party?” Had I understood Teresa correctly? “Why on earth is he having a dinner party? Hasn’t he heard what happened?”

  The moment I said the words, I realized I shouldn’t have. Teresa probably didn’t know about the murder, and here I went, blabbing it without Kanesha’s permission. Too late to retract what I’d said, though.

  “What are you talking about, Charlie?” Teresa sounded puzzled.

  I sighed heavily. I heard warbling and looked down to see Diesel staring up at me. If a cat could look concerned, he sure did right then. I rubbed his head as I replied to Teresa. “The news hasn’t spread yet, but Carrie Taylor was found dead in her home this morning. She was murdered.”

  Teresa gasped. “How horrible. The poor woman. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Yes, it’s hard to imagine why anybody would want to kill such a nice person.”

  “Does she have any family?” Teresa asked. “I know she was a widow, and I never heard her mention any children.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Right now I’m at Melba Gilley’s house, and Melba was apparently Mrs. Taylor’s best friend. She’ll know if there’s anyone. Actually, Kanesha is here talking to Melba. I can’t say anything more at the moment.”

  “Of course. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Poor Melba.” Teresa still sounded shocked. “I’m beginning to think this exhibit is cursed. Should we cancel it?”

  I understood Teresa’s concerns. I had wondered the same thing myself, but I finally concluded we should go ahead with our plans. I had a hunch that the murder was connected to Mrs. Cartwright somehow, and if we canceled everything, the investigation might stall. I didn’t know how Kanesha might feel about that, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask her.

  I realized Teresa was waiting for a response. “No, I don’t think so. I considered that, too, but I believe we should go ahead. For one thing, we can dedicate the events to Mrs. Taylor’s memory. It’s not much, but it’s something we can do for her sake.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Teresa didn’t sound completely convinced. “In the meantime, what about Mr. Eagleton? Surely he won’t want to hold a dinner party when he finds out about Mrs. Taylor.”

  “That’ll be up to him, I guess.” I was curious to speak to the man, but before I did, I wanted to check with Kanesha. Eagleton could be a suspect, unlike Teresa, and I didn’t want to step on official toes. “If he calls you back, don’t say anything to him about Mrs. Taylor. You can give him my cell number, but in the meantime, if you have his, will you forward it to me? I’ll probably call him.”

  “Sure, I can do that. I won’t tell anyone else about Mrs. Taylor’s death, either.”

  We said good-bye, and I stuck my phone back in my pocket. Diesel had stopped talking to me, but he still looked a little anxious. I rubbed his head a few times and told him I was fine and not to worry. He padded after me as I rejoined Kanesha and Melba in the kitchen.

  “I think we’re done for now,” Kanesha was saying as I sat down. “I appreciate your time, Ms. Gilley. If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll help any way I can.” Melba’s eyes flashed. “I want you to catch the bastard who did this to my friend.”

  “We will,” Kanesha said. “In the meantime, y’all be careful, and stay out of trouble.” She looked straight at me as she offered that bit of advice—or was it a warning?

  Kanesha headed down the hall. I told Melba I’d be right back. I had to talk to Kanesha before she left. I followed her out the front door.

  “Deputy,” I said, “I need to talk to you a minute.”

  Kanesha turned back and scowled at me. “I’m in a hurry, Mr. Harris. Can it wait?”

  “No, it can’t.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I’m still worried as all get-out about Melba’s safety. Have you made a decision yet about protecting her?”

  Kanesha rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ll talk to the police chief, see if he can have a patrol car keep an eye on her around the clock. Our department might be able to pitch in.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling greatly relieved. “Do you think I should say anything to her? I don’t want to terrify her, but at the same time, she certainly ought to be on her guard.”

  “You know her a lot better than I do,” Kanesha said. “How do you think she’ll react if you tell her?”

  “Ordinarily I’d say she could handle it because she’s a to
ugh nut, but she’s pretty shaken up over this.”

  “Use your best judgment.” Kanesha shrugged. “We’ll do our part, but it might not be a bad idea if she stayed with someone instead of staying in the house alone.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  Kanesha nodded and turned to walk away, but I stopped her. “One more thing.”

  She glowered at me when she turned back.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about Winston Eagleton. The publisher? I think I told you about him this morning.”

  She fairly barked out her response. “What about him?”

  “Have you talked to him yet?”

  “Not yet. He’s on my list. Why do you ask?” She looked suspicious.

  “He’s apparently been trying to get in touch with me to ask me to a dinner party he’s planning for tonight.” I shrugged. “At some point I’ll have to talk to him, but once he knows about Mrs. Taylor, he may reconsider his plans. I didn’t want to give anything away by talking to him before you did.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll track him down soon. He’s staying at the Farrington House. Give me at least an hour before you get in touch with him, all right?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Kanesha raised a hand in farewell before she trudged down the walk toward her car. After she drove away, I went back in the house. She had better get some rest soon. She looked about done in.

  Melba was feeding Diesel what looked like chicken. The cat scarfed it down happily. Melba grinned at me. “Don’t you ever feed this poor boy?”

  “Con artist,” I said to the cat. He ignored me. Then I addressed Melba. “Does he look like he’s starving?” I had to grin back.

  “Not exactly.” Melba dropped the last piece of meat and went to wash her hands at the sink. I was wondering how to broach the subject of her potential danger when she addressed the issue herself.

  “If you’re worried about me staying here on my own, Charlie, don’t be,” she said, her expression calm but determined. “I’ll blow the jerk’s head off if he tries to get in here. I’m going over to see Thelma Crockett right now and take Zippy off her hands. He’s a loudmouthed little cuss, and he’ll raise a ruckus if anybody tries to break in here. So don’t you worry about me.”

  I went over and gave her a hug. “The main thing is, I want you to be safe. And if at any time you don’t feel safe here, you pack a bag, put Zippy in the car, and come on over. We have plenty of room in the madhouse for you and the dog. You know that.”

  She hugged me back briefly, then pushed me away. “You’re a good man, and a good friend. If I need to, I’ll come. But that jerk isn’t going to run me out of my own house. You can bet on that.”

  Diesel meowed as if he agreed, and Melba and I laughed. “Come on, boy, let’s get going.” I pecked Melba on the cheek, Diesel warbled at her, and the cat and I headed for the front door.

  Once we were in the car, I decided we might as well go visit Helen Louise at the bakery. I informed the cat of our destination, and he meowed in approval from the backseat.

  “No more chicken for you, though,” I said, glancing into the mirror. He started muttering. “You’ve had enough this morning, thanks to Melba.” He moved over to the passenger-side window and gazed out, ignoring me.

  I had a quiet chuckle as we headed for the town square. After I found a parking spot, I called Diesel into the front seat with me so I could put on the spare harness and leash I kept in the car. I wasn’t worried about his darting out into traffic, because he was far too smart for that. If people saw him walking around loose in town, there were bound to be complaints, however. So into the harness he went.

  The bell on the door chimed as we walked in. Both the cat and I sniffed happily at the wonderful aromas that suffused the air in the bakery. I thought longingly of the marvelous gâteau au chocolat that was one of my sweetheart’s specialties. She never failed to have it on offer, and I knew there was always an extra one hidden away in case I dropped by unexpectedly. I needed to watch my calories, though, and I would do my best to resist the temptation to indulge.

  Midmorning Saturday was generally a busy time at the bakery. Customers dropped by to pick up special treats for the weekend, and Helen Louise and her assistant, Debbie, filled a seemingly constant stream of orders from behind the counter. Helen Louise stood at the cash register when we entered. She glanced briefly at the door, and when she recognized us, she smiled.

  I waved and smiled back, and Diesel started chirping, although I doubted Helen Louise could hear him over the chatter in the bakery. A few heads turned, and several people nodded in greeting as Diesel and I made our way to our usual table in the corner near the register. On occasion, a customer made the mistake of objecting to the cat’s presence in the bakery, but Helen Louise quickly apprised that person of his or her error in judgment. By now the regulars were so accustomed to seeing me and my big kitty that they probably thought nothing of it.

  There was a line of five people at the register, so it would be a few minutes before Helen Louise could get away to talk. If many more people joined the queue at the register, I would get in line myself. But for now Diesel and I got comfortable, I in my chair and he at my feet, and waited.

  The line was down to one person when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and glanced at the number. Not one I recognized, and there was no name on the caller ID. I debated whether to answer it, but then remembered it could be Winston Eagleton. “Hello, this is Charlie Harris.”

  A high tenor voice with a heavy drawl I didn’t recognize replied. “Hi, there, Mr. Harris. This here is Eugene Marter. We ain’t met yet, but I was kinda hoping to remedy that situation this morning. I’m running errands in town here and wondered if you got a few minutes to talk about Grandma and her big do at the liberry.”

  EIGHTEEN

  For a moment I was too taken aback by the identity of the caller to say anything. Then I realized he was waiting for an answer. “Good morning, Mr. Marter. I’d be happy to talk with you. Right now I’m at the French bakery on the square. Do you know the place?”

  He assured me he did and would be along in a few minutes. I told him to look for me at the corner table by the register, then ended the call.

  I was certainly curious to meet Mrs. Cartwright’s grandson. He had been mentioned several times but thus far hadn’t appeared. I wondered why he wanted to talk to me instead of, say, Teresa.

  Then another question hit me. How did he get my cell number? I couldn’t remember giving it to his mother or his grandmother. I would have to find a tactful way to ask.

  In the meantime I decided to get something to drink, so I ambled over to the refrigerated counter near the register and chose a bottle of still water. Diesel remained by the table while I got in line to pay.

  The last person ahead of me in the queue dithered for a moment, scrambling through an oversized purse in search of her wallet. When she found it, she couldn’t decide whether to use her credit card or write a check. People like this—male or female—drove me nuts. The rest of her life must have been a sad trial if she couldn’t cope any better than this with what seemed like such an innocuous decision.

  At last she left—she used her credit card, by the way—and I stepped up to the register.

  “Bonjour, mon amour,” Helen Louise said with a wide smile. “I’d give you a big kiss if there weren’t people in line behind you.”

  “Hello, sweetheart.” I mimed a kiss, and her smile grew even wider. “Maybe things will slow down in a few minutes, and we’ll have a chance to talk.” I handed her money for the water, and she tried to wave it away. I insisted, and she finally took it.

  “As soon as I can,” she promised. She pulled a bowl from beneath the counter and handed it across to me. She kept one nearby for Diesel in case he was thirsty.

  I resumed my seat at the table with what Laura
would call my “goofy” smile in place. Helen Louise had that effect on me. It had taken me a while to realize the truth—and the depth—of my feelings for my dear friend, but now that I had, well, I occasionally felt like a gangly adolescent with his first crush. I poured water in the bowl and set it on the floor. Diesel sniffed at it, then started lapping it up. When he finished he curled up by my chair and closed his eyes.

  Eugene Marter ought to be here any minute now, I reckoned while I sipped my own water. The buzz of numerous conversations swarmed around me, but I paid little attention. Perhaps three minutes later, the bell on the door chimed, and I looked up to see a youngish man, perhaps in his late thirties, walk in, stop, and look around.

  When he spotted me in the corner, he smiled broadly and headed my way. This had to be Eugene Marter, and I observed him with curiosity as discreetly as I could. I judged him to be about five foot six, and he had dark, close-clipped hair, and a pale face that reminded me vaguely of his grandmother. He wore faded jeans, worn sneakers, and a flannel shirt that had been through the wash a few times too often. He had the appearance of a man who had little money to spend on himself. Or was he an eccentric who preferred to dress this way? Neither his mother nor his grandmother looked shabby.

  I stood as he neared the table. “Good morning. You must be Eugene Marter.” I stuck out my hand.

  He grasped it firmly and gave it two quick, hard shakes. “Morning, Mr. Harris. Mighty nice to meet you. Grandma sure does think you’re a gentleman.” His bland countenance split in a brief but charming smile.

  “Please, have a seat.” I indicated a place at the table. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Well, I could probably use some water right about now. All this running around’s made me kinda thirsty.” He glanced over at the counter. “I’ll just get me a bottle of that fancy imported stuff and be right back.”