“I was on my way home from visiting our old chum Mary Ferris in Trentville,” Veronica said slowly. “There was a frightful storm.”
“Yes, it was certainly fierce,” Lucy agreed. “Artie suspected you might have had an accident, driving in such conditions, but he said nothing of that to your guardian.”
“Where did Artie find me? And my car? Is my car damaged?” Veronica had great affection for her trusty red roadster, for it had served her well.
“Your car is fine,” Lucy assured her with a smile, well aware of Veronica’s attachment to the vehicle. “Artie found you, sound asleep in it, just a couple of miles outside of town along the river road. He was unable to rouse you, you were so deeply asleep.” Her troubled expression revealed her affectionate concern for her best chum.
“How very strange,” Veronica murmured. She did not remember feeling tired driving home from Trentville. But the storm—something about the storm. The memory teased her with its elusiveness. She expressed her frustration to Lucy.
“Dearest, you must not force your poor head to remember. It will all come back to you in time.” Lucy again patted Veronica’s hand, then offered her more water to drink, which she accepted gratefully. Her throat still felt quite parched.
“What happened after Artie found me in my car?” Veronica asked, still anxious about her roadster.
“He brought you home immediately, of course,” Lucy said. “As soon as you were safely in your bed and the doctor called to attend you, he went back with one of his chums to retrieve your roadster. It is in its accustomed place in the garage, never fear.”
“Dear Artie,” Veronica said, her eyes gleaming with the faint sheen of tears. Really, she did have the most devoted and worthy friends.
“Artie was desperately worried about you,” Lucy said. “As indeed we all were, for we could not wake you. Dr. Rhodes tried several remedies, but you remained asleep.” She paused, her expression pensive.
“How very peculiar,” Veronica said. “In general I do sleep rather soundly, but I am not hard to awaken.”
“It was very strange,” Lucy agreed. She hesitated before she continued, “Dr. Rhodes concluded that somehow you must have been drugged.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
I was about to turn the page to the next chapter—and find out Veronica’s reaction to the news that she had been drugged—when my cell phone rang.
To my surprise, the caller wasn’t Kanesha Berry. Instead the call was coming from the Farrington House.
The moment I said “Hello,” Winston Eagleton launched into speech. He sounded distraught.
“I do beg your pardon for calling you on such a matter, Mr. Harris, particularly after the events of this evening when I am sure you must be rather tired and wanting to rest.” He paused for a breath but continued his rapid speech before I could interject a word. “However, I find myself in a most difficult situation, and while one hesitates to presume on the kindness of someone who is nearly a stranger, yet one sometimes has to do these things.”
“Do what things?” I felt slightly dazed. I was struggling to hone in on whatever point he was dancing around. His obvious distress apparently only increased his volubility.
“In the situation in which I currently find myself, I desperately need the services of a competent lawyer. I was told by a most reliable source that your son is a lawyer, and while I realize it is the height of presumption on my part, I wondered whether you would ask him to represent me.”
“Yes, my son, Sean, is a lawyer, and a very good one,” I said. “I am sure he would be happy to help you, but exactly what situation are you in?”
“Oh, dear, I am not explaining things at all well, am I?” Eagleton sighed into the phone. “This is the inevitable result when I am overset by events. The situation is this. The police, in the form of a Kanesha Berry, who I gather is with your sheriff’s department, rather than the police department, intends to take me in for questioning. I am hesitant to go with her without the knowledge that I will have adequate legal representation”—and his voice dropped to a whisper—“because one has certainly heard that terrible things can happen to one if one is incarcerated, even briefly.”
Good grief, I thought, what on earth had happened now? Was Kanesha going to arrest Eagleton for the murder of Carrie Taylor?
“I will get in touch with my son and have him meet you at the sheriff’s office. In the meantime, I know he would caution you not to answer any questions until he has had a chance to talk to you and find out exactly what is going on.” I was burning with curiosity to know exactly what was going on myself but I didn’t feel like I should ask. Better to talk to Sean and let him sort things out. Kanesha’s patience was probably worn out by now. I could imagine the effect that Eagleton would have on her.
“Thank you, Mr. Harris. I shall not forget your kindness in my hour of need, I can assure you. Oh, dear, the policewoman is looking at me rather fiercely now, so I suppose I must end this call and wait for my legal representation to sort this out. But pray do not believe what you will hear, for I am not a thief.” The phone clicked in my ear.
Thief? What had Eagleton allegedly stolen? Carrie Taylor’s copy of Spellwood Mansion? That was the only thing I could come up with that was pertinent to the case.
Diesel nudged my hand, his signal that more attention should be paid, and I rubbed his head with that hand while I speed-dialed Sean with the other.
“Hey, Dad,” he said when he answered. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
I assured him I was fine before I told him that he had a new client. I explained who Winston Eagleton was and related what I knew of the circumstances—precious little, actually. “It must have something to do with Carrie Taylor’s murder, though,” I concluded.
“I’ll get down there right away,” Sean said. “Alex and I were watching a movie, but it can wait. I’ll see what I can do for the man.”
“Thanks, Son,” I said. “I’ll just warn you that he tends to use seven words when one will do, particularly when he’s excited. So be prepared.”
Sean chuckled. “Got you. Talk to you later.”
I put the phone down, confident that Sean would advise Eagleton well. If only I could go with Sean, I thought. I burned with curiosity over what happened. Who accused Eagleton of theft? If I knew that, I might have some idea of what it was he was supposed to have stolen.
If he was indeed in financial straits, as I suspected, he might well have stolen a valuable item in hopes of selling or pawning it. Or maybe he couldn’t pay his hotel bill, and the Farrington House management sent for the police.
Would they really do that, though? I wondered.
I was giving myself a headache from the fruitless speculation. I went into the bathroom, found the aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and downed a couple with water.
Too restless to read, I put my book away. Perhaps I should try to relax and get some sleep. I doubted Kanesha would call me tonight when she was busy dealing with Winston Eagleton. Diesel had dozed off again, and I stretched out beside him and switched off the light.
Though my mind buzzed for a while over the happenings of the past couple of days, I eventually relaxed and felt myself slipping into sleep.
When I awoke later, I thought at first morning had come, but the bedside clock informed me it was a few minutes shy of midnight. I turned the light on and sat up. Diesel was gone, and I felt suddenly alert. And hungry.
Time for a midnight snack, I decided. I slipped on my house shoes and headed downstairs in search of nibbles. I could see from the stairs that the light was on in the kitchen, and as I came closer, I heard my children’s voices in conversation.
Laura broke off talking when she spotted me. “Hi, Dad. What are you doing up this late?” Diesel lay on the floor beside her chair. He raised his head briefly to acknowledge my presence but didn’t vocalize.
Sean tu
rned to greet me. “We didn’t wake you up, did we? I didn’t think we were that loud.”
I laughed. “No, you didn’t wake me.” I padded over to the fridge. “I guess my stomach did. I feel like a snack. Maybe another ham sandwich.”
Sean shook his head at me. “Sorry, Dad, but we polished off the ham about ten minutes ago.”
“I think there’s still some of the pimento cheese, though,” Laura said. She knew how fond I was of it, particularly Azalea’s homemade variety.
“That will do.” I found the plastic container, retrieved a knife and crackers, and joined my children at the table. Diesel abandoned Laura and came to sit hopefully by my chair. He was destined to be disappointed, though, because cats shouldn’t have cheese.
Sean raised his mug. “We made decaf if you want some of that.”
“In a minute maybe,” I said as I spread pimento cheese on a cracker. “What were you two plotting when I came in?” Diesel batted at my arm with one of his large paws, and I frowned at him and shook my head. He knew what that meant.
Laura grinned. “No plotting, I swear. Sean was telling me about his new client. He sounds like a real trip.”
“Were you discussing Eagleton’s case with her?” I frowned at Sean.
“Don’t worry.” Sean gave me one of his surely-you-know-better looks. “I haven’t violated the attorney-client privilege.”
“He was only telling me about Mr. Eagleton and how eccentric he is.” Laura stood and carried her mug to the dishwasher. “Nothing inappropriate.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Guess I was too hungry to think before I spoke.”
Sean grinned. “No offense taken, Dad. I do have Eagleton’s permission to talk to you about it, though.”
I paused, about to stick another cheese-laden cracker in my mouth. “Really? Why?”
My children exchanged a look, one that I interpreted easily, having seen it countless times, particularly in their teenage years. It meant, How’s Dad going to take this?
Sean kept a straight face as he answered me, though I knew it was an effort. “Mr. Eagleton somehow heard about your previous experiences in sleuthing, and he wants you to help me clear his name. He’s convinced you’re Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot rolled into one.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “And before you say anything, he didn’t hear it from me.”
“Or me,” Laura said with a broad smile. “Especially as I haven’t met the man. I’m off to bed, and I’ll leave Holmes and Watson to it.” She dropped a kiss on my cheek and walked out of the kitchen. Diesel, apparently having decided that no treat was forthcoming, scampered after her.
I finished my cracker before I spoke. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering the situations I’ve been involved with.” I grimaced. “I hope no one ever says anything like that in front of Kanesha, or I’m liable to get my head lopped off.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want that to happen.” Sean kept his expression solemn. “At least until you’ve made out your will.”
“Very funny.” I got up to fix myself a cup of decaf. “I’ve already made out my will, and I’ve left everything to Diesel, just so you know.” I smiled sweetly as I sat down again.
Sean rolled his eyes at me. “Back to Mr. Eagleton. He really does want your help. He told me you had already been of considerable assistance to him in a matter of some delicacy.”
I knew he was quoting the man. “Yes, I suppose I had been.” I told Sean about taking care of a drunken Gordon Betts.
“Too bad you got stuck with that,” Sean said. “Now, about my client. He’s being held in the county jail.”
“On what charge?” I sipped my coffee. “Surely not for murder, or you wouldn’t be so casual about this.”
“No, not murder. There’s no evidence of that.” Sean leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand across his face. Now that I took a good look, I could see how tired he was. “The charge is theft.”
When Sean paused and didn’t continue right away, I tried to keep my impatience out of my voice. “What on earth did he allegedly steal?”
“Five unpublished manuscripts belonging to Electra Barnes Cartwright.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“The Veronica Thane manuscripts?” I hadn’t even considered them. So much had happened since I first heard about them that I had nearly forgotten they existed.
“Yeah, and Eagleton swears he didn’t take them.” Sean shrugged. “But they were found in his suite at the Farrington House.”
I wondered who had found them, but I had another question I wanted answered first. “Who reported them missing?” I decided I’d had enough pimento cheese and got up to put the food away.
“Eugene Marter, the grandson, called the sheriff’s department to report the theft.”
I had put my odd encounter with Eugene out of my mind, along with the manuscripts. Now, I realized, I needed to tell Sean what Eugene had told me. “I have more questions about the theft, but first there’s something you should know.” I gave Sean a summary of the meeting when I resumed my seat at the table. My son’s eyes narrowed when I related the alleged threat Eagleton had made against Mrs. Cartwright.
“Did you believe Marter?” Sean asked.
“Hard to say. Carrie Taylor told me he was shiftless, couldn’t keep a job, but of course I have no idea if that’s true.” I thought back to the encounter, replayed a bit of it in my head. “He was rather odd. Talked like Hollywood’s idea of a Mississippi redneck, when both his mother and his grandmother speak like educated women. He told me he’d had run-ins with the police.”
“Maybe not a completely trustworthy character then.” Sean looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to discuss this with my client. Kanesha didn’t mention any threats when she questioned him, so I presume that Marter never talked to anyone else about it.”
“Frankly I thought he probably wouldn’t,” I said. “He didn’t seem that eager to have contact with the authorities.”
“Other than calling them to report a theft.”
“That reminds me of one of the questions I wanted to ask. Who found the manuscripts in Eagleton’s suite?”
“Kanesha.” Sean leaned back in his chair. “Evidently Marter wouldn’t talk to anyone else when he called in to report the theft. He said Eagleton must have taken the manuscripts during a visit to Mrs. Cartwright earlier in the day.”
I nodded. I remembered that Eagleton had referred to a visit tonight.
Sean continued, “They weren’t able to settle on terms because, according to my client, Mrs. Cartwright and Mrs. Marter were asking for much too large an advance.”
Given what I suspected about the man’s financial situation, I figured much too large might be a relatively modest sum—although they did seem really greedy. I told Sean my suspicions. “You might well be whistling in the wind for your fee if I’m right.”
Sean sighed. “My first pro bono case then. That’s another topic I’ll have to discuss with Mr. Eagleton. If he really is desperate for money, that could have spurred him to steal the manuscripts.”
“Did Eagleton tell you how much they wanted?”
“Fifteen thousand per manuscript. I don’t know enough about publishing to decide whether that’s an unrealistic figure or under market value. What do you think?”
I considered it for a moment, but I had to confess to Sean I wasn’t sure, either. “The Veronica Thane books have been out of print for thirty years, and Eagleton has been the only one that I know of to show any interest in reprinting them. I don’t know that any big publishing houses would pay that much. I suspect they wouldn’t.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Sean said. “I almost forgot. Eagleton mentioned that he expected to be negotiating with Mrs. Cartwright’s agent. She was supposed to be there but she never showed up.”
“Mrs. Cartwrig
ht mentioned that tonight at the hotel.” I frowned. “That’s really odd. Teresa talked to someone in Ms. Thigpen’s office the other day and was informed that she was already en route to Athena. She was flying into Memphis and would pick up a rental car to drive down. I wonder what happened to her.”
Sean’s expression turned grim. “I don’t like the sound of that.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s call Kanesha and report this. The agent may have gotten lost trying to find the Marters’ house or decided to do a little sight-seeing, but if she didn’t . . .”
He punched in a number. “Voice mail.” He waited a moment, then left the deputy a message with a brief summary of the potential issue.
He set the phone on the table when he’d finished. “I have to say, Dad, with all that you’ve told me, I have a feeling there’s something hinky going on here. The missing agent could be connected, too. How, I don’t know.”
“It’s all strange.” I thought for a moment. “You said earlier that Kanesha found the manuscripts. Did she have a search warrant?”
“She did, but I doubt she would have needed one. Eagleton told me he was convinced the whole thing was a practical joke on Eugene Marter’s part. He thought Marter was simply jerking the sheriff’s department around and was happy to cooperate.”
“But Marter wasn’t, as it turned out,” I said. “Do you know where exactly Kanesha found the manuscripts?”
“In between Eagleton’s mattress and box spring. Not an imaginative hiding place.”
I agreed. “What do you think? Did he take them?”
“He’s hard to read.” Sean gave a short laugh. “He was really wound up. You weren’t kidding about the seven words when one would do, except I’d say it was more like seventeen. He was highly indignant that such aspersions had been cast upon his character.” Sean grimaced. “Now I’m starting to sound like him.”
“That last bit did have the ring of a direct quotation.” I smiled. “He is loquacious, almost beyond endurance, but is he a thief? And a murderer?”
The Silence of the Library Page 16
