Миранда Джеймс: File M For Murder

This afternoon, I wanted to curse my luck as I watched him amble toward the reference desk, where I waited to help library patrons.

From around my feet I heard an interrogative warble, and I glanced down at Diesel, my three-year-old Maine coon cat. He always seemed to sense when something, or someone, caused me stress or anxiety, and I had to smile. “It’s okay, boy. Nothing to worry about.”

Diesel warbled again and stretched, reassured.

“Talking to your feet?” Connor Lawton gave me a sour smile. He looked more like a prize fighter than a playwright, with his broken nose, buzzed haircut, and muscular frame. Today he wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed the colorful ink on his upper arms. The tattoos, Japanese in style, offered a stark contrast to his tanned skin and white shirt. A diamond stud glittered in his left ear.

“No, I was speaking to my cat. Remember him?”

Lawton grimaced. “Unfortunately. Never seen such an unfriendly animal.”

Now I wanted to laugh. Diesel likes almost everybody he meets. He’s a very sociable, easygoing cat—a lot like me, actually. But there are some people who rub him the wrong way, and that’s what Lawton did the first time he saw Diesel. The man immediately stuck his hand under the cat’s belly and started to scratch, and Diesel was offended by the improper first greeting. He growled, Lawton jerked his hand back, and Diesel turned and stalked off.

Since then Diesel had no use for Lawton, and evidently it still rankled the man.

“I’m surprised they let you bring the beast to the library,” Lawton said. He exaggerated his drawl when he continued, “But at least Ellie Mae ain’t in here with all her critters.”

I suppressed a heavy sigh while I felt Diesel place a paw on my knee. If he stood on his hind legs, he would be able to peer over the counter at the playwright. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Lawton?”

“Old newspapers.” Lawton frowned, and for a moment he appeared troubled by something. “Research for the play I’m writing.”

Ah, yes, the play. Lawton mentioned it frequently. By now every person in Athena knew that the brilliant young playwright Connor Lawton, the toast of Broadway and Hollywood, was in Athena for two semesters as writer-in-residence at the college. The fall semester started in ten days, but Lawton arrived in Athena early to settle in and “immerse the Muse in the fecund atmosphere of the literary South, the home of immortals like William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, and Flannery O’Connor.”

The man’s pretentiousness evidently knew no bounds. He even told me he was named for Flannery O’Connor, but that he had dropped the O’ from his name because it sounded too artsy-fartsy.

“Are you looking for old issues of the local paper? We have access to a number of newspaper archives online, but the Athena Daily Register hasn’t been digitized yet. At least, not prior to 1998.”

“Local, at least for now.” Lawton stared at me and frowned.

“If you’ll follow me, then,” I said as I headed around the desk to the open space in front, “I’ll show you where the microfilm is.”

“Whatever.” Lawton moved closer and pointed to a spot behind me. “Does the cat have to come with us?”

“Yes, he does,” I said as I glanced back at Diesel. “If he wants to, that is.”

Diesel, his gaze intent on my face, chirped a couple of times before he turned and walked back behind the desk to sit with Lizzie Hayes, one of the circulation staffers. Good choice, Diesel. Lizzie is much nicer.

“Follow me,” I repeated as I turned and walked away. I heard Lawton mutter something from close behind me.

We walked down a hall near the desk, and I showed the playwright into a small room with filing cabinets, a couple of small tables, and two microfilm-reading machines.

I paused by the cabinets. “The films for the Athena Daily Register are here. The dates are on the cards on each drawer. When you finish with a roll, please put it in that basket on top of the cabinet.” I stopped a moment to clear my throat. “Have you used microfilm readers like these before?”

Lawton nodded as he approached me. I moved aside to let him peer at the labels on the drawers. He squatted, pulled out one of the drawers, and examined its contents.

“Then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head back to the desk.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Lawton said.

“You’re welcome,” I said, surprised. This was the first time he had uttered the word thanks in my hearing, despite the other times I had helped him.

I glanced at my watch on the way back to the reference-circulation desk. A quarter to three. Only fifteen minutes more on the desk, and then Diesel and I could go home. I looked forward to some quiet time. This had been a long, hot week, and a brief nap before I cooked dinner sounded appealing.

As I mulled possible menus, I resumed my seat behind the desk. Diesel left Lizzie and came back to me. I scratched his head as he rubbed against my right leg. He was an affectionate creature and didn’t often stray far from my side—except to spend time with one of his many human friends. He was popular with the library’s patrons, and he enjoyed them—as long as they didn’t have small hands that wanted to pull cat hair, that is.

I helped two more people with their reference questions, and when I consulted my watch again, the quarter hour was down to three minutes.

The library’s newest employee, Bronwyn Forster, offered a sweet smile as she neared me, ready to take my place. “Afternoon, Charlie. Has it been busy?”

“About the usual,” I said. “When school starts next week, things will pick up.”

Bronwyn nodded as she rubbed Diesel’s head. She cooed at him for a moment, and Diesel warbled back at her. I knew Diesel would agree with me that Bronwyn, with never an unkind word for anyone, made a pleasant change from Anita Milhaus, the obnoxious woman she replaced two months ago.

I waited until Bronwyn finished petting the cat, and then Diesel and I bade her and Lizzie good-bye. I retrieved my briefcase from the office I shared with one of the full-time librarians on the Fridays that I volunteered. I put Diesel into his harness, attached the leash, and we were ready.

The hot August air slapped us both as Diesel and I left the library for my car. I opened the doors to let the heat out, then got in to crank the car and get the air conditioner going. In the meantime, Diesel hopped onto the floorboard on the front passenger side of the car. I detached his leash and stuck it in my briefcase.

On the way home, I thought longingly about a cool shower. I felt sticky from the heat despite the cold blast of air from the car vents.

I pulled into the driveway and hit the garage door opener. As the door rose, I saw Sean’s car in its slot. I smiled, glad he was home from whatever mysterious errand he said he had to run today. I pulled my car in beside my son’s, and I thought about the change in our relationship over the past five months. We were getting along much better now, and I enjoyed having him with me.

Diesel hopped out of the car and made it to the kitchen door ahead of me. I watched, grinning, as he opened the door. Earlier in the year he had learned how to do it by twisting the knob with his front paws, and I still got a kick out of watching him. I suspected my boarder, Justin Wardlaw, taught him the trick, although Diesel was smart enough to have figured it out for himself.

I followed my cat into the kitchen and closed the door behind us. Diesel loped off to the utility room, home to his litter box and food and water bowls. I followed his example and poured myself a glass of water. As I drank I heard laughter from the direction of the living room. I recognized the baritone rumble of Sean’s voice, but there was a second voice. A female voice, and it sounded oddly familiar.