Миранда Джеймс - Twelve Angry Librarians

“But you can’t be absolutely certain?”

I wondered why Kanesha was pressing this particular point.

“No, I can’t be absolutely certain,” I said.

“When you arrived at the room and found Ms. Krause, what happened then?”

I gave Kanesha the details she wanted, and then she took me through it all again.

When I finished, Kanesha fixed me with her laser stare. “Did you at any time look into the room? Or go into the room?”

“No, I neither looked nor went into the room,” I said. “I didn’t want to risk contaminating the scene any further.”

“Wise of you,” Kanesha said in a low tone. “For once.”

I inclined my head slightly. “I thought so.”

Kanesha dropped her pen on the pad. “I think that’s all for now, Mr. Harris. If I have further questions, I’ll be in touch.”

“I’m always happy to answer your questions, Deputy Berry.” I rose from the table, nodded in the direction of Hampton and his associate, and exited the room.

Once the door closed behind me, I leaned against the wall near it for a moment. I ought to be used to this situation by now, given the events of the past two years, but I definitely wasn’t. Adrenaline had brought me this far. Now, however, I felt the inevitable letdown, and my head throbbed.

The first thing I needed was water, and I headed for the closest restroom. There was a water fountain outside it. I drank enough to keep a camel going for a week in the desert, and then I used the restroom.

By the time I came out into the hall again, my headache had begun to recede. I checked the time and was not surprised to see that it was nearly twelve thirty. That diet soda and bag of peanuts had been almost two hours ago, and I was hungry for both food and caffeine.

I considered the bistro but decided I would have lunch here in the hotel restaurant. A hamburger and a salad—though I would have preferred french fries—should suffice, along with a couple of glasses of iced tea. I found the stairs, walked down to the ground floor, and made my way to the restaurant. I found it not as crowded as I thought it might be—certainly not as crowded as Helen Louise’s place always was on Saturdays around lunchtime.

The hostess greeted me and led me toward a table. On the way, I spotted Marisue and Randi. They waved and motioned for me to join them. I steered the hostess in their direction, and she left me there with a menu.

“Good afternoon, Charlie,” Marisue said. “We were hoping we’d run into you today.”

“Have you heard the latest?” Randi’s eyes were alight with curiosity.

“Good afternoon.” I opened my menu and laid it flat on the table. “What’s the latest you’ve heard?” I was curious whether news of Maxine Muller’s murder had started making the rounds.

“Some poor woman was strangled to death in her room,” Randi said in an undertone.

I didn’t bother to correct her about the method of murder. “Who told you that?”

“You don’t seem surprised by the news,” Marisue said. “Did you already know about this?”

There was no point in prevaricating. “Yes, I did.” I figured I might as well share a few of the main details, aside from the way the poor woman died.

“Poor Lisa,” Marisue said, and Randi echoed her. “How awful.” Marisue looked a bit ashen.

“Who was murdered?” Randi asked.

“Maxine Muller,” I replied.

The irrepressible Randi didn’t seem much bothered by the thought of Lisa’s ordeal or by Ms. Muller’s unfortunate demise. “The person who killed poor Maxine had to be the same one who poisoned Gavin, don’t you think?”

“It seems pretty likely,” I said. “You didn’t answer my question. Who told you about the murder?”

“The maid who was cleaning our room,” Randi said. “We popped upstairs for a moment before coming down here, and she was in our room. She almost jumped out of her skin when we walked in. The poor thing was terrified.”

“When we asked her why, she told us that a woman had been found strangled in her room on the sixth floor,” Marisue said. “We didn’t know until now, though, that poor Maxine was the victim.”

“Maxine must have known something about Gavin’s murder.” Randi exchanged a glance with Marisue.

“I would think that’s certainly possible,” Marisue said. “But we have an expert right here. What do you think, Charlie? You’ve had a lot of experience with this kind of thing, haven’t you?”

“Unfortunately, more than I would care to admit to anyone besides friends of long standing,” I said. “I think Maxine is connected, and the killer obviously felt Maxine had to be got out of the way for some reason. I sure wish we knew what that reason was.”

“I didn’t really know her that well,” Lisa said. “I’d see her at these meetings and usually at ALA. We served on an ALA committee together twice, I think.”

“Same with me,” Marisue said. “I do know that she had a thing for Gavin Fong, and that I found extremely strange. I can’t imagine why a sane woman would be attracted to that narcissistic creep.”

Randi giggled. “Maxine was odd. I always thought so. Most of the time she carried a knitting bag around with her. She was always knitting sweaters for her dogs.”

“I’d forgotten about that.” Marisue grimaced. “She gave me a couple once because I made the mistake of telling her I had a Yorkie, too. They were dreadfully twee. I donated them to the local animal shelter when I got home.”

I found the image of Maxine knitting dog sweaters sweet, but also rather sad for some reason. I hoped there would be someone to give her dogs a good home. I hated to think of orphaned pets. There was never any way to explain to them why their human was never coming back.

Randi could have read my mind. Her face clouded. “I didn’t think about her poor little orphaned fur babies. I hope someone will take them and give them a good home.” For a moment I thought she was going to cry, she looked so sad.

Even Marisue appeared moved by the plight of Maxine’s dogs. Before we turned maudlin, I decided I’d better change the subject. I wanted to bring up blackmail as a motive, but I needed to be careful doing it. I couldn’t share with Marisue and Randi the bit of conversation Lisa overheard at the luncheon.

I couldn’t think of a graceful way to do it, so I dove right in. “I’ve been thinking about that story you told me at dinner last night. The one involving Harlan Crais.”

“What about it?” Marisue asked.

“About Gavin blackballing Crais to keep him from getting a job.”

“It was nasty,” Randi said, “and you couldn’t really blame Harlan for hating Gavin the way he did.”

“No, I suppose not,” I said. “Look, here’s what I’m wondering. If Gavin was willing to blackball someone, what are the chances he would threaten to do it, but tell his victim he wouldn’t if he got paid enough not to?”

TWENTY-ONE

I glanced from one to the other and back again as I tried to gauge their reactions to my question. Both Marisue and Randi seemed to freeze for a moment, then they shared what I interpreted as an uneasy glance.

Marisue responded first. “With Gavin, anything low and underhanded was always a possibility, I suppose.”

“Yes, he could have done something like that,” Randi said. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

I sensed that they both knew something but were reluctant to tell me what it was. “We’ve already talked about the fact that I have experience with a murder investigation, haven’t we?”

They both nodded. “What’s your point?” Marisue asked.

“My point is this,” I said. “If you know something that could have a bearing on the case, then you really need to share it with the investigating officer. I can assure you, from personal experience, that Chief Deputy Berry is an intelligent, seasoned investigator. She’s tough but fair.”