Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

The final new message in my in-box was from Delbert Winston. I did not know him that well, although he did occasionally forward e-mail inquiries from alumni and others who had books they wanted to donate, if the books were of sufficient age to be of value to the rare book collection. We would chat briefly at library meetings, but I really knew little about the man.

Here, though, in my in-box was a message from him saying that he needed to discuss a personal matter with me. Urgently was the word he used. Discuss urgently . He gave me his cell number and asked me to call whenever I received his e-mail.

I checked the date and time on the message and noted that he had sent it shortly before five this morning.

Was this urgent matter of his connected to Reilly’s murder?

I pulled out my phone and punched in his number.

To my aggravation the call went to voice mail immediately. After the beep I told him I’d received his message and gave him my cell number. I concluded with, “Call me at your earliest opportunity.”

I checked the time on my phone. Seven minutes past eight. I retrieved a copy of the local phone book from my desk and looked up Penny Sisson’s home number.

She answered on the second ring.

“Morning, Penny.”

She didn’t give me time to say anything. “Charlie, have you heard the news about the murder?” I managed a yes before she hurried on. “Isn’t this horrible? What if we have a deranged killer wandering the campus? I am not going into the office today. Will that upset your plans?”

“No, not at all,” I said. “In fact, I really need to stay home.” I couldn’t explain why. I wasn’t going to be sharing Melba’s business with anyone outside the immediate family.

“Thank you,” she said. “I just don’t think I can face the office today. I’m going to have nightmares because it was such a brutal murder. He wasn’t a nice man, but to die like that . It’s horrible to contemplate.”

“Do you know how he died?” I asked.

“You mean you haven’t heard?” Penny said, her surprise obvious in her voice. “Oh, Charlie, it was horrendous. The poor student worker who found him had to be taken to the emergency room, she was so upset. She apparently has panic attacks, and finding Reilly like that caused a bad one.”

“Finding him like what ?”

“Crushed to death in the compact shelving in the basement,” Penny replied. “Horrible, just horrible.”

SIXTEEN

I was so shocked I almost dropped the phone. What a gruesome way to die. Poor Reilly. I felt sick at my stomach and did my best to keep an image from forming in my mind. No wonder the poor student worker was so upset.

“Charlie, are you still there?” Penny’s anxious tone brought my brain back into focus.

“Yes, I’m here,” I said. “You’re right, it is horrible. What on earth was he doing in the basement of the library at that time of night? Does anybody know?”

“No, I haven’t heard any other details,” Penny said. “The whole thing is truly bizarre. Whoever did it must have hated him terribly to kill him like that.”

“Yes, they sure did,” I said. “I’d better get off the line now, Penny. I’m expecting another call. You’ll let me know when I need to come to your office.”

Penny assured me she would be in touch as soon as she had further news about my status at the library, and I bade her good-bye. I set the phone down, and I saw my hand shake. I couldn’t help thinking about Reilly’s manner of death. I had loathed the man, certainly, but I wouldn’t have wished him so brutal an end.

Hatred .

Melba couldn’t have done it, I knew with absolute certainty. She might have hated Reilly, but she was not cruel. His death was cruel.

Porter Stanley hated his former brother-in-law, I had little doubt. He seemed a far more likely candidate to have executed Reilly in such a gruesome fashion. Kanesha had better move quickly, though, before Stanley disappeared. Perhaps I ought to call her.

I reached for the phone, and it rang as I touched it. Startled, I almost dropped it. I looked at the caller ID. The number looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know to whom it belonged.

“Is this Charlie?” the caller said. “This is Delbert Winston.”

“Yes, Delbert, this is Charlie,” I said. I had forgotten about him. “I called right after I read your e-mail, but you weren’t available at the time.”

“Sorry about that,” he replied. “I really appreciate you calling back so quickly. I guess you’ve heard that the jerk is dead.” He sounded happy about it.

“Yes, I heard,” I said. “I also heard that he died in a particularly horrible way. Even he didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about it,” Delbert said. “I don’t think you know how nasty he really was. Frankly, I’m surprised somebody didn’t take him out years ago. He was twisted.”

The distaste in his tone was obvious, and I had to admit to being curious about this strong reaction to the man. Delbert obviously hated Oscar Reilly. Could he be the killer? I had better be cautious in talking to him and not put him off. I might be able to extract useful information from him, information that could help Melba.

“He was not a pleasant man,” I said. “He seemed to cause turmoil around him.”

“He did, in spades,” Delbert said heatedly. “I can’t figure out why the hell anybody thought he’d be the right person to run the library while they look for a permanent director.”

I wondered how much the high-level library staff, like Delbert, Lisa, and Cassandra, knew about the budget crisis Peter Vanderkeller left behind when he decamped. I didn’t want to say anything out of turn, because if they didn’t know about it, I didn’t want it known that I was the one who told them.

“I suppose it had something to do with his financial background,” I said. “Maybe President Wyatt wanted someone with a firm hand on the budget.” I thought that was suitably diplomatic enough and didn’t give anything away.

Delbert laughed, a short, sharp sound. “So you’ve heard about the mess good ole Petey left us. I can’t believe how idiotic he was. Surely the man had better sense. But I guess he didn’t.”

“At least he didn’t embezzle it,” I said. “It was careless of him to overcommit the budget that way, but I’m sure he had the best intentions.”

“He probably did. We all want to make sure the students and faculty have access to the resources they need,” Delbert said in tones of great patience. “But at the end of the day, we have only so much money, and we can’t spend what we don’t have.”

“No, I understand that, but the president is going to have to get it sorted out, not us.” I decided it was time we got to the point of why he wanted to talk to me. “What is this urgent personal matter you want to discuss with me?”

“Oh, yeah, that.” Delbert paused, long enough that I thought I would have to prompt him again. Then he spoke. “You’ve been involved in murders before, haven’t you? I mean, I’ve heard about you helping the sheriff’s department a few times.”

“Yes, I have helped a bit,” I said. I had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s good,” he replied. “I mean, that you’ve got experience. I need help from somebody who knows how to deal with the cops.”

“Why?” I asked. “Do you have information about the murder? If that’s the case, the best thing you can do is call the sheriff’s department and tell them what you know. Or if you don’t feel comfortable talking to them, call Martin Ford. He’s a good guy, and you can talk to him.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Delbert said. “Look, this is how it went down. Before I heard about the budget crap, Reilly came to me the first week he was put in charge. He’s talking to me about the acquisitions budget, as well as my cataloging budget, asking me all sorts of questions, trying to figure out the process of ordering and paying for resources. I guess because he didn’t want to deal with that witch Cassandra. I explained everything as patiently as I could, and he went away.” He paused for a long breath. “Then, he comes back a week later, and all of a sudden he’s wanting to look at invoices, purchase orders, spreadsheets—all kinds of documentation. So I give him what he asks for, even stuff he should have gotten from Cassandra. He goes away. Then a few days later he’s back again, like some damn dog with a bone. This time, though, he tells me he thinks I’ve been fiddling with the books and that I must have embezzled like a hundred grand out of the acquisitions budget. All because I’m the selector for the history and art history departments, and they have endowed funds that I manage. Cassandra can’t stand it because she can’t tell me what to do with the money.”