Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

I thought for a moment, trying to visualize the space. It had been more than a year since I’d had reason to go into the basement.

“It’s really just a storage area,” I said. “Unless things have changed in the past year, there are no study areas down there. Only shelves and shelves of older bound journals. Once upon a time there were carrels and tables there, but about ten years ago the library started running out of space on the shelves on the other floors. They decided to convert the basement to storage.”

“Is it easily accessible to everyone?” Sean asked.

“Yes, basically. Library staff will go down to retrieve items for patrons, but patrons can easily do it themselves.” I paused. “There have been a few incidents over the years of, shall we say, amorous activities down there, but that kind of thing happens in other parts of the library as well.”

“Really? Pretty risky behavior.” Sean shook his head.

“Yes, it is,” I said, “but that kind of thing happens more often than people realize. Even in a public library in the daytime.” I recalled an incident in the branch library in Houston where I worked for many years, in which an overly enthusiastic couple were caught going at it in one of the restrooms. Thankfully by an adult, and not a minor.

“Okay, to put this discussion back on track, the basement might have been chosen because the killer wanted privacy for a meeting with Reilly.” Sean leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Seems to me the killer would have to be someone familiar with the library. That would let Porter Stanley off the hook, unless he had spent time exploring the library.”

“I’ll find out tomorrow,” I said. “I can make a few inquiries. If he was roaming around the library, someone will have noticed him.”

“Good idea,” Sean said. “But be careful, Dad. If the killer is one of the library staff, you don’t want to provoke him or her into attacking you.”

“I’ll be careful,” I said. “Speaking of library staff, though, reminds me that there’s another potential suspect.”

Sean sat forward and picked up his pen. “Who is that?”

I explained who Delbert Winston was and his role at the library. Then I related what Delbert had told me about his run-in with Reilly. “I think it would be difficult for Delbert actually to embezzle money from the library,” I said, “but if he was embezzling, and Reilly figured it out, he would certainly have a motive.”

“Plus he’s been working in that library for years, right?” Sean laid down his pen.

“At least fifteen, I think, maybe more. I can check tomorrow.”

“Any other librarians with a grievance against Reilly?”

I nodded. “Cassandra Brownley. She is, to put it tactfully, a difficult woman. She didn’t get along all that well with Peter Vanderkeller, so it’s no surprise she wasn’t getting along with Reilly.” I told Sean about the scene I’d witnessed between Cassandra and the dead man. “There’s no telling what he might have accused her of. If he sexually harassed Lisa, he might have tried it with Cassandra, too. She may be unpleasant, but she’s attractive.”

“We have five suspects then,” Sean said. “Porter Stanley, Brent Tucker, Lisa Krause, Delbert Winston, and Cassandra Brownley. Anybody I’m missing?”

“Other than Melba and me, no, I don’t think so,” I said.

“You?” Sean said. “Why would you include yourself on the list?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily include myself,” I said, “but someone else might. I’ve ended up with the man’s job, haven’t I? Not to mention the fact that Reilly gave me grief about bringing Diesel to work with me. That putative someone might argue that I wanted the job pretty badly, was really angry about being overlooked, and then got rid of Reilly so I could replace him.”

Sean considered that for a moment. “I grant you that could be a potential motive, but how could you count on being chosen for the spot? Why would the president select a part-time staff member for such a position in the first place?”

I shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s entirely logical, because I have never expressed any interest whatsoever in being director of the library. But someone else who wanted the position might consider me a rival. I do have a lot of management experience, after all. Even though it’s in a public library setting, not an academic one.”

Sean looked grim. “If the killer went after Reilly because he or she wanted the job, then you could be a target, Dad. Have you considered that?”

“The possibility had occurred to me, yes.” It was one of the reasons I wasn’t that keen on accepting the job, but Forrest Wyatt had manipulated me too neatly for me to refuse.

“I don’t like this,” Sean said.

“I’m not thrilled about it, either,” I replied. “I’m banking on Kanesha finding the killer quickly. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, or killed.”

Diesel, once again sensing the sudden tension, butted his head against my thigh and meowed loudly. Sean gave the cat an irritated look, but I ignored that and concentrated on soothing Diesel. His intervention broke the tension, though, and Sean relaxed a bit.

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me?” I asked.

“Not at the moment,” Sean said.

“How is Alex doing?” I asked.

“She’s doing great,” Sean replied. “Only some minor morning sickness, but not that bad.”

“That’s good. Your mother had a more severe case of it with you. Not so much with Laura.”

We chatted for a few more minutes about Alex and pregnancy in general. I was pleased to see my son so excited about his wife and child.

“Okay, Diesel, I guess we’d better head back home.” I rose from the chair. The cat stood and stretched. “You know where I’ll be tomorrow.”

Sean nodded. “Be careful, Dad.”

“I will.” I left him once again pondering his notes.

Diesel and I paused to chat briefly with Laquita before heading to the car. She told me she was planning a baby shower for Alex and Sean and promised to let me know when the arrangements were fixed.

On the drive home I thought about presents for this second grandchild. Laura had already raided the attic at my house for the baby crib and nursery furniture my wife and I had kept and that I had moved with me when I came back to Athena. Sean and Alex’s baby would need a crib, and I planned to shop for one this weekend.

Occupied by those happy thoughts, I almost missed a car parked on the street in front of my house. The occupant was Porter Stanley. My hands trembled on the wheel as I pulled into the garage. I shut off the car, hit the button to close the garage door, and pulled out my cell phone to dial 911.

TWENTY-ONE

While I got Diesel out of the car and into the house, I talked to the 911 operator. I made sure the kitchen door was locked and bolted, then I went to the living room so I could peer out the window. The 911 operator stayed on the line, and when I reached the window, I spotted a police car turning onto the street at the end of the block.

I glanced at the spot where Porter Stanley was parked and was stunned to see the car gone.

He must have driven off within seconds after I pulled into the garage. I relayed this information to the operator, who in turn, I supposed, shared it with the police department. I ended the call and watched as the police car parked in the spot vacated by Stanley.

Two officers climbed out, both young-looking men, one heavyset, the other lanky. I opened the door, making sure Diesel stayed inside, and then closed the door behind me.

“Afternoon, sir,” the heavyset cop said. “Everything okay now?” He and the other officer stopped a couple of feet away and regarded me blandly.