Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

In addition to some of the ghost writing, I saw the occasional hole in the paper where the ink had eaten through. Overall, I concluded, the paper was in remarkably good condition, despite the fact that the diaries had been stored in an attic without significant temperature control. The ravages of unchecked humidity could be extensive, but somehow this volume had escaped them.

As long as the other three volumes were in similar condition to this one, there should be no problem with scanning or photographing the pages. Having them digitized would cut down on the necessity of handling the originals and thereby would help conserve them.

For the next two hours I pored over all four volumes to check the condition of each. I had to resist the lure of reading the diaries, though I did indulge myself and read the occasional brief passage. The first volume was filled with details about parties and the social whirl in 1850s Athena. Evidently Rachel Afton found herself in demand for various events, with a handful of young suitors vying for her companionship. In the bits I read she came across as modest, noting once with sharp wit that “no doubt Father’s extensive holdings in the Delta enhance my appearance and charm” for the less well-heeled young men chasing her.

By the time I finished the final volume I discovered I was hungry, Azalea’s big breakfast notwithstanding. Diesel slept throughout the time I worked, but when I stood up his eyes opened. He yawned and stretched on the windowsill.

“I’m ready for lunch, boy. How about you?” I stretched my back in imitation of the cat. I felt stiff and cramped. I should have taken a break or two to stretch earlier, but I was so engrossed in my work I didn’t stop.

“Let’s go see Helen Louise.” I retrieved the harness and leash, and Diesel jumped down from window and trotted over to me. “We’ll have to go home and get the car because I don’t feel like walking to the bakery in the midday heat.”

Diesel warbled, as if he understood and agreed. After a brisk walk home to retrieve the car, we headed for the center of Athena and the town square.

I found a parking place near the bakery, and Diesel and I headed down the sidewalk. Diesel loved Helen Louise, and he knew there would be chicken to eat. He walked fast and tugged on the leash, eager to get inside.

Newcomers to Helen Louise’s bakery sometimes looked askance at a large cat walking in as if he owned the place, but Diesel knew his corner and went straight toward it. Helen Louise had had a lengthy chat with the health inspector, who, ever since, had turned a deaf ear to protests. This was the kind of thing that could happen in a small town like Athena, and Diesel was so popular with most people, anyone offended by his presence took his or her business elsewhere.

As I followed Diesel to our corner I noticed a cluster of several people at the cash register. The tallest, a young man, chatted with Helen Louise. She had not yet spotted Diesel and me because she appeared to be engrossed in the conversation. When I sat, at a right angle to the register, I had a better look at the young man and what seemed to be his entourage. I recognized the handsome features of Beck Long.

Was this a campaign stop? I wondered. Or was he here simply to have lunch?

I scanned the room. As expected, at lunchtime, the bakery was nearly full. To my surprise, I spotted Kelly Grimes in the far corner. Her gaze seemed riveted on the cash register area. I glanced at Beck Long again and saw that he now had one arm draped around the shoulder of a beautiful blonde. He looked down at her and smiled.

When I turned back toward Kelly Grimes, I could see she did not appear at all happy with her secret fiancé and his closeness to another woman.

EIGHT

The writer’s gaze shifted for a moment in my direction, and I caught a slight start as she recognized me. She inclined her head to acknowledge me, but her attention moved right back to Beck Long and the young woman beside him.

There was enough bustle and buzz of conversation in the bakery that I couldn’t make out what Beck Long and Helen Louise were talking about. He didn’t appear to be ordering anything, so I wondered whether this was a stop on his campaign trail after all.

I hated the last couple of months before an election. The media bombarded us with political ads, almost all of which consisted of mud being flung in every direction. The choice often came down to voting for the least objectionable candidate, rather than for the truly outstanding one. I hadn’t yet made up my mind about Beck Long or his opponent, Jasper Singletary, but I had to admit their campaigns seemed to be running cleaner than most. A little dignity in politics went a long way these days, sad to say.

I heard the bell on the door jingle to signal a new arrival, and at the same time, the buzz of conversation grew louder. I turned to see who had entered and spotted a group of five men making their way toward the counter. After a moment I recognized the tallest among them, Jasper Singletary.

This ought to prove interesting , I thought. The two candidates—both hometown boys—crossing paths in a local business .

Diesel tapped my thigh with one paw, and I looked down at him. He chirped a couple of times, and I interpreted the sounds as a question: Where’s my chicken that Helen Louise always gives me?

“In a minute, boy,” I said in an undertone. “She’s busy right now. We’ll both have to wait.”

The cat stared at me for a long moment before he resumed his position at my feet beneath the table. I found it uncanny sometimes the way he seemed to understand what I told him.

When I focused my attention again on the two politicos and their opposing camps, I saw Singletary making his way toward Beck Long. Beck didn’t appear to have noticed Singletary yet, but then the latter spoke.

“Good morning, Beck. Glad-handing the voters, I see.” Singletary’s tone was jocular, yet I thought I heard a sharp edge to it.

The noise of conversation in the bakery suddenly dropped to a low hum as most people tuned in to the chat between the two young men.

I regarded the pair for a moment. They definitely formed a study in contrast. Beck Long was the proverbial golden boy—tall, blond, blue-eyed, with the body of a trained athlete. Top of his class in law school, partner in a successful practice in Athena, he seemed to achieve anything he wanted with ease. Jasper Singletary had the dark good looks of the Black Irish, as my late aunt would have said. Not quite as tall, chunkier like a heavyweight boxer, he also had a pugnacious attitude—or so I had gathered from reading about some of his encounters with the press.

“Hey, Jasper.” Long turned with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Yeah, you know the drill. Have to get out into the community and talk to everyone.” The two shook hands. “Have you met the owner of this fine bakery, Helen Louise Brady?”

Singletary inclined his head at Helen Louise, who smiled warmly at him. “I have indeed. She makes some of the best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten.”

Beck laughed. “Amen to that.” He patted his trim waistline. “I’ve spent many an hour in the gym to compensate for it, let me tell you.”

“I’d love to work out in a gym,” Singletary said with a slight smile. “I have bigger priorities for my budget, however, so I have to settle for jogging around the neighborhood.”

Singletary’s reference to his budget was a subtle nod to the fact that, unlike Beck Long, he hadn’t grown up in a privileged, wealthy family. The son of an impoverished local farmer with only a small holding, he had worked two jobs to put himself through college and law school. His ambition and hard work paid off as he became a successful lawyer in Memphis, but in the past year he’d moved back to Athena, evidently to enter politics in his home state.