Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

“Of course,” I said. “And I will check. I’m also going to talk to the mayor, because I’m beginning to think that little book might be an important clue as to what the heck is going on with the missing diaries. The sooner we can find another copy and analyze what the granddaughter-in-law wrote, the better.”

“If the diaries are destroyed, there won’t be much point.” Marie sighed. “I’m afraid we’ll never see them again.”

“That’s possible,” I replied. “Try to remain positive, though. The authorities will find them, and you’ll be able to complete your research and write your book.”

Marie didn’t appear convinced. “As long as you were giving names to the police, did you tell them about that horrible writer?”

“If you’re referring to Kelly Grimes, yes, I did. What is the beef between you two, anyway?”

“I can’t stand her. She lied to me and used me. She has no ethics at all.” Marie grew red in the face. “If she ever steps in front of my car, I’ll flatten her.”

“What did she do?”

“If you must know,” Marie said, “she interviewed me a couple of years ago for a feature article she was writing on feminist studies at the college. She’d been a student of mine for a semester before that. I gave her several hours of my time near the end of the semester when I already had more than enough to do, and then she ended up barely mentioning my name. Instead she wrote about that arrogant Geraldine Comstock in the English department.”

“That wasn’t fair,” I said. “I don’t blame you for being angry with her.” I did have to wonder, though, how much Marie’s unpleasant personality and self-absorption influenced the outcome of the article.

“If anybody stole the diaries,” Marie said, “it was her.” She called Grimes a pretty nasty name. “I’ve got a good mind to track her down and beat the truth out of her.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” I said, a little alarmed. Marie was crazy enough to do it, but I didn’t know how I could stop her, other than by calling the police.

She stood. “Thanks for the brandy. I’ve got work to do.” She stalked off in the direction of the front door. Before I made it out of the kitchen I heard the door slam behind her.

That was the last time I saw her. Early the next morning Kanesha Berry called to tell me that Marie had been run down and killed by a car in the street in front of her house.

FIFTEEN

I was only half-done with my breakfast when my cell phone rang that morning. I saw Kanesha Berry’s name and number flash on the screen. Kanesha almost never called me with good news. When she told me Marie Steverton was dead, I couldn’t take it in at first.

“What happened?” I asked. I stared at my plate, my appetite gone. Diesel warbled anxiously because he could still smell bacon. I patted his head absentmindedly as I listened to Kanesha’s reply.

“Neighbor across the street heard a crash outside around two this morning. Ran downstairs and out onto the front porch. He saw the body in the street and taillights disappearing way down at the end of the street. He immediately checked on Ms. Steverton, but there was nothing he could do.”

“What was she doing out in the street at that time of the morning?” I couldn’t understand any of this. Why would someone want to kill Marie? Despite her enormously irritating personality, and my own jokes about batting her over the head, I couldn’t fathom her murder. I couldn’t believe it was an accident, either.

“We have no idea yet,” Kanesha said. “How well did you know her?”

“We weren’t friends,” I said. “I knew her, of course, from activities on campus, and a couple of years ago she did a few days’ research in the archive.” I paused for a sip of coffee—my throat went suddenly dry and tight. “The past few days, however, I had several encounters with her over those diaries that are missing.”

“The ones Mayor Long gave you,” Kanesha said. “Still no sign of them, by the way.”

“That’s so frustrating,” I said. I wanted to ask whether anyone had searched Kelly Grimes’s home—or Jasper Singletary’s, for that matter—but I didn’t want to poke the bear too much. Kanesha could definitely resemble a grumpy bear on occasion. She would tell me only as much as she deemed necessary.

“I’ll need to talk to you in-depth about the events of the past few days,” Kanesha said. “There has to be some connection between Dr. Steverton’s murder and the theft of the diaries. Will you be in your office at the archive today?”

“Yes, from about eight thirty on. Come anytime you want.”

“I’ll see you about nine.” Kanesha rang off.

“That my daughter on the phone?” Azalea asked when she walked back into the room with a load of freshly washed and dried dish towels. “Reason I ask is you got that look on your face you usually get when she calls you and reads the riot act.”

I had to suppress a smile. My relationship with Kanesha had been one fraught with conflict, though recently Kanesha tended to be more at ease with me.

“Yes, that was Kanesha,” I said. “Calling to share some terrible news.” I told my housekeeper about the hit-and-run murder of Marie Steverton.

Azalea set the dish towels on the counter, closed her eyes, and said a short prayer under her breath for Marie. “That poor lady,” she said aloud to me when she finished. The simple dignity of her action touched me deeply.

“Yes, it’s horrible,” I said after a moment. “She was one of the most irritating women I have ever met, but I wouldn’t have wished that on her.” I shook my head. “I pray her soul can find peace.”

“She’s in the Lord’s hands now,” Azalea said. She picked up the dish towels and placed them in the drawer where they resided.

Diesel, not pleased at being ignored while I talked on the phone and then with Azalea, stood on his hind legs beside me and reached onto my plate with one paw to steal a piece of bacon.

I caught his paw a second before he got hold of the bacon. “No, bad kitty,” I told him in a firm tone, one I knew he would recognize. “You do not take food off my plate. Bad kitty.”

I released his paw, and he stared at me for a moment. He warbled sadly, as if in apology, and I patted him on the head. I couldn’t give him the bacon now, because I didn’t want him to think he could act badly, be penitent, and then still get his way. He was like a five-year-old child sometimes.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “But you’ll have to be satisfied with your cat food this morning.” He trotted off to the utility room, no doubt in search of sustenance from his food bowls.

I pushed back my chair and stood. I gulped down the rest of my coffee. “Azalea, I’m sorry, but I can’t finish my breakfast. Not really hungry anymore.”

“I understand, Mr. Charlie,” she said. “You going to come home for lunch today? I reckon by then you’ll be feeling better and want something good to eat.”

I smiled. Azalea was always determined to keep me well fed. “Yes, Diesel and I will be home for lunch, as far as I know. If anything comes up to prevent it, I’ll give you a call.”

Ten minutes later Diesel and I left the house to walk to the college. We made it to the archive right on the dot of eight thirty. Melba wasn’t in when we went by her office, and I hoped I could put off talking to her until later in the day. Going through it all with Kanesha would be exhausting enough.

I felt sick at heart when I unlocked the archive door. The replacement lock hadn’t been installed yet, but I didn’t figure the thief would be back for anything more. She—or he—was interested only in the diaries, I was sure.

I flipped the light switch, then bent to release Diesel from his leash and harness. He went straight to the window and climbed onto the sill. I headed for my desk, and my eyes lit on four books lying on it.