Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

The silence lengthened, but I had said my piece. Now it was up to Ms. Grimes.

Finally she spoke. “I can’t tell you anything, not without Jasper’s permission. It’s up to him whether he wants to talk to you. He won’t have a choice, of course, if you sic the chief deputy on him.”

“She already knows there’s a connection between him and the diaries,” I said.

Ms. Grimes uttered another vulgar word. I pretended I hadn’t heard.

She stood abruptly. “I’ve got to talk to Jasper. He’ll be in touch.” She turned to go.

“One more thing before you leave,” I said. She turned back and scowled at me. “Did you take the diaries, or bring them back?”

She shook her head. “No, if I’d gotten my hands on them, I would have kept them as long as Jasper needed them.” She turned and walked out.

I stared at the empty doorway for a few moments, the cat still in my lap. I didn’t, as a rule, browbeat people. I hated confrontations, but on occasion I had no choice. I didn’t like being lied to, and that made me angry enough to confront Kelly Grimes.

She confirmed my notion that she was involved with Jasper Singletary and that he was interested in the contents of the diaries. Why, I still hadn’t a clue. He might decide to talk to me, or he might go straight to Kanesha.

Whatever happened, I needed to get back to scanning the one volume I did have. As soon as the others came back from the state crime lab, I would work overtime if I had to in order to read them and find out what secrets they held.

I turned my chair back to the windowsill and gently urged Diesel to reclaim his spot. “It’s all okay now, boy,” I told him. “Everything is fine.”

The cat meowed as I lifted him, and I thought for a moment he would resist. Then he climbed onto the windowsill. I gave him a couple of head rubs before I got up and went back to the scanning station to resume my project.

I took fewer breaks during the afternoon and probably strained my neck, shoulders, and back far too much, but by four thirty the scan was complete. I closed the book and set it aside. Next I e-mailed myself the files I had created during the scanning process. They were PDFs, and I could read them easily at home or here in the office.

For the next few minutes I sat and massaged my neck and shoulders as best I could. I felt the tightness of the muscles loosen enough for me to do a head roll. I figured I should stand in a hot shower for a while when I got home. That ought to further the healing process.

Before we left, I took the diary back to the storage room and made sure it was secure. Then Diesel and I were ready to go.

The afternoon was hot and sultry, typical of September. I would be happy when cooler weather arrived, and I knew Diesel would be, too. At least most of the way home was shaded by large, leafy trees.

By the time we reached our destination we were both ready for water. I could hear him lapping it up while I drank my own, standing with my back against the sink.

Azalea had left for the day—she usually finished with her chores by four at the latest—and the house and its quiet solace soothed me. Feeling more relaxed, I contemplated getting my laptop and sitting down to start reading Rachel Long’s diary. After a moment’s reflection, I decided more relaxation was in order before I glued myself to another computer screen. I also realized I was hungry, despite the big lunch I’d had.

I checked the fridge and was delighted to see there was plenty of leftover chicken and dumplings for dinner. The next order of business, after a second glass of water, was a hot shower.

Forty-five minutes later, muscles looser and neck- and backaches gone, I sat down to my chicken and dumplings. I found a bit more of the boiled chicken breast in the fridge. I doled it out while I ate, and Diesel was a happy kitty. We would both have to run up and down the stairs a few times to compensate for all the food, though.

I had just settled down on the den sofa with my laptop, Diesel stretched out beside me, when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen before I answered.

“Hey, Melba, how are you?”

“Charlie, you’ll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store on the way home from work today.” Excitement bubbled in her voice.

“Let me see now. Far as I know, Brad Pitt isn’t in Athena these days. Neither is George Clooney. So I’m stumped.” Melba often rhapsodized about the many attractions of these two movie stars, and I liked to tease her when an opportunity presented itself.

“Ha-ha,” she said. “Are you going to be serious? Because if you’re not, I’m not going to tell you.” Her words sounded tough, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back whatever it was.

“I’ll be good,” I said. “Who did you run into?”

“Miss Eulalie Estes,” Melba said. “She must be eighty if she’s a day, but sharp. I hope I’m in that good of a shape when I’m her age.”

I resisted the impulse to make an age-related remark. “I’m glad to hear she’s doing so well. She was pretty gracious when they basically forced her to retire and gave me the archive job.”

“It was hard on her,” Melba said. “She loved that archive, and I’ll bet she knows more about the history of Athena than anybody.”

“True,” I said. “Is that what y’all talked about?”

Melba snorted into the phone. “Yes, that’s what we talked about. I happened to mention those diaries, and she got all excited. Said she sure would love to see them for herself.”

“I’m sure she can, once they’re back in the archive. As far as I know they’ll be available to the public, and obviously Miss Eulalie would know how to handle them.”

“I really think you ought to talk to her, Charlie,” Melba said. “She’s never seen those diaries, but if there’s any kind of scandal involving the Longs, or anybody who was around in the Civil War, Miss Eulalie will know about it.”

TWENTY

I could have slapped my own face. Why hadn’t I thought about talking to Miss Eulalie before now?

“You’re right,” I said. “She’s an excellent source, and I should have considered it.”

“You’re welcome,” Melba said. “Why don’t you call her right now? You could probably go and see her tonight. She told me she’s a real night owl.”

I glanced at the clock. Nearly seven, so there was plenty of time for a visit with the retired archivist as long as she was willing. “Another good idea. Is she listed in the phone book?”

“I’d imagine so,” Melba said. “I’ll get off the phone now. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” She hung up.

The phone book lived in a drawer in the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few,” I told Diesel. He raised his head and yawned. He stretched before he settled down to nap again.

Although the phone book served the entire county, it was still slender. I flipped it open and looked for Miss Eulalie’s number. Sure enough, it was listed. With one finger to mark the number, I picked up the receiver of the wall phone and punched in the digits.

Miss Eulalie answered on the third ring. “Good evening, Charlie. I had a feeling you might call.” She chuckled, a light, tinkling sound.

Caller ID, of course. She wasn’t psychic as far as I knew. “Good evening, Miss Eulalie. Yes, I was just on the phone with Melba Gilley, and she encouraged me to get in touch with you.”

“Melba is a dear girl, but she does love to talk. I was afraid my lettuce would be completely wilted before I managed to get into my car and drive home.” Again I heard that fairy-like laugh. “I was excited to hear, though, about those diaries. What a treasure trove they could be.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’m not sure how long they’ll be down at the state crime lab, but once they’re back I’ll be sure to let you know.”