Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

“I’d appreciate it. I do so miss working with primary sources like that.” Her wistful tone touched me. I wasn’t privy to the decision that resulted in her retirement, but I did feel occasionally that I had somehow usurped her.

Her tone turned brisk. “I imagine, from what Melba said, you’re interested in the Long family’s history. I probably know as much or more about it than they do themselves, and I’d be happy to share some information with you. I have an idea or two about why there is such interest in the diaries.”

“I sure would appreciate it, Miss Eulalie,” I said. “When would be a convenient time for you?”

“How about now?” she said. “My dance card is hardly full these days, and you can satisfy your curiosity sooner rather than later.”

I laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly am curious. I’d love to come over this evening. Would it be all right if I bring my cat with me? He’s not used to being left alone, but if you have any problems with it, I’ll understand.”

“Not a problem,” she said warmly. “I love cats, and I’ve heard a lot about that giant feline of yours.”

She gave me her address, and I realized she lived only a few blocks to the north of me in the same neighborhood. “We’ll be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes.”

I went back to the den and told Diesel we were going on a visit. He perked up and meowed. For a cat who spent much of his day sleeping, he did like getting out of the house.

I ran upstairs to change, and when I came back down I found him waiting by the front door. Once he was in his harness and leash, we set off on our walk to Miss Eulalie’s house.

Now that the sun was going down, the temperature cooled a bit, and the walk was nearly pleasant. We strolled at a casual pace, because I didn’t want to arrive sweaty and hot. I found Miss Eulalie’s place easily, and as we headed up the walk to her front porch, I admired her beautiful yard. Orderly beds of shrubs and flowers, neatly mowed grass, and tall oak and pecan trees combined to make it a showpiece.

Miss Eulalie opened the door just as I was taking my finger off the doorbell. “Charlie, I’m so glad to see you. Oh, my, he is a big kitty. Y’all come on in.” She stepped aside to let us enter. “This is turning out to be my day for company.”

“You’re looking well, Miss Eulalie,” I said. She was a sparrow of a woman, short of stature, slight of figure, but with a personality ten times her size. Her white hair sat in a tight chignon at the back of her head, and her deep green cotton dress set off her pale complexion nicely.

“My goodness, kitty, I bet if you stood on your hind legs you’d be almost as tall as me.” Miss Eulalie laughed. “His name is Diesel, I believe?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I had to agree. Diesel looked even bigger next to her diminutive frame. “Don’t let him knock you over.” The cat rubbed against her, and he was strong enough that I worried he could make her fall.

“Nonsense,” she said, her hand on the cat’s head. “Let’s go into the parlor and have a chat.” She led the way, Diesel by her side, and I brought up the rear.

Her parlor reminded me a lot of the one at Riverhill, the antebellum mansion that belonged to the Ducote sisters, Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. From what I could see, the furniture dated from the same era as theirs, right down to the Aubusson carpet on the hardwood floor. A portrait of a floridly handsome gentleman in evening dress—perhaps Miss Eulalie’s father—had pride of place over the mantel. Framed photographs occupied most of the flat surfaces in the room.

Miss Eulalie motioned for me to take a seat in a club chair while she chose a sofa. “I see you’ve noticed all my pictures,” she said. “Family and former students and their families.”

I recalled that she taught history at the high school for twenty years before she decided to become a librarian and archivist. Even though I entered high school about a decade after she left teaching, I heard any number of stories about her and how tough but wonderful she was. From what I heard, I often wished she had been my teacher.

I told her that, and she beamed at me as she continued to stroke the cat’s head. Diesel sat on the floor beside her, and I was glad he hadn’t tried to climb on the sofa with her. The deep ruby velvet of the upholstery would show the cat hair starkly.

“I have iced tea and cookies.” Miss Eulalie indicated a tray near her on a side table. “Please have some.”

“Thank you,” I said. After the walk, the cold drink was welcome. I went over and picked up a glass and stared down at the plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. I had a weakness for them, and they looked homemade.

“I made them this morning,” my hostess said. “Please, have as many as you like.”

“Thank you.” I gave in to temptation and placed three on a small serving plate. I took my food and drink, along with a linen napkin, back to my chair.

“Now, I didn’t ask Melba for any details about this fuss over those diaries,” Miss Eulalie said with a grin, “because I wanted to get home from the grocery store the same day I went.”

I laughed. “I know what you mean. I think the whole business is strange, frankly. When the mayor brought them to me, she said she thought they might be helpful with her son’s state senate campaign. Then I found out that Jasper Singletary was interested in them, too, for much the same reason. Now, I can just about see the point with the Longs, but how could it affect Jasper Singletary?”

Miss Eulalie looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. “There’s been bad blood between the Longs and the Singletarys for decades,” she finally said. “Even I don’t know the details, but I gather it dates from the nineteenth century.”

“That’s a long time to hold a grudge.” I munched on the second cookie. They were so delicious I could easily devour the whole batch. I told myself firmly that three was more than enough. My eyes kept focusing on the plateful, however.

“Yes, it is. Ridiculous, if you ask me. Now, have more cookies if you like.” She glanced at the lone cookie on my plate. “The Longs have always been wealthy, of course, and as far back as I know of, the Singletarys have been just the opposite. Small farmers who have to struggle every year and who somehow never seem to get ahead.” She sighed. “That kind of disparity rankles, I suppose, and that’s what has nurtured the feud all these years.”

“If the Singletarys hate the Longs because the Longs are rich, do they also hate people like Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce Ducote?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Miss Eulalie replied. “They have reason to be grateful to An’gel and Dickce anyway.” She noticed my look of inquiry. “They gave Jasper the scholarship that put him through Athena College.”

That sounded like the sisters. They did so many good things in Athena, it was hard to keep track. They performed their charitable works as quietly as possible because they never sought the limelight. I said as much to my hostess, and she agreed with a smile. I realized then she was a contemporary of the Ducotes and had probably known them all her life.

“I guess it’s possible the diaries might reveal the source of the bad blood between the two families,” I said. “Maybe it’s so scandalous that one side thinks the other might be embarrassed badly if it came to light.”

“Thereby affecting the state senate race.” Miss Eulalie frowned. “Sounds outlandish, doesn’t it? But roots and memories run deep here, and if it’s terrible enough, it could have an effect.”

“Terrible enough to kill for?” I asked, thinking of poor Marie Steverton.

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Where family pride is involved, especially in the South, never underestimate the lengths someone will go to protect their name.”