Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

“I can’t wait to work on the diaries,” I said. I got up to help myself to two more oatmeal raisin cookies. I told the little voice in my head to shut up about the calories. “In the meantime, the mayor found a fifth volume. I scanned it today, and I’ll read through it to see what it might be able to tell us.”

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Yes, I heard about that. I also have something that might shed light on this. Did you know that Rachel Long’s grandson’s wife wrote a memoir of the old lady?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “The library at the college had a copy, but it’s apparently been lost.”

“How aggravating,” Miss Eulalie said as she rose from the sofa. “I happen to have a copy, though, and if you’d like to borrow it, you’re perfectly welcome. I read it many years ago.”

“Thank you. I would like to,” I said.

My hostess nodded. “Sit there and enjoy your cookies. It’s in my study. I’ll fetch it.”

Diesel had been remarkably well behaved so far, but the moment Miss Eulalie left the room he came over to me and begged for a bite of my cookie.

“Sorry, boy,” I said. “The raisins are bad for you. No cookie for you.”

He meowed and stared at me, so I repeated what I told him. He turned and went back to his spot next to the sofa, tail high in the air.

Miss Eulalie returned then, empty-handed. Her expression was blank. “I’m sorry, Charlie; you must forgive me. I seem to have misplaced the memoir.” With her right hand she fidgeted with a broach pinned to her bosom.

“That’s too bad,” I said. Something didn’t seem quite right with her. She appeared flustered.

“I’ll keep looking for it,” she said. “I apologize, but I’m coming down with one of my bad headaches.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Eulalie. I hope you feel better soon. Diesel and I will get out of your hair. Thanks for the delicious cookies and the information.”

“Thank you for your visit,” my hostess said. She remained silent while she escorted the cat and me to the front door. I turned on the verandah to bid her good night, but she had already shut the door.

That was a rude thing to do, and Miss Eulalie would never be rude—unless she was powerfully worried about something.

In this case, the missing memoir. I didn’t think it was a coincidence.

TWENTY-ONE

I didn’t believe for a minute that Miss Eulalie had misplaced her copy of the memoir of Rachel Long. She was every bit as sharp as the Ducote sisters, and I’d bet she could easily find any book in her study. She wouldn’t have been so flustered over simply mislaying a book.

She couldn’t find the memoir because someone took it. I’d also bet she knew who took it, and that was what upset her. Obviously a person she considered a friend; otherwise she would have been angry and not so eager to get me out the door.

By the time Diesel and I reached home, I had settled on two likely candidates: Lucinda Long and Jasper Singletary. I didn’t have to think twice about the mayor—Miss Eulalie probably taught her in high school. I couldn’t be completely sure about Jasper, but if I went by her tone of voice when she told me about how the Ducote sisters helped him get through college, she had warm feelings for him. I sensed tacit approval of him in her manner.

What should I do about it? I wondered as I released the cat from his harness and leash. Diesel loped off toward the utility room. I wandered into the kitchen and sat at the table, lost in thought.

I could give Miss Eulalie a call tomorrow afternoon to ask whether she had found her copy of the memoir. I hoped that she wouldn’t put herself in danger by confronting the person who removed the book from her house. Should I call her and warn her?

I mulled that decision over for the next quarter hour. Diesel returned and stretched out on the floor beside my chair while I pondered the situation.

Was I making too much of this? Surely Miss Eulalie wouldn’t be in danger. I was letting my imagination go into warp drive.

Then again, if the person who took Miss Eulalie’s copy of the memoir was the same person who ran over Marie Steverton, then Miss Eulalie could well be in harm’s way.

Finally I decided that I couldn’t risk anything happening to that little old lady. I looked up her number again and punched it into the phone.

The phone rang seven times, and I was about to hang up and call Kanesha when Miss Eulalie answered.

“Thank goodness,” I said. “This is Charlie again. I hope you’re not going to think I’m crazy, but I’m worried about your safety because of that missing book. Miss Eulalie, did you really misplace it, or did someone take it from your house?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. Then Miss Eulalie laughed. “Charlie, my goodness, you are one for getting excited about the oddest things. I was about to call you to let you know I remember what happened to my copy of the memoir. I put it in the Long collection several years ago, and I forgot all about it.” She laughed again, but I thought it sounded a bit forced—definitely not the fairy-like tinkle I remembered from our earlier conversation.

“I’m glad to hear it’s safe,” I said. “I hope your headache is better.”

“My headache? Oh, yes, it’s much better. Thank you for being so kind as to ask. Now I really mustn’t keep you any longer. Good night.”

I barely had time to bid her good night in return before she hung up.

I put the receiver back on the hook and returned to my seat at the table. I had the oddest feeling that Miss Eulalie had lied to me. The first thing I’d do tomorrow at the archive would be to delve through the Long collection to find that memoir. I would also check the accession records. If Miss Eulalie had indeed donated her copy, there should be a note about it. I knew from my experience with her recordkeeping that she had been meticulous during her tenure.

If she lied to me, then why had she done so? Was she protecting someone? Mayor Long? Jasper Singletary? Or someone else, someone I hadn’t considered?

Now I had a headache. As curious as I was about the contents of the diary pages I scanned today, I would leave them for tomorrow. A good night’s sleep might bring clarity, clarity that I needed.

I knew Helen Louise would not be calling me tonight. She was catering a private dinner party and probably wouldn’t be home until at least eleven. She would be too exhausted to talk.

“Come on, boy,” I said to the cat at my feet. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

* * *

I heard my cell phone ring the next morning right when I stepped out of the shower. I dried myself enough that I wouldn’t drip water everywhere and hurried into the bedroom to answer the call. I caught it in time.

In response to my greeting, the caller said, “Good morning, Mr. Harris. Jasper Singletary. I’d like to talk to you in private as soon as possible. Are you available this morning?”

“I’d very much like to talk to you, too, Mr. Singletary,” I said. I thought he sounded tense. “I’m available this morning. When and where would you like to meet?”

“How about your office at eight forty-five?”

I glanced at the clock. I had time for a quick breakfast before I would need to head to the archive. “That will be fine.”

He rang off.

While I dressed I thought about the coming interview. Kelly Grimes had no doubt given him an earful about my recent conversation with her. I hoped he wouldn’t be hostile, but I certainly didn’t expect him to be overly friendly. Nothing like a good confrontation to start the day, I thought morosely.

Azalea had my breakfast on the table when Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. Cheese grits, bacon, and toast this morning. I loved her buttery cheese grits, but I groaned inwardly at the thought of all the calories.