Миранда Джеймс: Arsenic And Old Books

My other boarder, Stewart Delacorte, showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. He had become a part of the family. Not exactly a son—perhaps like the younger brother I never had. His new relationship with the taciturn Deputy Bates appeared to be a happy one, though I didn’t often see them together. Stewart had said nothing so far about their sharing a home, and I suspected that was because Bates was reluctant to be open about his sexuality. That was none of my business, of course, but I hoped the two of them would be happy with each other, even if they didn’t live in the same house.

Thinking of all these relationships reminded me I hadn’t spoken to Helen Louise Brady, my significant other. That term felt awkward, but so did the word girlfriend . I was over fifty, and the thought of having a girlfriend at my age seemed a bit juvenile. Still, I loved Helen Louise with all my heart, and she loved me. We hadn’t talked of marriage yet, but it was on the horizon. Sean and Laura both adored her, and somehow I knew my late wife, Jackie, would approve. She, Helen Louise, and I had grown up together here in Athena, and we had all been good friends from childhood.

I realized I was standing and staring blankly into the freezer, cold air flowing out around my head. I focused on the stacked casserole dishes on one side. I knew the oldest would be on top—Azalea had her system—so I simply pulled that one out and set it on the counter to defrost a bit.

Diesel reared on his hind legs and batted a paw at the casserole dish. When I told him not to do it, he glared at me for a moment before he stalked away, tail in the air. I didn’t know whether he could detect the presence of chicken in the frozen dish, but he was always interested in what I ate. I really never should have started letting him have tidbits of human food, but it was too late to stop now.

The ringing of the doorbell startled me. I checked my watch. Who would be calling at five thirty? I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I peered out the peephole, and when I saw who stood waiting I briefly contemplated ignoring the doorbell, which was ringing again. Manners prevailed, however, and I opened the door.

“Good evening, Marie,” I said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Like finding a rattlesnake on the doorstep, that is .

Marie Steverton was a professor in the history department at the college, and her specialty was women’s history. She used her feminist beliefs as a bludgeon, and she had won few adherents with her rude tactics. I believed firmly in equality for women, but I thought Marie did more harm than good on campus.

Marie rolled her eyes as she stepped past me—uninvited—into the front hall. Typical behavior for her, and not unexpected. I shut the door behind her.

“What can I do for you, Marie?” I asked.

“For starters, you can keep that hairy behemoth away from me.” Marie waved at Diesel, who had backed away the moment he recognized her. He didn’t like Marie—but then, few creatures, two- or four-legged, ever did, I suspected.

“Diesel won’t bother you, as I have told you before.” I crossed my arms over my chest and repeated my question as I regarded her.

Marie stared up at me. “I want access to the Rachel Long diaries. Exclusive access, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

THREE

Marie’s request was so outrageous I laughed before I could stop myself. I knew she hated being laughed at, but I couldn’t help it.

Her face reddened. “How dare you cackle at me like that. I will report you to the president of the college for your completely unprofessional and disgusting behavior.”

“Go ahead and do that. I won’t stop you.” I glared at her. “Your request is ridiculous. I can’t grant anyone exclusive access to materials in the college archives. You should know better than that.”

“You could if you really wanted to.” Marie scowled. “You’re just like all the rest of the good ole boys at the college. You can’t stand the thought of a woman achieving anything significant. With those diaries I could firmly establish my reputation.”

In a way I felt sorry for her, because I knew she was desperate to get tenure. Time was running out for her because she had been an assistant professor at Athena for six years, after similar appointments at three other colleges. A significant monograph would bolster her application, but she was her own worst enemy. From what I had heard she had the same combative attitude with her students, and her evaluations evidenced it. She had no understanding of the words tact and diplomacy . Her peer in the English department was the exact opposite, one of the most highly regarded women on campus and one of the most popular teachers. She had to turn away students every semester; otherwise her classes would be too large for the college’s guidelines on student-teacher ratios. Marie never had that problem. Her courses, other than the obligatory surveys, usually had the bare minimum.

“No, I could not, even if I wanted to. Only the Long family could grant access like that. You’ll have to talk to Mayor Long, but I doubt she would allow it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Marie sounded triumphant. “Mayor Long will do what I want, and I’ll have the pleasure of making you eat crow.” She pushed past me, jerked open the door, and left it open as she scurried down the sidewalk as fast as her stubby legs could carry her.

I closed the door and resisted the urge to utter a number of uncomplimentary—albeit well-deserved—words about my departed guest.

Diesel warbled and then commenced muttering. I had to grin. He had no such reservations about cursing Marie as only a cat could do.

“I agree with everything you’re saying,” I told the cat as the muttering ceased. “She is the rudest, most high-handed person I’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

I headed back to the kitchen to put the casserole in the oven to heat up. Diesel preceded me, no doubt hopeful that tidbits of chicken would be forthcoming.

“Not for a while yet, boy,” I told him as I adjusted the oven temperature. Diesel turned and walked out of the kitchen, muttering as he went.

I followed and climbed the stairs to my second-floor bedroom. Time to change out of work clothes into lounging-around duds—sweatpants, T-shirt, and bare feet. While I changed I recalled Marie Steverton’s odd remark about the mayor as she stomped her way down the sidewalk.

How could she be so certain Mayor Long would grant her request so quickly? What kind of influence could a non-tenured junior professor wield? The idea sounded nuts to me. Based on my own conversation with Mrs. Long earlier today, I doubted she and her family would want access to the diaries restricted to one person. That would be counterproductive, I thought. My take on the situation was that the Longs wanted everyone to know about the diaries for their own obscure reasons.

I padded back down the stairs. Diesel stayed on my bed. He hadn’t had a nap in nearly forty minutes, so he was overdue. I knew he would be downstairs right after I pulled the casserole out of the oven.

I couldn’t get Marie’s threat—weak as it seemed—out of my mind. What kind of connection could she have to the mayor? She had moved to Athena only six years ago. If there was any kind of dirt, though, I knew the person to ask—my old friend and coworker, Melba.

Melba Gilley and I, along with my late wife, Jackie, grew up in Athena together, and since my return home several years ago, Melba and I had reestablished our friendship. She was executive assistant to the college library director, and I saw her at least three days a week since we worked in the same building. Melba knew practically everyone in town, and if there was anything to connect Mrs. Long and Marie Steverton, she would know—or find out as quickly as possible.