Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“Thanks.” She raised her mug, with its heavy dollop of cream and three sugars, and sipped several times. “Ah, that is better. I’m beginning to feel warm again.” She set the mug down.

“I’m really sorry about Carrie Taylor,” I said. “I didn’t know her all that well, but she seemed like a sweet, decent person.”

Melba nodded. “She was about ten years ahead of us in high school, so there was no reason you would have known her, I guess. I only got to know her myself about fifteen years ago, but she was probably my best friend.” For a moment she appeared as if the tears would start up again, but she drew a deep breath to steady herself. “She’d never in a million years hurt anyone, and I can’t imagine why someone would kill her. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know, it never does,” I said. “I guess Kanesha Berry has already talked to you?”

Melba shook her head. “No, I haven’t heard a word from her. It was Carrie’s neighbor, Thelma Crocker, who called. She’s a busybody like you wouldn’t believe, but at least she’s taking care of Carrie’s poor little dog.” She paused. “I guess I’ll take him. Thelma isn’t that good with animals.”

I was surprised that Kanesha hadn’t talked to Melba yet, but since I wasn’t privy to the details of the investigation, I had no idea what Kanesha was doing. She wouldn’t be happy that I talked to Melba before she did, but that couldn’t be helped. I certainly wasn’t going to turn my back on one of my oldest friends just to make the chief deputy happy. “I’m sure Carrie would be glad to know her dog will have a good home.”

“That’s the least I can do.” Melba shrugged and drank more of her coffee. “What I’d really like to do is get ahold of the bastard that killed her and beat the crap out of him with a baseball bat. But I know Kanesha won’t let me.”

That sounded like the feisty Melba I knew. “No, I don’t imagine she would.” I decided she was calm enough now for me to ask a few questions. “When you called, you told me you knew it was her involvement in the exhibit at the library that got her killed. What did you mean by that?” I thought she could be right, but I wondered what she might know.

“It had to have something to do with the exhibit.” Melba sounded convinced. “There was nothing else unusual going on in her life these days. As soon as the library put that notice on their website about Electra what’s-her-name, Carrie was beside herself, like a kid about to get the best birthday present ever.”

“She didn’t have any enemies that you’re aware of?” That sounded like a question Kanesha would ask. “From another aspect of her life?”

“No, she sure didn’t. She was one of those Golden Rule kind of people. She treated everyone like she wanted to be treated. She was always nice to everybody.”

Carrie Taylor hadn’t been particularly nice to Winston Eagleton, as I recalled. She also had a penchant for gossip, at least from what I had seen. Since Melba was herself an inveterate gossip, I wondered how to approach the subject tactfully.

Melba saved me the trouble. “Now, Carrie was curious about people. She did like to know what was going on in their lives.” She cut a shrewd glance at me. “Guess that’s one reason we got along so well. But there wasn’t anything malicious about it. You know me, Charlie, I talk about people, but I don’t go around spreading dirt just for the heck of it.”

That much was true. Melba liked to talk, but in general she didn’t bad-mouth people—unless they deserved it, in her estimation. Then she could be merciless.

“I understand,” I said. “But a person who didn’t know Carrie well might not look at it quite the same way. Might not be happy if he or she thought Carrie knew something they didn’t want anyone else to know. Do you see what I mean?”

Melba didn’t answer straightaway. Instead she got up and poured herself more coffee. Diesel padded after her, evidently determined to keep an eye on her in case she needed more comfort. Melba leaned against the counter and regarded me over the rim of her mug as she sipped. Diesel sat at her feet and looked up at her.

“Yeah, I do see what you mean. But it’s hard to imagine that she knew something worth killing her over.” Melba shrugged. “I certainly don’t know anything.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Night before last,” Melba said. “Usually we talked for at least a few minutes every night, but last night my allergies were driving me crazy. I took one of my heavy-duty pills, and it zonked me out by eight o’clock. I usually sleep for nine or ten hours when I take one.” She shook her head. “And then I feel groggy for half the day afterward.”

“So if she called you last night, you wouldn’t have heard the phone ring?”

Melba’s eyes widened. “Oh, my Lord, I hadn’t thought about that. No, I wouldn’t have heard.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her robe. “Where the heck is my cell phone?”

The search of her pockets yielded nothing except the sodden handkerchief. Melba gazed around the kitchen, but the cell phone didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight.

“Did you use it to call me this morning?” I asked. I hadn’t paid attention to the number. She could have used her landline.

“No, I didn’t. Carrie’s neighbor doesn’t have my cell number. I called you right after I hung up with her.” Melba ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it back. “I must have left it in my purse when I got home yesterday. I’ll go check.”

She disappeared down the hall, and Diesel followed her, a faithful shadow. I realized I was thirsty, so while I waited, I found a glass and filled it with water from the tap. I had just set the glass in the sink when Melba returned, cell phone in hand, manipulating it as she walked. Diesel was right beside her.

“Still in my purse, and my purse was in the living room. No wonder I didn’t hear anything.” She looked up at me. “Carrie did call me, around nine forty-five, and there’s a voice mail message.” She sat at the table and motioned for me to do the same. She punched a few buttons, then turned on the speaker before setting the phone on the table between us.

Carrie Taylor spoke clearly in the silence. “Hey, Melba, just me. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing. I know your allergies are playing up something awful. I’ll bet you took one of your pills and you’re sound asleep by now.” She paused for about three seconds. “It’s a shame because I really do need to talk to you. So much has been going on the past few days. I would’ve tried to call earlier tonight, but I actually had people over. First time in ages anybody besides you and Thelma have been in here. Oh, now hush, Zippy.” There was the sound of a barking dog in the background. “There must be somebody at the front door, otherwise he wouldn’t carry on so. I’ll just go see who it is.”

There was another pause, of perhaps six or seven seconds, then she spoke again. “There is somebody at the door, but I can’t imagine who it could be at this time of night. Hang on a second while I check who it is.” Another pause, only a couple of seconds this time. “Now what on earth does he want? Hush, Zippy, it’s okay. Listen, honey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Better get this over with so I can get to bed. ’Bye.”

The call ended, and Melba and I stared at each other. I was sure we shared the same thought, and it was an utterly chilling one.

Had we just heard Carrie Taylor say “’Bye” before she opened the door to admit her killer?

SIXTEEN

While Melba and I stared at the phone, the voice mail program directed Melba to punch various numbers, depending on what she wanted to do with the messages. Though her hands shook, Melba picked up the phone and made a selection—to save the message, I presumed. She set the phone back on the table. We both stared at it.