Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“Yes?”

“It’s about Winston Eagleton. The publisher? I think I told you about him this morning.”

She fairly barked out her response. “What about him?”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“Not yet. He’s on my list. Why do you ask?” She looked suspicious.

“He’s apparently been trying to get in touch with me to ask me to a dinner party he’s planning for tonight.” I shrugged. “At some point I’ll have to talk to him, but once he knows about Mrs. Taylor, he may reconsider his plans. I didn’t want to give anything away by talking to him before you did.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll track him down soon. He’s staying at the Farrington House. Give me at least an hour before you get in touch with him, all right?”

“Sure thing.”

Kanesha raised a hand in farewell before she trudged down the walk toward her car. After she drove away, I went back in the house. She had better get some rest soon. She looked about done in.

Melba was feeding Diesel what looked like chicken. The cat scarfed it down happily. Melba grinned at me. “Don’t you ever feed this poor boy?”

“Con artist,” I said to the cat. He ignored me. Then I addressed Melba. “Does he look like he’s starving?” I had to grin back.

“Not exactly.” Melba dropped the last piece of meat and went to wash her hands at the sink. I was wondering how to broach the subject of her potential danger when she addressed the issue herself.

“If you’re worried about me staying here on my own, Charlie, don’t be,” she said, her expression calm but determined. “I’ll blow the jerk’s head off if he tries to get in here. I’m going over to see Thelma Crockett right now and take Zippy off her hands. He’s a loudmouthed little cuss, and he’ll raise a ruckus if anybody tries to break in here. So don’t you worry about me.”

I went over and gave her a hug. “The main thing is, I want you to be safe. And if at any time you don’t feel safe here, you pack a bag, put Zippy in the car, and come on over. We have plenty of room in the madhouse for you and the dog. You know that.”

She hugged me back briefly, then pushed me away. “You’re a good man, and a good friend. If I need to, I’ll come. But that jerk isn’t going to run me out of my own house. You can bet on that.”

Diesel meowed as if he agreed, and Melba and I laughed. “Come on, boy, let’s get going.” I pecked Melba on the cheek, Diesel warbled at her, and the cat and I headed for the front door.

Once we were in the car, I decided we might as well go visit Helen Louise at the bakery. I informed the cat of our destination, and he meowed in approval from the backseat.

“No more chicken for you, though,” I said, glancing into the mirror. He started muttering. “You’ve had enough this morning, thanks to Melba.” He moved over to the passenger-side window and gazed out, ignoring me.

I had a quiet chuckle as we headed for the town square. After I found a parking spot, I called Diesel into the front seat with me so I could put on the spare harness and leash I kept in the car. I wasn’t worried about his darting out into traffic, because he was far too smart for that. If people saw him walking around loose in town, there were bound to be complaints, however. So into the harness he went.

The bell on the door chimed as we walked in. Both the cat and I sniffed happily at the wonderful aromas that suffused the air in the bakery. I thought longingly of the marvelous gâteau au chocolat that was one of my sweetheart’s specialties. She never failed to have it on offer, and I knew there was always an extra one hidden away in case I dropped by unexpectedly. I needed to watch my calories, though, and I would do my best to resist the temptation to indulge.

Midmorning Saturday was generally a busy time at the bakery. Customers dropped by to pick up special treats for the weekend, and Helen Louise and her assistant, Debbie, filled a seemingly constant stream of orders from behind the counter. Helen Louise stood at the cash register when we entered. She glanced briefly at the door, and when she recognized us, she smiled.

I waved and smiled back, and Diesel started chirping, although I doubted Helen Louise could hear him over the chatter in the bakery. A few heads turned, and several people nodded in greeting as Diesel and I made our way to our usual table in the corner near the register. On occasion, a customer made the mistake of objecting to the cat’s presence in the bakery, but Helen Louise quickly apprised that person of his or her error in judgment. By now the regulars were so accustomed to seeing me and my big kitty that they probably thought nothing of it.

There was a line of five people at the register, so it would be a few minutes before Helen Louise could get away to talk. If many more people joined the queue at the register, I would get in line myself. But for now Diesel and I got comfortable, I in my chair and he at my feet, and waited.

The line was down to one person when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and glanced at the number. Not one I recognized, and there was no name on the caller ID. I debated whether to answer it, but then remembered it could be Winston Eagleton. “Hello, this is Charlie Harris.”

A high tenor voice with a heavy drawl I didn’t recognize replied. “Hi, there, Mr. Harris. This here is Eugene Marter. We ain’t met yet, but I was kinda hoping to remedy that situation this morning. I’m running errands in town here and wondered if you got a few minutes to talk about Grandma and her big do at the liberry.”

EIGHTEEN

For a moment I was too taken aback by the identity of the caller to say anything. Then I realized he was waiting for an answer. “Good morning, Mr. Marter. I’d be happy to talk with you. Right now I’m at the French bakery on the square. Do you know the place?”

He assured me he did and would be along in a few minutes. I told him to look for me at the corner table by the register, then ended the call.

I was certainly curious to meet Mrs. Cartwright’s grandson. He had been mentioned several times but thus far hadn’t appeared. I wondered why he wanted to talk to me instead of, say, Teresa.

Then another question hit me. How did he get my cell number? I couldn’t remember giving it to his mother or his grandmother. I would have to find a tactful way to ask.

In the meantime I decided to get something to drink, so I ambled over to the refrigerated counter near the register and chose a bottle of still water. Diesel remained by the table while I got in line to pay.

The last person ahead of me in the queue dithered for a moment, scrambling through an oversized purse in search of her wallet. When she found it, she couldn’t decide whether to use her credit card or write a check. People like this—male or female—drove me nuts. The rest of her life must have been a sad trial if she couldn’t cope any better than this with what seemed like such an innocuous decision.

At last she left—she used her credit card, by the way—and I stepped up to the register.

“ Bonjour, mon amour ,” Helen Louise said with a wide smile. “I’d give you a big kiss if there weren’t people in line behind you.”

“Hello, sweetheart.” I mimed a kiss, and her smile grew even wider. “Maybe things will slow down in a few minutes, and we’ll have a chance to talk.” I handed her money for the water, and she tried to wave it away. I insisted, and she finally took it.

“As soon as I can,” she promised. She pulled a bowl from beneath the counter and handed it across to me. She kept one nearby for Diesel in case he was thirsty.

I resumed my seat at the table with what Laura would call my “goofy” smile in place. Helen Louise had that effect on me. It had taken me a while to realize the truth—and the depth—of my feelings for my dear friend, but now that I had, well, I occasionally felt like a gangly adolescent with his first crush. I poured water in the bowl and set it on the floor. Diesel sniffed at it, then started lapping it up. When he finished he curled up by my chair and closed his eyes.