Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“No, he said more than that.” Marter scowled. “He said, ‘Miz Cartwright don’t want me mad at her.’ In fact, he musta said that two or three times.”

I had to admit, those words did sound like a threat. A vague one, but still a threat. I said as much to Marter.

“It don’t sound that vague to me.” Marter’s tone was heated. “That little bastard means to do my grandma harm if she don’t do what he wants.”

Surely the man realized he was talking to the wrong guy. “If you’re really worried that Eagleton might do something violent, you should go to the police. I don’t see what I can do about it.”

Diesel didn’t like the tension he could sense. He scrunched up against my legs again and meowed plaintively. I kept petting him, hoping he would relax and not be so worried.

Marter’s glance shifted sideways, then back again. “Well, it’s kinda like this.” He paused. “Me and the police don’t get along too good. I kinda had a little trouble with ’em now and again, and I don’t figger they’d take too kindly to me coming and bothering ’em. I got what you might call a ‘credibility gap’ when it comes to the law.” He glanced away again.

Now I could see what he was getting at, coming to me instead of going to the authorities. He must have thought I had a good working relationship with the police since I was some kind of detective. I suppressed a deep sigh as I put those thoughts into words. “So you figured if I talked to the police, they would pay more attention?”

Marter nodded, suddenly willing to face me again. “Yeah, that’s it. Can you do it and keep me out of it?”

“I could mention it to Chief Deputy Berry—she’s with the sheriff’s department—but there’s one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t the one who heard Eagleton threaten your grandmother.” I paused. “Even if I went to the deputy with your story, she’d still have to talk to you to confirm it. She wouldn’t accept it on my word alone.”

“Couldn’t you just say you heard him say that somewhere?” Marter gave me a weak grin.

I shook my head. “No, I can’t. I’m not going to lie to the police.”

“That ain’t much help.” Marter looked disgruntled. “Done wasted my time talking to you.” He stood.

“Sorry, but I still think you should talk to the police yourself. Call the sheriff’s department and ask for Chief Deputy Berry. Tell her your story, and you can tell her I said to call her.” That was the best I could do under the circumstances.

Marter sighed. “Well, I reckon I’ll think about it.” He bobbed his head in my direction before he turned and strode off.

He was barely out the door before Helen Louise walked up behind me and startled me by putting her hands on my shoulders. She chuckled. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to make you jump like that.” She kissed my cheek before taking the seat vacated by Marter.

Diesel immediately sidled up to her and started chirping. No doubt he was explaining how he was at the point of utter starvation and that only tidbits of chicken, straight from her hands to his mouth, would save him.

Helen Louise started to rise—headed for the kitchen and the chicken, I was sure—but I forestalled her. “He’s already had his chicken treat this morning, thanks to Melba Gilley.”

Helen Louise pursed her lips and glared, first at me, then at the cat. “ Sacrebleu! Fickle, the both of you. Here I am, slaving away, making treats just for you, and then you go and take up with that woman.” She tossed her head. “I never in my life knew two such faithless males.”

Then she spoiled the effect by giggling. Diesel warbled at her. He probably thought she was serious, but he looked relieved when she laughed. I grinned at her. She had a silly side that I found appealing.

“How is Melba, by the way? I haven’t seen her in weeks.” Helen Louise rubbed Diesel’s head, and he rewarded her with his rumbling purr.

“Not so good.” I informed her of Carrie Taylor’s murder, and she was duly shocked. “She and Melba were really close, and Melba’s taking it hard.”

“What on earth could Carrie Taylor have done that would make somebody want to kill her?” Helen Louise shook her head. “If she was that close to Melba, she obviously liked to gossip like I like French wines. Otherwise, she was about as inoffensive a woman as I’ve ever met.”

I had a lot to tell Helen Louise to bring her up to date, and I made it as concise and quick as I could. Activity inside the bakery had slowed; otherwise it wouldn’t have been possible to claim her attention for more than a few minutes. Helen Louise didn’t interrupt, and by the time I’d finished, I had the beginnings of a headache. I realized it was lunchtime, and I was hungry.

“So that was Mrs. Cartwright’s grandson.” Helen Louise looked thoughtful. “Do you think he’s right to be worried about potential violence against her? It sounds far-fetched to me.”

“Before Carrie Taylor was murdered, I would have agreed with you.” My head began to ache in earnest now. I rubbed my right temple. “After having met these groupies of Mrs. Cartwright’s, though, I’m not so sure Eugene isn’t right. They all seem slightly deranged to me.”

“Poor baby, you look like your head’s really bothering you. Need some aspirin?” Helen Louise patted my knee, her concern obvious.

I managed a weak grin. “Food and caffeine would do the trick, I think.”

She laughed. “And you say Diesel’s the con artist in the family. Hang on, love, I’ll be back in a flash with treats for both my guys.” She got up and headed for the kitchen.

Diesel chirped because he heard the word treats . He had figured that one out early on.

“Yes, I guess you can have a bit more,” I told him. “But only a bit.”

The cat stared at me for a moment, then held up a paw and licked it. We’ll see about that . I could almost hear him saying the words.

Helen Louise appeared with a small tray of food and drink. More water and some chicken for Diesel, an iced Diet Coke and a small quiche for me.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said. “The quiche looks wonderful. What kind is it?”

“Spinach, onion, and Gruyère cheese. No bacon or sausage, I’m afraid.” She grinned.

“Sounds heavenly.” I cut into it with my knife and fork while Helen Louise doled out chicken. The flavor of the first mouthful made me happy, and I chewed with enthusiasm. Helen Louise watched and then relaxed when I smiled broadly. “Très délicieux . ” My accent was execrable, no doubt, but I knew she appreciated my effort. She wanted to take me to Paris one day, and I had no argument with the plan, but I was determined to learn a bit of French before we went.

She fed Diesel the last of the chicken and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Her assistant, Debbie, called her then, and she shrugged an apology. “Later,” she promised as she went back to work.

Diesel grumbled because there were no more treats forthcoming. He stared hopefully at me, but I couldn’t let him have anything with onions and cheese in it. Onions in particular were not good for felines. “Sorry, boy, this is not Diesel-appropriate. You’ve had more than enough goodies for today.”

When he realized I wasn’t going to give in and let him have a bite, he stretched out under the table, his head facing away from me. He could sulk all he wanted but he wasn’t getting anything more to eat.

I finished my quiche, savoring every bite, and polished off the Diet Coke as well. My headache disappeared, and I felt much better. Activity in the bakery had picked up again, and I figured Helen Louise would be too busy for a while to chat any further. I managed to catch her eye and wave good-bye. She smiled and waved back. I didn’t try to pay for my lunch. I had won a minor skirmish over the bottled water, and I decided not to press my luck.