Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“Dearest, you must not force your poor head to remember. It will all come back to you in time.” Lucy again patted Veronica’s hand, then offered her more water to drink, which she accepted gratefully. Her throat still felt quite parched.

“What happened after Artie found me in my car?” Veronica asked, still anxious about her roadster.

“He brought you home immediately, of course,” Lucy said. “As soon as you were safely in your bed and the doctor called to attend you, he went back with one of his chums to retrieve your roadster. It is in its accustomed place in the garage, never fear.”

“Dear Artie,” Veronica said, her eyes gleaming with the faint sheen of tears. Really, she did have the most devoted and worthy friends.

“Artie was desperately worried about you,” Lucy said. “As indeed we all were, for we could not wake you. Dr. Rhodes tried several remedies, but you remained asleep.” She paused, her expression pensive.

“How very peculiar,” Veronica said. “In general I do sleep rather soundly, but I am not hard to awaken.”

“It was very strange,” Lucy agreed. She hesitated before she continued, “Dr. Rhodes concluded that somehow you must have been drugged.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

I was about to turn the page to the next chapter—and find out Veronica’s reaction to the news that she had been drugged—when my cell phone rang.

To my surprise, the caller wasn’t Kanesha Berry. Instead the call was coming from the Farrington House.

The moment I said “Hello,” Winston Eagleton launched into speech. He sounded distraught.

“I do beg your pardon for calling you on such a matter, Mr. Harris, particularly after the events of this evening when I am sure you must be rather tired and wanting to rest.” He paused for a breath but continued his rapid speech before I could interject a word. “However, I find myself in a most difficult situation, and while one hesitates to presume on the kindness of someone who is nearly a stranger, yet one sometimes has to do these things.”

“Do what things?” I felt slightly dazed. I was struggling to hone in on whatever point he was dancing around. His obvious distress apparently only increased his volubility.

“In the situation in which I currently find myself, I desperately need the services of a competent lawyer. I was told by a most reliable source that your son is a lawyer, and while I realize it is the height of presumption on my part, I wondered whether you would ask him to represent me.”

“Yes, my son, Sean, is a lawyer, and a very good one,” I said. “I am sure he would be happy to help you, but exactly what situation are you in?”

“Oh, dear, I am not explaining things at all well, am I?” Eagleton sighed into the phone. “This is the inevitable result when I am overset by events. The situation is this. The police, in the form of a Kanesha Berry, who I gather is with your sheriff’s department, rather than the police department, intends to take me in for questioning. I am hesitant to go with her without the knowledge that I will have adequate legal representation”—and his voice dropped to a whisper—“because one has certainly heard that terrible things can happen to one if one is incarcerated, even briefly.”

Good grief, I thought, what on earth had happened now? Was Kanesha going to arrest Eagleton for the murder of Carrie Taylor?

“I will get in touch with my son and have him meet you at the sheriff’s office. In the meantime, I know he would caution you not to answer any questions until he has had a chance to talk to you and find out exactly what is going on.” I was burning with curiosity to know exactly what was going on myself but I didn’t feel like I should ask. Better to talk to Sean and let him sort things out. Kanesha’s patience was probably worn out by now. I could imagine the effect that Eagleton would have on her.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris. I shall not forget your kindness in my hour of need, I can assure you. Oh, dear, the policewoman is looking at me rather fiercely now, so I suppose I must end this call and wait for my legal representation to sort this out. But pray do not believe what you will hear, for I am not a thief.” The phone clicked in my ear.

Thief? What had Eagleton allegedly stolen? Carrie Taylor’s copy of Spellwood Mansion ? That was the only thing I could come up with that was pertinent to the case.

Diesel nudged my hand, his signal that more attention should be paid, and I rubbed his head with that hand while I speed-dialed Sean with the other.

“Hey, Dad,” he said when he answered. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

I assured him I was fine before I told him that he had a new client. I explained who Winston Eagleton was and related what I knew of the circumstances—precious little, actually. “It must have something to do with Carrie Taylor’s murder, though,” I concluded.

“I’ll get down there right away,” Sean said. “Alex and I were watching a movie, but it can wait. I’ll see what I can do for the man.”

“Thanks, Son,” I said. “I’ll just warn you that he tends to use seven words when one will do, particularly when he’s excited. So be prepared.”

Sean chuckled. “Got you. Talk to you later.”

I put the phone down, confident that Sean would advise Eagleton well. If only I could go with Sean, I thought. I burned with curiosity over what happened. Who accused Eagleton of theft? If I knew that, I might have some idea of what it was he was supposed to have stolen.

If he was indeed in financial straits, as I suspected, he might well have stolen a valuable item in hopes of selling or pawning it. Or maybe he couldn’t pay his hotel bill, and the Farrington House management sent for the police.

Would they really do that, though? I wondered.

I was giving myself a headache from the fruitless speculation. I went into the bathroom, found the aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and downed a couple with water.

Too restless to read, I put my book away. Perhaps I should try to relax and get some sleep. I doubted Kanesha would call me tonight when she was busy dealing with Winston Eagleton. Diesel had dozed off again, and I stretched out beside him and switched off the light.

Though my mind buzzed for a while over the happenings of the past couple of days, I eventually relaxed and felt myself slipping into sleep.

When I awoke later, I thought at first morning had come, but the bedside clock informed me it was a few minutes shy of midnight. I turned the light on and sat up. Diesel was gone, and I felt suddenly alert. And hungry.

Time for a midnight snack, I decided. I slipped on my house shoes and headed downstairs in search of nibbles. I could see from the stairs that the light was on in the kitchen, and as I came closer, I heard my children’s voices in conversation.

Laura broke off talking when she spotted me. “Hi, Dad. What are you doing up this late?” Diesel lay on the floor beside her chair. He raised his head briefly to acknowledge my presence but didn’t vocalize.

Sean turned to greet me. “We didn’t wake you up, did we? I didn’t think we were that loud.”

I laughed. “No, you didn’t wake me.” I padded over to the fridge. “I guess my stomach did. I feel like a snack. Maybe another ham sandwich.”

Sean shook his head at me. “Sorry, Dad, but we polished off the ham about ten minutes ago.”

“I think there’s still some of the pimento cheese, though,” Laura said. She knew how fond I was of it, particularly Azalea’s homemade variety.

“That will do.” I found the plastic container, retrieved a knife and crackers, and joined my children at the table. Diesel abandoned Laura and came to sit hopefully by my chair. He was destined to be disappointed, though, because cats shouldn’t have cheese.