Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

Sean raised his mug. “We made decaf if you want some of that.”

“In a minute maybe,” I said as I spread pimento cheese on a cracker. “What were you two plotting when I came in?” Diesel batted at my arm with one of his large paws, and I frowned at him and shook my head. He knew what that meant.

Laura grinned. “No plotting, I swear. Sean was telling me about his new client. He sounds like a real trip.”

“Were you discussing Eagleton’s case with her?” I frowned at Sean.

“Don’t worry.” Sean gave me one of his surely-you-know-better looks. “I haven’t violated the attorney-client privilege.”

“He was only telling me about Mr. Eagleton and how eccentric he is.” Laura stood and carried her mug to the dishwasher. “Nothing inappropriate.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Guess I was too hungry to think before I spoke.”

Sean grinned. “No offense taken, Dad. I do have Eagleton’s permission to talk to you about it, though.”

I paused, about to stick another cheese-laden cracker in my mouth. “Really? Why?”

My children exchanged a look, one that I interpreted easily, having seen it countless times, particularly in their teenage years. It meant, How’s Dad going to take this?

Sean kept a straight face as he answered me, though I knew it was an effort. “Mr. Eagleton somehow heard about your previous experiences in sleuthing, and he wants you to help me clear his name. He’s convinced you’re Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot rolled into one.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “And before you say anything, he didn’t hear it from me.”

“Or me,” Laura said with a broad smile. “Especially as I haven’t met the man. I’m off to bed, and I’ll leave Holmes and Watson to it.” She dropped a kiss on my cheek and walked out of the kitchen. Diesel, apparently having decided that no treat was forthcoming, scampered after her.

I finished my cracker before I spoke. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering the situations I’ve been involved with.” I grimaced. “I hope no one ever says anything like that in front of Kanesha, or I’m liable to get my head lopped off.”

“We certainly wouldn’t want that to happen.” Sean kept his expression solemn. “At least until you’ve made out your will.”

“Very funny.” I got up to fix myself a cup of decaf. “I’ve already made out my will, and I’ve left everything to Diesel, just so you know.” I smiled sweetly as I sat down again.

Sean rolled his eyes at me. “Back to Mr. Eagleton. He really does want your help. He told me you had already been of considerable assistance to him in a matter of some delicacy.”

I knew he was quoting the man. “Yes, I suppose I had been.” I told Sean about taking care of a drunken Gordon Betts.

“Too bad you got stuck with that,” Sean said. “Now, about my client. He’s being held in the county jail.”

“On what charge?” I sipped my coffee. “Surely not for murder, or you wouldn’t be so casual about this.”

“No, not murder. There’s no evidence of that.” Sean leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand across his face. Now that I took a good look, I could see how tired he was. “The charge is theft.”

When Sean paused and didn’t continue right away, I tried to keep my impatience out of my voice. “What on earth did he allegedly steal?”

“Five unpublished manuscripts belonging to Electra Barnes Cartwright.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

“The Veronica Thane manuscripts?” I hadn’t even considered them. So much had happened since I first heard about them that I had nearly forgotten they existed.

“Yeah, and Eagleton swears he didn’t take them.” Sean shrugged. “But they were found in his suite at the Farrington House.”

I wondered who had found them, but I had another question I wanted answered first. “Who reported them missing?” I decided I’d had enough pimento cheese and got up to put the food away.

“Eugene Marter, the grandson, called the sheriff’s department to report the theft.”

I had put my odd encounter with Eugene out of my mind, along with the manuscripts. Now, I realized, I needed to tell Sean what Eugene had told me. “I have more questions about the theft, but first there’s something you should know.” I gave Sean a summary of the meeting when I resumed my seat at the table. My son’s eyes narrowed when I related the alleged threat Eagleton had made against Mrs. Cartwright.

“Did you believe Marter?” Sean asked.

“Hard to say. Carrie Taylor told me he was shiftless, couldn’t keep a job, but of course I have no idea if that’s true.” I thought back to the encounter, replayed a bit of it in my head. “He was rather odd. Talked like Hollywood’s idea of a Mississippi redneck, when both his mother and his grandmother speak like educated women. He told me he’d had run-ins with the police.”

“Maybe not a completely trustworthy character then.” Sean looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to discuss this with my client. Kanesha didn’t mention any threats when she questioned him, so I presume that Marter never talked to anyone else about it.”

“Frankly I thought he probably wouldn’t,” I said. “He didn’t seem that eager to have contact with the authorities.”

“Other than calling them to report a theft.”

“That reminds me of one of the questions I wanted to ask. Who found the manuscripts in Eagleton’s suite?”

“Kanesha.” Sean leaned back in his chair. “Evidently Marter wouldn’t talk to anyone else when he called in to report the theft. He said Eagleton must have taken the manuscripts during a visit to Mrs. Cartwright earlier in the day.”

I nodded. I remembered that Eagleton had referred to a visit tonight.

Sean continued, “They weren’t able to settle on terms because, according to my client, Mrs. Cartwright and Mrs. Marter were asking for much too large an advance.”

Given what I suspected about the man’s financial situation, I figured much too large might be a relatively modest sum—although they did seem really greedy. I told Sean my suspicions. “You might well be whistling in the wind for your fee if I’m right.”

Sean sighed. “My first pro bono case then. That’s another topic I’ll have to discuss with Mr. Eagleton. If he really is desperate for money, that could have spurred him to steal the manuscripts.”

“Did Eagleton tell you how much they wanted?”

“Fifteen thousand per manuscript. I don’t know enough about publishing to decide whether that’s an unrealistic figure or under market value. What do you think?”

I considered it for a moment, but I had to confess to Sean I wasn’t sure, either. “The Veronica Thane books have been out of print for thirty years, and Eagleton has been the only one that I know of to show any interest in reprinting them. I don’t know that any big publishing houses would pay that much. I suspect they wouldn’t.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Sean said. “I almost forgot. Eagleton mentioned that he expected to be negotiating with Mrs. Cartwright’s agent. She was supposed to be there but she never showed up.”

“Mrs. Cartwright mentioned that tonight at the hotel.” I frowned. “That’s really odd. Teresa talked to someone in Ms. Thigpen’s office the other day and was informed that she was already en route to Athena. She was flying into Memphis and would pick up a rental car to drive down. I wonder what happened to her.”

Sean’s expression turned grim. “I don’t like the sound of that.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s call Kanesha and report this. The agent may have gotten lost trying to find the Marters’ house or decided to do a little sight-seeing, but if she didn’t . . .”