Miranda James - Murder Past Due

“Right here in this drawer,” Melba said promptly. She pulled the drawer open. “I keep them in this tray.”

I leaned forward to look, and Melba hissed in annoyance. “If that don’t beat all. Someone got in my desk and took those keys.”

“Do you lock your desk at night?”

“I sure do.” Melba’s tone dared me to argue with her.

“What about during the day, if you leave your desk for a few minutes? Or for lunch, say?”

“When I go to lunch, I lock it,” Melba said. “But if I’m just going to run to the bathroom or to the lounge for coffee, I don’t usually take the time.”

“What about the keys to get into your office after hours? Could someone do that?” I was trying to think of all the possibilities.

Melba nodded. “All the department heads have a key to this office, in case of emergency. So one of them could have got into my office last night, I guess.”

“That’s one possibility,” I said. “But it’s also possible the intruder saw you were away from your desk, found the keys, and took them. The other question is, who would know you had the keys and where they were?”

Melba thought about that for a moment. “People are always dropping by to chat,” she said slowly. “This drawer gets opened a lot, because it’s where I keep aspirin and antacids and stuff like that. People come by all the time asking for things because they know I keep them on hand.”

“Then anyone could have seen the keys in the drawer,” I said. “But how would they know what they’re for?”

“Because I had a tag attached to them that said ‘Archive, ’” Melba said, sighing. “Labeled on both sides, of course.”

“You always lock your desk at night?” I wanted to be sure.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“And the lock hasn’t been tampered with?”

“No, it hasn’t, or I would have noticed this morning.” Melba was getting a bit testy with this drawn-out interrogation.

“Sorry, just trying to get the facts straight.” I smiled, and she relaxed. “Various people have access to this office after hours, but your desk is kept locked. That rules out someone coming in after hours to get the keys.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Melba said.

Diesel, apparently annoyed by the lack of attention, reached out and prodded Melba’s arm with his paw. She smiled as she rubbed his head.

“Therefore the intruder must have swiped the keys while you were away from your desk late yesterday afternoon.

“The boxes weren’t in there until around two, and at that point very few people even knew they were there.” I frowned. “Either the intruder saw the boxes being moved over here from the loading dock at Hawksworth and asked Rick and his guys about them, or else it was probably the eavesdropper. Remember?”

Melba shivered. “That was creepy.”

“There could be some other explanation, but that’s all I can think of at the moment.”

“You need to tell Peter about this,” Melba said.

“I know. I think we also need to get the locks changed right away. You think he’ll go for that?” With Peter, one never knew.

“I don’t see why not,” Melba said. “He’s due at a meeting at nine-thirty, but he should have time to talk to you now. He got here a few minutes before you and Diesel.” She buzzed his office.

When Peter answered, Melba told him I needed to talk to him about something urgent. She listened for a moment. “Go on in,” she said, hanging up the phone. “I’ll keep an eye on Diesel.”

“Thanks,” I said. I got up, a bit reluctantly. I did not relish repeating all this to Peter, because he could be amazingly obsessive sometimes about the tiniest details. I might be in for an extended inquisition.

I opened the door and stepped into Peter’s office. “Good morning, Peter,” I said.

Peter looked up from his desk. “Good morning, Charles. I am most pleased to see you. There is something I feel I should discuss with you. I value your judgment, and I know you will offer sage advice.”

He seemed to have forgotten that I wanted to talk to him, but I knew there was no point in trying to divert his attention.

Suppressing a sigh, I sat down. “Tell me about it, and I’ll do my best.”

Peter stared at me, as if suddenly mute. As I watched him, beginning to grow concerned, his face reddened. Was he having some kind of attack?

“Peter, what’s the matter? Do you need a doctor?” I rose from my chair, ready to yell for Melba.

He waved a hand, indicating that I should sit down. “There is no need,” he said, his voice low. “I am simply embarrassed by what I have to tell you in order to solicit your counsel.”

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed,” I said. “I won’t betray your confidence, I assure you.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. “I know you are a man of honor.” He sighed. “And that is the crux of the matter. I fear that I have acted in a dishonorable manner.”

“How so?” I did my best to maintain a patient tone, but Peter could be maddeningly slow getting to the point.

“I refer to the matter of the phone call which we discussed yesterday,” Peter said.

“You mean the call from Godfrey? About his feeling too ill to attend the dinner in his honor?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Peter drew a deep breath. “I lied to you, Charles. There was no phone call.”

TWENTY-ONE

“No phone call?” I stared at Peter in disbelief. “Were you playing some kind of joke on Godfrey?”

“Would that were all it was,” Peter said, his face reflecting his pompous tone. “The message from Godfrey Priest was real enough. The method of delivery was quite different, I regret to say.”

Peter’s conversational style was giving me a headache. I yearned to grab him and shake him a few times, maybe knock loose some of the extra words so he would get to the point sooner.

“Then tell me how and when you talked to Godfrey.” That came out far calmer than I expected.

Peter grimaced. “I yielded to a base impulse. I have just cause to despise the man, though perhaps you are unaware of said cause.” He paused for a moment.

I didn’t want to tell him I already knew about his wife, in case he asked me for the source of my information. Melba wouldn’t thank me for snitching on her.

When I failed to respond, Peter continued. “Before I came to Athena College to assume the position as director of the library, I lived for many years in California. In Los Angeles, to be exact. I was also married then, and my former wife had personal ambitions centered upon writing for the cinema.”

I decided to speed things up a bit. “And somehow she must have met Godfrey and hoped to use his connections to break into screenwriting.”

“Yes, that is more or less what happened,” Peter said with a pained look. “Not content, however, simply to approach that detestable man for assistance and befriend him, my former spouse decided the only way to achieve her goal was to marry the man. After divorcing me first, naturally.”

“I see. One couldn’t blame you for not liking Godfrey,” I said, “though your ex-wife certainly bears a lot of the blame.”

“Oh, most definitely, the balance of the opprobrium lies with her,” Peter said. “But one cannot exculpate Priest. He encouraged her and, after all, he did marry her once our divorce was final.” He snickered. “The marriage lasted little more than two years, I believe.”

Time to steer the conversation back onto the right track. “We’ve established your reasons for despising Godfrey,” I said. “Now what about your talking to him and getting the message that he was too ill to attend the dinner?”

“Ah yes,” Peter said with a frown. “As I have mentioned already, I yielded to impulse and decided to confront the man. Having no wish to make an ass of myself in front of anyone else, I decided that the best place for such an affray was his hotel. There, one assumed, one could be assured of some privacy.”