Miranda James - Murder Past Due

To distract myself from spinning mental wheels to no effect, I turned to my computer to check my e-mail. Diesel, seeming to sense my inner turmoil, kept rubbing against my legs and purring. I scratched his head and, as always, that made me feel better. Seeing his pleasure from the attention was an effective calming agent.

After a couple of minutes of scratching, Diesel pulled his head away and climbed into his window seat. Still purring he settled down for a siesta while I tried to focus on work.

As I read through my e-mail, I heard Kanesha return, but I didn’t look up from my task. Some minutes later I was aware that she entered my office, and I swiveled in my chair to face her.

“Here are your keys,” she said as she placed them on my desk. “I’ve put an official seal on the room, but I’ll be sending someone here within the hour to remove those boxes to the sheriff’s department. If you will have a receipt ready, I’d appreciate it.”

I glanced at her face. Her expression had lost some of the rigidity it had earlier, and I relaxed a bit myself. Maybe she wasn’t going to bless me out after all.

“I’ll be glad to do that,” I said.

“Fine.” She glared at me a moment. “I realize that you had good intentions, Mr. Harris, and generally we appreciate cooperation from the public. But you stepped too far over the line. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I regret not notifying you right away about Godfrey’s papers. I can only hope this won’t cause serious problems for your investigation.”

She listened, but when I finished, she simply nodded and walked out.

After that I tried to focus on my e-mail, but it was no use. I was still too unsettled by what had transpired between Kanesha and me. I glanced at my watch. It was almost four-thirty. Might as well get out of here.

“Come on, boy, time to go,” I told Diesel as I shut down my computer.

Yawning, he sat up and stretched. He stood patiently, as always, for me to put him in his harness, and a few minutes later we were ready to go. The afternoon was cool but sunny when we left the building. During the brief walk home, I thought about what I might do this evening.

A quiet night at home would be just the thing. That’s what I told myself, but a little niggling voice kept insisting that there was something else I could do.

Teresa Farmer, the librarian I mentioned to Kanesha Berry, was usually at the public library until six on Friday evenings. I had time to go over there and have a quiet chat with her and find out what she might know about local writers’ groups.

This would mean treading on Kanesha’s toes again, but I knew I could trust Teresa’s discretion. If I told her why I was asking, she would not talk about it to anyone until the deputy asked for her assistance.

When you want something, you can generally come up with the reasoning to justify it, I have discovered over the years. Even when you know you shouldn’t.

At home all was quiet. I let Diesel have time to use the litter box and eat something before heading to the public library in the car. I contemplated leaving him home, but if I walked through the front door of the library without him, I would have to look at any number of disappointed faces. Diesel was very popular there.

I pulled into the parking lot at the library a few minutes after five. Diesel walked ahead of me, pulling a bit on the leash, eager to go inside. He enjoyed the public library because of the attention he always received.

The first few minutes inside we spent accepting greetings from some of the children who were there, not to mention the adults on the library staff. Teresa was not at the reference desk, and I was afraid for a moment that she wasn’t at work today.

But a few minutes later she appeared from the office area behind the reference desk, alerted no doubt by the increase in noise. A petite dynamo a few years my senior, Teresa smiled broadly when she discovered the reason for the noise.

As soon as I could I extracted Diesel from his cadre of young admirers and led him behind the reference desk where Teresa waited. She had three cats of her own, and she was as fond of Diesel as anyone here.

“Charlie, what are you doing here? This is an unexpected pleasure,” Teresa said. “And Diesel, how are you?” She squatted in front of the cat in order to give him some attention, rubbing his head affectionately.

Diesel purred and warbled while I explained.

“I came to see you,” I said. “I need your help with something.”

Teresa stood. “Sure, come on back to my office.”

Diesel and I followed her. Teresa was the head of reference for the library as well as the assistant director. She also supervised the library’s few volunteers, and I had worked closely with her for almost three years now.

She sat down behind her desk and motioned for me to take a seat across from her. I did so and unhooked Diesel’s leash from his harness. He padded around the desk and climbed up into Teresa’s lap. When he sat up his head was actually a bit higher than hers, and I had to smile at the sight.

“What can I do for you, Charlie?” Teresa said as she rubbed Diesel under the chin.

“It has to do with Godfrey Priest,” I said.

Startled, Teresa looked at me. “That’s odd,” she said.

“How so?”

“I had a call just a few minutes ago from Detective Berry,” she said. “She’s coming in tomorrow morning to talk to me about something to do with Godfrey. She didn’t say what, exactly, just that she needed some information and someone had suggested me to her. Was that you?”

Kanesha had acted more quickly than I expected. At least she had accepted my suggestion, I thought.

“Yes, it was,” I said. “I’m being really naughty in coming to talk to you before she does, but I’m letting my curiosity get the better of me, I’m afraid.”

Teresa laughed. “I promise not to rat on you. What is it you and Deputy Berry want to know?”

“Information on local writers’ groups,” I said. “If there are any, I figured you’d be bound to know.”

“Thanks,” Teresa said. “We do try to keep track of any community activities to be prepared for the inevitable questions.”

“I know,” I said, grinning. “I’ll never forget the time I got a call from a woman—this was in Houston—who was looking for information on an organization for cats.” I had to laugh, just thinking about it.

“What’s so funny about that?” Teresa asked.

“She had heard about a group that knitted socks for cats, she said, and she wanted to join them,” I said. I chuckled again.

Teresa joined in my laughter. “I can’t imagine one of my cats allowing me to put socks on her or him. They’d have a fit.”

“I thought it was pretty funny,” I said. “But of course I couldn’t tell her that. So I found her the name of a contact person for a local cat fanciers’ group. I never heard whether she found what she was looking for.”

“At least you gave her something,” Teresa said, still smiling. “Now, about writers’ groups. Yes, I can think of several. There’s one group that’s been meeting here at the library for about twenty years. They’re all poets, though, and somehow I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for. Not if it has something to do with Godfrey Priest.”

“Right,” I said. “I want to know if there was a group he was ever a part of, or maybe whether he spoke to local groups when he came back to Athena.”

“And you can’t tell me exactly why you want this information?”

“No, I can’t,” I said with regret. “You don’t mind, I hope.”

“I can live with it,” Teresa said wryly. “Okay. Godfrey Priest and writers’ groups.” She frowned as she thought. By now Diesel had settled down in her lap, his head against her chest as he purred in deep contentment. Teresa stroked his head gently.