Arsenic and Old Books Page 7

  From the shelves behind the main counter Jordan retrieved a stack of five paperback books, each of them the latest entry in series I enjoyed.

  “They showed up just this morning,” Jordan said. “I was going to call you earlier but I got busy.”

  “Guess I must have sensed somehow that I needed to stop by.” I smiled to show my appreciation. “I’ll take them all.”

  While Jordan was ringing up my purchases, I decided to do a little fishing. “You certainly have a wide range of customers. Right before you came back to say hello, I thought I spotted one of the writers from the paper and one of our political hopefuls chatting together.”

  Jordan frowned. “Really? Which ones? I haven’t seen Ray Appleby in a couple of weeks. He usually takes time to talk when he comes in.”

  “Not Ray Appleby. A young woman named Kelly Grimes. I thought I saw her talking to Jasper Singletary.”

  “I don’t know her. I think I’ve seen her name in the paper, though,” Jordan said. “I went to school with Jasper.” She paused. “In fact, we dated in high school, but he was a little too intense for me. Too driven.”

  “Is that so?” I said, realizing how inane a remark it was even as it left my lips.

  Jordan didn’t appear to notice. “I heard he had a girlfriend, but I don’t know what her name is. The friend who told me didn’t know, either, only that Jasper was finally involved with someone.” She giggled. “Frankly, we were all starting to think he was gay, because nobody ever saw him with anyone but all those guys who seem to follow him around everywhere.”

  “He seems to be working pretty hard to get himself elected,” I said as I handed over my credit card. “If he’s still as driven as he was in high school, then I’d say he probably doesn’t have much time for a personal life.”

  “True.” Jordan swiped the card in her machine and then handed it back to me. I signed the receipt, and she bagged up the books. “He was always pretty single-minded. Wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—get in the way of his goals.” She giggled again. “Evidently I wasn’t one of his goals, though back then I sure wanted to be. He’s a hunk and a half.”

  “If you say so,” I murmured. Jordan had the reputation of going through men like some women go through shoes, but I didn’t know whether there was any truth to the stories I’d heard. Melba had never said a word against her, and I took that as a sign that the rumors were simply that: rumors.

  Jordan frowned suddenly. “Kelly Grimes, you said?”

  I nodded.

  “I heard that name somewhere recently,” she said slowly. “In the paper, like I said, but I heard someone talking about her not that long ago.” She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “This is going to bug me until I remember.”

  “I know. It’s irritating when you’re trying to dredge something up.” I thought my fishing expedition might reel in a bit of information after all. I hoped she could recall what it was she’d heard.

  Diesel meowed loudly to remind me that he was there and in desperate need of attention. Jordan laughed as I scratched the cat’s head.

  “I’ve got it,” she said suddenly. “I know where I heard her name.” She glanced around us, perhaps to see whether anyone else was in earshot. Evidently satisfied we couldn’t be overheard, she leaned toward me.

  “It was the other day at the Chamber of Commerce breakfast,” she said. “I overheard the mayor’s secretary gossiping about her to one of the other business owners. That Grimes girl is stalking him like a cat in heat looking for a tom.” She shrugged. “That was it. I never did hear who the him is.”

  ELEVEN

  I could have satisfied her curiosity on that point, I thought. Then I realized I couldn’t be sure.

  At first I would have assumed the mayor’s secretary was talking about Beck Long, given that Kelly Grimes told me they were secretly engaged. When I considered what happened at the bakery a little while ago and here in the bookstore only a few minutes ago, however, I had to reexamine the situation.

  Jasper Singletary and Kelly Grimes had more than a passing acquaintance with each other. That much was obvious. I recalled Helen Louise’s remark about the CIA and the silliness of what we observed. Perhaps espionage wasn’t so far off the mark after all.

  I had only Kelly Grimes’s word for it that she was engaged to Beck Long. Had she insisted on utter secrecy because the whole thing was fabricated? I was beginning to realize that could well be the case. The conversation I overheard between Ms. Grimes and Singletary told me the two had to know each other intimately—and were involved in some kind of plot together.

  Moreover, the plot centered around the Rachel Long diaries. Kelly Grimes’s remark about trying to get access had to refer to them. Singletary wanted her to find evidence of something in them, something his grandmother had allegedly told him about.

  All too vague, I thought.

  “Charlie, did you hear me?” Jordan poked my arm with a light touch.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Woolgathering, as usual. Did I hear you about what?”

  Jordan shook her head. “Professors are supposed to be the absentminded ones, not librarians. Did you hear what I told you about the mayor’s secretary and what she said?”

  “I did.” I nodded. “It’s all very curious, isn’t it? I’d love to know who the man is.”

  “Me, too.” Jordan laughed. “Why don’t you ask your friend Miss Melba? She always seems to know everybody’s business.”

  “I might just do that,” I said.

  “If you find out, let me know. I’m beginning to think it could be this Kelly Grimes. Like I told you, one of my friends says Jasper has a new girlfriend. Could be her.”

  “You might be right,” I said. I knew one thing for sure. The next time I saw Ms. Kelly Grimes, I was going to sit her down and grill her for all she was worth. I didn’t like being lied to, and I would tell her so.

  “Are you sure I can’t give him just one little T-R-E-A-T?” Jordan pointed to Diesel, now lolling on his back, his head to one side, in his most winsome pose.

  I sighed. “Okay. One, and only one. Then we have to get going. I’ve got a big project to work on.”

  Jordan grinned as she reached beneath the counter for a bag of Diesel’s favorite treats. The minute he heard the crinkling of the plastic, he was on his feet. He put his front paws on the edge of the counter and watched her closely. She picked one morsel out and gave it to him. He grabbed it and dropped to the floor. A moment later he stood on his hind legs again. Clearly he expected another one.

  “No,” I said. “No more.”

  Jordan put the bag away and then waved her hands to indicate they were empty. Diesel meowed before he dropped to all fours and turned to sit with his back to us. Jordan and I shared a laugh.

  “See you later,” I said as I strolled toward the door. Diesel meowed in a mournful tone as Jordan bade us good-bye.

  We walked back to the car. I cranked it to get the air conditioner going before I settled Diesel in the backseat. I decided to go to the college and park rather than go home and walk back. I was eager to resume work on the diaries.

  I parked in the small lot between the old antebellum home that housed the archive and the more modern structure that was the actual college library. Diesel and I went in the back way. When we reached the front hallway and the stairs, I saw Melba enter the front door.

  “You just getting back, too?” she said. “I had a nice lunch at the faculty club.” She shot me an arch smile. “Want to guess who I ate with?”

  There really was no telling, I thought. Melba had friends all over campus. “You have way too many beaus around here for me to single out only one.”

  “Can’t help it if I’m popular.” She motioned for Diesel and me to follow her into her office. “Come on in a minute. I have got to tell you about lunch.”

  I
suppressed a sigh. I really wanted to get to work on the diaries, but I knew Melba would follow me right up the stairs if I didn’t listen to her now.

  The cat and I walked into her office. I didn’t sit, however, and I hoped she would understand that meant I had things to do.

  Melba looked pointedly at the empty chair beside her desk, then at me. She cocked her head to one side and stared hard at me.

  I gave in and sat down. Diesel stretched out on the floor between us, his head right by Melba’s chair. She reached down to pet him, as he intended her to.

  “Okay, who was your lunch companion?” I asked. I could take the silence only so long.

  Melba grinned. “Dr. Newkirk. I happened to run into him on my way out to lunch, and we ended up eating at the faculty club. I was his guest.” She preened a little.

  “Let me try to guess what you talked about over lunch,” I said in a mock-puzzled tone. “I don’t have a clue. You’ll have to enlighten me.”

  “If I had something heavy enough, I’d throw it at you right now and knock that silly smile off your face.” There was no rancor in Melba’s tone. “You know dang well I talked to him about Marie Steverton and those diaries she’s got the hots for.”

  “Did you tell him about the scene between Marie and the writer this morning?”

  Melba continued to scratch the cat’s head as she replied. “I thought about it. That witch deserves trouble on account of the way she behaves, but I decided not to. Instead I asked him about your diaries and why they might be important.”

  “What did he have to say on that subject?” I asked.

  “He talked a lot about daily life back in the old days around the Civil War and how bad things were here while the war was going on.” Melba paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “I’m sure glad I wasn’t around then. Women had it pretty rough while the men were off fighting the war.”

  “Yes, they did,” I said. “Everyone in the South went through a lot of privation and violence during the war. It was a nasty business for everyone concerned. War always is.”

  I was not one of those Southerners who had a romanticized view of the War Between the States, the Late Unpleasantness, or the War of Northern Aggression. Nearly three hundred thousand Southern men and boys died in the war—in battle, from disease, or as prisoners of war. Close to another two hundred thousand were wounded in action. Many came home permanently maimed, missing limbs or otherwise horribly scarred both physically and mentally. There was nothing romantic about it.

  “I know.” Melba shuddered. “I remember my great-granny talking about how her daddy came back from the war with one leg shot off and part of an arm. She lived to be almost a hundred, and I still remember what she told me, even though I was an itty-bitty girl at the time. She had a picture of him, and it scared me, he looked so terrible.”

  Diesel warbled, evidently sensing her momentary distress. Melba rubbed his head, and I could see her relax as she did.

  “It sure made a powerful impression on you,” I said. “Did you and Dr. Newkirk talk about anything else?”

  “We talked about Marie. I didn’t bring her up, though. He did, talking about the diaries. He sure doesn’t think much of her,” Melba said. “In fact, she got hired here over his objections. He said she’s intelligent enough, but that her work is limited by her prejudices.” She frowned. “I think that’s the way he put it.”

  Dr. Newkirk’s reaction to Marie Steverton’s feminist rhetoric didn’t surprise me. He was definitely of the old school, the one that looked on women in academia with intense suspicion.

  “Was that all?” I said.

  Melba’s expression turned grave. “No, he let on to something he really shouldn’t have told me, and I’m not sure he realized he had. He was knocking back the wine pretty good over lunch.” She paused. “He confirmed what I told you the other day. Said Marie won’t get tenure unless she comes up with a real knockout book. Her last hope is these diaries.”

  I had pretty much figured that already. I felt sorry for Marie. Life for non-tenured faculty could be rough. Lower salaries, moving from job to job trying to find the one where tenure might actually be possible. Desperation, however, did not excuse the way Marie behaved.

  “I hope for her sake the diaries prove to be worth all the effort she’s going to put into studying them.” I rose. “And speaking of the diaries, I really have to get to work on them. Diesel, do you want to stay with Melba for a while?”

  The cat looked at me and warbled, and I took that for a yes. “I’m assuming that’s okay with you,” I said.

  “Of course. We’ll be up later to check on you.”

  I left the two of them happily in each other’s company and trudged up the stairs. When I reached the office door, I inserted my key in the lock. Then I realized it was already unlocked.

  That was odd. I always locked the door when I left the office, even for a few minutes. I could have forgotten it today—it did happen occasionally—but I was pretty sure I remembered locking it when Diesel and I left for lunch.

  I turned on the lights and walked over to my desk.

  My heart hit the bottoms of my shoes and kept on going.

  The Rachel Long diaries were gone.

  TWELVE

  I called myself all kinds of idiot while I waited for the college police to respond to my call. How could I have been so stupid? Leaving the door unlocked, as I must have done, was inexcusable, and thanks to my forgetfulness, someone had been able to walk in and take the diaries.

  After a cursory examination I thought nothing else was missing, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I could do a more thorough search. I didn’t want to touch anything until after the police finished investigating.

  At least I could give the police a short list of suspects: Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes. I thought about adding Jasper Singletary’s name, based on what I’d overheard earlier, but I realized that was only hearsay. Both the professor and the writer had made determined efforts to get their hands on the diaries, and I was willing to bet one of them had walked into the office and out again with the four volumes.

  But why? What was the urgency?

  I couldn’t figure out what could be so important about those diaries that a person had to have access to them today rather than wait just a few days more.

  Perhaps I was looking at this from the wrong way round. What if the thief already knew what was in the diaries and didn’t want something in them made public?

  The whole thing didn’t make much sense to me. Those diaries recorded events that happened a century and a half ago. I understood, like any reasonably intelligent person, that the past did affect the present. But in this case I was stumped. Until I could read those diaries for myself, I wouldn’t be able to figure this out.

  I didn’t want to consider the possibility that the thief took the diaries in order to destroy them, but I couldn’t ignore it. They could already have been destroyed, consigned to a fire, or hacked apart and shredded.

  That made me feel sick to my stomach.

  “Mr. Harris? You called and reported a theft?”

  The deep, authoritative voice brought me out of my self-absorption. I turned to see the college’s chief of police in the doorway.

  “Yes, I did, Chief. Thanks for responding so quickly,” I said.

  Martin Ford, a grizzled veteran Marine Corps retiree, had been at the helm of the campus police for about six months, I recalled. He had a distinguished record in the Corps, based on what I’d read about him. This was only the third time I’d met him, but I’d found him businesslike and professional in our previous encounters.

  “Tell me again what’s missing. Something connected with the Long family, I believe.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I think I mentioned that to the dispatcher. Sorry, but I’m still a bit in shock.” I paused for a deep, steadying breath. “Right.
Yesterday the mayor brought four volumes of a diary written by one of her husband’s ancestors, Rachel Afton Long. She donated them to the archive to add to the Long family’s already extensive collection. I was in the process of preparing them for use by the public. I hadn’t made much progress, and now they’ve disappeared.”

  “When was the last time you saw them?” Chief Ford’s laser-like gaze made me feel like a bug pinned to a board.

  “Right before I left for lunch. I was pretty sure I locked the door behind me—I am usually very careful about that—but the door wasn’t locked when I returned from lunch a few minutes ago and found the diaries gone.”

  “How long were you out of the office?”

  I checked my watch for the current time. “Close to two hours.”

  “Plenty of time for the thief to come in here and walk out with the diaries.” The chief nodded. “They had to risk being seen, but I guess y’all don’t get a lot of people in the building most days.”

  “No, but Melba Gilley, the library director’s executive assistant, has a pretty good view of the door. She usually sees who comes in and out. But I met her coming back from lunch when I got back, so she was probably out of the building, too, for an hour or so.”

  “I’ll check with her on that shortly,” the chief said. “I want to have a look at the lock first.”

  “Sure.” I watched as he pulled a small flashlight off his belt and crouched by the door. My nerves tautened while I waited, wondering whether he would find any signs that the lock had been picked or forced. I wouldn’t feel so stupid if the thief had broken in, instead of waltzing in through a door I forgot to lock.

  Chief Ford grunted as he stood and put away his flashlight. “That lock should have been replaced twenty years ago.” He shook his head. “Way too easy to pick or force. Looks to me like it was picked recently. Maybe you’re off the hook for leaving it unlocked.”

  “I’m glad of that,” I said, “though it disturbs the heck out of me that someone could pick the lock so easily. I’ll talk to the library director right away about installing a new lock. They put in a new one on the door to the storage area about four years ago. I don’t know why they didn’t upgrade this one at the same time.”