Arsenic and Old Books (11 page)

I could have slapped my own face. Why hadn't I thought about talking to Miss Eulalie before now?

“You're right,” I said. “She's an excellent source, and I should have considered it.”

“You're welcome,” Melba said. “Why don't you call her right now? You could probably go and see her tonight. She told me she's a real night owl.”

I glanced at the clock. Nearly seven, so there was plenty of time for a visit with the retired archivist as long as she was willing. “Another good idea. Is she listed in the phone book?”

“I'd imagine so,” Melba said. “I'll get off the phone now. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” She hung up.

The phone book lived in a drawer in the kitchen. “I'll be back in a few,” I told Diesel. He raised his head and yawned. He stretched before he settled down to nap again.

Although the phone book served the entire county, it was still slender. I flipped it open and looked for Miss Eulalie's number. Sure enough, it was listed. With one finger to mark the number, I picked up the receiver of the wall phone and punched in the digits.

Miss Eulalie answered on the third ring. “Good evening, Charlie. I had a feeling you might call.” She chuckled, a light, tinkling sound.

Caller ID, of course. She wasn't psychic as far as I knew. “Good evening, Miss Eulalie. Yes, I was just on the phone with Melba Gilley, and she encouraged me to get in touch with you.”

“Melba is a dear girl, but she does love to talk. I was afraid my lettuce would be completely wilted before I managed to get into my car and drive home.” Again I heard that fairy-like laugh. “I was excited to hear, though, about those diaries. What a treasure trove they could be.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I'm not sure how long they'll be down at the state crime lab, but once they're back I'll be sure to let you know.”

“I'd appreciate it. I do so miss working with primary sources like that.” Her wistful tone touched me. I wasn't privy to the decision that resulted in her retirement, but I did feel occasionally that I had somehow usurped her.

Her tone turned brisk. “I imagine, from what Melba said, you're interested in the Long family's history. I probably know as much or more about it than they do themselves, and I'd be happy to share some information with you. I have an idea or two about why there is such interest in the diaries.”

“I sure would appreciate it, Miss Eulalie,” I said. “When would be a convenient time for you?”

“How about now?” she said. “My dance card is hardly full these days, and you can satisfy your curiosity sooner rather than later.”

I laughed. “Yes, ma'am, I certainly am curious. I'd love to come over this evening. Would it be all right if I bring my cat with me? He's not used to being left alone, but if you have any problems with it, I'll understand.”

“Not a problem,” she said warmly. “I love cats, and I've heard a lot about that giant feline of yours.”

She gave me her address, and I realized she lived only a few blocks to the north of me in the same neighborhood. “We'll be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes.”

I went back to the den and told Diesel we were going on a visit. He perked up and meowed. For a cat who spent much of his day sleeping, he did like getting out of the house.

I ran upstairs to change, and when I came back down I found him waiting by the front door. Once he was in his harness and leash, we set off on our walk to Miss Eulalie's house.

Now that the sun was going down, the temperature cooled a bit, and the walk was nearly pleasant. We strolled at a casual pace, because I didn't want to arrive sweaty and hot. I found Miss Eulalie's place easily, and as we headed up the walk to her front porch, I admired her beautiful yard. Orderly beds of shrubs and flowers, neatly mowed grass, and tall oak and pecan trees combined to make it a showpiece.

Miss Eulalie opened the door just as I was taking my finger off the doorbell. “Charlie, I'm so glad to see you. Oh, my, he is a big kitty. Y'all come on in.” She stepped aside to let us enter. “This is turning out to be my day for company.”

“You're looking well, Miss Eulalie,” I said. She was a sparrow of a woman, short of stature, slight of figure, but with a personality ten times her size. Her white hair sat in a tight chignon at the back of her head, and her deep green cotton dress set off her pale complexion nicely.

“My goodness, kitty, I bet if you stood on your hind legs you'd be almost as tall as me.” Miss Eulalie laughed. “His name is Diesel, I believe?”

“Yes, ma'am.” I had to agree. Diesel looked even bigger next to her diminutive frame. “Don't let him knock you over.” The cat rubbed against her, and he was strong enough that I worried he could make her fall.

“Nonsense,” she said, her hand on the cat's head. “Let's go into the parlor and have a chat.” She led the way, Diesel by her side, and I brought up the rear.

Her parlor reminded me a lot of the one at Riverhill, the antebellum mansion that belonged to the Ducote sisters, Miss An'gel and Miss Dickce. From what I could see, the furniture dated from the same era as theirs, right down to the Aubusson carpet on the hardwood floor. A portrait of a floridly handsome gentleman in evening dress—perhaps Miss Eulalie's father—had pride of place over the mantel. Framed photographs occupied most of the flat surfaces in the room.

Miss Eulalie motioned for me to take a seat in a club chair while she chose a sofa. “I see you've noticed all my pictures,” she said. “Family and former students and their families.”

I recalled that she taught history at the high school for twenty years before she decided to become a librarian and archivist. Even though I entered high school about a decade after she left teaching, I heard any number of stories about her and how tough but wonderful she was. From what I heard, I often wished she had been my teacher.

I told her that, and she beamed at me as she continued to stroke the cat's head. Diesel sat on the floor beside her, and I was glad he hadn't tried to climb on the sofa with her. The deep ruby velvet of the upholstery would show the cat hair starkly.

“I have iced tea and cookies.” Miss Eulalie indicated a tray near her on a side table. “Please have some.”

“Thank you,” I said. After the walk, the cold drink was welcome. I went over and picked up a glass and stared down at the plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. I had a weakness for them, and they looked homemade.

“I made them this morning,” my hostess said. “Please, have as many as you like.”

“Thank you.” I gave in to temptation and placed three on a small serving plate. I took my food and drink, along with a linen napkin, back to my chair.

“Now, I didn't ask Melba for any details about this fuss over those diaries,” Miss Eulalie said with a grin, “because I wanted to get home from the grocery store the same day I went.”

I laughed. “I know what you mean. I think the whole business is strange, frankly. When the mayor brought them to me, she said she thought they might be helpful with her son's state senate campaign. Then I found out that Jasper Singletary was interested in them, too, for much the same reason. Now, I can just about see the point with the Longs, but how could it affect Jasper Singletary?”

Miss Eulalie looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. “There's been bad blood between the Longs and the Singletarys for decades,” she finally said. “Even I don't know the details, but I gather it dates from the nineteenth century.”

“That's a long time to hold a grudge.” I munched on the second cookie. They were so delicious I could easily devour the whole batch. I told myself firmly that three was more than enough. My eyes kept focusing on the plateful, however.

“Yes, it is. Ridiculous, if you ask me. Now, have more cookies if you like.” She glanced at the lone cookie on my plate. “The Longs have always been wealthy, of course, and as far back as I know of, the Singletarys have been just the opposite. Small farmers who have to struggle every year and who somehow never seem to get ahead.” She sighed. “That kind of disparity rankles, I suppose, and that's what has nurtured the feud all these years.”

“If the Singletarys hate the Longs because the Longs are rich, do they also hate people like Miss An'gel and Miss Dickce Ducote?”

“Not that I'm aware of,” Miss Eulalie replied. “They have reason to be grateful to An'gel and Dickce anyway.” She noticed my look of inquiry. “They gave Jasper the scholarship that put him through Athena College.”

That sounded like the sisters. They did so many good things in Athena, it was hard to keep track. They performed their charitable works as quietly as possible because they never sought the limelight. I said as much to my hostess, and she agreed with a smile. I realized then she was a contemporary of the Ducotes and had probably known them all her life.

“I guess it's possible the diaries might reveal the source of the bad blood between the two families,” I said. “Maybe it's so scandalous that one side thinks the other might be embarrassed badly if it came to light.”

“Thereby affecting the state senate race.” Miss Eulalie frowned. “Sounds outlandish, doesn't it? But roots and memories run deep here, and if it's terrible enough, it could have an effect.”

“Terrible enough to kill for?” I asked, thinking of poor Marie Steverton.

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Where family pride is involved, especially in the South, never underestimate the lengths someone will go to protect their name.”

“I can't wait to work on the diaries,” I said. I got up to help myself to two more oatmeal raisin cookies. I told the little voice in my head to shut up about the calories. “In the meantime, the mayor found a fifth volume. I scanned it today, and I'll read through it to see what it might be able to tell us.”

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Yes, I heard about that. I also have something that might shed light on this. Did you know that Rachel Long's grandson's wife wrote a memoir of the old lady?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “The library at the college had a copy, but it's apparently been lost.”

“How aggravating,” Miss Eulalie said as she rose from the sofa. “I happen to have a copy, though, and if you'd like to borrow it, you're perfectly welcome. I read it many years ago.”

“Thank you. I would like to,” I said.

My hostess nodded. “Sit there and enjoy your cookies. It's in my study. I'll fetch it.”

Diesel had been remarkably well behaved so far, but the moment Miss Eulalie left the room he came over to me and begged for a bite of my cookie.

“Sorry, boy,” I said. “The raisins are bad for you. No cookie for you.”

He meowed and stared at me, so I repeated what I told him. He turned and went back to his spot next to the sofa, tail high in the air.

Miss Eulalie returned then, empty-handed. Her expression was blank. “I'm sorry, Charlie; you must forgive me. I seem to have misplaced the memoir.” With her right hand she fidgeted with a broach pinned to her bosom.

“That's too bad,” I said. Something didn't seem quite right with her. She appeared flustered.

“I'll keep looking for it,” she said. “I apologize, but I'm coming down with one of my bad headaches.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Eulalie. I hope you feel better soon. Diesel and I will get out of your hair. Thanks for the delicious cookies and the information.”

“Thank you for your visit,” my hostess said. She remained silent while she escorted the cat and me to the front door. I turned on the verandah to bid her good night, but she had already shut the door.

That was a rude thing to do, and Miss Eulalie would never be rude—unless she was powerfully worried about something.

In this case, the missing memoir. I didn't think it was a coincidence.

I didn't believe for a minute that Miss Eulalie had misplaced her copy of the memoir of Rachel Long. She was every bit as sharp as the Ducote sisters, and I'd bet she could easily find any book in her study. She wouldn't have been so flustered over simply mislaying a book.

She couldn't find the memoir because someone took it. I'd also bet she knew
who
took it, and that was what upset her. Obviously a person she considered a friend; otherwise she would have been angry and not so eager to get me out the door.

By the time Diesel and I reached home, I had settled on two likely candidates: Lucinda Long and Jasper Singletary. I didn't have to think twice about the mayor—Miss Eulalie probably taught her in high school. I couldn't be completely sure about Jasper, but if I went by her tone of voice when she told me about how the Ducote sisters helped him get through college, she had warm feelings for him. I sensed tacit approval of him in her manner.

What should I do about it?
I wondered as I released the cat from his harness and leash. Diesel loped off toward the utility room. I wandered into the kitchen and sat at the table, lost in thought.

I could give Miss Eulalie a call tomorrow afternoon to ask whether she had found her copy of the memoir. I hoped that she wouldn't put herself in danger by confronting the person who removed the book from her house.
Should I call her and warn her?

I mulled that decision over for the next quarter hour. Diesel returned and stretched out on the floor beside my chair while I pondered the situation.

Was I making too much of this? Surely Miss Eulalie wouldn't be in danger. I was letting my imagination go into warp drive.

Then again, if the person who took Miss Eulalie's copy of the memoir was the same person who ran over Marie Steverton, then Miss Eulalie could well be in harm's way.

Finally I decided that I couldn't risk anything happening to that little old lady. I looked up her number again and punched it into the phone.

The phone rang seven times, and I was about to hang up and call Kanesha when Miss Eulalie answered.

“Thank goodness,” I said. “This is Charlie again. I hope you're not going to think I'm crazy, but I'm worried about your safety because of that missing book. Miss Eulalie, did you really misplace it, or did someone take it from your house?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. Then Miss Eulalie laughed. “Charlie, my goodness, you
are
one for getting excited about the oddest things. I was about to call you to let you know I remember what happened to my copy of the memoir. I put it in the Long collection several years ago, and I forgot all about it.” She laughed again, but I thought it sounded a bit forced—definitely not the fairy-like tinkle I remembered from our earlier conversation.

“I'm glad to hear it's safe,” I said. “I hope your headache is better.”

“My headache? Oh, yes, it's much better. Thank you for being so kind as to ask. Now I really mustn't keep you any longer. Good night.”

I barely had time to bid her good night in return before she hung up.

I put the receiver back on the hook and returned to my seat at the table. I had the oddest feeling that Miss Eulalie had lied to me. The first thing I'd do tomorrow at the archive would be to delve through the Long collection to find that memoir. I would also check the accession records. If Miss Eulalie had indeed donated her copy, there should be a note about it. I knew from my experience with her recordkeeping that she had been meticulous during her tenure.

If she lied to me, then why had she done so? Was she protecting someone? Mayor Long? Jasper Singletary? Or someone else, someone I hadn't considered?

Now
I
had a headache. As curious as I was about the contents of the diary pages I scanned today, I would leave them for tomorrow. A good night's sleep might bring clarity, clarity that I needed.

I knew Helen Louise would not be calling me tonight. She was catering a private dinner party and probably wouldn't be home until at least eleven. She would be too exhausted to talk.

“Come on, boy,” I said to the cat at my feet. “Let's get ready for bed.”

*   *   *

I heard my cell phone ring the next morning right when I stepped out of the shower. I dried myself enough that I wouldn't drip water everywhere and hurried into the bedroom to answer the call. I caught it in time.

In response to my greeting, the caller said, “Good morning, Mr. Harris. Jasper Singletary. I'd like to talk to you in private as soon as possible. Are you available this morning?”

“I'd very much like to talk to you, too, Mr. Singletary,” I said. I thought he sounded tense. “I'm available this morning. When and where would you like to meet?”

“How about your office at eight forty-five?”

I glanced at the clock. I had time for a quick breakfast before I would need to head to the archive. “That will be fine.”

He rang off.

While I dressed I thought about the coming interview. Kelly Grimes had no doubt given him an earful about my recent conversation with her. I hoped he wouldn't be hostile, but I certainly didn't expect him to be overly friendly. Nothing like a good confrontation to start the day, I thought morosely.

Azalea had my breakfast on the table when Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. Cheese grits, bacon, and toast this morning. I loved her buttery cheese grits, but I groaned inwardly at the thought of all the calories.

“Good morning,” I said. “Breakfast looks delicious as usual.”

“Morning, Mr. Charlie,” Azalea said. “You, too, cat.” She stared down at Diesel as he looked back and forth between her and me. He wanted bacon, and he didn't mind who gave it to him first.

“I'm going to have to make this fast,” I said as I picked up my coffee. “I've got an appointment at eight forty-five.” Azalea would cluck over me if she thought I was eating too quickly.

“All right,” she said.

I had a sip of my coffee, then a bite of the heavenly grits. “So good. Do you know the Singletary family? I don't remember them from when I was growing up. Now, of course, Jasper Singletary's in the paper all the time lately.”

Azalea nodded. “They been around these parts a long time. Go way back, just like the Ducotes and the Longs and some of the other old families. Always been poor, though. Mr. Jasper's the first one of them who amounted to anything, you ask me.” She sniffed. “Mostly sorry folks, always moaning and carrying on because they're poor. Still farming that sad old place where they hardly ever made no money.”

“I don't think I've ever met any of them,” I said, “though I've seen Jasper a few times in public. He seems like a smart, hardworking young man. I wonder, though, if he stands a chance in this election against Beck Long.”

“He might do better than you rightly expect. People are talking about him being a good man,” Azalea said. “Now, Mrs. Long is a nice lady. Reckon Mr. Long is a fine man himself, but their son, well, he got himself in some messes back when he was in school. He's still kind stuck on himself; that's what I hear.”

“Typical rich boy acting up and then his parents get him out of it, I guess.” I pinched off a piece of bacon for Diesel, then popped the rest of the slice into my mouth.

“My friend Ronetta's been their housekeeper since before that boy was born,” Azalea said. “Ronetta told me Mr. Long never would make that boy mind. Now, that ain't no way to raise a child. They got to know what they can do and what they can't. If you don't teach 'em that, you're just asking for trouble.”

I agreed with that wholeheartedly. I liked to think that my wife and I instilled our children with good manners and self-discipline. They had their moments growing up, particularly during their teenage years, but I never had to get them out of serious trouble.

“Looks like he's finally straightened up,” I said. “I haven't heard any talk about him acting badly these days.”

“I reckon he finally grew up and got some sense,” Azalea said. “He's been living in Atlanta for a while. Didn't come home until last year when he decided he wanted to be a politician.”

I spooned up the last of the grits and gave the cat one final piece of bacon. “If he got into trouble in Atlanta, I guess nobody here's heard about it.” I drained my coffee cup and pushed back my chair. “I need to get going. Thanks for breakfast.”

Azalea nodded. “You're welcome. I'll be leaving before you come home for lunch, but it'll be waiting for you.”

I thanked her again. Sometimes she told me what she was making; other times she let it be a surprise. Today must be a surprise day.

Diesel and I were out of the house a few minutes later. The morning was hot and humid—as it often was this time of year—and we did not hurry. We still made it to the office several minutes ahead of my appointment. Shortly after we both settled in our accustomed places, I heard a knock at the door.

I stood. “Good morning, Mr. Singletary. I'm glad to meet you. Please come in.”

He advanced into the room, and I moved around the desk to shake his proffered hand.

“Morning, Mr. Harris. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”

He glanced past me, and his eyes widened when he spotted Diesel. The cat climbed down from the windowsill and came over to greet Singletary. Diesel sniffed at his hand before rubbing his head against it. For the cat, that was the seal of approval. I was afraid he would try to rub himself against Singletary's dark trousers, but he went back to his spot in the window.

“Handsome animal,” Singletary said. “I've never seen a cat that big before.”

That was my cue to explain about Maine Coons, and by now I had it down to a few sentences. Singletary nodded when I finished, and I could tell he was impatient to get on with things. I indicated he should take the chair in front of my desk before I returned to my seat.

Face-to-face as we now were, I could see the firm jaw, the intense expression, and the broad shoulders, all of which made me aware of an aura of power this young man exuded. He was ambitious—I knew that—and determined. But would he stop short of murder? Or would he do anything to get what he wanted?

“Kelly Grimes told me about the conversation she had with you yesterday. She was upset.” His voice was deep, and his drawl betrayed his Mississippi origins. Mine had come back since I moved home again, after many years in Texas, but his was more pronounced.

“Yes, I was pretty hard on her.” I intended to face potential complaints about my treatment of Ms. Grimes head-on. “I will tell you exactly what I told her. I do not appreciate being lied to, and I consider what she did a breach of her professional ethics. I ought to report her actions to the editor of the paper, but I'm willing to let it go, unless I catch her lying to me again about anything.”

“Fair enough.” Singletary nodded. “I asked for Kelly's help in doing research, Mr. Harris. I did not know until after the fact that she pretended to be my opponent's fiancée.” He shrugged. “I don't see that her ruse was necessary, but I can assure you, both she and I will be straightforward with you from now on.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “I have to say I am completely at a loss to understand why you are so interested in these diaries. Why have you and Ms. Grimes been so determined to get a look at them?”

“I must ask you to keep what I am about to tell you to yourself, if at all possible.”

His intense expression made me even more curious about his interest in the diaries.

“Unless it has some bearing on the murder of Marie Steverton,” I said in a firm tone, “I will of course respect your wishes.”

He stared hard at me for a moment. Then he nodded. “All right.” He paused for a breath. “Here's the deal. I'm looking for proof that Rachel Long was a murderess.”