Arsenic and Old Books (17 page)

Stewart continued before I could respond. “I used Raman spectroscopy, which basically gives a fingerprint of the ink. The paper, too. It's a fast test and noninvasive as well.”

“Noninvasive is good,” I said.

“Now, about the ink,” Stewart said. “I did a bit of research on nineteenth-century inks before I did the tests. You probably know about iron gall ink already, so I won't bore you with the details. I found spectra online for iron gall ink. There has been a fair amount of research on it related to historical documents. For one thing, it's corrosive over time, and it leaves telltale evidence of that.

“When I looked at the spectra for the ink in the two volumes, I could see that the spectra were similar in a couple of respects. The forger obviously tried to duplicate the iron gall ink but the formula wasn't the same. The other giveaway is that the ink hasn't caused corrosion in the forged diary.”

My head buzzed a bit with the details, but the result was clear. The fifth volume of the diary was a forgery, and I was certain I knew the identity of the forger: Lucinda Beckwith Long.

“Thanks, Stewart,” I said. “I'm going to call Kanesha right away and tell her about this. I need to get the diaries back, though. Shall Diesel and I walk over and retrieve them?”

“No, I'll bring them back to you,” Stewart said. “I'll be heading home anyway. Got a hot date tonight to get ready for, and you know it takes me simply ages to look my best.”

I had to laugh because I couldn't remember ever seeing Stewart look less than his best. “I appreciate it.”

Before I called Kanesha I wanted to organize my thoughts. One in particular intruded, and I was irritated by it. The mayor obviously thought I wasn't experienced enough, or smart enough, to catch on to the forgery. Maybe she thought I would believe the diary was real simply because she said it was. The Longs, I guessed, were so accustomed to being respected and obeyed, she thought I would just toe the party line, as it were.

I felt my temper rising, and I had to keep it under control. I would have to guard my tongue if I encountered Mrs. Long anytime soon. I couldn't afford to let her know I knew the one volume was forged.

Kanesha answered her cell phone almost immediately.

“I've got big news for you,” I said. “One of the diaries is forged. I think you should send it off for a complete forensic examination, because you're going to need expert proof.”

Kanesha didn't waste time with questions. “I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Keep those diaries locked away until I get there.”

I didn't have time to tell her that I didn't have the forged one, but I figured Stewart would have it back in my office before Kanesha arrived.

Sure enough, Stewart turned up ten minutes later with the box. I thanked him again, and he grinned. “Glad to do it. Made for a nice little puzzle this afternoon. I wish I could hang around but I have a lot to do today.” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark blond hair. “For one thing, I have to get this shaggy mop tended to. I'm starting to look like a Yeti.”

His hair was a bit longer than I was used to seeing, but it wasn't anywhere near long enough to qualify as a mop of any kind.

“Have fun tonight,” I said.

Stewart bade Diesel and me good-bye and vanished through the door.

A few minutes later Kanesha arrived and strode into the office. She greeted me and stood in front of my desk. “Tell me about this forgery.”

“Please, have a seat,” I said. “My neck will cramp if I have to sit and look up at you like this.”

Kanesha sat and leaned forward in the chair. Her laser stare focused on me, and I knew I'd better start talking. “There were things in this one volume—the one the mayor brought after the others were stolen—that weren't adding up. I talked to Jasper Singletary this morning, and he says the family has never heard anything about his great-great-grandmother Celeste being a freed slave. He wasn't particularly upset about it, just puzzled.”

Kanesha nodded. “Go on.”

Diesel had climbed out of the window to greet her, and she gave him a few rubs on the head while she listened to my explanation. When he'd had enough attention, the cat went in search of his water and food bowls, along with a litter box, that I had stowed in a corner of the room.

I explained the duplication in time coverage between the forged volume and one of the original four. “I'm not sure what the forger was thinking. It would have been smarter to keep back the volume from the same time period and substitute the forged one for it. I might have been slightly less suspicious if she had done that.”

“She?” Kanesha asked. “Do you think the mayor is responsible for the forgery?”

“I think it's the most likely answer,” I said. “And if she didn't do it, then someone in the family or closely connected to the family did it on her orders.”

“The reason for the forgery?” Kanesha said.

“To embarrass Jasper Singletary and help Beck Long win the election.”

Kanesha shook her head. “Strange way of going about it, if you ask me. Politics makes people crazy sometimes, although I don't know why the Longs are so afraid of Jasper Singletary. Beck Long was ahead by a mile in the polls until recently, and no one could have produced that forgery in a few days. It would have taken several weeks, don't you think?”

Point to Kanesha. I hadn't considered that, but she was right. “Yes, it would have taken more than a few days. The planning had to take some time as well before anyone sat down and started to write.”

Diesel reappeared, his errands done, and chirped at me before he climbed into the window.

“What about the handwriting?” Kanesha asked, seemingly oblivious now to the cat. “Did it look like the same person's writing to you?”

“I wasn't able to compare them until today,” I said. “Remember, the four real diaries were missing when I received the forgery. I didn't get the real ones back till this morning, but when I did compare the writing, it looked close enough to me. A handwriting expert could—and will, I'm sure—find discrepancies.”

Kanesha gave me a grim smile. “This is going to get nasty. I'm sure you realize that.”

I nodded. “That's why I wanted you to know right away, so you can take care of getting these analyzed before the mayor knows they're gone.”

“I'll do my best,” she replied. “I'm still trying to figure out how this ties into the murder of Dr. Steverton.”

“I have no idea, either,” I said. “Did your men ever figure out where Marie hid the diaries?”

“Yes, because they were a lot more thorough than the first time,” Kanesha said. “Dr. Steverton had an old chifferobe with a hidden compartment. They found it this time because it hadn't been closed completely, and they also found tiny flakes of leather that matched the bindings. No sign of those boxes you had them in, either. I'm figuring she must have discarded them somewhere on campus.”

“Marie must have been careless and in a hurry,” I said. “Did they find the missing pages in the compartment?”

“No, it was empty,” Kanesha said. “We're still looking for them but I'm out of places to try.” She stood. “I'd better get these on their way to the crime lab. In the meantime if you come up with any ideas on where we should look for those pages, let me know.” She picked up the box and headed for the door.

If the pages still exist,
I thought. I hoped they hadn't been destroyed, but depending on their contents, it might have been the safest thing for the killer to do.

Who was the killer? I asked myself.

Because I was so certain the mayor created the forged diary, she had to be at the top of my list. She had a lot at stake, especially if she was willing to go to such absurd lengths to help her son win a state senate race. She couldn't afford to let Marie get in her way. Lure Marie out into the street in the early hours of the morning, run her down when the neighbors were sound asleep, and Marie was no longer a problem.

That was cold-blooded, I thought. I had never thought of Lucinda Long as a ruthless person, but I didn't really know her. She had married into a family that was used to commanding respect and wielding power—political, social, and economic. Her own family, the Beckwiths, were also wealthy and well connected.

Did they think they were above the law? I wondered.

The only other candidate for murderer that I could come up with was Beck Long, but it was possible his father was involved. I didn't know either Beck or his father, although I had seen Beck twice recently and observed him in action. He was less than impressive intellectually, but I could see him acting on impulse and aiming a car at someone who was causing him trouble. Whether he had the temperament to act so rashly, I didn't have a clue. It might have been an accident, but it wouldn't do for a rising political star to be caught at the scene of a hit-and-run. That could compromise his career pretty quickly.

Time to stop all this woolgathering. I had work to do, and I should get on with it. I went back to the diary volume I was reading earlier, the one with missing pages.

Most of what I read was not particularly interesting, at least to me. Rachel spent a lot of time on the minutiae of clothing and her criticisms of the neighbors. One example of the latter I did find amusing:

Andromeda McCarthy (and what a pompous name that is, makes her sound like a bluestocking, and she is just a sweet girl of ordinary intelligence who doesn't care for reading) wore a gown of the most unfortunate peach satin today during the call she and her mother made here. Andromeda does not have the complexion for peach, being far too pale, but I fear it is her mother who insists upon such insipid colors
.

This Rachel came across as more frivolous than the Rachel in the forged diary, and I began to wonder whether the forger had bothered to read the original volumes at all. The section I was reading was for the months before the war began in earnest, and I supposed that Rachel, like many at the time, did not think the war would last long. Perhaps after she experienced the terrors and privations of war, Rachel became more mature and thoughtful.

I was tempted to skip to the second half of the volume to see whether I was correct about a change in Rachel's outlook, but I decided against it. It would be more interesting, if Rachel did change, to see it as it happened.

I set the book aside a few minutes later to give my eyes a rest and to check on my feline companion. Diesel was in his place, and I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I was enjoying the quiet until, a few minutes later, Melba startled me from my half doze.

“Charlie, what are you doing taking a nap up here?” Melba laughed.

I glared at her. I didn't like to be startled like that. Then I noticed she had a large stack of mail in her hands.

“What's that?” I said. “For your information, I was only resting my eyes.”

“Okay,” Melba said as she approached my desk. “I hope your eyes are rested, then, because you've got a pile of mail to get through.” She set her stack in the tray on my desk. “When was the last time you checked your box in the mailroom?”

“Last week,” I muttered. “I do remember to check it at least once a week, sometimes twice, but this week has been anything but normal.” I reached for the pile, picked it up, and set it on the desk in front of me.

Melba made herself comfortable in the chair across from me while I sorted through the mail. “Anything new on the murder you can talk about?”

“No, not really,” I said.

There was one large campus mail envelope, and I pulled it out of the pile. I checked the front and saw that the envelope had last been used to send something to a history faculty member. These envelopes were multiuse and traveled across the campus and back many times.

I opened the envelope and reached in to extract the contents. Felt like several pages bound together with a paper clip. When I had them out of the envelope and on the desk in front of me, I nearly fell out of my chair from the shock.

I recognized the handwriting and the paper itself. These had to be the pages missing from Rachel Long's diary. I stared at them for a moment before I realized there was a handwritten note paper-clipped to the pages.

“What is it, Charlie?” Melba sounded slightly alarmed. “You're white as a sheet.” She had a hand on Diesel's head. I hadn't even heard or felt him get down from the window and go around to her.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. “These are pages that were taken out of the diary. They've been missing, and we had no idea where they were.” My eyes skimmed the note attached to them. “Oh my Lord, this is a note from Marie Steverton.”

“What does it say?” Melba asked.

“‘You'll know what to do with these' is all it says, along with her initials.” I shook my head, still a bit in shock. What had compelled her to send the pages to me?

Melba shivered. “That's creepy, getting a letter from a dead woman. What are you going to do with them?”

I had trouble focusing my thoughts for a moment. The first thing I wanted to do was start reading the pages to find out why Marie had removed them from the diary. I realized, however, that they constituted evidence, and my first duty was to inform Kanesha of their return.

I picked up the phone and called her. This time, however, I had to leave a message. I made it terse and urgent.

For some reason I felt tense and almost panicky. Diesel picked up on that. He came around to me and put a paw on my leg. He meowed loudly several times, and I forced myself to breathe deeply and relax to keep from upsetting him.

“Charlie, you don't look good. Are you sure you're all right?” Melba got up from her chair.

I waved her back before she could come around and start fussing over me. “I'll be okay, just a little concerned about all this. We can't let anyone else know I have these pages.”

“You're acting like they're going to explode any minute,” Melba said. “Maybe you'd better go lock them up next door.”

“They do need to be put somewhere safe,” I said. I began to feel a bit calmer, thanks to her pragmatic suggestion. “I'll do that right now.” I put the pages carefully back into the envelope. “You stay here with Diesel and answer the phone.”

Melba nodded, and I hurried to the storeroom next door. I would feel better once the pages were locked away in a more secure place. I didn't know how long it would be before Kanesha could come back or send one of her men to retrieve them. Until I could safely turn them over to the sheriff's department, I wanted them out of reach of anyone who might come into the archive.

“Mission accomplished,” I told Melba and Diesel when I returned to my office.

“Good. Maybe you can relax now,” Melba said. “You had me worried there for moment, like you were going to pass out on me.”

“Sorry about that,” I said as I resumed my seat behind the desk. “Getting those pages out of the blue like that was shocking.”

The phone rang and startled me. I picked up the receiver, praying that Kanesha was returning my call.

Thankfully for my nerves, it was her. I didn't give the chief deputy a chance to speak. “I've got the pages locked up in the storage room next door. Please come get them right away.”

“One of my deputies is on the way there now,” Kanesha said. “Here's what I want you to do. Handle them with extreme care, but scan those pages. Ordinarily I would take them right away, but I want to have a backup copy. Wait until my deputy is there, though. When you're done with them, he'll bring them in to the sheriff's department.”

“All right,” I said. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Kanesha said. “Send me a copy of the scan. You have my e-mail. Go ahead and read the pages and I'll do the same as soon as I get the file.”

“Will do,” I said and then ended the call.

I didn't know why I was so jittery, but talking to Kanesha helped me feel calmer. I didn't expect the mayor to come to my office, waving a gun around, threatening me unless I turned the pages over to her. I was simply on edge because of the events of the past few days, I decided.

I relayed the news to Melba. She nodded vigorously.

“Good, the sooner all this crazy mess is settled, the better.” She stood. “Unless you want me to hang around until that deputy gets here, I guess I should get back downstairs.”

“Thanks, but I'll be okay,” I said. “The deputy should be here any minute.”

“All right. See you later.” Melba gave Diesel's head one last quick rub and headed for the door. Diesel meowed after her and watched for a moment before he came back and climbed onto the windowsill.

I looked up and Melba was back in the office. “You've got company,” she said in an undertone, “and it's not the deputy.”

She had no chance to explain further. Behind her I saw Beck Long and a strange man pause at the door. Long knocked and smiled.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Harris, ma'am.” He took a couple of steps into the room. “I really need to talk to you for a few minutes, if you have time.”

I wanted to tell him to go away, that I was far too busy, but I knew I had no choice. I hoped I could get rid of him and his companion before the deputy arrived.

“Come in, Mr. Long.” I rose and came around the desk to shake his hand. I introduced Melba, and they shook hands.

Long nodded to indicate his companion. “This is my associate, Daryl Kittredge. He's a member of my campaign staff.”

Melba and I shook hands with Kittredge. He was short, verging on plump, with dark hair and eyes, a definite contrast to tall, blond Beck Long.

I glanced over at the windowsill, and Diesel remained there. He was watching the proceedings, however. I wondered why he hadn't come over to greet the visitors. Perhaps he had picked up on my unsettled state and was keeping out of things.

Melba quickly excused herself. She paused in the door to mime something. I thought she was trying to tell me she would hover nearby in the hall in case I needed help. I gave her a slight nod.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Long?” I didn't ask them to sit because I didn't want to encourage them to hang around.

Long didn't seem to notice the lack of invitation. He smiled, exposing a set of perfectly formed, dazzlingly white teeth. “My mother shared with me the contents of the diary. Daryl and I would like to see it for ourselves. He's going to take a few shots of the pages for a press release.”

Exactly
not
what I needed to hear. My hopes of keeping the mayor from finding out I suspected the diary was a fake were fading quickly.

In as bland a tone as I could manage, with my heart suddenly racing a mile a minute, I said, “I'm sorry, but that won't be possible.” My mind raced along with my heart as I tried to come up with a plausible excuse for denying their request without revealing I didn't have the diary in my possession.

Long's brow furrowed. “Why not? It will only take a few minutes.”

“It's not the time,” I replied. Inspiration struck. “Or rather, it
is
the time. Your timing, I guess I should say. The binding of that volume has some problems, and it's in the process of being repaired. These problems had to be addressed immediately to insure the integrity of the binding for the future. I'm sure you understand. I know you wouldn't want such an important resource to be damaged; nor would your mother.”

I cut the babbling off as Long's eyes glazed over. I wasn't sure he understood what I was telling him; he looked so blank. His associate, Kittredge, however, caught on quickly.

“That's too bad,” he said. “I suppose we'll have to go with the scans.” He reached in his jacket and pulled out a leather business card holder. He extracted a card and handed it to me. “If you could e-mail the scanned pages to me right away, I'd appreciate it.”

“No problem,” I said.

Long frowned at his associate. “I don't see what the big deal is about letting you take a few pictures. That's not going to hurt an old book.”

Kittredge looked slightly exasperated but then cleared his expression.

“That's the problem,” I said quickly. “Until the binding is fully repaired, you can't open the book wide enough to take good pictures without damaging it.”

“We understand,” Kittredge said. “How long before the repairs are completed?”

“A week, I suppose.” I shrugged. I prayed that this would all be over well before a week passed.

Kittredge nodded. He shook my hand. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harris.”

Long looked sulky as he in turn shook hands with me. “Yeah, thanks.”

I watched them leave with great relief. I went back to my chair and sank down. Diesel meowed and tapped my shoulder with a paw. I turned to face him. He meowed again, and I rubbed his head. “Everything's okay, boy. No need to fret.”

Diesel and I sat quietly for a couple of minutes, until I heard another knock at the door.

Deputy Turnbull walked in. “Morning, Mr. Harris. Ms. Gilley alerted me that Mr. Long was here, so I waited down in her office until he and his associate left the building.”

“I'm glad to see you, Deputy,” I said. “It's been a bit nerve-racking the last half hour or so. If you'll come with me, I'll retrieve the pages.”

He nodded and then followed me next door to the storage room. I picked up the envelope with the pages inside, and we went back to my office.

“It won't take me that long to scan these,” I told the deputy. “Please have a seat if you like.”

Deputy Turnbull shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but I'll stand here in the door to keep an eye out for potential visitors.”

“Good idea,” I said. While I readied the scanning station, Diesel got down from his spot and walked over to the deputy. He sat at the man's feet, looked up, and meowed. Turnbull grinned and said hello to the cat. He rubbed Diesel's head, and that apparently satisfied my boy. He left the deputy and came to sit beside me.

I felt tense as I worked on the pages. The cotton gloves I wore made the process a bit slower as I took each page and scanned both sides. I was sweating by the time I finished. I reassembled the pages but did not paper-clip them. The paper clip could damage the pages. I advised Turnbull of this when I gave him the envelope. Then I remembered I should let Kanesha know what I'd told Long and Kittredge about the diary volume they wanted to photograph. “Sorry to load you down with messages for Deputy Berry,” I said when I finished.

“Not a problem, Mr. Harris. I'll pass it all along to her when I give her the envelope,” Turnbull said. He smiled briefly before he left the office.

Before I shut down the scanning station I e-mailed the file of the scanned pages to myself and to Kanesha.

I returned to my desk, where I collapsed in my chair, Diesel by my feet, and mopped my sweaty brow with my handkerchief. My rampant curiosity about the contents of the missing pages made me want to start reading right away, but my brain needed time to relax from the tensions of the morning.

“I don't know about you, boy, but I'm ready for lunch,” I said to the cat. “Let's go home.” A good meal in the quiet of my house was what I needed right now.

Diesel meowed loudly to indicate his approval, adding in a couple of the odd trills he made sometimes.

Downstairs we stopped by Melba's office to let her know we were going home for lunch.

“I'm about to head out myself,” she said. “I'm going over to the bakery to meet a friend for lunch. Y'all want to tag along? I know Helen Louise would be happy to see you. As hard as she works, I reckon she doesn't have a lot of free time.”

Hearing Helen Louise's name gave me a guilty start. Hadn't I promised her last night we would come to see her at lunchtime today?

I
had
promised her, I decided. “Thanks, we'd appreciate the ride,” I said. “Saves me from going home to get the car.”

About fifteen minutes later Melba found a parking space on the square across from the bakery. We crossed the street, and I opened the door for Melba. The ever-tantalizing scents from the bakery filled the air.

“There's my friend,” Melba said, nodding in the direction of a lone woman seated at a nearby table. “Y'all enjoy your lunch, and we'll head back in about forty-five minutes, okay?”

“Sounds good,” I said.

Diesel and I made our way to our usual spot, the table near the cash register Helen Louise always kept reserved for us when we were expected.

I didn't see Helen Louise and figured she was in the kitchen. I sat, and Diesel stretched out under the table near my feet. We settled in to wait for Helen Louise.

“Mr. Harris,” a voice called out over the low hum of conversation in the bakery. “I was hoping I'd find you here.”

I looked around to see Kelly Grimes advancing toward my table.

“Hello,” I said when she stopped about three paces from me. “What can I do for you?”

She smiled. She held out a slim book. “You can read this and tell me what you think.”

I accepted the book and glanced at the cover. The title read:
A Memoir of Mrs. Rachel Afton Long of Athena
.