Arsenic and Old Books (6 page)

“Too many times to be mere coincidence, would you say?” I asked.

Helen Louise nodded. “Yes, but I wouldn't have remarked on it, probably, until you explained who she is.”

“Maybe she's following him around, trying to catch him out on something.” That seemed possible, given she was secretly engaged to Singletary's opponent. I couldn't tell Helen Louise that, however.

“She's being rather obvious about it, wouldn't you say?” Helen Louise glanced back in the direction of Kelly Grimes. “Surely he, or one of his aides, would have picked up on it by now.”

“True,” I said. “They can't all be oblivious.” I watched the writer for a moment.

At the table next to her, the men pushed back their chairs and stood. Jasper Singletary motioned with his hand, and the other men began to file toward the door. He turned in the direction of the restroom. He didn't appear to notice Kelly Grimes when he passed her.

She stared after him until he disappeared into the hallway where the restrooms were located. Then she gathered her things and made her way out of the bakery. Was she going to follow Singletary to his next stop? I wondered.

Helen Louise turned to me and shrugged. “Guess that's over for now.” She stood and picked up the two empty plates. “How about dessert?”

I shook my head. “No, after that wonderful meal and the big breakfast Azalea cooked, I'd better not. Otherwise I'll have to run to Memphis and back to work it all off.”

We shared a laugh, and Helen Louise said, “I'll be back in a minute,” before she walked away with the plates.

“We're going to have to get back to work,” I told Diesel, who stared longingly after Helen Louise. He wanted more chicken, but he'd had more than enough already. He turned to me and meowed. “I want to stop by the bookstore first, though. We haven't been in there lately, and I want to see what's new.”

The cat meowed again. I thought he recognized the word
bookstore
. He liked going to the Athenaeum, the town's only independent bookstore. The owner, Jordan Thompson, always made a fuss over him. Today, however, I would have to tell her not to give him any cat treats. Otherwise, he might have to join me on that jog to Memphis and back.

While I waited for Helen Louise to return, I decided I might as well make a restroom stop before we left. “Come on, boy,” I told Diesel and picked up his leash.

I had taken only a couple of steps when I saw Jasper Singletary return to the dining room. As I moved closer, I saw him pause right by Kelly Grimes's vacated table and pull out a cell phone. He stared down at it, and if I hadn't been watching closely, I would have missed what happened next.

With his free hand he picked up something from the table and thrust it into his pocket. He stared at the cell phone a moment longer, and then he tucked it back into its holster on his belt. He strode toward the door and nodded at me as we passed each other.

More strange behavior. There was definitely something afoot. What had he scooped up from the table? I pondered that as I completed my business in the restroom. Diesel waited patiently near me.

I couldn't really see what Jasper had picked up, but it had to be something small. The writer had been scribbling in a notebook earlier, so perhaps it was a piece of paper. A note of some kind?

That sounded probable. But why the secret communication, if it was indeed a note?

Back at the table, where Helen Louise waited, I told her what I'd seen. She grimaced. “
Incroyable!
Sounds almost like CIA stuff, and that's just plain silly.”

I shrugged. “It's politics, so who knows? If I run into Maxwell Smart or Ninety-nine, I'll ask them to look into it.”

Helen Louise laughed at my reference to the old sixties television show. “It had better be Maxwell. Ninety-nine is far too attractive.”

I gave her a quick kiss, and we said good-bye. “Come on, Diesel. Time for the bookstore.”

The bookstore was only a short walk from the bakery. The early afternoon sun was hot, but most of the storefronts had awnings. Diesel and I kept in the shade on the way, but I was feeling sweaty by the time we opened the door at the Athenaeum and stepped inside.

As I let the door swing shut behind Diesel and me, I paused to drink in the smells and the atmosphere of the bookstore. There was no place I liked better, except a library. To be surrounded by so many books made me happy. The large space—around four thousand square feet—contained many freestanding shelves, and all the walls were lined with them as well. Comfortable chairs were scattered about, creating small nooks where a customer could relax and check out a few pages of possible purchases.

Soft classical music wafted through the space, and I recognized a Telemann oboe sonata. Perfect mood music for browsing. I didn't see the owner, Jordan Thompson, anywhere, but the tall redhead would be easy to spot. Diesel meowed, and I knew he was urging me to go in search of Jordan.

“No treats,” I told him as we moved farther into the store. I saw only four customers in the front area. I headed toward the back, where the mysteries were shelved. Jordan had a shelf there for the latest arrivals, and I wanted to see what new titles might tempt me.

I heard the murmur of voices in the back corner of the section as I approached. I paused by the new arrivals shelf to scan the titles, and I picked up one hardcover with an intriguing cover illustration. An old house on the cover always snagged my interest, and this one looked promising. When I realized it was a ghost story, though, I put it back. I liked ghost stories occasionally, but I wasn't in the mood for one now.

Diesel muttered, but I ignored him. He wanted to find Jordan, but I wasn't going to let him loose in here. He would have to wait. Besides, I realized, she might not even be here. One of her assistants could be running the store instead.

I moved toward the back of the section against the wall and the beginning of the alphabet. A tall, freestanding set of shelves separated me from the continuation of the section around the corner. The sound of voices grew louder the closer I came to the back wall.

With a start, I recognized the voices and halted.

“How long before you find out anything worthwhile?” Jasper Singletary sounded impatient. “The evidence ought to be there somewhere; you just have to find it. My grandmother swears to it.”

“I'm doing my best,” Kelly Grimes responded, sounding exasperated. “I told you, I have to have access if I'm going to look, and I haven't been able to get access. If someone would just push Marie Steverton over a cliff, that would help.”

Diesel chose that moment to start chirping—loudly—and the conversation on the other side of the shelf ceased. I turned to see Jordan Thompson headed our way, and Diesel strained at the leash to go to her. I let him go and turned back to listen, hoping to hear more.

I heard the sound of stealthy footsteps. I stepped around the shelf to the other side, but all I saw were the backs of the rapidly retreating pair.

“Hey, there, Charlie.” Jordan Thompson claimed my attention, and I walked around the shelf to see her squatting down so that her head was level with the cat's. They rubbed noses, and Jordan laughed, her short, curly red hair bouncing around her head.

“Afternoon, Jordan,” I said. “Diesel and I thought we'd drop by, since we haven't been here in at least a week.” Even though I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, I was sorry Diesel and Jordan had interrupted whatever was going on between Jasper Singletary and Kelly Grimes. I had a fleeting thought about the note—if that was what it was—Singletary picked up from the table in the bakery. Perhaps it set up this little assignation.

“I know,” Jordan said, “and my cash register is feeling it.” She grinned. “Seriously, it's always good to see you two. How about a T-R-E-A-T for my buddy here?”

I shook my head. “No, your buddy has a tummy full of Helen Louise's chicken, and he doesn't need another bite.”

Jordan looked down at the cat. Diesel gazed expectantly up at her, thinking his treat would soon be forthcoming. “Sorry, boy,” she said. “Next time make sure you drag Charlie in here
before
lunch, okay?”

The cat meowed, and Jordan and I shared a grin. All he probably understood was that he wasn't getting a treat. He continued to stare up at Jordan, however. He was an optimistic cat.

“I'll try to remember,” I promised.

“Why don't y'all come back up by the register?” Jordan cocked her head in that direction. “I've got a few things set aside for you that I think you might like.”

That was all I needed to hear. Service like this was the reason I loved shopping at the bookstore, rather than online.

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.”

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.