Arsenic And Old Books

“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?