Arsenic And Old Books

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.”

I realized I was babbling, so I shut up. The chief’s stern countenance and steely gaze made me feel guilty even if I hadn’t goofed and left the door unlocked.

“Any idea who might’ve done this?” The chief pulled out a notebook and pen.

“Yes, I do. There are two people who have been pretty determined to get access to the diaries. The first is a professor, Marie Steverton. Member of the history department. The other is a writer for the Register named Kelly Grimes. Ms. Grimes,” I added.

“Other than being real interested in these books, why would one of them break in here and steal them?” Again the intense stare.

I shrugged. “The whole thing sounds nuts to me, frankly. The mayor, who’s an old college friend of Dr. Steverton, arranged for her to have exclusive access to the diaries for three weeks. Once I had them ready for use, that is. Ms. Grimes was the first to approach me about them.” I gave the chief a quick summary of the writer’s initial phone call. “Then she showed up here this morning, and she and Dr. Steverton had a bit of an altercation.”

The chief shook his head as if in amazement at such behavior. “And how old are these books?”

“They date back to before the Civil War,” I said. “I couldn’t put a monetary value on them, but they could be valuable as historical documents.”