Arsenic And Old Books

Ms. Grimes shrugged. “You can’t be badgering people all the time. Sometimes you simply have to leave them alone in a public place.”

“Sure,” I said. I figured even Diesel heard the ironic inflection in that one syllable. “Then there was the business of the note you left on your table for him. He did it discreetly, but I still saw him stop by the table and palm the note.”

The only response I got from that was a stony expression.

“Is the bookstore a regular rendezvous spot for the two of you?” I asked. “I just happened to stop in there after I left the bakery, and I overheard a bit of your conversation. I recognized your voices. What I heard confirmed my suspicion that you’re involved with him and not with Beck Long.” I wanted to add that she would have a brief career if she ever went into espionage but I figured that would be twisting the knife a bit too hard.

The silence lengthened, but I had said my piece. Now it was up to Ms. Grimes.

Finally she spoke. “I can’t tell you anything, not without Jasper’s permission. It’s up to him whether he wants to talk to you. He won’t have a choice, of course, if you sic the chief deputy on him.”

“She already knows there’s a connection between him and the diaries,” I said.

Ms. Grimes uttered another vulgar word. I pretended I hadn’t heard.

She stood abruptly. “I’ve got to talk to Jasper. He’ll be in touch.” She turned to go.

“One more thing before you leave,” I said. She turned back and scowled at me. “Did you take the diaries, or bring them back?”

She shook her head. “No, if I’d gotten my hands on them, I would have kept them as long as Jasper needed them.” She turned and walked out.

I stared at the empty doorway for a few moments, the cat still in my lap. I didn’t, as a rule, browbeat people. I hated confrontations, but on occasion I had no choice. I didn’t like being lied to, and that made me angry enough to confront Kelly Grimes.

She confirmed my notion that she was involved with Jasper Singletary and that he was interested in the contents of the diaries. Why, I still hadn’t a clue. He might decide to talk to me, or he might go straight to Kanesha.

Whatever happened, I needed to get back to scanning the one volume I did have. As soon as the others came back from the state crime lab, I would work overtime if I had to in order to read them and find out what secrets they held.

I turned my chair back to the windowsill and gently urged Diesel to reclaim his spot. “It’s all okay now, boy,” I told him. “Everything is fine.”

The cat meowed as I lifted him, and I thought for a moment he would resist. Then he climbed onto the windowsill. I gave him a couple of head rubs before I got up and went back to the scanning station to resume my project.

I took fewer breaks during the afternoon and probably strained my neck, shoulders, and back far too much, but by four thirty the scan was complete. I closed the book and set it aside. Next I e-mailed myself the files I had created during the scanning process. They were PDFs, and I could read them easily at home or here in the office.

For the next few minutes I sat and massaged my neck and shoulders as best I could. I felt the tightness of the muscles loosen enough for me to do a head roll. I figured I should stand in a hot shower for a while when I got home. That ought to further the healing process.

Before we left, I took the diary back to the storage room and made sure it was secure. Then Diesel and I were ready to go.

The afternoon was hot and sultry, typical of September. I would be happy when cooler weather arrived, and I knew Diesel would be, too. At least most of the way home was shaded by large, leafy trees.

By the time we reached our destination we were both ready for water. I could hear him lapping it up while I drank my own, standing with my back against the sink.

Azalea had left for the day—she usually finished with her chores by four at the latest—and the house and its quiet solace soothed me. Feeling more relaxed, I contemplated getting my laptop and sitting down to start reading Rachel Long’s diary. After a moment’s reflection, I decided more relaxation was in order before I glued myself to another computer screen. I also realized I was hungry, despite the big lunch I’d had.

I checked the fridge and was delighted to see there was plenty of leftover chicken and dumplings for dinner. The next order of business, after a second glass of water, was a hot shower.

Forty-five minutes later, muscles looser and neck- and backaches gone, I sat down to my chicken and dumplings. I found a bit more of the boiled chicken breast in the fridge. I doled it out while I ate, and Diesel was a happy kitty. We would both have to run up and down the stairs a few times to compensate for all the food, though.

I had just settled down on the den sofa with my laptop, Diesel stretched out beside me, when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen before I answered.

“Hey, Melba, how are you?”