Arsenic And Old Books

“If the Singletarys hate the Longs because the Longs are rich, do they also hate people like Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce Ducote?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Miss Eulalie replied. “They have reason to be grateful to An’gel and Dickce anyway.” She noticed my look of inquiry. “They gave Jasper the scholarship that put him through Athena College.”

That sounded like the sisters. They did so many good things in Athena, it was hard to keep track. They performed their charitable works as quietly as possible because they never sought the limelight. I said as much to my hostess, and she agreed with a smile. I realized then she was a contemporary of the Ducotes and had probably known them all her life.

“I guess it’s possible the diaries might reveal the source of the bad blood between the two families,” I said. “Maybe it’s so scandalous that one side thinks the other might be embarrassed badly if it came to light.”

“Thereby affecting the state senate race.” Miss Eulalie frowned. “Sounds outlandish, doesn’t it? But roots and memories run deep here, and if it’s terrible enough, it could have an effect.”

“Terrible enough to kill for?” I asked, thinking of poor Marie Steverton.

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Where family pride is involved, especially in the South, never underestimate the lengths someone will go to protect their name.”

“I can’t wait to work on the diaries,” I said. I got up to help myself to two more oatmeal raisin cookies. I told the little voice in my head to shut up about the calories. “In the meantime, the mayor found a fifth volume. I scanned it today, and I’ll read through it to see what it might be able to tell us.”

Miss Eulalie nodded. “Yes, I heard about that. I also have something that might shed light on this. Did you know that Rachel Long’s grandson’s wife wrote a memoir of the old lady?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “The library at the college had a copy, but it’s apparently been lost.”

“How aggravating,” Miss Eulalie said as she rose from the sofa. “I happen to have a copy, though, and if you’d like to borrow it, you’re perfectly welcome. I read it many years ago.”

“Thank you. I would like to,” I said.

My hostess nodded. “Sit there and enjoy your cookies. It’s in my study. I’ll fetch it.”

Diesel had been remarkably well behaved so far, but the moment Miss Eulalie left the room he came over to me and begged for a bite of my cookie.

“Sorry, boy,” I said. “The raisins are bad for you. No cookie for you.”

He meowed and stared at me, so I repeated what I told him. He turned and went back to his spot next to the sofa, tail high in the air.

Miss Eulalie returned then, empty-handed. Her expression was blank. “I’m sorry, Charlie; you must forgive me. I seem to have misplaced the memoir.” With her right hand she fidgeted with a broach pinned to her bosom.

“That’s too bad,” I said. Something didn’t seem quite right with her. She appeared flustered.

“I’ll keep looking for it,” she said. “I apologize, but I’m coming down with one of my bad headaches.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Eulalie. I hope you feel better soon. Diesel and I will get out of your hair. Thanks for the delicious cookies and the information.”

“Thank you for your visit,” my hostess said. She remained silent while she escorted the cat and me to the front door. I turned on the verandah to bid her good night, but she had already shut the door.

That was a rude thing to do, and Miss Eulalie would never be rude—unless she was powerfully worried about something.

In this case, the missing memoir. I didn’t think it was a coincidence.

TWENTY-ONE

I didn’t believe for a minute that Miss Eulalie had misplaced her copy of the memoir of Rachel Long. She was every bit as sharp as the Ducote sisters, and I’d bet she could easily find any book in her study. She wouldn’t have been so flustered over simply mislaying a book.

She couldn’t find the memoir because someone took it. I’d also bet she knew who took it, and that was what upset her. Obviously a person she considered a friend; otherwise she would have been angry and not so eager to get me out the door.

By the time Diesel and I reached home, I had settled on two likely candidates: Lucinda Long and Jasper Singletary. I didn’t have to think twice about the mayor—Miss Eulalie probably taught her in high school. I couldn’t be completely sure about Jasper, but if I went by her tone of voice when she told me about how the Ducote sisters helped him get through college, she had warm feelings for him. I sensed tacit approval of him in her manner.

What should I do about it? I wondered as I released the cat from his harness and leash. Diesel loped off toward the utility room. I wandered into the kitchen and sat at the table, lost in thought.

I could give Miss Eulalie a call tomorrow afternoon to ask whether she had found her copy of the memoir. I hoped that she wouldn’t put herself in danger by confronting the person who removed the book from her house. Should I call her and warn her?