Arsenic And Old Books

I settled back in my chair and started to read. I was happy to discover that Dr. Brooke had an engaging style and her prose didn’t suffer from the usual academic dryness. The opening chapter related the beginnings of the town of Athena in the early 1820s, and I recognized several names as those of our most prominent families: Ducote, Long, and Pendergrast, among others. Then I had the pleasant shock of seeing the name of my own great-great-grandfather, Henry Harris. He had owned a large dry goods store in Athena and was considered one of the town’s most prominent businessmen.

The narrative absorbed me, and I lost track of time while I read. A knock at the door roused me, and I looked up to see a man in the uniform of the sheriff’s department standing there.

“Please, come in.” I stood and motioned for him to enter. He looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t remember his name.

“Morning, Mr. Harris,” the deputy said. “Where would you like me to put this?” He nodded to indicate the box he carried.

“Right here on the desk, Deputy Turnbull.” He had come close enough for me to read the name on his badge.

Turnbull set the box down and pulled some papers out of the top. “If you’ll sign this for me, sir, to acknowledge you accepted return of the books, I’d appreciate it.” He put the papers on the desk in front of me.

“Certainly.” I sat and picked up a pen. I followed the direction of the deputy’s pointing finger and signed as asked.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He gave a sharp nod. “Have a good day.”

I thanked him in return and bade him good day as well. My hands trembled as I reached in a drawer and pulled out a pair of cotton gloves. I was thrilled to have the diaries back in the archive.

I stared down at the contents of the box as I pulled on the gloves. Would the diaries yield the information necessary to shed light on the bizarre events of the past few days? I took a deep breath and began to unload the box.

THIRTY

“Well, boy, I have my work cut out for me now,” I said as I placed the last volume on my desk and set the box on the floor beside it. I figured the cat would want to investigate the box, and better that it should be on the floor than on my desk.

I turned to the windowsill. Diesel wasn’t there.

I had a brief moment of panic, then forced myself to calm down. “Diesel? Where are you, boy? Come here please.”

I waited for at least fifteen seconds before I repeated my summons.

No cat appeared. He was probably downstairs with Melba. I stripped off one glove, picked up the office phone, and punched in her extension. She answered right away.

“I was about to call you,” she said. “I have a furry visitor, and I’ll bet you didn’t know he’d sneaked out of the office and come down here.”

I felt a huge sensation of relief. “No, I didn’t know he’d left the office. I was pretty engrossed in reading, and he got out without my knowledge. Thank goodness he’s safe with you, the little demon.”

“I thought he might follow Art Turnbull, the deputy who was here a few minutes ago. He stopped in to say a quick hello to me before he came upstairs.”

“One of your many admirers, no doubt,” I teased her gently. I figured Turnbull for mid-forties, but that was close enough for Melba.

“No, he’s married,” she said. “But I know his sister Madge real well. You probably don’t remember her. She was a few grades behind us in school.”

“No, can’t say that I remember her. Look, are you okay with Diesel down there? Or do you want me to come get him?”

“He can stay with me for a while,” Melba said. “When I get ready to take a break, we’ll come upstairs.”

“Thanks.” I felt relieved but also a bit aggravated with myself. I shouldn’t have been so wrapped up in my reading that I missed seeing my large cat slink out of the office. I needed to be more alert.

My heart rate returned to normal, I picked up the discarded glove and put it back on. I figured I might as well take a look at the volume with the missing pages. Each of the volumes lay on its side on my desk, with the bottom pages of the book toward me. I bent closer to them and examined each one.

The volume with the missing pages wasn’t hard to spot. There was a slight gap in the pages about two-thirds of the way toward the back of it. I pulled that one forward and opened it with care.

I turned to the place in the book where the pages had been taken out. I examined the area, and it looked to me like Marie had used a razor blade to cut the pages loose. There was no point in feeling anger over Marie’s act of vandalism. She had already paid a higher price than I could have exacted.

The date of the entry preceding the gap was August 10, 1863. I turned to the beginning of the diary and found the initial date there: November 1, 1860.

That was odd. This volume covered at least part of the same period as the volume Mrs. Long found hidden in the false bottom of the trunk.

I checked the final entry for a date: June 3, 1866.