Claws For Concern

Teresa Farmer greeted us at the door and let us inside. A few minutes later, we opened the front doors, and several patrons entered. Among them was Bill Delaney. He nodded in my direction after I caught his eye, but he made a beeline for the chair in a far corner, the same chair he had used every time I had worked at the library during his visits.

This morning, instead of working at the reference desk, I was cataloging and processing new books purchased from funds raised by the Friends of Athena Public Library. Their generosity and tireless efforts made a huge difference in the amount and variety of resources the library had to offer. The state library commission did its best, but lack of proper funding meant limited resources for the many public libraries across the state.

Diesel stayed with me for a few minutes before he evidently decided that he would get more attention if he assisted Teresa at the reference desk. I knew Teresa would keep an eye on him and not let him get into mischief or let him be mishandled by anyone.

I worked steadily until eleven fifteen. Jack Pemberton was due to meet me at eleven thirty. I had e-mailed Teresa last night to tell her I was expecting a visitor to discuss a project. I hadn’t told her what the project was, and she didn’t press me for details even though I knew she was curious.

I joined Teresa and Diesel at the reference desk.

“He’s been a good boy,” Teresa said.

Diesel meowed to agree, and both Teresa and I smiled. We chatted for a couple of minutes, until a patron came to the desk for help with a database. I remained there while Teresa followed the patron back to the computer she was using.

At eleven twenty-five, a tall, lean, bespectacled man entered the library. He appeared to be in his midforties, roughly a decade younger than I. I recognized him from the author photo in the book I had read. He approached the reference desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Pemberton,” I said. “I’m Charlie Harris.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harris,” he replied as he extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me to discuss my proposal.”

“Glad to do it,” I said. “If you’ll follow me, we can talk about it in the back, in the staff-only area.” I moved from behind the desk, and Diesel came with me.

Jack Pemberton smiled. “So this is your famous sidekick. He’s a beautiful animal. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his name, though.”

“Diesel,” I replied.

Diesel sniffed Pemberton’s extended fingers, then butted his head against the man’s hand. He warbled, which was his sign of approval. Pemberton had passed one important test without knowing it. Diesel appeared to like him.

“Nice to meet you, too, Diesel,” Pemberton said as we continued into the staff area. I pointed the writer to a seat by the desk where I worked. Diesel remained near him while I made myself comfortable behind the desk.

I offered my guest a bottle of water, and he accepted. After he had a drink, he capped the bottle and set it on the floor by his chair.

“Thanks,” Pemberton said. “I know you have questions for me, but I thought I would start by giving you a more detailed description of the project I have in mind.”

I nodded. “Yes, please do.”

Diesel meowed, and the writer chuckled. “I guess your assistant is ready to hear more about it, too. I know you met a good friend of my wife’s and mine on Sunday, Ernie Carpenter.” After I nodded again, he continued, “I’m sure Ernie mentioned that Wanda Nell, my wife, and I also have some experience as amateurs involved in murder investigations. Wanda Nell and I haven’t sought publicity for our part in these cases before now, and we’re still not. I believe you said you had read one of my books?”

“Yes, Hell Has No Fury,” I replied. “I thoroughly enjoyed it. I have to say that it was the first true crime book I’ve ever read. You write well, and I liked the fact that you didn’t sensationalize the truly tragic aspects of the case the way other writers might have done.”

“Thank you.” Pemberton smiled. “I think the facts in these cases are dramatic enough in themselves, and reporting them is enough to make the point. My approach is the same in each of the books I’ve written so far, and I don’t plan to deviate from that. Based on my research into some of the cases here in Athena, I’d say the facts of them are pretty dramatic, so they don’t need embellishment. The same is true of the cases Wanda Nell and I have been involved with.”

My take thus far on Jake Pemberton was that he was a forthright, down-to-earth person. A stand-up guy, to use Helen Louise’s term. I thought him sincere in what he said about his work and his approach toward it. Because of this, I felt more relaxed with him. My reservations about participating in the project had begun to waver.