The Silence Of The Library

“I’ll be here.” The dial tone buzzed in my ear. I wondered if Kanesha even heard me. I hung up the phone and stared at Diesel. He had stuck his face right up in mine and chirped as he rubbed his head against my chin. I put an arm around him and hugged him, and he bore it for a few seconds before pulling away. “I’m okay, boy, don’t worry.”

Evidently reassured, Diesel sat back and commenced cleaning one front paw. I watched him while my thoughts raced.

Carrie Taylor, murdered. That was terrible. Why on earth would someone murder her? She had seemed like a nice lady who wouldn’t make enemies easily.

I recalled what Helen Louise told me last night, that Mrs. Taylor and Melba Gilley were bosom buddies. She couldn’t be that close to Melba without loving to gossip the way Melba did. Perhaps the roots of her death could be traced there. What could she know, however, that made someone angry enough—or desperate enough—to kill?

Poor Melba. She would be devastated by this. I started to pick up the phone to call her but stopped myself when I realized how bad an idea it was. For one thing I couldn’t tell her news like that over the phone. Not to mention the fact that Kanesha would have me strung up by my thumbs if she found out I had done such an idiotic thing.

No, Melba would have to find out the news some other way. I’d have to tell Kanesha, naturally, about their friendship. I knew she would want to question Melba to discover whether she knew anything pertinent.

Then a horrible thought struck me. Melba could be in danger, too, if the killer knew about her closeness to the dead woman. What if Carrie Taylor had shared with Melba the information that led to her death? Perhaps I should call Melba after all.

Diesel meowed anxiously again, and I realized he had picked up on my rapidly escalating unease.

Get a grip, Charlie, I told myself sternly. Don’t get hysterical. Melba is probably fine and in no danger whatsoever. I scratched the cat’s head to calm him, and he settled down to groom his other paw.

I decided I’d better get up and in the shower. Kanesha might be here sooner than the predicted hour, and I ought to be ready. Besides, I discovered I was hungry despite the horror of the situation.

Diesel disappeared while I was in the shower—not an unusual occurrence. He was either down in the utility room, doing his business and munching on dry food, or snuggled up in another bed, probably Laura’s.

The aroma of fresh coffee hit my nose as I entered an empty kitchen. Stewart Delacorte, the second of my two current boarders, had probably prepared the coffeemaker last night and set it for the morning, bless him. I poured myself a cup, added some half-and-half and sweetener, and had a few sips before I went out to fetch the paper.

I decided on cereal and fruit for breakfast—a healthy change from the delicious, but cholesterol-laden, meals Azalea prepared during the week. I kept telling myself I should make more of an effort to eat healthy during the week instead of only on the weekends, but Azalea’s old-fashioned Southern cooking was irresistible. Now that she had recovered from the health problems she suffered around Christmastime she seemed more indefatigable than ever. She didn’t even ask her sister Lily to help out, as she had done for a couple of months after her brief hospital stay.

While I munched my cereal and read the paper, I did my best to avoid thinking about poor Carrie Taylor for the moment. With the grilling I’d soon get from Kanesha Berry, I wouldn’t be thinking of much else.

No other member of the household—not even my cat—had put in an appearance by the time I rinsed my bowl in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher. For Saturday mornings, this quiet was typical. I was the only early riser on the weekend. Just as well today, I thought, because Kanesha wouldn’t want anyone else in the room when she questioned me.

The doorbell rang about ten minutes after eight as I was enjoying my second cup of coffee. My stomach lurched. Back to reality, I told myself as I went to answer.

Kanesha Berry, grim-faced as ever, stood on the front doorstep. Her ever-present shadow, Deputy Bates, was not in evidence this morning, and I wondered where he was as I invited her in.

Kanesha followed me into the kitchen. “Sorry to have to bother you so early on a Saturday morning, Mr. Harris, but murder can’t wait.”

“I understand,” I said as I reached for the coffeepot and a fresh mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Kanesha pulled out a chair and sat, and I noticed how weary she looked, her face drawn and almost haggard. “No cream or sugar.”

I ventured a question. “Have you been up all night?”

She nodded as she accepted her mug. “Domestic dispute on the north side near the county line, and then we got the call about Mrs. Taylor around five this morning.”