The Silence Of The Library

I decided to risk another question. As tired as she was, she might let me get by with it. “Who found her? Since she’s a widow, I thought she lived alone.”

Kanesha stared at me over the rim of her mug while she drank. She set the mug down before she responded. “She did, except for a dog. Little yappy thing, like that poodle of Mr. Delacorte’s. He was barking his head off, and her neighbor went over to complain. Looked in through the back door when Mrs. Taylor didn’t answer the knocking and saw her slumped over her desk in a corner of the kitchen. Turned out she’d been strangled to death.”

I nodded as I offered her a refill, and she accepted. I sat down across from her and waited for the questions to start.

“You saw her twice yesterday, you said. What was she doing?” She sipped at her coffee and regarded me intently.

“She came to the library—the public library, that is—for meetings with Teresa Farmer and me about an event for National Library Week.” I went on to explain the nature of the event and the participation of Electra Barnes Cartwright. “Mrs. Taylor published a newsletter devoted to the author—she always referred to her by her initials, EBC.”

Kanesha frowned. “That explains part of the note that was puzzling me. Above your phone number and your name she—or someone—had written EBC.”

“Maybe she was planning to call me about something to do with Mrs. Cartwright,” I said. “When she left the library the second time, she said she was going home to look through her EBC archive.”

“What was she looking for? Did she say?” Kanesha drained the last of her coffee, but waved away the offer of another refill.

I thought for a moment. “She had a picture she wanted to find, of the garden shed where Mrs. Cartwright used to write when she was younger.” There was something else, but what? I dug into my memory. “Oh, and there was a remark about Gordon Betts.”

“Who is Gordon Betts?” Kanesha frowned. “I don’t remember a family in Athena called Betts.”

“No, he’s not from around here. Chicago, I think I heard him say. He’s one of the book collectors who showed up because of the information on the library website. He’s a rabid fan of Mrs. Cartwright’s, and he has a large collection of her Veronica Thane books.” I related briefly the two incidents with Betts. “The last thing Mrs. Taylor said was that she had items in her own collection that Betts didn’t know about. The way she said it, I took her to mean that he would want them badly if he knew about them.”

I had a sudden horrible feeling. Would Gordon Betts want these mysterious items badly enough to kill?

“Do you have any idea what these items were, or how valuable they might be?” Kanesha had pulled out a small notebook and a pen and was jotting down notes.

“No, I don’t. She didn’t explain, and we didn’t really have a chance to ask.”

Kanesha looked up from her notebook. “What about this Betts? If he’s a collector, does he have a lot of money?”

“According to Mrs. Taylor he does. Inherited from his father, something to do with manufacturing. She said he has never had to work.” I shrugged. “This is all hearsay, because I have no idea whether her information is accurate, or where it came from. These collectors all seem to know one another.”

“There are others?”

I nodded. I told her about Della Duffy and said that we expected more—perhaps many more—to turn up in time for Mrs. Cartwright’s appearance at the library.

Kanesha looked disgruntled at the news. “If Mrs. Taylor’s death is connected to Mrs. Cartwright in some way, that means potentially way too many suspects. I’ve had nightmares like this.”

I couldn’t believe she said anything so personal, because usually she was careful not to let her feelings show. Particularly to me.

“Maybe her death is completely unrelated to Mrs. Cartwright and her books. You should talk to Melba Gilley. According to Helen Louise, they were really close. Melba will be able to tell you if Mrs. Taylor had any enemies in town.”

That news seemed to cheer Kanesha up slightly. Her expression became a tad less morose. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll check with Ms. Gilley.” She stood. “Thanks for the coffee, too. I’ll probably have more questions for you later, but you’ve given me a lot to work on.”

“Glad I could help.” I escorted her to the door. We exchanged nods as she departed.

Back in the kitchen, I poured another cup of coffee—the last in the pot—and started to make a fresh one. While I did so, I thought again about the collecting bug and the lengths to which some people would apparently go to acquire highly desirable items.

What Mrs. Taylor had said about her own collection niggled at me. What if Betts had found out about the unique item or items she claimed to own? He might have tried to buy them, she refused, and then he killed her in a fit of rage and took what he wanted.