The Silence Of The Library

“She gave me a couple now and again.” Melba frowned. “I didn’t keep them, though, because I couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for all that girl detective stuff.” She paused. “I know she did keep copies, and of course some of them are probably on her computer. When she started, they were all typed on her electric typewriter. She finally broke down about six years ago and got a computer. I helped her learn to use it.”

Her voice choked up on those last two sentences, and I reached over and patted her hand. She sighed deeply. “I still can’t believe it. But that’s not helping anything right now. I got off the track a little. You wanted to know if there were copies in her files. She had print copies of the ones she did on the typewriter, I believe, but maybe not of the ones she did on the computer. I think any paper ones were part of the files that were taken, though.”

While she talked, I did a search on the laptop and pulled up a website for the newsletter. “Thanks, honey. I found her website.” I skimmed the page. “Looks like it’s basically a one-screen site. There are no links, just information about subscribing, and an e-mail address for inquiries.”

That was frustrating. The newsletter might lead me down a completely blind alley, but I had to get a look at the issues. The question was how quickly could I find someone who had copies?

When the answer hit me, I felt like banging my head on the table. I probably had at least several years of them in the house, because I was sure Aunt Dottie would have subscribed.

I hadn’t gone through everything in the house after she died, and I definitely would have noticed them. They were probably still here.

Where had she kept them?

THIRTY-THREE

Again, the answer was obvious after barely a moment’s consideration. If Aunt Dottie had copies of the Veronica Thane newsletter, where else would she keep them but in the same room with the books themselves? They were probably in a box in the closet. I couldn’t recall ever having gone through that closet, though I’d bet Azalea knew exactly what was in every closet in the house.

Before I dashed up the stairs to check, however, I had a couple more questions for Melba—bits of things that had surfaced from somewhere in the beehive of my brain.

“Got another one for you. Talking about her computer reminded me,” I said. “Did they take Carrie’s computer from the house?”

“They sure did.” Melba nodded three times. “Just like they do on television crime shows. Said they were going to check everything on it.”

“I figured they probably would.” I hoped they would go through her e-mail in particular. The clue we sought might be lurking in a message. I was happy to leave that particular job to the professionals. In addition to her mail, whoever did the work could go through all the newsletter issues. I would do what I could on my end, especially if Aunt Dottie had copies of the precomputer issues.

“I’m done, Charlie,” Melba said as she pushed her chair back and stood. “And I checked the clock. It’s almost nine thirty. I have about enough time to run home and freshen up before church, so I’m going to head out now. Will you see that Kanesha gets my notes?”

“Of course,” I said. “You can leave them on the table.”

Diesel had evidently been sound asleep, because I hadn’t heard a peep from him in quite a while. Melba’s stated intention to leave—and the noise of the chair scraping on the linoleum—woke him up. He started muttering and butting his head against her legs, telling her not to go. She laughed and scratched his head and along his spine.

“Sorry, sweet boy, but I need to get to church. I’ll see you tomorrow at the office, and I might have a treat for you.” Melba smiled down at the cat. He warbled back, sounding slightly happier. The word treat always worked. He also knew what office meant.

“We’ll see you out.” Diesel and I accompanied her to the front door, and I gave her a quick hug before she headed down the walk to her car. Diesel meowed after her until I shut the door and he could no longer see her.

I stood there while Diesel ambled back toward the kitchen. I hadn’t even thought about church this morning. Nor had I thought much about the fact that it was Sunday. Usually I attended services at the college chapel, and I didn’t often miss. Today the fever of the hunt was upon me, and I trusted I might be forgiven nonattendance this once. After all, I told myself semipiously, I was trying to serve the cause of justice.

I wasn’t sure Kanesha would see it that way, but she had allowed me to help.

“Come on, Diesel, I’m going up to the third floor.” I waited a moment at the foot of the stairs, and he came trotting out of the kitchen toward me. On occasion he ignored such calls and went on with whatever he was doing, but generally he liked to be near me.