Arsenic and Old Books (14 page)

“Let's go home, boy,” I told Diesel. Though it was only a few minutes past four, I felt ready to get away from the archive and think about something besides the Longs and the Singletarys and their tangled histories.

Diesel slid down from the windowsill and went over to the door while I powered down the computer and gathered my things. Minutes later we were down the stairs and ready to walk out the front door, when Melba hailed me from her office. I suppressed a sigh and turned to greet my friend as she hurried out to where we stood. I had hoped to sneak out without her seeing us because I couldn't tell her what I had read in the diary. Melba had an unfailing instinct, however, for the times when I tried to duck out on her.

“How're y'all doing?” She bent to rub Diesel's head and coo at him.

“Fine, but tired,” I said.

Melba straightened. “What have you been doing that's so tiring besides sitting up there in your chair all day? I've been run off my feet or else I'd've been up there to visit earlier.”

“Staring at a computer screen,” I said. “That always tires me out and gives me a bit of a headache.” I did have a headache, so I wasn't making a play for sympathy, hoping she would be satisfied and let us go without further questioning.

“I've got aspirin in my desk.” Melba turned and walked back into her office.

I had no choice but to follow because I knew she would be offended if I didn't accept the aspirin.

“Here.” She held out two of the pills and went over to the watercooler to fill a paper cup for me.

I took the pills with the water and thanked her. Diesel warbled anxiously. I was sure he felt my tension, and I made a conscious effort to relax. I was being silly, trying to avoid talking to Melba.

She beamed at me. “By the time you get home that aspirin ought to kick in, and you'll feel better. Sit down a minute before you head into that sticky humidity out there.” She gestured toward the visitor's chair by her desk.

I waited until she sat before I complied with her order. Diesel rubbed himself against her legs, and she scratched his head and neck.

“Anything new on the murder?” Melba asked.

“Not that I know of,” I said. “This is one time when I'm probably not going to be much help to Kanesha.” I didn't think I'd found information in the diary all that significant to the investigation. It could certainly lead to embarrassment on Jasper Singletary's part depending on how he felt about his heritage, but I wasn't sure it was connected to Marie Steverton's death.

“You do know something,” Melba said with a shrewd glint in her eyes. “I reckon, though, you're not going to tell me because it's confidential, right?”

I nodded. “Right. Anything I find in the diaries I have to discuss with the mayor first, and then with Kanesha, if it's at all pertinent. If the mayor decides to let the diary be publicly available, well, then I can tell you.”

“Fair enough,” Melba said. “I bet you there's going to be something juicy in there somewhere. Every family has skeletons in the closet, but nobody's been able to find the ones the Longs are hiding.” She grinned broadly.

“I thought you were a big supporter of the mayor's,” I said. “Sounds to me like you're hoping there'll be mud to sling.”

“Lucinda's a Long only by marriage,” Melba said. “And I do support her. I just don't have much use for her son.” She shook her head. “That boy didn't get a full serving of brains the day they were handing them out. If he wasn't so dang good-looking, nobody would think twice about voting for him.”

Based on the scene I witnessed earlier today, I couldn't disagree with Melba. “I haven't heard him speak that much,” I said. “But what little I have heard hasn't impressed me.”

“Guess that's why Lucinda is doing all she can to help get the boy elected. I don't know why she didn't run herself. She'd be a lot better state senator than her son.”

“That may be,” I said, “but she isn't running.”

Melba shrugged. “I reckon her husband is the one pushing to get the boy in office. He served a couple terms a while back in the state house of representatives, and he's probably aiming higher for his son. Trying to keep up the Long legacy.”

“It'll sure be interesting to see how this race turns out.” I stood. “Thanks again for the aspirin, but Diesel and I need to head on home. We'll see you tomorrow.”

Melba gave the cat a few last head rubs before she bade us both good-bye. Despite the heat of the afternoon I was glad to get out of the building before I let something slip to Melba that I shouldn't.

I thought about our conversation on the short walk home. Having been close up with Beck Long and then hearing Melba's assessment of him, I gained a better understanding of why Mrs. Long believed the diaries could help. Emphasis on the Long family's history and accomplishments for generations might dazzle voters enough that they would overlook Beck's deficiencies.

Wouldn't be the first time that image had trumped ability in public office, I thought sourly. I really needed to pay more attention to state politics in order to make an informed decision come election day. Guiltily I recalled my father's opinion on voting.
If you don't vote, Son,
he told me on several occasions,
you've got no right to complain when you disagree with what's going on
. As in many things, my father was absolutely right. Up until his final illness, when he was bedridden and couldn't go to the polls, he had cast a vote in every election after he first became eligible.

My cell phone rang as I unlocked the front door. I waited to answer it until both Diesel and I were inside basking in the cool air of the house, with the door shut behind us. I recognized Kanesha Berry's cell phone number on the screen.

After I answered and said hello, she got right to the point. “Good news. Those diaries will be back tomorrow morning.”

“That is good news,” I said, though it made my eyes tired and my head ache to think of reading through all those pages of Rachel Long's handwriting.

“You made any progress with the other volume the mayor brought you?” Kanesha asked.

“I scanned all the pages, and I've been reading them today.”

“Find anything interesting that could possibly be related to the investigation?”

I hesitated. Should I wait to talk to Mrs. Long first? She had, after all, given the diaries to the archive without restriction on use—except, of course, for the grant of exclusive access to Marie Steverton, now moot.

“You must have found something.” Kanesha's sharp tone made me realize she interpreted my hesitation correctly.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “I'm not sure it really has a bearing on the murder, but I think you should know, in case it turns out that it is important.”

“Good,” Kanesha said. “How about I swing by in about fifteen minutes? Are you still in the office?”

“No, I'm at home,” I said. “Got here right as you called. Fifteen minutes is fine.”

“I'll be there.” She ended the call.

I put my cell phone away and removed Diesel's leash and halter. “Come on, boy, let's go have a snack.”

The words hardly left my mouth before the cat darted away. I knew his destination. Litter box first, then water and food.

I put a pot of coffee on because I knew Kanesha drank a lot of it. Must be an occupational hazard, I mused. I also found some of her mother's cookies we could enjoy.

Kanesha turned up at the front door on the dot, and I let her in. She thanked me for the coffee and cookies, and she drank and munched while I told her what I found in Rachel's diary.

Her expression remained enigmatic throughout my narration. When I finished, she said, “That was pretty clear. Sounds to me like Mr. Singletary may not be happy when he finds out about this. Although you'd think he'd already know.”

I shrugged. “I guess the family members who knew kept quiet about it, and the later generations didn't find out.”

Kanesha frowned. “Still pretty odd, though. You'd think somebody outside the Longs and the Singletarys would have found out. Athena wasn't a big town back then, and I'm sure it wasn't any different then than it is now. Everybody seems to know everybody else's business. How could they keep a thing like that secret all these years?”

“That's a good point,” I said slowly. “I'd never heard anything much about the Singletarys, though, until all this election business started up.”

Kanesha frowned. “I don't remember Mama talking much about them, either, and she knows all the old families in town.”

“Maybe I ought to give Miss An'gel and Miss Dickce a call,” I said. Diesel perked up when he heard those names. He chirped several times, and Kanesha smiled.

“He knows who you're talking about, doesn't he?” She stood. “Why don't you talk to Miss An'gel and ask? They know a lot about families around here that they never let slip. I need to get back to the office.”

“I will.” I escorted her to the front door. “I hope something breaks soon so you can wrap this up. I don't like to think about a killer running around free.”

“You think I do?” Kanesha regarded me grimly. “The president of the college is having fits over this, and the mayor is calling every couple of hours to hear the latest. There's a lot of pressure to get this solved quickly.”

“Everybody wants results yesterday,” I said. “I know you're doing the absolute best you can.”

Kanesha nodded. “Thanks. Let me hear from you if you come up with anything. I'll take any lead I can get right now.” She turned and strode down the path to the street.

I shut the door and walked back into the kitchen. Diesel stood on his hind legs, one front paw extended toward the plate where a lone cookie sat.

“No, bad kitty,” I told him as I hurried forward to grab the cookie away from him. I couldn't believe I'd been so careless as to leave the cookie within reach. “I told you these aren't good for you. Cats aren't supposed to eat raisins.”

Diesel meowed loudly as I pulled the cookie away in time. I took it to the sink and put it down the garbage disposal. Diesel warbled in protest loudly enough that I heard him over the grinding of the disposal. I switched it off and turned to look down at my cat. He seemed cross.

“Too bad,” I said. “If you want a snack go eat more of your crunchies.”

Diesel turned away and marched off, tail in the air. He didn't head for the utility room, though. Instead he made for the stairs. I figured he was going to sulk in my bedroom.

Diesel didn't pout with me that often, and the good thing about it was that he wasn't destructive when he did. I would give him a couple of his favorite cat treats at dinner, and that would improve his mood.

I called Miss An'gel's cell phone but had to leave a message. I explained briefly the reason for my call, then rang off. The Ducote sisters spent most of their time doing volunteer work in Athena and the surrounding area. Meetings of various committees and boards kept them busy, so I wasn't surprised not to get an answer right away. Miss An'gel would return my call as soon as she could.

In the meantime I pondered how I would spend my evening. Too early yet for dinner, so what to do? Kanesha said the four volumes of Rachel Long's diary would be returned tomorrow morning, and that would mean a heavy workload. I sighed. I wasn't eager to plunge back into the one volume I had scanned, but I might as well. The sooner I got through them all, the sooner I might discover a clue to the present-day murder if one existed.

I went into the den and powered up my laptop. I got comfortable on the sofa and opened up the file I sent myself yesterday. I paged down until I found the last entry I'd read in my office.

The next entry came three days later.

The transaction is complete. Celeste thanked me most prettily, and I wished her well, keeping my misgivings to myself. The Good Lord only knew her fate, and I prayed that He would be merciful to her and to Franklin and their babe. I gave her two of my mother-in-law's dresses and an old woolen cloak of hers as well, in addition to the things I had already provided her during her service to our family. I shall miss her, I must confess, for she has been a cheerful presence in this sad and unhappy house.

For the next couple of weeks Rachel wrote of daily life during a hard winter. Their stores of food diminished at an alarming rate, and Rachel prayed they would be able to find provisions in town. She longed for the spring and its warmth and for the chance to plant vegetables to sustain them throughout the year.

On January 27, 1862, Rachel noted the death of Jasper Singletary, “too worn down by illness and despair to linger in this world.” She would pray for his soul, that he had been reunited with his loved ones in Heaven. She made no mention of Franklin and Celeste.

After that Rachel evidently had little time or energy for daily attention to the diary. Two or three days often passed without any record of her activities. When Rachel did take time to write, she had little to say other than to mention problems with food and other supplies. Often she concluded with the words “and may the Lord provide as He will.”

The bleakness of life in wartime came through poignantly in these pages. I admired Rachel's fortitude in facing each day and somehow struggling through. I felt I knew her a little, and I could not see the Rachel I found in these pages as a coldhearted killer—a woman who plotted the deaths of four people in order to help her father-in-law take the land he wanted from a bereaved husband and father.

She occasionally mentioned her own child, a son of four named after his father and grandfather, Andrew Adalbert Long III. He was a bonny child, she said, and she took comfort in his youth and energy. She sometimes ate little in order that he would have enough, particularly during the cold winter when they had to be careful with their supplies. She longed for her husband's safe return, and the pain of not knowing either his whereabouts or the state of his health affected her sleep.

She wrote little of political events or even of news of the war. Her attention centered on the situation at home. I thought perhaps she avoided recording news of the war because she couldn't bear confiding such sad tidings to her diary. That would make it all seem even more real. I knew that it would have to me.

I read on.

In November 1862 rumors spread that the Union Army was headed for Athena, and the town, though evidently panicked, did what it could to prepare. Rachel had already hidden many valuables away from the slaves—those who hadn't run away by then—and hoped they would be safe. Later she recorded that, though the army did come to Athena and cause considerable damage, they did not penetrate far enough south to find Bellefontaine. The Longs escaped the worst of the Union depredations, unlike the poor townspeople.

I skimmed after that because there were no substantial entries to read. Even Rachel's mention of her father-in-law's passing in September 1863 merited only two sentences. The privations of wartime had grown even worse by then, and I wondered how they managed to survive. I knew Rachel lived for many years after the war, as did her son. I didn't know about her husband, though, and whether he survived the war.

I decided to look it up. I did a search on Andrew Adalbert Long, Jr., in the library's online catalog because I knew the information should be in the record for the collection. The information came up right away. To my surprise I discovered Andrew Junior died in 1863.
Before or after his father?
I wondered.

I would have to check the diary to see what Rachel recorded about her husband's death.

The house phone rang, and I set my laptop aside to get to my desk where the instrument sat.

“Good evening, Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Long said. “I hope you won't mind my calling but I'm afraid curiosity is getting the better of me. Have you been reading the diary?”

“I don't mind at all, Your Honor,” I said. “I have been reading, and I have discovered a lot of interesting information.” I wondered how she would react to the news about Jasper Singletary's great-great-grandmother Celeste.

“Excellent,” she said. “Can you give me a summary? I have about twenty minutes before I have to leave for a dinner being held in my son's honor.”

“Sure,” I said. I gave her a quick, general report about the nature of the entries in the diary. After a pause for breath, I related the strange story of Rachel's connection with the Singletary family and her attempts to help them.

“Interesting,” the mayor said. “Perhaps this will stop young Mr. Singletary from making some of these wild claims of his.”

“Maybe,” I said. “There is more, however.” I told her about Franklin and Celeste.

When I finished, the mayor's reaction shocked me.

She laughed. “Oh, this is priceless. He's been having a fit to get his hands on these diaries, and now he's going to be sorry I ever found them. His campaign is in big trouble now.”