Arsenic and Old Books (4 page)

Diesel emitted a loud yowl and scooted out of the way as Marie lost her balance and landed hard on her rump on the floor. Diesel tangled the leash around my legs, and I stumbled and almost fell right on top of Marie.

At the last moment, however, I managed to regain my balance. I unwrapped the leash from my legs, dropped it, and then bent to offer the fallen Marie a hand.

“Why don't you look where you're going?” Marie flapped my hand away and got herself up.

I turned away from the ungainly sight and did my best to hold on to my rapidly escalating temper.

“You're the one who went rushing off like a blind pig after an acorn.” Melba hurried over and put herself between Marie and me. “Don't blame Charlie because you're rude and a klutz into the bargain.”

Marie's face reddened. “You are going to lose your job over this. I can't believe you're talking to a member of the faculty in this manner. You have no business working with decent people.”

Melba laughed. “Well, honey, in your case, I'm not.”

Marie took a moment to process Melba's last remark. Her expression promised another explosion.

“You'd better watch what you say to me,” Melba continued before Marie could respond. “I'm going in my office right this minute to give my old friend Professor Newkirk a call. I was his personal secretary about fifteen years ago, and we've always been good buddies.” She smirked at Marie. “I think he'd like to hear about the low-down behavior of one of his faculty members. Yes, ma'am, I do think he's going to be real interested in what I have to say.”

The lightning change in Marie's demeanor was almost comical. She went from stroke-inducing fury to sickening obsequiousness in two seconds flat.

“Oh, now, there's no reason for you to disturb Dr. Newkirk.” Her tone oozed sweetness. “He's
far
too busy to be bothered with such a
simple
misunderstanding. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in chastising you for doing your job. Surely you'll be willing to overlook one little lapse.”

Melba and I exchanged a quick glance. What little respect I had for Marie disappeared.

“What was it you wanted, Marie?” I asked, my tone clipped. I glanced around for Diesel, but I didn't see him. He had either bolted upstairs to wait by the archive office door or had taken refuge under Melba's desk. He hated scenes like this as much as I did.

Marie eyed me warily for a moment, then offered me a tenuous smile. “Oh, I was just hoping to visit the archive and have a quick look at the Rachel Long diaries. My dear friend Lucinda Long called me last night to tell me that it would be all right.”

Lucinda probably did call her, I reckoned, but I doubted the mayor told her it would be okay to try to browbeat Melba into letting her into the archive without my knowledge and approval.

I forbore to mention that when I responded. “I explained to Her Honor yesterday that I have to have time to examine the diaries more closely. I'm sure they need at least minimum conservation work before they can be handled by anyone else. I thought you understood that as well.”

“Oh, I have a lot of experience handling primary documents.” Marie's airy, smug tone did nothing to endear her to me. “I know how delicate they can be. Besides, I've worked in far more prestigious archives than this one.”

She made as if to start listing them, but my tart response cut her off. “I don't happen to be responsible for any other archives, so I'm not that interested in your work outside Athena College. I told the mayor last night that the documents ought to be ready for you to work with the first of next week. If you're not satisfied with that, then I suggest you look for another project.”

I could tell by Melba's broad grin that she was enjoying this immensely. She didn't often see me lose my temper, but she was getting closer by the second, thanks to Marie, who didn't have the sense to know when she was licked.

Marie sniffed, her expression disdainful. “You're just annoyed that Lucinda isn't letting you deny me exclusive access. I told you she would do what I want. She didn't dare refuse me, after all I've done for her.”

I could have smacked her right then.

Melba saved me the trouble. “Honey, about the only thing you've done for Her Honor the mayor is be a thorn in her side from the day she was unlucky enough to meet you. Charlie said you'd have to wait until next week, and you darn well better listen to him. If I see you in this building again before next Monday morning, I'm going to get on the phone and call Professor Newkirk. If it comes down to you and the professor, who's known Lucinda all her life, I reckon I know who she's going to listen to. Now get out of my sight.” She turned and walked back into her office without looking back. I spotted Diesel's head sticking out from under her desk. He would be fine there until I was done here.

Even Marie, brash and pigheaded as she could be, wasn't foolhardy enough to talk back to Melba after that set-down. Instead she shot me a glance of utter loathing, picked up the briefcase she had dropped earlier, and stomped her way to the front door.

Where she promptly ran into another person, this time a tall, rangy young woman who looked like she would be comfortable on a tennis court or golf course.

“Out of my way.” Marie snapped out the words and made as if to push by the stranger.

“Hold on there, Professor,” the young woman said, her tone firm. “I've got a bone to pick with you.” She refused to budge from the doorway, and Marie had to step back.

The stranger's voice sounded oddly familiar, and it took me a moment to place it. This must be Kelly Grimes, the writer who also wanted access to the diaries. Evidently she did know Marie after all.

“What's going on?” Melba whispered. I hadn't heard her approach.

“Let's see,” I said in an undertone.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? I have no idea who you are. Kindly get out of my way.” Marie stepped forward, but Kelly Grimes stood firm.

“You surely ought to remember me, Dr. Steverton.” Ms. Grimes laughed as she stared down at the shorter, squatter woman. “I was one of the few students who actually made it through your so-called seminar on the role of women in the Civil War five years ago. You don't have that many upper-level students, so I find it hard to believe you really don't know who I am.”

Marie's gaze flicked toward Melba and me. We stared back with obvious interest. Marie turned toward her former student again.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “Ms. Grimes, isn't it? I didn't really get a good look at your face before. It's always a pleasure to see former students, but I'm afraid I have no time to talk right now, so you'll have to excuse me.”

She tried once again to push past the writer, but Kelly Grimes simply laughed again.

“I do have time, Dr. Steverton, and you're going to listen to me now. I found out you're trying to hog something for yourself that I need, and that's really unfortunate. You're going to have to share, or there will be sad consequences.”

Melba nudged me in the side. “Who is she? She looks familiar, but I can't place her.”

“Freelance writer,” I said. “She wants to look at those diaries pretty badly, too.”

“They must be pretty hot stuff,” Melba said. “How old are they?”

“From the Civil War,” I said.

Marie had been talking during our little exchange, and I tuned back in.

“. . . needs of scholarship far outweigh any claim from the press; surely you must see that.” She glared at the young writer.

Kelly Grimes snickered in her face. “Scholarship, my aunt Fanny. You'd do anything to get tenure. Short of sleeping with old Newkirk, that is, but even he has standards.”

“Get out of my way before I slap the living daylights out of your stupid face,” Marie bellowed. She grabbed at Kelly Grimes and managed at last to shove her out of the way. Grimes stumbled sideways and almost slipped on the marble floor of the entryway but righted herself in time.

Marie charged out the door and disappeared.

Kelly Grimes glanced over at Melba and me. “Seen enough?” Her tone was cool. She straightened the jacket of her tailored suit and then stepped forward.

“In case you hadn't figured it out already, I'm Kelly Grimes.” She thrust out her hand toward Melba.

They shook hands, and Melba introduced herself.

“This is Charlie Harris,” Melba said. “I expect you're here looking for him.”

The writer offered me a wry smile as we shook hands. “Yes, I am, though I didn't expect to have to deal with a lunatic.”

I ignored that little sally when I replied. “I am a bit surprised by your visit, Ms. Grimes. When we spoke on the phone last night, I asked you to call me on Thursday. Why did you drop by this morning, on a day when I don't usually work at the college?”

Her smile faltered at my not-so-welcoming words. “I was on campus already, on my way to the library, and I thought I'd drop by on the off chance that you'd be here.”

Thanks to Marie, and now this unexpected visit from the tenacious writer, I felt beleaguered. I didn't like feeling beleaguered, and no doubt my tone betrayed that when I replied. “I suppose you had better come upstairs to the office for a moment.”

I turned to Melba. “Do you mind keeping Diesel down here for a while?”

Melba grinned. “Of course not. Let me know when you're free, and I'll bring him up.” She nodded a good-bye to Kelly Grimes.

I turned to the stairs and started up without waiting to see whether the writer followed me.

She caught up with me after five steps. “Diesel is your cat, right? Ray Appleby mentioned him to me once when I turned in a story he bought. He's a Maine Coon, I believe.”

Ray Appleby was a member of the staff of the local paper. We had become acquainted the past couple of years, thanks to my involvement in several murder cases.

“Yes, Diesel is a Maine Coon,” I replied tersely. Her attempt to be pleasant and chatty wasn't improving my mood. She evidently took the hint and kept quiet until I unlocked the office door and motioned for her to enter.

“Have a seat,” I told her and pointed toward one of the chairs in front of my desk. I went to my chair, sat, and switched on the computer. I turned to face the writer.

Kelly Grimes cocked her head to one side and gazed at me. “We've gotten off on the wrong foot, and it's totally my fault. I'm really sorry about that, Mr. Harris. I forget how brusque I can sound on the phone, and of course my little encounter with Dr. Steverton didn't improve matters.” She grinned. “I couldn't help it. That woman irritates the heck out of me just by breathing.”

I felt myself thawing toward the writer. Her apology was gracious enough, and I certainly couldn't blame her for her antipathy toward Marie.

“You were a student here at Athena?” I asked.

Ms. Grimes nodded. “Yes, I majored in history. Didn't want to teach school, and I wasn't ready for a graduate program. So I got myself hired as a writer on the daily paper.” She shrugged. “It's not much of a living, but it sure beats ditch-digging.”

“I'm sure it does,” I said. “What's your interest in Rachel Long's diaries? Are you planning some kind of feature article on them for the paper?”

“You might say that.” Ms. Grimes glanced away for a moment. When she looked back at me, her expression was the epitome of sincerity. “I'm going to level with you. I do have an important reason to look at those diaries, and it has to do with politics.”

I figured as much as soon as I found out she was a writer, but I didn't tell her that. “How so?”

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it. “I'm hoping I'll find something in those diaries that will help my boyfriend. Well, fiancé, really. And the sooner I can do it, the better. He's got a long, hard slog ahead of him if he's going to win his election. He's losing ground in the most recent polls.”

“Who is your fiancé?”

The writer frowned. “This is a delicate situation. You have to understand that. His family doesn't know about our relationship, and they won't be happy when they do find out.” She paused. “I'm in the process of divorcing my husband, you see. Also, I grew up poor, and nobody in my family has any kind of political pull. They aren't going to look kindly on their son being involved with me, not at a time like this. Maybe not ever.”

I thought she was probably right about that, because I was pretty sure I knew the name of her fiancé: Andrew Beckwith Long, scion of a proud and wealthy family, with political connections—and ambitions—enough to make a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks a liability.

Ms. Grimes seemed hesitant to speak the man's name. I was tired of this shilly-shallying around, so I did it for her.

“Andrew Beckwith Long,” I said.

She nodded. “There's one other thing, though.” She paused. “He doesn't know I'm doing this. He wants me to stay on the sidelines for now, but it's driving me crazy, not being able to help him. At least publicly, that is. I've been researching his family, and the minute I saw those diaries listed, I thought they might be useful. Plus I could do it without anyone in the family catching on.”

I could follow her trail of reasoning. “Then if you discovered anything truly useful that could help boost his chances, his family would look more kindly on you as a potential daughter-in-law.”

“Yes, that's pretty much it.” She laughed. “I guess I can't fool you.”

I didn't respond to that comment. For one thing, I didn't fully trust her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something about her that didn't ring quite true.

She must have picked up on my doubts somehow. She leaned forward in her chair and stared hard at me. “Look, I know this must sound crazy to you, but this is politics after all. You know how weird they can get in this state. Old Southern families and their precious images are golden. The Beckwiths and the Longs have been Athena royalty since before the Civil War, and the Grimes family were poor tenant farmers back then and pretty much still are.” Her gaze turned somber. “I'm proud of who I am. I worked hard to get an education, and I'm doing my darnedest to make the best of it, and of myself.”

I understood her sentiments, and I sympathized with her to a certain extent. I simply couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling me.

“Are you going to let me look at those diaries or not?”

“I am,” I said, “but not today.” I held up a hand to forestall the protest I could see forming on her lips. “The mayor asked me to give Dr. Steverton exclusive access to them for three weeks. I have to abide by her wishes on this.”

Kelly Grimes's shoulders slumped in defeat. “That sucks, you know. That really and truly sucks big-time.”

“I understand that,” I said. “But I haven't finished. I will talk to the mayor again about letting another person have access, without giving anything away about your purpose or your connection to her son.”

“Fair enough.” The writer bounced out of her seat and stuck her hand across my desk. “Mr. Harris, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. And in the long run, Andrew will appreciate it, too.”

I shook her hand. “I hope the diaries will prove to be worth all this trouble. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to get to work.”

“I know my exit cue when I hear it.” Ms. Grimes offered me a broad smile before she turned and loped out of the office with her long-legged stride.

If I were a drinking man, I would have a bottle of bourbon in the desk drawer. Right about now, I'd pull it out and pour myself a shot and knock it back. Then do it again.

I wasn't a drinking man, however. Instead I settled for getting a cup of water from the cooler and downing a couple of the aspirin I'd brought with me. Thanks to the combined efforts of Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes, I discovered, I had a raging headache from all the morning's tension.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a couple of minutes. My attempt at relaxation helped ease the throbbing in my forehead.

During my talk with Kelly Grimes my mind had not been completely focused on the conversation. I was thinking of some way to make access to the diaries simpler for everyone concerned. From my cursory perusal of them yesterday I didn't think they were good candidates for photocopying. The paper wasn't brittle, thankfully, but the bindings wouldn't hold up being flattened on the bed of a photocopier.

The archive did possess an overhead scanner to capture images of the pages, and a researcher could also use a digital camera for the same purpose. Both were tedious and time-consuming processes, but in the long run this might be the best option for both Marie Steverton and Kelly Grimes. My half-formed thought was to discuss this with Mayor Long and see whether she would allow it. It was a reasonable request, I figured, and I didn't think she would have any serious objections.

Before I could reach for the phone, Melba appeared in the doorway with Diesel. “Here we are,” she said. She hung Diesel's harness and leash on a coat hook near the door.

Diesel ambled forward and around my desk to jump into the broad window ledge behind my chair. This was his favorite spot while I worked, and he had an ongoing feud with the squirrels and birds who appeared in the large oak right outside the window.

Melba made herself comfortable in the chair recently vacated by Kelly Grimes. “I really will call Dr. Newkirk about the Steverton witch if you want me to. He owes me a favor from years ago. I hate to think of you being stuck with that lump of misery in your office while she does whatever it is she thinks she's doing.”

One thing I loved about Melba: Her loyalty was absolute. I knew all I had to do was say the word, and she would do whatever she could to get Marie banned from the archive. I didn't dare imagine what Dr. Newkirk had done in order to incur a debt to Melba, and I knew better than to ask. Melba loved gossip, but she understood the importance of discretion when it came to her friends.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said. Behind me, Diesel warbled loudly. He wouldn't be happy with Marie in the office, either, but we would both have to live with it. “Although I don't think we need resort to such a drastic measure just yet.”

“I get why Dr. Steverton wants to poke around those diaries, but what's in it for the writer?” Melba asked.

I couldn't divulge the complete story, but I could share part of it, I reckoned, without violating Kelly Grimes's trust. “Background for the state senate race between Beck Long and Jasper Singletary.”

“That's reaching pretty far back.” Melba frowned. “I don't see the point, because frankly I don't think Jasper Singletary stands a chance. Not against Beck Long. Jasper's basically a nobody, even though his family's been here in Athena since before the Civil War.”

“Maybe delving into the glorious past of the Long clan will help Beck Long keep his lock on the race,” I said. “Between you and me and the cat, I don't see much point in it, either, but it's not my decision.”

“Guess not,” Melba said after a moment. “I'd better get back downstairs before Peter realizes I'm not there. See y'all later.”

Peter Vanderkeller, the director of the library, leaned heavily on Melba, and he tended to get antsy if she wasn't nearby the moment he needed her.

“Later,” I called to her retreating back. Diesel added a loud meow, and Melba turned to flash a grin at us before she disappeared into the hallway.

I thought again about calling the mayor to propose my compromise, but after further consideration I decided I ought to spend more time examining the four volumes of the diary first.

Diesel watched with sleepy-eyed interest as I pulled the archival boxes from the shelf and set them on my desk. He yawned, then put his head down on his front paws and appeared to go to sleep.

Smiling, I put on some cotton gloves before I opened the first box and extracted the initial volume of Rachel Long's diary.

As I had noted yesterday, the paper appeared to be the usual linen-and-cotton rag, typical of writing paper from the first part of the nineteenth century. I recalled that I had not spotted significant blemishes or other problems on the pages from my hasty skimming. Now that I had time for a closer, more thorough examination, I realized there were issues with the condition.

These problems stemmed largely from the ink. The standard ink used at the time was iron gall, or oak gall, ink, made from a combination of iron salts, tannic acids, and vegetable matter. The latter tended to be the galls, formed by wasps that infested oak trees and caused the plant tissue to swell. The resulting ink is acidic and sometimes caused so-called ghost writing on the obverse side of the writing surface, usually vellum or paper.

Iron gall ink, due to the ease of its composition and its durability, had been in use since at least the early fourth century A.D. One of the earliest—and vaguest—recipes, I recalled, came from Pliny the Elder, who lived during the first century A.D. I had seen medieval English manuscripts written in this ink, and the clarity of the writing, even after several centuries, amazed me.

In addition to some of the ghost writing, I saw the occasional hole in the paper where the ink had eaten through. Overall, I concluded, the paper was in remarkably good condition, despite the fact that the diaries had been stored in an attic without significant temperature control. The ravages of unchecked humidity could be extensive, but somehow this volume had escaped them.

As long as the other three volumes were in similar condition to this one, there should be no problem with scanning or photographing the pages. Having them digitized would cut down on the necessity of handling the originals and thereby would help conserve them.

For the next two hours I pored over all four volumes to check the condition of each. I had to resist the lure of reading the diaries, though I did indulge myself and read the occasional brief passage. The first volume was filled with details about parties and the social whirl in 1850s Athena. Evidently Rachel Afton found herself in demand for various events, with a handful of young suitors vying for her companionship. In the bits I read she came across as modest, noting once with sharp wit that “no doubt Father's extensive holdings in the Delta enhance my appearance and charm” for the less well-heeled young men chasing her.

By the time I finished the final volume I discovered I was hungry, Azalea's big breakfast notwithstanding. Diesel slept throughout the time I worked, but when I stood up his eyes opened. He yawned and stretched on the windowsill.

“I'm ready for lunch, boy. How about you?” I stretched my back in imitation of the cat. I felt stiff and cramped. I should have taken a break or two to stretch earlier, but I was so engrossed in my work I didn't stop.

“Let's go see Helen Louise.” I retrieved the harness and leash, and Diesel jumped down from window and trotted over to me. “We'll have to go home and get the car because I don't feel like walking to the bakery in the midday heat.”

Diesel warbled, as if he understood and agreed. After a brisk walk home to retrieve the car, we headed for the center of Athena and the town square.

I found a parking place near the bakery, and Diesel and I headed down the sidewalk. Diesel loved Helen Louise, and he knew there would be chicken to eat. He walked fast and tugged on the leash, eager to get inside.

Newcomers to Helen Louise's bakery sometimes looked askance at a large cat walking in as if he owned the place, but Diesel knew his corner and went straight toward it. Helen Louise had had a lengthy chat with the health inspector, who, ever since, had turned a deaf ear to protests. This was the kind of thing that could happen in a small town like Athena, and Diesel was so popular with most people, anyone offended by his presence took his or her business elsewhere.

As I followed Diesel to our corner I noticed a cluster of several people at the cash register. The tallest, a young man, chatted with Helen Louise. She had not yet spotted Diesel and me because she appeared to be engrossed in the conversation. When I sat, at a right angle to the register, I had a better look at the young man and what seemed to be his entourage. I recognized the handsome features of Beck Long.

Was this a campaign stop? I wondered. Or was he here simply to have lunch?

I scanned the room. As expected, at lunchtime, the bakery was nearly full. To my surprise, I spotted Kelly Grimes in the far corner. Her gaze seemed riveted on the cash register area. I glanced at Beck Long again and saw that he now had one arm draped around the shoulder of a beautiful blonde. He looked down at her and smiled.

When I turned back toward Kelly Grimes, I could see she did not appear at all happy with her secret fiancé and his closeness to another woman.