Arsenic and Old Books

by Miranda James

  I needed to do one more job before we could leave, however. I wanted to add the diaries to the inventory of the Long family collection and update the record in the library’s online catalog. Later on I would catalog the diaries separately, but for now a note on the master record would suffice.

  That task completed, I shut down my computer. Diesel waited by the office door. A few minutes later we headed down the sidewalk toward home. By the time we reached the house we both had wilted from the September heat and humidity. I was ready for a cold drink, and Diesel made a beeline for the utility room the moment I opened the front door.

  In the kitchen I shed my jacket and briefcase and went to the fridge for the water pitcher. Two glasses later I felt cooler and no longer parched. Diesel came chirping out of the utility room to sit at my feet. He stared up at me and meowed loudly. I knew that meow. Either his bowls needed refilling, or the cat box needed cleaning. He wouldn’t stop talking to me until I took care of the problem.

  Once I had accomplished these duties to the cat’s satisfaction, I poured myself another glass of water and sat at the kitchen table to relax for a few minutes.

  The house felt empty. My daughter, Laura, now a married woman, had moved out after her June wedding and into the house owned by her husband, Frank Salisbury. Their wedding was a beautiful occasion, full of laughter and occasional tears. Throughout the ceremony I could feel my late wife, Jackie, by my side. Both Laura and Frank taught in the theater department at Athena College, and their teaching schedules kept them fully occupied. I saw them occasionally on campus, and they came for dinner once a week. Frank was a good man, and I was happy for my daughter. I missed her presence in the house terribly, though, and I knew Diesel did as well. I think Laura was his second favorite human after me.

  The ring of the kitchen phone broke the silence. I wasn’t eager to answer it because family and friends usually called my cell phone. I thought about letting it go to voice mail, but in case it was important, I decided to answer.

  I identified myself to the caller.

  “Mr. Harris, my name is Kelly Grimes, and I’m at Athena College working on a project on the Long family. I’m looking at the library’s online catalog right now, and I see that the archive has evidently acquired several volumes of a diary by Rachel Afton Long.” She paused for a breath. “I believe they could be crucial to my research, and I was wondering if I could look at them this evening.”

  “The archive is closed for the day, Ms. Grimes.” I had learned early on to stick to the stated hours. Otherwise, students would want access to the archives outside scheduled times. “The diaries were only added to the collection this afternoon, and they aren’t ready for public use. I need time to examine them more thoroughly to be sure they are in good enough condition to allow any such use.”

  “That’s really inconvenient. How long do you think it will be before I can look at them?”

  I could tell by her tone that Ms. Grimes was not happy with my response to her request. I considered the matter carefully for a moment before I responded.

  “The archive is generally open three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I won’t be there to work on them again until day after tomorrow. I’ll need at least two days with them before I can make a final decision.”

  “So you’re saying I have to wait a week, until next Monday, in fact, before I’ll know if I can even look at them?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “That really sucks. I’m on a tight deadline, and this is really screwing things up.”

  Her petulant tone did not advance her cause. She hadn’t even known the diaries existed before today, and I couldn’t understand why she was so adamant about them. I was generally sympathetic to students’ needs, and I understood the pressure of academic deadlines. This woman’s manner annoyed me, however, and that made me less tractable as a result. Still, I wanted to be reasonable.

  “My first responsibility is to the documents,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “I have to make sure they are properly maintained, or they won’t be of use to anyone. Still, I understand that you are obviously eager to see them. Why don’t you call me at the archive office on Thursday, say midmorning, and I’ll see if I can show them to you then.”

  “I guess that will have to do. Thank you, Mr. Harris. Till Thursday, then.”

  The phone clicked in my ear as her peevish words echoed in my head. “So much for graciousness.”

  Diesel warbled and tapped my thigh with a large paw. I scratched his head. He could always tell when I was annoyed by something—or someone.

  “Nothing to worry about, boy,” I told him. He watched me for a moment before he started grooming his right front paw, evidently satisfied that I was okay.

  I rooted around in the freezer to select a casserole for dinner. My housekeeper, Azalea Berry, kept the freezer stocked for the occasions when I—or another member of the household—didn’t feel up to the challenge of preparing dinner. I would be on my own tonight. My son, Sean, planned to dine with his law partner and girlfriend, Alexandra Pendergrast, and I doubted I would see him until breakfast tomorrow, if then. He spent more and more nights lately at Alexandra’s house, and I expected that I would soon hear news of their engagement.

  I was happy for Sean, because Alexandra was a wonderful woman, and I knew she adored my son. I had become used to having my children in the house with me, however, and I would miss the daily contact. I still had my two boarders, at least. Justin Wardlaw was a junior at Athena College now and doing exceptionally well. I was as proud of him as if he were my own son, and I wasn’t looking forward to the day he graduated. He, too, would be out of the house, and I would miss him.

  My other boarder, Stewart Delacorte, showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. He had become a part of the family. Not exactly a son—perhaps like the younger brother I never had. His new relationship with the taciturn Deputy Bates appeared to be a happy one, though I didn’t often see them together. Stewart had said nothing so far about their sharing a home, and I suspected that was because Bates was reluctant to be open about his sexuality. That was none of my business, of course, but I hoped the two of them would be happy with each other, even if they didn’t live in the same house.

  Thinking of all these relationships reminded me I hadn’t spoken to Helen Louise Brady, my significant other. That term felt awkward, but so did the word girlfriend. I was over fifty, and the thought of having a girlfriend at my age seemed a bit juvenile. Still, I loved Helen Louise with all my heart, and she loved me. We hadn’t talked of marriage yet, but it was on the horizon. Sean and Laura both adored her, and somehow I knew my late wife, Jackie, would approve. She, Helen Louise, and I had grown up together here in Athena, and we had all been good friends from childhood.

  I realized I was standing and staring blankly into the freezer, cold air flowing out around my head. I focused on the stacked casserole dishes on one side. I knew the oldest would be on top—Azalea had her system—so I simply pulled that one out and set it on the counter to defrost a bit.

  Diesel reared on his hind legs and batted a paw at the casserole dish. When I told him not to do it, he glared at me for a moment before he stalked away, tail in the air. I didn’t know whether he could detect the presence of chicken in the frozen dish, but he was always interested in what I ate. I really never should have started letting him have tidbits of human food, but it was too late to stop now.

  The ringing of the doorbell startled me. I checked my watch. Who would be calling at five thirty? I wasn’t expecting anyone.

  I peered out the peephole, and when I saw who stood waiting I briefly contemplated ignoring the doorbell, which was ringing again. Manners prevailed, however, and I opened the door.

  “Good evening, Marie,” I said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Like finding a rattlesnake on the doorstep, that is.

  Marie Steverton was a professor in the history department at the co
llege, and her specialty was women’s history. She used her feminist beliefs as a bludgeon, and she had won few adherents with her rude tactics. I believed firmly in equality for women, but I thought Marie did more harm than good on campus.

  Marie rolled her eyes as she stepped past me—uninvited—into the front hall. Typical behavior for her, and not unexpected. I shut the door behind her.

  “What can I do for you, Marie?” I asked.

  “For starters, you can keep that hairy behemoth away from me.” Marie waved at Diesel, who had backed away the moment he recognized her. He didn’t like Marie—but then, few creatures, two- or four-legged, ever did, I suspected.

  “Diesel won’t bother you, as I have told you before.” I crossed my arms over my chest and repeated my question as I regarded her.

  Marie stared up at me. “I want access to the Rachel Long diaries. Exclusive access, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  THREE

  Marie’s request was so outrageous I laughed before I could stop myself. I knew she hated being laughed at, but I couldn’t help it.

  Her face reddened. “How dare you cackle at me like that. I will report you to the president of the college for your completely unprofessional and disgusting behavior.”

  “Go ahead and do that. I won’t stop you.” I glared at her. “Your request is ridiculous. I can’t grant anyone exclusive access to materials in the college archives. You should know better than that.”

  “You could if you really wanted to.” Marie scowled. “You’re just like all the rest of the good ole boys at the college. You can’t stand the thought of a woman achieving anything significant. With those diaries I could firmly establish my reputation.”

  In a way I felt sorry for her, because I knew she was desperate to get tenure. Time was running out for her because she had been an assistant professor at Athena for six years, after similar appointments at three other colleges. A significant monograph would bolster her application, but she was her own worst enemy. From what I had heard she had the same combative attitude with her students, and her evaluations evidenced it. She had no understanding of the words tact and diplomacy. Her peer in the English department was the exact opposite, one of the most highly regarded women on campus and one of the most popular teachers. She had to turn away students every semester; otherwise her classes would be too large for the college’s guidelines on student-teacher ratios. Marie never had that problem. Her courses, other than the obligatory surveys, usually had the bare minimum.

  “No, I could not, even if I wanted to. Only the Long family could grant access like that. You’ll have to talk to Mayor Long, but I doubt she would allow it.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Marie sounded triumphant. “Mayor Long will do what I want, and I’ll have the pleasure of making you eat crow.” She pushed past me, jerked open the door, and left it open as she scurried down the sidewalk as fast as her stubby legs could carry her.

  I closed the door and resisted the urge to utter a number of uncomplimentary—albeit well-deserved—words about my departed guest.

  Diesel warbled and then commenced muttering. I had to grin. He had no such reservations about cursing Marie as only a cat could do.

  “I agree with everything you’re saying,” I told the cat as the muttering ceased. “She is the rudest, most high-handed person I’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

  I headed back to the kitchen to put the casserole in the oven to heat up. Diesel preceded me, no doubt hopeful that tidbits of chicken would be forthcoming.

  “Not for a while yet, boy,” I told him as I adjusted the oven temperature. Diesel turned and walked out of the kitchen, muttering as he went.

  I followed and climbed the stairs to my second-floor bedroom. Time to change out of work clothes into lounging-around duds—sweatpants, T-shirt, and bare feet. While I changed I recalled Marie Steverton’s odd remark about the mayor as she stomped her way down the sidewalk.

  How could she be so certain Mayor Long would grant her request so quickly? What kind of influence could a non-tenured junior professor wield? The idea sounded nuts to me. Based on my own conversation with Mrs. Long earlier today, I doubted she and her family would want access to the diaries restricted to one person. That would be counterproductive, I thought. My take on the situation was that the Longs wanted everyone to know about the diaries for their own obscure reasons.

  I padded back down the stairs. Diesel stayed on my bed. He hadn’t had a nap in nearly forty minutes, so he was overdue. I knew he would be downstairs right after I pulled the casserole out of the oven.

  I couldn’t get Marie’s threat—weak as it seemed—out of my mind. What kind of connection could she have to the mayor? She had moved to Athena only six years ago. If there was any kind of dirt, though, I knew the person to ask—my old friend and coworker, Melba.

  Melba Gilley and I, along with my late wife, Jackie, grew up in Athena together, and since my return home several years ago, Melba and I had reestablished our friendship. She was executive assistant to the college library director, and I saw her at least three days a week since we worked in the same building. Melba knew practically everyone in town, and if there was anything to connect Mrs. Long and Marie Steverton, she would know—or find out as quickly as possible.

  I hit speed dial on my cell phone to call Melba at home. She answered after three rings.

  She listened patiently as I explained the events of the afternoon and the encounter with Marie. “What kind of connection could there be between them?”

  Melba laughed. “That’s easy, Charlie. They were at Sweet Briar together forty years ago. Marie may think she and Lucinda are good buddies because they went to college together, but Lucinda sure don’t tolerate fools—and Marie’s as big a fool as I’ve ever met. She always thinks she’s more important than anybody else in the room. That just goes to show how stupid she really is.”

  Trust Melba to cut Marie down to size. I laughed. “Sounds like you know Lucinda Long pretty well.”

  “I sure do,” Melba said. “I worked on her very first campaign as mayor, and I’ve supported her ever since. She’s done more for this town than all the good ole boys who were in office before her.”

  I had to take Melba’s word for that last statement, since I hadn’t been here during the previous mayors’ tenures. I knew better than to argue with her, anyway.

  “She’s not going to be paying any attention to that idiot,” Melba said. “So don’t even worry about it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I hope the mayor’s rebuff will keep Marie out of my hair. I do not want to have to deal with her having a hissy fit every five minutes because she’s not getting her way.”

  “If Lucinda can’t manage it,” Melba said, “give old Dr. Newkirk a call. He can’t stand the sight of Marie, and all he has to do is say, Leap, frog, and the head of the history department says, How high? He’ll see to it she doesn’t bug you.”

  “Good to hear.” I knew all about Dr. Newkirk’s reputation, and the fact that he was a close friend of the Long family convinced me that I could be firm with Marie and not worry about it. I didn’t intend to keep her from having access to the diaries, but I certainly wasn’t going to let her take them over like they were her own property.

  “Enough about Marie.” Melba chuckled. “When are you and Helen Louise going to set a date?”

  I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. There was no point in getting exasperated with Melba. She was incorrigible, and she reveled in it.

  “When we do, I’m sure you’ll know about it three seconds later,” I said. “The CIA could learn from you and your spy network.”

  “How do you know they haven’t already?” Melba retorted. “I notice you said when we do, and not if we do. I reckon that means you’ll get around to asking her one of these days. I just hope it’s before you need a gurney to get you down the aisle.
”

  “You keep it up, and I won’t let you see Diesel for a week,” I said in as stern a tone as I could muster.

  “That’s cruel and unusual, and you know Diesel won’t stand for it. Well, I guess I’d better get off the phone and see about dinner. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  I smiled as I set my phone on the kitchen table. Melba loved kidding me almost better than breathing, and I had come to regard her as the sister I never had.

  I checked the casserole in the oven, and it wasn’t quite ready—another ten minutes ought to do it. I prepared a salad and poured a glass of iced tea. I was trying to give up diet sodas, and that meant drinking more tea. I also drank a lot of water, but I needed my caffeine.

  While I ate my salad I thought more about Rachel Afton Long and her diaries. Why was there such sudden fierce interest in them? I had both a student and a professor panting to get their hands on the old volumes. I wondered whether Kelly Grimes was a student of Marie’s. That could make an awkward situation even more difficult. I would do my best not to get in the middle of that, but I might not have a choice.

  Diaries were an important source for women’s history. Perhaps the most famous Civil War–era woman’s diary was that of Mary Boykin Chesnut. Her husband, James, served as a senator from South Carolina before the war. Later he became an aide to President Jefferson Davis and a brigadier general in the Confederate Army. The Chesnuts moved in the highest social circles, and Mary’s observations of life in the South before, during, and after the Civil War offered great insight into women’s lives at the time.

  If Rachel Long’s diaries proved to be as rich in content as Mary Chesnut’s, I knew Southern historians and feminist scholars would want to read them. Marie Steverton, I reckoned, wanted to prepare them for publication, and that would help her bid for tenure.

  The decision regarding publication didn’t fall to me. I was simply the custodian of the primary documents, and I was determined to see that they were conserved and preserved properly. No matter who worked on them.