Twelve Angry Librarians

by Miranda James

  “Surely having a cat in the restaurant violates the local health code.” Marisue frowned. “It doesn’t bother me, though. I have two cats and a dog back home.”

  “Technically, it is a violation,” I said, “but Helen Louise simply tells people that if they have a problem with it, they can go eat elsewhere. Besides,” I grinned, “the health inspector is addicted to her pain au chocolat. If he writes her up, his supply line gets cut off.”

  Marisue laughed heartily, and Randi giggled.

  “Shall we go, ladies?” I gestured toward the front door. Diesel and I led the way, and I held the door for them.

  The evening was pleasantly cool, and the sun still had about a half hour to go before it set. I pointed out a couple of landmarks during our walk to the bistro, including our local independent bookstore, the Athenaeum. “Drop in if you have a chance,” I said. “It’s a great place.”

  Randi groaned. “If I do I know I’ll come out with a bag full of books, and I ran out of shelf space at home ages ago.”

  “That’s never stopped you before,” Marisue said with a chuckle. “Me, either. I think that would be a good place to visit after lunch tomorrow.”

  By now we had reached the bistro, and I opened the door. “You’re such a gentleman, Charlie.” Marisue chuckled as she entered. “I’m not used to it these days.”

  Helen Louise was not in evidence when I showed Randi and Marisue to my usual table. Diesel looked around expectantly, and I told him, “She must be in the kitchen.” He warbled in response.

  Randi appeared startled, then she laughed. “You were talking to the cat, weren’t you?”

  I felt a bit sheepish. “Yes, it’s a habit I got into early on with him. I swear, most of the time he understands what I say to him.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Marisue said. “He’s a smart kitty.”

  Diesel meowed, and both women chuckled.

  “Ah, here’s Helen Louise.” I saw her coming from around the counter toward us. I greeted her with a peck on the cheek, and then I performed the introductions. After that was done, Helen Louise was able to give Diesel the attention he craved.

  Once my guests and I were seated, and the cat was out of the way beside my chair, Helen Louise said, “I’m delighted Charlie brought you here, and I trust that you will have a memorable meal. For an appetizer, I can offer a pâté de campagne, or country pâté, and for the main course, Poulet Provençal. That is braised chicken with tomatoes and olives. The wine I suggest is a white Bergerac.”

  Randi’s expression turned rapturous, and Marisue’s eyes glazed over. The latter said, “That sounds truly magnifique, as Charlie told us it would be.”

  Helen Louise offered them a mischievous smile. “I hope you will feel the same after you’ve tasted it all. I’ll be back in a moment with your wine and the appetizer.”

  Marisue, Randi, and I chatted about the bistro, and I told them some of Helen Louise’s history, how she had gone to law school to please her parents, practiced for a few years, then chucked it all to live in Paris and learn everything she could about French cuisine.

  “Good for her,” Marisue said. “Takes a lot of guts to ditch a career like that to follow your dream.”

  Helen Louise returned to the table in time to hear the last few words. She quirked an eyebrow at me as she efficiently set before us the pâté, bread, and a bottle of the Bergerac. She deftly opened the wine, poured a taste in each glass, and waited. Marisue and Randi each gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up after testing the wine, and Helen Louise poured more.

  There was little conversation as my friends and I helped ourselves to the tasty appetizer, along with the freshly made bread. I figured that, at the rate Marisue and Randi were sipping at their wine, we would easily get through a couple of bottles by the end of our meal. I was delighted to see them enjoying themselves so much.

  One of Helen Louise’s staff came to clear away the empty plates and gave us another bread basket. Marisue topped off our glasses with the rest of the wine, and I asked the server, Henry, for another bottle. Henry nodded and smiled pleasantly at my guests.

  “He’s adorable,” Randi said after Henry walked away. “Young enough to be my son, but adorable nevertheless.” She sighed.

  “They’re all old enough to be our children these days.” Marisue’s tart tone amused me.

  “No harm in looking,” Randi said.

  “No,” Marisue replied. “Just don’t try to sample.”

  Randi giggled at that, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Soon Henry came back with our main course, the braised chicken with tomatoes and olives. He also set a saucer of boiled chicken down by my plate. “Diesel’s treat,” I explained to my friends.

  While we savored the delicious dish, we avoided talk of Gavin Fong. I figured that the subject would come up over coffee and dessert. Near the end of the meal, however, Randi glanced across the room toward the door. She stiffened for a moment, then poked Marisue’s arm.

  “Look who just walked in,” Randi said.

  Harlan Crais stepped toward the counter, and Marisue and Randi exchanged glances.

  Marisue leaned toward me and said in an undertone, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be Gavin’s killer.”

  FOURTEEN

  “What do you know about him?” I hadn’t realized my two friends were acquainted with Harlan Crais.

  Marisue’s gaze slid sideways toward Randi. “Better ask her. She knows much more about him than I do.”

  To my surprise, Randi’s face reddened, and she shot Marisue an angry look. “I wish you’d forget I ever told you about that.”

  “About what?” I felt a paw on my thigh. Diesel stared at me and meowed to let me know he was still near starvation. I showed him the empty saucer that had earlier held his boiled chicken. “You’ve eaten it all.” He meowed again. “No, that’s all.” He stared at me another moment, then stretched out by my chair.

  I found my dinner companions regarding me with amusement. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Now, what is all this about Randi and Harlan Crais?” I watched the object of our curiosity at the counter. He paid, received a bag, and then exited the bistro while we discussed him.

  Randi grimaced in the direction of the man’s departing back. “I might as well tell you, Charlie, because Miss Louella Parsons over here will. I had a brief fling with him when we worked together in Colorado.”

  “Was that at the same time you worked with Gavin?” I asked.

  Randi nodded. “Yes, and he found out about it and made a bit of a stink with our boss, the dean of libraries.”

  “Harlan was married at the time,” Marisue said.

  “I didn’t know that, you understand.” Randi glared at Marisue, then switched her focus to me. “I was new, you see, and on the rebound from a relationship that ended when I decided to move to Colorado. Harlan was hired at the same time, and he hadn’t told anybody about Mrs. Crais. Especially not me,” she added in a bitter tone.

  “Gavin was jealous,” Randi continued. “For some reason, he decided I was exactly what he wanted, and he bugged the crap out of me. I couldn’t stand him, but I tried to be polite about it. Then, when the thing with Harlan started, Gavin really got unpleasant.”

  “Sorry you had to go through that. I know it must have been awkward working with the two of them,” I said. “What about Crais and Gavin, though? I can see why Gavin was angry with Crais, but why did Crais hate Gavin so much Marisue thinks he could have killed him?”

  “That came later,” Marisue said. “This is where my part of the tale comes in.” She had a sip of wine. “Mercy, this is delicious. Well, fast-forward about three years, and I was in Kansas. Gavin was hired as head of public services—a position that I applied for, mind you, but got passed over for, but that’s another sorry tale. So, Gavin was there about three months when our associate dean for t
echnical services retired. Harlan applied for the position, and he actually interviewed for it. I thought he would have been the better choice of the two who interviewed, but somehow Gavin managed to convince the dean that Harlan wasn’t suitable.”

  “Harlan was still in Colorado,” Randi said. “He had recently divorced his wife, and he wanted to move on. He’s also ambitious, and he wanted to move up as well. That job in Kansas would have been his stepping-stone to become dean of libraries eventually.”

  “Gavin, though, blackballed him, basically,” Marisue said. “I don’t know why the dean put so much faith in Gavin’s opinion, but she did. So, it was a setback for Harlan’s career. Big setback.”

  “He was stuck in Colorado after that for several years, until he finally managed to get his current job, wherever it is,” Randi said. “He knew Gavin was the reason he didn’t get the job in Kansas, and he has hated him ever since.”

  “Interesting,” I said. Harlan Crais ostensibly had a motive—revenge—for murdering Gavin Fong. Poison, however, was more often a woman’s choice for killing. At least, that was the way it was in all the classic detective stories I had read.

  Marisue frowned. “What I don’t understand is why Harlan was the one to introduce Gavin today. I can’t imagine that he volunteered to do it. I wouldn’t think he’d want to be in the same room with Gavin, let alone introduce him as a keynote speaker. Something is definitely odd about that whole setup.”

  I decided I would talk to Lisa Krause about this. As chair of the local arrangements committee, she might know how Crais got picked to introduce Gavin Fong. I had several questions to pose to Lisa. For one thing, I was curious about the bottle of water, ostensibly the vehicle for the poison that Gavin swallowed. I remembered her telling me that he insisted on a particular brand of bottled water. The killer probably knew that, I reasoned.

  The big question—besides the identity of the murderer—was, how did the poison get into the water bottle? I hadn’t really had time to think about it, but now the question teased at my brain.

  My mind went off on a tangent, and for the moment I completely forgot my duties as host of this small dinner party. Randi reclaimed my attention by rapping on the table.

  “Charlie, come back, come back, from wherever you are,” she chanted.

  “Sorry,” I said, wrenched back to the here and now. “Woolgathering.”

  “Already trying to solve Gavin’s murder, no doubt.” Marisue winked at me.

  “One can’t help but wonder,” I replied.

  Our server, Henry, came back to the table to clear away, and then returned shortly with coffee and dessert. The bistro had people waiting for tables, and Helen Louise had little time to come over and chat. Marisue and Randi expressed delight over the always popular gâteau au chocolat—my particular favorite among the numerous gourmet treats Helen Louise offered.

  I would have liked to linger a bit more over coffee and dessert—not to mention the gossip—but I was conscious of diners no doubt impatient to sample the food and wine themselves. Once my guests had finished, I left a generous tip for Henry and went to pay the check. Diesel came with me while Marisue and Randi visited the ladies’ room.

  I had no opportunity to see Helen Louise again. She seemed to be on a continuous circuit of counter to kitchen and back again. I managed to wave and mime a kiss and received a quick smile in return.

  Marisue and Randi found me outside with Diesel. The temperature had dropped several degrees while we dined, and the air had a slight chill to it. We walked back to the hotel, and along the way I ventured an observation and a question.

  “You two both obviously know more about Gavin’s life and career since graduate school than I do, so I wonder if you can think of anyone else at this conference who might have seized the chance to wreak revenge.”

  We paused in front of the hotel while I waited for one of them to answer. Marisue and Randi looked at each other. Finally, Marisue turned back to me and spoke.

  “There are two women we are acquainted with who are here, and they both worked with Gavin at some point. We don’t know either of them well, so we can’t say whether they might have had anything against Gavin.”

  Randi continued. “Nancy Dunlap and Cathleen Matera. They both worked with him in California or Colorado at different places. I think they may work together now, somewhere in Louisiana.”

  “Cathleen Matera.” The name rang a bell, and I tried to remember when I had heard it. Then I remembered. “I met her yesterday, after the incident with Gavin. She came up to me afterward and said she would be a witness for me if he tried to make a fuss.”

  “When you run into her again, you might mention you know us,” Marisue said. “You might get her to talk to you about Gavin.”

  I nodded. “I will. I’ll be on the lookout for Nancy Dunlap as well. Is there anyone else?”

  Randi frowned. “I know I saw another familiar face. A man’s. Now, what is his name?” She thought for a moment. “Marisue, what’s the name of that guy from South Carolina, the one who writes science fiction under a pseudonym?”

  “Mitch Handler,” Marisue said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think he writes as Berger Mitchell. Does that sound right?”

  “Yes, that’s him,” Randi said. “Average height, salt-and-pepper hair, glasses, on the quiet side. I heard something happened between him and Gavin, but I don’t know what. I’ll try to remember who told me about it.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Marisue said. “I’ve read some of his stuff. He’s good. Other than that, I don’t know anything about him.”

  “These are some good leads,” I said. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer, ladies. I’m so glad we had time to visit tonight. I know I’ll see you both again before the conference is over.”

  “Of course. Thank you for that divine meal.” Marisue gave me a hug, and Randi followed suit. She thanked me also, then both women bade Diesel and me good night.

  I watched them enter the hotel lobby, then realized foolishly that I would have to follow them in, unless I wanted to go back down the alley beside the hotel to get to my car. I wasn’t superstitious, generally, but after my last experience with that alley, I didn’t feel like walking through it again just yet.

  I pushed open the door, and Diesel entered ahead of me. The hotel staff had seen me here with him in the past, so I didn’t expect one of them to raise a fuss when we were simply walking through to get to the parking lot.

  We encountered two guests who looked askance at us, however. I started to pass them by, but then I remembered where I had seen one of them. She was the woman who had come up to Gavin after I knocked him down. What was her name? Maxine Muller.

  I hesitated for a moment, thinking I might say something to her. As I turned, I heard her speak in an urgent whisper to her companion, an older woman with brown hair liberally streaked with white.

  “That’s him, Sylvia. He’s the one who killed Gavin.”

  I did stop then, and I turned to confront them, even though Diesel tugged at the leash. He knew we were headed for the car, and he was ready to go home.

  They were scurrying away. I started to call out to them, but my cell phone rang. I would have to find the two women and try to talk to them tomorrow.

  I pulled out my cell phone. Lisa Krause’s name popped up on the screen.

  “Hi, Lisa, what’s up?”

  I heard a sob, then a deep breath before she spoke.

  “Charlie, I’ve got to talk to you as soon as possible. I think they’re going to arrest me for murder.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Where are you now, Lisa?” I asked. The poor thing sounded terrified.

  “I’m about to leave the sheriff’s department. They’re going to bring me back to the Farrington House.” She sobbed again, then collected herself. “Can you meet me there? I hate to impose, but I really need to talk to yo
u.”

  “I’m already at the hotel. Diesel and I will wait for you in the lobby. Don’t worry, now, I’m sure we can get this sorted out.”

  “Thank you.” She ended the call.

  I put away my cell phone and looked down at my cat. “Well, boy, I guess we’re not going home for a while yet. Come on, let’s go sit over there out of the way until Lisa gets here.”

  Diesel resisted for a moment and pulled against the leash when I tried to lead him toward the lobby sitting area. He meowed in protest, but after a stern look and a “stop that” from me, he gave in and followed me to a small sofa. The moment I seated myself he jumped up and lay his head and the upper half of his body across my lap. The rest of him extended to the other arm of the sofa, and his tail thumped against the upholstery.

  I worried for a moment about the cat hair that would no doubt get left behind, but then I figured that, over time, there had probably been far worse things on this sofa. The sheriff’s department was nearby, so Lisa ought to be here soon.

  While we waited, I stroked Diesel’s back to keep him happy. He purred in response, and I knew he would be satisfied for a little while. My thoughts turned to the encounter with Maxine Muller and her friend, Sylvia. I supposed it didn’t take a great leap of imagination on her part for Ms. Muller to connect me with Gavin’s murder after she saw me knock him down. I didn’t kill him, though, and I would try to get that point across if I could get her to talk to me. As someone who had seemed friendly to Gavin, she could be helpful in identifying persons with motives far stronger than mine to get rid of the man.

  Lisa Krause walked into the lobby and made a beeline for me the moment she spotted us on the sofa.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, her breath catching in a sob. “I feel like I’m going crazy. You’ve got to help me.”

  “I will. I promise.” I gently moved Diesel aside so I could stand up. He chirped in protest and climbed down from the sofa to rub against Lisa’s legs. “We can’t talk about it in the lobby, though. Aren’t you staying here during the conference?” At her nod, I suggested we go to her room, and we headed for the elevator.