Twelve Angry Librarians

by Miranda James

  She probably heard the note of fear in my voice. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I promise you it’s nothing terrible or scary.” She hesitated a moment. “I guess I might as well tell you now, so you can be thinking about it when you have time. I’m considering turning over the running of the bistro to Debbie and Henry and stepping back, taking more time off.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I was too surprised by Helen Louise’s announcement to respond right away.

  “Charlie, are you still there?” Helen Louise asked.

  “Yes, sorry,” I said. “What brought this about?” At the back of my mind I was still worried that she was ill and wasn’t telling me.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I promise you I’m not sick,” Helen Louise said. “But I have to face the fact that I’m not thirty-five anymore, and I need to slow down a bit. Otherwise I will wear myself completely out before I’m sixty. And that’s not nearly as far away as it ought to be.” She paused for a breath. “As much as I love what I do, I need more time off than what I have now.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about that myself.”

  “I know, love,” she said. “You’ve got this big decision to make, and I don’t want to add to the stress. But I also thought I should tell you this now instead of waiting until later.”

  “I’m glad you told me now,” I said. “This definitely affects my decision about the job at the library. If you’re not going to be working as much, I want to have the time to be able to spend with you. Not to mention time with the grandchildren who are on the way.”

  “Yes, they’re on my mind, too,” Helen Louise said. “I decided I didn’t want to be working all the time while they’re babies. There are too many moments in their lives I would miss.”

  Helen Louise had never married and had no children. I knew she loved Sean and Laura and would love their children as well. Sean and Laura loved her, too, and had already accepted her as their stepmother, even though we weren’t married.

  “We have a lot to talk about on Sunday,” I said.

  “Yes, we do,” she replied. “Let’s leave it at that for now. We both need time to think about all this.”

  “All right,” I said.

  We talked for a few moments longer, then said good-bye. I put my phone down and turned to Diesel. He was staring at me intently, and I knew he understood that my emotions were running high right now.

  “Everything is okay, sweet boy,” I told him. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  He meowed, and I got up from my chair and went back to the sofa to sit with him. He crawled into my lap and rubbed his head against my chin for a moment.

  “How would you like it if Helen Louise came to live with us?”

  Diesel warbled loudly in response. Whether he actually understood the question, I had no idea. But even if he didn’t, I think he understood the emotion behind it. I felt almost dizzy over the sudden change that was looming in my life, and I leaned back, Diesel cuddled to my chest. We sat that way for a while.

  The news that Helen Louise planned to cut back on the time she spent at the bistro made my decision about taking the full-time job at the library much easier. If I had to choose between more time with family and a full-time job, I would choose family. If I needed the income from the job, I would have to consider this all more carefully. But fortunately for me, I didn’t have to worry about that.

  I did want to continue to work part-time at the archive, and I knew Helen Louise would still be spending part of every day at the bistro. We would have to plan out our schedules so that we worked similar hours and had our time off together whenever possible. There would be adjustments, but they would be worth it in the long run.

  This significant change meant that the time was approaching when we could finally discuss marriage. For Helen Louise and me, marriage had been a little more complicated than it might have seemed at first. Helen Louise owned a house that had been in her family for several generations, and she loved it. She had grown up there and had returned to it after her parents died. I loved my house, too, even though it wasn’t my childhood home. Aunt Dottie had left it to me, knowing how I felt about it, and I couldn’t let the house go out of the family. I would see that as a violation of her trust in me.

  So, where would we live? In this house? In Helen Louise’s? That was a big decision, but thankfully one that could be put off for a while yet.

  I took a deep breath. So much going on, suddenly, in my life and in my family’s lives, all of it positive for the most part, but still it was a period of uncertainty. That I didn’t care for much, frankly, but I would have to keep reminding myself that it would all get sorted out.

  Kanesha would get the double homicide sorted out, too. I had the utmost faith in her ability to get the job done. Tenacious, astute, perceptive—she was all those things and more. I ought to stay out of her way and let her work. But the nosy part of me, and the part that always wanted to be helpful, probably would defeat my intention to stay out of the way. I had already put my nose in by asking Lisa Krause to try to get certain people to come to her suite tonight.

  Diesel wiggled in my arms, and I knew that meant he was ready to change positions. He had been sitting against my chest for longer than he usually did. I realized I was hot, and no doubt he was also. He stretched out on the couch, his head touching my thigh. He then twisted on his back into one of those positions that we humans tend to think are uncomfortable but that cats consider ordinary.

  I thought about changing clothes before going back to the hotel for the reception and the after-party in Lisa’s suite but decided I didn’t need to. I grimaced as I glanced down at the front of my shirt and the upper legs of my trousers. I would have to use one of those lint rollers, however, to de-hair myself. I was inured to the fact that I carried cat hair with me wherever I went, no matter how hard I tried to get it off my clothes. But what I had on me at the moment might have been enough to make a small kitten.

  “You can rest here if you like, boy,” I said to Diesel as I rose from the sofa. “I have a little chore to do.” He chirped at me and closed his eyes. I left him there and went into the kitchen to find the lint roller.

  After I deposited nine of those sticky roller sheets in the garbage, I figured I’d removed as much as I could. I washed my hands, and while drying them I heard my cell phone ringing faintly. I hurried toward the den to grab it before the rings stopped. Diesel opened his eyes and meowed at my sudden return.

  Naturally the darn thing ceased its ringing the moment I picked it up. I tried to catch the call, but it had already gone to voice mail. I checked to see who had called and was surprised to see that it was Kanesha. I knew her message would be brief. I waited to listen to it before I returned her call.

  The message consisted of six words: Need to talk. Please call soon.

  I hit the button to call her and waited for her to pick up. “Hi, Kanesha. Sorry I didn’t get to the phone fast enough just now.”

  “No problem,” she said. “First, I wanted to thank you for the tip about the blackmail racket Fong might have been working. I had our computer guy get to work on Fong’s laptop, and he managed to get in somehow and find a spreadsheet that looks suspicious. Dates, numbers, initials. Could be a record of payments. The numbers themselves aren’t that big, but they add up to well over a quarter million dollars.”

  I nearly dropped my phone in shock. I fumbled to keep hold of it. “Good heavens,” I said when I had it steady again. “He must have been doing this for quite some time.”

  “Maybe as far back as ten, twelve years ago,” Kanesha said. “If I’m interpreting the dates correctly.”

  “Have you been able to identify any of the possible victims?”

  “A few,” she replied.

  “Anyone willing to talk to you about it?” I asked, then added in a rush, “Not that I’m asking f
or any names, you understand. Simply curious whether you could get one of them to talk to you.”

  “Not so far,” Kanesha said. “That’s where I actually might need help from you.” She paused. I knew she didn’t like having to do this. “You have a knack for picking up information in these situations. Have you heard anything that could help me get anyone to talk to me?”

  “Have you talked to my friends Marisue Pickard and Randi Grant?” I asked. “I know they could tell you a little.”

  “They’re proving a bit difficult to track down,” Kanesha said. “I’ve left messages through their room voice mail, but so far they’re not responding.”

  “That’s odd,” I said. “I thought they would have come to talk to you by now.” I gave her a summary of my luncheon conversation with Marisue and Randi.

  When I finished, she said, “Talked to Crais, but he didn’t admit to anything. I’ll have to call him back in for more questions.”

  “You also need to talk to a young man named Bob Coben.” I ran through the conversation between Coben and Crais that I’d overheard. “Coben certainly sounded threatening to me, even though he told Crais that he wouldn’t actually try to kill Gavin.”

  “I’ve talked to Coben, too,” Kanesha said. “Got a little more out of him than I did Crais, but still not enough to get me any closer to verifying the blackmail racket.”

  “Maybe now that you have my report of their conversation, you can get further with them. I’ll also try to track down Marisue and Randi. They really should have talked to you already. I’m frankly puzzled.”

  “They’re going to have to speak to me at some point,” Kanesha said. “I have to talk to anyone at this conference who ever worked with Fong and the other victim, Muller.”

  “What names do you have so far?” I asked.

  “Hang on a moment. Yeah, here they are. Nancy Dunlap, Mitch Handler, Sylvia O’Callaghan, your two friends Pickard and Grant, and of course Coben and Crais. I don’t know if that’s everyone, but those are the names I got from Lisa Krause. She said they were all at the party Fong had on Thursday night.”

  “About that party,” I said. “Do you think that’s when the killer planted the poisoned bottle of water?”

  “That was a good opportunity, provided there were enough distractions,” Kanesha said.

  “Do you know yet what poison was used?” I asked.

  “We won’t have the toxicology report for several weeks,” Kanesha replied. “But, based on the signs on both victims’ bodies, the doctor who examined them thinks cyanide is the most likely answer.”

  “How did Maxine Muller come to ingest it?”

  “The same way Fong did,” Kanesha said. “Poisoned water bottle.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Good heavens,” I said. “Was it the same brand of bottled water?”

  “Yes, and I suspect it came from the stash Fong had in his suite,” Kanesha said. “The lot numbers matched, but that could be coincidence.”

  “But you don’t think it is, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” Kanesha said.

  “I wonder how many of those bottles were poisoned,” I said.

  “We’ll be checking the ones left in Fong’s suite to find out,” Kanesha said, “but we don’t know yet whether anyone else has one from there.”

  “From what Lisa Krause told me, Gavin was not exactly the sharing type,” I said. “I’d be surprised if he gave any of them away, other than maybe to Maxine Muller. I suppose she could have simply helped herself to one without his knowing about it.”

  “Possibly,” Kanesha said. “Her death could be accidental, but for now I’m treating it as murder.”

  “Any leads yet on the source of the poison?” I knew I was probably trying her patience with all these questions, but I figured I might as well see how much she was willing to share with me.

  “Nothing solid yet,” Kanesha replied.

  “I got an idea from a presentation I heard earlier today at the conference, about liaison programs in libraries,” I said. “I did some digging online, looking at all the people who were at Gavin’s party, trying to find out what their roles are on their respective campuses.”

  “Trying to find out if any one of them is a liaison to the chemistry department on their campus,” Kanesha said, sounding slightly amused. “I’ve been looking into the same thing.”

  “Then I guess you won’t need my list,” I said in a light tone.

  “No, but I appreciate the thought,” she replied. “I have someone following up on those particular leads, and once I have more information I’m going to be talking to anyone who has any kind of connection with a chemistry department.”

  “I can imagine how anxious you must be to trace the source of the poison,” I said. “Frankly I get chills whenever I think about the fact that the killer may still have more of it.”

  “That’s why I’m trying to solve this case as quickly as possible. I don’t want anyone else to die,” Kanesha said. “Thanks for the additional information. I need to act on it now, though. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I was used to abrupt ends to conversations with Kanesha. She had a tremendous task to accomplish, and I understood that. I wished there were more I could do to help. I didn’t want anyone else to die, either, but that was a possibility as long as the murderer remained at large.

  I realized I’d forgotten to ask Kanesha if they knew how the killer had gotten the poison in the bottles. I presumed it was done without opening the bottle. Otherwise surely a person would have noticed that the seal was broken when he opened the bottle to take a drink. I supposed that a person in a hurry—like someone in the middle of a talk in front of a large group of people—might not notice and would simply open the bottle and drink before going on with the talk. That could explain what happened with Gavin.

  What about Maxine Muller, though? Would she have noticed that her bottle wasn’t sealed properly? She might have been too distracted to realize it. She no doubt had a lot on her mind at the time she took that fatal sip. Another thought occurred to me, that the killer could have poisoned Maxine’s bottle after she’d opened it. But that hardly seemed likely.

  The killer must have managed to get the poison into the bottles without removing the twist caps. How could it be done?

  Struck by a sudden idea, I hurried back to the kitchen. Diesel came with me this time, and I heard him in the utility room, scratching in his litter box, when I opened the fridge in search of a plastic drink bottle. I had a water pitcher with a filter, so I usually didn’t have bottled water. I did, however, have a couple of bottles of diet soda. I pulled one out to examine.

  I took the bottle to the sink and switched on the light there. I looked closely at the bottle, turned it around a few times, while I thought. My idea was that the killer could have used a syringe to penetrate the plastic and insert the cyanide. Of course that would depend on the form that the cyanide was in and whether it could be inserted in such a manner.

  The bottom of the bottle was the likeliest place to do it. People didn’t usually examine the bottom unless there was a leak. How could the killer then have sealed the bottle to prevent a leak and avoid having someone see that the bottle had been tampered with? Perhaps superglue would do the trick. I had a tube of that on hand, but I didn’t have a syringe with which to experiment. An ice pick would work, but I decided not to try it. I didn’t want to make a mess, and I invariably got that glue on my fingers whenever I used it. I put the bottle back in the fridge. My theory was likely workable, I decided. The experts would figure it out.

  Diesel padded out of the utility room and meowed at me. Loudly, several times.

  I knew what that meant. I followed as he turned to go back to the utility room. His dry-food bowl held only a few pieces of the crunchy bits he loved. I added more to it, then took his water bowl over to the sink, rinsed it, and fille
d it with fresh water.

  “There now,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  Diesel stared up at me and meowed. He turned and walked out of the room. Mission accomplished.

  I smiled and walked into the kitchen behind him. After giving Diesel water, I realized I was thirsty. I remedied that, and then I thought about the evening ahead. That in turn reminded me of what Kanesha had told me about Marisue and Randi. I was concerned that they hadn’t talked to Kanesha yet. What was going on?

  I pulled out my phone to send Marisue a text. Where are you? Everything ok? Deputy Berry needs to talk to you.

  If I didn’t hear back from Marisue in a few minutes, I would text Randi. I wasn’t sure what I would do if neither of them texted back.

  About three minutes later my phone signaled that I had received a message. From Marisue: Leaving ER headed back to hotel. Will call soon.

  The ER? I was sure she meant the emergency room. Good grief, what on earth could have happened to them?

  I didn’t have to remain in suspense for long. Marisue called moments later.

  “Sorry for the cryptic message, Charlie.” She sounded a bit out of breath. “We’d just got into the taxi to go back to the hotel. We’re both okay. Randi tripped and landed hard on her left arm while we were out on the square.”

  “Oh my goodness, did she break her arm?”

  “Yes, but thankfully it was a clean break,” Marisue said. “She’s not feeling too perky at the moment, and she’s half gaga on pain pills, but she’ll be all right.”

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “Well, no wonder neither of you was responding to Kanesha’s messages. I guess she didn’t have your cell phone numbers.”

  “No, she wouldn’t have,” Marisue replied. “Look, we’re pulling up to the hotel. I’ve got to get Randi into her room and settled down. I think she’ll probably nap for a while. As soon as I can I will call Deputy Berry, I promise.”