Twelve Angry Librarians

by Miranda James

  Diesel hadn’t come upstairs when I was ready to climb into bed. I lay there with the bedside lamp on until he appeared a couple of minutes later. He climbed on the bed and stretched out beside me in his usual position. I thought about calling Helen Louise, but she wouldn’t be home from the bistro for at least another hour or two. She was always exhausted on Saturday nights.

  Instead, I turned out the light, got comfortable, and waited for sleep to overtake me.

  And I waited.

  The moment the light went out, my brain started cogitating on the murders. I knew then it would be a while before I could go to sleep. So I let my mind roam over the various questions I had and sought answers to them.

  The question that I kept returning to was the two poisoned bottles. Why two?

  I had a feeling that there were only two, but I couldn’t figure out why. I started thinking about what had happened, about the scanty information Kanesha had shared with me, and all at once I had a possible answer to the riddle of the two poisoned bottles.

  No, I thought, that can’t be it. It’s too bizarre a solution. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I had stumbled on the answer.

  How on earth would I—or rather, Kanesha—prove it?

  THIRTY-THREE

  I shifted my position in the bed and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. The luminous numbers told me it was nine twenty-one.

  Not too late, then, to get in touch with Kanesha.

  I reached for my cell phone but drew back my hand before I touched the phone. No, what I was thinking was too wild. Kanesha would think I’d finally gone completely round the bend.

  It was possible, I thought. Maybe not probable, but possible. Weirder things had happened in the annals of crime. Without thinking too hard about it, I could remember at least two crime novels that had solutions as improbable as the one I’d come up with in the present case.

  I doubted, however, Kanesha would have any interest in that. She needed facts, evidence that could prove beyond a reasonable doubt the identity of the killer.

  I had conjecture, mostly, no hard facts that could be considered evidence. But maybe with my theory—okay, I’ll call it that, a theory—to work with, Kanesha might find the evidence that would prove I’m right.

  I considered a couple of things she told me when we talked face-to-face about the investigation. I needed to figure out how certain things fit into my wild scenario.

  Maxine Muller had told Kanesha that Gavin had received anonymous death threats and was frightened.

  Maxine had seen a couple of the threats. One through an anonymous e-mail account, the other through the regular mail. She wasn’t sure if Gavin had kept the envelope. She also wasn’t sure how many threats he’d received. He had told her multiple, that was all.

  He had told her one other thing, however. He was pretty sure who was behind the threats, but he refused to tell her who it was. He did finally admit to her that he knew the person would be attending the SALA conference, and he planned to confront him there.

  Gavin had specifically said him, Maxine recalled, so she figured a man was behind the threats. When pressed by Maxine, however, Gavin got nasty with her and wouldn’t confirm the gender of the culprit.

  Kanesha couldn’t ask Gavin about any of this, of course. I wondered if she had found any evidence of these threats when she and her people searched Gavin’s room. I had asked her when we talked, but she said they hadn’t, at that point. They were still going over his suite looking for evidence. I figured he might have brought any sent through the regular mail with him to use when he confronted the person he thought was responsible. Any others he received electronically would be found in his e-mail, surely.

  Why had Maxine been given a tainted water bottle? I thought I knew the answer to that, too. Maxine knew too much about Gavin’s activities, the nefarious ones, and she posed a threat to the killer. The killer wanted her completely out of the picture. Tying up the loose ends, as it were.

  Maxine had told Kanesha one other thing, and it fit in with my solution. Gavin had applied for four different jobs over the past nine months, all of them at larger, better known schools than his current institution. Two of the schools appeared interested and set up phone interviews. A day or two before the scheduled phone calls, however, Gavin had received e-mails telling him that they regretted it, but he was no longer being considered for the position. From the other two schools he received fairly prompt responses to let him know they weren’t interested.

  He had been livid, Maxine told Kanesha, over the rejections. Particularly the two with the canceled phone interviews. Gavin was convinced someone had blackballed him. Again, he seemed to be sure who was responsible, or so Maxine thought. But he wouldn’t say who. She figured it must be the same person who was sending the threatening letters. Gavin had started receiving them around the same time he received the rejections for his job applications.

  I thought I knew who had blackballed Gavin, and I found it amusing, in a macabre sort of way. Hoist by his own petard, or the biter bit. Poetic justice, I’d call it. And more to come.

  I reached for the phone again, and this time I picked it up. I thought about calling, because I doubted she was even at home, let alone in bed. No, a text would do. That way she could text me back and tell me I had lost what mind I had or she would call me to hear me out.

  I tapped the keyboard slowly so I wouldn’t have to go back and correct any misspellings or stupid auto-correct changes.

  Think I have figured it out. Too complicated to explain in text. When can we talk?

  I hit Send and waited.

  Five minutes passed, then ten. Fifteen, and I was getting drowsy. Was she ever going to respond?

  I thought about sending another text, one that I knew would grab her attention. Perhaps something like the killer was the first to die. That ought to get results.

  I put the phone on the nightstand. Kanesha would respond when she was ready to. In the meantime I was getting drowsier by the minute. Diesel slept soundly beside me, and soon I drifted into sleep myself.

  The ringing of my cell phone woke me out of a deep sleep. I fumbled for the phone, dropped it on the floor, and had to scramble to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. I knew it had to be Kanesha.

  I noticed the time as I answered her call. Six fifteen. Sunday morning, then.

  “Hello, this is Charlie.” I yawned right into the phone the moment the words left my mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Guess I woke you up,” Kanesha said. “I’ve been up most of the night. Could sure use some coffee.”

  I was suddenly wide awake. “I’ll make the coffee. Come on by, and I’ll have it ready.”

  “On the way.” She ended the call.

  “Come on, Diesel, time to get up.” I glanced at the bed and realized I had been talking to the air. No Diesel on the bed. That meant Stewart must be downstairs with Dante.

  Good, that meant the coffee was already made. Bless Stewart, I thought, and not for the first time, as I stumbled out of bed and into my bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

  A few minutes later, after having exchanged my shorts and tee shirt for clothes suitable for talking to the law, I walked into the kitchen. Stewart sat at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Diesel and Dante wrestled on the floor near him. The wrestling didn’t amount to much, because whenever he wanted, Diesel could call a halt to the proceedings by sitting on the dog. He was at least three times the dog’s size and weight.

  “Good morning, Charlie.” Stewart lowered the paper. “You’re up earlier than usual on a Sunday morning.”

  “Good morning,” I said. “Not by choice. Kanesha is coming over for coffee. I think I’ve figured out the solution to the two deaths, and I suppose she’s coming to hear me out.”

  “There’s plenty of coffee,” Stewart said. “I made a
whole pot, and I’ve had only one cup so far. Haskell is still in bed. He didn’t get in until around one this morning.”

  “He must have been totally worn-out.” I took a mug from the rack near the coffeemaker and filled my cup. I pulled out my usual chair and sat.

  “Yes, he was knackered, as the Brits would say.” Stewart smiled. “He’s off duty today, so I plan to let him sleep in as long as he wants.”

  “Lucky Haskell,” I muttered. I couldn’t really complain, however, because I was the one who wanted to talk to Kanesha.

  “Should I make myself scarce?” Stewart asked. “Is this meeting with Kanesha confidential, or can anyone sit in?”

  “Probably confidential,” I said. “Considering that the investigation isn’t closed yet.”

  “No problem.” Stewart rose from the table and went over to the coffeemaker. “I’ll take my refill and the newspaper up to our sitting room. You’re not going to be reading the paper anytime soon, right?”

  “Right, you’re welcome to it,” I said.

  “Okay, toodles, then,” Stewart said. “Come on, Dante, let’s go upstairs.” He headed out of the kitchen. Diesel got up off the dog, and Dante scooted after his master.

  I grinned at my cat. “You love having that dog to torment, don’t you?”

  Diesel gave me one of those feline-trademarked supercilious looks and started cleaning his right front paw. The doorbell rang moments later, though, and he abandoned his pose of indifference to follow me to the front door.

  Kanesha looked as if she hadn’t slept in two days, but her manner was as brusque as ever.

  “Come on in, coffee’s ready,” I said.

  “Thanks, I could use a gallon or two right about now.” She headed past me to the kitchen, Diesel ambling alongside her, meowing the whole time.

  While Kanesha chose a seat at the table, I poured coffee and gave it to her. She gave Diesel a couple of absentminded pats before downing about half her coffee at one go.

  “Oh dear Lord, that is good,” she said. “Stewart must have made it. He’s the only one I know can make coffee as good as my mama.”

  “Yes, he did. Let me know when you want a refill.”

  In response she drained her mug and held it out to me. “Thanks, Charlie, I appreciate it.”

  I returned the mug full, and she took a couple of sips. She looked better now for having caffeine coursing through her system. I waited, though, for her to initiate our conversation about the case.

  I didn’t have to wait all that long. A few more sips of coffee, and she appeared to be ready to talk. “You think you’ve got it all figured out. Go ahead and tell me your solution.”

  “I will, but first I have at least one question,” I said. She nodded, and I continued. “Did you find any evidence of the threats Gavin alleged to have received?”

  “We did,” Kanesha replied. “Several in his e-mail inbox, and he had a folder with seven printed ones in his laptop case. And, before you ask, the printed ones weren’t copies of the e-mail messages. They were different.”

  “I’m willing to bet you’ll find that Gavin wrote them himself,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’ve been able to trace any of them yet.”

  “Not yet,” Kanesha said. “I’ve turned them over to the MBI. They have people who can do the necessary electronic forensics on the e-mails. They’re also looking at the printed ones.”

  “There were no envelopes with the printed ones, were there?” I asked.

  Kanesha shook her head. “If he kept them, he didn’t bring them with him.”

  “I assume the police in Alabama, or their bureau of investigation, will be searching his house for evidence.”

  “Naturally. Already done,” Kanesha said. “After you’ve told me your solution, I’ll tell you what they found. We’ll see if it corroborates what you’re going to tell me.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” I paused for a sip of coffee and a deep breath or two. I was preparing myself for being laughed at.

  Kanesha sipped her coffee and regarded me with that laser stare of hers. I hesitated, because all of a sudden I was certain I’d gotten it all wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made a fool of yourself. I told my inner voice to shut up. Not aloud, of course.

  “Well, go on,” Kanesha said. “I’m listening.”

  “Here goes,” I replied. “Gavin was the poisoner. He killed himself accidentally, but Maxine Muller deliberately.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Kanesha didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink, in fact.

  I wasn’t sure how to interpret that lack of response. I found it unnerving, but I couldn’t let it rattle me or I wouldn’t remain coherent enough to explain my theory.

  “Okay, well.” I cleared my throat. “Gavin didn’t intend to die, of course. He wanted to kill two people but make it look like they died accidentally while he himself was the actual target. He’d set it up so that his victims accidentally got the water bottles that were poisoned instead of him.”

  If Kanesha’s eyes hadn’t been open I’d have thought she’d gone to sleep on me. Then she drank more coffee.

  “I think he probably prepared the two bottles—and I’m guessing that there were only two—with poison back home in Alabama. Maybe the investigators there found evidence of that in his home, but I guess you’re not going to tell me that right now.”

  Kanesha shook her head. “Go on.”

  “So Gavin brings the poisoned bottles to Athena with him. He told Lisa Krause, the chair of the local arrangements committee for the conference, that he had to have a certain kind of bottled water in his suite. He demanded it as a keynote speaker. Lisa got the water bottles for him. They were his cover, so to speak, for the doctored ones.” I paused for a sip of coffee.

  “Next, all he had to do was get the right people to his suite, and he did that by having a party. One that he basically stuck the conference with the bill for, incidentally, but that’s another issue. He knew he could force people to come, all people he’d worked with before, ones who knew what he was capable of if he was crossed. He needed a number of people there so that it wouldn’t look like, later on, he had singled anyone out.

  “Now, this devotion to one brand of bottled water wasn’t a new thing, and I reckon that most of his guests knew that little idiosyncrasy of his. He was counting on that, in fact, because it was an important part of his plan. He would be able to say, after his intended victims died from the water he’d doctored, that the killer brought the bottles to the party and managed somehow to put them with the others, the ones that weren’t doctored. Gavin would have been relieved at his lucky escape and wasn’t it terrible, blah blah blah. And the whole time, he’d be congratulating himself on how smart he was and what idiots the rest of us were. He always thought he was the smartest person in the room. Hubris, because he outsmarted himself in the end.”

  “Why was he determined to kill two people in this scenario of yours?” Kanesha asked, her tone bland. “Maxine Muller apparently was one of them, but who was the other?”

  “Harlan Crais,” I said. “Do you remember what you told me about Gavin’s attempts to find another job? How two places scheduled phone interviews with him and then canceled at the last minute? According to what Maxine Muller told you, he knew who blackballed him. He was sure it was Harlan Crais.”

  “Why was he so sure?” Kanesha asked.

  “Because he’d done the same thing to Crais, and more than once, I suspect.” I told her what I’d heard from Marisue and Randi and about the conversation between Crais and Bob Coben that I’d overheard. “I think Gavin, out of sheer spite, kept him from at least two good jobs. Crais must have taken some satisfaction in returning the favor.

  “Now, back to the party. Last night, in talking with Cathleen Matera and Nancy Dunlap, both of whom had been at Gavin’s party, I learned that Gavin had behaved in uncharact
eristic fashion. They told me that he’d held these little gatherings before, and when the party was over, he’d made sure to keep any leftovers for himself. He never offered any of them to his guests. At the last party, though, he suddenly became generous, insisting that people help themselves. He even offered bottles of his precious water to them. Cathleen Matera took one, and she drank it and lived, so it was obviously fine. Nancy Dunlap turned it down, but both Harlan Crais and Maxine Muller left with a bottle apiece.”

  “After you found that out, that was when you texted me about Crais last night, correct?” Kanesha said.

  “Yes, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Up until then I was sure he was the murderer, and I didn’t want to give anything away by talking to him about bottled water. If he were innocent, however, and still had that bottle unopened, then he might be in danger if the killer had poisoned more than two.”

  “So you passed the buck to me.”

  I nodded. “Under the circumstances, I figured it was the only thing I could do.”

  “I see. Well, continue. Tell me why Fong wanted to kill Maxine Muller, and then you can explain how Fong ended up with a poisoned bottle himself.” Kanesha drained her mug and set it on the table.

  “More coffee? No?” I asked. “All right. Maxine knew too much about Gavin’s sideline in extorting money out of people, I think. He couldn’t trust her not to turn on him after he’d committed murder. Once Harlan Crais was dead, Maxine might be frightened enough to talk, because she knew Gavin well enough to figure out what he’d done. I’m guessing at that, but I think it’s probably the reason.”

  Diesel had remained remarkably quiet during all this, but he chose now to demand attention. I felt that large paw on my thigh, and when I looked down at him, he meowed loudly. I patted his head, hoping that would quiet him, but it didn’t. He meowed again, and I recognized the tone. He wanted food.

  “I’m sorry,” I told Kanesha. “He’s hungry, and he’ll keep this up till he’s been fed. It won’t take a minute.”