No Cats Allowed

by Miranda James

  Lisa looked startled. “I guess I could stay with Cassandra. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Please do,” Azalea said.

  “I will. Thank you both again for everything.” She bent to rub Diesel’s head. “You, too, Mr. Kitty. You are the sweetest thing ever. I wish I had your twin brother at home.” She straightened. “Guess I’d better go on down to the sheriff’s department and get it over with.”

  “That’s best, I think.” I rose to escort her to the front door, and Diesel came with us. Lisa gave him one last pat on the head, then surprised me with a quick hug before she hurried down the walk to the street and her car.

  I realized I hadn’t mentioned to her that I was going to be her boss for a while, but that could wait until tomorrow. I imagined Forrest Wyatt would send out some kind of college-wide announcement soon. Given the situation, no doubt he would do his best to allay the fears of everyone on campus.

  Time to call Sean, I reminded myself. My phone wasn’t in my pocket, and I recalled I’d put it down in a stupor after my conversation with Forrest Wyatt.

  “Come on, Diesel, we’re going to see Sean,” I said. The cat gave an indifferent warble as he accompanied me to the kitchen. He liked Sean, but my son didn’t shower him with the same amount of attention that Laura did.

  After a quick conversation with Sean, Diesel and I got in my car and headed downtown to the law office. The cat seemed to enjoy riding in the car. He gazed out the window at the passing sights, as much as his harness and safety rig would allow.

  Laquita greeted us when we walked in and sent us straight on to Sean’s office. The door stood ajar, but I knocked anyway. The back of Sean’s chair faced us, and I could see long legs that ended in cowboy boots propped up on the credenza behind his desk.

  At my knock the legs came down and the chair turned. Sean had a phone stuck to his ear. “Fine. Yes, first of next week.” He put down the phone. “Hey, Dad, come on in. You, too, Diesel.”

  I made myself comfortable in one of the pair of chairs in front of his desk, and Diesel stretched out on the lushly carpeted floor beside me. He yawned and closed his eyes.

  “Kanesha left the house not long ago, and she said Melba was going to be released soon.”

  Sean nodded. “Yes, they informed me. She should be on her way home now.”

  I frowned. “Shouldn’t you be with her? How is she getting home?”

  “Right now I imagine all she wants to do is get home, have a hot shower, maybe followed by a nap,” Sean said. “As to how she’s getting home, she has her pick of escorts among the deputies. They’ll be falling over themselves to be the one to drive her.” He grinned. “How come you never fell prey to her charms?”

  I snorted with laughter. “Because I’ve known her ever since she was a snotty-nosed, pigtailed little pest of a girl who bossed everyone around like factory foreman. She’s a dear friend, but I’d no sooner get romantically involved with her than I would a, well, I don’t know what.” I threw my hands up. “I just know we’re better off as friends.”

  Sean regarded me, one eyebrow arched, as if he didn’t believe me. He didn’t respond to my disclaimer, however.

  “Other than the lipstick they found with the body,” Sean said, “they have no evidence that Melba was at the scene of the crime. She says she was at home watching television all evening. Went to bed around ten thirty, alone, and didn’t go near the main library building last night. I believe her. I can’t see that she had a particularly strong motive to kill Reilly.”

  “No, she didn’t, and she would never subject even a jerk like Reilly to that kind of appalling death.” I grimaced at the thought of the man’s death by crushing. Those compact, automated shelves would have been relentless.

  “There is some evidence he might have been unconscious when the shelves were activated,” Sean said. “It’s possible he didn’t know what was happening.”

  “For his sake, I hope he didn’t,” I said. Then the full meaning of Sean’s statement penetrated my image-clogged brain. “What kind of evidence?”

  Sean made a moue of distaste. “I haven’t seen the crime scene photos yet, but I’m given to understand by a reliable source that the head, unlike the rest of his body, somehow escaped crushing. Preliminary examination revealed he’d been struck fairly hard in the face. His nose was broken.”

  I tried not to imagine how Reilly’s head had escaped crushing, but I knew there were gaps left on the shelves for the times when more volumes needed to be added to a particular range. Somehow he had fallen so that his head was in one of those gaps. That was the only explanation that occurred to me. For a moment I thought I would throw up, I felt so queasy.

  “Dad, are you okay? You’re really pale.” Sean sounded alarmed. “Q.C. has brandy in his office. Should I get you some? Or whiskey?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay. My vivid imagination got the better of me for a moment.”

  “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you,” Sean said. He looked upset. “I didn’t realize it would have this effect on you.”

  “Really, Son, I’ll be okay. The queasiness is passing. Actually, if you have a can of diet soda, that would be good.”

  Sean jumped up from behind his desk and disappeared into the hallway. He was back in less than thirty seconds with a cold can. He popped the top and handed it to me. I had a healthy swallow and felt immediately better. It was probably all psychological, because I doubted the diet drink had that kind of medicinal efficacy. Either way, real or imagined, it did the trick.

  “Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “The part about the broken nose is really interesting. There’s a possibility Reilly was attacked by a violently jealous young man whose girlfriend Reilly harassed.”

  “How do you know that?” Sean frowned. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  Since Lisa Krause was giving a statement to the sheriff’s department, I knew Sean would have the information at some point. I might as well tell him now as further indication that Melba had significant competition as a murder suspect. I filled him in on Lisa Krause’s story.

  When I’d finished, Sean said, “I remember him. Tuck the Truck, I mean. He once ran thirty-seven yards the wrong way and scored a touchdown for the opposing team.” He laughed. “Not the brightest athlete on the field.” Then he sobered. “He’s certainly big enough to have done that kind of damage to Reilly’s face without even trying to hit him very hard. But if he’s got a violent temper, well, he could break a guy’s neck with a really hard hit.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “If he did hit Reilly really hard and killed him, do you think maybe he panicked and put the body in the compact shelving to cover up what he’d done?”

  TWENTY

  “That’s a plausible scenario,” Sean said.

  “But how can we explain the lipstick?” I frowned. “Unless Brent Tucker was responsible for the prank on Reilly’s car, too.”

  “How could he have gotten hold of Melba’s lipstick?” Sean asked.

  “From his girlfriend. Lisa had the opportunity,” I replied. “But if that’s the case, it means she was a party to the prank. It’s not something I would have expected of her.”

  “How well do you really know her, Dad?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Probably not that well,” I had to admit. “We don’t work in the same building, but I often see her when I have occasion to go to the main building.” I paused for a moment. “Starting tomorrow, though, I may be seeing her on a daily basis.”

  “Why?” Sean asked.

  I told him about my new position as interim director of the library. To my surprise, Sean seemed really pleased by the news.

  “I think that’s great,” he said. “I have to say, I’ve thought for a while now you need more to occupy your time than a part-time job and volunteer work. You need more stimulation. Yo
u’re not as energetic as you used to be, before you moved back here.”

  “As long as I had a wife and two children to support,” I replied, slightly nettled, “I was happy to be energetic. I loved my work, but once you and your sister were out on your own, and then with your mother gone, well, I was happy to slow down a bit. I think I worked hard enough over the years that I earned the right to semi-retire if I want to.”

  “You did, Dad.” Sean ran a hand over his head, a gesture that usually meant he was embarrassed. “You earned the right to do what you want. I didn’t mean for you to think I don’t respect that. You and Mom always worked hard, and you instilled your work ethic in Laura and me.” He paused, as if considering his words with care. “It’s just that Laura and I worry about you sometimes, the way you keep getting mixed up in these murders. I guess we both think that if you had more to keep you busy, you might not get involved in these things.”

  “I don’t go looking for dead bodies, you know,” I said tartly.

  Sean gave me a sheepish grin. “No, I know you don’t, but nevertheless, you do somehow keep stumbling over them.”

  “And as long as I do, I can’t help but do what I can to make sure an innocent person, like Melba, isn’t wrongfully accused.” That sounded pompous, even to me. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  Sean laughed. “Yes, I do. You’re a good man, Charlie Harris. Now forget what I said, and let’s get back to talking about the murder.”

  “Fine with me,” I muttered. Diesel warbled loudly. He had picked up on the sudden tension between Sean and me, minor though it was. A few head scratches reassured him.

  “Brent Tucker sounds like a much more viable suspect than Melba,” Sean said. “There’s also the former brother-in-law, Stanley.”

  “He could certainly have struck Reilly hard enough to kill,” I said. “He could also have decided to make use of the compact shelving. I wonder if the killer thought it might be taken for an accidental death.”

  “If he did, or she did,” Sean said, “then it was a pretty big gamble. How could someone die accidentally that way?”

  I considered the question. The shelves moved steadily together, but not that fast. A reasonably agile person could probably escape if two of them suddenly started moving toward each other. A clumsy person who tripped, on the other hand, could end up dead.

  But what would have triggered the mechanism to move the shelves? That had to be done manually. I didn’t think the shelves would move spontaneously, even by accident. I put my thoughts into words for Sean.

  “I suppose it could have been a freak accident,” he said. “But I think the chances of that are almost nil. In this case, the killer deliberately caused the shelves to close in.”

  “Yes.” I drank more of the diet soda to quell my rebellious stomach. “While you were at the sheriff’s department, did you hear anything about the attempts to track down Stanley?”

  “No,” Sean replied. “I’m sure they’ll find him, though. A guy that size can’t hide out for long. He’s too noticeable.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  Sean consulted a paper on his desk. “Tell me about your encounter with Reilly and his vandalized car.”

  I gave him a detailed account of the incident, and he scribbled a few notes. “Thanks,” he said when I’d finished. “I need to talk to the campus cop. What’s his name again?”

  “Martin Ford,” I said, and Sean wrote that down.

  “One thing I don’t understand is what Reilly was doing at the library last night,” I said.

  “Meeting someone,” Sean suggested. “That’s the best explanation I can come up with. The question is who. Also, was Reilly lured to that part of the library with the intent to murder him by using the compact shelving? Or did the killer simply take advantage of the means at hand? Premeditated, or opportunistic?”

  I shrugged. I had no idea.

  “Are you familiar with that area of the library?”

  “I’ve been down there a few times,” I said.

  “I haven’t seen it,” Sean said. “Describe it for me.”

  I thought for a moment, trying to visualize the space. It had been more than a year since I’d had reason to go into the basement.

  “It’s really just a storage area,” I said. “Unless things have changed in the past year, there are no study areas down there. Only shelves and shelves of older bound journals. Once upon a time there were carrels and tables there, but about ten years ago the library started running out of space on the shelves on the other floors. They decided to convert the basement to storage.”

  “Is it easily accessible to everyone?” Sean asked.

  “Yes, basically. Library staff will go down to retrieve items for patrons, but patrons can easily do it themselves.” I paused. “There have been a few incidents over the years of, shall we say, amorous activities down there, but that kind of thing happens in other parts of the library as well.”

  “Really? Pretty risky behavior.” Sean shook his head.

  “Yes, it is,” I said, “but that kind of thing happens more often than people realize. Even in a public library in the daytime.” I recalled an incident in the branch library in Houston where I worked for many years, in which an overly enthusiastic couple were caught going at it in one of the restrooms. Thankfully by an adult, and not a minor.

  “Okay, to put this discussion back on track, the basement might have been chosen because the killer wanted privacy for a meeting with Reilly.” Sean leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Seems to me the killer would have to be someone familiar with the library. That would let Porter Stanley off the hook, unless he had spent time exploring the library.”

  “I’ll find out tomorrow,” I said. “I can make a few inquiries. If he was roaming around the library, someone will have noticed him.”

  “Good idea,” Sean said. “But be careful, Dad. If the killer is one of the library staff, you don’t want to provoke him or her into attacking you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said. “Speaking of library staff, though, reminds me that there’s another potential suspect.”

  Sean sat forward and picked up his pen. “Who is that?”

  I explained who Delbert Winston was and his role at the library. Then I related what Delbert had told me about his run-in with Reilly. “I think it would be difficult for Delbert actually to embezzle money from the library,” I said, “but if he was embezzling, and Reilly figured it out, he would certainly have a motive.”

  “Plus he’s been working in that library for years, right?” Sean laid down his pen.

  “At least fifteen, I think, maybe more. I can check tomorrow.”

  “Any other librarians with a grievance against Reilly?”

  I nodded. “Cassandra Brownley. She is, to put it tactfully, a difficult woman. She didn’t get along all that well with Peter Vanderkeller, so it’s no surprise she wasn’t getting along with Reilly.” I told Sean about the scene I’d witnessed between Cassandra and the dead man. “There’s no telling what he might have accused her of. If he sexually harassed Lisa, he might have tried it with Cassandra, too. She may be unpleasant, but she’s attractive.”

  “We have five suspects then,” Sean said. “Porter Stanley, Brent Tucker, Lisa Krause, Delbert Winston, and Cassandra Brownley. Anybody I’m missing?”

  “Other than Melba and me, no, I don’t think so,” I said.

  “You?” Sean said. “Why would you include yourself on the list?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily include myself,” I said, “but someone else might. I’ve ended up with the man’s job, haven’t I? Not to mention the fact that Reilly gave me grief about bringing Diesel to work with me. That putative someone might argue that I wanted the job pretty badly, was really angry about being overlooked, and then got rid of Reilly so I could replace him.”

  Sean c
onsidered that for a moment. “I grant you that could be a potential motive, but how could you count on being chosen for the spot? Why would the president select a part-time staff member for such a position in the first place?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s entirely logical, because I have never expressed any interest whatsoever in being director of the library. But someone else who wanted the position might consider me a rival. I do have a lot of management experience, after all. Even though it’s in a public library setting, not an academic one.”

  Sean looked grim. “If the killer went after Reilly because he or she wanted the job, then you could be a target, Dad. Have you considered that?”

  “The possibility had occurred to me, yes.” It was one of the reasons I wasn’t that keen on accepting the job, but Forrest Wyatt had manipulated me too neatly for me to refuse.

  “I don’t like this,” Sean said.

  “I’m not thrilled about it, either,” I replied. “I’m banking on Kanesha finding the killer quickly. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, or killed.”

  Diesel, once again sensing the sudden tension, butted his head against my thigh and meowed loudly. Sean gave the cat an irritated look, but I ignored that and concentrated on soothing Diesel. His intervention broke the tension, though, and Sean relaxed a bit.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me?” I asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Sean said.

  “How is Alex doing?” I asked.

  “She’s doing great,” Sean replied. “Only some minor morning sickness, but not that bad.”

  “That’s good. Your mother had a more severe case of it with you. Not so much with Laura.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes about Alex and pregnancy in general. I was pleased to see my son so excited about his wife and child.

  “Okay, Diesel, I guess we’d better head back home.” I rose from the chair. The cat stood and stretched. “You know where I’ll be tomorrow.”

  Sean nodded. “Be careful, Dad.”

  “I will.” I left him once again pondering his notes.