Arsenic And Old Books

TWENTY-SEVEN

“That’s a good point,” I said slowly. “I’d never heard anything much about the Singletarys, though, until all this election business started up.”

Kanesha frowned. “I don’t remember Mama talking much about them, either, and she knows all the old families in town.”

“Maybe I ought to give Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce a call,” I said. Diesel perked up when he heard those names. He chirped several times, and Kanesha smiled.

“He knows who you’re talking about, doesn’t he?” She stood. “Why don’t you talk to Miss An’gel and ask? They know a lot about families around here that they never let slip. I need to get back to the office.”

“I will.” I escorted her to the front door. “I hope something breaks soon so you can wrap this up. I don’t like to think about a killer running around free.”

“You think I do?” Kanesha regarded me grimly. “The president of the college is having fits over this, and the mayor is calling every couple of hours to hear the latest. There’s a lot of pressure to get this solved quickly.”

“Everybody wants results yesterday,” I said. “I know you’re doing the absolute best you can.”

Kanesha nodded. “Thanks. Let me hear from you if you come up with anything. I’ll take any lead I can get right now.” She turned and strode down the path to the street.

I shut the door and walked back into the kitchen. Diesel stood on his hind legs, one front paw extended toward the plate where a lone cookie sat.

“No, bad kitty,” I told him as I hurried forward to grab the cookie away from him. I couldn’t believe I’d been so careless as to leave the cookie within reach. “I told you these aren’t good for you. Cats aren’t supposed to eat raisins.”

Diesel meowed loudly as I pulled the cookie away in time. I took it to the sink and put it down the garbage disposal. Diesel warbled in protest loudly enough that I heard him over the grinding of the disposal. I switched it off and turned to look down at my cat. He seemed cross.

“Too bad,” I said. “If you want a snack go eat more of your crunchies.”

Diesel turned away and marched off, tail in the air. He didn’t head for the utility room, though. Instead he made for the stairs. I figured he was going to sulk in my bedroom.

Diesel didn’t pout with me that often, and the good thing about it was that he wasn’t destructive when he did. I would give him a couple of his favorite cat treats at dinner, and that would improve his mood.

I called Miss An’gel’s cell phone but had to leave a message. I explained briefly the reason for my call, then rang off. The Ducote sisters spent most of their time doing volunteer work in Athena and the surrounding area. Meetings of various committees and boards kept them busy, so I wasn’t surprised not to get an answer right away. Miss An’gel would return my call as soon as she could.

In the meantime I pondered how I would spend my evening. Too early yet for dinner, so what to do? Kanesha said the four volumes of Rachel Long’s diary would be returned tomorrow morning, and that would mean a heavy workload. I sighed. I wasn’t eager to plunge back into the one volume I had scanned, but I might as well. The sooner I got through them all, the sooner I might discover a clue to the present-day murder if one existed.

I went into the den and powered up my laptop. I got comfortable on the sofa and opened up the file I sent myself yesterday. I paged down until I found the last entry I’d read in my office.

The next entry came three days later.

The transaction is complete. Celeste thanked me most prettily, and I wished her well, keeping my misgivings to myself. The Good Lord only knew her fate, and I prayed that He would be merciful to her and to Franklin and their babe. I gave her two of my mother-in-law’s dresses and an old woolen cloak of hers as well, in addition to the things I had already provided her during her service to our family. I shall miss her, I must confess, for she has been a cheerful presence in this sad and unhappy house.

For the next couple of weeks Rachel wrote of daily life during a hard winter. Their stores of food diminished at an alarming rate, and Rachel prayed they would be able to find provisions in town. She longed for the spring and its warmth and for the chance to plant vegetables to sustain them throughout the year.

On January 27, 1862, Rachel noted the death of Jasper Singletary, “too worn down by illness and despair to linger in this world.” She would pray for his soul, that he had been reunited with his loved ones in Heaven. She made no mention of Franklin and Celeste.

After that Rachel evidently had little time or energy for daily attention to the diary. Two or three days often passed without any record of her activities. When Rachel did take time to write, she had little to say other than to mention problems with food and other supplies. Often she concluded with the words “and may the Lord provide as He will.”

The bleakness of life in wartime came through poignantly in these pages. I admired Rachel’s fortitude in facing each day and somehow struggling through. I felt I knew her a little, and I could not see the Rachel I found in these pages as a coldhearted killer—a woman who plotted the deaths of four people in order to help her father-in-law take the land he wanted from a bereaved husband and father.

She occasionally mentioned her own child, a son of four named after his father and grandfather, Andrew Adalbert Long III. He was a bonny child, she said, and she took comfort in his youth and energy. She sometimes ate little in order that he would have enough, particularly during the cold winter when they had to be careful with their supplies. She longed for her husband’s safe return, and the pain of not knowing either his whereabouts or the state of his health affected her sleep.

She wrote little of political events or even of news of the war. Her attention centered on the situation at home. I thought perhaps she avoided recording news of the war because she couldn’t bear confiding such sad tidings to her diary. That would make it all seem even more real. I knew that it would have to me.

I read on.

In November 1862 rumors spread that the Union Army was headed for Athena, and the town, though evidently panicked, did what it could to prepare. Rachel had already hidden many valuables away from the slaves—those who hadn’t run away by then—and hoped they would be safe. Later she recorded that, though the army did come to Athena and cause considerable damage, they did not penetrate far enough south to find Bellefontaine. The Longs escaped the worst of the Union depredations, unlike the poor townspeople.

I skimmed after that because there were no substantial entries to read. Even Rachel’s mention of her father-in-law’s passing in September 1863 merited only two sentences. The privations of wartime had grown even worse by then, and I wondered how they managed to survive. I knew Rachel lived for many years after the war, as did her son. I didn’t know about her husband, though, and whether he survived the war.

I decided to look it up. I did a search on Andrew Adalbert Long, Jr., in the library’s online catalog because I knew the information should be in the record for the collection. The information came up right away. To my surprise I discovered Andrew Junior died in 1863. Before or after his father? I wondered.

I would have to check the diary to see what Rachel recorded about her husband’s death.

The house phone rang, and I set my laptop aside to get to my desk where the instrument sat.

“Good evening, Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Long said. “I hope you won’t mind my calling but I’m afraid curiosity is getting the better of me. Have you been reading the diary?”

“I don’t mind at all, Your Honor,” I said. “I have been reading, and I have discovered a lot of interesting information.” I wondered how she would react to the news about Jasper Singletary’s great-great-grandmother Celeste.

“Excellent,” she said. “Can you give me a summary? I have about twenty minutes before I have to leave for a dinner being held in my son’s honor.”

“Sure,” I said. I gave her a quick, general report about the nature of the entries in the diary. After a pause for breath, I related the strange story of Rachel’s connection with the Singletary family and her attempts to help them.

“Interesting,” the mayor said. “Perhaps this will stop young Mr. Singletary from making some of these wild claims of his.”

“Maybe,” I said. “There is more, however.” I told her about Franklin and Celeste.

When I finished, the mayor’s reaction shocked me.

She laughed. “Oh, this is priceless. He’s been having a fit to get his hands on these diaries, and now he’s going to be sorry I ever found them. His campaign is in big trouble now.”