Arsenic And Old Books

THREE

Marie’s request was so outrageous I laughed before I could stop myself. I knew she hated being laughed at, but I couldn’t help it.

Her face reddened. “How dare you cackle at me like that. I will report you to the president of the college for your completely unprofessional and disgusting behavior.”

“Go ahead and do that. I won’t stop you.” I glared at her. “Your request is ridiculous. I can’t grant anyone exclusive access to materials in the college archives. You should know better than that.”

“You could if you really wanted to.” Marie scowled. “You’re just like all the rest of the good ole boys at the college. You can’t stand the thought of a woman achieving anything significant. With those diaries I could firmly establish my reputation.”

In a way I felt sorry for her, because I knew she was desperate to get tenure. Time was running out for her because she had been an assistant professor at Athena for six years, after similar appointments at three other colleges. A significant monograph would bolster her application, but she was her own worst enemy. From what I had heard she had the same combative attitude with her students, and her evaluations evidenced it. She had no understanding of the words tact and diplomacy. Her peer in the English department was the exact opposite, one of the most highly regarded women on campus and one of the most popular teachers. She had to turn away students every semester; otherwise her classes would be too large for the college’s guidelines on student-teacher ratios. Marie never had that problem. Her courses, other than the obligatory surveys, usually had the bare minimum.

“No, I could not, even if I wanted to. Only the Long family could grant access like that. You’ll have to talk to Mayor Long, but I doubt she would allow it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Marie sounded triumphant. “Mayor Long will do what I want, and I’ll have the pleasure of making you eat crow.” She pushed past me, jerked open the door, and left it open as she scurried down the sidewalk as fast as her stubby legs could carry her.

I closed the door and resisted the urge to utter a number of uncomplimentary—albeit well-deserved—words about my departed guest.

Diesel warbled and then commenced muttering. I had to grin. He had no such reservations about cursing Marie as only a cat could do.

“I agree with everything you’re saying,” I told the cat as the muttering ceased. “She is the rudest, most high-handed person I’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

I headed back to the kitchen to put the casserole in the oven to heat up. Diesel preceded me, no doubt hopeful that tidbits of chicken would be forthcoming.

“Not for a while yet, boy,” I told him as I adjusted the oven temperature. Diesel turned and walked out of the kitchen, muttering as he went.

I followed and climbed the stairs to my second-floor bedroom. Time to change out of work clothes into lounging-around duds—sweatpants, T-shirt, and bare feet. While I changed I recalled Marie Steverton’s odd remark about the mayor as she stomped her way down the sidewalk.

How could she be so certain Mayor Long would grant her request so quickly? What kind of influence could a non-tenured junior professor wield? The idea sounded nuts to me. Based on my own conversation with Mrs. Long earlier today, I doubted she and her family would want access to the diaries restricted to one person. That would be counterproductive, I thought. My take on the situation was that the Longs wanted everyone to know about the diaries for their own obscure reasons.

I padded back down the stairs. Diesel stayed on my bed. He hadn’t had a nap in nearly forty minutes, so he was overdue. I knew he would be downstairs right after I pulled the casserole out of the oven.

I couldn’t get Marie’s threat—weak as it seemed—out of my mind. What kind of connection could she have to the mayor? She had moved to Athena only six years ago. If there was any kind of dirt, though, I knew the person to ask—my old friend and coworker, Melba.

Melba Gilley and I, along with my late wife, Jackie, grew up in Athena together, and since my return home several years ago, Melba and I had reestablished our friendship. She was executive assistant to the college library director, and I saw her at least three days a week since we worked in the same building. Melba knew practically everyone in town, and if there was anything to connect Mrs. Long and Marie Steverton, she would know—or find out as quickly as possible.

I hit speed dial on my cell phone to call Melba at home. She answered after three rings.

She listened patiently as I explained the events of the afternoon and the encounter with Marie. “What kind of connection could there be between them?”

Melba laughed. “That’s easy, Charlie. They were at Sweet Briar together forty years ago. Marie may think she and Lucinda are good buddies because they went to college together, but Lucinda sure don’t tolerate fools—and Marie’s as big a fool as I’ve ever met. She always thinks she’s more important than anybody else in the room. That just goes to show how stupid she really is.”

Trust Melba to cut Marie down to size. I laughed. “Sounds like you know Lucinda Long pretty well.”

“I sure do,” Melba said. “I worked on her very first campaign as mayor, and I’ve supported her ever since. She’s done more for this town than all the good ole boys who were in office before her.”

I had to take Melba’s word for that last statement, since I hadn’t been here during the previous mayors’ tenures. I knew better than to argue with her, anyway.

“She’s not going to be paying any attention to that idiot,” Melba said. “So don’t even worry about it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I hope the mayor’s rebuff will keep Marie out of my hair. I do not want to have to deal with her having a hissy fit every five minutes because she’s not getting her way.”

“If Lucinda can’t manage it,” Melba said, “give old Dr. Newkirk a call. He can’t stand the sight of Marie, and all he has to do is say, Leap, frog, and the head of the history department says, How high? He’ll see to it she doesn’t bug you.”

“Good to hear.” I knew all about Dr. Newkirk’s reputation, and the fact that he was a close friend of the Long family convinced me that I could be firm with Marie and not worry about it. I didn’t intend to keep her from having access to the diaries, but I certainly wasn’t going to let her take them over like they were her own property.

“Enough about Marie.” Melba chuckled. “When are you and Helen Louise going to set a date?”

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. There was no point in getting exasperated with Melba. She was incorrigible, and she reveled in it.

“When we do, I’m sure you’ll know about it three seconds later,” I said. “The CIA could learn from you and your spy network.”

“How do you know they haven’t already?” Melba retorted. “I notice you said when we do, and not if we do. I reckon that means you’ll get around to asking her one of these days. I just hope it’s before you need a gurney to get you down the aisle.”

“You keep it up, and I won’t let you see Diesel for a week,” I said in as stern a tone as I could muster.

“That’s cruel and unusual, and you know Diesel won’t stand for it. Well, I guess I’d better get off the phone and see about dinner. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

I smiled as I set my phone on the kitchen table. Melba loved kidding me almost better than breathing, and I had come to regard her as the sister I never had.

I checked the casserole in the oven, and it wasn’t quite ready—another ten minutes ought to do it. I prepared a salad and poured a glass of iced tea. I was trying to give up diet sodas, and that meant drinking more tea. I also drank a lot of water, but I needed my caffeine.

While I ate my salad I thought more about Rachel Afton Long and her diaries. Why was there such sudden fierce interest in them? I had both a student and a professor panting to get their hands on the old volumes. I wondered whether Kelly Grimes was a student of Marie’s. That could make an awkward situation even more difficult. I would do my best not to get in the middle of that, but I might not have a choice.

Diaries were an important source for women’s history. Perhaps the most famous Civil War–era woman’s diary was that of Mary Boykin Chesnut. Her husband, James, served as a senator from South Carolina before the war. Later he became an aide to President Jefferson Davis and a brigadier general in the Confederate Army. The Chesnuts moved in the highest social circles, and Mary’s observations of life in the South before, during, and after the Civil War offered great insight into women’s lives at the time.

If Rachel Long’s diaries proved to be as rich in content as Mary Chesnut’s, I knew Southern historians and feminist scholars would want to read them. Marie Steverton, I reckoned, wanted to prepare them for publication, and that would help her bid for tenure.

The decision regarding publication didn’t fall to me. I was simply the custodian of the primary documents, and I was determined to see that they were conserved and preserved properly. No matter who worked on them.

Diesel came warbling into the kitchen the moment I set the casserole dish on a trivet on the table. The cat had impeccable timing—and an infallible nose—when it came to mealtime.

I barely had time to dish up the food when the house phone rang. I stared at it. Not again.

Diesel meowed, ready for a piece of chicken.

“Hold on, boy, and you can have a bite in a minute. It’s too hot anyway.” I kept an eye on the cat as I answered the phone. He had been known to jump up on the table in his quest for food.

“Mr. Harris, Lucinda Long here. Sorry to trouble you at home, but a situation has arisen that I need to discuss with you.”

Right then I could cheerfully have consigned Marie Steverton to the farthest pit of hell. She was going to be a pain in the posterior after all.