TWENTY
The next morning, as I unlocked the door to the archive office a little after eight, I thought about Godfrey Priest. Only two days ago he walked in here, very much the Godfrey I knew in my youth, self-involved and full of life, and less than twelve hours later he was dead. I never liked him, but he didn’t deserve to be murdered.
Diesel couldn’t wait to investigate those intriguing boxes, and he sniffed around them while I got comfortable in my chair and turned on the computer.
I heard a small sound, as if something had fallen onto the floor, and looked up. Diesel, from the top of one tier of boxes, chirped at me and began grooming himself. What had he knocked over?
On the floor in front of the boxes I found the folder containing the inventory of Godfrey’s papers. As I bent down to pick it up, I frowned. What was it doing on top of the boxes? I was sure I had left it on my desk yesterday.
If it had been on my desk, Diesel couldn’t have knocked it off onto the floor in front of the boxes, I reasoned. He was a clever feline, but even he could not have picked it up off my desk and then dropped it onto the floor.
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that the inventory had been on my desk when I left the office yesterday.
That meant someone had been in here meddling last night or early this morning.
I went back to my chair and placed the inventory on the desk. I examined it, and it was intact, no pages missing.
Who could it have been?
Had the intruder tampered with the boxes? That was an unpleasant thought. If the intruder had taken anything, I would never know, because the inventory wasn’t detailed enough.
I got up and examined the boxes. They appeared to be intact. I went down the hall to check the boxes in the storeroom. They also seemed to be undisturbed. I also checked the locks on both doors, and from what I could see, no one had forced them.
Back at my desk, I considered the problem. As far as I knew there were only three sets of keys to the office and the storeroom. I had one set, Melba had one, and the operations staff had the third.
I couldn’t imagine Melba or any operations staff member coming in here after I was gone to poke around. I should check with Melba, though, to make sure she still had her set of keys.
And what about the extra box?
I was relieved to find it where I had left it, untouched as far as I could tell. It was a good thing I put it out of the way, I thought. I went back to my desk.
How many people even knew that Godfrey’s papers had arrived here? Rick Tackett or some of his staff could have mentioned it to someone, but I couldn’t see that it would be that exciting a bit of conversation. Peter knew, naturally, and so did Melba.
Then I remembered the odd incident yesterday, when someone had eavesdropped on my conversation with Melba—a conversation about Godfrey’s papers.
Was that who had done it?
If so, that put a different spin on the incident.
Someone was interested in Godfrey’s papers but didn’t want anyone else to know.
Why?
Was it a deranged fan seeking mementoes of a dead idol?
Or was it simply someone sly and secretive who liked to poke around in things?
Even if it turned out to be someone harmless, I didn’t want anyone entering the archive without supervision.
“Come on, Diesel. Let’s go see Melba.” Time to check on the status of her keys.
I locked the office door behind us. In the past I hadn’t done it while I was in the building, but perhaps I needed to change that.
Melba was on the phone when Diesel and I walked into her office. She smiled and held up a finger, by which I understood the call was almost done.
“Sure thing, hon,” Melba said. “I’ll let Peter know.” She hung up the phone. “Geneva Watterson. Sick again, poor thing.”
Geneva was one of the reference librarians, and she seemed to have a lot of health problems. I had pinch-hit for her a couple of times when the reference department was short-staffed. I made commiserating noises, but at the moment I had other things on my mind.
“What’s up with you two?” Melba smiled as Diesel hopped up on her desk.
I shook my head at the cat, but he ignored me. I sat down in the chair by Melba’s desk. “I think someone was poking around in the archive without my permission.”
“What?” Melba’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “That’s outrageous. Did they make a mess?”
I explained my reasoning, and Melba nodded. “I know how you like things a certain way, and if you say you left that inventory on your desk, then that’s where you left it.”
“Thanks,” I said with a grin. “Whoever it was got in with a key. There’s no sign of forced entry. I have my keys. Where is your set?”
“Right here in this drawer,” Melba said promptly. She pulled the drawer open. “I keep them in this tray.”
I leaned forward to look, and Melba hissed in annoyance. “If that don’t beat all. Someone got in my desk and took those keys.”
“Do you lock your desk at night?”
“I sure do.” Melba’s tone dared me to argue with her.
“What about during the day, if you leave your desk for a few minutes? Or for lunch, say?”
“When I go to lunch, I lock it,” Melba said. “But if I’m just going to run to the bathroom or to the lounge for coffee, I don’t usually take the time.”
“What about the keys to get into your office after hours? Could someone do that?” I was trying to think of all the possibilities.
Melba nodded. “All the department heads have a key to this office, in case of emergency. So one of them could have got into my office last night, I guess.”
“That’s one possibility,” I said. “But it’s also possible the intruder saw you were away from your desk, found the keys, and took them. The other question is, who would know you had the keys and where they were?”
Melba thought about that for a moment. “People are always dropping by to chat,” she said slowly. “This drawer gets opened a lot, because it’s where I keep aspirin and antacids and stuff like that. People come by all the time asking for things because they know I keep them on hand.”
“Then anyone could have seen the keys in the drawer,” I said. “But how would they know what they’re for?”
“Because I had a tag attached to them that said ‘Archive, ’” Melba said, sighing. “Labeled on both sides, of course.”
“You always lock your desk at night?” I wanted to be sure.
“Yes, of course I do.”
“And the lock hasn’t been tampered with?”
“No, it hasn’t, or I would have noticed this morning.” Melba was getting a bit testy with this drawn-out interrogation.
“Sorry, just trying to get the facts straight.” I smiled, and she relaxed. “Various people have access to this office after hours, but your desk is kept locked. That rules out someone coming in after hours to get the keys.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Melba said.
Diesel, apparently annoyed by the lack of attention, reached out and prodded Melba’s arm with his paw. She smiled as she rubbed his head.
“Therefore the intruder must have swiped the keys while you were away from your desk late yesterday afternoon.
“The boxes weren’t in there until around two, and at that point very few people even knew they were there.” I frowned. “Either the intruder saw the boxes being moved over here from the loading dock at Hawksworth and asked Rick and his guys about them, or else it was probably the eavesdropper. Remember?”
Melba shivered. “That was creepy.”
“There could be some other explanation, but that’s all I can think of at the moment.”
“You need to tell Peter about this,” Melba said.
“I know. I think we also need to get the locks changed right away. You think he’ll go for that?” With Peter, one never knew.
“I don’t see why not,” Melba said. “He’s due at a meeting at nine-thirty, but he should have time to talk to you now. He got here a few minutes before you and Diesel.” She buzzed his office.
When Peter answered, Melba told him I needed to talk to him about something urgent. She listened for a moment. “Go on in,” she said, hanging up the phone. “I’ll keep an eye on Diesel.”
“Thanks,” I said. I got up, a bit reluctantly. I did not relish repeating all this to Peter, because he could be amazingly obsessive sometimes about the tiniest details. I might be in for an extended inquisition.
I opened the door and stepped into Peter’s office. “Good morning, Peter,” I said.
Peter looked up from his desk. “Good morning, Charles. I am most pleased to see you. There is something I feel I should discuss with you. I value your judgment, and I know you will offer sage advice.”
He seemed to have forgotten that I wanted to talk to him, but I knew there was no point in trying to divert his attention.
Suppressing a sigh, I sat down. “Tell me about it, and I’ll do my best.”
Peter stared at me, as if suddenly mute. As I watched him, beginning to grow concerned, his face reddened. Was he having some kind of attack?
“Peter, what’s the matter? Do you need a doctor?” I rose from my chair, ready to yell for Melba.
He waved a hand, indicating that I should sit down. “There is no need,” he said, his voice low. “I am simply embarrassed by what I have to tell you in order to solicit your counsel.”
“There’s no need to feel embarrassed,” I said. “I won’t betray your confidence, I assure you.”
“Thank you,” Peter said. “I know you are a man of honor.” He sighed. “And that is the crux of the matter. I fear that I have acted in a dishonorable manner.”
“How so?” I did my best to maintain a patient tone, but Peter could be maddeningly slow getting to the point.
“I refer to the matter of the phone call which we discussed yesterday,” Peter said.
“You mean the call from Godfrey? About his feeling too ill to attend the dinner in his honor?”
“Yes, that is correct.” Peter drew a deep breath. “I lied to you, Charles. There was no phone call.”