No Cats Allowed

TWENTY-NINE

I suddenly thought of Edgar Allen Poe’s story “The Purloined Letter.” Was the answer as simple as that?

One way to find out. Telling Diesel I would be back in a few minutes, I hurried downstairs to retrieve my laptop from the den. Quiet reigned on the first floor, with only a couple of lights on, and I figured Stewart and Haskell must be in Stewart’s rooms on the third floor. I scooped up the laptop and huffed my way back to my bedroom.

I had to sit on the bed for a minute to catch my breath. Diesel watched me, one eye open, then he yawned and went back to sleep.

Propped up in bed, I booted up the laptop, and when it was ready, I inserted the thumb drive. When the window popped up, asking what I wanted to do with the drive, I clicked on the option to view its files.

There were several folders listed, along with a few files not in folders. The folder names were dates preceded by the letters FY, and I figured that indicated fiscal years. I clicked on the first one, for two years past, and viewed a long list of files; some documents, others obviously spreadsheets. I scanned the names of these, and they corresponded with what I had already seen on the desktop computer in the director’s office.

Maybe this thumb drive was simply an ordinary backup, for the convenience of working offline perhaps. Otherwise the college network kept backups of everything, and there wasn’t much need for storage like this in the normal way of things.

I examined one of the spreadsheets that consisted of the library’s master budget for two fiscal years before. It looked fine to me, but I would have to compare it to the file on the college network.

I logged in to the network and then accessed the files linked to the account. It took me a few moments to find the directory I wanted, and then I had to scan the file names to find the right spreadsheet. I opened it, and then I went back and forth between the two.

After a couple of minutes of this, I concluded the files were exactly the same. The same number of line items, the same figures in each. The file on the thumb drive was only a copy.

I did a random check of three other files, and all turned out the same. Copies.

I stared at the screen. Was I wasting my time on this?

I examined the thumb drive’s directory more closely. I noticed a folder named Assets. I didn’t remember seeing a similar folder on the network drive, so I clicked on it.

The resulting list contained more spreadsheet files, a few word-processed documents, a number of PDFs, and several pictures. I clicked on the pictures first, and to my amazement I found myself staring at the picture of a ring.

This surely didn’t belong to the library. I knew there was no jewelry among the archival collections, other than a few military service medals donated by several families whose ancestors had attended the college before the Civil War.

The ring looked expensive. The large center stone appeared to be a cabochon-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The diamonds were not small, either. It was a gorgeous piece, and I wondered to whom it belonged.

The next picture revealed a sapphire and diamond necklace, with matching earrings. The sapphires, though smaller in the necklace and earrings, were also en cabochon to match the ring. I counted at least forty diamonds among the three pieces, and I had no doubt this set was extremely valuable. The remaining four pictures revealed two bracelets, both emerald and diamond, three emerald rings with diamonds, and a handful of gemstones.

The styles of some of the pieces looked old, and I speculated that most of them were antiques. How old, though, I couldn’t say.

Was this what the intruder sought? These pictures of expensive jewelry?

Where were the real items? I wondered. If they had been in Reilly’s office, had the intruder found them?

Could they have been the reason Porter Stanley came looking for his former brother-in-law?

My head was awhirl from all the questions. I had no answers, either. I realized what I had to do, however.

I picked up my phone and speed-dialed Kanesha’s cell. The call went immediately to voice mail, and I left an impatient message for her to call me ASAP, that I had found what could be important evidence.

After that, I copied the contents of the thumb drive onto my laptop. Kanesha might not like it, but I had a hunch I might find other useful information somewhere in the drive’s contents.

I looked through the pictures of the jewelry again. I had an idea they might belong to Reilly’s ex-wife. Her family was wealthy, I recalled, and these pieces could have been handed down. If Reilly had stolen them, I could understand why Stanley had come after his former brother-in-law. Of course, he could have reported the theft to the police and turned it over to them, but maybe for some reason he had decided to handle it himself. I suspected Stanley had borne Reilly a healthy grudge and would have taken satisfaction in forcing the jerk to return the jewels to their rightful owner.

Had Reilly returned them to Stanley? Was that where the two had gone, to retrieve the jewels after I left them together in Reilly’s office?

My phone rang. Kanesha, I saw from the caller ID.

As usual, she wasted no time on formalities. “What’s this important evidence you’ve found?”

I explained about the thumb drive and its contents. “Do you think this jewelry has anything to do with the murders?”

“It’s related,” Kanesha said. “I just heard from the police in Massachusetts. After his death was reported, Stanley’s sister told them she discovered that her most valuable jewelry—all family heirlooms—had disappeared. The family suspected Reilly, and Stanley came here to find him and retrieve the jewels.”

“Did you find them with Stanley?” I asked.

“No,” Kanesha said. “I’m pretty sure the killer has them. Whether they were the reason Stanley was killed, that I don’t know. It could simply have been luck on the murderer’s part to find them on the victim.”

“If you can find the jewels, you find the murderer.”

“Yes,” Kanesha said.

“Are you going to come by and get the thumb drive tonight?”

“I can’t, but I’m going to send someone. Expect him there in about fifteen minutes, twenty at the most.” She paused. “I presume you’ve already copied the contents.”

“Yes,” I said, not completely surprised by her question.

“I figured you had,” she said. “If you find anything else pertinent, let me know.”

“Will do.”

I put the phone down, powered down the laptop, and got up to set it on the chest of drawers with my briefcase. I removed the thumb drive, replaced it in the cap of the pen, and then went downstairs to wait for the deputy to arrive.

This time Diesel accompanied me, but while I turned off the alarm, he ambled into the utility room. After a few moments I heard the sounds of litter being scratched. Next came quiet for about five seconds, and then the sounds of a cat eating dry food. With the house so still around us, it was amusing to hear Diesel attending to his basic needs.

He finished and came to sit by my chair in the kitchen about five minutes before the doorbell rang. He chattered to me, alternating warbles and chirps with the occasional meow, and I wondered what story he was telling me. He had these moods when he gabbed like an effusive teenager, and I answered back as I considered appropriate. Anyone who observed this behavior in me would think I needed immediate psychiatric intervention, but another human with a talkative cat would no doubt understand perfectly.

The doorbell cut the conversation short. I checked through the peephole before I opened the door. I wanted to be certain there was a person in uniform on the other side before I opened it.

There was, and I did. The deputy accepted the pen, thanked me, and then departed. I reset the alarm, and we headed for the stairs. When we reached the second-floor landing, I glanced up to see Haskell peering at me over the railing from near the top of the stairs to the third floor.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, just one of your fellow deputies coming by to pick up something. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

“Right.” The head vanished, and Diesel and I continued into my bedroom.

I eyed the laptop and considered turning it on again and having another look at the contents of the thumb drive. But the day had been long enough, and it was nearly time to call Helen Louise. I would have time tomorrow to dig into those files.

I debated whether to tell Helen Louise about the smashed windshield and the gunshot tonight, because I didn’t want her to get upset and not be able to get the rest she needed. She had enough on her mind without worrying about me. Then I realized how furious she would be if I didn’t tell her tonight and she heard about it from someone else first, so I decided I had better.

Right after I told her about both incidents, I stressed the security measures we were taking, and she was relieved to hear that Haskell would be staying in the house for a few days.

“As long as you don’t do anything risky,” she finally said, “you should be safe.”

“I don’t plan to do anything risky,” I replied.

“I know.” She yawned. “Sorry, honey, I’m about wiped out. Promise me you’ll be extra special careful until Kanesha and her officers have the killer behind bars.”

“I will, love, I will. You go to sleep, and I’ll do the same.”

We exchanged a few more words, then ended the call. I soon dropped off to sleep and slept soundly until morning.

Diesel and I had our usual Saturday lunch date at Helen Louise’s place, and I ate a lighter breakfast than the one Azalea made for me during the week. Cereal, yogurt, and a couple of bananas. I felt virtuous for now, but that wouldn’t last past lunch, not with the thought of one of Helen Louise’s delicious pastries for dessert.

I was at work in the den, cat at my side, by the time I heard Stewart and Haskell downstairs. I left them to their breakfast in peace, though Dante came in search of Diesel right away. The two of them played on the floor while I worked my way through the folders and files I had copied last night from the thumb drive.

Other than the pictures of the jewels, I found nothing out of the ordinary. Spreadsheet after dreary spreadsheet, and one folder full of PDFs and scans of invoices. I took an occasional break to let my eyes rest and to rub my neck and shoulders, but I was determined to wade through as much of these documents as possible today.

Diesel and I had a welcome break with Helen Louise. He scarfed down the boiled chicken she provided, while I enjoyed one of her delicious quiches and a salad. The bistro was busy, and Helen Louise didn’t have much time to chat, but at least we got to spend a little time together. She spent most of the time adjuring me to be careful and not put myself—or Diesel—in harm’s way again.

“See you tomorrow, love. I promise I’ll be extra careful.” I gave her a quick kiss before Diesel and I left. She blew kisses after both of us.

The house was quiet when Diesel and I returned. I attended to the alarm, and Diesel visited the utility room. Stewart’s car was here, and I supposed he and Haskell were upstairs. I headed straight for the den to resume work on those files.

First, however, I decided to check my work schedule for the coming week. I wanted to see if Lisa, Delbert, and Cassandra had made appointments as I had requested. If they had communicated with Melba, the appointments would be on my calendar.

I logged in to the college network and opened my e-mail. I scanned the messages, but there was nothing urgent. I clicked on the calendar and examined it. I focused on Wednesday. I saw appointments with Lisa and Delbert, but none for Cassandra.

She was obviously determined to defy me. I had told her to make an appointment through Melba before the end of the day, and she hadn’t done so.

I wasn’t going to put up with this.

All right then, Ms. Brownley. Time for a little hardball.

I composed an e-mail to her that wasted no words. I also copied Penny Sisson on it. The message read:

You have failed to make the appointment for Wednesday as I requested. I will expect you in my office at nine o’clock Monday morning, and I will request that a representative from Human Resources join us to discuss your insubordinate and unprofessional behavior.

I signed it simply, Charles Harris, Interim Director, and sent it. I sent a follow-up to Penny to explain why the message was necessary and to request her presence at the meeting.

Cassandra could always claim she hadn’t seen the message, I realized, so I looked up her office number and called it. I left her the exact same message on her voice mail.

The challenge had been issued, and I was curious to see what she would do.

Would there be another incident like the smashed windshield? A bullet fired in my direction? Or perhaps something worse?

I had better be on my guard.