The Silence Of The Library

TWENTY-FIVE

Luckily for Marcella, she was standing in front of the sofa when she fainted. She fell backward onto it, about two inches from where her mother sat. The contents of the glass ended up mostly on her, a little on her mother and the sofa. The aroma of the expensive liquor began to pervade the room.

Mrs. Cartwright jerked as her daughter’s body landed beside her, but she managed to hang on to her glass of whiskey and soda without sloshing any out. “Oh, goodness, Marcella, whatever is the matter with you?” She glanced around, obviously searching. “Where is my purse? I need my smelling salts.”

“Here it is.” Teresa grabbed the large bag, almost a briefcase in size, from the floor beside the sofa. She handed it to the author, who quickly rummaged inside and brought out a small bottle. She twisted off the cap, then stuck the salts under her daughter’s nose.

Marcella’s body flinched as she inhaled. Her eyelids fluttered. After a moment she sat up, shaking her head as if to clear it. “What happened?” she asked in a weak voice. She glanced around, blinking rapidly.

“You fainted.” Her mother’s tone was crisp. “When you heard the news that Carrie Taylor is dead, you passed right out.” Mrs. Cartwright belted back the rest of her whiskey and soda.

“Oh, my.” Marcella’s right hand went to her cheek. She stared at her mother. “How awful. Who on earth would do such a thing?” She accepted the towel Teresa had fetched and began the attempt to dry herself.

“That’s something we’d all like to know.” Della Duffy stuffed cheese in her mouth as she stared down at Marcella and Mrs. Cartwright.

Marcella frowned. “You don’t think I know anything about it, surely.” She dropped the towel on the floor.

“Did I say that?” Della sounded bored. “I was talking to Winnie.”

“Dear ladies, I am certain that none of us knows anything about such an unfortunate occurrence.” Winston Eagleton cleared his throat as he glared at Della Duffy. “It must have been some local ruffian who did this terrible thing. Why, none of us really knew poor Carrie all that well.”

Betts giggled. “Come on, Winnie, you know better than that. I saw you at the con in Boston, cozying up to her, kissing her hand, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. You were sweet on her.”

Eagleton’s face burned bright red, and for once he appeared to be at a loss for words.

“That’s right,” Della said. “I saw you, too. Probably trying to get her to invest in your press after Gordon pulled his money out. But I’ll bet she didn’t fall for it, either.”

“Either?” Mrs. Cartwright laughed. “I suppose that means he tried it on you first, eh?”

Della snorted. “He did try it on me, but I ain’t buying. Probably tried it on Gordon, too, to get him to reinvest. When it comes to money, dear old Winnie is totally bisexual.”

Betts simply giggled again. I think he was too far gone to care what Della Duffy said.

Despite the painful embarrassment I felt at having to witness such a nasty little scene, I took careful note of Della Duffy’s indiscreet remarks. I would share the information with Kanesha later, in case it had any bearing on the murder.

Eagleton found his voice. “I am not bisexual. The very notion is the height of absurdity.” He paused for a steadying breath. “I admit I did pay court to Carrie Taylor. She was a kind, attractive woman of an age suitable to be a companion to a man such as myself.” He glared at Della. “I didn’t try anything on you. I merely approached you with a business proposition.”

Della shrugged. “If you say so.” She turned away and wandered over to the food table.

Teresa and I had been standing by, observing the whole distasteful scene. I had no doubt she was every bit as uncomfortable as I was, having to watch such goings-on. I was about to make my excuses and leave, taking Teresa along, but Marcella forestalled me.

She rose from the sofa and extended a hand to her mother. “Come along now, Mother. I want to go home and get out of this dress. It reeks of whiskey.”

“Well, if you must.” Eagleton’s protest sounded pretty weak to me.

“Evidently we must.” Mrs. Cartwright let her daughter pull her to a standing position. “Don’t forget my bag, Marcella.”

“Of course not, Mother.” Marcella grabbed the purse from the sofa and stuck the strap over her arm.

“Let me show you out.” Eagleton preceded the women to the door. “Perhaps you will allow me to visit you again tomorrow and continue our discussions from earlier today?”

“I’ll call you,” Marcella said, her tone not in the least bit friendly. “Do you think you can find your way again?”

“Most assuredly.” Eagleton opened the door. “I do hope your agent will be able to join us.”

Mrs. Cartwright paused to turn and look back at the man. “If she ever turns up. I’m beginning to think I need to change agents if the girl can’t even find my house with clear directions.”

Eagleton frowned. “That is most unfortunate. I wonder where she might be.”

“She’ll show up,” Marcella said, clearly impatient. “She’s probably at the house with Eugene right now. Come on, Mother, I want to go home. I can’t stand being in this smelly dress any longer than I have to.”

“Very well, my dear. Good night, everyone.” Mrs. Cartwright went along with Marcella, and Eagleton closed the door after them.

Teresa and I approached, ready to say our own good-byes.

“Might I have a word with you, old chap?” Eagleton smiled at Teresa. “Would you excuse us just a tick, my dear? Shan’t be long.”

What could he want? I wondered. I was more than ready to get out of this room and on the way home.

“Sure,” Teresa said. She moved a few feet away and stared at a picture on the wall.

Eagleton stepped closer to me and spoke in a low tone. “I wondered if you might do me a favor.” His eyes flicked away for a moment across the room. I followed his gaze to where Gordon Betts leaned against the bar, his head down on his arms. “Do you think you could possibly see Gordon to his room? I’m afraid I can’t manage it myself. Bad back and all that, you know.”

I suppressed a sigh of irritation. Why didn’t he simply pour water over Betts’s head and send him on his way? That’s what I was tempted to do. Innate good manners kicked in, unfortunately, and I found myself agreeing to help.

Eagleton beamed with gratitude. “Thanks ever so, old chap. You are truly most kind.”

“Think nothing of it.” My wry tone seemed to escape him as he bustled away, headed for Della Duffy still grazing at the dinner table. The woman certainly was putting the food away.

Teresa joined me. “Need any assistance? I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“No, I think I can manage,” I said. “Why don’t you go on? I’m sure you’re as ready to get away from here as I am.”

“Definitely.” Teresa grinned. “This evening was like something out of a really bad play.” She paused. “If you’re sure you don’t need me?”

“I’m sure. Go on.” I patted her arm before she headed quickly for the door and let herself out.

I turned toward the bar and stared at Betts for a moment. He didn’t appear to have moved.

I frowned. Was he still breathing? I couldn’t detect any signs of life, and suddenly my heart started pounding. Surely he hadn’t died? I started toward him.

A loud snore reassured me. When I reached him and put a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake, he stood and blinked at me. Then he frowned. “What happened?”

“You passed out,” I told him curtly. “Why don’t you let me help you to your room. The party’s over.”

He shook his head. “Don’t need help.” He took a couple of steps, almost tripped over his own feet, but managed to steady himself. “Maybe you’d better,” he said with a weak grin.

I took hold of his left arm and steadied him. “What room are you in?”

He stared at me. “Room?” He paused. “Oh, right, hotel. Room. Um, seven-oh-three?” He nodded after a moment. “Yeah, seven-oh-three, that’s it.”

“Do you have the key?”

He thrust his right hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a card. I took it from him.

“Okay, then, let’s go.” I started leading him to the door. When I paused to open it, I glanced over to Eagleton and Della Duffy, both steadily clearing the table by eating every scrap of food.

I got Betts out the door and down the hall without much trouble. In the elevator I propped him in the corner before I pressed the button for the seventh floor. He had closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep again. I roused him after the brief ride up two floors and tugged him out and toward room 703. He stumbled alongside me.

I had to lean him against the wall while I inserted the key card in the lock. He managed to lurch in on his own, and I followed him to make sure he didn’t fall and bang his head against something, such as the sharp corner of a desk.

His suite was more lavish than Eagleton’s, I thought, but I didn’t have much time to examine the furnishings. Betts tripped near the sofa and fell headlong onto it. I rushed forward to catch him, but he hit the cushions before I could reach him.

His face, fortunately for him, hit one of the cushions, but his arm flopped over the end table and knocked the lamp to the floor with a muffled thud. The luxurious carpet softened the blow, and the lamp remained intact.

“What was that?” Betts raised his head for a moment, then it dropped back down before I could answer.

I couldn’t leave him prone on the sofa. He might suffocate like that. I managed to turn his body so that he was on his back, head on a cushion, and legs stretched out. He started snoring, and I figured the best thing now was to let him sleep it off.

I restored the lamp to the end table and was about to leave when I noticed how cold it was in the room. I had better find a blanket for Betts; otherwise he might take a chill if he didn’t wake up soon to find one for himself. I found the bedroom and rummaged in the closet. As I expected, there was a spare blanket on the shelf.

Back in the living room, I unfolded the blanket and covered Betts with it. I turned, ready to go, when I spotted the dining table on the other side of the room.

There were seven or eight stacks of books atop the table, and I simply couldn’t resist going over to see what they were. Typical of bibliophiles like me, even though Betts might consider it snooping. He owed me this much, I figured.

The piles consisted of Veronica Thane books, as I’d expected. Beautiful copies, too. Pristine-looking jackets protected by Mylar covers. I bent to read the spines of the first stack.

Several of the titles were in languages other than English. I recognized French and German. Was that one Swedish? I wondered.

I moved on to the next stack, turning it sideways so I could again read the spines. Midway down I spotted a copy of The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion.

I walked back over to the sofa, and a quick glance assured me that Betts was still asleep. I went back to the table and carefully pulled the copy of Spellwood Mansion from the stack.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened it from the back and found the page where the identifying error would be.

There it was. Clarevoyant’s Clew. A true, rare first printing of the book.

Was this really his copy? Or was it Carrie Taylor’s?