The Silence Of The Library

THIRTY-FIVE

“A woman?” I almost dropped my quiche-laden fork. “So Mrs. Taylor had two visitors that night?”

“Looks like it,” Sean said. “And it seems more likely that the woman might have been the killer.”

“Could Mr. Andrews describe anything about the woman?”

“Not much,” Sean said with a rueful grimace. “The only thing he could say was that she wasn’t very tall. Neither was the man, apparently. The significant bit is that she was carrying a big box as she left.”

“She was taking away Mrs. Taylor’s files. That clinches it.” I was excited by the new discovery. Then a question occurred to me. “He was sure the person with the box was a woman? Couldn’t it have been the man?”

“He says it wasn’t. The head was bigger, like the second person had a lot more hair than the first one.”

I mulled that over. “The man might have been Gordon Betts, and I suppose the woman could have been Della Duffy. I think they’re about the same height. Well, if Della Duffy was wearing heels, she would be.”

“Kanesha said she would question both of them today about their whereabouts that night.” Sean sipped at his beer. He gestured with the bottle toward the scrapbook, box, and newsletters on the table. “I presume you’re doing research with those.”

I explained quickly what they were. “I’ve been through probably a third of the newsletters, but so far I can’t see that I have run across anything pertinent to the murder. They may be one big red herring.”

“You might find something significant yet.” Sean forked up a bite of quiche.

“Maybe.” I felt less sanguine about the prospects, but I knew I had to plow on through the rest of the newsletters as well as the scrapbook.

“I wish I had time to help you,” Sean said, “but I need to go back to the office for a couple of hours. Another case I’m working on. There’s not much else I can do for Mr. Eagleton right now.”

“I appreciate it, but I’ll muddle through. Although if Laura or Stewart should happen to wander in, I might co-opt one of them.” I grinned.

“You’re out of luck,” Sean said. “Laura and Frank drove over to Cleveland last night for a visit with his mother. I think Stewart is busy this weekend, too. I doubt you’ll see him until this evening.”

I had forgotten about Laura’s plans with Frank. “So much for that idea. Too bad Diesel can’t read,” I said.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Sean said wryly. “That’s one smart cat.”

We shared a laugh. Diesel was a bright feline, but there were limits to a cat’s abilities, after all.

“Will they release Eagleton once the killer is caught?” I ate more of the delicious quiche. My stomach felt happier, even if my brain didn’t. “Unless he was dressed up as a woman, he wasn’t the person Mr. Andrews saw leaving with that box.”

“That will depend partly on Mrs. Cartwright and her family. If they insist on pressing charges, everything will go forward. Unless, naturally, we can prove that the killer planted the manuscripts in my client’s room.”

“It will all get worked out. In the meantime I guess I should get back to my research.” I got up from the table to put my plate and utensils in the sink. “Thanks again for lunch. My prospects were meager until you showed up.”

“My pleasure.” Sean popped the last bite of quiche in his mouth. I cleared his place, and he dropped the beer bottle into the recycle bin. “I’m heading back to the office, Dad. Let me know if you find anything to help my client.”

“Will do.”

Sean waved on his way out of the kitchen.

I thought about stopping him to ask about the status of his engagement but quickly realized he wouldn’t welcome my inquiry. He would talk to me about it when he was ready.

I resumed my place at the table and pulled the newsletters toward me. A large paw tapped my thigh. Diesel stared hopefully at me. I had no doubt that, had he been able, he would have pointed to his open mouth to let me know he was all hollow inside. I couldn’t help but laugh. I pushed back from the table. “Okay, boy, I’ll give you a few treats, but that’s it.” I had filled his dry food bowl this morning, but by now he had probably cleaned it out. “No more until dinnertime tonight.”

My act of mercy accomplished, I went back to work. Over the next hour I made it through another third of the stack. The number of different contributors increased. The content of the articles varied greatly, as did the writing ability of the authors. I winced over a few examples of particularly bad prose. Perhaps Carrie Taylor hadn’t felt like she could offend people by tampering with their work, or she might not have been bothered the way I was.

I decided to switch from the newsletters to the scrapbook. I needed a change to refresh my brain, not to mention my eyes. I picked up the scrapbook and opened it to the first page.

Aunt Dottie evidently bought movie magazines during her youth because there were several pages of pictures and articles cut from them that featured Bonita Granville and her role as Nancy Drew. I caught myself reading one of the articles. I didn’t have time for that now. Concentrate on Mrs. Cartwright and Veronica Thane, I reminded myself.

There were pages of article clippings, most now yellowed with age and stained from glue, that mentioned Nancy Drew or one of the other juvenile detective series. I found a few references to Veronica Thane, but nothing extensive. Toward the middle I noticed a section that focused on Mrs. Cartwright, and I felt a tingle of anticipation. The clue I sought might be under my fingers.

Ten minutes later, having worked my way through the pertinent pages, I was discouraged. I hadn’t found anything that seemed relevant. The most interesting item was another photo from a film magazine that featured Marietta Dubois, the actress who was to have portrayed Veronica, and Mrs. Cartwright. Miss Dubois, tall and willowy, smiled—insincerely I thought—down at Mrs. Cartwright, who gazed up at the younger woman with manifest delight. Mrs. Cartwright’s head was about level with Miss Dubois’s shoulder.

Too bad the movie never came to be, I thought. Veronica might have been even more famous, and it could have boosted the career of Miss Dubois.

I skimmed through the rest of the scrapbook but found nothing else related to either Veronica Thane or Mrs. Cartwright. I set it aside, wondering whether I had missed something.

The remaining newsletters beckoned, but I had little enthusiasm for the task. I decided I needed a complete break from my research. Perhaps if I put it all aside for a couple of hours, I could come back fresher and more alert to potential clues.

“Come on, Diesel.” I got up from the table. “Let’s go upstairs for a while. I’m going to read, and you can stretch out on the bed and have a nice long nap. How does that sound?”

Diesel warbled happily and trotted beside me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I took off my shoes and got comfortable on the bed. My copy of Spellwood Mansion lay on the nightstand, and I picked it up. Perhaps Veronica would inspire me. Escape reading might be just the thing to clear my head.

I found my bookmark and began to read. Veronica had just found out she’d been drugged. . . .