Twelve Angry Librarians

SEVENTEEN

I nearly dropped my coffee cup at Stewart’s answer. “Online? You mean you can order poison over the Internet?”

“Not in this country,” Stewart said as he resumed his seat at the table. “You know that people buy drugs from overseas online, right?” When I nodded, he continued. “Well, there are disreputable firms in other parts of the world that sell chemicals illegally, too, without regulation.”

“Good heavens.” I felt slightly nauseated.

“Pretty frightening, I know,” Stewart said. “Another way to get it would be from a college chemistry lab, although it would be a really slipshod lab if they let dangerous chemicals get taken.”

“Do you have it in the chemistry labs at Athena?” I asked.

“Yes,” Stewart said. “We keep careful control over it as we do all our chemicals, and access to them is limited.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “Still, the killer got hold of it somehow.”

“Do you know for sure that the killer used cyanide?” Stewart asked.

“No.” I felt sheepish when I continued. “I’m basing it solely on how quickly it happened, how he behaved before he fell out of sight, and on reading many mysteries over the years that had cyanide as the murder weapon.”

Stewart chuckled. “I know it’s not funny, but hearing you say that makes me think of Agatha Christie.”

“Exactly,” I said. “She worked in a hospital dispensary and became quite knowledgeable about poisons.”

“I think I read that somewhere,” Stewart said. “Tell me what you saw.”

I related the scene as I recalled it, and Stewart nodded when I finished. “That sounds like cyanide poisoning,” he said. “Tasteless, soluble in water, and he probably drank so fast he had no idea what he’d swallowed.”

How vulnerable we are. That thought gave me the shivers.

“The toxicology report could take several weeks, even longer,” Stewart said. “In the meantime, cyanide seems likely to me.”

“I think figuring out when the killer got the poison into the water bottle is the key to solving it,” I said. “Once Kanesha knows that, she can probably isolate the suspects and figure out who did it and why.”

“Plus find out where they got the cyanide in the first place,” Stewart added. “I’m curious about that part.”

I nodded. “Me, too. I think I know when the killer had the best opportunity to poison the bottle.” I told Stewart about the party Gavin hosted in his suite. “That must be when it was done.”

“Probably,” Stewart said. “But wasn’t the killer taking a risk that someone else might have gotten hold of that bottle instead?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Depends on when during the party it was done, I suppose. Gavin wouldn’t have wanted to share his particular favorite brand of water with anyone else, and I’ll bet the others at the party knew that. I’ll have to ask Lisa if she remembers whether there was other water available.”

“The other thing that strikes me is the fact that this guy drank from the poisoned bottle during the luncheon. If the killer poisoned the water in the suite, he or she had no way of knowing exactly when the victim would actually drink it and die.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Well, Kanesha will have to figure all that out, if she can.”

I got up to refill my coffee, and I suddenly heard a ruckus coming from the direction of the stairs. Stewart and I looked at each other and grinned. Diesel and Dante were playing one of their favorite games, running up and down the stairs, taking turns chasing each other. Dante barked occasionally, and Diesel meowed loudly. The game usually lasted about five minutes, by which time they had expended enough energy and were ready to rest for another round later. The early stage of the game wasn’t noisy. The longer they went at it, however, the louder and faster they got.

Stewart and I waited for about a minute, and the two racers came trotting into the kitchen, breathing hard.

Stewart glanced at his watch. “Time for me to get ready for the gym. Come on, Dante.” The dog trotted over to him, panting, and Stewart scooped him up. “We’ll see you later, guys.” Dante licked Stewart’s face as the two exited the room.

Diesel stretched out on the floor by my chair and started grooming himself. I prepared a small bowl of cereal and popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. Once I finished my cereal and toast, I contemplated another couple of pieces of toast, but decided on an apple instead. Every once in a while I made a healthier choice.

My thoughts turned to Laura and Frank. I badly wanted to call Laura to find out what was going on. Had they made a decision yet? Was there still a chance they might choose to stay in Athena?

I knew I shouldn’t call. Laura knew I’d be stewing over this, anxious to know the outcome. She would talk to me as soon as she and Frank were ready to share their decision. I had to be content to wait. Patience, in matters like this, was never my strong suit.

I forced my mind to the conference schedule. I had that panel on cataloging to do. Would someone step in to take Gavin’s place? I wondered. I also speculated, somewhat uneasily, how technical the other librarians on the panel would get. With the change from the old Anglo-American Cataloguing Rules, known fondly to catalogers as AACR2, to the newer standard, Resource Description and Access, known as RDA, the world of cataloging had changed. Though I was familiar with RDA and some of the important changes, I didn’t have a complete grasp of it by any means. I didn’t want to appear ignorant if the others started spouting rule numbers that meant nothing to me.

Too late to worry about that now. I would have to wing it and hope not to come off looking like a complete fool. Given everything else going on in my life right now, this panel was a minor thing.

That realization made me feel better. I put my dishes in the dishwasher, made sure the coffeepot was off, and then Diesel and I headed upstairs. I needed to get ready to face the outside world.

Half an hour later I was prepared to leave the house, dressed in a suit but without the tie. Five days a week were enough with a tie around my neck, I decided. Most of the men I had seen at the conference yesterday weren’t wearing them, and I might as well go with the trend.

Before I went to the Farrington House, however, I had to deliver Diesel to Melba Gilley’s house. She had volunteered to take care of him today so that I wouldn’t have to leave him at home with only Dante for company. Both cat and dog tended to make mischief when left without human supervision, and I didn’t care to come home and find every shoe I owned dragged out of my closet and left with teeth and claw marks. Lesson learned.

I chatted with Melba a moment while Diesel disappeared quickly into the house. He had been here before, and I had no doubt he headed straight to Melba’s sofa. I passed over the harness and leash in case she wanted to run an errand while she babysat.

The conference started at nine this morning, and I made it to the hotel about ten minutes before nine. I paused in the lobby to scan the program. Nothing in the nine o’clock session appealed to me, and my panel started at half past ten. Might as well visit the vendor exhibits.

Because the SALA conference was a relatively small meeting, the exhibits occupied only half the ballroom. I remembered the exhibitors’ hall at the Texas Library Association Annual Meetings, held in convention centers, and the vast space it covered. I could easily make my way around these exhibits in under an hour unless I stopped to chat with vendors at each booth. I did want to speak with salespeople from our chief subscription agent and introduce myself. In case I decided to accept the director’s job, I knew I shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to acquaint myself with these people.

I quickly found the booth I sought and introduced myself to one of the salespeople, a curly-headed young woman whose name tag read Carol Seiler. We soon discovered that we had mutual librarian friends in Texas and chatted away. She introduced me to several of her coworkers, and we discussed some of the particulars of the Athena College account.

While we talked I became aware of two women, both strangers who appeared to be in their late seventies, at least. They stood nearby, perhaps seven or eight feet away, staring at me. I glanced sideways several times and saw them whispering to each other, and twice one of the women pointed in my direction. I realized I had lost the thread of the conversation with Carol and her coworkers and made an effort to ignore the women.

Why were they staring and pointing at me? I wondered while I listened to Carol’s remarks about a new product. Different visitors to the booth claimed the other salespeople’s attention, but Carol continued her conversation with me. I made an effort to listen and comment intelligently, but at the back of my mind I was stewing over the behavior of those two women.

When I allowed myself a quick sideways glance in their direction, I saw that they were no longer nearby. I wanted to turn around and look for them, but I couldn’t be that rude. Carol, however, noticed my distraction.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Something seems to be bothering you.”

I hesitated before I answered. “Well, actually, there is. Did you happen to notice those two women who hovered nearby for a few minutes? They seemed to be staring and pointing at me, and I don’t know why.”

Carol shook her head. “No, sorry, I didn’t notice them. Perhaps they were waiting to speak with you but didn’t want to interrupt.”

I shrugged. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose they’ll track me down at some point.” I thanked her for her time, and she gave me her business card. I tucked it into my jacket pocket, wished her a good day, and wandered down the row to survey the other booths.

At the end of the row I paused at the exhibitor’s table and picked up a brochure that touted their databases, all designed for general academic libraries. I asked a few questions, received a free thumb drive and a couple more brochures, then rounded the corner to go down the next aisle.

I ran right into the two women who only a little while ago had been watching me and whispering to each other. “Sorry,” I said with a brief smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

One of the women uttered a muted shriek and stepped back, while the other stared at me with avid interest. I would have sworn she licked her lips before she said, “If you’re the one who killed that obnoxious Gavin Fong, I’d like to shake your hand.”