Twelve Angry Librarians

THIRTY-TWO

I nodded in response to Cathleen’s question.

“Oh, my good heaven, you did think it might be poisoned,” Cathleen said, suddenly looking a bit green. She shuddered. “But why? Why would you think the water was poisoned?”

Nancy stared at me, obviously confused. “Did you think the killer poisoned more than one of Gavin’s water bottles?”

“He—or she—poisoned two of them, at least.” They obviously didn’t know how Maxine Muller died.

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean Maxine?”

“Yes,” I said. “The killer might only have poisoned a couple of them, although I’m not sure why he’d need to have poisoned more than one.”

“Because Gavin never shared with anyone,” Nancy said. “The killer could have, with almost overwhelming certainty, counted on the fact that Gavin, and Gavin only, would drink the poisoned water.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But there were at least two poisoned bottles. So why poison a second one? And maybe a third or a fourth?”

Nancy paled suddenly. “Thank the Lord I didn’t take one of those bottles. What happened to the rest of them?”

“I imagine the authorities have them now,” I said. “I suppose they will test all the remaining ones, that they know about, of course.”

Cathleen seemed to have recovered from her earlier shock. “Somebody needs to talk to Harlan, then, since he took one of the bottles. Maybe his was clean, though, like mine.”

“Either it was, or he hasn’t opened it yet,” Nancy said with a certain grim humor. “Charlie, maybe you’d better go ask him.”

“Yes, you should,” Cathleen said.

Given that I was pretty sure now that Harlan Crais was a double murderer, I wasn’t all that keen on approaching him. If he were the killer, I reasoned, he would know which bottles were poisoned. If he weren’t, though, he could be in danger if he’d somehow been given a poisoned bottle. What should I do?

I realized that both women were now watching me closely. They exchanged a glance, then focused on me again.

Nancy spoke first. “You’re reluctant to talk to him, aren’t you?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer and continued in a low tone. “That’s because you think he’s the killer, don’t you?”

“That’s it,” Cathleen said, speaking a little too loudly in her excitement. “But why? Why would Harlan kill Gavin? And poor, harmless Maxine? I don’t understand.”

“Keep your voice down.” Nancy glared at Cathleen, who mimed an apology.

I found myself in a quandary. I didn’t want to confirm these women’s guesses that I had decided that Harlan Crais was the murderer. But could I deny that I had and make them believe me? If Kanesha knew about this, she’d have my guts for garters, as the old saying went. I had to respond to them, but what was I going to say?

In desperation I said, “Look, I don’t know if he’s the killer. I can’t talk about his possible motives for the same reason I couldn’t tell you what Mitch Handler told me. For a couple of reasons, though, I can’t just go up to him and ask him whether he still has that bottle of water.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Cathleen asked. “If he still has it and opens it, he might not be as lucky as I was.”

“I know that,” I said, trying not to sound as aggravated and worried as I felt. “I have to have a minute to think about this. Please.”

Neither of the women spoke after that. They stood waiting, quietly, and I had a few moments to think about what to do. When all else failed, I reckoned, summon the cavalry.

I pulled out my cell phone and sent Kanesha a text: 911 found out Fong gave away couple bottles of water from his suite. One harmless; other one status unknown. Given to Harlan Crais. Right now at party in my sight.

I added the suite number and sent the message. I could only hope that Kanesha read the text and acted on it immediately.

“Who did you text?” Nancy asked.

“Deputy Berry,” I said. “I think she needs to handle this.” I didn’t take my eyes from the cell phone screen. Come on, Kanesha. The words ran like a litany through my head for at least thirty seconds. Then my phone buzzed: On it.

“Thank you, thank you,” I whispered. I took a couple of deep breaths to release some of the tension. I saw that the two women were watching me closely. “She’s on it,” I said.

“Thank heavens,” Nancy murmured.

“What will she do?” Cathleen asked.

“I don’t know.” Now I had my gaze focused on Harlan Crais. Would Kanesha call him? Send one of her men to the suite? Come herself?

Somewhere in the room a phone rang and continued to ring. It took me a moment to locate the source of the sound. It was the room phone. Even as I found it, Lisa Krause was answering it. She was too far away, and there was too much noise around us, for me to hear her part of the conversation.

After a moment I saw her scanning the crowd, then she moved in the direction of Harlan Crais. The phone was cordless, and she simply took it to Crais and handed it over. He appeared startled as he accepted the phone.

I watched, along with Nancy and Cathleen, as he alternately spoke and listened. After a moment he shrugged and handed the phone back to Lisa. He turned to the women with whom he had been talking, and a few seconds later he made his way to the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Lisa returned the phone to its cradle and once again scanned the room. When she saw me she came right over.

“Excuse me, ladies, but I need to talk to Charlie for a moment,” she said.

“No problem,” Nancy said. “I think we’re both about ready to go anyway. Thanks for the lovely party.”

“Yes, thanks,” Cathleen said. “I won’t soon forget this one.”

With that somewhat cryptic remark—cryptic to Lisa, that is—she and Nancy made their way out of the room.

Lisa didn’t appear to have paid attention to Cathleen’s words. Instead, as soon as the two women left us, she said, “What’s going on? That was Kanesha Berry on the phone, insisting that she had to talk to Harlan Crais immediately. How did she even know where he was?” She regarded me, obviously suspicious that I was somehow involved. I couldn’t really tell her the complete truth, so I told her part of it.

“I knew she needed to talk to him,” I said. “I texted her to tell her where he was.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, does this mean she’s going to arrest him? Did you tell her he was the murderer?”

At least she had the sense to keep her voice down, I thought. Aloud I said, “No, I told her no such thing. I’m sure she has a few questions for him, that’s all. She doesn’t tell me when she’s going to make an arrest, you know.” I hoped that last sentence didn’t come out as snarky.

Lisa stared at me, the doubt obvious in her expression. “Well, if you say so. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for coming. Do you want to take any of the food or drinks with you? Looks like things are winding down, and there’s too much left to put in the tiny refrigerator.”

The irony of the situation struck me, and I wanted to laugh. I restrained myself, because I wouldn’t be able to explain to Lisa what I found funny about her offer. Instead, I checked out the plate with the spirals I liked so much and saw that there were half a dozen left.

“Well, I could take those, I guess.” I pointed to the plate.

“Go ahead,” Lisa said. “Better grab them, though, before anyone else does. I’m about to offer the people still here whatever they want to take with them. I’m hoping they’ll take the hint and go. I’m about ready to drop.”

I had thought earlier that she looked tired, and now that I looked again more closely, I could see that she really was more than ready to clear the room and go to bed.

“Thanks,” I said. “Let me help with the cleanup.”

“No, I appreciate the offer, but there won’t be that much to do. I’ll shove whatever’s left in the fridge and leave the room for the hotel staff. They’ll be getting a healthy tip, I promise you.”

“All right, then, I guess I’ll wrap up my goodies, and Diesel and I will head home. Ready to go home, boy?” He looked up at me and chirped. He wasn’t exhausted like Lisa, but I could see that he had finally begun to tire. I had tried to keep him out of the main flow of the party so that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed with people, and I thought my strategy had worked pretty well.

While I helped myself to the food I wanted to take home, Lisa gave Diesel a few strokes down his back and told him how well-behaved he was. He meowed and purred for her until I was ready to leave.

“Get some rest,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she responded.

As Diesel and I headed for the door, Lisa called for everyone’s attention and began her announcement about the food. We made it to the elevator before any of the other guests came out of the suite, so we had the car to ourselves. I imagined that Diesel enjoyed the quiet as much as I did. The older I got, the more I found noise—the kind at parties or in restaurants—ultimately exhausting. Perhaps it was an extension of my claustrophobia, or maybe it was a product of aging. Either way, I was grateful to be away from it.

Lack of hubbub around me allowed me to think more clearly. I thought about Harlan Crais and wondered about the bottle of water he’d accepted from Gavin at the party on Thursday. I still couldn’t figure out why at least two bottles had been tampered with. There could have been more, but only the authorities would know that. I supposed that, at some point after the case was solved, Kanesha might be willing to share some of those details with me. Either that, or I’d have to read about them in the media like everyone else.

Diesel was intrigued by the napkin-wrapped food that I carried in one hand. As we made our way through the lobby and out to the parking lot behind the hotel, he kept looking at it. He meowed every so often, and I told him that this food wasn’t for him. He would get a treat as soon as we got home.

In the car I made sure to put the food out of reach in the glove compartment. I didn’t think he would try to get at it if I left it in the open car, but with felines, even one as well-behaved as Diesel, I had learned you could never be absolutely certain what they would do in any given situation.

The house was quiet when we entered. Stewart’s car wasn’t in the garage, so that meant no one was home, except possibly Dante in his crate up in Stewart and Haskell’s apartment on the third floor. Once I released Diesel from his leash and harness he scurried to the utility room. I took my food out of the napkins in which I had wrapped it and transferred it into a plastic refrigerator bag. I was tempted to eat a couple of the spirals and stared at them for a moment, then put them in the fridge. A small victory for willpower. I needed more of them.

When Diesel came back to the kitchen I had his treat—or rather, treats—ready for him. I told him again what a good boy he had been at the party, and he gobbled down the treats as if I hadn’t fed him in three days. He looked at me hopefully when they were gone, but I told him, “No, that’s all for tonight.”

He stared at me a moment before he turned and walked back to the utility room. I knew he would make do with dry food to fill the bottomless pit that was his stomach.

Shaking my head and smiling, I headed upstairs to get ready for bed. I was tired and hoped I could go to sleep soon. I felt a little guilty that I’d left Lisa with the cleanup, but I hadn’t argued when she told me she’d handle it. After all, she was around twenty years younger than I.

Diesel hadn’t come upstairs when I was ready to climb into bed. I lay there with the bedside lamp on until he appeared a couple of minutes later. He climbed on the bed and stretched out beside me in his usual position. I thought about calling Helen Louise, but she wouldn’t be home from the bistro for at least another hour or two. She was always exhausted on Saturday nights.

Instead, I turned out the light, got comfortable, and waited for sleep to overtake me.

And I waited.

The moment the light went out, my brain started cogitating on the murders. I knew then it would be a while before I could go to sleep. So I let my mind roam over the various questions I had and sought answers to them.

The question that I kept returning to was the two poisoned bottles. Why two?

I had a feeling that there were only two, but I couldn’t figure out why. I started thinking about what had happened, about the scanty information Kanesha had shared with me, and all at once I had a possible answer to the riddle of the two poisoned bottles.

No, I thought, that can’t be it. It’s too bizarre a solution. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I had stumbled on the answer.

How on earth would I—or rather, Kanesha—prove it?