That took her by surprise. The red faded, and she stepped back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sit down, Ms. Grimes,” I said. “I’m not in a mood to lollygag around over this. Marie Steverton was murdered early this morning, and I’m sure you know that, what with you being a writer.”
Ms. Grimes jutted her chin out, and her eyes flashed fire. “I don’t appreciate the tone of that remark, Mr. Harris. I’m a damn good writer.”
“What about journalistic ethics?” I asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be fair and honest in gathering information? I looked that up, by the way, on the Society of Professional Journalists website.”
The writer stared at me, evidently unable to frame a reply.
“I want to know why you and Jasper Singletary are so interested in the contents of a diary kept by a woman who’s been dead for over a hundred years. If it had anything to do with the murder of Marie Steverton, I’m sure the sheriff’s department will be interested, too.”
Behind me I heard Diesel muttering. I knew he didn’t like the tone of my voice. I hated for him to be upset, but I was determined to get through to this foolish young woman. While I waited for her response, I turned my chair toward the window and let Diesel climb into my lap. He sat with his body against my chest, his head rubbing up against my chin. I could feel him start to calm down.
Together we turned back to face Ms. Grimes. “Well?” I said.
The writer sighed. She looked tired. “Okay, so I lied to you about being engaged to Beck Long. I wouldn’t have done it, but Jasper asked me to help him. He’s feeling desperate because Beck has all the advantages in the race.”
“Such as?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear what she had to say, and how she said it.
She cast me a glance of loathing. “You can’t be that naive. You grew up here, right? You know the Long family’s had a lock on politics in this town for several generations.” She laughed, a bitter, unpleasant sound. “They’re corrupt from decades of sitting in power, getting elected just because they have good looks, a lot of money, and facile tongues.”
“What does Jasper Singletary have?” I asked.
“For one thing, he graduated third in his law school class. Beck Long barely scraped through. If his daddy hadn’t pledged a lot of money to the school, he would have failed. Jasper is smart, Mr. Harris. We need intelligent men like him in our government.”
I had heard stories about Beck Long’s lack of academic prowess, so I wasn’t surprised to hear Grimes bring up his law school performance. He wouldn’t be the first young man to skate by on good looks, money, and a family name.
“If Beck Long gets elected,” Ms. Grimes continued in a heated tone, “it’ll just be more of the same. Jasper wants to lead this state forward, and he deserves a shot.”
Her passionate loyalty impressed me, but I wasn’t ready to concede anything. We still hadn’t hit the root of the issue.
“I’ll take that under consideration,” I said as Diesel nestled closer to me. I had to be careful not to get cat hair in my mouth when I talked. “Are you engaged to him?”
Ms. Grimes’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, we’re engaged, but he wants to keep it private.” Her tone sounded a bit resentful, and I suspected she wasn’t happy about being kept in the background.
“Why is your fiancé so interested in Rachel Long’s diaries? What can possibly be in them that could help him in a race against Beck Long?”
“That’s not for me to say,” the writer said sharply. “Jasper will have to tell you, but I don’t know whether he will. I doubt he’ll think it’s any of your business.”
“It might not be,” I said, “but it is the business of Chief Deputy Kanesha Berry. She’s in charge of the murder investigation. The diaries are linked to Marie’s murder, and to my mind, anyone as interested in the diaries as you and your fiancé are has to be connected somehow.”
“How did you figure out about me and Jasper?” the writer asked.
“Did you not see me sitting there in the bakery yesterday?” I asked. “I watched you on and off for quite a while. I had to wonder why a writer—a good one, that is—didn’t approach either Beck Long or Jasper Singletary when such a golden opportunity presented itself.”
Ms. Grimes shrugged. “You can’t be badgering people all the time. Sometimes you simply have to leave them alone in a public place.”
“Sure,” I said. I figured even Diesel heard the ironic inflection in that one syllable. “Then there was the business of the note you left on your table for him. He did it discreetly, but I still saw him stop by the table and palm the note.”
The only response I got from that was a stony expression.
“Is the bookstore a regular rendezvous spot for the two of you?” I asked. “I just happened to stop in there after I left the bakery, and I overheard a bit of your conversation. I recognized your voices. What I heard confirmed my suspicion that you’re involved with him and not with Beck Long.” I wanted to add that she would have a brief career if she ever went into espionage but I figured that would be twisting the knife a bit too hard.
The silence lengthened, but I had said my piece. Now it was up to Ms. Grimes.
Finally she spoke. “I can’t tell you anything, not without Jasper’s permission. It’s up to him whether he wants to talk to you. He won’t have a choice, of course, if you sic the chief deputy on him.”
“She already knows there’s a connection between him and the diaries,” I said.
Ms. Grimes uttered another vulgar word. I pretended I hadn’t heard.
She stood abruptly. “I’ve got to talk to Jasper. He’ll be in touch.” She turned to go.
“One more thing before you leave,” I said. She turned back and scowled at me. “Did you take the diaries, or bring them back?”
She shook her head. “No, if I’d gotten my hands on them, I would have kept them as long as Jasper needed them.” She turned and walked out.
I stared at the empty doorway for a few moments, the cat still in my lap. I didn’t, as a rule, browbeat people. I hated confrontations, but on occasion I had no choice. I didn’t like being lied to, and that made me angry enough to confront Kelly Grimes.
She confirmed my notion that she was involved with Jasper Singletary and that he was interested in the contents of the diaries. Why, I still hadn’t a clue. He might decide to talk to me, or he might go straight to Kanesha.
Whatever happened, I needed to get back to scanning the one volume I did have. As soon as the others came back from the state crime lab, I would work overtime if I had to in order to read them and find out what secrets they held.
I turned my chair back to the windowsill and gently urged Diesel to reclaim his spot. “It’s all okay now, boy,” I told him. “Everything is fine.”
The cat meowed as I lifted him, and I thought for a moment he would resist. Then he climbed onto the windowsill. I gave him a couple of head rubs before I got up and went back to the scanning station to resume my project.
I took fewer breaks during the afternoon and probably strained my neck, shoulders, and back far too much, but by four thirty the scan was complete. I closed the book and set it aside. Next I e-mailed myself the files I had created during the scanning process. They were PDFs, and I could read them easily at home or here in the office.
For the next few minutes I sat and massaged my neck and shoulders as best I could. I felt the tightness of the muscles loosen enough for me to do a head roll. I figured I should stand in a hot shower for a while when I got home. That ought to further the healing process.
Before we left, I took the diary back to the storage room and made sure it was secure. Then Diesel and I were ready to go.
The afternoon was hot and sultry, typical of September. I would be happy when cooler weather arrived, and I knew Diesel would be, too. At least most of the way home was shaded by large, leafy trees.