“I wasn’t able to compare them until today,” I said. “Remember, the four real diaries were missing when I received the forgery. I didn’t get the real ones back till this morning, but when I did compare the writing, it looked close enough to me. A handwriting expert could—and will, I’m sure—find discrepancies.”
Kanesha gave me a grim smile. “This is going to get nasty. I’m sure you realize that.”
I nodded. “That’s why I wanted you to know right away, so you can take care of getting these analyzed before the mayor knows they’re gone.”
“I’ll do my best,” she replied. “I’m still trying to figure out how this ties into the murder of Dr. Steverton.”
“I have no idea, either,” I said. “Did your men ever figure out where Marie hid the diaries?”
“Yes, because they were a lot more thorough than the first time,” Kanesha said. “Dr. Steverton had an old chifferobe with a hidden compartment. They found it this time because it hadn’t been closed completely, and they also found tiny flakes of leather that matched the bindings. No sign of those boxes you had them in, either. I’m figuring she must have discarded them somewhere on campus.”
“Marie must have been careless and in a hurry,” I said. “Did they find the missing pages in the compartment?”
“No, it was empty,” Kanesha said. “We’re still looking for them but I’m out of places to try.” She stood. “I’d better get these on their way to the crime lab. In the meantime if you come up with any ideas on where we should look for those pages, let me know.” She picked up the box and headed for the door.
If the pages still exist, I thought. I hoped they hadn’t been destroyed, but depending on their contents, it might have been the safest thing for the killer to do.
Who was the killer? I asked myself.
Because I was so certain the mayor created the forged diary, she had to be at the top of my list. She had a lot at stake, especially if she was willing to go to such absurd lengths to help her son win a state senate race. She couldn’t afford to let Marie get in her way. Lure Marie out into the street in the early hours of the morning, run her down when the neighbors were sound asleep, and Marie was no longer a problem.
That was cold-blooded, I thought. I had never thought of Lucinda Long as a ruthless person, but I didn’t really know her. She had married into a family that was used to commanding respect and wielding power—political, social, and economic. Her own family, the Beckwiths, were also wealthy and well connected.
Did they think they were above the law? I wondered.
The only other candidate for murderer that I could come up with was Beck Long, but it was possible his father was involved. I didn’t know either Beck or his father, although I had seen Beck twice recently and observed him in action. He was less than impressive intellectually, but I could see him acting on impulse and aiming a car at someone who was causing him trouble. Whether he had the temperament to act so rashly, I didn’t have a clue. It might have been an accident, but it wouldn’t do for a rising political star to be caught at the scene of a hit-and-run. That could compromise his career pretty quickly.
Time to stop all this woolgathering. I had work to do, and I should get on with it. I went back to the diary volume I was reading earlier, the one with missing pages.
Most of what I read was not particularly interesting, at least to me. Rachel spent a lot of time on the minutiae of clothing and her criticisms of the neighbors. One example of the latter I did find amusing:
Andromeda McCarthy (and what a pompous name that is, makes her sound like a bluestocking, and she is just a sweet girl of ordinary intelligence who doesn’t care for reading) wore a gown of the most unfortunate peach satin today during the call she and her mother made here. Andromeda does not have the complexion for peach, being far too pale, but I fear it is her mother who insists upon such insipid colors.
This Rachel came across as more frivolous than the Rachel in the forged diary, and I began to wonder whether the forger had bothered to read the original volumes at all. The section I was reading was for the months before the war began in earnest, and I supposed that Rachel, like many at the time, did not think the war would last long. Perhaps after she experienced the terrors and privations of war, Rachel became more mature and thoughtful.
I was tempted to skip to the second half of the volume to see whether I was correct about a change in Rachel’s outlook, but I decided against it. It would be more interesting, if Rachel did change, to see it as it happened.
I set the book aside a few minutes later to give my eyes a rest and to check on my feline companion. Diesel was in his place, and I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I was enjoying the quiet until, a few minutes later, Melba startled me from my half doze.
“Charlie, what are you doing taking a nap up here?” Melba laughed.
I glared at her. I didn’t like to be startled like that. Then I noticed she had a large stack of mail in her hands.
“What’s that?” I said. “For your information, I was only resting my eyes.”
“Okay,” Melba said as she approached my desk. “I hope your eyes are rested, then, because you’ve got a pile of mail to get through.” She set her stack in the tray on my desk. “When was the last time you checked your box in the mailroom?”
“Last week,” I muttered. “I do remember to check it at least once a week, sometimes twice, but this week has been anything but normal.” I reached for the pile, picked it up, and set it on the desk in front of me.
Melba made herself comfortable in the chair across from me while I sorted through the mail. “Anything new on the murder you can talk about?”
“No, not really,” I said.
There was one large campus mail envelope, and I pulled it out of the pile. I checked the front and saw that the envelope had last been used to send something to a history faculty member. These envelopes were multiuse and traveled across the campus and back many times.
I opened the envelope and reached in to extract the contents. Felt like several pages bound together with a paper clip. When I had them out of the envelope and on the desk in front of me, I nearly fell out of my chair from the shock.
THIRTY-THREE
I recognized the handwriting and the paper itself. These had to be the pages missing from Rachel Long’s diary. I stared at them for a moment before I realized there was a handwritten note paper-clipped to the pages.
“What is it, Charlie?” Melba sounded slightly alarmed. “You’re white as a sheet.” She had a hand on Diesel’s head. I hadn’t even heard or felt him get down from the window and go around to her.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “These are pages that were taken out of the diary. They’ve been missing, and we had no idea where they were.” My eyes skimmed the note attached to them. “Oh my Lord, this is a note from Marie Steverton.”
“What does it say?” Melba asked.
“‘You’ll know what to do with these’ is all it says, along with her initials.” I shook my head, still a bit in shock. What had compelled her to send the pages to me?
Melba shivered. “That’s creepy, getting a letter from a dead woman. What are you going to do with them?”
I had trouble focusing my thoughts for a moment. The first thing I wanted to do was start reading the pages to find out why Marie had removed them from the diary. I realized, however, that they constituted evidence, and my first duty was to inform Kanesha of their return.
I picked up the phone and called her. This time, however, I had to leave a message. I made it terse and urgent.
For some reason I felt tense and almost panicky. Diesel picked up on that. He came around to me and put a paw on my leg. He meowed loudly several times, and I forced myself to breathe deeply and relax to keep from upsetting him.