I suppressed a sigh of irritation and followed him. Conversations with Peter on occasion lasted an hour or more. Melba rolled her eyes at me as I passed her desk—her signal when our boss was in one of his odd moods.
“Please shut the door behind you,” Peter said when I entered his office.
I did as he asked and then advanced toward his desk. Peter stood behind it, hands on hips, so thin he made me think of the old TV character Gumby. If Peter were green, he’d give a fair imitation. I dismissed the foolish notion as Peter gestured to one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk.
This was my favorite room in the house. Originally, Peter’s office and Melba’s had been one larger room, the front parlor. The high ceilings with their ornate moldings bore witness to the era in which the house was built. A magnificent mahogany dining table served as Peter’s desk, though he used a contemporary office chair with it. I envied Peter that table. The machines of modern technology—computer, printer, and telephone—looked sadly out of place. If I closed my eyes for a moment, I could easily conjure up the figure of a woman in a hoop skirt, her beau paying court.
“What can I do for you?” I sipped at my water while I waited for a response.
Peter removed his horn-rimmed glasses and twirled them idly by one earpiece. He blinked at me. “It has come to my attention that our eminent alumnus and hometown boy wishes to endow our institution’s archive with his papers, accompanied by a considerable sum of money. It has also come to my attention that he has discussed this matter with you.”
“Yes, on both counts,” I said. Listening to Peter made me want to be as terse in response as a character in a Dashiell Hammett novel. “I should have told you about it right after Godfrey spoke to me. But I guess I just got busy and didn’t think about it.”
“That is quite okay.” Peter waved my apology away. “No doubt the man believes he has bestowed an honor of great magnitude on his alma mater.” His mouth twisted in a grimace. “If it were in my power to do so, I would tell Mr. Priest we don’t wish to house the work of a man who has prostituted himself to the bestseller lists.”
I had no idea Peter held such a low opinion of Godfrey and his work. I had never considered Peter a literary snob, either. He read fiction widely and counted several Mississippi mystery writers, like Carolyn Haines and Charlaine Harris, among his favorites. They had both spoken at Athena College, and Peter had been beside himself with excitement during their visits.
Why did he have such disgust for Godfrey Priest, then?
“I don’t think the president would be very happy if you did such a thing,” I said.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Peter replied. “More’s the pity. Athena College has always prided itself on its rich literary heritage.” He smiled sadly. “And now, having to add the work of a hack to our archives is a sad comedown and a none-too-subtle comment on the priorities of our current administration.”
“It’s not so bad. We also have the complete works of that nutty doctor from the nineteen fifties who fancied himself the next Walt Whitman.” One hundred and twenty-three privately bound, handwritten volumes of poetry so execrable it made rap songs sound like Shakespearean sonnets—but the man had left the college three quarters of a million dollars along with his so-called art.
Peter ignored that. “I should thank you, I suppose, for confirming the awful truth for me. And so I do. I know that I can leave the matter in your more-than-capable hands, Charles.”
“You certainly may, Peter,” I said. Peter never unbent so far as to call me Charlie. I stood. “If that’s all, then?”
Peter nodded. “I suppose I shall see you tonight at this absurd fête the president has planned?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
Nodding again, he turned his attention to the papers on his desk.
I retreated to the door and let myself out, careful to close it softly behind me.
When I turned, I saw Diesel on top of Melba’s desk. Woman and cat were enjoying a conversation.
“Diesel got lonely, I guess.” Melba glanced at me over the cat’s head.
“Diesel, get down off the desk,” I said. “You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”
The cat muttered as he jumped to the floor. Padding to the doorway, he sat down and started to groom himself.
“He was looking for you,” Melba said.
“I know. He doesn’t like being left alone for long.”
“Did Peter talk to you about Godfrey Priest?” Melba leaned back in her chair.
“Yes,” I said. “I suppose I should have come and talked to him earlier, right after Godfrey dropped by this morning.” Now I felt a bit guilty. Peter should have heard the news from me.
“You know how he hates to think he’s always the last to find out something.” Melba glanced toward Peter’s door. “Like when he found out his wife was having an affair with Godfrey.”
“What?” I stepped closer to the desk. “When was this?”
“About ten years ago,” Melba said. “Not long before Peter came to Athena, in fact.”
“He was at some small college in California before, wasn’t he?”
Melba nodded. “Near Los Angeles. And guess who Mrs. Vanderkeller became friends with?”
“Godfrey. How did they meet?”
“Apparently she had these big plans to be a fancy Hollywood screenwriter.” Melba’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “The way I heard it, she was always dragging Peter to any party she could get herself invited to. She was supposed to be real attractive, and she met Godfrey at one of the parties.”
“She left Peter for Godfrey?” This was beginning to sound like the story line of a soap opera.
“She did. She divorced Peter and married Godfrey. His second wife, I think.” Melba thought a moment. “Yes, his second. His first wife was some C-list actress who actually made porn films, from what I heard.” The scandalized look on her face was priceless.
“How did Peter end up here, of all places? Didn’t he know this was Godfrey’s hometown?”
“No, poor man, just his luck.” Melba glanced toward Peter’s door again. “I guess he wanted to get as far away from California as he could, but he had no idea until after he got here that Godfrey was from Athena.”
The man was jinxed. I felt sorry for Peter. No wonder he had such a venomous attitude toward Godfrey.
“Is there anyone Godfrey hasn’t pissed off?” I gave Melba a rueful smile.
“I’m beginning to think not.” A buzzer sounded. Melba looked cross. “I’d better find out what he wants. I’ll see you tonight.”
“We’ll be there,” I said, heading for the door. “Come on, Diesel. Let’s finish upstairs and go home.”
Diesel bounded up ahead of me. He knew the word home.
I finished cataloging a couple more items, and when I remembered to look at my watch, I was surprised to see that it read 5:37. “Definitely time to go,” I said.
Diesel was ready, practically pulling me down the stairs once I locked the door to the archive behind us.
Back home again, I freed Diesel from his harness, and off he went to find crunchies and water. I headed to my bedroom on the second floor for a quick shower. I paused on the landing to listen for sounds of habitation on the third floor, where Justin’s room was.
“Justin? Are you there?”
I waited a moment and called again. There was no answer, only silence. I supposed he could still be with Godfrey, but Godfrey was due at his reception at seven. I went up the stairs to Justin’s door and tapped lightly. I called his name, but there was no response.
I listened for a moment longer and then tried his door. It was unlocked. Normally I wouldn’t have done it, because my boarders deserved their privacy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Justin could be in trouble.
The room was empty, the bed unmade.
I shut the door and walked slowly back down the stairs to my room, telling myself not to worry. There was surely some innocuous reason for Justin’s absence.