“It would take a psychologist to sort it out,” Melba said. “But for my money, the woman is a lunatic. I think smashing a windshield is in line with the other tricks she pulled. Maybe not those letters and Reilly’s car, but putting a big rock through a windshield is vicious to me.”
“You may have a point,” I said. “There is a difference, perhaps subtle, but it’s there.”
“In that case, are you thinking Cassandra’s responsible for your car? And that the murderer pulled the other pranks?” Sean asked. “I suppose you could make a case for that line of thinking.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d certainly rather have it simply be Cassandra getting back at me than the killer trying to warn me off. But who knows?” My headache was worse now, and I needed pain relief. “Maybe Cassandra is the murderer. It would make things less complicated.”
“It sure would,” Melba said. “And I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
“I think you should tell both Chief Ford and Kanesha what you told us,” Sean said to Melba. “It may have no bearing on the case, but they need to know anything that could possibly be related.”
Melba nodded. “You’re right. I’ll call the campus police office. If I talk to Marty Ford, he can relay everything to Kanesha.”
“That’s fine. Do you both feel reasonably secure working here with the campus police on guard duty?” Sean asked. “If you don’t, Dad needs to talk to the president about shutting this office down until the murder investigation is complete.”
“I’m fine, as long as they’re here,” Melba said, and I agreed.
“Besides,” I said, “I don’t like the idea of tucking my tail and barricading myself at home behind the security system.”
“I’m going to be Laura for a moment,” Sean said, “because I know exactly what she’d say to you, Dad. Discretion is the better part of valor.”
I shook my head. “Close, but not right.” I quoted the line properly, “‘The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have sav’d my life.’” I paused to dredge the memory banks further. “Henry the Fourth, Part One, act five, scene four. I’m pretty sure that’s where it’s from. Falstaff saved his life by pretending to be dead.”
Sean grinned in defeat. “I was always more a Chaucer man myself anyway. I could never match you and Laura when it came to Shakespeare.” He paused, and his sober expression returned. “All quoting aside, the fact is you could both be in the killer’s sights, and I would like to keep you around for a while longer.”
Melba reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. But like Charlie said, I’m not tucking my tail, either. We’ll be fine.”
Sean threw up his hands. “I’m not going to argue any longer.” He stood. “I’d better get going. Alex is waiting.” He gave Melba a quick hug and said good-bye to me and Diesel, then he was out the door.
I checked my watch. Four thirty-seven. “Do you think that buddy of yours in accounts payable is still in her office?”
“Probably,” Melba said. “She’s a strict by-the-clock kind of person. She doesn’t get off until five, and so she’s not going to leave a minute sooner.”
“Good,” I said. “Would you mind e-mailing her and asking herto pull—on Monday, of course—all library invoices from vendors for the past couple of years? I’ll go over in the afternoon”—I checked the printed schedule Melba gave me earlier—“around two, to look at them. That should give her enough time, don’t you think?”
“It ought to. She’s efficient like all get-out.” Melba frowned. “But why don’t you just ask to see the files they keep in the library? They’ll have duplicates of everything, because they have to create the purchase orders and then send everything to accounts payable.”
“I thought of that, but I think it would cause less anxiety if I go through accounts payable for what I need. Right now I don’t want to stir things up any more than I have to.”
“Good idea. We don’t want Miss K-I-A getting more riled up than she probably already is. She’s liable to burn down the building if she gets too pissed off.” Melba giggled.
“Don’t even think about such things,” I said in what I hoped was a repressive tone. Though repressive tones rarely had any effect on Melba, as I knew all too well.
Melba stood. “I’m going to be packing up to go home soon. How late are you planning to work today?”
“I won’t be much longer myself. I’d thought about coming in tomorrow but then I realized I could probably access most of what I need through the campus network from home. Especially now that they’ve got me set up to see all of Peter’s and Reilly’s files.” I rubbed my forehead. “Besides, I’ve got a headache, and sitting here staring at the screen for another hour or so isn’t going to help.”
“I’ll get you something for that.” Melba left my office at a fast pace and returned before I could do much besides gather up the personnel files and stuff them in my briefcase. I scooped up a few pens from Reilly’s desk drawer and stuck them in as well. I couldn’t seem to keep them in my desk at home because various residents kept helping themselves to any I put there.
Melba handed me a cup of water and two aspirin. “These will do the trick.”
I dutifully popped them in my mouth and washed them down with the water. I returned the cup and thanked her. “I’m going to check for last-minute e-mails, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
“I’ll be ready when you are,” she said.
Diesel, who had been remarkably quiet until now, decided to join the conversation. He treated us to a combination of chirps and warbles, and I supposed he was telling us that he, too, would be ready to go. He was starving and upon the point of utter collapse, due to severe malnutrition, and I had better get him home quickly if I didn’t want an expired feline on my hands and my conscience.
That’s how I interpreted the various sounds he made, anyway, based on my past experience during mornings when I did not get out of bed soon enough to tend to his dietary requirements.
Melba laughed along with me as the feline version of a diatribe came to an end. I patted his head and assured him we wouldn’t be long.
I was relieved to see no new e-mails. I checked my briefcase to be sure I had put in it all I wanted to take home, put Diesel’s leash on, and grabbed my jacket. I paused to lock the door, and then Melba and I were ready to go.
The repairman appeared to have done the installation of the new windshield properly. Rain began to fall lightly as I was getting Diesel into the car, and I was thankful to have the glass in place.
The downpour grew slightly heavier, and I turned on the wipers and the headlights. The sky had grown darker. I’d be glad to get home before the weather got any worse.
I slowed the car as we neared the house, preparatory to making the left turn into the driveway. My heart thudded painfully in my chest when I saw not one, but two sheriff’s department cars parked on the street in front of my house.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Why didn’t someone call me? My hands trembled on the wheel as I steered the car into the garage. I should have been firmer with Azalea and convinced her to take time off. I was so rattled I almost left Diesel in the car. Only several loud meows stopped me from abandoning him in the garage. I was desperate to get inside to find out what had happened.
Diesel shot inside the moment the door opened wide enough. I stumbled on the threshold but caught myself before I went sprawling on the floor. My chest heaved as I righted myself and stared into four startled faces. My housekeeper occupied one chair, and Kanesha, Stewart Delacorte, and Haskell Bates occupied the others.
“Thank the Lord you’re okay, Azalea.” I managed to squeeze the words out. “What happened? Did someone try to break in?”