The elderly writer’s tone gave me pause. Was I reading more into it than was really there, or was there something slightly ominous in those words?
I decided I was imagining things. I had been involved in too many strange goings-on during the past year, and now I was making trouble out of thin air.
Diesel emerged from beneath my chair and approached the sofa. He chirped at Mrs. Cartwright, and she scratched his head. “I sure do hope you’ll have this handsome boy at the library when I’m there. He’s the sweetest thing. You’d better watch out, or I might steal him from you.”
“He loves coming to the library with me.” I observed the old lady’s obvious pleasure as she bonded with Diesel. “He will remember you, and I know he’ll pester you for more attention.”
Mrs. Cartwright petted the cat, then smiled and held out her hands to me. I grasped them for a moment. She squeezed lightly, then I let go. Her hands were cool, despite the heated room, and I noted that, although wrinkled and spotted with age, her fingers were long and slender. I remembered how cruelly my maternal grandmother’s hands had been twisted by rheumatoid arthritis, and I was pleased to see that Mrs. Cartwright hadn’t suffered that indignity.
Mrs. Marter waited in the doorway to the hall, and Teresa and I moved in her direction. I called to Diesel, and he pulled away from Mrs. Cartwright. He seemed rather taken with her, despite the earlier tension between her and her daughter. He followed us to the front door without any further urging on my part.
When Mrs. Marter opened the door to usher us onto the porch, I noted that clouds still scudded across the sky. The rain had stopped, though thunder rumbled far away. The air, refreshed by the storm, felt cool to the skin.
Teresa and I bade Mrs. Marter good-bye, and I carried Diesel to the car to keep his paws from being soaked. Neither Teresa nor I spoke until I headed the car down the drive away from the house.
“That was nothing like I expected.” Teresa’s laugh sounded strained.
“No kidding.” I turned the wipers off now that the windshield was clear. From the backseat, Diesel added his opinion with a few warbles and a meow. “I always find situations like that unsettling. You don’t know whether you should simply excuse yourself and leave, or sit there and pretend that you haven’t heard anything rude or embarrassing.”
“I suppose they have lived together for a long time.” Teresa spoke with the tact that made her such an outstanding library director. “Not to mention that the weather could have affected them. I know violent storms always put me on edge.”
“Perhaps that was it.” I rather doubted the weather had anything to do with it, but we might as well leave it at that. I had to hope that, when Mrs. Cartwright appeared in public, she and her daughter would refrain from bickering. Otherwise the audience would be mighty uncomfortable.
“At least Mrs. Cartwright seemed pleased with our plans.” Teresa sighed. “I’m going to cross every available appendage, just in case. I have the weirdest feeling about this after having met mother and daughter.”
I wanted to reassure Teresa that all would be well, but I was every bit as uneasy as she was. “What’s the next step?”
“As soon as Mrs. Cartwright confirms that the schedule I gave her is okay, then I want to move forward with the publicity. I thought I might go ahead and add a teaser to the library website today, though. I don’t think that will be a problem. We might as well start to generate some interest around town.” Teresa pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse and started to make notes.
That sounded reasonable to me. Fans of Mrs. Cartwright would be thrilled to know she would make a public appearance or two. A brief news item on the website surely wouldn’t cause any problems.
FIVE
Three days later, on Friday afternoon, Diesel and I worked our usual volunteer shift at the Athena Public Library. He lounged by my feet as I manned the reference desk. Two of his library friends worked nearby, Lizzie Hayes at the circulation counter, and Bronwyn Forster at a computer terminal helping a patron. From time to time, Diesel evidently decided a change of person was in order, and he made a regular circuit every ten or fifteen minutes, going from Lizzie to Bronwyn and back to me. He was really soaking up the attention today.
The library was quiet this afternoon. School wouldn’t be out for another hour, and then we would get a small flood of students dropping in to do homework or check out books. A few would wait here until a parent or elder sibling came by to pick them up for a ride home. I loved seeing young people in the library, though on occasion they could get a bit rambunctious.
The front door opened, and I watched as a plump woman who appeared to be in her sixties, perhaps a decade older than I, stepped inside. She removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her purse. After a cursory glance around, she made a beeline for me.
“Good afternoon,” I said as she reached the desk. “How may I help you?”
She repeated my greeting. “I’m here to see the library director, if she’s not too busy. It’s about the event you’re planning to have with Electra Barnes Cartwright.” She smiled good-naturedly, and I had a feeling I had seen her before, but where I wasn’t sure. She wore her thick gray hair braided in a coronet around her head. Her jewelry consisted of a gold wedding ring and a pearl necklace. She looked every inch the society matron come to take afternoon tea. All that was missing were a hat and gloves.
“I’ll be happy to check with her. What name shall I give her?” I picked up the phone as I punched in Teresa’s extension.
“Mrs. Carrie Taylor,” the woman responded. “I’m president of the EBC Fan Club.”
That stirred a faint memory as I waited for Teresa to answer the phone. When she picked up, I told her she had a visitor and explained who it was.
“She’ll be right out,” I said as I hung up the phone.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Taylor smiled and wandered a few feet away from the desk to examine a nearby bulletin board that listed the library’s upcoming events.
Diesel, ever curious, stood and stretched before he sauntered around the desk and over to where Mrs. Taylor stood. He sniffed at the hem of her midlength cotton dress. He chirped and evidently startled her because she stepped back as she gazed down at him. Then she smiled. “Who are you?” She bent slightly to scratch his head, and he warbled for her.
“His name is Diesel,” I said. The memory finally surfaced. I’d seen her several months ago at the Atheneum, our local independent bookstore. She’d been talking about children’s mysteries with the owner, Jordan Thompson. I thought at the time she sounded quite knowledgeable as she and Jordan discussed the various incarnations of Nancy Drew.
“He’s a Maine Coon, isn’t he? Melba Gilley has told me about him. You must be Charlie Harris.”
I acknowledged that I was. I had gone to school with Melba, and now she worked as administrative assistant to the head of the Athena College Library.
Mrs. Taylor beamed at me. “What a handsome fellow he is. But isn’t he rather large even for his breed?”
“Yes, he weighs in around thirty-six pounds, definitely on the large side for a Maine Coon. He’s a gentle giant, though.” I smiled as I watched her continue to interact with my cat. Diesel obviously approved of her, to judge by the purring.
Teresa approached and introduced herself. Mrs. Taylor greeted her, and the two women went to the director’s office. Diesel trailed after them.