Twelve Angry Librarians

As I regarded the palpable tension in both Marisue and Randi, I realized that, despite our close friendship back in library school, over the years we had grown further and further apart. So much so that I really didn’t know them as well as I thought I did. When you don’t have regular contact with friends, even the best of friends, you don’t see how their lives have changed, how their opinions may have altered, and what might motivate them to do things you never would have believed they could do.

Like kill someone.

I told myself I was overreacting, simply because Marisue and Randi seemed not to want to confide in me. I couldn’t really believe that either one of them, or the two of them in concert, killed two people.

But I couldn’t be sure.

In the same way, they couldn’t be sure of me, either. Not because they thought I killed Gavin Fong and Maxine Muller, I reckoned, but because of my involvement in murder investigations over the past several years. They might be leery of telling me anything they didn’t want Kanesha to know.

If they weren’t implicated in the two murders, however, why should they be reluctant to tell me—and Kanesha, of course—about what happened at the party?

I realized I had let the silence last too long, and Marisue and Randi now looked even more uncomfortable. I forced a smile.

My phone buzzed to let me know a text had arrived. “Pardon me.” I picked up the phone to read the message. From Kanesha, as I expected.

E-mail me please. No time to talk f2f right now.

The f2f stumped me for a moment, then I realized she meant face-to-face. I texted back Ok, will do as soon as I can, and set the phone back on the table.

My thoughts had strayed from my earlier panic over the thought of more cyanide running loose. My fear was legitimate, because the killer could have plenty more of the deadly substance, especially if it came from overseas. I wondered just how much you could order.

If the killer had stolen it from a chemistry lab, however, the chances were that the amount was very small indeed so as not to arouse suspicion. Although, as Stewart told me, a well-run lab would know that even a minute amount had been taken.

Our server arrived with our desserts, and they turned out to be sinfully delicious. Our mutual enjoyment of the brownies and ice cream seemed to have erased the awkwardness that had sprung up over my questions about the party. I decided to let the subject drop for the moment and waited to see if either Marisue or Randi mentioned it.

Randi finished hers before Marisue and I were barely halfway through ours. “That was lovely.” She put down her spoon and patted her lips with her napkin. “Although I swear I could eat another one.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” Marisue said. “But one is more than enough. We should probably have split one between us, the brownies are so big.” She pushed her dessert plate away with about a third left.

Randi eyed it, and Marisue noticed. She picked up her plate and set it in front of Randi. “Go ahead.” She shook her head as Randi quickly finished the remains.

Marisue turned her gaze to me. “If you must know, Charlie, we went to Gavin’s party because we were afraid not to.”

I nearly dropped my spoon. “Afraid not to? Why on earth?”

“Because he could be vindictive if you didn’t do what he wanted.” Randi stacked Marisue’s empty plate on top of her own.

“What were you afraid he might do to you?” I savored the last bite of brownie while I waited for an answer.

“Write nasty anonymous letters to our directors, for one thing, telling them who knows what,” Marisue said. “He was capable of anything underhanded. My boss would probably ask me about it, but I don’t seriously think she’d believe the crap Gavin would invent. It would be horribly embarrassing, though, to have to deal with it.”

“It was easier just to go to the stupid party. Let Gavin see us there and gloat because he knew he’d forced us into it.” Randi picked up her water glass, and I noticed that her hand shook slightly as she raised it to her mouth and drank.

“All it cost us was a couple hours of our time.” Marisue’s tone was bitter. “And a few ounces of pride.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, although I knew how inadequate that was. “I have to ask you this, and I hope you’ll forgive me, but had Gavin ever written such a letter about either of you? Or about anyone you know?”

“Not about me,” Randi said.

Marisue shook her head. “Me, either, but you already know about Harlan Crais.” She paused for a moment. “You might talk to Maxine’s friend, Sylvia O’Callaghan, though. If she’ll talk to you, that is.”

Given Ms. O’Callaghan’s reaction to me previously, I figured I’d have a hard time getting close enough to her even to explain what I wanted to talk to her about. Still, I’d have to try.