Twelve Angry Librarians

I thought I knew who had blackballed Gavin, and I found it amusing, in a macabre sort of way. Hoist by his own petard, or the biter bit. Poetic justice, I’d call it. And more to come.

I reached for the phone again, and this time I picked it up. I thought about calling, because I doubted she was even at home, let alone in bed. No, a text would do. That way she could text me back and tell me I had lost what mind I had or she would call me to hear me out.

I tapped the keyboard slowly so I wouldn’t have to go back and correct any misspellings or stupid auto-correct changes.

Think I have figured it out. Too complicated to explain in text. When can we talk?

I hit Send and waited.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Fifteen, and I was getting drowsy. Was she ever going to respond?

I thought about sending another text, one that I knew would grab her attention. Perhaps something like the killer was the first to die. That ought to get results.

I put the phone on the nightstand. Kanesha would respond when she was ready to. In the meantime I was getting drowsier by the minute. Diesel slept soundly beside me, and soon I drifted into sleep myself.

The ringing of my cell phone woke me out of a deep sleep. I fumbled for the phone, dropped it on the floor, and had to scramble to retrieve it before it stopped ringing. I knew it had to be Kanesha.

I noticed the time as I answered her call. Six fifteen. Sunday morning, then.

“Hello, this is Charlie.” I yawned right into the phone the moment the words left my mouth. “Sorry.”

“Guess I woke you up,” Kanesha said. “I’ve been up most of the night. Could sure use some coffee.”

I was suddenly wide awake. “I’ll make the coffee. Come on by, and I’ll have it ready.”

“On the way.” She ended the call.

“Come on, Diesel, time to get up.” I glanced at the bed and realized I had been talking to the air. No Diesel on the bed. That meant Stewart must be downstairs with Dante.

Good, that meant the coffee was already made. Bless Stewart, I thought, and not for the first time, as I stumbled out of bed and into my bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

A few minutes later, after having exchanged my shorts and tee shirt for clothes suitable for talking to the law, I walked into the kitchen. Stewart sat at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Diesel and Dante wrestled on the floor near him. The wrestling didn’t amount to much, because whenever he wanted, Diesel could call a halt to the proceedings by sitting on the dog. He was at least three times the dog’s size and weight.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Stewart lowered the paper. “You’re up earlier than usual on a Sunday morning.”

“Good morning,” I said. “Not by choice. Kanesha is coming over for coffee. I think I’ve figured out the solution to the two deaths, and I suppose she’s coming to hear me out.”

“There’s plenty of coffee,” Stewart said. “I made a whole pot, and I’ve had only one cup so far. Haskell is still in bed. He didn’t get in until around one this morning.”

“He must have been totally worn-out.” I took a mug from the rack near the coffeemaker and filled my cup. I pulled out my usual chair and sat.

“Yes, he was knackered, as the Brits would say.” Stewart smiled. “He’s off duty today, so I plan to let him sleep in as long as he wants.”

“Lucky Haskell,” I muttered. I couldn’t really complain, however, because I was the one who wanted to talk to Kanesha.

“Should I make myself scarce?” Stewart asked. “Is this meeting with Kanesha confidential, or can anyone sit in?”

“Probably confidential,” I said. “Considering that the investigation isn’t closed yet.”

“No problem.” Stewart rose from the table and went over to the coffeemaker. “I’ll take my refill and the newspaper up to our sitting room. You’re not going to be reading the paper anytime soon, right?”

“Right, you’re welcome to it,” I said.

“Okay, toodles, then,” Stewart said. “Come on, Dante, let’s go upstairs.” He headed out of the kitchen. Diesel got up off the dog, and Dante scooted after his master.

I grinned at my cat. “You love having that dog to torment, don’t you?”

Diesel gave me one of those feline-trademarked supercilious looks and started cleaning his right front paw. The doorbell rang moments later, though, and he abandoned his pose of indifference to follow me to the front door.

Kanesha looked as if she hadn’t slept in two days, but her manner was as brusque as ever.

“Come on in, coffee’s ready,” I said.

“Thanks, I could use a gallon or two right about now.” She headed past me to the kitchen, Diesel ambling alongside her, meowing the whole time.

While Kanesha chose a seat at the table, I poured coffee and gave it to her. She gave Diesel a couple of absentminded pats before downing about half her coffee at one go.

“Oh dear Lord, that is good,” she said. “Stewart must have made it. He’s the only one I know can make coffee as good as my mama.”