No Cats Allowed: A Cat in the Stacks Mystery (18 page)

“And you know another strange thing?” Melba said. “Well, not exactly strange, I guess, but a little unusual.”

I wasn’t really paying attention. My mind was racing over the possibilities. Could Peter be
dead
?

“. . . Margie at the grocery store on the way home, and you should have seen the ring she was wearing. I’ve never been so envious in my life. Gorgeous blue stone.”

I knew if I didn’t get out of this conversation now, I’d be on the phone for a good twenty minutes.

“Sorry, Melba, I heard a beep. Somebody’s trying to call me. I’d better take it.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you the rest in the morning.”

“Sure thing.” I ended the call and set the phone down.

I heard Melba’s voice repeating Peter’s message:
Sorry I screwed things up, consider this my resignation
.

Had it been Peter who caused the problems?

I wondered.

I looked through a year’s worth of purchase orders. Odd how Peter’s signature got so bad only within the last month or so before he left.

What about the date under the signature?

January thirteenth. Anybody could get confused and write the wrong date. I had done it often enough myself.

But just as often I wrote the day’s date without even thinking about it. Especially if I were writing a number of checks, for example, or holiday cards. I didn’t think twice about it, simply wrote the date and went on.

Perhaps the person who signed those purchase orders on Monday the thirteenth of January had done the same thing without realizing it.

I had no real proof, but I was convinced that Peter had not signed those documents, not when he didn’t show up to work that day.

What about the date the purchase orders were created?

I picked up the documents in question and examined them.

They all bore the same date, January twelfth. The day before Peter supposedly signed them. A Sunday.

Peter didn’t create purchase orders that I was aware of. I would have to check that with Melba, but I was pretty sure I was correct in this. I found a notepad and jotted that down. I would probably have a number of questions for Melba before I was done thinking this through.

Peter left in the middle of a pay period, I realized. What had happened to his final paycheck? He rarely took vacation time, so his final check would have included his regular salary along with
payment for unused vacation. That would have been a pretty hefty check.

Where was it sent? And was it ever cashed or deposited?

More questions for my list, but how could I get answers? I couldn’t simply call the payroll office and ask.

Perhaps Penny Sisson could find out the answers for me.
Good idea, Charlie
. I dashed off a quick e-mail to her, saying I was trying to tie up loose ends with the budget. Since Peter’s salary was part of the library budget, I thought it was a pretty legitimate request if I went through Penny. I also asked whether she had any kind of forwarding address for him, or the address of a next of kin. I mentioned personal mail that needed to be sent to him.

What about Peter’s house? His car? Surely he wouldn’t have abandoned his house? He would want to sell it or at least rent it if he was leaving town for good.

I found a popular real estate website and searched for houses for sale or rent in Athena. I remembered Peter’s address because I had been there several times for holiday parties.

No listing for it on the real estate site. That didn’t mean it wasn’t for sale or rent, though. Peter could have handled it privately, or it could already have sold or been rented.

One way to find out, but I felt slightly foolish. Should I jump in the car and drive to Peter’s house? What might I find? No, I shouldn’t do that. It was crazy. Exactly the kind of thing Helen Louise, Sean, and Laura would tell me not to do.

You don’t have to go alone. There’s a sheriff’s deputy upstairs
.

Would Haskell and Stewart think I had lost my mind if I asked them to go with me?

One way to find out
.

All the way up to the third floor I debated with myself. Had my imagination run completely away with me? Was I seeing murder where there was none?

Peter was probably enjoying the sun in California right now. He had lived there for many years, and that would be where he’d want to go, I felt sure.

If he isn’t dead
.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Could I convince Haskell and Stewart to go along with this?

I paused on the third floor to catch my breath after my hurried climb. I almost turned back, feeling foolish again, but then I took a deep breath and approached Stewart’s door.

I had to knock a couple of times, because it sounded like they were watching a movie with car crashes. Finally one of them heard, and Haskell came to open the door. He stood aside and motioned for me to enter the dim sitting room.

Stewart turned down the volume on the television set and froze the movie mid-scene. He then rose from the sofa and turned on more lights.

“Where are Diesel and Dante?” I asked when I realized I couldn’t see them.

“They’re snuggled up on the bed,” Stewart said. “Neither one of them cares for action movies, and they wore themselves out playing earlier.”

“I’ll get Diesel for you,” Haskell said.

“No, not yet,” I said. “Actually, I need to talk to you both about something. Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” Stewart said, and Haskell nodded. He pulled up a chair for me and then joined Stewart on the sofa. Stewart leaned against him.

“I don’t want you to think I’m nuts,” I said, “but I think there might have been another murder, a couple of months ago.”

“What? Who? Who was murdered?” Stewart jerked upright.

“I think maybe Peter Vanderkeller,” I said.

“Wasn’t he the head of the library?” Haskell said. “The one who just up and quit one day?”

I nodded. “Yes. Except that I’m not so sure he left voluntarily. I’m afraid someone else arranged his departure.”

“Why do you think so?” Haskell asked.

After a moment to marshal my thoughts, I gave them a summary of what little
evidence
I had. It didn’t amount to a lot, except speculation, a series of
if
s, but I couldn’t get over my uneasy feeling.

“What are you going to do about it?” Stewart asked when I’d finished.

“Go to Kanesha at some point,” I said. “I don’t want to talk to her about it yet, though, because it’s all rather tenuous.”

“You have some plan in mind, though, don’t you?” Haskell asked.

I nodded. “I thought about going to Peter’s house to see if it’s inhabited. If someone is living there, I can ask them if they bought it or are renting and see if they have any information on where Peter is now. If it’s empty, well, that could be evidence of a sort that I’m right.”

“Or that he simply walked away from his life here and didn’t look back,” Stewart said.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Peter had a thing about money. He was frugal, and I can’t imagine him abandoning his house without trying to get at least some of his money back out of it.”

“Good point. Since neither of us knew him, we’ll have to take your word for that.” Stewart rose from the sofa and tugged at Haskell’s arm.

“Why are you doing that?” Haskell frowned.

“Because you don’t think we’re going to let Charlie go by himself, do you? Come on, Mr. Deputy, and bring your gun.” Stewart grinned and batted his eyelashes at his partner.

Haskell stared at him for a moment, and I thought he was going to refuse. Then he, too, rose. “What are we going to do with the kids?”

“They can come with us,” I said. “Diesel is used to riding in the car.”

“I’ll go get them.” Stewart left the room and came back moments later with Dante in his arms. Diesel yawned as he padded behind Stewart.

Five minutes later we were all in my car. Stewart sat in the back with the animals, and Haskell was in the front passenger seat. He had strapped on his holster and gun, and I was glad he was with us.

Peter’s house was in a neighborhood about a ten-minute drive away on the other side of town. A newer development, it had been built in the 1980s. The houses were large and on good-sized lots, though some had since been torn down and larger houses built in their place.

Daylight saving time wasn’t for another week yet, and it was getting pretty dark by the time we reached Peter’s house. I parked on the street in front. I cracked the windows for Diesel and Dante, and we locked them in. Dante barked until Stewart shushed him. Diesel meowed along with the dog, but he quieted when Dante did.

The house was set back from the street and obscured mostly from view by a high hedge and several trees. We walked up the driveway until we were even with the hedge, and I saw there were a couple of lights on inside. We paused but saw no signs of activity in the house.

“Good evening,” a voice called from behind us. “If you’re looking for Mr. Vanderkeller, I haven’t seen him around lately.”

We turned to see an older man, probably in his seventies, walking a large German shepherd on a leash.

“Good evening,” I said, and introduced myself. “I used to work with Peter, and I hadn’t heard from him in a while. My friends and I thought we’d drop by and see how he’s doing.”

The elderly man didn’t introduce himself. “He’s always kept to himself. Never has been much for talking to his neighbors.” The dog whined, no doubt having scented, or heard, Diesel and Dante in the car not far away. “Quiet, Schnitzel,” he said.

“So you haven’t seen him lately?” Stewart asked.

I looked around for Haskell and didn’t see him. Where had he got to? Then I spotted him lurking behind the hedge. I figured he didn’t want to risk the neighbor seeing his gun. Good idea. The old gentleman might go home and call the police if he saw a man with a gun.

“No, sure haven’t.” The man scratched the side of his nose. “Reckon the last time wasn’t long after New Year’s Day. Saw him putting his garbage out one morning when Schnitzel and I were walking past.” He paused. “Come to think of it, haven’t even seen his car going in or out, either.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I guess we’ll go knock on the door and see if he’s home.”

“I hope he’s all right,” the man said, suddenly sounding worried. “I guess I ought to’ve checked on him, but he’s always been so darn funny about that kind of thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stewart said. “We’ll check on him. You and Schnitzel have a good evening.”

We waited until he was about fifty feet down the walk before we joined Haskell on the other side of the hedge.

“Were you checking out the house?” Stewart asked in a low tone.

“Yes,” Haskell said, “and I’ve already called 911.”

“Why?” Stewart and I asked in startled unison.

“There’s a body hanging in the kitchen, and it’s been there for quite a while.”

Had I been a drinking man, I would have gone home that night and probably drunk an entire bottle of, well, something. As it was, I had to make do with a mug of warm milk and three aspirin.

As I was the only person present who was acquainted well enough with Peter Vanderkeller, I was asked to provide a tentative identification.

I say
tentative
because, well, Peter wasn’t in the best condition after hanging in the kitchen for two months. I was pretty sure it was him, but to be absolutely positive they would have to use his dental records, or something. There was a note with the words
I’m sorry
scrawled on them. Not much of a suicide note, and I didn’t believe it for a minute.

For one thing, Peter wasn’t a tall man, and there was no chair or ladder anywhere close enough for him to stand on, in order to hang himself from the exposed beam like that. The killer hadn’t thought that one through.

It would be a long time before I would be able to remember poor Peter without wanting to be ill in the bushes, the way I was that night.

Last night, really, though mercifully it somehow seemed more distant this morning. I’d had only about five hours’ sleep, and I was up by five thirty trying to put the purchase orders and invoices back into their folders. I was going to hand them over to Kanesha later, along with a summary of my thoughts that led me to wonder about Peter and his whereabouts.

The news of Peter’s death would not be released for several hours yet. Kanesha wanted time to investigate my suggested leads further before the announcement was made.

I still wasn’t sure who had murdered Peter, or exactly why. Had he stumbled on the embezzlement and made the mistake of confronting the embezzler, who then decided the only way to avoid exposure was to kill Peter and make it look like he had committed suicide?

I had another sip of coffee. One sticking point was the overspending. Those invoices, all from legitimate companies for legitimate resources—unlike those from Global Electronic Resources—were authentic, I felt sure. Checking with the companies concerned would show that, but the question was, who okayed the purchases and when had they asked for the invoices?

The process would have taken a few days, if not a week or two, I thought. That argued premeditation on the killer’s part, because it took time to set up the apparent motive for Peter’s suicide.

The whole thing was cockeyed, a bizarre smokescreen created by the embezzler in order to hide his—or her—theft. I had yet to prove there had been theft, but investigation by the proper
authorities into the Global Electronic Resources company would prove it was a fake. I was sure of that.

It was set up cleverly, though, and it had to involve more than one person. Whichever librarian was responsible—Cassandra, Lisa, or Delbert—had to have an accomplice in accounts payable. The vice president of finance had given me a quick lesson on how the college paid for such things as library resources. The vendor had to be set up in the accounting system. Otherwise there would be no payment issued. To be an approved vendor required certain paperwork, and someone had to have filled it out. The likeliest accomplice was therefore a person in accounts payable.

The only person I knew there was Melba’s friend, Margie Flaxdale, and I had met her only the once. I didn’t know how many other people worked in accounts payable, but the embezzler had to be working with one of them.

Peter Vanderkeller was the first murder victim. Oscar Reilly was the second. Why was Reilly murdered?

Because of his background in finance, I had to assume. He was made interim director because of the budget problems, and he presumably had the smarts to figure out something was fishy about the purchase orders and invoices. Had he then figured out who was responsible?

He must have. Being the man he was, perhaps he’d tried to blackmail the embezzler, and extort the ill-gotten gains from that person. The embezzler decided to kill again, to avoid exposure and to keep what he or she had stolen. Reilly was lured to the basement, probably knocked over the head, and then pressed to death between the shelves.

Okay, that made sense, even though my argument was still built
on a series of
if
s. I tried not to think too much about the method of Reilly’s murder.

The third murder victim—Porter Stanley. How did he fit into the picture?

The best I could come up with was that he either witnessed the murder, or Reilly had told him about the embezzlement scheme and had named the perpetrator. Stanley had then contacted the killer, no doubt expecting that with his size and intimidating personality, he could easily take over with Reilly out of the way.

Except that Stanley was shot to death, and there was no sign of his sister’s jewelry anywhere. Had he recovered it from Reilly? If Reilly actually had it. I figured he must have. I wouldn’t put anything past him, least of all stealing from his ex-wife and her wealthy family. I was sure he felt they owed him that much.

I spent nearly two hours getting all my thoughts organized in an e-mail to Kanesha, and when I finally clicked Send, I was ready to take a long, hot shower. Maybe the tension in my neck and shoulders would ease without my having to take more aspirin.

Dressed and ready for work, having breakfasted, I made the decision to leave Diesel home today. Haskell was still on guard duty, and Azalea was there, too. Between them, they would give him attention, and maybe he wouldn’t be too upset with me. I was worried about what could happen on campus today, and I felt better knowing he was safe at home.

He meowed reproachfully—that’s how it sounded to me—when I told him he couldn’t come with me. I almost changed my mind because of the sad look in his eyes, but then I steeled myself. “No, sweet boy, you need to stay here today. Tomorrow, you can come with me.”
Surely this will all be over by then
.

Melba was at her desk when I arrived. “Coffee’s made. I’ll get you a cup.”

I thanked her and went into my office. She had unlocked the door for me. Always thoughtful. I had to guard my tongue around her today, because I couldn’t tell her about Peter, not until the news was made public. She would be annoyed with me, but I had my orders. I set my briefcase down and logged in to the college network. On the way to work I had thought about the files Reilly had on that thumb drive. I hadn’t double-checked those yet, and I needed to see if there was something I missed.

Melba came in with my coffee while I was scanning the list of folders and files. She set the coffee down on the desk.

“Where’s Diesel? Surely you didn’t forget him?”

“No, I knew I was going to be really busy today, and I thought it was better for him to stay home with Azalea.”

“Well, I’ll miss him, but you’re probably right. I kept worrying yesterday he was going to slip out of the office, and I wouldn’t be able to find him.”

I looked up and nodded, smiling, then went back to staring at the screen.

“I never did finish telling you about me seeing Margie at the grocery store last night,” she said.

“No, you didn’t,” I replied. I knew I’d have to let her tell me the story or she’d be annoyed with me the rest of the day, if not the whole week. I kept my eyes on the computer screen, though.

“Margie’s always had a thing for jewelry. That’s one thing we have in common. Like me, though, she hasn’t had a lot of money to spend on it, although she has had a boyfriend for a long time. Never does talk about him, though. I don’t even know who he is.”
She laughed. “Whoever he is, he must have a few bucks, because you should see the ring he gave her. She wasn’t going to let me look at it, but I made such a fuss when I saw it, she had to. It looks like it belongs in a museum, old-fashioned really, but gorgeous. This huge sapphire, surrounded by diamonds. Whoever the boyfriend is, it must be serious, let me tell you. Wish I had a man that would give me presents like that.”

I hadn’t really been paying close attention, trying instead to find out whether Reilly had had copies of the GER invoices on his thumb drive. Finally, however, a few words got through.
Huge sapphire, surrounded by diamonds
.

Surely not
, I thought, as a memory surfaced.

I looked up at Melba. “I want to show you something. Come around here so you can see my computer screen.” I located the files of the jewelry pictures, and I clicked on the first one. I thought it was the sapphire ring, and it was.

“Did the ring Margie has look like this?”

“Exactly like it,” Melba said. “Where did you get a picture of it? I don’t understand.”

“All I can tell you at the moment is that I think the ring belonged to Reilly’s ex-wife. I don’t know how your friend got it, but I have to let Kanesha know about this.”

“Oh my Lord,” Melba said. She stumbled around the desk to a chair and sank into it. “Oh my Lord.”

“You can’t breathe a word of this. Don’t go near your friend today.” I speed-dialed Kanesha on my cell phone.

She picked up right away, and I related Melba’s story to her. “She works in the finance department. Accounts payable.” I paused for her reply. “Yes, it fits perfectly. The boyfriend is the obvious culprit, I think.”

I listened for a few moments longer, as Kanesha adjured me to stay in my office and out of the way. Things were going to start moving quickly, and she wanted me out of harm’s way.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m staying right here. You’re welcome to take the ball and run, run, run.” I ended the call.

“Charlie Harris, what in thunderation is going on?” Melba looked frightened.

“I’ll explain everything later, I promise. You’ll simply have to trust me for now.” I paused for a deep, steadying breath. I could feel my heart rate pick up. “Also, we both need to stay here in our offices until I hear back from Kanesha, okay?”

Melba now looked even more frightened. “Dang, I wish I’d brought my gun with me.”

“I don’t think you’ll need it,” I told her. “The campus police officer is still on duty.”

Melba expelled a pent-up breath. “Yes, thank the Lord, he is.” She rose on slightly shaky legs. “I reckon I ought to try to get a few things done. Holler if you need me.”

“You do the same. I won’t be going anywhere, except to the men’s room.” I smiled in an effort to lighten the tension.

She nodded and walked out of the office on legs that were no longer shaking.

I turned back to the computer screen and continued my search through Reilly’s files. It took me a few minutes, but I found the folder in which he had scanned copies of the GER purchase orders and invoices. I also found a brief document in the folder with several bullet points, the import of which was that this company needed to be vetted to make sure it was legitimate.

There was the proof that Reilly had at least been suspicious of these expenses.

I kept going through the folders and files, looking for any other indications that Reilly had found expenses he considered suspicious but came up with nothing. If there were other bogus items, he obviously hadn’t found them yet.

Over the next few hours, until I heard from Kanesha again, I thought off and on about Delbert Winston. I had a hard time seeing him as a cold-blooded killer. An embezzler, perhaps, but not a killer. He had to be the one, though. How else would Margie Flaxdale have ended up with the ex–Mrs. Reilly’s family heirloom? She had told Melba her boyfriend gave it to her, and Delbert was the only male among the three chief suspects.

When I finally did talk to Kanesha, I learned that Margie had lied to Melba about the boyfriend. There was no boyfriend.

There was, however, a girlfriend—Cassandra Brownley.