“From the letters I found on some of the disks.” I pointed to the folder I gave her earlier. “They’re all there in chronological order. Take a look at them, and I think you’ll see very quickly.”
She still thought I was wasting her time. I could see it in her face. She was also angry that I hadn’t let her know about the boxes sooner. But after clenching and unclenching her jaw for a moment, she opened the folder and began to read.
I watched. She read quickly, and after the second letter she glanced up at me with a frown. I maintained a bland expression, and she went back to the letters. I believe I had finally piqued her curiosity.
Eight minutes later—I timed her—she was done. She closed the folder and looked at me, her expression thoughtful.
“He basically paid someone else to write the books for him,” she said. “And whoever he paid wasn’t happy over the terms of the contract.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I think X—that’s what I’ve been calling the unknown writer—might finally have become so incensed over Godfrey’s treatment that he—or she—killed him.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. She handed the folder back to me. “If X was so unhappy about the contract, why didn’t he or she hire a lawyer and take Mr. Priest to court?”
“Not knowing what the contract stipulated,” I said, “I don’t have a solid answer for that. But reading between the lines, I figure that the contract between Godfrey and X must have bound X to complete secrecy, otherwise the deal was off.”
“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Kanesha said. “But what’s at stake here? Mr. Priest’s reputation, of course, but what about money? How much could he make from the books?”
“While I was waiting for you to arrive, I did some research on the Internet,” I said. “I found an article published a little over a year ago that ranked the top-selling American writers by their projected annual incomes. Godfrey was in the top ten. According to the article, his annual earnings were in the neighborhood of twenty million dollars.”
Kanesha wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes popped wide open. “That’s significant money,” she said. “How could he make so much?”
“For one thing, the books are published in something like thirty languages, and they apparently sell really well all over Europe, and in Japan, too. Then there are the movie adaptations. If Godfrey had a cut of the profits, that could add up to a lot of money, too. Several of the films based on the books have been big hits, both domestically and in foreign countries.”
“Twenty million dollars a year.” Kanesha shook her head as if she still couldn’t take it in.
“X had to know the books were generating huge income,” I said. “And what if his cut was small compared to what Godfrey was raking in? Add to that the fact that he’s not getting any credit for his work, and he might have become more and more frustrated every year.”
“It’s possible,” Kanesha said. “I grant you that. And it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve been able to discover. But how the heck am I going to figure out who X is? I don’t even know where X lives.”
“I think X lives in Athena,” I said. I explained my reasoning, and Kanesha picked up the folder again and glanced through the letters.
“It makes sense,” she said when she finished. “Now all I have to do is track down some writers’ group that X belonged to.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about looking for needles in haystacks.”
“I can help with that,” I said. “There’s a librarian at the public library who’s been there for about thirty years. If anyone would know about local writers’ groups, she would. Her name is Teresa Farmer.”
“I know her,” Kanesha said. “She does the summer reading program for kids.”
“That’s her,” I said. I tapped the inventory list on my desk. “We can also look in the boxes that contain contracts. There might be some information there. And you can always talk to Godfrey’s agent. She’s supposed to be here for the memorial service tomorrow.”
Kanesha nodded a couple of times. “I already have an appointment with her. She gets into Memphis late tonight and is driving down tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” I said.
“Why are you doing all this?” Kanesha regarded me, her eyes narrowed.
“You mean poking my nose into your investigation?” I said, trying not to sound too flippant.
Kanesha nodded.
“Natural instincts, I suppose.” I shrugged. “Librarians are trained to help find answers, and the identity of Godfrey’s killer is an important question. Plus I find myself involved because of Justin and Julia Wardlaw. I can’t believe that either of them killed Godfrey, and I want to do what I can for their sakes.”
I wanted to add—but knew I didn’t dare—And because your mother asked me to, and I couldn’t figure out a way to say no.
“If anything you’ve done compromises my investigation in any way, you are going to be in a lot of trouble. Are you clear on that?”
I resisted the urge to salute. Kanesha sounded like a drill sergeant dealing with a bunch of raw recruits fresh out of the cotton patch. I hadn’t expected her to turn suddenly effusive with gratitude, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised she was taking a dim view of my “interference.”
“Yes, I am,” I said. “But let me ask you this: If I had called you the minute these boxes of papers arrived, what would you have done? Would you have rushed over and impounded them, or whatever the term is, for your investigation? And would you have gone through those disks the way I did? Do you even have a computer that can handle old floppy disks?”
“Whoa.” She held up a hand. I had gotten a bit carried away. “You might have saved me some time on these disks, but I still can’t be sure that you haven’t destroyed other evidence. Frankly, how can I even be sure that you didn’t create this stuff about X yourself as a smoke screen?”
Aghast, I stared at her. Never would I have thought she’d react this way. I didn’t know what to say.
“By not letting me know the minute these papers arrived, you basically tainted the evidence—if any of this could be called evidence. If I could have been assured that the contents of these boxes were untouched once they arrived here, I’d feel a lot more comfortable with all this. But you took it on yourself to investigate, and now I’m left with a difficult situation.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to say. I had never thought about any of this, and I realized I had goofed big time. “I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.”
“Where are the disks?”
They were still in the box back by the other computer. I retrieved them without a word and handed the box to Kanesha. She looked inside.
“I see what you mean about old disks,” she said.
If that was some kind of olive branch, I’d accept it.
“I’ll take them,” she said. “If you can make out a receipt, I’ll sign it. But these need to go with me.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “But what about the rest of Godfrey’s papers?” I realized suddenly that I should tell her about the unauthorized person who had been in my office Wednesday night. She was going to be even happier with me.
“Where are the rest of the boxes?” she asked.
“In a storeroom down the hall,” I said.
“Is it secure?”
“It is now,” I said. “I have something else I need to tell you.”
“Go ahead.” She had one of those pained What now? looks on her face.
As briefly as I could, I related the facts about the unauthorized visitor.
“And you still didn’t call me.” She examined me like I was an exotic insect that she found distasteful.
“No,” I said. “But I made sure the locks were changed that day. There are only three sets of keys. I have one, of course. Melba Gilley, the library director’s assistant, has a set, and Rick Tackett, the head of operations for the library, has the other set.”