to say would probably be less than flattering. And while I sincerely doubted that Taylor’s having gotten Dave fired would be enough reason to kill, stranger things have happened, and it was always wise to check out every possibility.
And speaking of possibilities, it was still a very real possibility that Taylor Cates had, for whatever reason, simply fallen down the steps.
Uh huh, a mind-voice said. I determined to give Tim Jackson a call. Since he worked at the coroner’s office, he may be able to tell me a little more about the actual cause of Taylor’s death. But that would have to wait until I got home.
I dialed Dave Witherspoon’s number, and considering that it was by now nearly nine thirty, I was not overly surprised to get an answering machine. Witherspoon may have already found another job and was at work—though there aren’t that many libraries in the area, and even fewer research libraries—or he was out looking for work. I left my name and work number. If I didn’t hear from him by the time I was ready to go home, I’d call again and leave my home number, too.
Part of me wanted to talk to Evan Knight next, but the rest of me suggested that it might be best to hold him until last. On the one hand, I didn’t want to be influenced by these little games I suspected he might be playing with Jonathan, and I needed some time to regain my objectivity. On the other hand, of course, waiting would allow me to see how this landscaping gambit—if it was indeed a gambit, as I suspected it was—played out.
And okay, I admit it, if Jonathan was going to be working in close proximity to Knight, I wanted to keep Knight reminded that I was in the picture.
You’re really weird, Hardesty , an unidentified mind-voice observed.
Guilty as charged .
I decided to go with the least-most-likely-involved board members first, to see if they might by chance have any idea at all of what was going on. It was really unlikely, I knew, but I couldn’t afford to overlook anyone or anything. I decided to start with Thomas McNabb, the realtor.
When I did call, I was informed that he was out of the office showing a property, but would return my call as soon as possible. I left my name and number, and hung up. I thought it interesting that someone who headed one of the city’s larger real estate organizations would still be going out and showing properties himself. But then I realized that might be one of the reasons his company got so big in the first place.
Rather than wait for him to return my call, I next tried William Pearson’s number. I was a bit surprised when he answered the phone himself.
“William Pearson.”
“Mr. Pearson, this is Dick Hardesty, of Hardesty Investigations. Glen O’Banyon gave me your number.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Hardesty. I was rather expecting your call. I gather you’ve agreed to look into this…unfortunate incident at the Burrows?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and I was wondering if there might be anything you could tell me about Taylor Cates or the Collection that might have some bearing on my investigation.”
There was a slight pause, then, “I’m afraid I really can’t be of much help as far as the Collection is concerned. I don’t have very much direct contact with the day-to-day operations of the library. I did know Taylor Cates, though not all that well. He was a weekend bartender at Steamroller Junction from the time it opened until about three months ago.”
Steamroller Junction was one of the biggest and most popular of the gay dance bars, though the last time I’d been there was, in fact, on its opening night, not too long after Jonathan and I got together. I’m not big on huge crowds or noise, and Steamroller Junction had both.
“Did you happen to know anything at all about his personal life?”
Another brief pause. “No, I’m afraid not. He was personally recommended to me by someone whose opinion I respect. Usually, I’m not all that directly involved with the
And speaking of possibilities, it was still a very real possibility that Taylor Cates had, for whatever reason, simply fallen down the steps.
Uh huh, a mind-voice said. I determined to give Tim Jackson a call. Since he worked at the coroner’s office, he may be able to tell me a little more about the actual cause of Taylor’s death. But that would have to wait until I got home.
I dialed Dave Witherspoon’s number, and considering that it was by now nearly nine thirty, I was not overly surprised to get an answering machine. Witherspoon may have already found another job and was at work—though there aren’t that many libraries in the area, and even fewer research libraries—or he was out looking for work. I left my name and work number. If I didn’t hear from him by the time I was ready to go home, I’d call again and leave my home number, too.
Part of me wanted to talk to Evan Knight next, but the rest of me suggested that it might be best to hold him until last. On the one hand, I didn’t want to be influenced by these little games I suspected he might be playing with Jonathan, and I needed some time to regain my objectivity. On the other hand, of course, waiting would allow me to see how this landscaping gambit—if it was indeed a gambit, as I suspected it was—played out.
And okay, I admit it, if Jonathan was going to be working in close proximity to Knight, I wanted to keep Knight reminded that I was in the picture.
You’re really weird, Hardesty , an unidentified mind-voice observed.
Guilty as charged .
I decided to go with the least-most-likely-involved board members first, to see if they might by chance have any idea at all of what was going on. It was really unlikely, I knew, but I couldn’t afford to overlook anyone or anything. I decided to start with Thomas McNabb, the realtor.
When I did call, I was informed that he was out of the office showing a property, but would return my call as soon as possible. I left my name and number, and hung up. I thought it interesting that someone who headed one of the city’s larger real estate organizations would still be going out and showing properties himself. But then I realized that might be one of the reasons his company got so big in the first place.
Rather than wait for him to return my call, I next tried William Pearson’s number. I was a bit surprised when he answered the phone himself.
“William Pearson.”
“Mr. Pearson, this is Dick Hardesty, of Hardesty Investigations. Glen O’Banyon gave me your number.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Hardesty. I was rather expecting your call. I gather you’ve agreed to look into this…unfortunate incident at the Burrows?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and I was wondering if there might be anything you could tell me about Taylor Cates or the Collection that might have some bearing on my investigation.”
There was a slight pause, then, “I’m afraid I really can’t be of much help as far as the Collection is concerned. I don’t have very much direct contact with the day-to-day operations of the library. I did know Taylor Cates, though not all that well. He was a weekend bartender at Steamroller Junction from the time it opened until about three months ago.”
Steamroller Junction was one of the biggest and most popular of the gay dance bars, though the last time I’d been there was, in fact, on its opening night, not too long after Jonathan and I got together. I’m not big on huge crowds or noise, and Steamroller Junction had both.
“Did you happen to know anything at all about his personal life?”
Another brief pause. “No, I’m afraid not. He was personally recommended to me by someone whose opinion I respect. Usually, I’m not all that directly involved with the
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