Melba was silent for a moment. “The first one that comes to mind is the woman who owns that bookstore on the square. Can’t remember her name at the moment.”

“Jordan Thompson,” I said. “I heard about her. Can you think of anyone else?”

“The other one that comes to mind is Frank Ledbetter.” Melba sighed into the phone.

“Frank Ledbetter?” Why did that name sound familiar?

“My ex-husband,” Melba said.

“Oh,” I said, too stunned for the moment to say anything else.

“I know,” Melba said, sounding sheepish. “It’s not something I’m proud of, let me tell you. But I had a brief fling with Godfrey about ten years ago, and it cost me my marriage.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.” Poor Melba. I knew she was divorced, but that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge.

“Frank and I were going through a bad patch,” Melba said. “Old, old story. And here comes Godfrey on a book tour. I went to hear him talk, there were some sparks, and I went out to dinner with him afterward. And you can guess the rest.”

I could, but I was curious about one thing. “I do have to ask you one question.”

“Shoot,” Melba said.

“Did Godfrey hang around town while you had this, er, relationship?”

“I wasn’t stupid enough to run off to California with him, thank the Lord,” Melba said. “Yeah, Athena was the last stop on his tour, and he was planning to stay here for a couple of months, doing research for a book.”

“And when he finished, he went back to California?”

“And I stayed here,” Melba said. “By then I’d realized what a fool I’d made of myself, and poor Frank, too. He filed for divorce right away.”

“Another question,” I said, “and forgive me for asking it, but I have to. Did either you or Frank hate Godfrey enough to kill him?”

“Ten years ago Frank was ready to skin him alive—and he loved to hunt,” Melba said. “But by the time Godfrey came back to town a couple years later, Frank was remarried.”

“And you?” I prompted her gently.

“I hated him, too,” Melba said. “But I hated myself more, let me tell you. I learned my lesson from that.” She laughed, a little wildly, I thought. “I got back at Godfrey in my own way, though.”

“How so?” I was almost afraid to ask, uncertain of what I would hear.

“I took every one of his books I owned and sat down in front of the fireplace. I ripped out every page, one by one, and burned them. It felt pretty good, though of course I don’t normally hold with burning books.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said, trying to ease the tension a little. “Especially since you work in a library.”