“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.