Her first words confirmed it. “Thanks again for the e-mail. At least now I know why that book might be valuable, to somebody anyway.”

“You’re welcome.” I decided to venture a question. “Have you found Mrs. Taylor’s copy yet?”

“No, not so far. I don’t think it’s in the house. They’ve searched it pretty thoroughly.” She paused. “Do you think she might have put it in a safe-deposit box?”

“It’s possible,” I replied. “But somehow I don’t think she would have. Most book collectors in my experience like to have the books easily at hand so they can look at them whenever they want. Remember James Delacorte and his collection? He had books far more valuable than Mrs. Taylor’s copy of Spellwood Mansion, and his were on display in the house.”

Thinking about Mr. Delacorte always saddened me. His untimely end came about in part because of his collection. Had the same thing happened to Mrs. Taylor?

“Yes, I recall.” Kanesha’s tone was dry. “I’m going to have to check on a safe-deposit box, though. Have to rule that out.”

I decided to venture another question, since Kanesha seemed to be in a forthcoming mood—or what passed for one with her. “Do you have any other potential motives?”

“Not yet, but it’s early on. We have a lot more fact-gathering to do. Thanks again for that e-mail. If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.”

I barely had time to say “Of course” before she ended the call. I’d had no chance to voice my suspicions of Gordon Betts, but perhaps that was just as well. Kanesha’s tolerance of my interference would extend only so far.

Why had I focused solely on Gordon Betts? That thought struck me suddenly. I couldn’t in all fairness concentrate only on him simply because of my antipathy to his combative, self-centered personality. Della Duffy could as easily have been interested in Mrs. Taylor’s copy of Spellwood Mansion. She hadn’t been that much more pleasant, frankly, than Gordon Betts even after I made allowance for her phobia of cats. She and Carrie Taylor obviously knew each other. I ought to find out more about her.

I recalled what Melba told me about the message from Mrs. Taylor. Even though there had apparently been a man at the door when she ended the call to Melba, that didn’t mean the man was her final visitor last night. Another person could have come along later, so I couldn’t rule out a woman as the killer.

An Internet search might yield information. I wondered, though, how common the name Della Duffy might be. I picked up the laptop and typed the name, enclosed in quotation marks, into the search engine.