Classified as Murder (15 page)

“Now I remember.” Sean smiled after the handshake ended. “Your mother is Dad’s housekeeper. She’s a wonderful cook.”

Sean couldn’t have said anything more calculated to annoy Kanesha. I braced myself for a brief show of fireworks.

“I’m well aware of that.” Kanesha’s tone was cool.

Sean blinked. “Uh, right. What’s going on?”

“There’s been a death,” Kanesha said. “We’re here to investigate. Standard procedure.”

“Who died?”

I glanced at Kanesha. She nodded. “James Delacorte,” I said. “I found him right after I came back here from lunch at home.”

“Good lord,” Sean said, his face grim. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Why are you here?” Kanesha directed her laser stare at Sean.

“I thought maybe Dad could use some help with the inventory.” Sean shrugged.

“I see. Gentlemen, if you’ll both excuse me, I have work to do.” She nodded at Sean. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harris. I’ve finished with your father for the moment, but I might have more questions later. You don’t need to hang around here.” Without waiting for a response from either Sean or me, she exited the room, followed by Grimes.

“Brrrr.” Sean shivered after the door closed behind the two officers. “I guess I really stepped in it with her. What’s her problem?”

“She was more restrained than I expected.” I explained Kanesha’s attitude about her mother’s choice of work. “Azalea insists on doing what she wants, of course, and Kanesha is no match for her mother.”

Sean smiled. “From what I’ve seen of Azalea, I can sure believe that. She’s a tough lady.”

I recalled one exchange between Azalea and Sean during the Christmas holidays. Sean let things lie where he discarded them. Azalea thought he was too old for such childish behavior and told him so, in no uncertain terms. Sean took the scolding with good grace.

“This is a lavish setup,” Sean said. He gazed around the room. “Serious money here.”

“Yes, there is,” I said. “Sean, how did you know to come over?”

“I didn’t want to leave Dante too long with Azalea, so I came home early. I figured I might as well come over here and check things out, see if you needed help.”

“And you walk into police in the house and your father being interrogated by the chief deputy.” I shook my head. “Not anything you could have anticipated. I certainly didn’t expect to find Mr. Delacorte dead in his library.”

“Did he have a heart attack?” Sean asked. “You said he had some kind of episode with his heart on Saturday when you were here for tea.”

“I don’t think it was as simple as a heart attack. You cannot repeat this to anyone, or Kanesha will have my hide. I think he might have been poisoned.”

“Nasty,” Sean said. “One of the family, you think?”

“I don’t know who else it could be,” I replied. “I was here all morning, and he was fine when I left for lunch.” I shrugged. “Unless some stranger slipped into the house and did it, it has to be someone in the house.”

“Then we ought to go home before one of the family turns up.”

Both cat and dog perked up at the words go home. I knew Diesel would be much happier in a familiar environment.

I was more than ready to go myself, but then I remembered something. “My satchel. It’s still in the library. I left it there while I went home for lunch.”

“Then it’s part of the scene,” Sean said. “You can ask, but they won’t let you have it back for a while.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s still aggravating.” Then I realized how I sounded. Mr. Delacorte was dead, possibly murdered, and here I was whining about my satchel. There was nothing in it I couldn’t live without, at least temporarily.

Sean must have sensed what I was thinking. He patted my shoulder. “It’s okay; I understand.”

As the four of us neared the door, it swung open without warning. Daphne Morris walked in, accompanied by her son, Hubert.

They both stopped short.

“I beg your pardon,” Daphne said in her fade-away voice. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Hubert scowled. “Why are you here anyway?” He pointed at our feet. “And with a dog and a cat, too. They have no business in here with these priceless antiques. If one of them pees on the floor or scratches anything, you’ll have to pay for it.”

Hubert’s attack left me speechless, but Sean was more than a match for him. “Listen, buddy, this dog and cat have better manners than you do. They’re housebroken, and they’re not going to piddle on your carpet. If anybody pays for anything, it’ll be you for speaking to my father and me in a tone like that.”

Hubert scowled. Sean was several inches taller and about three decades younger. I didn’t think my son would actually strike the man, but I could see that Sean’s temper had flared from the blaze of red in his cheeks.

Daphne intervened. Placing a hand on her son’s arm, she said, “Really, Hubert, where are your manners? These people are guests in our home. My poor dear brother invited that man and his cat here, and if James invited them, that’s all there is to it.”

That was quite a long speech for Daphne, I thought, based on my limited acquaintance with her. Plus I didn’t have to strain to hear every word.

“Sorry, Mother,” Hubert muttered. “Sorry.”

“This is a stressful time for everyone,” I said in an effort to extend an olive branch. “Mrs. Morris, you have my deepest sympathies on the loss of your brother.”

“And mine,” Sean added.

Hubert escorted his mother to the sofa I recently vacated.

“Thank you on behalf of the family,” he said. “My mother and my uncle were very close, and naturally this has come as a great shock to her. And to me, too.” He had such a falsely pious look I knew that he, at least, wasn’t all that upset over the loss of his uncle.

“Poor, sweet James,” Daphne said, her voice once again dying away as she spoke. “His weak heart finally took him away from us. His doctor warned him to slow down, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Uncle James always did whatever he damn well pleased,” Hubert said. “And you know it, Mother. Serves him right for not doing what the doctor said.”

“Hubert,” Daphne said in a tone of protest. “
Pas devant les étrangers
.”

Even I knew enough French to understand what that meant. Beside me Sean barely suppressed a laugh. “Not in front of the strangers” indeed. Hubert was so lacking in the social graces that he apparently didn’t care what he said, or to whom.

“If you’ll excuse us, we must be going,” I said. I looked right at Daphne. “Again, my sympathies for your loss.”

Daphne nodded, and Hubert plopped down on the sofa beside her.

Sean and I with our four-legged companions left the room. During the brief encounter with Daphne and Hubert, both animals had been subdued. The moment we stepped out the front door, they both perked up. Diesel meowed at me, and Dante began dancing around Sean’s feet.

I had to smile. I was so thankful to be out of that house, I felt like dancing or warbling myself. Then I remembered what Kanesha had said. I might come back to do more work on the inventory, if she decided it was pertinent to her investigation.

I wasn’t sure at the moment how I felt about the situation. I’d address that later.

Sean and I settled our animals in our cars and headed home.

Sean and Dante were out on the back porch when Diesel and I found them fifteen minutes later. Sean was lighting a cigar, and Dante rested by his master’s feet.

“I think some relaxation is called for,” Sean said. “How about you?”

“I agree,” I said, “but I think mine will take a different form.”

“Whatever,” Sean said. “If you want to leave Diesel with me, I’ll let him and Dante out for a run while you go and relax however you want.”

That was certainly pointed, I thought. I was planning to stay here with him for a while in hopes of a conversation, but he obviously wasn’t encouraging me to stay. I felt awkward with him as a consequence. I mustered a smile anyway. “Okay, thanks. Diesel could use some exercise. I guess I’ll go upstairs and read for a bit.”

Sean nodded as he expelled a plume of smoke. “See you later then.”

I scratched Diesel’s head for a moment, and he looked up at me and chirped. “You stay here, boy, and have some fun. I’ll see you later.”

I headed for the door into the house, and Diesel came with me. I paused at the door. “I guess he doesn’t want to go out right now. I’ll take him with me.”

Sean nodded, and Diesel and I went into the house.

Up in my bedroom, I stretched out on the bed with a book, and Diesel curled up beside me and was soon asleep. I put my book aside after a few minutes. I couldn’t concentrate. Images of Mr. Delacorte kept intruding. I did my best to empty my mind, and deep breathing helped. It wasn’t long before I relaxed enough to nod off.

I awoke to the sound of the phone on my bedside table. I blinked several times to clear my vision. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 5:15. I had been sleeping for well over two hours.

A woman’s voice sounded in my ear. “Could I speak to Mr. Charles Harris, please?”

I identified myself, and she continued. “My name is Alexandra Pendergrast. I’m an attorney, and I work with my father, Q. C. Pendergrast. Perhaps you know of him?”

Everyone in Athena knew Quentin Curtis Pendergrast III. He was one of the “characters” in town, a lawyer with near-legendary status for his exploits. I remembered vaguely hearing that he had a daughter, but I’d never met either the great man himself or his offspring.

“Yes, I do. What can I do for you, Ms. Pendergrast?” I couldn’t imagine why a lawyer I didn’t know personally would be calling me, unless it had something to do with James Delacorte. But the man had been dead only a few hours.

That thought unsettled me.

Alexandra Pendergrast confirmed my guess. “My father and I represent the estate of James Delacorte. We need to discuss something with you pertaining to Mr. Delacorte’s will. Would you be available in a little while, say at six? I apologize for the short notice, but it is urgent.”

“That’s okay. I don’t have any conflicting plans.” What on earth did James Delacorte’s will have to do with me?

“We would be happy to come to your home, if that’s okay with you.” Ms. Pendergrast’s voice was firm and assured.

“Certainly, if you like.” I gave her the address. “But I frankly don’t understand why you need to talk to me. I had only a brief acquaintance with Mr. Delacorte.”

“I realize this is a surprise for you.” Ms. Pendergrast paused. “But my father will explain everything. It would be better to wait until we meet with you in person.”

“Then I’ll see you at six.” I hung up the phone, mightily puzzled over this strange twist of fate.

Sean cocked his head to one side as he regarded me. “Mind if I sit in on this? In case you need legal advice.”

“I’d be relieved if you would. This whole thing seems like a bizarre dream.” I poured myself a glass of cold tea. “I can’t imagine it’s anything bad, but you never know. I figure this meeting must be connected to his rare book collection.”

“Could be. Maybe he left you a million or two. Or maybe he took a shine to Diesel. You could have a very wealthy cat on your hands.”

I’d read about such cases, when rich people left their money tied up for the care of the pets that survived them. Mr. Delacorte was a self-professed cat lover. When Diesel had warbled for him, Mr. Delacorte smiled, a rare full smile that softened his features and made him look much less reserved. “He probably saw him with me at the library, but Saturday and today were the only times he ever got close enough to really meet Diesel.”

I glanced at the clock—not much time before the lawyers arrived. “I think it would be better if Diesel and Dante aren’t present for this meeting. Will you put them in your room?”

“Sure.” Sean headed for the door. “Come on, boys, come with me.”

Dante followed happily. Diesel hesitated and stared at me for a moment. “Go ahead. It won’t be for long.” I made my tone as encouraging as possible.

Diesel meowed once as if he agreed—with reservations—before loping after Sean and Dante.

Sean came back down the stairs right as the doorbell rang, promptly at six o’clock. I walked into the living room while Sean admitted our visitors. I heard him introduce himself, both as my son and my lawyer.

My first close look at Quinton Curtis Pendergrast III and his daughter surprised me. I knew Mr. Pendergrast was over seventy because I’d read about him in the local paper. He was every inch the Southern patrician. Tall, angular, sporting thick white hair, he exuded success in a dark suit and expensive-looking cowboy boots.

His daughter, however, was far younger than I expected. She was roughly the same age as Sean, from what I could tell. No more than thirty, surely. I’d thought she would be closer to my age. She stood as tall as her father, her hair a rich auburn, expertly styled to frame a lovely, intelligent face. Her tailored suit emphasized an attractive figure. Sean, I was quick to note, appeared mesmerized by the sight of Alexandra Pendergrast.