Classified as Murder (30 page)

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Authors: Miranda James

BOOK: Classified as Murder
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“Thanks, Dad. I guess I can understand what you were going through,” he said, his voice husky. “If you’re ready to listen, I’ll tell you about why I quit my job. Do you mind if we sit on the porch, though? I feel more comfortable out there.”
“Sure. But let’s get the broken crockery off the floor first.” I retrieved the small hand broom and dustpan from the cabinet, and as Sean picked out the biggest pieces, I swept up the rest.
“Sorry about the mess,” Sean said as he rinsed his hands in the sink.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I need something to drink. How about you?”
“Just some water,” Sean said. “You go on, and I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I left Dante upstairs, and he’s probably having fits by now.”
He disappeared upstairs, and I poured both of us a glass of water. As I left the kitchen, Diesel hopped down the last stair and greeted me with a warble that sounded like a question.
“Yes, I know it’s late,” I said. “But we’re going out to the porch to talk, Sean and I. Come on.”
Out on the porch, I turned on one lamp with a low-wattage bulb. In the dim light we made ourselves comfortable, me in a lounge chair and Diesel stretched out on the old sofa next to me.
Sean and Dante joined us two minutes later. Dante went straight to the screen door and scratched. Sean laughed as he let the poodle out into the backyard. “Hey, Diesel, what about you? Want to go out?”
Diesel looked at Sean and yawned.
“I guess not.” He laughed again, let the door swing shut, and sat down in another lounge chair a few feet away and took a sip of water from the cup I had put there for him.
He stared at the floor a moment. “I wasn’t afraid to tell you about it, Dad. Mostly I was embarrassed.” He blushed. “You’ll think I was an idiot for getting myself into such a stupid situation in the first place.”
“No need to be embarrassed with me.” I spoke gently. “And I won’t think you’re an idiot. Besides, I’ve done a couple of things in my life that I’m still embarrassed to recall.”
“Okay, then, here goes. Lorelei, the woman who called a while ago, was my boss. She’s in her early forties, and she’s incredibly successful, one of the firm’s biggest rainmakers.” He paused for another sip of water.
“She’s also a praying mantis where men are concerned.” He blushed again. “For the past eighteen months I worked with her on two big cases, and I routinely put in over a hundred hours a week. We were together a lot, at least in the beginning, and, well, she’s very attractive.”
“Your relationship stopped being purely professional, in other words.” I kept my tone neutral. I was surprised that he had become involved with a woman around twenty years older than he. In high school and college he had dated only girls his own age.
“Yes, sir. She made it pretty clear that she was interested, and I fell for her, hard. She was all I could think about. I was willing to work as many hours as I had to, to please her.”
I had an idea where this was going, and my heart ached for my son.
Sean gazed out into the backyard. “This is the part where I feel really stupid. When the cases were ready to go to trial, she had me reassigned, and then I heard she was having an affair with another guy in the firm about my age. A guy who was working on a new case with her.” He sighed. “She used me to do the bulk of the work for her, and then she dumped me.”
I could think of several names I’d like to call the woman, to her face, but I kept them to myself. “Was that when you decided to quit?”
Sean had learned a hard lesson, and he would feel the scars for a long time.
“No, I was mad as a hornet. At her, at myself. I couldn’t let go of it, though. I guess I was so tired—I was still putting in long hours every week—I wasn’t really thinking clearly about what I was doing.” He laughed bitterly. “Then I decided to get even with her.”
“What did you do?” Sean was mischievous growing up. His pranks were never malicious, but I thought he had outgrown them.
“The firm had a party for Lorelei’s birthday three weeks ago, and I wrapped up a special present for her. No name on it, of course, and I was there, along with a lot of other people, to watch her open it.” He grinned. “It was full of self-help books for people addicted to sex. You should have seen her face when she pulled the first one out. She couldn’t stuff it back in the box fast enough.”
I had to laugh. It did sound like poetic justice of a sort. “Did she know who it was from?”
“Probably. Of course, there were several candidates in the room, not just me.” Sean’s wry tone didn’t quite mask the hurt he obviously still felt.
“Were there any repercussions from your little gift?”
“A couple of sternly worded memos from the managing partner’s office, distributed to everyone. And a few surreptitious pats on the back from members of the club.” Sean smiled briefly. “Of course I said it wasn’t me, but I realized that the identities of Lorelei’s string of patsies were pretty well known. I was the last to know, stupid me.
“That’s when I decided to quit. I was sick of the long hours, sick of the whole firm, and basically sick of myself. I resigned, and that was it.”
He glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “By the way, if anybody asks, you’re going senile.”
“I see. So your poor doddering old father was your reason for quitting. You had to come home and take care of me.” I tried not to laugh.
“Something like that,” Sean murmured. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” Sean said, looking away. “Screwing up my life like that, doing something so stupid.”
“I’m not disappointed in you, Sean.” I paused a moment. “You made a bad decision when you let yourself get involved with your boss. But she’s as much to blame as you are. She abused her position, even if you were a willing participant.”
“Yes, sir,” Sean said. “That’s one mistake I won’t make again.”
Dante scratched on the screen door, and Sean let him back in. The poodle danced around Sean’s feet for a moment; then he spotted Diesel, still on the sofa. He jumped up beside the cat and lay down next to him, his head on his front paws. Diesel lifted his head for a moment, eyed the dog, then put his head back down and closed his eyes.
“They’re best pals now.” Sean resumed his seat.
“Diesel is very easygoing, thank goodness.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’m glad you finally told me what happened.”
“Me, too,” Sean said. He hesitated a moment. “I still want to be a lawyer, only not a corporate one. I don’t want to go back to that.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Would you like to practice in Mississippi? You could take the state bar exam.”
“Yes, I’d like to do that. If you can put up with me and Dante that long. I think I’m stuck with him now.” He glanced away for a moment, and I had a sudden feeling I knew who Dante had belonged to.
“He was Lorelei’s dog, wasn’t he?”
Sean nodded. “I gave him to her for Christmas, but when she found out I got him from a shelter, she wouldn’t keep him. So I took him.”
“Another reason to dislike her.” I had no use for people who treated animals that way. Dante was far better off with Sean—and me and Diesel, of course.
Sean wore a pained look. “Lorelei called tonight to tell me I could have my job back if I wanted it.” He snorted in disgust. “What she meant was, if I groveled enough in front of her. She loves her power trips, and she knew I’d really be beholden to her if I went back. There’s no telling what I’d have been in for.”
“Then you’re definitely better off here.” I laughed. “You can look after your senile father, for one thing.”
Sean laughed too, a beautiful sound. We stayed there, the four of us, for a while longer in companionable silence. Diesel and Dante slept, while my son and I gazed out into the night.
THIRTY
When my alarm sounded the next morning at seven, I woke with a lighter heart but a heavy head. I wasn’t used to staying up past ten o’clock, and I hadn’t made it into bed until almost one. Even then I had trouble getting to sleep because my mind bounced back and forth between the talk with Sean and the news of Eloise Morris’s death.
The fact that Sean finally confided in me relieved me of one burden. Our relationship was stronger than it had been in several years. Now that I understood the effects of my own behavior upon my son, I could work to repair the damage.
Eloise’s death saddened me and, at the same time, enraged me. Who had hated or feared her enough to kill her?
Hubert was an obvious suspect. He clearly despised his wife and wanted to be rid of her. With her out of the way, he was free to marry Anita, if that’s what he wanted.
Had he also killed his uncle? He might have done it if he thought he was the chief heir to James Delacorte’s estate. Inherit millions, get rid of his inconvenient wife, and settle down with his mistress—that could have been the plan.
Another thought struck me. What if there were two killers at work here? After pondering that for a few minutes, I dismissed it as unlikely. Eloise’s murder could be a copycat killing, but I didn’t really think it was.
Her death could be the result of fear on the killer’s part. What did Eloise know that could harm James Delacorte’s murderer? Eloise didn’t seem to be particularly lucid most of the time, but that didn’t mean she might not witness something and then blurt it out later. The things she said often seemed to come out of nowhere, but now that I thought back on her oddball remarks, I realized they occasionally fit the context of the situation in some way.
Had Eloise unwittingly offered a clue to the killer’s identity? Had she known who killed James Delacorte without completely realizing it? I’d have to think back over all my interactions with her to search for potential leads.
After grappling with all those questions, I felt logy when I crawled out of bed at seven. Diesel raised his head from the pillow and yawned. He regarded me for a moment before rolling on his back to stretch and yawn some more.
By the time I finished my shower and dressed for the day, Diesel had disappeared. As I neared the kitchen, I smelled sausage frying. Azalea was here, and breakfast would soon be ready. My stomach gurgled in anticipation.
“Good morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.
Azalea returned my greeting without turning away from the stove. “Eggs be ready in a couple minutes. Sausage, too.”
“Smells wonderful.” I gazed at the plate of biscuits and the bowl of red-eye gravy on the table. I fancied I could feel my arteries clogging at the sight, but where Azalea’s biscuits and gravy were concerned, I had absolutely no resistance.
“We have a new boarder.” I had a couple sips of coffee. “Stewart Delacorte, James Delacorte’s great-nephew. He moved in last night, into the third-floor room over mine.”
“I suspect I best set another place at the table, then.” Azalea turned from the stove and set a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage patties in front of me.
“He might not be down for a while.” My mouth watered as I opened two biscuits and covered them with gravy. “He had bad news last night, and we were up late.”
Azalea stared at me, hands on her hips. “What bad news?”
I paused with a forkful of biscuit and sausage halfway to my mouth. “Eloise Morris was murdered last night.” I put the fork down. It seemed disrespectful to poke food into my mouth right after delivering such bad news.
Azalea shook her head. “That poor lamb.” Her voice was soft. “Never harmed nobody. May the Lord bless and keep her.” Azalea’s lips continued to move, and I knew she must be offering a silent prayer on Eloise’s behalf.
When she finished, Azalea turned back to the stove. “Poor Mr. Stewart. I was working there when he come to live with his great-grandmama. Poor little mite he was, done lost his mama and daddy. Miss Eloise took up a lot of time with him, her being only about ten years older than him.”
No wonder Stewart was so upset. He hadn’t let on to Sean and me how close he and Eloise had been at one time. No surprise, then, that he despised Hubert so thoroughly for his treatment of his wife.
“How long Mr. Stewart gone be staying here?” Azalea came back to the table with another plate of eggs and sausage, which she set at Sean’s place.
Right on cue, Sean walked into the kitchen. “Good morning. That sure smells good.” He pulled out his chair and sat.
“I’m not sure how long Stewart will be here, Azalea,” I said. “He wanted to get out of the Delacorte house and stay here until he could find a permanent place of his own.”
“Can’t say as I blame him for that.” Azalea brought Sean a cup of coffee, and he thanked her in between bites of egg, biscuit, and sausage.
“You looking a lot better this morning.” Azalea stood near the table and fixed her stern gaze upon my son. “Eating good food and getting you some sleep’s made some difference.”

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