The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  “He always seems to, although I know sometimes it gets him down,” I said, and Stewart nodded.

  “Okay, enough of that,” he said suddenly. “What’s on your agenda today?”

  “I had planned to do some reading for my class,” I said, “but there’s no point now. I’m sure the class will be canceled after what happened.”

  “Maybe,” Stewart said, “although if there’s anyone in the department who can handle it, they’ll keep it going unless they can accommodate the students in other courses this semester. Warriner might have had a grad student who could take it over.”

  “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll go by the history department in the morning and see what’s going on.” As I said that, a further idea occurred to me. While I was in the department office, I would talk to Melba’s friend—whose name I had blanked on—and try to find out a few things about Warriner’s background and relationships with his fellow history professors and instructors.

  I felt a twinge of excitement. I might dig up information that would help Kanesha solve both murders.

  SEVENTEEN

  Diesel and I headed to work the next morning without having seen Dan Bellamy. He had appeared briefly yesterday in the afternoon, but only to tell me he would be out the rest of the day and wasn’t sure what time he might return. I didn’t try to question him, other than to ask him how he was doing. To this he replied with a tersely polite, “I’m fine.”

  At breakfast I had informed Azalea of the situation and told her I had no idea whether he was in his room this morning.

  “If he comes down, or if he comes in from somewhere else,” she said, not seemingly perturbed by this interruption in routine, “I’ll fix him breakfast if he wants it.”

  We left her and Ramses in the kitchen, and I heard Azalea singing as we left by the front door. We encountered a couple of neighbors during our walk who bade us good morning but didn’t stop to chat.

  Melba sat at the desk in her office, and we stopped by to say hello. She was all agog with the news of Carey Warriner’s death. I wasn’t surprised that she already knew. The story had leaked somehow, and it had made its way to her. When I asked her how she had heard, she said simply, “From Viccy Kemp, the history department administrator. Remember, I told you about her.”

  I nodded. “That you did.”

  “She called me this morning because she knows you’re enrolled in Warriner’s class,” Melba said. “She told me what little she knew.” She eyed me speculatively. “I figure you’re bound to know more, so let’s hear it.”

  “I really don’t know much,” I told her, “but I’m willing to tell you what I do know. First, though, I want to go upstairs to my office and put away my things.”

  “You go on upstairs,” Melba said, “and I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Should be finished brewing by now.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said. “Come on, Diesel.”

  Two minutes later, I had barely hung up my jacket, unhooked Diesel’s leash, and turned on my computer when Melba appeared in the doorway with two cups of coffee. She set one on the desk in front of me and made herself comfortable in the nearby chair.

  “All right,” she said. “Tell me everything, from the point where I said good-bye to you and Helen Louise at the bistro Saturday night.”

  “If you insist,” I said, feeling mischievous. “After I took Helen Louise home, I drove to Laura and Frank’s house to pick up Diesel. I chatted with them for a couple of minutes. I didn’t tell them about what happened at the bookstore, though. It was getting late by that point, and I was tired and ready for bed.”

  Melba held up her hand. “Very funny. You know what I meant.”

  “Well, you did say everything,” I replied with a grin. “All right, I’ll cut to the chase.”

  I told her that Dan Bellamy came home yesterday morning with Haskell and what I had learned from the two of them.

  “Still dressed in his costume,” Melba said. “I have to say he looked mighty fine in that getup. Too bad men don’t dress like that these days. Much more interesting and colorful than the suits I see the bigwigs on campus wearing.”

  “More colorful, yes, but on the elaborate side, don’t you think? How would you like to go around dressed the way Irene Warriner was Saturday night?”

  Melba shrugged. “I see your point. So, do you think Dan Bellamy had anything to do with Carey Warriner’s death?”

  “If he did, I have no idea what his motive could be. As far as I can tell, he’s not in love with Irene Warriner.”

  “Not that I could see that night,” Melba said. “They came across as friends. What about Dixie Belle?” She shook her head. “I knew she’d come to a bad end.”

  “What do you mean, what about her?” I ignored the comment about the bad end.

  “Did Warriner kill her?” she said. “And then maybe someone killed him as revenge for her death.”

  “You should talk to Stewart,” I said. “That was one of his theories yesterday.” I shrugged. “I don’t have any idea. I think Warriner was looking like the chief suspect in Dixie Compton’s death, but now that he’s been murdered, who knows? Kanesha hasn’t taken me into her confidence.”

  “Didn’t Haskell know anything?” Melba asked.

  “If he did, he wasn’t sharing it with me,” I said. “He’s not going to tell me or Stewart anything Kanesha doesn’t want anyone outside the sheriff’s department to know. You ought to know that by now.”

  “I do know that,” Melba retorted. “But he might have told you something that Kanesha was okay with.”

  “He didn’t, other than the fact that Warriner apparently died from a stab wound to the chest.”

  Melba shook her head. “Sad to think of that gorgeous man lying on a mortuary slab.”

  “I hate to think about anyone lying there,” I said.

  “Have you talked to Dan Bellamy?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said. “I’ve seen him only briefly since he came home yesterday morning. He didn’t appear to be in any mood to talk about it with me, so I didn’t try.”

  “That’s that, then.” Melba rose. “Hope somebody comes across with more of the skinny soon.”

  “Hold on,” I said as she headed for the door. She stopped and turned to look at me. “When you talked to your friend Viccy this morning, did she happen to say anything about Warriner’s classes? Is someone going to take over the class I’m auditing?”

  Melba shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask, and she didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll walk over there in a little while and try to find out something.”

  “They may not have had time to make a decision yet,” Melba said. “Anyway, they’ll probably e-mail students about it. Plus, there will be some kind of press release on the way from the president’s office.”

  “True.” I hadn’t thought about that. “I might go over anyway. I think I’ll take Diesel with me.”

  Melba snorted but forbore to comment further. I didn’t think I deceived her for a second. She knew me too well. She left my office, and I heard her hurrying down the stairs moments later.

  I spent a few minute checking e-mail in case anything urgent had come in over the weekend. I occasionally received last-minute requests from groups on campus, particularly from the public relations staff, wanting pictures of various people or buildings on campus from many years ago. Nothing this morning, I was happy to see, so I wouldn’t have to scurry around trying to dig things up.

  That done, I decided now was as good a time as any to go to the history department office and find out what was going on with Warriner’s classes. If I was lucky enough to catch Viccy Kemp in a quiet moment, I might be able to find out something about Carey Warriner’s own history.

  “Come on, Diesel,” I said. “We’re
going for a walk to visit someone.”

  The cat climbed down from his window perch and stood still while I reattached his leash. I put on my jacket, and we went downstairs and out the building’s back door that gave on to a small parking lot. The eight o’clock classes were in session, and we saw only a few people walking on campus in the cool morning air. The sun shone, I was thankful to see. Had the day been a rainy one, I might not have made the effort to see Viccy Kemp, no matter how curious I was.

  A five-minute walk brought us to the building that housed the history department, along with English and classics. The history office was on the second floor, and Diesel and I climbed the stairs. The hall was empty when we emerged on the second floor. A short walk down one corridor brought us to the office I sought, and we stopped in the doorway.

  At first I thought the office was empty because there was no sign of any activity. Then a woman bustled out of a back room, and I recognized Viccy Kemp. I was delighted to find her apparently alone in the office. She headed straight for a desk upon which she began to sort some papers.

  I called out, “Good morning,” and she looked up, frowning. When she spotted Diesel beside me, the frown vanished and was replaced with a broad smile.

  “Good morning,” she said. “This must be the famous Diesel that Melba is always talking about.”

  We approached her desk, and I said, “Yes, this is Diesel. You remember me, then. Charlie Harris.”

  Ms. Kemp nodded. “I do, and I imagine you’re here to ask about your class.” She shook her head. “Isn’t it horrible? Poor Dr. Warriner. I can’t believe it really happened. Such a nice man, and so handsome.” She looked down at the cat. “You’re mighty handsome, too.” Diesel meowed in acknowledgment, and she smiled.

  “Yes, it’s terrible,” I said. “I had only two classes with him last week, but I was so impressed by his abilities as a lecturer. He was one of the best I ever heard.”

  Ms. Kemp sighed. “Students loved his classes, even though he made them work hard. He had high standards, and a couple of his former students went on to grad school at some big-name universities.”

  “That’s great.” I knew that Athena graduates in general had high acceptance rates into graduate programs at top universities around the country, but I wasn’t going to quibble with her.

  “I’ve met the other Dr. Warriner a couple of times recently,” I said. “Such a tragic loss for her.”

  Ms. Kemp’s eyes welled with tears, and she reached for a tissue from a box on her desk. “Excuse me,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “Yes, it is. They were devoted to each other.”

  I looked at her slightly askance. This wasn’t what she told Melba, but I suppose in death she had closed ranks, so to speak, and wouldn’t say anything negative about Warriner.

  “She’s such a sweet person,” Ms. Kemp went on. “My friend Jeanette works in the English department, and she’s always telling me how kind and thoughtful Mrs. Warriner is. And her a famous romance writer, too.” She shook her head. “Such a sad story.”

  “I’m sure Dr. Warriner’s family will be devastated by this,” I said, hoping she would pick up on my cue.

  “Oh, I’m sure they will,” Ms. Kemp said, sniffling. “He came from a pretty well-to-do family in Georgia. They must have money, his people. He always gave such nice presents for Christmas and birthdays.” She thrust out her wrist. “See this watch? He gave it to me last Christmas.”

  “Very nice,” I said. It was a beautiful watch, but I had no idea of the cost. The face was too small for me to be able to read the brand, and Ms. Kemp didn’t tell me what it was.

  “It’s hard to imagine why anyone would want to attack him like that,” I said, offering another cue.

  “Jealousy,” she said. “Just plain jealous. Other men couldn’t stand the fact that he was so handsome and nice and charming. Such a gentleman.”

  “I can see that,” I said, trying not to sound doubtful. “He was a very attractive man, like a movie star.”

  “He sure was,” Ms. Kemp said, sniffling again.

  I heard footsteps behind me, and someone entered the room. I turned to see who it was and got a shock.

  “Good morning, Mr. Harris,” Kanesha Berry said. “Ms. Kemp, if you have a few minutes, I need to talk to you.” She identified herself, and Viccy Kemp turned pale.

  “Good morning, Chief Deputy Berry,” I said. “Diesel and I were just about to leave. I came over to find out the status of the course I was taking with Dr. Warriner.”

  Viccy Kemp looked blank for a moment, then appeared to recover. “Oh yes, well, no class today. They haven’t made a final decision yet, but you’ll get an e-mail sometime today.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it. Come on, Diesel, let’s go back to the office.”

  Kanesha fixed me with one of her severe expressions, but I merely smiled and wished her good day. Diesel and I headed into the hallway and made our way out of the building.

  Viccy Kemp had been talkative, and that had made my attempts at digging up information pretty easy. On the whole, however, I wasn’t sure that I had learned anything useful. I might have, if Kanesha had not appeared on the scene when she did. That was unfortunate, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I wondered how forthcoming Ms. Kemp would be with Kanesha, though. Chatting with another employee about recent tragic events was one thing, but answering questions put to you by a stern investigator was quite something else.

  EIGHTEEN

  I wasn’t all that surprised when, nearly an hour after I had encountered her in the history department, Kanesha Berry walked into my office. I generally left the door open while I worked, and it wasn’t unusual for people to come in unannounced. It wasn’t standard practice for Kanesha, because she usually called or texted before she came to talk to me.

  “Good morning again,” I said. “I thought I might be seeing you.” I indicated the chair before my desk. “Please take a seat.”

  Kanesha did, and then she fixed me with her gimlet stare for a moment. “Mind telling me what you were talking to Ms. Kemp about when I arrived earlier?”

  “I told you, I went to find out about my class,” I said. “Given that the professor was murdered over the weekend, I didn’t know whether to show up for it today. It meets Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Or rather, it did.” I nodded at my computer. “I received an e-mail about ten minutes ago informing that the course has been canceled.”

  “Let me rephrase my question,” Kanesha said. “What else were you talking about with Ms. Kemp this morning?”

  “We were commiserating over the death of a professor,” I said truthfully. “She told me what a nice man he was and how he came from a well-to-do family. He apparently was in the habit of giving out nice Christmas and birthday presents. Did she show you her watch?”

  I didn’t mean to come across as facetious, but I was beginning to fear that I was. Kanesha’s gaze narrowed as she continued to regard me sternly.

  “Honestly, that’s all it was,” I said. “She obviously wanted someone to talk to, and I happened to be there. Yes, I did go there in hopes that she would talk to me about Warriner, but she didn’t need any prompting from me.” From behind me in the window, Diesel meowed loudly.

  Kanesha’s eyes flicked toward the window and then back again. “All right,” she said in a grudging tone. “Sounds like you came up empty-handed.”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Now, hold on a minute. You’re the one who said you wanted me to keep an ear out and let you know what I might hear around campus.”

  “I did,” Kanesha said, “but I didn’t expect you to interview people.”

  “I won’t be doing that,” I said, “but I can’t be much help to you if I sit in my office all the time and don’t talk to anyone.”

  “All right,” Kanesha said. “You’ve got a point.” She rose. “You need to be careful. Two
people have died already. I don’t want to end up investigating your murder.”

  “You won’t,” I said, “so you can rest easy on my account. Before you go, however, I do have one question.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you still think Carey Warriner killed Dixie Compton?”

  “I think it’s pretty likely he did, but I’m not considering it a proven fact. There’s still too much I don’t know, and Warriner’s murder complicates it.” She left the office before I could think of a follow-up.

  Instead of getting to work as I should have, I thought about Dixie Compton’s murder. If Carey Warriner had killed her, what was his motive? Was he hoping to cover up an affair they had been having? That seemed an extreme answer to the problem of keeping his wife from finding out.

  How much did Irene Warriner know, if anything, about her husband’s alleged infidelity? Or infidelities? Barbara Lamont claimed that she was a good friend of both the Warriners, but I was halfway convinced she had been in love with Carey Warriner. Had she become involved in an affair with him? If she had, perhaps Dixie Compton had found out and threatened to expose everything to Irene Warriner out of jealousy. I remembered what Melba had reported from her lunch with her friends Viccy and Jeanette. Viccy had told Melba that Carey Warriner had a roving eye. In the wake of his murder, however, Ms. Kemp might have decided that it was better not to talk about his alleged extramarital goings-on. She hadn’t said anything of the kind to me this morning, and she’d had the opportunity.

  Another thought occurred to me. What if Irene Warriner had killed Dixie Compton and had implicated her husband? Then, when he embarrassed her twice in public with his outrageous displays of jealousy, maybe she had decided she’d had enough. Maybe she had killed him, sending Dan Bellamy on a wild-goose chase to find him while she got rid of the body.

  That sounded far-fetched, but it could have happened that way. Irene Warriner could even have confessed to Dan Bellamy that she had murdered her husband and then asked him to help her dispose of the body. Under the guise of searching for the allegedly missing Warriner, he instead found a place to dump the body. A man might go to such lengths for a woman he loved, but I didn’t think Dan Bellamy was in love with Irene Warriner.