I found the name Harris right away, with several pages referenced. I flipped to the first and started skimming.
A few minutes later, feeling stunned, I set the book down. The book revealed information about my family that I had never been told by my father.
With my paternal grandparents dying when I was so young, I never really got the chance to know them well or to hear their stories of their own lives. I knew almost nothing about my great-grandparents other than their names. My strong interest in history had always involved England, rather than my own personal history. My father had not spoken much about his family and its past. I also hadn’t asked many questions, now that I came to think of it. I knew some bare facts about my grandfather’s house and that Harrises had farmed the land for over a hundred and fifty years. That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge.
I had assumed that the Harrises of generations past had been small farmers. Esther Carraway’s book revealed a much different story. The first Harris in Athena County had opened a dry goods store in 1834 that soon thrived, and the business continued to grow. He built a modest house in town, married, and soon had a growing family.
The original Harris, also Robert like my father and grandfather, had sold his house in town in 1858 and bought some land in the country, where he built a new, larger house for his wife, who longed to live away from the noise of town. Then came the Civil War, and as time passed, the business suffered. My three-times great-grandfather turned to farming, hiring laborers instead of buying enslaved people. His wife had come from an ardent abolitionist family, and he had come to feel the same way.
When the Union army came through the area, they destroyed some buildings in the town, but they never made it as far as the area where my ancestor had built his house and begun farming.
The trilling woke me from my self-absorption. Diesel sat on his hind legs, both his front paws on the arm of the chair, as he watched me. I knew he sensed my mental agitation. I scratched his head to reassure him. “I’m okay, boy,” I told him. “Some unusual news, that’s all. Nothing you would understand, but don’t worry. Just a lot for me to process.”
He chirped at me, and Ramses stirred, yawning. After a moment he reached out a paw to Diesel, but the big Maine Coon paid no attention. Diesel still eyed me, and I scratched his head again. This went on for several seconds, and I had to use my other hand to pet Ramses, until they both finally settled down.
I decided I would have to get in touch with Esther Carraway to find out how much more she knew about my family’s history. For some reason neither my father nor my aunt Dottie had ever talked about the mercantile past of the family.
Lifting Ramses gently and setting him on the arm of the recliner, I got up to riffle through the bag of books I had brought home from the Athenaeum. After examining the choices, I settled on the latest book by Donna Andrews. I knew I could count on Meg, Michael, and their family to keep me entertained.
By the time Azalea came to inform me that dinner was ready, I had read half the book, chuckling out loud frequently. I laid the book aside, albeit reluctantly, and rose from the chair to go wash my hands. Ramses had departed some time ago, but Diesel had remained with me. He followed me to the first-floor washroom and waited while I made my ablutions. He scampered ahead into the kitchen, no doubt sniffing the delectable scents wafting our way.
Tonight’s menu consisted of fried chicken, fresh biscuits, rice, cream gravy, and green beans. One of my favorite meals, made often by my late mother when I was growing up, and also by my late wife, who made biscuits as good as my mother’s.
“Azalea, you’re bound and determined to make me as broad as a barn,” I said with a smile.
She shook her head as she set the platter of chicken on the table. “You worry too much,” she said, turning back to retrieve a plate of biscuits and a tureen of gravy. Last to arrive were the bowls of rice and green beans. “You eat and enjoy yourself and let tomorrow take care of itself. The Lord will provide.”
I nodded and began to help myself to the food. “Is Stewart going to be here for dinner?”
“No, he went out,” Azalea said, “so you eat as much as you want.”
I eyed the plate of biscuits. I counted a dozen. I loved them, but even I couldn’t eat that many in one sitting, even with heaps of cream gravy. I tucked in. I didn’t forget to offer Diesel and Ramses tidbits of fried chicken and even the occasional green bean. I was careful not to overdo it, however. I didn’t want to wake up during the night to the sounds of a cat throwing up on my bed. Ramses had a habit of scarfing down his food too fast, and it inevitably came back up at the most inopportune time. That is, usually while I was sleeping.
Later that evening, I had a brief chat with Helen Louise. She owned to having a fabulous time with her friends, and I didn’t want to distract her from that. I told her I had some news to share when she was home again, and she didn’t press for details. I couldn’t wait to see her, and she said simply, “I miss you, love. But I’ll be home soon.”
I propped up in bed to read more of the Donna Andrews book, but before I’d read a couple of pages, my phone rang. I laid the book aside and picked up the phone. It was rather late for Sean to be calling, and I prayed there was nothing wrong with the baby or Alex.
“Hi, Dad,” he said. “Sorry to call this late, but I just got off the phone with Kanesha. I knew you’d want to hear what she told me.” He paused, evidently to take a sip of a drink, then continued. “It’s about young Mr. Hale, unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately?” I asked, feeling alarmed.
“His death was no accident,” Sean said. “He was dead before the tree fell on him.”
TEN
“He was murdered?” I found it hard to take in. “Why would anyone kill him?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Sean said, “but someone shot him in the back a couple of times and apparently left him where he fell. Before the storm hit, of course, and the tree toppled in the storm and landed on him.”
“When did they figure out he’d been shot?” I asked, the reality of the situation beginning to sink into my brain.
“Once they got the tree off him, they could see the holes in his shirt,” Sean said. “The tree had fallen across his upper torso, according to what Kanesha told me. All trunk, no branches, so they knew the holes had been caused by something else. Once they got a close look, they knew he’d been shot.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would someone kill him? He didn’t know anyone here, did he?”
“I don’t know, Dad.”
“Sorry, thinking out loud,” I said. “I don’t really expect you to have the answers. Thanks for calling and letting me know. I’m sure you’ve got work to get back to.”
“That’s okay,” Sean said. “Take it easy, Dad. You don’t have to get involved in this, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, but only halfheartedly meaning it. How could I not get involved? The young man had been killed on my property. I ended the call before Sean could admonish me further.
When I was in my dotage and unable to make good decisions for myself, then I would let Sean and Laura decide for me. Or so I told myself. I was fully compos mentis, and if I wanted to see justice done in the matter of young Hale’s death, I would. Not to mention justice in the death and identity of the bones found in the attic of my grandfather’s house. I wouldn’t rest easy until that was resolved.
At the moment, though, I couldn’t come up with a constructive idea of what to do about either situation. With Helen Louise away, I didn’t have anyone to consult who might be more sympathetic to my point of view.
Except for Melba.
Of course. I should have thought of her sooner.
I called her before I could reconsider. She answered right away. “What’s up, Charlie? It’s after ten o’clock.”
I had forgotten the time. “I’m sorry to c
all so late. Do you feel like talking?”
“What do you think?” Melba said. “I’m awake.”
I filled her in on the latest developments, skipping over, at least for now, my discoveries about my merchant-turned-farmer ancestor. When I’d finished, there was silence at the other end of the line. I waited a moment, then said, “Well? What do you think?”
“Hale must have been involved in something shady,” Melba said slowly. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been killed. The question is exactly what it was. Something to do with the house and the land, most likely. But what? There’s not oil or natural gas on the property, is there?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, surprised by the idea. “I’ll have to ask Sean. He has the papers concerning the property, but surely he’d have mentioned mineral rights if they were important.”
“Some of my cousins down in Grenada County had a gas company guy come sniffing around their land out in the country, looking for natural gas. They got all excited because they thought they were going to get rich,” Melba said, the scorn in her tone obvious. “ ’Course it came to nothing. No natural gas there, but they sure were excited for a while. Got into all kinds of squabbles with each other over it, like who had a bigger claim.”
“That must have caused some hard feelings,” I said.
“Sure did,” Melba replied. “But they finally got over it.”
“Hale knew that his grandfather didn’t have any rights to the property,” I said, “other than the profits from the farming while he lived. All that ceased when the old man died.”
“Just because he knew it doesn’t mean he was going to abide by it,” Melba said. “You can’t be that naive.”
I laughed. “No, I’m not. He told Sean he was going to take us to court to make a claim for the property. Sean told me he didn’t have a case, but it could have made things sticky for a while.”
“That would give you a motive for getting rid of him,” Melba said.
“True, if I were desperate to get my hands on the house and the property,” I replied. “I found out only this morning, however, that it was mine. Not much time to hunt the young man down and shoot him.”
“Kanesha will have to consider you a suspect, though,” Melba said. “She’ll enjoy that.”
“No doubt she will,” I retorted. “She knows better, or she ought to, by now.”
“You might ought to suggest to Sean that he should look into the mineral rights angle, just in case,” Melba said. “You never know.”
“And maybe I should go around the property with a metal detector looking for hidden Confederate gold,” I said. “Maybe there’s buried treasure on the farm, and Hale knew about it from his grandfather.”
“Ha ha ha,” Melba said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That sounds like the plot of a Nancy Drew book. If you’re not going to be serious, I’m going to hang up and go back to bed.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I do think your idea about mineral rights is a good one, and I will pass it on to Sean. This whole thing is so out of left field. The murder, and discovering a skeleton in the attic, well, it’s all so weird. I can’t help but wonder if the two are connected somehow.”
“Now, that would be a Nancy Drew book,” Melba said. “I’ll keep thinking about all this. If I come up with anything useful, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. One thing that would be helpful is finding out whether there’s anyone in the area connected with the Hales to talk to. Did the old man have any family nearby?”
“I don’t think so,” Melba said. “But I’ll have to think about it, maybe call a couple of people. I’ll get back to you.”
I thanked her again and ended the call. Haskell had a connection to the Hale family through his aunt, but I was hesitant to ask him about it. Stewart had said Haskell didn’t talk about his family much, and I didn’t want to upset him by being nosy. I had confidence in Melba, though. She had a network that rivaled the Internet when it came to unearthing information.
After yawning a couple of times, I decided to put my book aside and turn out the light. Diesel and Ramses had already fallen asleep on the bed with me. I thought I would have trouble falling asleep, thanks to the mental turmoil I’d been experiencing, but I dropped off quickly. The next thing I knew, my alarm sounded. Time to get up and start the day.
I was due at the archives at Athena today, but while I showered and dressed, I considered taking the day off. I felt restless, and in such a mood I often found it hard to concentrate on work. Over breakfast I contemplated calling Melba to tell her I wouldn’t be in, but I remembered I wouldn’t be able to get back in my grandfather’s house until probably sometime in the afternoon. That settled it. I might as well go to work. When I got the all clear from Kanesha, I could leave early and go out to the house.
Diesel and I left Ramses with Azalea. I hadn’t yet taken the younger cat to the office with me because he was still a little too unpredictable. He also didn’t like walking on a leash, though it was too hot this time of year for either cat on the sidewalks. Diesel and I drove the few blocks to work.
We stopped to bid Melba good morning. She didn’t have much time to talk because she had to accompany Andrea Taylor, the library director, to a meeting. She promised we would talk later.
Upstairs in the office, Diesel went immediately to his spot in the window behind my desk and made himself comfortable after inspecting the tree outside for birds and squirrels. I opened my e-mail and checked for new messages. There were several queries about materials in the archives, and I made appointments the following week for one professor and two students to come in to work with the materials they requested. That done, I had to consider what to focus on next. I always had books to catalog, thanks to the fact that my predecessor had loathed cataloging. I had diminished most of the huge backlog she left, but I still had more than enough to keep me busy the three days a week I worked.
Before I got busy cataloging, however, I pulled out the copy of Esther Carraway’s book I had brought from home. Like any good historian she had included a bibliography, and a cursory examination of it revealed she had consulted the college archives, along with those of the county historical society. I figured I should try to examine any sources in the archives that mentioned my family before I called Mrs. Carraway for a meeting.
She hadn’t included footnotes, but she did list resources by chapter. I turned to the list for the chapter in which she wrote about the Harris family but was chagrined to learn that everything she consulted belonged to the county historical society. I’d have to make an appointment to see those papers, and that put another hitch in my plans. The historical society had only volunteer workers, and their schedule was erratic. Maybe I should go ahead and call Mrs. Carraway without doing any research on my own first. That might be more time-effective in the long run.
I looked online for the phone number and quickly found it. I used my office phone to call in case she had caller ID. I figured she would be more likely to answer a call from Athena College than from a number she didn’t know.
A sharp voice answered after four rings. “Who is it?”
Taken aback by the tone, I faltered. “Um, hi, this is Charlie Harris. Is this Mrs. Esther Carraway?”
“Who else would be answering my phone, I’d like to know?”
“Yes, ma’am, of course,” I said. Before I could continue, she interrupted me.
“Charlie Harris, you say. The Charlie Harris that’s the grandson of Robert Charles Harris? I’ve heard about you from An’gel Ducote.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am that Charlie Harris.”
“Have you got another murder to solve?” she asked, her tone less abrasive. “I’ve always been interested in murders. I could tell you some interesting stories about some of the goings-on here in Athena County that would curl your hair.”
“I’d love to hear some of
those stories,” I said, more out of politeness at the moment than actual interest. “I have one of your books, and I found out information about my ancestors that was completely new to me. I’d really like to talk to you about all that if you have the time.”
“I can’t talk right this minute, I’m too busy,” she said. “But you can come by my house tomorrow at noon, and I’ll have time to talk then.”
“That’s great. I’ll be there.”
The call ended. She hadn’t given me a chance to ask for her address, but the Internet provided that, too. She sounded like a character. I wondered if her phone manner was typical of her interactions all the time. She sounded to me like a woman who wouldn’t tolerate anyone who attempted to waste her time. I thought I had better be prepared for my visit with her and not go into it without careful consideration of the questions I wanted to ask.
As I cataloged, I found my thoughts straying to potential questions. I knew I wanted to find out how detailed were the sources Mrs. Carraway had used for the information on my ancestors. Perhaps the historical society had papers belonging to my family. If that were the case, I thought it odd that neither my father, nor my aunt Dottie, had ever mentioned it to me. They knew my interest in history, though I had expressed far more interest in English history, I had to admit, than I had in American or Mississippi history.
I might also find out about other relatives, cousins of varying degrees from earlier branches of the family. That would be interesting. I knew there were other people named Harris in Athena, but it was a fairly common name, after all. My father had never talked about cousins, nor had my aunt Dottie. Thinking about it now, I found it rather odd. At the time I hadn’t questioned it, but Southerners talked about family a lot. My mother had no family to speak of, with both her parents being only children, and she an only child herself. I really ought to look into her family tree along with my father’s.
What the Cat Dragged In Page 7