Claws for Concern

by Miranda James

  “I agree with you on that,” I said. “Chief Deputy Berry, who is the chief homicide investigator here, is a smart, capable officer. We haven’t always gotten along well, but we managed to work out our differences. I wouldn’t want her to think that I suddenly decided I wanted all the credit for the work she and her officers have done in the past.”

  “I understand,” Pemberton replied. “And the same for me and my wife. This project has a number of hurdles, and I have to see if I can get over them before it can go forward. I haven’t broached the idea with my agent and my editor yet, and they could very well tell me not to go forward with it.”

  Until now I’d had the impression that Pemberton was ready to get started, once he had my permission. Frankly I was relieved to hear that not everything was settled yet.

  “What do you think?” the writer asked. “Will you cooperate with me, if I get the go-ahead on this?”

  I hesitated before I replied. “I have to be honest with you. I’m still uneasy over the situation, but if you can get the go-ahead from Chief Deputy Berry, then I will participate, too.”

  Pemberton smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. I’m delighted to have you on board. Luckily I was able to arrange a meeting with the chief deputy for this afternoon. I have some time to kill. Could I treat you to lunch?”

  “Thank you, that’s kind of you, but I brought my lunch today,” I said. “I’ll be working here until three. If you need a recommendation for a place to eat, I can recommend the French bistro on the square.” I rose from my chair.

  Pemberton stood. “I’ve eaten there before. Great food. Thanks for reminding me.” He extended his hand again, and we shook.

  “Let me walk out with you,” I said. Diesel accompanied us.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Pemberton said when we neared the door. He gave Diesel a couple of pats on the head before he exited.

  “Nice guy,” I said, and Diesel warbled. “Come on, time for lunch.” I turned back toward the staff area, but we had moved only a few steps before Bill Delaney approached me.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Can we talk somewhere private for a few minutes?” He looked away, then his gaze focused on me again. He had his hands shoved into his pants pockets.

  I wondered what was making him so uneasy. “Sure, come on back with me.” Diesel trotted ahead, and I guided Delaney to the work area. “Have a seat, and tell me what’s on your mind.” I indicated the chair that Jack Pemberton had vacated only a few minutes ago.

  Delaney nodded and removed his hands from his pockets. He perched on the edge of the chair, and I could see he was still uneasy about something. Diesel came to sit by my legs behind the desk. I think he had picked up on Delaney’s emotional state, and it was making him a little uneasy, too.

  Delaney looked at me for a moment, then stared down at his hands. He didn’t look up when he began to speak.

  “I found out that you live in that house,” he said. “The one I asked about that used to belong to Delbert Collins.” He raised his head, and I could see that he was confused.

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “My aunt was married to Delbert Collins, and that was their home. When she died, she left it to me.”

  Delaney nodded. “Figured you might be kin some kind of way to one of them.”

  “I didn’t tell you before,” I said, “because frankly I wasn’t sure what your reason was for being so interested in the house.”

  “I understand,” Delaney replied. “I’ll tell you why now. Delbert Collins was my father.”

  NINE

  Bill Delaney’s revelation surprised me. He had originally said his mother and Uncle Del were friends, and I had seen no reason to doubt that. I could understand why he hadn’t told me the full story before. Until he knew of my connection to Uncle Del, his past really was none of my business.

  “I wasn’t aware that Uncle Del had any children,” I said. “I can’t remember my aunt ever mentioning a son or a daughter.” I knew she would have loved to have had a child, even a stepchild, to lavish love and attention on after the loss they suffered.

  “I’m pretty sure he never knew about me,” Delaney said.

  That was even more surprising. How could Uncle Del not know he had a son? Another thought followed swiftly on that one. Maybe he never had a son, and Bill Delaney was trying to deceive me for some reason.

  “How could he not know?” I asked in a neutral tone.

  “He and my mother were married for about six months,” Delaney said. “Guess they found out they couldn’t stand each other, though according to what my mama told me, they were desperate to get married. But he walked out on her, and she didn’t find out she was pregnant until a month later.”

  “Surely she would have let him know,” I said. “Are you sure she didn’t?”

  Delaney shrugged. “You’d’a had to know my mama. The Lord never created anybody stubborner than her. The way she told it, she wasn’t going to go running after him and try to get him back just because she was going to have a baby. Far as I know she never saw him again.”

  “When you were old enough, did you try to find him?”

  “Didn’t know his name,” Delaney said. “Mama wouldn’t tell me. That’s why my last name is Delaney. She went back to her maiden name right away. Wouldn’t talk about him. Threw away anything that had to do with him. Every picture she had except one. That’s what she told me.”

  “How did you find out who he was?” This story sounded like something out of a melodrama.

  “Mama only died three months ago,” Delaney said. “She was ninety-two. I found their marriage license in an old shoe box with some other papers. There was his name, Delbert Collins.”

  “You originally told me that Uncle Del and your mother had once been friends,” I said.

  Delaney nodded. “I had to think of something to explain why I was interested in where he lived. I didn’t want to go around telling strangers I was his son. At least not until I knew whether he was still living or not.”

  I had watched him closely as he told me his story, and he came across as completely sincere. I have always fancied myself as a good judge of character, but I have been fooled before. I thought he was probably telling me the truth, at least as he knew it, but I wasn’t going to accept his story without concrete proof.

  I thought about how to phrase the question I intended to ask, but I couldn’t come up with a tactful way to do it. If he was telling me the truth, he shouldn’t be offended, I realized.

  “Do you have the birth certificate with you?” I asked.

  “In my bag,” Delaney said. “I left it by the chair I’ve been sitting in.” He rose. “I’ll go get it and be right back.”

  After he left the room I looked down at Diesel and found him regarding me with what I called his serious expression.

  “What do you think, boy?” I asked in a low tone. “Is he telling us the truth?”

  Diesel meowed, and I interpreted that as a yes.

  “I think he probably is, too,” I said, “but until I know for sure, and know exactly what it is he’s after, I think caution is the watchword.”

  Diesel meowed again, and I rubbed his head.

  While we waited for Delaney to return, I realized I felt hungry and ready to have my lunch. I was such a creature of habit. I had my routine, and I liked to stick to it. My lunch hour was nearly over, and I might have to skip eating, though I would give Diesel his tidbits. I couldn’t sit and have a meal in front of Bill Delaney when he didn’t have anything to eat himself. I decided, however, that missing a meal would do me no harm.

  Delaney returned and handed me a folded document before he resumed his seat. He set his bag down beside him. I accepted the paper and opened it gently. The paper looked new. The birth certificate must have been kept in the shoe box and rarely ever removed all these years. According to the date on it, Bill Delaney
would be sixty-six this coming December.

  “I see you were born in Tullahoma County,” I said. The county and its county seat, both named Tullahoma, lay only about two hours’ drive southwest of Athena. He had lived so close to his father yet had never met him. There was a sad irony in that.

  “Lived there most of my life,” Delaney said. “Except for the time I spent in the service. Marine Corps. Eight years.”

  I heard the note of pride in his voice when he mentioned his branch of the service. My father had served in the Marines in World War II, and he, too, had always been proud of that.

  I nodded before I turned my attention back to the birth certificate. I found the parents’ names and ages. Sylvia Delaney, age twenty-five, and Delbert Collins, age thirty. I had no idea when Uncle Del was born, though I knew he was a few years older than Aunt Dottie. She would have been eighty-eight this year.

  The certificate looked legitimate. At the moment I had to accept it at face value. “Thank you for showing it to me.” I handed the paper back to Delaney.

  Delaney nodded. He folded his certificate and placed it in a pocket in his bag. “Can you tell me anything about him? I haven’t been able to find out much in the newspapers here.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to tell you,” I said, “but I’m happy to share what I can. You see, he died when I was about nine or ten. My memories of him are pretty hazy.”

  “Whatever you can remember is surely more than I know now,” Delaney said.

  I could feel the sadness in him, and I suddenly imagined myself in his place. How would I feel if I had never known my father? I figured I, too, would want to know as much as I could, especially if he weren’t around for me to meet and talk to in person.

  “He was an invalid,” I said. “Frankly, I don’t know exactly what the problem was, other than supposedly a weak heart. I remember that when I went to visit them, Uncle Del was usually in his room resting. I wasn’t supposed to make any loud noises that might startle or upset him.” I smiled briefly. “For me that wasn’t a problem, because my aunt had lots of books. I spent most of my visits with her reading.”

  “He didn’t have a job?” Delaney frowned.

  I shook my head. “Not that I ever knew. I was always told he was too sick to work. Aunt Dottie worked, though, and took care of him. She had help, of course. They always had a housekeeper who would look after him while my aunt was at work.”

  In the back of my mind I was having cynical thoughts. I wondered whether Delaney was angling to find out if Uncle Del had had any money. Was he hoping for an inheritance of some kind? If he was, he was bound to be disappointed. Aunt Dottie earned all the money and paid all the expenses, including the mortgage. The house was in her name, which was unusual for the time. After Uncle Del died, she invested money and invested wisely. She became moderately wealthy because of her own hard work and good business sense. She left everything to me. Bill Delaney had no viable claim on her estate.

  Even if he wasn’t angling for money, I knew he did want to know more about his father. That I could do something about. Aunt Dottie had kept photograph albums over the years, and there were probably numerous pictures of Uncle Del. There might also be some mementos of him that she had kept. I had several boxes of her things stowed away in a closet. Azalea could help me go through them to see whether there was anything that belonged to Uncle Del. I would be happy for Bill Delaney to have such things.

  “How would you like to come to my house for dinner tomorrow evening? I imagine there are pictures of your father in my aunt’s photo albums, and you’re welcome to some of them, if you’d like to have them.” I decided not to mention the possibility of personal items because I didn’t want him to end up disappointed should there prove to be none.

  Delaney’s face lit briefly with a smile. “That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll take you up on the offer of dinner, too. It’ll be real nice to have a meal with someone for a change.”

  “I’m glad you can come,” I said. “How about six? Will that time work for you?”

  “That’ll be fine,” Delaney replied. “I have the address.”

  “Do you need a ride?” I asked. “I’d be happy to pick you up and take you home again afterward.”

  “I thank you, but I’ll find my way there,” Delaney said. “No need to put you to any extra trouble.” He picked up his bag and stood.

  “Okay, but the offer’s still on the table if you change your mind.” I got to my feet since it was evident he was ready to go.

  Delaney smiled briefly. “See you tomorrow evening.”

  Diesel came from behind the desk and warbled loudly as if he were adding his invitation to mine. Delaney reached out with a hesitant hand and touched the cat’s head. When Diesel warbled again, he stroked the cat briefly. Then Delaney ducked his head in a gesture of farewell and walked out of the office.

  “We don’t have much time left for lunch, boy,” I told the cat. “We’d better eat. Is that okay with you?”

  Diesel answered with two loud, assertive meows. I laughed as I retrieved our lunch from the fridge in the staff kitchen. Diesel accompanied me there and back again to the desk. I fed him bites of boiled chicken while I ate my sandwich and a banana.

  My thoughts turned to Bill Delaney again. The first thing I wanted to do when I got home was dig out one of those photo albums and look at pictures of Uncle Del. To save my life, I couldn’t recall his face clearly at the moment. If Bill Delaney looked like Uncle Del, then that would be a clincher as far as I was concerned.

  I felt sorry for the man. My father had been a good, hardworking man who sometimes had difficulty showing his emotions, but I knew he loved me and was proud of me. As an adult and a father myself, I appreciated him even more for all the things he taught me about fatherhood without my ever having realized it.

  I hoped there would be some things of Uncle Del’s that my aunt kept. It would be nice if there were something concrete for Delaney to have as a physical connection to his father. But if there were no mementos, he would at least be able to see where his father had lived.

  Where his father had lived. The words resonated in my mind. I recalled that, according to the information in our patron database, Delaney lived in a small apartment in a shabby area of town. As my uncle’s son—my step-first-cousin, I supposed—should I do more for him?

  I thought then about what Aunt Dottie would have done in this situation.

  She would have opened her door and welcomed him in to stay. That’s what she would have done.

  Could I do any less?

  TEN

  The afternoon passed quickly. I helped patrons with their questions and also spent another couple of hours cataloging. All the while I concentrated on the task at hand, in the back of my mind I kept coming back to that one thought: Should I really consider inviting a stranger into my home? I felt sorry for the man because I figured his living conditions were probably not comfortable, perhaps even unsafe. Over and above that, though, I felt a sense of obligation to my aunt and her principles of charity and inclusiveness.

  My parents had reared me to do what I could for those who needed help, and my aunt had reinforced those lessons by her actions. She was a tireless worker through her church, slowing down only when the cancer that took her life made her too weak to leave her bed. I had no doubt what my aunt would do in this situation.

  The question was, did I have the courage—and the spirit of charity—to do the same?

  By the time Diesel and I were in the car and on our way home, I had made my decision. I would offer Bill Delaney one of the vacant bedrooms on the second floor. Now that both Sean and Laura had vacated their rooms, I had plenty of space for another person. There was the possibility, of course, that Delaney would decline my offer. I would simply have to wait and see what transpired tomorrow evening.

  Once we were home, I left Diesel to visit the ut
ility room and headed for the den. I wanted to look through Aunt Dottie’s old photograph albums and find pictures of Uncle Del. Would Bill Delaney bear any resemblance to him? If he did, that would explain the niggling sense of familiarity about him that I had felt from the first time I saw him.

  I opened the cabinet and pulled out one of the albums from more than fifty years ago when Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del were first married. I sat at the desk, turned on the desk lamp, and opened the album. I thumbed through several pages until I found a photo from the time right after they were married and settling into life together in this house.

  I stared at it. Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del, both in their early thirties, stared back at me. Aunt Dottie was smiling while Uncle Del looked somber. I recalled him as a quiet man who hadn’t had much to do with me because of his invalid status, and he died when I was nine or ten. My memories of him had been dimmed by time, but I got a shock as I examined his face more closely.

  No wonder Bill Delaney had seemed familiar. He looked like an older version of Uncle Del. I went back to the cabinet and found an album from the year I was eight years old. It took me only a minute to find a picture of an older Uncle Del, worn down by his poor health. The likeness between Bill Delaney and my uncle was even more striking.

  I closed the albums and put them away, my mind buzzing the whole time. The implication seemed clear. Bill Delaney was definitely related to Uncle Del. With a likeness that striking he probably was my uncle’s son. With my aunt and my parents gone, there was no one else I knew who knew Uncle Del or might know more about his past before he married my aunt.

  No, that wasn’t correct, I realized. There was one person who might know. Azalea Berry had worked for my aunt for many years before Aunt Dottie died and after she became a widow. Azalea knew more about Aunt Dottie than anyone else. I wouldn’t see Azalea again until Monday, but could I wait that long to talk to her? I didn’t like calling and disturbing her on her days off unless it was an emergency. I couldn’t really call this an emergency, could I?