Claws for Concern

by Miranda James

  I spotted Teresa Farmer at the reference desk the moment Diesel and I stepped inside the front door. She looked our way and smiled, though she also appeared a bit surprised. I rarely came to the library on a Saturday, especially after I had worked there the day before.

  Diesel chirped when he saw Teresa, and he ran around the counter so he could properly visit with the head of the library. There was no one standing in front of the desk waiting to be helped, so I walked up to the counter. Teresa was busy patting Diesel and talking to him in a low voice.

  After a moment Teresa turned her attention to me, and we exchanged greetings. “What are you doing here on a Saturday morning?” she asked. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, of course.”

  “I need to talk to one of the patrons if he’s here,” I said. “An older gentleman named Bill Delaney. Do you know who I mean?” I looked toward the area where Delaney usually sat, but the chair stood empty.

  “Yes, I know him.” Teresa frowned. “I haven’t seen him this morning, and that’s rather odd, come to think of it. He’s usually here, waiting for the door to open every day. At least, he has been for the past several weeks since he first came in and got his library card. I hope he’s not ill.”

  “Maybe he had errands to take care of this morning.” I didn’t want to alarm Teresa about Delaney’s welfare. Given what I now knew about his history, I wondered whether he had fallen off the wagon and was in his apartment, passed out. Or he could have had a heart attack or a stroke. I was beginning to make myself uneasy over him. My imagination could conjure up numerous scenarios, none of them pleasant.

  “Don’t worry about him,” I said, my tone as nonchalant as I could make it. “Diesel and I will go check on him. I know where he lives.”

  “That’s kind of you to take an interest in his welfare,” Teresa said. “I got the impression that he doesn’t know anyone in Athena.”

  “I’m not sure whether he does or not.” I hesitated to tell her about Delaney’s connection to my family. Now really was not the time to go into personal history. I realized belatedly that a patron stood behind me waiting to talk to Teresa. “We’ll go now and see if he’s okay. Come on, Diesel.”

  I stepped aside to let the woman behind me approach the desk. Diesel sauntered out from behind the counter and joined me. He meowed to let me know he hadn’t had quite enough attention from Teresa yet. “Tough luck,” I told him softly. “We need to get going. Let’s go to the car.”

  He knew what that meant, and I carried him to the car without further protest.

  Ten minutes later I pulled up in front of the seedy-looking apartment building that Bill Delaney had listed as his home address for his library card. The squat brick building, two stories tall, needed cleaning to remove spiderwebs and other visible dirt stains. Each window on the front had decorative shutters on either side. Several were slightly askew, and they all needed a fresh coat of paint. The small area of landscaped yard in front had been let to run to seed. Overall the place exuded shabbiness and desperation, to my mind, anyway.

  I put Diesel in his harness and attached the leash. The neighborhood ambience made me uneasy, and I wanted to be sure the cat stayed next to me at all times while we were here. I opened the door and picked up Diesel. I locked the car, and we proceeded up the walk to the front arched entrance to the inner courtyard of the building.

  A row of battered metal letter boxes adorned the short passageway to our right. Ahead I could see an overgrown common area with a couple of wrought iron tables and several rickety chairs. I turned my attention back to the letter boxes, hoping that one of them bore Delaney’s name. I couldn’t remember the number of his apartment. I wasn’t sure if he had even included it on his application. I didn’t want to have to go knocking on doors to find him. I preferred not to disturb any of the other residents of the building if I didn’t have to.

  I found Delaney’s name on the box for apartment ten. I glanced around the courtyard to make a swift count of doors. There were sixteen, so eight up and eight down. I figured that number ten was upstairs, and I led Diesel to one of the four sets of stairs—one in each corner—that climbed to the second story. On the way I kept an eye out for broken glass or other objects that could injure feline paws.

  We climbed the stairs to our right and found ourselves in front of apartment sixteen when we stepped onto the landing. I set Diesel down since the landing was shaded from the sun, as was the gallery around the courtyard. I turned to the right, and the next apartment was number nine. A few steps farther on, I stopped in front of the door to number ten. There was a large window near it, but the blinds were drawn, and I couldn’t see inside.

  I listened for a moment. The complex was quiet, except for the faint noise of a television set emanating from somewhere on the bottom level. I rapped three times on Delaney’s door and waited.

  I estimated thirty seconds had passed, and I knocked again, louder this time. After a few seconds I heard what sounded like a moan coming from inside the apartment. I listened intently, and then I heard it again.

  I put my head close to the door and spoke. “Mr. Delaney, it’s Charlie Harris. Are you okay?”

  I heard what sounded like mumbling. What I didn’t hear were footsteps approaching the door. I was worried now that he was injured or incapacitated and couldn’t get up. I tried the knob, and it twisted in my hand. I pushed, and the door opened.

  The first thing I noticed was that the room was sparsely furnished, but clean. The second thing I noticed was the odor of beer. The room was dark, and the only light was the sunshine coming through the open door. I pushed the door open wider to let in more light.

  Now that I could see better, I noticed a daybed against the wall to my left. Numerous empty beer cans littered the floor around the daybed. Bill Delaney was lying on the bed on his back, his right arm over his face. He was mumbling, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  I wondered what had set off this binge drinking. Maybe he did it every weekend and stayed sober during the week. I had no idea. I took a few steps closer to the daybed. I wanted to assess his condition to decide whether I needed to call an ambulance.

  The mumbling continued as I moved near. He startled me by removing his arm from his face and squinting at me.

  “Who’re you?”

  “Charlie Harris, Mr. Delaney. From the library.”

  He closed his eyes. “Go ’way. Don’t wanna talk. Leave me alone.”

  I hesitated. He was probably just sleeping off all the beer he had consumed and would be okay later on. While I stood there, Delaney rolled on his side, face toward the wall. His breathing seemed normal, and I reckoned he had gone to sleep.

  I backed away, and for the first time I realized Diesel wasn’t beside me. I felt the leash go taut, and I looked around the room. Diesel was in the corner on the other side of the room batting something around.

  “What on earth have you found?” I said in an undertone. “Stop that, and let’s go.”

  Diesel looked up at me and then batted the object toward my feet. I looked down. A tube of lipstick.

  I left it where it was and urged the cat out of the room. I pulled the door shut. I stood on the landing, wondering why Delaney had a tube of lipstick in his apartment. Who had been visiting him?

  FOURTEEN

  My head had begun to throb, a sure sign that my stress level was inching up. Finding Bill Delaney passed out drunk had complicated things in a way I definitely hadn’t expected. I wasn’t eager for him to show up at the house for dinner tonight, should he recover enough from his binge. The only thing I could do now was leave a note for him. I had to hope that he would see it and stay home.

  “Come on, Diesel,” I said. “Let’s go back to the car. I need to find paper and a pen so I can leave a note.”

  The cat warbled in response, and back down the stairs we went. I usually had a small notebook in the glove com
partment of the car, though I had been known to take it out and forget to replace it. Today it was where it should be, but I had to search for a moment to find a pen. Finally, under the car user’s manual and assorted paperwork, I found one.

  I scribbled a quick note to Delaney that I needed to reschedule, but I didn’t explain. I gave him my phone number and asked him to call me when he could. I had decided not to invite him to dinner tomorrow night, either. In light of all I had learned about him and the Barber murders, I wanted time to discuss the situation with not only Helen Louise, but with Sean as well. I appreciated the legal point of view my son provided. He always had my best interests at heart, although we occasionally disagreed over exactly what those best interests entailed.

  I signed the note and tore the page out. After I restored the notebook to the glove compartment, I told the cat we were going back upstairs. He meowed loudly, and I couldn’t decide whether he was complaining or commenting. Either way, he followed me back to Delaney’s door. I folded the note and wedged it into the crack between the door and the frame beside the knob. I hoped no one would come along and remove it, but there wasn’t much I could do about it if that happened.

  “Okay, Diesel, we’re going back to the car, and this time we’re leaving.” I received a quick trill in response.

  I would be happy to get home again and stay out of the heat for the rest of the day. The older I got, the less I liked the high heat and humidity of a Mississippi summer. I had given thought recently to the idea of buying or renting a property in a cooler climate for the summer months. I hadn’t done any in-depth research yet, nor had I discussed it with Helen Louise. There would be no point in my buying or renting if she wasn’t willing to come with me. In a couple of years, perhaps, she might consider it if she could actually bring herself to step back from micromanagement of the bistro.

  Back at home, I gave Diesel fresh water and added dry food to his bowl while he supervised. He rewarded me with a couple of happy warbles when I finished. Now it was my turn for refreshment.

  Nothing appealed more to me at the moment than a tall glass of ice water. I downed a third of it in one gulp, refilled it, and took my place at the kitchen table. I pulled out my phone to check e-mail. If Miss An’gel had responded to my request for contact information for Ernie Carpenter, I planned to get in touch with her.

  Once my new e-mail messages appeared, I scrolled through them. Three obvious spam messages, and two legitimate ones. The latter came from Miss An’gel and Jack Pemberton. I was a bit surprised to hear again from Jack so soon after the phone call that morning, but I supposed he might have further information.

  I read Miss An’gel’s message first. To my surprise, she informed me that Ernie was once again at Riverhill for the weekend. Miss An’gel extended an invitation to Diesel and me to come to lunch, if we were available. Should we not be, however, she provided Ernie’s cell number and suggested I call her around eleven. I checked the time at the top of the screen. Less than five minutes until ten thirty. I wouldn’t have to wait long to call Ernie.

  In the meantime I replied to Miss An’gel’s invitation. The thought of a meal at Riverhill always enticed me, because Clementine was as talented a cook as Azalea—though I would never have told the latter that. I thanked Miss An’gel but declined with the always-useful-but-vague statement that I had a prior engagement. I ended by saying that I would call Ernie around eleven.

  I drank more water before I opened Jack’s message, the subject of which read: Great idea. The message was brief, only three sentences. I skimmed the words, shaking my head in disbelief. Jack’s great idea was for the two of us to work together to solve the Barber murders.

  I started to respond with no thanks, but, after a momentary hesitation, I instead laid the phone on the table.

  Sean and Laura would no doubt tell me that I should keep my nose out of this cold case, and I agreed. Sort of. I couldn’t help thinking that I would never be certain about Bill Delaney until I knew whether he was a cold-blooded killer. Didn’t I owe it to Aunt Dottie to do what I could for her husband’s only living offspring?

  Some might tell me I was foolish to think about doing anything for a man to whom I had no blood ties. But Aunt Dottie had served as a profound influence in my life, and I knew without the least bit of doubt that she would encourage me to do what I could to help. Even if that included delving into a twenty-year-old unsolved murder case. Because if Delaney did kill that family, he should be brought to justice.

  From time to time I hated my conscience because I ended up in uncomfortable situations like the current one. Doing the right thing was often inconvenient. I simply had to pray that, in this case, it didn’t turn out to be life-threatening as well.

  I decided I wasn’t ready to say yes to Jack. I’d have to let my subconscious stew over it a while longer. I had to be absolutely certain that assisting Jack was the right thing to do.

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted my reverie. I rose from the table and headed for the front door. Diesel scampered past me. He always wanted to see who was on the other side of the door. I remembered that Laura and Frank planned to leave baby Charlie with me while they had a respite from childcare. I opened the door, ready to see my grandson and his parents.

  Instead I found Helen Louise, bearing a picnic basket in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

  “Surprise.” She grinned at me and stepped into the front hall.

  I shut the door behind her and took the basket from her hand. We exchanged a kiss, all the while Diesel rubbed against her legs and chirped for attention.

  “A wonderful surprise,” I said. “I thought you’d be at the bistro until late tonight.”

  Her free arm linked through mine, we strolled into the kitchen while she explained.

  “Clever Henry found a wonderful young man who needs part-time work, but he can only work on Saturdays. He has excellent experience, and he hit the ground running this morning. So I decided that the boss lady was going to have lunch with her fella and also get to spend some time with the infant version of said fella.” She set the bottle of wine on the table beside the basket.

  “Marvelous,” I said. “I have to remember to thank Henry, often and fervently.”

  Helen Louise laughed. “He’s quite pleased with himself, let me tell you. He was desperate to get me out of his hair so he could take over.”

  “I’m proud of you for letting him.” Frankly I was amazed that she appeared to be happy with the situation and not merely tolerating it.

  “The upside to this is I get to spend more time with you and Diesel.” She was busy scratching the cat’s head as she talked. “And also the most perfect baby boy I’ve ever seen.”

  “He is amazing, isn’t he?” I knew I was infatuated with the baby, but I didn’t care. Being a grandfather was the best thing there was.

  “Little acorns don’t fall far from the old trees,” Helen Louise said. “When are Laura and Frank dropping him by?” She ceased her attentions to Diesel, and he meowed loudly. “You’ve had enough for the moment, you greedy boy.”

  Diesel responded with a sad warble, but he didn’t pester her again.

  “Around eleven thirty,” I said. “Shall we wait until after they’re gone to open up the basket?”

  Helen Louise nodded. “Yes, a couple of things need reheating, but that won’t take long. How about a glass of wine now? I think it should still be chilled enough. I had it in a cooler on the way over.”

  “Sounds fine, even though it’s before noon.” I found the corkscrew while Helen Louise retrieved wineglasses from the cabinet. “Only one glass for me, though, since we’ll have the baby here.”

  I opened the wine and poured it. Helen Louise took a seat at the table to my right. We toasted each other and sipped at the wine.

  “I have a lot to discuss with you,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to until tomorr
ow. Another reason this is such a lovely surprise.”

  “What’s going on?” Helen Louise asked.

  I started to launch into an explanation but I caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock. The time was now seventeen minutes to eleven. That didn’t give me much time before I needed to call Ernie Carpenter. I explained to Helen Louise that I would have to interrupt our talk at eleven in order to make an important call. She nodded, and I started to fill her in.

  By two minutes to eleven, I think I had managed to give her the salient facts of the situation with Bill Delaney and the Barber murders as well.

  “So now you’re going to get Ernie’s take on the situation?” Helen Louise asked.

  “If she knows who Delaney is,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be familiar with the murder case even if she isn’t acquainted with him personally.”

  I waited until a couple minutes past the hour before I made the call. Ernie answered almost immediately.

  “Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Doing fine,” Ernie replied. “And you?”

  “The same,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind my interrupting your visit to ask you a few questions.”

  “Not at all,” Ernie said. “Though I have one for you first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ask away.”

  Ernie chuckled. “I wondered if you had made a decision yet about Jack’s project. Are you going to take part in it?”

  “We’re still discussing it,” I said. “Though I suppose I’m leaning toward doing it.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “I think it has every potential to be a big success.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that, or whether I even wanted it to be. The bigger the success, the more notoriety that could result.