Claws for Concern

by Miranda James

  In the bedroom I kicked off my shoes, removed my belt, and stretched out on the bed. I intended to sleep no more than half an hour.

  I fell asleep so quickly I never even knew when Diesel got onto the bed with me. I woke to the sound of knocking on the halfway open bedroom door.

  “Charlie, it’s after six, and dinner is ready,” Stewart said.

  I sat up on the side of the bed. “Thanks for waking me up. I didn’t mean to sleep this long. Is it really after six?” Beside me, Diesel meowed.

  Stewart laughed. “Yes, it is. I came by earlier, and you were seriously sawing some logs. I didn’t know you snored like that.”

  “Must have been Diesel you heard,” I said. “He snores.” The cat warbled and chirped as if to contradict me.

  “Not even Diesel could snore that loud. Y’all come on down.” Stewart disappeared from the doorway, and a moment later I heard him going rapidly down the stairs.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face. That helped make me more alert. Making my way downstairs, I detected the scent of fried chicken as I descended. I quickened my pace. I would never tell Azalea this, but Stewart’s fried chicken was even better than hers.

  Haskell, in civilian clothes, had already taken his place at the table. Diesel and Dante had their eyes on Stewart who was plating the chicken. There was a bowl of steaming rice, another of cream gravy, and a plateful of biscuits on the table. A glass of ice tea had been set at each place.

  “Tonight I wanted good old Southern comfort food.” Stewart set the fried chicken on the table and took his seat. “I didn’t think either of you would mind.”

  “Never.” Haskell grinned. “This is my all-time favorite meal.”

  Stewart batted his eyelashes at Haskell. “I know.”

  “I could never say no to a meal like this,” I said. “My waistline is proof of that.”

  We began passing and trading the food, the cat and the dog watching every move. They both loved fried chicken and knew that they would get bites from Stewart. Haskell had been known to slip them each the occasional morsel as well. I needed to watch to be sure Diesel didn’t overeat and pay for it later.

  Conversation lagged as we ate. I had to remind myself to eat slowly and not shovel the food in the way I sometimes did with a meal like this. Watching Dante and Diesel gobble down chicken without taking much time to chew served as a reminder.

  After several minutes of steady eating, Stewart spoke. “I told Haskell about your plans for tomorrow, Charlie. He has something he wants to tell you.”

  Haskell put his fork down and had a sip of tea. “Yeah, I reckon Pemberton knows this already, but if he hasn’t told you, I thought you should hear it from me. It’s about the sheriff over there in Tullahoma.”

  I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what Haskell was about to share. “What about him?” I asked.

  “Name’s Elmer Lee Johnson,” Haskell replied. “He’s mostly a by-the-book kinda guy, and he’s not going to be too happy with you and Pemberton nosing around.”

  “When you say not too happy, are you talking about Kanesha’s kind of not too happy or something worse?” Chief Deputy Berry had been reluctant in the beginning to trust or even tolerate me. She had never threatened me, not seriously, anyway. Would this sheriff take things further if we got in his way?

  “I don’t think he’d arrest you,” Haskell said. “Unless you really step over the line, but I don’t think you’ll do that. I guess he’s more like Kanesha that way. At least, that’s what my buddy on the force there has told me.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “Jack told me that he and his wife have had some experience with murder cases there, so I suppose they must have had to deal with Sheriff Johnson. Jack hasn’t said anything about him that I recall.”

  “Then maybe it won’t be a problem,” Haskell said. “I just thought I should tell you what I know.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said. “I don’t plan on doing anything rash, and Jack strikes me as pretty level-headed.”

  “That’s good,” Stewart said. “It would be so embarrassing to have to call Sean to bail you out of jail.” He laughed.

  “Yes, it would be,” I replied, repressing a shudder. Sean would not mince words with me, either. I felt a paw on my thigh and looked down into a winsome expression, that of a cat in need of chicken. I pinched off a bit of the breast I was eating and gave it to Diesel.

  Stewart changed the subject, telling us about the latest scandal in the chemistry department at Athena College. One of his colleagues had earned a reputation for the number and abbreviated length of his dalliances with women on campus and in the town. I listened but my mind soon focused on another subject—tomorrow’s activities.

  I wondered what we might be able to elicit from the people we planned to interview. I knew, based on my recent experiences, that sometimes small details slipped by the attention of otherwise vigilant investigators, and those small details could lead to significant information. One or more of the people Jack had on the list to interview might have seen or heard something that could put a new twist on the case. I hoped fervently that Jack and I might uncover one or more of those details.

  Stewart wrapped up his anecdote, and I came out of my reverie when he suggested fresh apple pie with ice cream for dessert. I badly wanted to say yes, but after the meal I had finished, I knew I’d regret it before the night was over. I declined politely, and Stewart didn’t push me to change my mind.

  “If you leave the dishes,” I said, “I’ll clean up the kitchen once you’ve finished with dessert. In the meantime, I’m going to the den to watch a little television.”

  “Thanks,” Stewart said. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Come on, Diesel.” I pushed back from the table. “I’m going to wash my hands, and then we’re going to the den.”

  The cat meowed twice, and I wondered whether he was complaining about having to leave people eating or whether he was saying he was ready to join me. He did not need any bites of apple pie nor any ice cream, no matter what he might think.

  In the den Diesel and I got comfortable on the sofa. He stretched out, his head against my leg. I turned the television to a channel that showed old comedies from the fifties and sixties, the ones I grew up with. They were comfort whenever I was upset or preoccupied with a problem. I could watch and listen to the familiar antics but still mull over whatever was troubling me.

  Tonight, while Lucy and Ethel got themselves into yet another scrape, I thought about the Barber case. There had to be details the original investigators either missed completely or did not recognize as significant. I wondered if Jack knew who had worked the case twenty years ago. If one of them was retired by now, might he be willing to talk about it? Or maybe even an officer still in the department? Since Jack wanted to write about the case, maybe one of them would want to be in the book badly enough that he would cooperate.

  I was certain Jack had already considered that, although he hadn’t mentioned it to me. If he didn’t bring it up in the morning, I would mention it to him and see what he thought. We needed to know more about the original investigation, that was all there was to it. Even if we had to ask the current sheriff himself.

  The house phone rang and interrupted my thoughts. I reached for the handset on the end table beside me. “Good evening, this is Charlie Harris.”

  “Mr. Harris, sorry to bother you this evening,” a female voice responded. She identified herself as a nurse at the hospital. “Mr. Delaney is asking for you. He’s pretty agitated, and he threatened to leave the hospital and come to your house if we didn’t call. Can you come?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “Tell Mr. Delaney that I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you,” the nurse replied. “I’ll tell him right away.”

  I hung up the phone and patted Diesel’s side. “Sorry, bu
ddy, but I’ve got to go somewhere, and you can’t come with me. You’ll have to stay here.”

  Diesel meowed but followed me from the den without further complaint. Stewart and Haskell, along with Dante, were finishing their desserts. I explained that I had to go to the hospital and why.

  “Don’t worry about Diesel,” Stewart said. “You go and see what’s got the poor man so upset.”

  “Thanks,” I said on my way to the back door.

  As I backed the car out of the garage, I could feel my heart rate pick up. Was Bill Delaney finally ready to talk to me about the Barber case?

  TWENTY-SIX

  The Barber case might be solved tonight. Bill Delaney must be willing to tell me what he’s been keeping back, I thought. Otherwise why would he be so agitated and insist that he would leave the hospital if he had to in order to talk to me?

  When I left the car in the hospital parking lot, I felt the heat close in on me. The humidity, even this late in the day, felt suffocating. I had to stop at a water fountain in the hospital and gulp down several mouthfuls of water before I began to cool down. I loved my life in Athena, but in the summer months I preferred to live as much of it as possible inside in the air-conditioning.

  Thankful that the hospital was cool, I took the elevator up and soon I reached Bill Delaney’s room. The door stood wide open, and when I stepped into the room I was shocked to find several people in scrubs and white coats around the bed. One of the nurses turned and noticed me. She walked over to me and motioned for me to move out of the room.

  “Are you Mr. Harris?” she asked when we were out in the hallway. “He had us list you as his emergency contact.”

  “Yes,” I said. “What’s going on? Is he going to be okay?”

  “He had a heart attack,” the nurse replied. “He was extremely agitated, and he kept asking for you. We assured him you were on the way, but the stress evidently triggered a cardiac event. He’s stable now. Luckily one of the attendants was with him and recognized the signs.”

  “Will I be able to talk to him?” I asked.

  “Not for a while yet,” the nurse replied.

  “All right,” I said. “Can you at least let him know that I’m here? I don’t want him to get agitated again.”

  “I’ll talk to the doctor,” she said. “Why don’t you go down to the waiting room near the nurses’ station and wait? Someone will come talk to you soon.”

  I nodded, and she turned away to reenter the room. I walked down the hall and found the small waiting area. I had it to myself at the moment. I chose a seat and pulled out my cell phone to call Stewart and let him know I could be at the hospital much longer than I had planned.

  “Don’t worry about Diesel,” Stewart said. “Is there anything you need? You’re not going to stay all night, are you?”

  “Thanks, I’m okay,” I said. “How long I stay depends on how he’s doing. If at all possible, I’d like to talk to him. He obviously has something he needs to tell me, and I’m afraid he’ll upset himself again if he can’t talk to me.”

  “Call me back if you do need me to bring you anything,” Stewart said.

  I thanked him again and ended the call. I debated calling Jack Pemberton to let him know about this new development, but after brief reflection I decided I should wait until I knew what had upset Bill Delaney so badly.

  A few minutes later a tall man in a white coat entered the room. He looked to be about forty, with dark hair graying heavily at the temples. “Mr. Harris?” he asked, and I nodded as I rose from my chair. “I’m Dr. Greenway, a cardiologist. I understand that you’re related to Mr. Delaney?”

  “Yes, I’m his cousin,” I said. “How is he?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid,” Dr. Greenway replied. “Why don’t we sit down for a moment?” He gestured toward the chair I had been occupying.

  I resumed my seat, and he chose one across the small space from mine. “Mr. Delaney has been a heavy drinker for many years,” the doctor said. “That has done a lot of damage, and his heart is not in good shape. Neither is his liver. Right now he is stable, but I’m having him transferred to the ICU immediately. I don’t want to give you any false hope. The heart attack was relatively mild, and if he was in better physical condition, I’d say he had every chance of making a good recovery. As it is, however, I can’t say how well he might recover from this. He might not.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” I said, saddened by this news. “He evidently got agitated because he had something to tell me.”

  Dr. Greenway nodded. “Yes, he was mumbling until we sedated him. The same words, over and over.”

  “What were they? Could you make them out?”

  “He was saying, ‘Tell him to let it go,’ and then ‘I promised, can’t break a promise.’” He shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like to me. Do you have any idea what it means?”

  “Some of it, perhaps,” I said. “Once he wakes up—if he wakes up—can someone please call me immediately? It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

  The doctor stood. “All right. I suggest you go home for now. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Except pray,” I said.

  The doctor nodded and smiled briefly before he left the room.

  I sat there, still dazed by what had occurred, trying to assimilate everything and to make some sense of it. What did Delaney’s words mean?

  I understood tell him to let it go. He was talking about the investigation into the Barber case. He wanted me to leave it alone.

  I promised, can’t break a promise.

  He was protecting someone, I thought. He’d made a promise not to reveal something. Whatever it was, it obviously meant a great deal to him. So much, in fact, that he had suffered a heart attack over it.

  Who had he promised to protect with his silence?

  Three candidates came immediately to mind: Sylvia Delaney, Elizabeth Barber, and Leann Finch.

  What about X? The unknown person. There certainly could be one, someone Jack and I hadn’t discovered yet, who was linked to the case.

  Time to head home, I decided. I left the waiting room.

  A couple of minutes later, sweating profusely from the unrelenting heat, I unlocked the car and rolled down the windows to let the air inside dissipate. The sun had at last started to go down, but the night wouldn’t bring much relief from the heat.

  I prayed for Bill Delaney on the drive home. I had begun to realize that Jack and I were partly responsible for Bill Delaney’s state of mind. His agitation over our interest in the Barber case had been significant enough to bring on a heart attack. Had we not been pushing him to confide in us, he probably wouldn’t have been so upset, and the heart attack might not have happened.

  Jack and I had no way of knowing, however, that something like this would happen. Neither of us was responsible for the state of Delaney’s health. His poor condition was self-inflicted. A lifetime of drinking took a harsh toll on the body. Delaney’s own lifestyle choices were largely to blame, as was the unknown person who had tried to run him down. Still, I felt uncomfortable knowing that my actions had exacerbated the situation. Should I get the chance, I would apologize to Bill Delaney for upsetting him.

  Despite my regrets, I did not intend to stop seeking the truth. I thought about those two young boys and their parents. They deserved to have their murderer named. If Jack and I could help find the truth, we would and be glad we had. If Bill Delaney was innocent, then he deserved to be vindicated.

  By the time I reached home, I had decided not to call Jack. I would wait until I heard another report on Bill Delaney. If he made it to the morning, I would run over there, before Diesel and I needed to leave for Tullahoma, to see if he was in any condition to have visitors. I would share everything with Jack when I met him in Tullahoma.

  Diesel greeted me at the back door. Stewart sat at the table, readi
ng a magazine. He laid it aside while I was petting the cat. “How is he?” Stewart asked.

  “They put him in the ICU,” I said. “He was stable, but the cardiologist said he’s in bad shape. He might not make it.” Diesel meowed and rubbed against my leg. He knew I was upset.

  “I’m sorry,” Stewart said. “Will they call you?”

  I nodded. “If I have to go out during the night, I’ll let you know.”

  “Of course.” Stewart picked up his magazine and rose from the table. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I think I’m going to head upstairs and wait for Helen Louise to call.”

  “Okay. You know where I am if you need me.” Stewart left the kitchen, and I soon heard him jogging up the stairs.

  “Come on, boy,” I said. “Upstairs.”

  Diesel scampered out of the room ahead of me. I turned out the lights downstairs, except for a couple that stayed on, one in the hall and another in the kitchen. Upstairs I found Diesel on the bed, and after I undressed I went into the bathroom for a few minutes. When I emerged, Diesel appeared to be asleep. As I neared the bed, he opened his eyes and trilled at me.

  I joined him on the bed and stretched out beside him. I stared up at the ceiling, and Diesel put a front paw on my arm. He meowed softly, and I turned my head to look at him.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told him. He blinked sleepily and seemed to relax. His paw remained on my arm, however.

  Gazing at the ceiling again, I couldn’t keep my thoughts away from Bill Delaney and my part in upsetting him to the point of a heart attack. I had always had a tendency to worry over things, particularly over something like this. I mustn’t let Helen Louise know about this when we talked tonight, though. She would be tired after a long day, and I didn’t want her to lose sleep over this. There would be time enough to talk to her tomorrow or the next day, depending on her schedule.

  Despite my worries, I soon dozed off, to be woken later by Helen Louise’s ringtone on my cell. I answered, and right away I could tell by the sound of her voice she was exhausted. We talked only a few minutes, and then I told her to go to bed and rest. After a final exchange of endearments, we ended the call.