I turned out the light and waited to fall asleep again. I tried not to let my mind dwell on Bill Delaney and succeeded enough that I finally did drift off.
My alarm went off at five thirty, and I woke quickly, at first thinking it was the phone. When I realized that I had slept through the night without a call from the hospital, I felt better. I hoped this meant that Bill Delaney’s condition had remained stable. Surely they would have called if he had taken a turn for the worse.
The drive to Tullahoma would take about ninety minutes, and that meant I would allow an additional fifteen to twenty minutes in case of complications. As soon as I was showered and dressed, I hurried downstairs with Diesel at my feet. By then it was six o’clock, and Azalea would be here soon. I looked up the number for the hospital and called, asking for the ICU nurses’ station.
Moments later I was speaking with a nurse. I identified myself and asked whether I would be allowed to visit Bill Delaney this morning. The nurse put me on hold but was back in less than a minute.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the patient isn’t able to have visitors this morning,” the nurse said. “He’s still sleeping, but in stable condition. By the afternoon you might be able to see him. Just check back with us later.”
“Thank you, I will.” I hung up the phone and uttered a quick prayer of thanks that Bill Delaney had made it through the night.
Diesel, I noticed, was sitting at the back door, watching it intently. He was waiting for Azalea. He knew what her schedule was and often greeted her when she entered the house. Moments later the door opened, and she walked into the kitchen. Diesel chirped loudly, and Azalea laughed.
“Good morning, Mr. Cat, and how are you?” Azalea set her purse down on the counter while Diesel warbled and meowed to let her know he was starving and surely could eat some bacon. Azalea laughed again. “Good morning, Mr. Charlie. When are you going to feed this poor thing?”
“Good morning, Azalea,” I said. “He knows that when you’re here there could be bacon. You’ve spoiled him.”
“Seems to me you’re the one done all the spoiling,” Azalea said. “Don’t go pushing the blame on me.” She looked down at Diesel. “You hold on, Mr. Cat. At least give me time to cook. You’d be turning your nose up at raw bacon.”
As Azalea set to work getting breakfast ready, I told her that Diesel and I were heading to Tullahoma this morning. “We need to leave around seven thirty.”
“Then I reckon it’ll be toast instead of biscuits this morning,” Azalea said.
“That’s fine,” I replied.
I headed to the den to check e-mail. By the time I was done, breakfast would be ready. Diesel remained in the kitchen. As long as Azalea was frying bacon, he wouldn’t go anywhere.
I read my e-mail, surfed the Internet for a bit, then went back to the kitchen. Breakfast was on the table. Diesel and I ate alone this morning. Haskell was probably out the door before I got up, and Stewart was most likely at the gym.
After a quick trip upstairs to brush my teeth, I was ready to leave. Diesel and I bade Azalea good-bye, and soon we were on the road for Tullahoma.
As I headed out of Athena, I hoped that this day would bring new and helpful information. We needed a break in the case, and we needed it soon.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I accomplished the drive to Tullahoma without incident and, as usual, arrived early—nearly twenty minutes early. Jack’s directions led me easily to the Kountry Kitchen. I pulled into the parking lot and texted Jack that Diesel and I had arrived.
We would wait for him in the car. Since Helen Louise’s bistro was the only restaurant where Diesel was allowed, I had to stay with him. Had the temperature outside been mild, I could have left him in the car for a few minutes. With the late July heat, however, I remained with him, air-conditioning running. I simply couldn’t understand people who left their pets—or children—in hot cars. If they were that ignorant they shouldn’t have pets—or children—at all.
Jack texted back to let me know he was on the way and would arrive soon. Sure enough, only seven minutes later, he pulled into the parking space next to me. As he got out of his car, I rolled down my window to greet him.
“Good morning, Charlie,” he said as he came up to my window. “How are you? And how is Diesel?” He bent to look into the backseat where Diesel sat, nose pressed to the glass.
“Fine,” I said. “Why don’t you join me in the car so we can talk?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Jack said. “Wanda Nell’s boss, Melvin, said we can use his office so Diesel can come inside. There’s a door around on the other side of the building.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Better than sitting in the car burning gas.” I turned the car off and got out. Jack moved back so I could get Diesel out, too. Diesel wore his harness with a leash attached. He hopped out of the car onto the pavement and we followed Jack.
As we walked I kept an eye out for anything on the paved surface of the parking lot that could harm Diesel’s paws. The temperature wasn’t high enough yet to make it unsafe for Diesel to walk on. I was relieved to see that the owner kept his parking lot clean. We made it around the front of the building and down the side with no problem. Jack opened a door near the middle of the side wall and ushered us inside.
We were standing in a cramped hallway. To the left I could hear the sounds of the kitchen. Diesel detected the smell of bacon, as did I. There were two doors in the inner wall, and Jack opened one of them and motioned for us to enter. The office contained a desk, a couple of chairs, and two filing cabinets. There was room enough for the three of us and maybe one other person. We settled into the chairs, Jack taking the one behind the desk, and Diesel sat on the floor next to me.
That one other person came into the office, an attractive woman about Jack’s age. He got up to give her a quick kiss and then introduced me to his wife, Wanda Nell.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” she said. “You, too, Diesel. Aren’t you about the most gorgeous cat I ever saw?” She extended a hand to the cat, and he sniffed it. Then he licked her fingers, and she laughed. “I had a piece of bacon a minute ago.”
“He loves bacon,” I said.
Diesel meowed and looked up at Wanda Nell.
“Sorry, sir, no more bacon.” She patted his head, then scratched it. He purred for her. “I guess I pass the test.”
“You do.” I smiled. “He’s your friend now.”
Wanda Nell smiled down at the cat. She petted him a moment longer, then turned to her husband. “Elmer Lee came in right before I headed back here. You want to talk to him?” She turned to me. “Elmer Lee Johnson is the sheriff. I’ve known him a long time. We don’t always get along real well, though.”
Jack laughed. “That’s because you’ve shown him up more than once, honey.”
Wanda Nell shrugged. “If he wasn’t so dang bullheaded most of the time, he’d do better. Gets his mind set on one thing and it gets stuck there. Now, do you want to talk to him?”
“I don’t think I’m up to dealing with Elmer Lee this morning,” Jack said. “We will have to talk to him at some point, but I’d rather wait until we have something concrete to go on.”
“All right, then,” Wanda Nell said. “I’d better be getting back out there before Melvin comes looking for me.”
“Please thank him for me for letting me bring Diesel in,” I said.
“I will.” Wanda Nell looked at her husband. “Y’all be careful today. Let me know how it goes.”
“We will,” Jack replied. “We’ll probably be back here for lunch.”
Wanda Nell nodded before she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Before we do anything,” I said, “I need to fill you in on the latest with Bill Delaney. It’s not good news.”
“What happened? Did somebody try to kill him again?” Jack asked, obviously
alarmed.
“No, no attempt on his life as far as I’m aware. He suffered a heart attack last night.” I gave Jack the details, and his expression grew grim as he listened.
When I finished, Jack said, “Obviously we upset him badly yesterday, and I feel like crap now. I never thought something like this would happen.”
“I feel bad about it, too,” I said. “We did get him upset, but if he was in better physical condition, I don’t think he would’ve had a heart attack. It’s a terrible combination of circumstances.”
“You’re right,” Jack said, “but that doesn’t make me feel much better.” He paused. “I think we need to go ahead, though, and try to see this thing through. If he’s protecting someone, that means there’s something no one knows about this case. We need to find out what it is.”
“And who it is,” I said. “They told me he was muttering about promising someone, over and over. I figure there are three candidates, his mother, Elizabeth Barber, and Leann Finch, for the person he was making the promises to. Of course, there’s always the possibility X is someone who has a connection to the case that we don’t know about.”
“I agree,” Jack said. “I thought we might start here in town this morning and go see Sylvia Delaney’s neighbors. There’s that one woman who still lives next door to the Delaney house. Her name is Jimmie Ann Cooper and she has a son who lives with her. Turns out she knows Wanda Nell, so I think we can get her to talk to us without too much of a problem.”
“That sounds good,” I said. “I hope she’s not allergic to cats or afraid of them, or you’ll have to interview her on your own.”
Jack rose from behind the desk. “We’ll figure it out as we go along. I hope you don’t mind driving again.”
“Not at all,” I said. “We want to stay cool, after all. We don’t know what hot water we might get into.” I grinned, and Jack laughed. Diesel trilled and chirped, as if he understood the joke himself.
While I put Diesel in the backseat, Jack retrieved his notebook from his car. He showed me a small digital recorder he had. “I always ask if I can record, of course. A lot of the time, they don’t mind, and it’s helpful later on. I take good notes, but it’s easy to forget to write something down.”
Jack directed me, and within a few minutes we pulled up in front of a white frame house with a neatly groomed yard. The lots in this neighborhood were not large but were wide enough to give the illusion of distance between the houses.
“That’s the Delaney house on the right,” Jack said. “Let’s get this thing started.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car.
“Come on, Diesel, time to get to work,” I said.
With Diesel on the leash, I followed Jack up the walk to the front door of Mrs. Cooper’s house. Jack rang the bell, and moments later a woman answered. I reckoned she was about my age, early fifties. Short, with dark hair and a wary expression.
Jack introduced himself. “I believe you know my wife, Wanda Nell. She was Wanda Nell Culpepper before.”
The wary expression disappeared and a warm smile replaced it. “I sure do know Wanda Nell. If she isn’t the sweetest thing the good Lord ever created, I don’t know who is. I heard she got married a while back but I haven’t run into her since I found out. It’s nice to meet you. Y’all come on in.”
She looked past Jack and saw Diesel and me. Her eyes widened at the sight of Diesel. “Heavens to Betsy, I swear that’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen. He’s not a bobcat, is he?”
I repressed a smile. I’d heard that question often. After I introduced myself, I said, “No, ma’am, he’s a Maine Coon.” I gave her the quick facts on Maine Coons. “He’s very well-behaved, and his name is Diesel. Would you mind if he comes in with us?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Y’all come on in. I hope y’all will ignore the state of my house. We don’t have a lot of company, and I’m inclined to let things slide a little.” She motioned for us to precede her into a room to the left of the entrance.
Based on years of experience of Southern housewives, I knew that when Mrs. Cooper asked us to ignore the state of her house that it would be pretty near immaculate. Even my late wife, Jackie, used to say similar things whenever we had company.
Sure enough, Mrs. Cooper’s living room looked perfectly clean and well organized. She motioned us to the sofa. “Would y’all like something to drink?” she asked.
We took places on the indicated sofa, and Diesel stretched out on the floor by my feet. He had allowed Mrs. Cooper to pat his head a couple of times, and he rewarded her with a couple of warbles.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m fine. Jack?”
“No, I’m good, Mrs. Cooper,” he said. “I really appreciate you inviting us in.” He waited for her to seat herself across from us before he continued. “I’m a writer, and Mr. Charlie Harris is helping me with the research for the book I’m working on now. The books I write are true crime, and I’m interested in a crime that happened here about twenty years ago.”
“The Barbers, has to be,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Oh my Lord, I haven’t thought about them in a long time, although I do sometimes see the Barber girl in the paper. She’s married to a businessman, Campbell’s the name, I think. So nice to know she made a good life for herself after all that tragedy, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said. He shot me a glance. Obviously, getting Mrs. Cooper to talk wasn’t an issue here. “I don’t know if you knew the Barbers, but your neighbor’s son worked for them. Bill Delaney.”
“Sylvia’s son,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I hated when she had to go into the nursing home. She was the sweetest person, and we had a lot in common, both being widows with sons to raise. That was a terrible time for her with everybody pointing the finger at Bill.” She shook her head. “Sylvia stood up for him, though. Just the way I would if somebody was accusing my son of doing something terrible like that.”
“Did you know the Barbers?” I asked.
“Not to say really know them, no,” Mrs. Cooper said. “A lot of people sure knew who Hiram Barber was, let me tell you. People would duck out of the way if they saw him coming down the street. Mean as a rattlesnake, and crazy to boot. I never could figure out how he ever talked Betty into marrying him. I went to school with Betty’s younger sister. She was an Eaton. Do you know the Eatons?” She looked at Jack but didn’t wait for an answer. “Betty must have seen something in him nobody else ever did, but I bet she wished she’d never married him after he started getting crazier and crazier.”
Jack was busy scribbling in his notebook. He hadn’t had the chance to ask Mrs. Cooper if he could record the interview. I hoped he knew shorthand, otherwise he’d never keep up with the spate of words.
“I’d see her in town sometimes but she would never talk for more than a minute or two. Always afraid Hiram would come along and have something ugly to say to her. He was always running her down. I’d’ve scratched his eyes out if he tried that with me, but Betty wouldn’t stand up to him.”
The import of Mrs. Cooper’s description of Betty Barber finally sank in with me. Before she could launch into further speech, I asked, “Do you think Hiram Barber abused his wife and children?”
“I’m sure he did,” Mrs. Cooper said. “He was just the type of man who would. Like I said, he got crazier and meaner. Betty never would admit it, but I bet he slapped her around.”
Jack and I exchanged a quick glance. This could be a piece of the new information we’d been hoping for. I asked another question. “Do you think the sheriff’s department knew about this?”
“Nobody ever asked me,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Back then people didn’t talk about stuff like that much.”
“I don’t think they knew,” Jack said. “My source never mentioned it, and I’m sure he would have if he’d known about it.”
The situation Mrs. Cooper described left me
in little doubt that Hiram Barber was abusive. The question was, had that played a role in the murders?
TWENTY-EIGHT
I was so lost in thought, considering the ramifications of Hiram Barber as an abuser that I nearly missed Jack’s next question.
“You mentioned Mrs. Barber’s sister, a Miss Eaton,” Jack said. “I don’t know her. Does she still live in Tullahoma?”
Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “No, she died a few years back. The way I heard it, she had breast cancer but wouldn’t go to the doctor. Waited too late, and by then they couldn’t do much for her.”
“That’s really sad,” I said. “Why wouldn’t she go to the doctor?”
“Her church.” Mrs. Cooper grimaced. “One of those groups that don’t believe in doctors. Some mess like that. Beats me what some people will believe.”
“Are there any other family around? The Eatons, that is, who would know more about Betty Barber before she married?” Jack asked.
“Most of them have either died or moved away that I know of,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Though I can’t say for sure.”
“We’ll have to see if we can track any of them down,” I said.
“I’d like to talk to you about the night of the murders,” Jack said. “Do you remember that night?”
“I do,” Mrs. Cooper said. “It was a quiet night here, like most every night. This has always been a nice neighborhood. Things get a little rowdy on the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve, people barbecuing and stuff. Setting off fireworks, even though it’s illegal.”
I was thankful that Mrs. Cooper was willing to talk but she was a bit too chatty about inessential details.
“Who was here in the house that night?” Jack asked.
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