Murder Past Due

by Miranda James

  “Diesel got lonely, I guess.” Melba glanced at me over the cat’s head.

  “Diesel, get down off the desk,” I said. “You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”

  The cat muttered as he jumped to the floor. Padding to the doorway, he sat down and started to groom himself.

  “He was looking for you,” Melba said.

  “I know. He doesn’t like being left alone for long.”

  “Did Peter talk to you about Godfrey Priest?” Melba leaned back in her chair.

  “Yes,” I said. “I suppose I should have come and talked to him earlier, right after Godfrey dropped by this morning.” Now I felt a bit guilty. Peter should have heard the news from me.

  “You know how he hates to think he’s always the last to find out something.” Melba glanced toward Peter’s door. “Like when he found out his wife was having an affair with Godfrey.”

  “What?” I stepped closer to the desk. “When was this?”

  “About ten years ago,” Melba said. “Not long before Peter came to Athena, in fact.”

  “He was at some small college in California before, wasn’t he?”

  Melba nodded. “Near Los Angeles. And guess who Mrs. Vanderkeller became friends with?”

  “Godfrey. How did they meet?”

  “Apparently she had these big plans to be a fancy Hollywood screenwriter.” Melba’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “The way I heard it, she was always dragging Peter to any party she could get herself invited to. She was supposed to be real attractive, and she met Godfrey at one of the parties.”

  “She left Peter for Godfrey?” This was beginning to sound like the story line of a soap opera.

  “She did. She divorced Peter and married Godfrey. His second wife, I think.” Melba thought a moment. “Yes, his second. His first wife was some C-list actress who actually made porn films, from what I heard.” The scandalized look on her face was priceless.

  “How did Peter end up here, of all places? Didn’t he know this was Godfrey’s hometown?”

  “No, poor man, just his luck.” Melba glanced toward Peter’s door again. “I guess he wanted to get as far away from California as he could, but he had no idea until after he got here that Godfrey was from Athena.”

  The man was jinxed. I felt sorry for Peter. No wonder he had such a venomous attitude toward Godfrey.

  “Is there anyone Godfrey hasn’t pissed off?” I gave Melba a rueful smile.

  “I’m beginning to think not.” A buzzer sounded. Melba looked cross. “I’d better find out what he wants. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “We’ll be there,” I said, heading for the door. “Come on, Diesel. Let’s finish upstairs and go home.”

  Diesel bounded up ahead of me. He knew the word home.

  I finished cataloging a couple more items, and when I remembered to look at my watch, I was surprised to see that it read 5:37. “Definitely time to go,” I said.

  Diesel was ready, practically pulling me down the stairs once I locked the door to the archive behind us.

  Back home again, I freed Diesel from his harness, and off he went to find crunchies and water. I headed to my bedroom on the second floor for a quick shower. I paused on the landing to listen for sounds of habitation on the third floor, where Justin’s room was.

  “Justin? Are you there?”

  I waited a moment and called again. There was no answer, only silence. I supposed he could still be with Godfrey, but Godfrey was due at his reception at seven. I went up the stairs to Justin’s door and tapped lightly. I called his name, but there was no response.

  I listened for a moment longer and then tried his door. It was unlocked. Normally I wouldn’t have done it, because my boarders deserved their privacy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Justin could be in trouble.

  The room was empty, the bed unmade.

  I shut the door and walked slowly back down the stairs to my room, telling myself not to worry. There was surely some innocuous reason for Justin’s absence.

  Coming out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, still toweling my hair, I spotted Diesel in the middle of my bed. His head was cocked to the side, as if he were asking me a question.

  “Yes, I’m going out, and yes, you’re going with me.” I frowned. I talked to Diesel a lot, I realized. Some people might find that odd, but it didn’t really matter. So I talked to my cat.

  I was about to tie my tie when the phone rang. It might be Sean, my son. He sometimes called around this hour.

  “Hello.”

  Melba’s excited voice boomed out at me. “You won’t believe this. The party’s canceled.”

  EIGHT

  “Canceled?” I was stunned. “But why?”

  “I heard Godfrey called the president’s office about half an hour ago and told them he was too ill to come. Peter just called me, and I called you right away.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. But Godfrey seemed perfectly fine earlier.”

  “It sure is strange,” Melba said, and I agreed.

  “Look, Melba, I’ve got to go. Diesel’s demanding his dinner.” I knew that was the easiest way to get her off the phone. “See you tomorrow. Bye.”

  I hung up and looked down at Diesel, lying half-asleep on my bed. He turned his head to look up at me, then blinked and yawned.

  What had happened to Godfrey?

  He reveled in attention, so there had to be a serious reason he’d canceled on a party in his honor.

  Did it involve Justin in some way?

  On that thought, I left my bedroom and proceeded back upstairs to the boy’s room. I might as well check in case he had come home while I was in the shower. Diesel passed me and scooted up the stairs well ahead of me. He was sitting in front of Justin’s door when I reached the third floor.

  I knocked, but there was no answer. I opened the door, and there was still no sign of Justin.

  “Come on, boy,” I said to Diesel as I shut the door. “He’s not here.”

  Diesel bounded down the stairs before me. I headed for the kitchen, thinking vaguely about having something to eat. But by the time I reached the kitchen, my uneasiness over Justin’s absence had become more urgent.

  I couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. Why had Godfrey skipped out on his own party? Where was Justin?

  Even if it turned out to be a waste of time and there was some simple explanation for all this, I decided not to sit home and wait.

  So much for my not getting emotionally involved in this mess. But my paternal instincts were kicking in, I guess.

  Diesel followed me to the back door, but I told him he couldn’t come with me this time. He assumed a long-suffering expression, as if I were always abandoning him.

  “I won’t be gone too long,” I said, adding, “I hope,” under my breath.

  Farrington House, Athena’s ritziest hotel, was my destination. Godfrey had to be staying there, probably in their best suite. The hotel occupied half a block on the town square, about ten minutes’ drive from my house. It was dark outside now, and I switched on my headlights as I backed the car out of the garage.

  I hoped Justin was safe with Godfrey, probably in the hotel still talking and getting to know his biological father.

  There were no empty parking spaces in front of the hotel. I had to settle for one across the street, facing the square. As I turned off my lights, preparing to get out of the car, I observed someone sitting in the shadows of an old gazebo about ten yards in front of me.

  He moved, and I recognized him as Justin. He watched me, obviously nervous, as I approached. The night was cool, and Justin was in short sleeves. He shivered a bit, his face turned away from me as I sat down next to him. The stone bench chilled me even through the wool of my pants.

  “What are you doing sitting out here?” I asked in a mild tone. “Aren’t you getting cold?”

  “A little, I guess.” Justin’s teeth chattered. “I, um, I can’t go back in there.”

  “The hotel? Why not
?”

  “I just can’t.”

  The desperation in Justin’s voice alarmed me. I put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him a bit.

  “What’s wrong? You can tell me.” I spoke in my most benign, fatherly manner.

  “No, it’s horrible.” The boy shuddered, whether from the cold or something else, I wasn’t sure.

  “Is something wrong with Godfrey?” I tried to keep my voice even.

  Justin nodded. He still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Does he need a doctor?” I stood. “We’d better go and check on him then.”

  “It won’t do any good,” Justin said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Why not?”

  “It just won’t.”

  I was getting a really bad feeling about this. “Did you call nine-one-one?”

  Justin shook his head. He still seemed too dazed to do anything.

  I pulled out my phone and punched in the emergency number. I reported a possibly injured man.

  “What’s the room number?” I asked Justin.

  He shrugged. “The Lee Room, I think.”

  I gave the operator the information and hung up before she tried to keep me on the line.

  “Come on.” I grasped the boy gently by the arm and pulled him up. “Maybe there’s something we can do.” I was afraid Godfrey was beyond help at this point, but I had to try.

  I expected resistance, but for whatever reason Justin came docilely enough. Though I peppered him with questions on the way, he wasn’t saying anything more.

  In the bright light of the lobby, I could see that Justin was pale and in obvious distress. I felt an even stronger sense of urgency. Had Godfrey had a heart attack?

  “He gave me a key,” Justin said when I veered toward the front desk.

  “Fine.” I headed for the elevator, my hand still firmly on Justin’s arm. Inside, Justin punched the button for the fourth floor.

  There were five large suites on this, the top floor. All were named for Confederate generals. Justin headed for the grandest of the five, the Robert E. Lee (of course), and paused in front of the door.

  I took the card from Justin and inserted it in the lock. I opened the door and stepped aside. If anything, Justin’s face was paler now than it had been before. He leaned against the wall.

  I caught a whiff of mingled scents through the open door, and my sense of unease grew. After I took two steps inside, I knew by some instinct that this was a crime scene. I had to move with care and not disturb anything. But I still had to check on Godfrey.

  Overhead lights illuminated the room, the reception area of the suite. The smells were stronger now, and I approached one of the two couches with dread, certain of what I would find.

  Three steps more and I could look down over the back of the sofa.

  Godfrey sprawled prostrate on the floor. The back of his head was a bloody mess.

  The coppery tang of blood had mingled with the unpleasant scent of Godfrey’s bowels, loosened in death.

  I heard a faint roaring in my head. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Godfrey’s corpse. He had to be dead with a wound like that.

  But in the faint hope that he was still alive, I steeled myself to walk around the couch and approach Godfrey’s body. I bent down and grasped his left wrist, lifting the arm just enough to get my fingers in the right spot. I detected no pulse, though I held the wrist for what seemed an eternity.

  As I put the arm gently back against the carpet, I caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under Godfrey’s waist. My brain didn’t register it for a moment. I was going to throw up if I didn’t put some distance between me and that horror on the floor.

  Out in the corridor again, I drew a deep breath of clear air. I closed my eyes for a moment, but all I could see was Godfrey, his head bashed in.

  And Justin’s cell phone by the body.

  It had to be his. The phone in that room was purple, and Justin had a purple phone.

  Justin had his arms wrapped around his body, and he was shivering. He looked at me, fear in his eyes.

  What had happened in that room between father and son? Had they argued? Over what? They hadn’t met before today.

  But as I looked at Justin, I couldn’t believe he was responsible. He wasn’t a killer, not this miserable, frightened boy.

  Even though I had already called 911, I took out my cell phone and punched in the number of the sheriff’s department. When the dispatcher came on the line, I gave him my name and a quick report. “I’ll be in the lobby, waiting for you.”

  Justin was crying now, quietly. I was torn. I wanted to comfort him, but I was also tempted to get back into Godfrey’s room and retrieve the cell phone. I couldn’t believe I was even considering doing something like that, but the last thing Justin needed right now was to be the chief suspect in Godfrey’s murder.

  The sheriff’s department was only three blocks away. They’d be here in five minutes or less. The EMTs should be here any second too, though there wasn’t anything they could do for poor Godfrey.

  As I wavered, the decision was made for me. The elevator opened, and an elderly couple stepped out.

  “Come on, son, let’s go downstairs.” I put an arm around Justin’s shoulders.

  The couple cast inquiring looks our way as we passed them, but I ignored them. I had to get Justin downstairs and find us both something hot and sweet to drink—my aunt’s favorite cure for any kind of shock.

  The elevator seemed to take forever, and the bland music playing in it stretched my already frayed nerves even further. Finally the door opened into the lobby, and I led Justin to the restaurant.

  The hostess took one look at my face and the crying teenager with me and asked, “What do you need?”

  “Hot coffee, two cups, with a lot of sugar.”

  I sat Justin down at the closest table, and the hostess returned right away with the coffee. “Here, son, drink this. You need it.”

  Justin stared at me for a moment, but with trembling hands he picked up the cup and began to drink. The hostess hovered, a worried look on her face.

  “Is he going to be okay?” she said.

  I nodded. “Just a bit of a shock.” I took a drink of my own coffee, feeling the welcome warmth spread through me.

  “Okay,” she said. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  I thanked her, watching Justin as the color slowly came back into his face. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to him. He scrubbed at his face with it, drying away the tears, and then he blew his nose.

  “Thank you,” he said. He wiped his nose again. “I guess I kind of freaked out when I found him.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I don’t blame you. I’m kind of freaked out myself.” I took another sip of my coffee. “How long were you sitting out there on the square?”

  “I don’t know,” Justin said. “I’m not really sure.” He sipped at his coffee. “Who would kill him? It’s crazy.”

  “I know,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense right now, probably never will.” I debated whether to tell him about the cell phone. Would it be better for him to know now?

  If I told him, though, his reaction later might seem more suspicious. Probably best not to say anything so whatever he told the sheriff’s department would be unrehearsed.

  Lord, what a mess.

  “Do you think my dad, I mean Ezra, killed him? He was so angry earlier.” The expression on Justin’s face was heartbreaking.

  Lord, I prayed, please don’t let it be Ezra. Or Julia. I don’t think Justin could take it.

  What could I say to the boy now that could possibly comfort him? I had no assurances for him. This would force him to grow up brutally fast.

  “I just don’t know,” I finally said.

  Before I could say anything else I spotted an arrival in the lobby. “You don’t move from this spot, and ask for more coffee if you need it,” I said. “The EMTs and the sheriff’s deputies are here, a
nd I need to talk to them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Justin said. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  I had an inspiration. I gave Justin my cell phone. “Call your mother. Ask her to come here as quickly as she can. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

  Justin nodded. He picked up my phone, examined it for a moment, and then punched in a number.

  I left him at the table and braced myself for the coming interview. I had been so concerned for Justin that I hadn’t taken time to alert the hotel staff. The manager on duty, I could see now, was reacting badly to the news of a dead body in her hotel. She handed one of the EMTs a key, and they headed for the elevators with a couple of deputies.

  As I neared the front desk, a tall, thin black woman in uniform turned to face me. Her expression was enigmatic, to say the least. She had her hair scraped back into a bun, and she regarded me with cold brown eyes.

  “Mr. Harris,” she said, her voice neutral. “You reported this incident.”

  “Yes, Deputy Berry, I did.” I stopped a couple of feet away from her.

  Kanesha Berry and I had a difficult relationship that stemmed from the fact her mother was my housekeeper. Kanesha had tried, once Aunt Dottie passed away, to get her mother to retire. Azalea paid no attention to her daughter. She wasn’t ready to stop working, and she told me the day I moved into the house that she was going to look after me and she wasn’t about to listen to any arguments.

  Since it would take a braver man than I—or a more foolhardy one—to argue with Azalea, I simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  Kanesha couldn’t argue with her mother, so she chose to blame me. Every time I encountered her, I felt like I’d run up against a buzz saw.

  After glaring at me for a moment, Kanesha summoned another officer. “Deputy Bates,” she said, her voice taut, “Mr. Harris here called it in. Go with him and take a preliminary statement.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bates gazed into the distance, not at Kanesha, when he spoke. His tone verged on insubordinate.

  Kanesha’s eyes narrowed for a moment. She did not reply. She turned and walked in the direction of the elevator.