No Cats Allowed

by Miranda James

  Diesel and I paused to chat briefly with Laquita before heading to the car. She told me she was planning a baby shower for Alex and Sean and promised to let me know when the arrangements were fixed.

  On the drive home I thought about presents for this second grandchild. Laura had already raided the attic at my house for the baby crib and nursery furniture my wife and I had kept and that I had moved with me when I came back to Athena. Sean and Alex’s baby would need a crib, and I planned to shop for one this weekend.

  Occupied by those happy thoughts, I almost missed a car parked on the street in front of my house. The occupant was Porter Stanley. My hands trembled on the wheel as I pulled into the garage. I shut off the car, hit the button to close the garage door, and pulled out my cell phone to dial 911.

  TWENTY-ONE

  While I got Diesel out of the car and into the house, I talked to the 911 operator. I made sure the kitchen door was locked and bolted, then I went to the living room so I could peer out the window. The 911 operator stayed on the line, and when I reached the window, I spotted a police car turning onto the street at the end of the block.

  I glanced at the spot where Porter Stanley was parked and was stunned to see the car gone.

  He must have driven off within seconds after I pulled into the garage. I relayed this information to the operator, who in turn, I supposed, shared it with the police department. I ended the call and watched as the police car parked in the spot vacated by Stanley.

  Two officers climbed out, both young-looking men, one heavyset, the other lanky. I opened the door, making sure Diesel stayed inside, and then closed the door behind me.

  “Afternoon, sir,” the heavyset cop said. “Everything okay now?” He and the other officer stopped a couple of feet away and regarded me blandly.

  “Yes, Officer, thanks.” I shrugged. “Stanley must have driven off right after I pulled into the garage. I’m sorry for the false alarm, but at least we know he’s still in town.”

  “You told the operator this guy is wanted in connection with the murder at the college,” the lanky one said. I peered at their nameplates but couldn’t decipher them. Did I need glasses? I wondered.

  “Yes, that’s right,” I replied. From behind me came scratching and wailing noises. Diesel wasn’t happy that I’d left him inside.

  “What’s that noise?” the first cop said.

  “My cat.” I smiled. “He’s not happy that I’ve left him inside.”

  “You’re the guy with that real big cat, aren’t you?” The second one grinned. “I’ve heard about you. I sure would like to see that big cat.”

  “Sure.” I opened the door, and Diesel stepped out, still meowing. Both cops stepped back, and one of them whistled. Diesel stared at the cops, looking interested but unsure whether to approach them.

  “That is a big cat,” the first officer said. “Looks more like a bobcat than a house cat.”

  I explained about Diesel’s breed and stressed the fact that he was actually much larger than the average Maine Coon. “He’s quite gentle,” I said. “He might look ferocious because of his size, but he’s not.”

  On cue, or so it seemed, Diesel warbled for them, and they both grinned. Then the first one nudged the second one and said, “Well, if everything’s okay, sir, we’ll be going. We’ll let the sheriff’s department know you spotted this guy. In the meantime, if he comes back, call 911 right away.”

  “Thank you, Officers,” I said. Diesel chirped as they turned and headed back to their patrol car. “Come on, boy, back inside.”

  I felt both foolish and relieved. The fact that Stanley was gone by the time they arrived might have led them to conclude he hadn’t been there at all. On reflection, I decided I was glad they hadn’t dismissed me as a crank.

  Diesel went off to the utility room, and I went around the whole first floor of the house to check every door and window. Then I went up to the second floor to check those windows. Probably an overreaction, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  I was glad Azalea had gone for the day, because if Stanley did show up again, I didn’t want her to be at risk. The man frightened me, and the sooner Kanesha rounded him up, the better.

  Diesel met me in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock. Too early yet for dinner, though for some reason I felt hungry. I checked Diesel’s food and added crunchies to his bowl. While he munched happily on the dry food, I went back to the kitchen and peeled a banana. I felt virtuous in having that, rather than a slice of Azalea’s freshly made lemon icebox pie that I spotted in the fridge.

  Phone in one hand and banana in the other, I went back to the living room to check the street.

  No sign of Porter Stanley. I pulled a chair near the window and got comfortable. I decided I would keep watch for the next hour or so. After that, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I didn’t really want to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening staring out at the street, much less all night.

  Diesel joined me a few minutes later and sprawled out on the floor beside my chair. He was soon asleep.

  Finally, while I sat there watching, it occurred to me to ask myself, Why is Porter Stanley interested in me?

  I had no answer to that.

  Another question popped into my head: What, if anything, did Reilly tell Porter about me?

  Again, I had no answer.

  My phone rang, and it startled me so badly I dropped it on the floor. The phone missed the cat by a few inches, but Diesel was so frightened by the sound he scrambled up and shot out of the room like a sprinter in the hundred meters.

  The phone didn’t appear to be broken, but it had stopped ringing. I checked the recent calls and recognized Melba’s number. I called her, and after a couple of rings, she answered.

  “Saw you tried to call me,” I said. “I dropped the phone, and by the time I picked it up, it was too late.”

  “I was leaving you a message,” Melba said. “Glad I don’t have to wait to talk to you.”

  “How are you doing?”

  Diesel came slinking back into the living room, alert for any more surprises.

  “Okay, I guess. First thing I did when I got home was take a shower. Just felt like I had to.” Melba laughed. “Something about that jailhouse air. It seemed to me my clothes and my hair smelled funny.”

  “I’m so sorry they put you through this,” I said. “I know you didn’t kill that man.”

  “I sure as heck didn’t,” she said. “He wasn’t worth it, even though he was a sorry excuse for a human being. I’ll tell you another thing, I wouldn’t go down in that basement for love nor money. It’s too dang spooky down there.”

  “I imagine at night it probably is. The lighting isn’t that good. We ought to look into that.” I’d have to write that down, otherwise I would forget by morning.

  “What do you mean, we ought to look into it?” Melba said. “That’s a strange choice of words. I guess it means you’re not laid off, though, and I won’t be transferred.”

  “No, you’ll be back at your desk in the morning, as long as you feel up to it. Do you?”

  “Yes” was the prompt reply.

  “I’m going to be there with you, but in the director’s office.” I waited for that to sink in.

  “Charlie.” She practically shrieked my name. “You’re going to be the interim director? Ain’t that a hoot?” She laughed. “How did they wrangle you into it?”

  “Forrest Wyatt made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I said.

  “Loyalty to your alma mater in its time of need. Right?”

  I chuckled. “Got it in one.”

  “He’s good, you got to give him that.”

  “I do, believe me, I do.” I sighed. “I’m grateful you’ll be there with me so I don’t make a mess of things.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Melba retorted. “You wouldn’t make a mess
of things. Although you’ll do better with me there.” She giggled.

  “Look, there’s something I have to tell you. When I came home from Sean’s office a little while ago, Porter Stanley was sitting in his car, parked on the street near my house.”

  Melba gasped. “What did you do?”

  I gave her the rundown. “I’m sitting at the window right now, keeping watch. I think you should be on the alert, too. I have no idea why he’s interested in me, but he could be watching you, too.”

  “He tries to break in on me,” Melba said, “he might get his fool head blown off. Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Good,” I said, “but be careful.”

  “I’m surprised he’s still in town,” Melba said. “I figured he’d’ve hightailed it out of here the minute he killed Reilly. Him hanging around doesn’t make any sense.”

  “If he did kill Reilly—and there are other suspects, which I’ll tell you about in a minute—then he must want something badly enough to hang around. I have no idea what it could be, though.”

  “Me neither,” she replied. “What’s this about other suspects?”

  After my quick summary of suspects and motives, Melba said, “Lord, that man caused a lot of hurt and trouble right off the bat. You have to wonder how he got hired, because you can bet he got up to the same kind of mess where he worked before.”

  “He probably did, but maybe he was always really good at covering his tracks,” I said. “Plus employers can’t tell you any of the bad stuff because it makes them liable to a lawsuit.”

  “True,” she said. “But there’s ways of not saying things to get your message across. Somebody needs to have a talk with Penny. Either she or one of her coworkers would have checked his references.”

  “It’s kind of moot now, but I did send Penny the articles I found about Reilly.” I said. “Unless a victim from his past came here after him. Other than his ex-brother-in-law, that is.”

  “Gives you a headache, doesn’t it? Thinking about all this and trying to make sense of the mess he caused.”

  “That it does. Hang on, I’m getting another call.” The beeping in my ear startled me.

  “No problem. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be late.” She clicked off.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You have time to talk?” Kanesha Berry asked.

  “I sure do. Can you come by? Or do you mean on the phone?”

  “Phone,” she replied. “Porter Stanley showed up at your house earlier, I understand.”

  I told my story yet again.

  “Any idea what he’s after?” she asked.

  “Not a clue,” I said. “I only met the man once, and all he seemed interested in was Reilly. If he’s the killer, why is he still in town? I thought that, with Reilly out of the picture, he’d be long gone.”

  “Exactly what I wanted to ask him,” she said. “Among other things. He was hanging around town because there was something here he wanted, and he was willing to risk arrest to get it.”

  Her choice of words puzzled me. “You kept saying was. Why?”

  “Because he’s dead. I’m at the motel where he was staying. We got the call about ten minutes ago.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  My hand tightened on the phone. The casual way in which Kanesha informed me of this second murder was unsettling. “Not something I would have expected,” I said.

  “Puts an interesting twist on the case, that’s for sure.” She paused. “I’d give a lot to know exactly why he came to town looking for Reilly. It’s got to have something to do with both killings.”

  “Wish I could help you on that,” I said.

  “Until we can solve this case, you’d better keep your head down and your nose to yourself.”

  “Have you been talking to my son?” I said half-jestingly. “I don’t go out of my way looking for these situations, you know.”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied. “Gotta go, but I may have more questions for you later.” She ended the call.

  I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about my temporary promotion. She would find out soon enough.

  I called Melba again. She had to hear the latest.

  “Hey, Charlie, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got news. That was Kanesha calling me, and she told me that Porter Stanley is dead. Murdered.”

  Melba gasped. “Lord have mercy, what is going on?” She paused. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately,” I said. “One of our coworkers is a murderer.”

  “Yeah, and right now I’m not all that anxious to get back to work. I don’t like the idea of being in that office by myself when you’re gone to meetings. Which you will be doing a lot of, by the way.”

  “The joys of management,” I said. “Meetings, and meetings about meetings. I’m going to call Forrest Wyatt and tell him I think we need a security guard on duty in the building until this case is solved. The main library has security, and we should, too.”

  “Good,” Melba said, “otherwise I’ll be bringing my own security to work with me.”

  I didn’t relish the idea of Melba’s bringing her gun to work, but I doubted she would listen if I tried to talk her out of it.

  “I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” I said. “I’m sure Forrest will agree that we need a person on duty. I’m going to call him right now.”

  “Okay, let me know how it goes.”

  Before I could call Forrest, however, I had to look up the number. I loved the fact that I didn’t have to go searching for a campus directory. I could call one up, right on my phone, in only a few seconds.

  Once I found it, I clicked on it, and moments later, the phone started ringing. Forrest’s assistant answered quickly. I identified myself, and she said she would put me through.

  “Afternoon, Charlie, lucky you caught me. I was about to head to a meeting with the deans. What can I do for you?”

  I might get in trouble with Kanesha later for doing it, but I told Forrest about the second murder. He uttered a couple of curse words when I’d finished.

  “They need to wrap this up quickly,” he said. “The whole campus will be in an uproar, and we’ll have parents here demanding answers and taking their kids home.”

  “The situation is tricky,” I said. “Additional security might reassure everyone.”

  “I’ll talk to Marty Ford. He’ll arrange it, and I’m sure the board of trustees will okay the added expense.”

  “Great,” I said. “I would appreciate it if I could have one of those added security officers in the library admin building. There’s just Melba Gilley and me there, you know, and I’ll probably be out of the building frequently. Melba doesn’t like the idea of being there by herself.”

  “No, of course not,” Forrest said. “Marty will take care of it. Thanks for letting me know what’s going on, Charlie. I’d better run now, the deans are waiting.”

  I thanked him and ended the call. I wondered whether it had occurred to him yet, now that Reilly’s former brother-in-law was dead and obviously no longer a suspect, that one of his employees was a murderer.

  Insistent meows recalled my attention to the feline at my feet. I patted his head. “We don’t have to keep watch anymore,” I told him. “That big scary man isn’t going to bother us now.” He chirped happily in response.

  I stood and put the chair back in its usual spot. “Come on, boy, let’s go see what Azalea left for dinner.”

  What Azalea left was a roast with potatoes and carrots. No roast for Diesel, though, because there were onions and probably garlic in it. I put the roast in the oven to warm and made a salad to go with my meal. I found a small container of boiled chicken in the fridge with Mr. Cat written on the lid with an indelible marker. I warmed the chicken in the microwave and doled it out while I ate my o
wn meal.

  Diesel purred happily over his chicken and let me enjoy my own dinner mostly in peace. While we ate, I thought about the new job. I was not eager for it, but I would do my best for the library and its staff while I was at the helm.

  I realized that one benefit of the temporary position was that I could go around the library and ask questions under the guise of familiarizing myself with its day-to-day operations. I would have the opportunity to observe my coworkers and watch for any suspicious behavior. The library held the key to the murders, I had decided.

  Instead of reading that evening, I spent time on the phone, first bringing Sean up to date on the new developments in the case, and then making notes and writing down questions for my first few days on the job. By the time I’d finished, my shoulders ached, as did my head. I went upstairs, took a painkiller, and got ready for bed. After a chat with Helen Louise, filling her in on the latest news, I turned out the light and promptly fell asleep.

  Only to be awakened a few hours later by the ringing of my phone. I grabbed the phone and checked the screen. I was too befuddled to recognize the number, though it seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Charlie, sorry to disturb you at this hour. Martin Ford here.”

  Why was the chief of campus police calling me at—I peered at the bedside clock—two fourteen in the morning?

  I asked him that.

  “There’s been a break-in at the library administration building. One of my men saw a light in the office and went to check it out. By the time he got inside, though, whoever it was had gone. There’s damage to the director’s office and Melba’s as well.”

  Had I been a cursing man, I would have let loose with a few choice epithets right then. As it was, I did express the hope—mentally—that whoever broke in developed a painful rash in the tenderest parts of his or her anatomy.

  “Do you need me to come there?” I asked. Behind me, Diesel stirred and emitted a sleepy, interrogatory meow or two.

  “I hate to drag you out in the middle of the night like this,” Ford replied, “but I think you’d better come. How soon can you be here?”