Classified as Murder

by Miranda James

  Lizzie and Diesel were back. Lizzie resumed her seat on the stool, and Diesel came over to sit by mine. I reached down and rubbed his head and was rewarded with a couple of chirps.

  By now it was a few minutes after two, and the person scheduled to take over for me was late as usual. Anita Milhaus—if you took her word for it—was a gifted, dedicated reference librarian who could find the answer to any question posed to her.

  The problem was getting her to sit at the desk and actually answer questions when patrons approached her. Only the bravest of them dared to. Her acerbic manner was bad enough, but Anita’s obvious contempt for anything she considered a stupid question was notorious.

  After my first encounter with her several years ago, I immediately approached the head librarian, Ann Manscoe, to lodge a complaint. In my years as a library manager, I never allowed an employee to behave as Anita did. Mrs. Manscoe agreed with me but explained, with a weary tone in her voice, that Anita’s family contributed a significant amount of money every year to various civic causes. Any attempts to fire her would mean a withdrawal of much-needed monies by the Milhaus clan.

  So the library was stuck with Anita. That dismayed me, but I understood. In a small town like Athena, there were few options—other than pushing Anita in front of a big truck.

  To my surprise, Anita walked out of the stacks just then. She was usually in the staff lounge napping when she was supposed to be at the desk. She came around the counter and frowned the moment she spotted Diesel.

  She had at least given up complaining about his presence, since my time at the reference desk meant she could goof off even more.

  She didn’t speak, nor did I, as we traded places. She plopped down on the stool and leaned on the counter. She held up her right wrist and wiggled the diamond bracelet it sported. The diamonds flashed as they caught the light, and Anita stared at the bracelet with evident pleasure.

  “That’s beautiful,” I said. “Is it new?”

  “Yes, it is. My gentleman friend gave it to me.” Anita bestowed on me what was probably meant to be a coy glance but looked more like a constipated bovine attempting to relieve herself.

  “How nice,” I said as she continued to gaze with rapture at her bracelet. As I turned to leave, she spoke.

  “Here, you left something in the printer.”

  I turned back to see her brandishing a sheet of paper. I took it from her and glanced down at it. It was the last page of the citations on the Alcotts. “It’s for Mr. Delacorte. I didn’t realize there was another page.” I looked up at her. “Thanks. I’ll go give it to him.”

  Anita flapped her hand in the direction of the stacks. “The old fart’s back there at his usual table. Honestly, the man has more money than the Rockefellers. Why he keeps coming here when he could afford to buy whatever book he wants is beyond me.”

  “It must be for the friendly atmosphere and dedicated customer service,” I deadpanned.

  Behind me Lizzie guffawed. Anita shot me a look of pure loathing. I just smiled.

  “Time for us to be heading home,” I said. “Come on, boy. See you later, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie responded in kind, and Diesel and I headed for the area where Mr. Delacorte was working. He wasn’t at the table, but I spotted his dispatch case and left the final page of citations on top of it. On the way to the staff lounge we passed by Anita, dawdling at the water fountain instead of sitting at the desk. Once we passed her, Diesel warbled at me, and I nodded at him. “I know, boy; she’s one strange lady. Thank goodness we only have to see her once or twice a week.” I sighed. “And may the good Lord reward Mrs. Manscoe and the rest of the staff who have to deal with her on a daily basis.”

  Diesel watched as I gathered my jacket and lunch bag from my locker. My volunteer shift ended at two, and I was ready to head home. It was Friday afternoon, and the forecast promised spectacular spring weather the next few days. I anticipated a relaxing weekend working in the yard and reading—all with the assistance of Diesel, of course.

  On the way to the car, I remembered my appointment with James Delacorte tomorrow morning. I was looking forward to talking to him and finding out what he wanted.

  A few minutes later, with Diesel in the car beside me, I approached my house.

  A dusty late-model car with Texas plates occupied a spot on the street in front of the house.

  I knew that car. It belonged to my son, Sean.

  He hadn’t told me he was coming to visit. He’d been here only once—this past Christmas—since I moved back to Athena. Showing up out of the blue like this was unlike him. He had always been methodical and well organized, doing nothing without planning ahead.

  My spirits sank. This couldn’t be good news.

  TWO

  After I pulled the car into the garage and shut off the ignition, I sat for a moment, speculating on Sean’s sudden appearance. When he spent the Christmas holidays with me and his sister, Laura, he had little to say to me. When I asked him anything about his job or his life in Houston, he brushed me off.

  Clearly something was wrong, or he wouldn’t have turned up unannounced. Sean, like his late mother, invariably stuck to his prearranged schedule. Laura, younger by two years, was like me, flexible and easygoing. As an actress making her way in Hollywood, Laura had to adapt quickly to the uncertain nature of her profession.

  Diesel head-butted my right arm a couple of times. That brought me out of my reverie.

  “I know, boy; time to go in.” I needed to see my son and to assure myself he was okay.

  I opened the door, and Diesel crawled across me and hopped to the garage floor. By the time I gathered my things and locked the car, he had the door to the kitchen open. He learned this trick recently, and I suspected my boarder, Justin Wardlaw, taught him.

  I dropped my things on the kitchen table, and Diesel disappeared into the utility room to visit his litter box.

  I left the kitchen and walked to the foot of the stairs.

  “Sean, where are you?” I waited a moment and called again.

  The house was still. Justin left this morning on a camping trip with his father and some other family members. The coming week was spring break at nearby Athena College, where Justin was a freshman. I had the week off too, as I’d mentioned to Mr. Delacorte, from the college library where I worked part-time as a rare book cataloger.

  I felt pressure against the backs of my legs as Diesel rubbed himself against me. I turned to look down at him.

  “Where do you think Sean is?” With his sense of smell he could locate Sean faster than I could, I figured.

  Diesel gazed up at me as if he were considering my question. After a moment he padded around the stairs and down the hall toward the back of the house. As I followed him, I detected a faint whiff of something vaguely pleasant and spicy.

  The cat stopped in front of the closed door onto the back porch. He chirped.

  “Go ahead; you might as well.” He reared up on his hind legs and grasped the doorknob with his front paws. With a deft twist and a sharp push forward, he opened the door.

  That alien scent was much stronger here, and I identified it. Sean must be smoking a cigar.

  Before either Diesel or I could step out onto the enclosed porch, a barking dervish appeared in front of us. I think the cat and I both blinked in astonishment at the tiny bundle of champagne-colored fur hopping around and emitting loud noises.

  “Dante, stop that.” Sean’s rich baritone came from the left end of the porch and had little effect on the dog.

  Diesel approached the poodle, towering over him, or so it seemed. The cat bowed up and hissed at the dog. The dog backed up a few inches but kept barking. The cat spit at the poodle, then held out a paw and tapped Dante on the head. Astonished—to judge by the comical look on its face—the dog shut up and sat down. The two animals regarded each other in silence now.

  I glanced to where Sean sprawled in one of the wicker chairs in the corner. At six foot three, there was a lot of him, fro
m the worn and scuffed cowboy boots and faded jeans, to the T-shirt that hugged his muscular upper body, and the handsome face with its shadowing of dark stubble. His black hair was cut short and gave no hint of the thick curls he’d sported at Christmas. The lack of hair only accentuated the gauntness of his face. He had lost weight the past three months.

  “Sean, this is an unexpected surprise. But very welcome, of course.” I tried to make my expression as bright and cheerful as I could, but Sean’s appearance concerned me. He was far too thin.

  “Hi, Dad.” Sean stood up. He gestured with his right hand. “I came out here to have a cigar.”

  “I noticed. I started smelling it in the hallway but wasn’t quite sure what it was.” I stepped around Diesel and Dante, who now sniffed each other with caution.

  “I should have called, but I hope it’s okay that I just showed up like this. And with a dog.”

  “Of course it’s okay. You and Dante are welcome here for as long as you like. Diesel will enjoy having a playmate, and I’m glad to have my son with me, no matter why.” I felt a tightening in my chest. Was my son really that unsure of his welcome?

  “Thanks.” Sean didn’t smile.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “About twenty minutes.” Sean took a couple of steps in my direction, then halted. The look in his eyes and his tense stance pained me. He drew on his cigar and expelled smoke in a plume that drifted away through the screens.

  I wanted to hug him, but he didn’t move any closer. I hung back too long, and the moment passed.

  Sean remained silent, smoking and watching me.

  I gazed at his face. He appeared tired, but after the twelve-hour drive from Houston, that was no surprise.

  “When did you start smoking?” I frowned.

  “In law school. Whenever I had to stay up and cram.” He shrugged. “Now I do it to relax. A good cigar usually mellows me out.”

  I preferred a good book, but I decided to keep my opinion to myself. “You must have driven all night.”

  “Left Houston around two this morning.”

  “You must be totally wiped out. Why don’t you go take a nap?”

  “In a while. When I finish this.” Sean brandished the cigar. He glanced past me and frowned. “No, Dante. Bad dog.”

  I turned to see the poodle hiking his leg against the wicker sofa. Sean lunged forward and grabbed Dante before he could do any further damage. Sean opened the door onto the backyard and set the dog down on the step. “Go on; go finish your business outside.”

  Dante gazed up at his master. Sean gestured impatiently, and the dog scampered down the steps. Diesel followed him before I could do anything.

  “Sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to let the cat out.” Sean eased the screen door shut but didn’t face me.

  “The yard’s fenced in, and Diesel is good about not trying to get out.” I joined Sean by the door, staying upwind of his cigar, and we watched the two animals chase each other through the grass.

  “Looks like they’re getting along fine.” Sean rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I was afraid they wouldn’t.”

  “Diesel is pretty easygoing. Besides, he must outweigh Dante by a good twenty pounds. He’ll keep Dante in his place.”

  Sean laughed. He smoked and stared out at the frolicking animals.

  “When did you get Dante? You didn’t mention him at Christmas.”

  “Two months ago. He belonged to a friend who couldn’t keep him any longer, so I said I’d take him. He’s about fifteen months old.”

  Sean’s tone was flat. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he sounded depressed.

  “Son, is everything okay?” I placed a hand on his arm. “Are you ill?”

  “No, I’m not sick, Dad. Just tired.” Sean walked away from me, back to his chair. He sat down and brushed some ash from his cigar into the ashtray on the table beside the chair. He stared moodily out through the screen in front of him.

  I leaned against the door frame and regarded him. He was obviously more than tired, but could I get him to open up to me? “I’m glad you could get some time off so soon after the holidays. I know it’s been difficult in the past.”

  Sean was a corporate lawyer with a large firm in Houston. At twenty-seven he had several years to go before he could make partner. He worked seventy or eighty hours a week on average.

  Sean shrugged. He drew on his cigar and laid it in the ashtray. He expelled smoke as he stood. “I was due some vacation. Couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, so I came here.” He yawned. “Think I’ll go have that nap.”

  “Sure. You can have the room you had at Christmas.” So much for getting him to talk to me. His flat tone and shuttered expression warned me off.

  Sean stepped to the back door, opened it, and called, “Dante. Come here.” He whistled. “Here, boy.”

  Moments later Dante trotted up the steps, wheezing from the play session. Diesel loped in right behind him.

  Sean reached down and scooped Dante into his arms. The dog licked his master’s face, and Sean winced, pulling his head away.

  He regarded me for a moment as Dante squirmed in his arms. He smiled, and all at once I could see the little boy who used to come to me for help with his math homework. I hadn’t seen many signs of that little boy in years.

  I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat while I watched Sean and his dog enter the house. I wandered over to the chair Sean had vacated and sat down, trying to absorb everything.

  Sean’s appearance and behavior alarmed me. I knew his job was demanding, but surely he wasn’t working so much he had no time to eat. I was a stress eater, and were I in his place, I probably would have gained fifty pounds by now. Sean was obviously not like me in this respect.

  Since his mother’s death, nearly four years ago, Sean had held himself aloof from me. Just why, I wasn’t sure. He was always closer to my wife, Jackie, while my daughter, Laura, was closer to me. Not an unusual dynamic in families like ours, I supposed, but I thought my wife’s death from cancer would bring us all closer together. That hadn’t happened.

  Diesel climbed into my lap and rubbed his head against my chin. I adjusted my position to accommodate him and wrapped my arms around him. He snuggled against me and chirped. We sat that way for a few minutes, and I felt better. He always knew when I needed comfort.

  “We’ll do our best to help him, won’t we, boy?” I rubbed Diesel’s side a couple of times before gently signaling him that I needed to get up.

  In the kitchen I read the note my housekeeper, Azalea Berry, left for me on the refrigerator door. The woman was determined to save me from starvation, or so it would seem from the meals she cooked. According to the note, I could look forward to roast beef, au gratin potatoes, green beans, and cornbread, with lemon icebox pie for dessert. The pie was in the fridge, but everything else was in the oven, probably still warm.

  If anything could whet Sean’s appetite, it was Azalea’s cooking. When she got a look at him, I knew she’d want to fatten him up.

  I glanced at my watch. Nearly four—it would be a while before I was ready to eat. I decided to wait until Sean had a nap, and then we could eat together.

  “Come on, Diesel.” I spotted him returning from another visit to the utility room. “How about we go upstairs and let me change clothes? Maybe read for a while before dinner.”

  If people heard how I talked to this cat when we were at home, they would probably think I was edging into senility. But frankly I didn’t much care. Diesel was a loving companion, and most of the time I was convinced he understood exactly what I said to him.

  He scampered up the steps ahead of me, and by the time I reached my bedroom, he was stretched out on the bed, his head resting on a pillow. He blinked at me a few times before he closed his eyes. He wasn’t used to romping around the yard with a dog. He would soon be sound asleep.

  By the time I put my book aside, it was after six, and my stomach reminded me it was time for dinner. Diesel was still aslee
p on the bed when I left the bedroom and walked to the head of the stairs.

  I paused for a moment to listen. Sean’s bedroom was a few feet down the hall, its door shut. He was so tired he might sleep through the night.

  Then I remembered the dog. I doubted Dante would be happy cooped up until morning. He needed to be fed and let outside again before then.

  If Sean didn’t get up sometime before I was ready for bed, I would take care of Dante for him and hope I didn’t disturb my son.

  Halfway through my meal I heard feet pounding and nails scrabbling on the stairs. Sean, barefoot but still dressed, entered the kitchen moments later, preceded by the cat and the dog. Dante hopped around Diesel in circles as the cat made his stately progress toward me.

  “Dante, calm down, for Pete’s sake.” Sean growled at his pet, and the dog sat down right in front of Diesel. The cat stepped over the poodle, and Sean laughed.

  “Just in time for dinner.” I waved at the spread on the table. “I figured you might sleep the night through, though.”

  “I probably could have.” Sean yawned. “But Dante woke me up, and I realized I was starving. He must be, too.”

  “I don’t have any dog food.” I frowned. “There may be some scraps of ham in the fridge, though.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I brought his food with me.” Sean headed for the utility room and came back in a moment with a can of food and two bowls. He gave the dog food and water. Diesel approached, looking interested, and the poodle growled at him before sticking his head into the bowl. Diesel flicked his tail around twice before turning away. He came to sit on the floor by my chair.

  “Get yourself a plate. There’s sweet tea in the fridge, and diet Coke.”

  “What, no beer?” Sean scowled.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “I’ll pick some up later.” Sean found a plate and silverware and came to sit across the table from me.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I was pleased to see some of the signs of strain had faded from his face.