Classified As Murder

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, from 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 asleep 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.

“Azalea must have cooked this.” Sean put his fork down.

“Oh, so you think your old man can’t cook like this?” I pretended to be offended.

Sean chuckled. “You’re a decent cook, Dad, but you’ve never made a roast like this.” He forked another bite of meat into his mouth and chewed. “Mmmmm.”

“I can’t argue with that. Azalea is a wonderful cook.” I grinned. “So wonderful, in fact, I’m starting to suffer from done-lap disease.”

Sean looked alarmed, and I hastened to explain. “Done-lap, as in my stomach’s done lapped over my belt.”

He responded to that bit of antique Southern humor with a roll of the eyes. He ate a bit more. Then he set his fork aside and cleared his throat.

“I’m not going back to Houston, Dad. Can I stay here with you?”