Classified As Murder

EIGHTEEN

What the devil was going on in the Delacorte mansion? Had one of the family lost it completely? The whole episode of the phone call seemed surreal now.

What malefactor was so stupid that he forgot to block the phone number from caller ID? Or did he do it on purpose, with the knowledge that I was bound to report it?

I had no answer to those questions, though I lay awake more than an hour trying to find them. The other conundrum I couldn’t solve was why the caller used the phone in the victim’s bedroom.

The caller had thrown down the gauntlet, and Kanesha Berry would rise to the challenge. That call might prove to be a costly mistake.

There was some kind of sick intelligence at work here, and the more I thought about it, the more it disturbed me.

But was it enough to keep me from returning to the Delacorte mansion and fulfilling my duties as an executor?

On balance, I decided it wasn’t. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but I also liked to think I had at least enough courage to do my duty by James Delacorte. He sought my assistance for a reason and put his faith in my abilities, and I was determined I wouldn’t let him down.

With that resolved, I drifted off to sleep. Beside me Diesel slept also, no longer disturbed by my restlessness.

I woke the next morning a little after eight, and I felt much better than I would have expected after the trouble I had falling asleep. Diesel wasn’t on the bed, and I figured he was downstairs somewhere.

Ten minutes later, in pajamas and slippers, I padded into the kitchen to find Sean in sweatpants and T-shirt at the stove.

“Morning, Dad,” he said. “Eggs’ll be ready in a couple minutes. Coffee’s made.”

“Thanks,” I said. I poured myself some coffee and took it to the table. I glanced around. “Where are Diesel and Dante?”

“Out in the backyard,” Sean said. “Thought I’d let them run around while I made breakfast.”

“How long have they been outside?” I had a sip of my coffee.

“About fifteen minutes.” Sean stirred the skillet of eggs.

“I think I’ll go let them in,” I said. “I heard thunder rumbling before I came downstairs.”

“I’ll finish with the toast while you do that,” Sean said.

Dark clouds were rolling in when I opened the door on the porch. Diesel sat on the steps, and he mewed several times as he moved up onto the porch. I couldn’t spot Dante at first, but when I called his name, he emerged from the azaleas along the back fence and ran toward me. Rain began to fall as he hopped up the steps.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” I told them. Diesel meowed twice, and Dante looked up at me, his tongue hanging out as he panted. He must have been playing hard. I checked his feet for dirt, because I suspected he had been digging in the flowerbed. No dirt clung to his paws, I was relieved to see.

“Okay, then, let’s go have breakfast,” I said. The animals preceded me into the house, and when we reached the kitchen, Sean had the table set.

Before I sat down, I checked Diesel’s food and water bowls, which I had moved on top of a table in the utility room to keep Dante from eating the cat food. I added water and crunchies to the bowls, and I noted that Sean had already put out food for the dog.

Back at the table I had a couple of sips of coffee while Sean brought plates of toast and eggs to the table.

“I didn’t cook any bacon or sausage,” he said. “Hope that’s okay.” He sat opposite me and picked up his fork.

“Fine with me,” I said. “I can’t afford to eat it that often. Not good for my cholesterol or my digestion.”

The newspaper lay on the table. I normally read it while I ate, but not with company at the table—even though Sean didn’t seem disposed to make conversation.

We ate in silence for several minutes. I complimented Sean once on the soft, buttery eggs, and he acknowledged my words with a nod and a smile.

Then Sean said, “I thought I heard the phone ring last night. It wasn’t Laura, was it?”

I had planned to tell him about the call but wanted to wait until I had some coffee and my breakfast before I did. The whole thing still seemed slightly unreal, and I thought caffeine and food would help ground me in reality.

“No, it wasn’t.” I had one more sip of coffee. “The caller warned me not to go back to the Delacorte mansion and threatened me if I did.”

“What?” Sean almost dropped his fork. He put it down on his plate. “What did he say?”

I repeated the brief conversation, and Sean’s face hardened in anger. “That’s it, then. Don’t go back to that house, Dad.”

“Let me tell you the rest of it,” I said. I finished the story with my call to Kanesha and her reaction when I gave her the number from the caller ID.

“That’s freakin’ nuts,” Sean said. “I mean it; you need to stay the heck away from those loons.” He rubbed his head hard with his right hand. I think if his hair hadn’t been cut so short, he would have been pulling at it now.

“I’ll admit that was my first reaction too, but the more I thought about it, I decided I had to finish the job Mr. Delacorte hired me to do.”

I could see that didn’t go over well. If anything, Sean’s face got darker. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you? I know how stubborn you are when you make up your mind to do something.”

I regarded him with a smile. “Yes, like another member of the family, whose name begins with S. Any idea who that might be?”

Sean’s eyes narrowed. Stubbornness was one trait he definitely inherited from me.

He grunted. I hadn’t heard that sound from him since he was about sixteen. At that age, he would grunt in deep exasperation at my general cluelessness and then go stomping off to his room.

To his credit, he would usually emerge within a half hour and offer a sheepish apology.

He didn’t get up from the table and disappear. Instead he sat and glared at me.

“No, I’m not going to change my mind,” I said. “For one thing, I imagine there are going to be police and sheriff’s deputies in the house while the investigation is in progress. And for another, I am hoping you still plan to come. I really could use your help.”

“I guess I’m going to have to,” Sean said in a grudging tone.

“Thanks.” I resumed eating.

Sean scowled at me, but he didn’t argue any further with me.

When I finished breakfast, I put my plate and silverware in the dishwasher. “I’m going up to shower and get dressed,” I said. “We need to be there a few minutes before ten, so be ready to go by nine-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready.” Sean popped the last bit of toast into his mouth.

Diesel followed me upstairs and napped on the bed while I showered.

True to his word, Sean was dressed when I came downstairs around nine-thirty. He wore a suit, sans the tie, and he looked smart and professional—and very handsome. I felt a surge of pride as I regarded him.

Dante sat at Sean’s feet, leash attached to his collar. “Okay,” I said. “Let me get Diesel into his harness, and we’ll go.”

Fifteen minutes later I parked in the driveway behind an older model Cadillac that had to belong to Q. C. Pendergrast. It seeming a fitting car for such an outsize personality.

By the time Sean and I reached the front door with our four-legged friends, Truesdale was there to greet us.

After we stepped inside and Truesdale shut the door, I introduced Sean. “And this is Dante.”

Truesdale shot a sour glance at the two animals, but he didn’t comment.

“Mr. Pendergrast and Miss Pendergrast are waiting for you in the small parlor.” Truesdale gestured toward the room where Sean and I were yesterday. We followed the butler, and he opened the door to announce us. He stood aside as we entered and then shut the door behind us.

Q. C. Pendergrast stood before the fireplace, and he turned toward us as we approached. Alexandra sat to one side in an armchair upholstered in leather the color of dark blood.

Pendergrast nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Harris, and the younger Mr. Harris as well. I see you’ve brought your assistants.” He chuckled.

Alexandra maintained a bland expression, but I caught a flash of something—irritation, interest?—when Sean stepped past me with Dante.

“Was it necessary to bring the dog as well as the cat?” Alexandra stood. “This house is full of expensive rugs and carpeting, and I hardly think the family—”

Sean interrupted her. “Will want a dog peeing on the floor. Yes, I’m sure you’re right, but Dante won’t be peeing on anything here, except the grass outside. He’s well trained, and I plan to make sure he goes outside whenever he needs to. Is that satisfactory, Miss Pendergrast?”

I winced a little at the sharpness of Sean’s tone, while Q. C. Pendergrast pursed his lips. Alexandra, however, flushed bright red. “That is satisfactory, Mr. Harris. See that you keep an eye on it.”

“Him, Miss Pendergrast. Dante is a male.” Sean glowered at her.

“Time to settle down to business.” The elder Pendergrast’s tone was pleasant, but it was clear he would brook no further argument. Alexandra sat down, and Sean stood beside me, arms folded across his chest. “Why don’t y’all have a seat? We need to talk briefly before I present James’s will to the family.”

Sean and I took a sofa that stood perpendicular to the fireplace and that faced Alexandra. Diesel sat by my feet. He was busy looking around, and I knew he would like the chance to explore this room. Dante hopped up into Sean’s lap, turned around a couple of times, then curled up and quivered. Sean stroked him lightly.

“As we will be working together, perhaps you won’t mind if I dispense with calling you Mr. Harris and address you as Charles instead?” Pendergrast smiled. “Just call me Q.C.”

“Charlie is fine,” I said. I really couldn’t see myself referring to him as anything other than “Mr. Pendergrast” because of my Southern programming. Like generations of my forebears, I’d been reared to address my elders with respect. I had a hard time using an elder’s given name in a casual fashion and still used “sir” and “ma’am” when addressing them.

“Good.” Pendergrast nodded. “Here’s what will happen in a few minutes.

“I will introduce you as my coexecutor, but I will wait until I reach the pertinent clause in the will before I explain that you’ll continue with the inventory, as James wanted.”

“I’m pretty sure at least one family member already knows I’ll be doing that.” I rubbed Diesel’s head to keep him near me. He was showing signs of restlessness.

Pendergrast frowned. “What do you mean? Has one of them been in contact with you?”

“Last night I received a threatening phone call,” I said. “At first I didn’t take it seriously. But when I reported it to Deputy Berry, she told me the caller used the phone in Mr. Delacorte’s bedroom.”

“A room that had been sealed by the sheriff’s department,” Sean said. He shifted in his chair, disturbing Dante. The dog grunted and lifted his head before he settled down again. “Seems to me a family member had to be the caller.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Pendergrast shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on the heels of his cowboy boots. “James was right not to trust his family, and I suspect we’ll soon find out one of them killed him. It could be any one of them, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Father.” Alexandra packed considerable force into that one word. “You must be careful about saying things like that. Consider the implications.”

Pendergrast threw an affectionate glance at his daughter. “I surely don’t think Charlie or his son here will go running to the press and start quoting my opinion to all and sundry.”

“Certainly not.” Sean glared at Alexandra.

Alexandra glared right back at him as she leaned forward in her chair. “Did I accuse either you or your father of intent to do such a thing? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Alexandra.” The tone of paternal command in that one word caused Alexandra to subside.

I glanced at Sean and saw him struggling not to smile at the young woman’s discomfiture. I shook my head at him, but he only quirked an eyebrow at me.

Sean’s antagonism toward Alexandra Pendergrast puzzled me. He appeared to have an antipathy to women lawyers, and I wondered whether that had something to do with his decision to quit his job and come to Mississippi. I filed that thought away for further consideration.

“We have strayed from the point.” The wry note in Pendergrast’s voice amused me. “I do believe that a member of the family is involved in James’s death, in an unlawful way. I also have every confidence in the abilities of Ms. Berry to find the truth and arrest the guilty party.”

“She is a very capable officer,” I said. “I have cause to know.”

“Yes, I seem to recall that you were involved in a murder investigation back last autumn.” Pendergrast nodded and glanced at his watch. “Time to meet with the family and read the will. As I said before, I won’t tell the family you will be continuing the inventory until I reach that provision. I expect that might bring interesting reactions—as if the rest of the will won’t.” He shook his head. “There’s bound to be great weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, as the Good Book says. James changed his will significantly just last week, though I advised him against it.”

I rose and followed Pendergrast toward the door. “No, you stay here,” I told Diesel. He meowed in complaint, but I repeated my words in a firmer tone. He turned his back to me.

Neither Sean nor Alexandra spoke as Pendergrast and I exited the room. I wouldn’t mind having a recording of what transpired in the smaller parlor while Pendergrast and I were with the family. I hoped they could manage to get along until the reading of the will was done.

I realized I was trying hard not to think about the scene about to ensue with the Delacorte family as Pendergrast knocked at the doors to the large front parlor. I disliked confrontations, and Pendergrast had already predicted histrionics in response to James Delacorte’s will.

The situation was increasingly coming to resemble the plot of an Agatha Christie novel, complete with a body in the library. Would I spot the clues properly, or would I end up being chagrined at overlooking the important ones when the solution to “whodunit” was revealed?

Then an unpleasant thought struck me. What if the terms of the will made someone angry enough to kill again?