Classified As Murder

TWENTY-THREE

“Please come with me.” Stewart dropped my arm and darted over to the door to the small parlor. “In here.” He opened the door and stepped inside. He turned to peer out at me.

The last thing I wanted was to become further embroiled with the Delacortes, but Stewart looked so scared I felt sorry for him. I might as well hear what he had to say. Kanesha would want to know, I was sure.

“Drama queen,” Sean muttered in a semi-amused tone as he followed me to where Stewart waited. He held the leashes of both animals, and they came along behind him.

When we were all in the room with the door shut, Stewart appeared to relax slightly. “Thank the Lord you got here when you did. I don’t think my nerves could have stood it much longer.” He walked over to the sofa and flopped down. “You have no idea what it’s been like.”

I sat in a chair across from him, and Diesel crouched by my legs. Sean took the chair near mine and put Dante in his lap.

Stewart appeared to notice Sean for the first time. He perked up and smiled. “Well, hello. I don’t think we’ve met. Who are you?”

“This is my son, Sean.” I made the introduction because my son appeared too bemused to speak for himself. “He’s helping me with the inventory. That’s his dog, Dante.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Stewart said, almost in a purr. His earlier panic seemed to have disappeared. “Aren’t you tall, dark, and gorgeous.”

Sean laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were my friend Arthur from back in Houston.”

“Oh, really? Your friend?” Stewart arched an eyebrow.

“Not that kind of friend,” Sean said, obviously amused. “Somebody I used to work with.”

“What a waste,” Stewart said with what sounded like regret.

“What’s the trouble?” I asked in an effort to get things back on track. “Why do you need my help?”

Stewart was slow to focus on my question because he was still gazing at Sean. Then he turned to me. “It’s this house. I simply cannot spend another night under this roof.”

“Why not?” Sean said. “Pretty nice place, if you ask me.”

Stewart sniffed. “Yes, but my uncle was murdered! That terribly butch female deputy told us about half an hour ago. I thought he had a heart attack, but no, someone killed him.” He shuddered. “I can’t stay in a house with a murderer.”

Before I could reply Sean said, “How do we know you aren’t the murderer?” He grinned.

“I could never harm poor Uncle James,” Stewart said with a pained expression. “Even though he could be very mean from time to time. I was very fond of him. I couldn’t kill him.” He grimaced. “We had our little tiffs, but we always made up. Besides, I wasn’t even here yesterday, so there’s no way you can accuse me of killing him.”

“Oh, really,” Sean said. “Where were you, then?”

Stewart looked coy. “If you must know, I drove up to Memphis Sunday evening to visit a friend. A very good friend, and not just somebody to have a drink with.” He leered at Sean. “I didn’t get back here until about four o’clock yesterday afternoon. I bought some gas in Memphis as I was leaving, and I have the receipt. So I have an alibi.”

If he wasn’t making the whole thing up, then he was out of the running as the killer.

“I gave my receipt to that deputy,” Stewart went on. “She said she’d have to check it out, naturally, but if my story holds up, then I’m in the clear.”

“That’s a relief,” Sean said. “For you, I mean.”

Stewart waggled his finger at Sean in a “naughty, naughty” gesture.

“Why do you need my help?” I asked again. “Surely you have friends you can stay with if you want to leave here.”

“Of course I have friends,” Stewart said. “But they aren’t going to want me living with them ad infinitum. You heard the terms of the will. I have three months to find my own place, and I want a safe haven until I find it.”

“And you think moving in with my father is the solution?” Sean regarded my prospective boarder with a cool look.

“I talked to a friend in the history department at the college, and he told me your father has boarders. I don’t see why I couldn’t be a boarder if there’s room.” Stewart turned to me with an imploring smile. “Do you have room right now? Please say you do.”

Talk about an uncomfortable position. I did have room at the moment, and I couldn’t lie to him. But I sure wanted to. The last thing I needed right now was a Delacorte under my own roof, even though this one was evidently not the murderer.

Sean once again spoke before I could frame a reply. “It’s $750 a month, with kitchen privileges and some meals included, but you have to clean your own room and do your own laundry.”

I stared at my son in disbelief. I didn’t think he wanted Stewart in the house any more than I did, so why was he even offering terms to the man? And extortionate ones as well. I charged my regular boarders only $200 a month because they were college students and couldn’t generally afford any more than that. Stewart could probably afford to pay more, but $750 seemed too much.

I was about to protest, but Stewart spoke before I could. “It’s a deal. I want to move in right away.” He hopped up from the sofa. “Oh, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be able to sleep tonight, knowing I’m not sharing a roof with a heartless killer.” He almost raced to the door. “I’m going up to pack some things. I’ll find you when I’m ready to go.” He was out the door before I could stop him.

I rounded on Sean. “Why did you tell him that? And that absurd price? I’m not sure I want him in my house.”

Diesel, alarmed by my tone of voice, started growling, and I had to calm him down while Sean replied.

“First off, I didn’t think he’d be willing to pay that much, but second, I figured as long as he has an alibi, he might be a useful source of information.” Sean laughed. “Arthur—the friend I was talking about—acts like a bubble-headed queen a lot of the time, but he’s really very sharp. I suspect Stewart isn’t much different.”

“Does Arthur flirt with you the way Stewart did?” I was very curious. Sean was actually offering me a glimpse of his life in Houston.

“He did when we first met, a couple of years ago,” Sean said. “But he soon got over it when I told him I wasn’t interested. It’s no big deal, Dad.”

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” I asked.

Sean shrugged. “It did a little, at first. But now I don’t think twice about it. I say ‘No thanks’ and that’s the end of it.”

Sounded to me like it must happen on a regular basis, but I forbore commenting. I was pleased to know, however, that Sean responded in a mature manner.

“What about this source of information? Are you going to pump him for details about the family?”

Sean grinned. “If he’s as much like Arthur as I think he is, we won’t have to do much priming. He’ll be more than happy to shovel the dirt. And he could have some very helpful details.”

“I suppose so,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure about this. I decided I would leave Stewart to Sean’s tender mercies, and if he extracted useful information from my new boarder, I’d be willing to listen. I wondered, though, what Kanesha might have to say about it. If Stewart’s dirt helped solve the case, she probably wouldn’t mind.

“Come on, then,” I said as I stood. “Let’s get to work on the inventory.”

“Sure thing,” Sean said. “When Stewart’s ready to take his things to the house, I can go over with him and get him settled and then come back to help you.”

“Fine,” I said as we walked into the hall. “He can have the big room on the third floor that’s over my bedroom.”

Deputy Bates occupied a chair in front of the library. He glanced up from his cell phone when Sean and I, along with Diesel and Dante, neared him.

“Afternoon,” he said as he got up to unlock the door.

“Thanks,” I said. Sean preceded me into the room with the boys. “Deputy, I forgot to ask earlier, but what happened with my satchel? I don’t remember seeing it in here before I left for lunch.”

Bates shrugged. “If it’s not in here, then it’s probably down at the sheriff’s department. Probably best to ask Deputy Berry about it. She may be willing to release it if it’s not needed as evidence.”

“Thank you, I will,” I said.

Bates followed us into the room, bringing his chair. He set it a couple of feet inside the room and shut the doors. I supposed Kanesha didn’t want anyone watching what we were doing in here.

Sean put Dante in one of the chairs and told him to stay. Diesel curled up on the floor nearby.

After pulling a pair of cotton gloves from the box for Sean, I picked up the first volume of the inventory, and we set to work, picking up where I left off yesterday morning. That seemed like a week ago rather than one day. I did my best to keep the image of Mr. Delacorte’s body out of my head as we worked.

Sean scanned the shelves while I read out the titles, and when a book wasn’t where it should be, we both looked for it. The job went a little faster that way, and we worked for about an hour without a break.

A knock sounded at the door. Bates opened the door a few inches and spoke to the person outside in the hall. “Let me check, sir,” he said.

Bates shut the door and walked over to where Sean and I stood. “Mr. Stewart Delacorte,” he said. “Wants to speak to you.”

“Thanks, Deputy,” Sean said. “I know what he wants.” He turned to me. “If you’ll give me your car keys, I’ll take care of it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I handed over the keys and suggested that he take Dante with him. The poodle would be too restless if he had to stay here without Sean.

I returned to my work, and Bates resumed his seat by the door. Diesel decided that he had been neglected long enough, and he came and rubbed against my legs. I had to put down the inventory book and give him some attention. Otherwise, I knew he would start butting his head against my legs and mewing at me. He was very difficult to ignore when he wanted to be noticed.

After a few minutes of that, Diesel relented and found a spot under the work table. He was close enough to watch me and to reclaim my attention if he wanted. Maine coons can be very possessive, or so I’d read. Diesel could be that way on occasion by maintaining physical contact with me. That was sometimes awkward, but for now, at least, he seemed content to nap under the table.

I worked without a break until Sean returned. When I checked my watch I was surprised to note that it was almost four-thirty.

“Sorry I was gone so long.” Sean shook his head. “Would you believe Stewart got lost three times on the way to the house? He was following in his car, and despite my best efforts, he couldn’t seem to keep up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “It’s not that far.”

“I know,” Sean replied. “But I think he was talking on his cell phone the whole time.” He sighed. “I finally got him to the house and helped him carry his things in. Then he insisted on making another trip back here to pick up stuff he forgot, and that took a while, too. But I finally got away from him. When I left, he was having a grand old time rearranging the furniture in his bedroom.”

“If that keeps him amused, that’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m still not sure about having him in the house, but I’ve decided that you’re going to be his minder, not me.” I noticed then that Sean didn’t have Dante with him. “Where’s your dog?”

“With Stewart.” Sean laughed. “Stewart took a fancy to him, and he begged me to let Dante stay with him so he’d have company until we came home. That was fine with me, and Dante seemed happy to stay. I can work better without having to check on him every five minutes to make sure he’s not getting into something.”

Diesel perked up when Sean returned, and he appeared to be searching the room for his little pal. “Sean left him at home, Diesel,” I told him. The cat stopped, turned, and went back to his spot under the table.

“That’s amazing,” Sean said. “I swear he understands anything you say.”

“I know. It’s spooky sometimes.” I brandished the inventory book I was holding. “Let’s get a bit more done, and then we’ll head home for the night.”

We resumed our earlier method, with me reading and Sean checking the shelves. After a few minutes of this, Sean spoke suddenly.

“I just realized something, Dad.” He rubbed his chin. “All the books we’ve been dealing with so far are pretty old. I don’t think a single one of them was published after 1900.”

I thought about it a moment. “I believe you’re right. Perhaps Mr. Delacorte concentrated on pre-1900 books when he first started collecting. I know there are books in the collection published after 1900, though, like a set of Faulkner first editions, and some Welty editions, too.”

“That makes sense,” Sean said. He turned back to the shelf.

I called out the next title, and then we heard a knock at the door.

Bates answered it, but I wasn’t paying much attention, being more focused on the task at hand.

The high-pitched tones of Eloise Morris’s voice caught my ear, however, and I turned to see her standing in the doorway. Bates hovered over her with a puzzled expression. Since she was in one of her antebellum gowns, I could understand his confusion.

Then I noticed what she was holding.

It looked like the missing volume of the inventory.