Classified As Murder

THIRTY

When my alarm sounded the next morning at seven, I woke with a lighter heart but a heavy head. I wasn’t used to staying up past ten o’clock, and I hadn’t made it into bed until almost one. Even then I had trouble getting to sleep because my mind bounced back and forth between the talk with Sean and the news of Eloise Morris’s death.

The fact that Sean finally confided in me relieved me of one burden. Our relationship was stronger than it had been in several years. Now that I understood the effects of my own behavior upon my son, I could work to repair the damage.

Eloise’s death saddened me and, at the same time, enraged me. Who had hated or feared her enough to kill her?

Hubert was an obvious suspect. He clearly despised his wife and wanted to be rid of her. With her out of the way, he was free to marry Anita, if that’s what he wanted.

Had he also killed his uncle? He might have done it if he thought he was the chief heir to James Delacorte’s estate. Inherit millions, get rid of his inconvenient wife, and settle down with his mistress—that could have been the plan.

Another thought struck me. What if there were two killers at work here? After pondering that for a few minutes, I dismissed it as unlikely. Eloise’s murder could be a copycat killing, but I didn’t really think it was.

Her death could be the result of fear on the killer’s part. What did Eloise know that could harm James Delacorte’s murderer? Eloise didn’t seem to be particularly lucid most of the time, but that didn’t mean she might not witness something and then blurt it out later. The things she said often seemed to come out of nowhere, but now that I thought back on her oddball remarks, I realized they occasionally fit the context of the situation in some way.

Had Eloise unwittingly offered a clue to the killer’s identity? Had she known who killed James Delacorte without completely realizing it? I’d have to think back over all my interactions with her to search for potential leads.

After grappling with all those questions, I felt logy when I crawled out of bed at seven. Diesel raised his head from the pillow and yawned. He regarded me for a moment before rolling on his back to stretch and yawn some more.

By the time I finished my shower and dressed for the day, Diesel had disappeared. As I neared the kitchen, I smelled sausage frying. Azalea was here, and breakfast would soon be ready. My stomach gurgled in anticipation.

“Good morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

Azalea returned my greeting without turning away from the stove. “Eggs be ready in a couple minutes. Sausage, too.”

“Smells wonderful.” I gazed at the plate of biscuits and the bowl of red-eye gravy on the table. I fancied I could feel my arteries clogging at the sight, but where Azalea’s biscuits and gravy were concerned, I had absolutely no resistance.

“We have a new boarder.” I had a couple sips of coffee. “Stewart Delacorte, James Delacorte’s great-nephew. He moved in last night, into the third-floor room over mine.”

“I suspect I best set another place at the table, then.” Azalea turned from the stove and set a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage patties in front of me.

“He might not be down for a while.” My mouth watered as I opened two biscuits and covered them with gravy. “He had bad news last night, and we were up late.”

Azalea stared at me, hands on her hips. “What bad news?”

I paused with a forkful of biscuit and sausage halfway to my mouth. “Eloise Morris was murdered last night.” I put the fork down. It seemed disrespectful to poke food into my mouth right after delivering such bad news.

Azalea shook her head. “That poor lamb.” Her voice was soft. “Never harmed nobody. May the Lord bless and keep her.” Azalea’s lips continued to move, and I knew she must be offering a silent prayer on Eloise’s behalf.

When she finished, Azalea turned back to the stove. “Poor Mr. Stewart. I was working there when he come to live with his great-grandmama. Poor little mite he was, done lost his mama and daddy. Miss Eloise took up a lot of time with him, her being only about ten years older than him.”

No wonder Stewart was so upset. He hadn’t let on to Sean and me how close he and Eloise had been at one time. No surprise, then, that he despised Hubert so thoroughly for his treatment of his wife.

“How long Mr. Stewart gone be staying here?” Azalea came back to the table with another plate of eggs and sausage, which she set at Sean’s place.

Right on cue, Sean walked into the kitchen. “Good morning. That sure smells good.” He pulled out his chair and sat.

“I’m not sure how long Stewart will be here, Azalea,” I said. “He wanted to get out of the Delacorte house and stay here until he could find a permanent place of his own.”

“Can’t say as I blame him for that.” Azalea brought Sean a cup of coffee, and he thanked her in between bites of egg, biscuit, and sausage.

“You looking a lot better this morning.” Azalea stood near the table and fixed her stern gaze upon my son. “Eating good food and getting you some sleep’s made some difference.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sean smiled at her. “With food like this, I can’t help but do better. These are the most delicious biscuits I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Azalea’s expression softened for a moment. “I just make’em the way my mama taught me when I was only a bitty girl.” She squared her shoulders. “Now I got plenty of laundry to be doing. I can’t stand around here talking or I ain’t gone get everything done.” She headed into the utility room.

Sean grinned at me. “She’s a trip. I hope she never quits.”

I finished chewing a mouthful of gravy-soaked biscuit. “It’s entirely up to her. I have no say in the matter.” I realized the dog wasn’t with Sean. “Where’s Dante?”

“Out in the backyard running around. I’ll let him in soon.”

“You didn’t let Diesel out with him, did you? I haven’t seen him since I got out of bed.”

Sean shook his head. “No, Dante’s on his own. I haven’t seen Diesel either.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s with Stewart.”

Sean was probably right. Diesel had a knack for knowing when someone needed comfort, and he had probably gone up to the third floor to check on the new boarder, like a nurse with his patient.

I examined my son for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” Sean met my gaze with a smile full of affection. “I’m really glad we talked, Dad.”

“I am, too.” That was all I could say for a moment, around the sudden lump in my throat. When I could trust myself to speak without my voice wavering, I said, “I haven’t heard anything from the sheriff’s department to the contrary, so I’m assuming that it will be okay for us to go back to the Delacorte house to continue our work this morning.”

“That’s what I figured you’d say.” Sean frowned. “I’m not too keen on going back to that place, but I know you’re not going to give up on finishing the job.”

“No, I’m not, unless Kanesha tells me I’m done.” I had another forkful of biscuit and gravy.

Sean and I ate the rest of our meal in silence. On my way upstairs I met Diesel coming down. I paused midway, and he sat on a step at my eye level and regarded me with what I always thought of as his solemn expression.

“So where have you been?” I asked. “Were you looking after Stewart?”

He meowed twice, and I took that for agreement.

I continued up the stairs, and Diesel accompanied me. “I’m going to be leaving in a few minutes. If you want to go with me, you’d better be ready.”

I looked down as Diesel paused near the second-floor landing. He cocked his head to one side as if considering my words, and then he turned and trotted down the stairs.

I smiled as I went to brush my teeth.

Back in the kitchen about ten minutes later, I found Sean and Diesel ready to leave. Diesel wore his harness, and I thanked Sean for putting it on. Sean laughed and said, “He dragged it off the hook on the wall and brought it to me. That’s some smart cat.”

“Yes, he is,” I said as I rubbed said cat’s head with great affection. “Where’s Dante? Are you taking him with us today?”

“No, he’s going to stay here with Stewart.” Sean shrugged. “I talked to Stewart for a minute, and he seemed pretty down. When I asked if he’d mind looking after Dante today, he perked up a little. He really has taken a shine to Dante.”

I fastened the leash to Diesel’s harness. As I stood, I remarked, “Careful, or you may lose your dog.”

“To be honest, Dad, I don’t think I’d mind if Stewart wants to keep him. Dante is a sweet little guy, but dogs require a lot of attention. I just don’t know whether I want to deal with all that right now.”

“I can understand that.” I opened the back door, and Diesel preceded me and Sean into the garage. “But be absolutely certain that Stewart really wants him and will take good care of him. You owe it to Dante.”

“I know.” Sean smiled across the roof of the car at me as I opened the back door on the driver’s side for Diesel. “You don’t have to worry about that; I promise.” He opened his door and slid into the car.

“Whenever I start talking to you like I think you’re still twelve,” I said with an apologetic smile, “tell me to stop, okay? I didn’t mean to lecture you just now.”

Sean patted my arm as I backed the car out of the garage. “It’s okay, Dad. If you start to bug me, I’ll remind you how old I am. I know it’s hard to remember that kind of detail when you’re getting gaga.”

I had to laugh at that, and I marveled at how quickly our relationship had shifted back into more familiar territory. Sean sounded more and more like the son I knew before my wife became so ill, and I began to distance myself from him.

When we turned into the driveway at the Delacorte mansion, I spotted only two official cars parked there. One from the police department and the other from the sheriff’s department. I wondered if Kanesha was on hand this morning.

We found out a few minutes later after a policeman opened the door to us. Kanesha was talking to another deputy and another police officer in the doorway of the front parlor.

When she spotted us, Kanesha held up a hand, and Sean and I halted. Diesel sat by my feet. After a couple more minutes’ conversation with the other officers, Kanesha motioned for us to join her. She led us into the parlor while the cop and the deputy departed.

Kanesha didn’t waste any time with the niceties. “I’m sure you’ve heard what happened here last night.”

At my nod she continued. “I want you to finish the inventory as quickly as possible. I’ve spoken with the FBI office in Jackson, and they’re sending someone up later today to take over that part of the investigation.”

“We’ll do our best,” I said. “But I don’t think there’s any way we can finish by this afternoon.”

“Do what you can,” Kanesha said, her face impassive. “Once the FBI agent is here, I don’t know whether he’ll want you to continue. In my experience they don’t always work well with the locals.”

“Duly noted, Deputy,” Sean said. “Come on, Dad, let’s get to work.”

I nodded at Kanesha and then started to follow Sean out the door.

“One more thing,” Kanesha said. We turned back. “I spoke to the rare book dealer in New York about Tamerlane.”

“Did Mr. Delacorte buy a copy?” I asked when she stopped and didn’t continue right away.

“He did,” Kanesha said. “And if we can find it, I think we’ll find the murderer.”