Claws For Concern

ELEVEN

All night long I dreamed of having strange people in the house. Nothing terrible happened, at least nothing that I could recall when I awoke briefly after one of the dreams. Yet when I finally woke, ready to start the day, I felt uneasy, and it took me a while to shake that off. During my nightly call with Helen Louise, I forbore to mention Bill Delaney because I didn’t want to keep Helen Louise on the phone when she needed rest. Perhaps if I had been able to discuss the matter thoroughly with her, though, I wouldn’t have gone to sleep with subconscious doubts eating away at me.

One point hit me when I woke up. I had recently met two people from Tullahoma who might have knowledge of Bill Delaney. Ernie Carpenter and Jack Pemberton had lived there all their lives, and they might know him or know something about him. Tullahoma wasn’t a big town, not as big as Athena, anyway.

I decided I would e-mail Jack Pemberton this morning and inquire whether he knew anything about my prospective houseguest and alleged step-cousin. Later on I might call Ernie Carpenter. Since she and my aunt had been good friends, she might know something about my uncle Del as well. He might have been from Tullahoma himself for all I knew.

Diesel ran downstairs ahead of me, no doubt eager to get to his litter box. I retrieved the newspaper from the front yard before I headed into the kitchen to make the coffee. To my delight I discovered the coffee already made, thanks to Stewart. He had his head in the fridge, and I called out a “Good morning” to let him know I was there. He started slightly, almost banging his head as he withdrew it. He pivoted to return my greeting before delving into the fridge again.

I poured myself some coffee and, paper in hand, seated myself in my usual spot at the table. I glanced at the main headlines on the front page of the paper. All pertained to local matters, none of which sounded particularly intriguing.

Stewart emerged from his foray into the fridge with the egg carton, a bag of shredded cheese, and a pint of milk. He set everything on the counter. “How are you this morning, Charlie?” he asked when he turned to face me.

“Doing fine,” I said. “And you?”

“The same,” Stewart replied. “I’m about to scramble eggs for breakfast for Haskell and me. Can I throw a couple more in for you?”

“Yes, thanks,” I said. “What can I do to help?” Stewart sometimes allowed me to assist him but most of the time he preferred to do everything himself.

“How about making the toast?” he said. “Two pieces of buttered wheat toast each for Haskell and me.”

“I can do that.” I waited until he had whipped up the eggs and poured them into the skillet before I started on the toast.

Diesel ambled in from the utility room and meowed loudly. He halted his progress near Stewart and looked up at him adoringly. He warbled to let Stewart know he was hungry and in desperate need of scrambled eggs with cheese.

Stewart laughed. “They’ll be ready soon, I promise. I’ll let you have a couple of bites, never fear.”

Diesel chirped his thanks. He remained near Stewart until the eggs were done.

By the time Stewart had the eggs plated, I was finished with the toast. I set it on the table. “Do you need to call Haskell down?” I asked.

“No,” Stewart said. “He’s in the backyard with Dante letting him do his business and run around a bit. If you wouldn’t mind getting out the jam and utensils, I’ll go let him know the food is ready.” He headed out of the kitchen, Diesel right on his heels, despite the fact that there was food on the table.

I retrieved two kinds of jam from the fridge, Azalea’s homemade blackberry and a store brand of grape. I knew Haskell always wanted the latter, while Stewart and I usually went for the homemade. By the time I had utensils and napkins on the table, the two men and the two pets returned.

“Good morning,” Haskell said. I returned the greeting.

Dante, Stewart’s toy poodle, barked and ran to me to be petted, and as soon as I had patted his head a couple of times, he dashed back to his best friend, Diesel. The cat outweighed the dog by at least twenty-five pounds and towered over him. Dante adored Diesel, and while Diesel seemed fond enough of the dog, he occasionally got tired of the slobbering affection.

Right now both pets knew there was food to be had, and they settled down as we three humans took our seats at the table. Diesel and Dante took up positions on either side of Stewart’s chair, aware that he was the easiest touch. Stewart laughed and gave each of them a bit of cheesy scrambled egg.

“When will Justin be back?” Stewart asked. He referred to my other boarder, Justin Wardlaw, who was a student at Athena College. He was currently vacationing in the Caribbean with his father and half siblings.

“Not for another week,” I said. “Classes don’t start until the third week of August. When he gets back from the cruise he’s going to stay with his family until a couple of days before classes start.”

“He’s a senior now, isn’t he?” Haskell asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Hard to believe, for me, anyway. Doesn’t seem that long ago that he started college.”

“Do you have any idea what his plans are after he graduates?” Stewart gave Dante and Diesel another bite of egg.

“The last time he talked about it to me,” I said, “he was thinking about either law school or graduate school.”

“He could stay at Athena for either,” Stewart said. “Of course, he might be ready to get away from here and study elsewhere.”

“He hasn’t said anything about where he plans to apply,” I said. “Where he applies will depend on which career path he decides to take.” I paused for another bite of egg and toast before I turned the conversation in a slightly different direction.

“Speaking of boarders,” I said, “we might have someone joining us here, at least for a while.”

“Really?” Stewart said, one eyebrow raised. “What new lame duck are you planning to take in now? As one of your previous lame ducks, I’m curious.” He grinned, and Haskell rolled his eyes.

“Interesting that you should put it like that,” I replied. “The person who might move in here is a man who I believe does need some help. His name is Bill Delaney, and he is the son of my uncle Del, my aunt Dottie’s husband.”

“Not a blood relation?” Stewart asked.

“No, only a step. I only found out yesterday about Uncle Del’s first marriage and the son he never knew he had.”

“‘Never knew he had’?” Haskell frowned. “How did that come about?”

I shared the basics of Bill Delaney’s story with them. Diesel chirped a couple of times for no apparent reason, although he probably thought he was helping me explain things. When Diesel chirped, Dante barked. We had quite the conversation going until the pets stopped chiming in.

“What do you really know about this Bill Delaney?” Haskell leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He had gone straight into deputy sheriff mode.

“So far only what he’s told me,” I said. Haskell started to speak, and I held up my hand to stem the flow. “I know what you’re going to say, that it’s not a smart thing to do, bringing a stranger into the house.”

Haskell nodded. “You’re one of the good guys, Charlie. I can understand why you feel like you have to help this man, and I certainly can’t tell you not to do it. I do think you ought to find out more about him, though, before you bring him into your home.”

“Charlie took me in,” Stewart said. “I came to him and begged him to let me move in because I was afraid for my own safety in my uncle’s house.” His expression turned grim. “For all he knew, I was the one who killed my uncle. But he trusted his instincts, and here I’ve been for several years now.”

I could feel my face redden even as I wanted to squirm in my seat. I had never felt comfortable in such situations.

“I know the story.” Haskell’s expression softened as he looked at his partner. “You’ve told it to me several times.”

Stewart nodded. “I can see your point, too, of course.” He grinned suddenly. “I knew I wasn’t a murderer when I moved in here, but we don’t know that this Bill Delaney isn’t.”

“We don’t,” Haskell replied. “That’s why I plan to check him out.” He turned to me. “You said he was from Tullahoma, right?”

I nodded. “He told me he’s lived there most of his life, except for a stint in the Marine Corps.”

“I’ve got a buddy in the sheriff’s department there,” Haskell said. “I’ll call him up and find out if there’s anything you ought to know about this guy Delaney.”

“I appreciate it,” I said. “I was planning to do some checking on him myself, actually, but I didn’t get a chance to mention that before.” I told them briefly about Jack Pemberton and Ernie Carpenter. “I figured one or both of them might actually know Delaney.”

“Glad to hear you had a plan.” Haskell flashed a rare smile. “Go on ahead and talk to them, and I’ll talk to my buddy. He’s been there for twenty years, so if there’s anything to know, he’ll know it.”

“One way or another,” Stewart said, “you ought to be able to find out whether this guy is safe to bring into the house.”

“I’ll text him now.” Haskell felt for his phone in the pocket of his gym shorts. He stood. “Left it upstairs. I’ll run and get it.”

When Haskell said run, he meant it. Moments later I heard him running up the stairs to the third floor. Not long after that I could hear him running down again. He arrived back in the kitchen less than two minutes after he’d left it. And, I noted with envy, he wasn’t even breathing hard. I supposed that if I went to the gym as religiously as he and Stewart did, I might be able to run like that.

I might also become emperor of China. Oh, well, I could dream, anyway.

Haskell texted a message right after he resumed his place at the table. Then he laid his phone aside and picked up his coffee cup. Stewart stood and began clearing the table. I still had a few bites of scrambled egg, and I finished them quickly.

By the time Haskell finished his coffee and got up to take the cup to the sink where Stewart was busy rinsing the dishes, his cell phone started ringing.

“It’s Steve, my buddy in Tullahoma,” Haskell said when he looked at the caller ID. He answered the call and greeted his friend.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Haskell said. “Guy named Bill Delaney.” He turned to me. “How old is he?”

“Sixty-six,” I replied.

Haskell relayed the information and then fell silent while his friend talked. His expression changed from intent to grim after a couple of minutes. Finally he thanked his friend and ended the call. He laid the phone aside.

“Something tells me the news isn’t good.” I felt suddenly tense because Haskell’s grim expression hadn’t changed. Diesel, sensing my unease, laid a large paw on my thigh and warbled. I patted his head to calm him while I waited for Haskell’s reply.

“No, it isn’t good,” Haskell said. “Steve says Bill Delaney got away with murder. Multiple murders, in fact.”