Murder Past Due

NINETEEN

That was definitely odd. Why would Godfrey call someone in the library, rather than the president’s office?

“When I spoke to him,” Peter continued, “he complained of a rather nasty stomach virus. He regretted the inconvenience—or used words to that effect—and asked me to pass along the word. As I did.” His fingers resumed their tattoo upon the desk.

“Out of curiosity,” I said in a diffident tone, “do you remember what time that was?”

“Around five-thirty, I suppose,” Peter said after a moment’s thought.

“Has anyone from the sheriff’s department spoken with you yet?”

“Whatever for?” Peter paled slightly. “One would not wish to be involved in something so sordid as a murder investigation.”

“No, one wouldn’t,” I said, a wry twist to my voice. “But unfortunately one already is.” I was beginning to lose patience with the man. He was being overly fastidious, in my opinion. “You might have been the last person—barring the killer, of course—to speak to Godfrey. The deputy in charge of the investigation needs to know that.”

“I see.” Peter reached for a glass of water on the credenza behind his desk and took a long swallow. He set the glass down with a hand that trembled. “Then one must do one’s duty.”

He was still pale, obviously unsettled, but apparently willing to follow through. I dictated the number of the sheriff’s department and told him to ask for Deputy Berry. He laid the pen aside and said he would call.

“Very well,” I said. “Shall I leave these letters with you?” I pointed to his desk as I stood.

“Yes, for now. I shall have Melba make copies of them for you. One imagines that the college’s legal counsel will want to keep the originals.”

“Of course. Well, if that’s all, I’ll get back to work,” I said.

Peter nodded, and I turned for the door.

“Oh dear, I almost forgot.”

I turned back. “Yes, Peter?”

He made a moue of distaste. “I received a call from the president’s office, shortly before you came, informing me that there is to be a memorial service for Godfrey this Saturday afternoon at two in the college chapel. I suppose I shall have to attend, though one could easily think of far more pleasant things to do on a Saturday.” He sighed.

“It would be the proper thing to do,” I said. “I’ll have to attend, too.”

Peter didn’t reply. I don’t think he heard me, because he had turned to look out the window behind his desk.

I left his office, shutting the door gently behind me. He was an odd duck, no two ways about it.

Diesel still sat on Melba’s desk, watching her as she worked at her computer. The keys clicked at a rapid pace, and the cat appeared mesmerized by Melba’s flying fingers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Come on, Diesel, back upstairs.”

Melba ceased typing and turned to smile at me. “See you later, then, boys.” She gave the cat an affectionate scratch on his head. Diesel purred his thanks.

“Come on now,” I said, and Diesel leaped gracefully to the floor. He followed me to the stairs and dashed up them as soon as I placed my foot on the first step.

Back in the office, Diesel began to play with the loose packing material, batting it around and then leaping on top of it. I watched him for a moment. He was still very kittenish, despite his size.

As I sat down at my desk, I noticed the message light blinking on the phone. I listened to a message from circulation at Hawksworth Library next door informing me that a book I’d requested was available.

I checked my watch—it was nearly five o’clock now. Time to head home. I could delve more into Godfrey’s papers tomorrow. Before we left, though, I repacked the open box on my desk, taking away Diesel’s toy. “You can play with it again tomorrow.”

He turned and sat with his back to me until I headed for the door. I attached the leash to his harness, locked the door behind us, and set off down the stairs and out the back door. I wanted to pick up the book, but first I had to put Diesel in the car. Hawksworth was one of the few places I couldn’t take him. A couple of staff members had complained that his presence was too disruptive, because invariably students clustered around him, wanting to pet him. They made too much noise, according to the complainants.

So, into the car Diesel went. The day was cool, and I cracked the front windows enough to allow air to circulate—but not enough for a large and enterprising cat to squeeze through.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” I told him, but I could tell he wasn’t happy at being left behind. He never was.

Inside the library, I went straight to the circulation desk. While I waited for the student worker to find my book, a recent study of the late antiquity and the early Middle Ages, I listened idly to a conversation at the nearby reference desk. Willie Clark was on duty and being his usual charming self while helping a female student.

“No, we haven’t received that issue yet. Can’t you read the screen? Do you see any mention of volume thirty-three, issue ten?”

I watched as Willie tapped the computer screen in front of him while the student, red-faced, mumbled something.

“Then you’d better go back and check your citation again. You probably wrote it down wrong.” The disgust in his voice was obvious.

Head down, the student scurried away. She was probably a freshman. Older female students learned to avoid the reference desk when Willie sat behind it. He could be gruff with male students as well, but his voice had a particular edge to it whenever he talked to a woman.

Not surprising, then, that he had never married. He wasn’t gay either, as far as I knew. Too crabby, in my experience, for a partner of either sex to put up with long enough to establish a relationship.

Willie caught me looking at him, my expression no doubt critical. He scowled at me and turned away.

Book in hand, I left the library and went back to my car. Diesel complained nonstop to me on the short drive home, and I scratched his head a couple of times in apology for having abandoned him in the car.

The moment I opened the kitchen door appetizing smells tickled my nostrils. Diesel sniffed appreciatively too, though he was bound to be disappointed. I tried not to feed him from the table, though he often sat nearby and stared hard, as if hoping to bend me to his will.

I glanced at the clock after I released Diesel from his harness. It was a little after five, and Azalea had left for the day. There was a pot of green beans on the stove, and when I peeked in the still-warm oven I found a chicken, mushroom, and brown rice casserole. There was a tossed salad in the fridge as well and, as usual, Azalea had prepared enough food for at least four people.

I checked Diesel’s bowls, and Azalea had taken care of them already. She might fuss at him sometimes, but she wasn’t about to let anyone in the house go hungry. Diesel examined them before loping off to the utility room.

The doorbell rang. I hoped it wasn’t Kanesha Berry, dropping by with more questions.

Julia Wardlaw stood on my doorstep, looking wan and tired.

“I apologize for dropping by like this without calling first,” she said as I stepped aside for her to enter. “But I wanted to see Justin before I went home.”

“You’re always welcome here, Julia,” I said. “You have an open invitation to visit whenever you like.” I shut the door and examined her with concern.

“Thank you,” she said.

“How are you? And how is Ezra?”

“I’m tired, but Ezra’s doing better, thank the Lord. They’re keeping him one more night, and he should be able to come home tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Why don’t you come on in the kitchen and sit down. Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll go get Justin for you, if he’s here. I just got home myself, and I haven’t seen him yet.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Julia said as she followed me. “Right now I don’t feel up to climbing those stairs, I have to say.”

Diesel came to greet our visitor, and Julia petted and talked to him while I poured her a glass of the sweet tea Azalea had made.

As I climbed the stairs I thought, not for the first time, about having an intercom system installed. But then I reflected that I could always use the exercise.

Puffing slightly by the time I reached Justin’s door, I knocked.

“Come in.”

I opened the door and took a step inside. Justin sat at his desk, working at his computer. He tapped the keys a moment longer before he turned to greet me. “Hello, sir.”

“Hello,” I said. “Your mother is downstairs. She’d like to talk to you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be right down. I need to do one more thing to this”—he indicated the computer with a quick nod—“but that won’t take two minutes.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll tell her.” I backed out and shut the door. Justin seemed a bit more animated today. All day yesterday he had appeared depressed, occasionally almost catatonic in his lack of response. A good night’s rest had helped, I supposed, along with a little distance from the events of yesterday.

Julia had finished her tea by the time I got back to the kitchen, and I offered her more after I relayed Justin’s message. She declined.

“You’re welcome to visit with Justin in here,” I said, “but you might be more comfortable in the living room.”

“This is fine,” Julia said. “As long as you don’t mind. This is such a lovely, comforting room.”

I glanced around it with affection. Yes, it was comforting. When Aunt Dottie was alive, it was usually the center of the house, the room where she spent so much of her time. I liked to think her warmth and generosity lingered here.

“It is that,” I said. “Why don’t you stay and have dinner with me, you and Justin both? Azalea left more than enough for the three of us, and I can guarantee it will be delicious. That woman is a wonderful cook.”

Julia smiled. “I really shouldn’t impose on you after all you’ve done already. But I can’t face the thought of going home to cook for myself. Thank you. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Hi, Mama.” Justin came clattering into the kitchen. Yes, he was definitely more animated tonight. He bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. She touched his head as he did so, and he didn’t move for a moment.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just run upstairs for a few minutes,” I said. “Then if you’re both ready to eat, we’ll have dinner.”

Julia smiled her thanks, and as I headed for the stairs I heard her relaying my invitation to her son.

I dawdled in my bedroom, wanting to give Julia and Justin enough time to talk. I wondered whether Julia was going to tell her son about Ezra’s health problems. She ought to do it soon. Postponing it wouldn’t be doing Justin any favors in the long run.

Diesel did not appear, and I figured he was downstairs with Justin. He was really fond of the boy, and Justin certainly seemed attached to the cat. Diesel always seemed to have the ability to sense when someone needed comfort, and right now Justin did. If Diesel could help Justin through the difficult times ahead, I was delighted and very thankful that such a special four-legged friend had come into my life.

Almost half an hour passed by the time I went back downstairs. Julia and Justin were quiet when I entered the kitchen. It looked as though Justin had been crying, but now he appeared calm. Diesel jumped down from the boy’s lap and came to greet me.

“I told Justin about his father,” Julia said simply.

I nodded. “I can’t tell you both how sorry I am.” I reached down to rub the cat’s head.

“Thank you,” mother and son said in unison.

Julia stood. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’d like to freshen up a bit. Justin, why don’t you help Charlie set the table?”

“Yes, Mama,” Justin said. He got up from the table and went to the cabinet. Diesel padded after him.

I started to point Julia toward the downstairs bathroom, but she waved me away with a smile. “No need for directions.”

Justin brought three plates out and set them on the table, Diesel matching him step for step. “Thank you for inviting my mother to dinner.”

“You’re both very welcome,” I said. “If you’ll finish setting the table, I’ll get the food there.”

Justin nodded and worked in silence for a moment. As I was putting on oven mitts, he spoke again.

“Um, sir, I guess there’s something I need to tell you.” He stood, utensils in hand, his head slightly down. He appeared embarrassed. Diesel rubbed himself against the boy’s legs, but Justin didn’t seem to notice.

“What’s that?” I asked as I reached into the oven for the casserole dish. I thought it might be easier for him to talk if I wasn’t looking at him.

“It’s about what I told you yesterday,” Justin said. “About my dad—Ezra—hitting me.”

I set the casserole dish on top of the stove, realizing I needed to put a trivet on the table first.

“Go on,” I said, my voice neutral.

“I guess I kind of lied about it,” Justin said. His face colored. “Yesterday was the only time he ever hit me like that.”

“Why did you lie about it, then?”

Justin shrugged. “He was being so weird about the whole thing, about Godfrey Priest being my dad, too. He kind of freaked out, maybe, and I guess I wanted to get back at him by making him sound bad.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “What he did yesterday is inexcusable. He never should have struck you like that.”

“No, sir.” Justin began to lay the utensils at each place.

“I can’t blame you for being angry with him. No one could. But I’m glad to know that yesterday was the only time something like that happened.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin smiled briefly. “And he promised me at the hospital that he’d never ever hit me again, no matter what.” His face crumpled. “And now he’s going to die, too.” Diesel rubbed against his legs again.

Julia came back in time to hear that last sentence, and she gathered her son into her arms. Diesel moved away from them but sat nearby, watching. Justin wept for a moment, and Julia regarded me with a question in her eyes.

“Justin told me he lied to me about Ezra beating him,” I said, my voice soft.

“Good,” Julia said. “I told him he had to.”

Justin pulled away from his mother. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“I know, sweetie.” Julia patted his cheek. “Why don’t you go wash your face and blow your nose?”

Justin nodded and headed for the bathroom in the hall. Diesel went with him.

“He really is a good boy most of the time,” Julia said when Justin was out of earshot.

“I know,” I said with a smile. “Diesel wouldn’t be so fond of him if he weren’t.”

Julia laughed. “That cat is such a little character.”

I politely refused Julia’s offer of help, and by the time Justin returned to the kitchen everything was ready.

We all sat, Julia to one side and Justin across from me. I asked Justin to say grace.

He bent his head over his plate. “Bless this food, oh Lord, to the nourishment of our bodies. We thank you for our many gifts, and we pray that you will watch over us and over the loved ones who are not with us. Amen.”

Julia and I echoed his amen. I held my hand out for Julia’s plate and filled it with casserole and green beans while Julia filled her bowl with salad.

For a few minutes we were busy preparing our plates and bowls of salad, passing things back and forth. Diesel sat near my chair, watching every movement of my hands with great interest. When no tidbits were forthcoming, he moved to the other end of the table to try his luck with Justin.

By unspoken agreement, it seemed, we spoke of things other than the events of the day before. Julia asked Justin about his classes, and he expressed enthusiasm for his freshman English and history courses. He was not so fond of the science and math classes, however.

I talked a bit about my work cataloging rare books, and Julia listened to each of us in turn. Occasionally she prompted with a question, but for the most part she appeared content to let the males at the table carry the burden of conversation. I turned a blind eye to the occasional morsel of chicken or green bean that Justin so casually slipped from his plate.

An hour passed pleasantly, and I realized how much I missed having dinner with other people. I wished Sean and Laura, my children, weren’t so far away. But most of all, of course, I wished Jackie and Aunt Dottie could sit at the table with us, too.

Even Azalea’s chocolate turtle cheesecake couldn’t tempt Julia to stay for dessert. She looked much better now than when she had first arrived, but she was still tired and ready to go home for some rest.

I waved away any offers to help clear the table and set to work while Justin saw his mother out.

He stepped into the kitchen long enough to thank me again, and Diesel followed him upstairs when he said he had to get back to studying.

I took my time in the kitchen, doing my best to keep my mind off Godfrey’s death and Ezra’s terminal illness. It all seemed too much somehow, and I needed a mental break.

Finished at last, I turned off the lights downstairs and headed up to my bedroom.

After brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas, I climbed into bed. Diesel was absent, no doubt still with Justin. He would appear eventually to claim his share—and more—of my bed.

I reached for Godfrey’s book and got comfortable. I read twenty pages or so before putting the book aside. The heroine wasn’t a particularly likable person, and I remembered that was another aspect of Godfrey’s books that had always bothered me. There was a strain of misogyny in the books that made me uncomfortable. For all the women Godfrey had apparently married and romanced, he didn’t seem to like women very much.

Still not ready to turn off the light and go to sleep, I retrieved my library book. Reading nonfiction would be a good way to cleanse my palate, I decided.

At some point I must have nodded off, book on my chest, because when Diesel jumped on the bed, I came to with a jerk. The book slid off me, and I yawned. While Diesel made himself comfortable, I put the book on the nightstand, turned off the light, and settled down to sleep.