Murder Past Due

TWENTY-EIGHT

“You look shocked,” Teresa said. “Is anything wrong?”

“I’m just really surprised,” I said. “I see two people in this group I never expected to see. Two people I had no idea were interested in writing.”

I examined the other faces in the group. Two of them looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. If only the caption to the picture had included their names.

I was about to hand the report back to Teresa to ask whether she knew who they all were when I spotted something odd in the picture. I held it closer and squinted. The resolution wasn’t great, but I thought I saw the top of another head peeking out from behind Julia’s shoulder, the one next to Godfrey.

“Looks like there’s another person here in the background,” I said. I held the report across the desk to Teresa. “See what you think. Also, do you know who all the people are?”

Teresa examined the picture for a moment before laying the report aside. She opened one of her desk drawers and rummaged through it. “Ah, here it is,” she said. She brandished a magnifying glass. She picked up the report again and examined the picture with the aid of the glass.

“I think you’re right,” she said after a moment. “That does look like someone’s head. It’s odd, though. Why wouldn’t whoever it was want to be visible in the picture?”

“Beats me,” I said. My heartbeat picked up though, because I wondered if the mystery person behind Julia was X. Based on the letters I had read, X shunned the spotlight, and it could be that he or she avoided having photos taken.

Teresa laid the glass aside and looked at the picture again. “I recognize all of them,” she said. She named them, and in addition to Julia and Rick, I recognized the names of a couple of professors at Athena, one from the history department and the other from English.

“Would you mind writing those down for me?” I said. “And do all of them still live in the area?”

“One of them passed away a few years go,” she said. “I’ll put an X next to her name. But the others—except Mr. Priest, of course—are still around.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate your help with this. I can’t tell you how, or why, but this may be the key to Godfrey’s murder.”

“That’s definitely intriguing,” Teresa said. She finished writing and handed a piece of paper across the desk to me. “I’m sure it would help if we knew who the other person was lurking in the background. I’ve been mulling it over, and I seem to remember that there were a couple of people who met with the group a few times, but the six you see here were the core. They met together for four or five years, I think.”

“I know one of the people in the group pretty well,” I said. “And I work with another one.”

“That’s right, Rick Tackett works at the college library,” Teresa said. “He’s a nice man, pretty quiet. Reads a lot. I hope he’s not involved in this.”

“I hope so, too,” I said. “I agree he’s a nice guy. But I think one of the people here may very well be the one Deputy Berry is looking for.”

“That’s unsettling, to say the least,” Teresa said with a frown. “I hope she manages to figure it out soon. If one of them comes in the library before she does, I think I’ll be a bit nervous.”

“No need to be, I’m sure,” I said. “There’s no reason for anyone to think you’re involved in any way.”

“Other than assisting the official inquiry, you mean.” Teresa’s smile was impish. “And the unofficial one.”

“Yes,” I said, hoping that my face wasn’t turning pink. “I appreciate your help, but I think Diesel and I ought to head home now.” I stood, and Teresa came around the desk to shake my hand. “I’ll see you next Friday, of course.”

“We always look forward to it,” Teresa said as she escorted Diesel and me out of the office. “Our volunteers are a huge help, and we definitely appreciate what you do for us.” She bent to rub Diesel’s head. “And you too, big guy.”

Diesel chirped at her, and I smiled as I led him away. We managed to make it out the door after only a few minutes’ delay for more attention to Diesel. He loved every second of it, the ham.

Back in the car I examined the list of names for a moment while Diesel settled down on the passenger seat beside me. I might as well start with Julia, I reckoned. Seeing her in the picture had really knocked me for a loop. Her connections to this case were so strong, and though I was sure she had to be innocent of Godfrey’s murder, I knew her having been part of the writers’ group might make Kanesha Berry focus more intently on her.

Rick Tackett seemed like a stronger possibility in many ways. He was Godfrey’s half brother, for one thing, and as the library’s custodian, he had easy access to my office and to the archive storeroom. No one would have thought twice about it if he had been spotted upstairs near the storeroom on the evening when someone had obviously entered my office and examined the boxes.

I had to hope that whoever it was hadn’t destroyed the contracts. If Kanesha could find those in his—or her, I added, to be completely fair—possession, that would be an important link to the murder.

Surely, however, there were other copies of the contracts. Godfrey’s agent had to have copies. I brightened at that thought. The agent would be at Godfrey’s memorial service tomorrow. By then she would already have talked with Kanesha, and perhaps I could slip in a few questions without objection.

On the short drive home I pondered the questions I wanted to pose to the agent. How should I start? What preface to my questions could I use to disarm her enough to talk to me?

One big question occurred to me right away, and I knew I would have to be very careful in asking it. Did the agent know that Godfrey wasn’t writing the books himself?

Then I remembered that Kanesha would probably be asking her that question, not to mention countless others, tonight. I would try and see how far I could get.

Julia’s car was parked in front of the house, and Diesel and I found her in the kitchen. We exchanged greetings as I released Diesel from his harness. He went to greet Julia before trotting off to his litter box.

“I came to pick up Justin,” Julia said. “He’s coming home to have dinner with us, and he’ll probably spend the night.”

Justin often spent Friday nights with his parents, and that meant I had the house to myself one night a week. At least until the spring semester, I reminded myself. My other boarder would be back from his semester abroad then.

“How is Ezra doing?” I asked. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?” I went to the fridge for a diet drink.

“No, thank you, Justin should be down any minute,” Julia said. “Ezra is doing okay. Very happy to be home from the hospital, naturally.”

“Good,” I said, popping the top on the can and having a swallow. I came to the table and sat down. “I’ve come across something interesting, and I’d like to talk to you about it, if you have a moment.”

Julia frowned. “This isn’t a good time, I’m afraid. I really need to get back to Ezra. Justin needs to get a move on.”

“I understand,” I said. “But when you do have a moment, it’s important.”

“Okay,” Julia said. “Perhaps when I bring Justin back tomorrow morning. It depends on how Ezra’s doing, though.”

“Of course,” I said. I had to be content with that. Julia obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Justin came clattering down the stairs then, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his hair over his eyes. “I’m ready, Mama.” He spotted me then and said, “Evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Justin. I’ll miss your company at dinner tonight,” I said, and I realized I meant it. I had grown accustomed to having someone at the table with me—besides Diesel, that is.

“Thank you, sir,” Justin said, coloring slightly. He bent to pet Diesel, who had reappeared in the kitchen the moment he heard Justin coming down the stairs.

Julia stood. “We’d better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Charlie.”

“I look forward to it,” I said.

Julia flashed me a questioning look, but she didn’t linger. I hoped she would have time to talk in the morning. For now, however, I would have to curb my impatience.

Diesel followed them to the door, and I heard Justin say good-bye to him before the door shut. The cat came back into the kitchen as I was checking to see what Azalea had left for tonight’s dinner.

There was a roast in the oven, along with a baked potato wrapped in foil. A pot of green beans on the stove rounded out the meal. I sighed in contentment. Azalea’s roasts were tender and delicious, and I looked forward to my dinner.

On the way upstairs to change clothes, I considered calling Rick Tackett, but I quickly rejected the idea. I could think of no reasonable pretext for calling him out of the blue—for he was probably home by now. Plus I knew such a call could get me into deeper trouble with Kanesha Berry. I discounted my chat with Teresa Farmer and the forthcoming talk with Julia. Concerning the latter, I figured it possible that Kanesha might talk to Julia before I did. She often didn’t bring Justin back to my house until lunchtime or after on Saturdays. If Kanesha talked to Teresa early enough tomorrow, she would probably get on to Julia right away.

My son Sean called as I was ready to go downstairs for my dinner. Instead, I sat on the bed and chatted with him for nearly half an hour. That was a long call for Sean. Our conversations usually lasted no more than ten minutes, but tonight I sensed that Sean needed to talk, and I wasn’t going to hurry him.

By now he had heard about Godfrey Priest’s murder, and I told him of my involvement. Sean, in his second year out of law school, worked for a large firm in Houston that specialized in civil law. He expressed concern for me, and I assured him I was fine.

He kept talking about innocuous things, but all the time he spoke I sensed an undercurrent. Finally, I decided to ask him outright what was wrong.

Sean sighed into the phone. “I don’t know, Dad. It’s a number of things. The job, for one. It’s not really what I thought it would be, and the hours are crazy. I work all the time.”

“It’s hard, I know. Those big firms work junior lawyers really hard for the first few years.” Now that he was talking openly, I could sense a certain amount of relief.

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. It’s going to be years before it gets any better, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

That concerned me, because Sean knew he wanted to be a lawyer from the age of twelve when he first read To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You wanted to be Atticus Finch,” I said.

“I did,” Sean said. “I was pretty naive, wasn’t I?”

“Idealistic,” I said. “There’s a difference.”

“Well, it’s hard to hold on to your ideals when you’re working on cases involving millions of dollars and representing big companies who are trying to sidestep the law any way they can.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

Sean didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it. I thought I might spend a couple weeks at Christmas with you, if that’s okay. Do you think Laura’s coming home then?”

“She hasn’t said yet, but I certainly hope she will. And you know, son, you can come and stay as long as you like. There’s plenty of room.” I didn’t dare be too effusive. Sean turned prickly over displays of paternal emotion. He had always been closer to his mother. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I’ll let you know when I can get away.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing you,” I said. I actually hadn’t seen him since his law school graduation over two years ago. He was always too busy to visit me, and whenever I suggested coming to Houston, he put me off.

We chatted a few more minutes, and when I put down the phone I was thoughtful. Sean was in distress, and I wanted to help him. I would have to wait until the holidays, though. I tried not to dwell too much on the possibility that he might leave Houston permanently for Athena. I didn’t want to be disappointed. By December he might change his mind about even coming here for the holidays.

Dinner was every bit as delectable as I expected, and when I finished I thought ruefully about that third helping of roast. I felt discomfort in my stomach, and I scolded myself for overeating. I put it down to my concern for Sean. I had always been a stress eater.

I had a restless night as well, partly because I’d overeaten, but in large part due to worries about my son. When I rose the next morning, bleary-eyed from not getting enough quality sleep, Diesel hopped out of bed, perky as ever. On mornings like this he reminded me of one of my college roommates, who invariably rose from bed chipper and happy. There were times when I could cheerfully have whacked him over the head and stuffed his body in the closet.

Diesel was safe, however. He was much too fast for me.

On Saturday mornings I pottered about the house once I had read the newspaper and eaten my breakfast. Sometimes I worked in the yard, and I knew a couple of the flowerbeds in the backyard needed attention. I was not the world’s most enthusiastic gardener, but I knew it would do me good to be out in the clear, cool air, engaged in a useful activity.

Besides, Diesel loved exploring the backyard. The lot was large, and there were plenty of spots for an enterprising feline to delve into in hopes of finding something fun to play with. As I weeded the flowerbeds, Diesel popped into and out of them, batting fallen leaves about and cheering me up to no end.

Near noon I decided to break for lunch. There had been no sign of Julia and Justin, and I hoped they would appear soon. I was eager to talk to Julia about the writers’ group.

As I was washing my hands in the kitchen sink, I heard the front door opening. Justin had a key, so I assumed it was he and Julia. Diesel scampered off. He would accompany Justin upstairs, I was sure.

“Good afternoon,” Julia said moments later, as she paused in the doorway. “You look like you’ve been working out in the yard today.”

I glanced down and saw the streaks of dirt on my old khakis. “Weeding flowerbeds while Diesel stalked the jungle in search of dangerous leaves.”

Julia laughed at that.

“Come in and have a seat,” I said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” Julia said as she came to the table. “We finished lunch a short time ago. Justin was anxious to get back. He has a paper due for his English class on Monday.”

I filled a glass of water from the tap and sat down at the table. “How are things?”

“Okay,” Julia said. “Though we had a visit this morning from Kanesha Berry.”

“I see,” I said. “I have an idea what you might have talked about.”

“How would you know?” Julia asked. “Is she taking you into her confidence?”

“Not exactly,” I said wryly. “But I did manage to find out a few things that she didn’t know.”

“Something to do with a writers’ group that I used to belong to.” Julia said it flatly. She looked annoyed, whether with me or Kanesha, I wasn’t sure.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why all the interest in something that happened twenty years ago?” Julia frowned. “I can’t see what my belonging to that group for a couple of years has to do with anything.” She paused for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes. “Though that is when I had my fling with Godfrey, the Lord forgive me, and got pregnant with Justin.”

“I can’t really say why Kanesha is interested, or why I am either,” I said. “But I do think it’s important. I never knew you were interested in writing.”

Julia shrugged. “I tried my hand at several things back then, trying to figure out what I could do besides being a preacher’s wife. I’d always made good grades in English, so I assumed—wrongly, as it turned out—that I had potential as a writer.” She laughed suddenly, a bitter sound. “I had visions of becoming the new Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt. Not only were books like that not being published anymore—unless you were Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt—but I wasn’t very good at writing them. Godfrey might have been a jerk in many ways, but at least he convinced me to stop wasting my time.”

“You weren’t interested in writing thrillers?” She had sounded sincere when talking about her writing, but I needed to be sure she wasn’t X and trying to put me off the scent.

“Heavens, no.” She laughed again, this time sounding amused. “I almost never read them. I never had a desire to write them, I promise you.”

“Good,” I said. “What about the other members of the group? Were any of them interested in writing thrillers?”

“Not that I recall,” Julia said. She thought for a moment. “Rick Tackett was writing a book about Vietnam. I think it was therapy for him, more than anything else. The other two women in the group were writing romance novels, and one of them was working on a western. The history professor—I think he’s actually teaching Justin this semester—was writing this horrendously awful historical novel about an oversexed druid in ancient Britain.”

“That’s six of you,” I said. “Were there others in the group?”

“Occasionally,” Julia said. “We had three people join for a brief time, if I remember correctly, but they never lasted.”

“Do you remember who they were?” I was thinking of the person lurking behind Julia in the photograph. “Someone who might have been part of the group when Godfrey spoke to you twenty years ago?”

“That’s what Kanesha Berry wanted to know,” Julia said, her head tilted to one side.

“Oh,” I said. “And did you have an answer for her?”

Julia looked at me for a moment. “There was this strange little man who came a few times, but he never showed us any of his writing. Shortly after Godfrey talked to us, he stopped coming.”

“Who was he?” I said. I had the feeling Julia was deliberately dragging this out.

“He was one of our classmates in high school,” Julia said. She paused for a moment, and I thought I would have to prompt her again. Then she spoke. “It was Willie Clark. He always was an oddball, you know.”