Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

“Go right ahead,” Stewart said. “We’re going out in a little while, unless you need us to hang around here for any reason.”

I knew what he meant—for protection, in case Bill Delaney should show up here uninvited. I hadn’t told them that I had seen him walking down the sidewalk in front of the house last week.

“No, I’ll be fine. Once I’ve finished with e-mails, I’m going to shower and get ready to run by the library. Thank you, though.”

Diesel and I left them in the kitchen. The cat followed me to the den and stretched out on the sofa while I turned on the laptop and waited for it to boot up. Once that was accomplished, I opened my e-mail program to compose my messages. First, to Miss An’gel, asking for contact information for Ernie. I didn’t tell her anything about Bill Delaney. They would find out eventually. Then I sent a message to Jack. I did give him some basic information about Bill Delaney and why I was interested. I didn’t mention the murders, however. I wanted to see what Jack might have to tell me about the man first.

Those tasks complete, I set the laptop aside. Time now to head upstairs to shower and get dressed for the day.

“I’m going upstairs now,” I told Diesel. He eyed me sleepily for about three seconds, yawned, and closed his eyes again. Evidently the sofa was too comfortable because Diesel remained there when I left the room.

By the time I finished getting ready to leave the house, however, Diesel had joined me in my bedroom. I came out of the bathroom after a last quick combing of my hair to find him sitting in the middle of the bed. I picked up my watch from my bedside table, buckled it on my wrist, and looked down at the cat.

“I’m ready to go. Are you?” I asked.

Diesel chirped to let me know that he was indeed ready.

“Come on then,” I said, and he followed me downstairs. I gave him time to visit the utility room before we left. Finally, at about a quarter past nine, we were ready to walk out the door to the garage and be on our way. Until, that is, my cell phone rang.

I pulled it out of my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but the exchange looked familiar. I thought it was a Tullahoma number, and so it proved to be.

“Hi, Charlie,” Jack Pemberton said. “Got your e-mail, started to reply, but then I figured it would be a lot easier just to call you and tell you what I know. This a good time to talk?”

“Yes, it is. What can you tell me about Bill Delaney?” I walked over to the table and took my usual seat. Might as well sit down, I thought, because this could be a long conversation.

“All right, here goes,” Jack replied. “First off, I recognized the name right away. I didn’t know Delaney myself, but he was known around town. I hate to tell you this, since he might be related to you, sort of, but he was a suspect in a multiple murders case about twenty years ago.”

“I’ve heard about that,” I said. “What do you know about the murders.”

“Quite a lot, actually,” Jack replied. “I’ve been interested in it for years. I was out of college and back here in Tullahoma teaching eighth-grade English when the murders happened. They were all anybody talked about for months. The girl I was dating at the time taught one of the Barber children. She was horribly upset, like everyone else. The children were popular, unlike their father.”

“Why didn’t people like the father?” I asked.

“I never dealt with him myself, you understand,” Jack replied, “but my girlfriend at the time did. So did a couple other people I knew. They all said he was rude and always convinced someone was trying to cheat him. Had a hard time getting along with anyone.”

“What about his wife?” I asked.

“Everyone felt sorry for her is what I heard,” Jack said. “She was supposed to be a really nice woman, and one person I knew said she was a saint for putting up with her husband all those years.” He paused. “In fact, some people thought she might have finally snapped and killed him.”

“Would she have murdered two of her children?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everyone said she lived for her kids,” Jack said. “I was more inclined to think that Barber suddenly snapped for some reason and did it himself.”

“But the police must have thought otherwise,” I said.

“The evidence didn’t support a suicide. Someone murdered all four of them.” Jack paused. “The only real suspect was Bill Delaney.”

“What was his motive?” I asked, curious to hear Jack’s take on the subject. He had revealed a couple of interesting bits that Haskell had not shared, if he knew them, that is.

“Allegedly because he was angry at old man Barber for firing him and not paying him the money he was owed for all the work he’d done,” Jack said. “Delaney was a hard drinker back then. Maybe he still is. He also was known to have a quick temper. Folks figured he got lit and went out and confronted Barber. Barber pulled a gun on Delaney, Delaney got it away from him and killed him. Then Delaney killed Mrs. Barber and the two kids because they saw it happen.”

“Nasty.” I could picture it all too easily.

“Yes, it was,” Jack said. “Problem was, well, there were two problems. First, they never found the weapon. Second, Delaney had an alibi they couldn’t shake.”

“What was the alibi?” I asked.

“Delaney swore up and down he was dead drunk that day. He’d been on a bender, stumbled home, and his mother locked him in his room until he sobered up.”

“And all this took place at the same time the murders occurred?”

“His mother said it did. The cops tried to break her down, but she was apparently a tough old lady. Regular pillar of her church, known to be a good woman, all that kind of thing. People respected her, and when she stood by her son, that had a lot of weight.”

“I heard a version of the story a little while ago from one of my boarders, who’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department here,” I said. “The cops were convinced Delaney was the killer, weren’t they?”

“Yes, they were,” Jack said. “Now, you remember I said people thought Barber might have threatened Delaney with a gun?”

“Yes, I remember,” I replied.

“Even though they never found the weapon, as I also told you, they were sure the killer used Barber’s shotgun,” Jack said. “A friend of his swore one was missing.”

THIRTEEN

“The killer used Barber’s shotgun,” I said. “But the shotgun disappeared. Sounds to me like the killer was someone who knew about Barber’s habit of keeping a lot of cash on hand and seized the opportunity to make off with the cash and the gun.”

“That’s what I think,” Jack said. “The Barber farm was about five hundred acres, if I remember correctly. There aren’t any other houses close to the Barber house by a couple of miles.”

“So no one who lived in the area observed anything out of the ordinary the day of the murder?” I asked.

“Not that I recall,” Jack replied. “I’m not sure how much effort the sheriff’s department put into searching the area around the house and the farm. There’s a wooded area behind the house running between a couple of pastures. The woods extend about half a mile to an old logging road that isn’t much traveled. The killer could have approached the house through those woods.”

“That sounds like a strong possibility to me,” I said. “Besides Bill Delaney, though, wasn’t there anyone else who might have had a grudge against Barber? If he was always sure he was being cheated, he could have made quite a few enemies.”

“True,” Jack said. “I’m sure the sheriff’s department investigated a number of possible suspects. Barber had a reputation as a hothead. He had three or four field hands who worked the farm, and they were all known to have complaints about how he treated them. Also I think he had a long-running dispute with the man who owned a neighboring property.”