Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

“With all that you’ve told me, I have to wonder why the authorities were so sure Bill Delaney was the killer,” I said.

“Because he already had a record and had served time in jail for assault,” Jack said. “He beat up one guy pretty bad, but that happened ten years or more before the Barber murders. He kept clean once he was out of jail, or so I understand.”

I felt overwhelmed by all the information about the Barber murders and Bill Delaney’s connection with the case. And now his conviction for assault. Was this a man I really wanted living in my house?

I expressed as much to Jack.

“That’s a tough call,” he replied. “All of that happened a long time ago, and for all we know, Delaney has turned his life around.”

“I suppose,” I said. “At the library he’s always quiet, almost self-effacing. His demeanor is always respectful, and I haven’t noticed any signs of him being hungover.”

“I don’t know how much experience you have with hard-core alcoholics,” Jack said. “I’ve dealt with a couple, and I have to tell you that they can cover up their drinking to the point you’d swear they were teetotalers.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” I said. “I never had any close dealings with an alcoholic that I can recall. A few times over the years in Houston I had to call the cops to remove someone for being drunk and disorderly in the library, but that was it.”

“For your sake, if you decide to take him in, I hope he’s quit drinking,” Jack said. “I promise you that you don’t want to have to deal with a drunk in the house.”

“No, I certainly don’t,” I said. “Thanks for all the information, Jack, I really appreciate it. You’ve given me a lot to consider. Right now I need to get over to the library and see if Delaney is there. I need to reschedule the invitation to dinner until I’ve had time to talk to my family about this crazy idea of mine.”

“Good luck,” Jack said. “I don’t envy you. But I have to say you’ve gotten me interested in the Barber case again. I’m going to see what I have in my files about it.”

“If you find anything else that pertains to Bill Delaney, I wish you’d let me know,” I said.

“I will,” Jack said. “Talk to you later.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call and briefly stared at the phone in my hands. I wondered whether Miss An’gel had responded to my e-mail yet. If she had I thought I would go ahead and get in touch with Ernie Carpenter. After hearing what Jack had to say about Delaney and the Barber murders, I wondered what Ernie’s take on it all would be.

I tapped the mail icon on my phone and waited for the inbox to update. The last time I remembered looking at mail on the phone was about three days ago, so I had to wait a minute or so before I could see any new messages.

Nothing from Miss An’gel, although I had a couple of spam messages. I deleted those quickly and put my phone away.

“Come on, Diesel, this time we’re going to the library.”

The cat meowed loudly at me as if to say It’s about time . I knew I had confused him by getting ready to leave the house and then stopping to have a conversation.

Less than ten minutes later we arrived in the library parking lot. All the spots on the one side that claimed any shade from the trees already had cars in them, so I had to park in the full sun. Today was going to be a scorcher, too, with temps in the high nineties. With the humidity, the feels-like temperature would be over a hundred degrees. At least I could accomplish what I needed to do and get home again before the worst heat of the day. I intended to stay home the rest of the day once I had spoken with Bill Delaney.

I spotted Teresa Farmer at the reference desk the moment Diesel and I stepped inside the front door. She looked our way and smiled, though she also appeared a bit surprised. I rarely came to the library on a Saturday, especially after I had worked there the day before.

Diesel chirped when he saw Teresa, and he ran around the counter so he could properly visit with the head of the library. There was no one standing in front of the desk waiting to be helped, so I walked up to the counter. Teresa was busy patting Diesel and talking to him in a low voice.

After a moment Teresa turned her attention to me, and we exchanged greetings. “What are you doing here on a Saturday morning?” she asked. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, of course.”

“I need to talk to one of the patrons if he’s here,” I said. “An older gentleman named Bill Delaney. Do you know who I mean?” I looked toward the area where Delaney usually sat, but the chair stood empty.

“Yes, I know him.” Teresa frowned. “I haven’t seen him this morning, and that’s rather odd, come to think of it. He’s usually here, waiting for the door to open every day. At least, he has been for the past several weeks since he first came in and got his library card. I hope he’s not ill.”

“Maybe he had errands to take care of this morning.” I didn’t want to alarm Teresa about Delaney’s welfare. Given what I now knew about his history, I wondered whether he had fallen off the wagon and was in his apartment, passed out. Or he could have had a heart attack or a stroke. I was beginning to make myself uneasy over him. My imagination could conjure up numerous scenarios, none of them pleasant.

“Don’t worry about him,” I said, my tone as nonchalant as I could make it. “Diesel and I will go check on him. I know where he lives.”

“That’s kind of you to take an interest in his welfare,” Teresa said. “I got the impression that he doesn’t know anyone in Athena.”

“I’m not sure whether he does or not.” I hesitated to tell her about Delaney’s connection to my family. Now really was not the time to go into personal history. I realized belatedly that a patron stood behind me waiting to talk to Teresa. “We’ll go now and see if he’s okay. Come on, Diesel.”

I stepped aside to let the woman behind me approach the desk. Diesel sauntered out from behind the counter and joined me. He meowed to let me know he hadn’t had quite enough attention from Teresa yet. “Tough luck,” I told him softly. “We need to get going. Let’s go to the car.”

He knew what that meant, and I carried him to the car without further protest.

Ten minutes later I pulled up in front of the seedy-looking apartment building that Bill Delaney had listed as his home address for his library card. The squat brick building, two stories tall, needed cleaning to remove spiderwebs and other visible dirt stains. Each window on the front had decorative shutters on either side. Several were slightly askew, and they all needed a fresh coat of paint. The small area of landscaped yard in front had been let to run to seed. Overall the place exuded shabbiness and desperation, to my mind, anyway.

I put Diesel in his harness and attached the leash. The neighborhood ambience made me uneasy, and I wanted to be sure the cat stayed next to me at all times while we were here. I opened the door and picked up Diesel. I locked the car, and we proceeded up the walk to the front arched entrance to the inner courtyard of the building.

A row of battered metal letter boxes adorned the short passageway to our right. Ahead I could see an overgrown common area with a couple of wrought iron tables and several rickety chairs. I turned my attention back to the letter boxes, hoping that one of them bore Delaney’s name. I couldn’t remember the number of his apartment. I wasn’t sure if he had even included it on his application. I didn’t want to have to go knocking on doors to find him. I preferred not to disturb any of the other residents of the building if I didn’t have to.