Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

The case languished due to the lack of new leads or viable suspects, and the press coverage dwindled away. Jack had found a few articles across the intervening years, all of which mentioned the main facts of the case but offered no fresh insights as to who might have been behind the killings. It seemed like an impossible case to solve, and I had momentary doubts about my involvement in the whole thing.

Then I remembered my daughter’s conviction that the car deliberately swerved to hit Bill Delaney. Things like that hadn’t happened before in Athena, to my knowledge. It might be a regular occurrence in big cities, but unless we had a crazed psychopath on the loose, targeting victims with his vehicle for some twisted reason of his own, this was no random event.

I wondered whether the sheriff’s department had investigated neighbors from the surrounding farms at all. Given what people had to say about Hiram Barber, one of the other farmers could have had a grudge against the man. Perhaps some kind of property dispute? An argument over a boundary line, or cattle straying from one property to another because of inadequate fencing?

Most of these ideas sprang from old television shows I had seen growing up—my father watched just about any Western that came on—because I had no real experience of farm life other than what I had seen on television. I knew from things I’d read that farming was a hard way to earn a living, especially on a small farm, nothing like the big plantations in the Mississippi delta, for example, which were enormously profitable.

I set aside the printed-out newspaper scans and picked up another one. This was the ten-page document, which I had not even examined before printing. The contents turned out to be photographs with captions. I had an excellent laser printer that could handle color, so the photographs had turned out pretty well. Five of the pages contained photographs of the Barber farmhouse from various angles along with the different outbuildings: a barn, a tool shed, and a much larger shed for tractors and other farm equipment.

The single-story house had been built of wood, probably at least fifty years ago or more, or so I judged from the style and the condition. The boards appeared weathered in the photograph, worn to a dull gray. The steeply pitched metal roof would have ensured that rain didn’t collect on it. The house appeared to be large in size, and a porch extended across the front and down one side. Judging by the number of windows on the front of the house, I guessed that there was either a large front room, perhaps a parlor, and two smaller rooms, or else there were four rooms at the front of the house, two on either side of the front door. There were four windows on the side of the house with the porch, spaced well apart. I wondered if there were surviving photographs of the interior of the house. Elizabeth Barber might have some, of course, but I wasn’t about to ask her simply to satisfy my curiosity.

The other five pages consisted of photographs of the Barber family. One was a family portrait, and I wondered, based on what I’d learned of Hiram Barber’s skinflint ways, how he’d been persuaded to pay for it. I could see in the photograph that Mrs. Barber and the twins wore noticeably worn clothes, while Mr. Barber looked even shabbier in old overalls and a plaid work shirt. Elizabeth, a striking girl with flame-red hair, was the only one wearing decent clothing.

I thought I could detect signs of strain and unhappiness in Mrs. Barber’s expression in the picture, and the two boys seemed to peer at the camera as if they were frightened of it—or perhaps by something else. Elizabeth faced the camera with confidence. She actually looked a little flirty, offering a saucy, knowing smile. Her father, on the other hand, glowered. He was probably thinking of the money this was costing him, I figured.

The rest of the Barber photos were some of the children’s school pictures. The photos of the twins were basic head shots, and the boys were hard to tell apart. There were three of Elizabeth engaged in various school activities, two of which were cheerleading and playing basketball. An interesting combination, I thought. The third showed her in the school beauty pageant standing next to a girl with a crown. I deduced from this that Elizabeth was probably the first runner-up.

Having finished perusing the pictures, I picked up the final printout. Eight pages of information on other people with some potential connection to the Barbers and to Sylvia and Bill Delaney. Occasional statements in quotation marks popped out at me as I skimmed through.

Sylvia would do anything to protect that boy of hers.

Bill was a spitfire from the time he was fifteen, always getting into trouble with somebody.

Spent time in jail on assault charges.This also referred to Bill Delaney.

Mean as a snake, Hiram was. Didn’t want nobody setting foot on his property if he didn’t know they was planning to come.

I always felt sorry for Betty Barber. Never could figure out what she saw in a man like Hiram.

I laid the pages aside. I would go back to them later. All these terrible things people had to say depressed me. Now that I knew more about Bill Delaney’s past—and his reputation for drunken violence—I began to believe Sylvia had forsworn her very soul to keep her son from being convicted of four murders.

Would Jack and I be able to prove or disprove that after all this time?

TWENTY-TWO

By nine thirty the next morning my impatience hit peak levels. I should have asked if Jack could arrive earlier than ten. I was eager to brainstorm with him, and I planned to suggest that we head to the hospital by noon instead of waiting until the afternoon. Thinking about the week ahead, I had realized that I wouldn’t have much time to assist Jack if I stuck to my usual schedule. With that in mind, I had e-mailed my boss last night to let her know I wouldn’t be in this coming week. I apologized for the short notice, but within a few minutes she responded, “No problem. Have a good week.”

Now I was free to focus on the Barber murders without the distractions of work. Helen Louise was back to a full schedule at the bistro because of Henry’s accident. He wouldn’t be back up to full speed for a week, perhaps longer. I felt bad for Henry, but I supposed accidents like his occurred even with professionals in the kitchen.

The doorbell rang, and Diesel meowed to make sure I’d heard. Then he darted out of the kitchen. One of these days I was afraid he would figure out how to unlock the front door. He already knew how to open the door onto the back porch, as long as it was already unlocked, of course. I glanced at the clock on my way to the front door. Jack had come early after all, nearly twenty-five minutes early.

Except that it wasn’t Jack at the door. “Sean, this is a nice surprise. I didn’t think I’d see you today. Come in.” I stood aside to let him enter.

He rubbed Diesel’s head, and the cat meowed in appreciation. “Morning, Dad,” he said. “I hadn’t planned on it, but after I had a talk with Laura last night, I decided I needed to talk to you.”

I knew that tone. Lawyer Sean had decided I needed a lecture. I rolled my eyes at his back as he preceded me into the kitchen. Diesel ambled along beside me. He stretched out on the floor by my chair when I resumed my place at the table.

Sean stood behind the chair across from mine. Any moment now he was going to fold his arms across his chest, fix me with a stern gaze, and lecture me. I settled back in my chair and awaited the inevitable.

“Now, Dad, about this Bill Delaney,” Sean began, his hands on the back of the chair. “As I understand it, he has no legal claim on Aunt Dottie’s estate. Has he been asking you for money?”