Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

I hurried to catch up with her. I wondered what she wanted, after saying to me a few minutes ago she had nothing to share concerning the investigation.

“What is it?” I asked when she stopped at the front door.

“I couldn’t talk in front of my mother and Stewart.” She frowned at me. “It’s bad enough I’m talking to you about a murder case.”

“I see. I can understand that.”

“I know how nosy you are.” Kanesha crossed her arms. “You’ll be trying to find things out like you always do, and I figure I might as well get some benefit out of it. As long as you do not put yourself or anyone else— particularly my mother —in harm’s way by doing so. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. We’d had similar conversations before, and I had no idea why she felt she had to repeat her usual admonitions.

“All right. I’m trying hard to figure out what the motive is for Reilly’s murder. In the case of his brother-in-law, I figure it’s because he knew something, maybe saw something, and the killer got spooked. Took him out as a precaution.” She looked grim. “But with Reilly I can’t get a handle on why he was killed. So I’m asking you, have you come across anything that could constitute a motive?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I spent several hours today going over the library’s budgets for the last few years. I figure there might be a connection to money somehow, since that was supposed to be Reilly’s area of expertise. I’m meeting with President Wyatt and the board on Monday, and I may get more details about any financial issues then. In the meantime it wouldn’t hurt if you got in touch with Wyatt or the vice president for finance, Wayne Taylor. You might find out something pertinent from them.”

“Sounds good. Anything else?”

“I’m meeting with the department heads, Lisa Krause, Delbert Winston, and Cassandra Brownley, on Wednesday. I know Lisa has talked to you, but what about Delbert? I urged him to, after he came to me and insisted on telling me his story. He had a motive, certainly. Cassandra, I’m not sure about. She’s a difficult woman, but I’ll do my best with her. I know she was really angry with Reilly over some matter, but then she’s angry with just about everybody.” I relayed the scene I’d witnessed two days ago when Cassandra stormed out of Reilly’s office.

“Thanks for the information,” Kanesha said. “I have talked to Mr. Winston, so I’m aware of his potential motive. Can you think of anyone else, besides the three department heads, who had any reason to want to get rid of Reilly?”

“Not unless there is someone in the financial affairs department he got on the wrong side of, I can’t think of anyone.”

She nodded and reached for the doorknob, but before she could open the door, I spoke. “Can you answer one question for me?”

Kanesha eyed me warily, her hand still on the knob. “Maybe. What is it?”

“What’s the status of Brent Tucker? Chief Ford told me about his being arrested in DeSoto County.”

“He was released on bond this morning,” Kanesha said. “So if you’re wondering whether he could be the one who smashed your windshield, the answer is yes .”

“What about the murders? Was he already in jail when the second murder occurred?” If he had been locked up, I reasoned, at the time of Stanley’s death, he probably hadn’t killed Reilly, either.

“We have only an approximate time of death for Stanley,” Kanesha said. “A window of about three hours at the moment. It’s possible that Mr. Tucker murdered both men. Now, is that all?”

I knew better than to press my luck any further. “Yes, thanks.”

She nodded. “Stay safe.” She opened the door and stepped out. I closed it behind her.

Haskell Bates passed by me as I entered the kitchen, and moments later I heard the front door open and close again. Stewart, still at the table, watching the antics of cat and dog as they played nearby, said, “Haskell’s making a run to his place to retrieve a few necessities. He’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Good,” I said. “He surely wouldn’t want to miss whatever that is you’re cooking, Azalea. It smells wonderful. What is it?”

“Meat sauce.” Azalea stirred the pot on the stove. “Mr. Stewart’s recipe.”

“It may be my recipe,” Stewart said, “but you make it better than anyone, even me.” He smiled when Azalea turned around to thank him.

“I do add a little something extra,” she said before she turned back to the stove.

“And you won’t tell me what it is,” Stewart replied in a mock-severe tone. “I’ve guessed everything from allspice to wormwood, but she won’t ever tell me if I’m right. You’re a hard woman, Azalea Berry, but I adore you anyway.”

“You get on with your fool self.” Azalea waved a hand in Stewart’s direction without turning around. “Why don’t you set the table, do something useful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stewart said and grinned at me. He and Azalea picked at each other like this all the time.

“While you do that,” I said, “I’m going to run upstairs and change out of my monkey suit into more comfortable clothes.”

Stewart eyed me critically. “You do look handsome in a suit, Charlie. It doesn’t take much imagination to see where that gorgeous son of yours gets his looks, Grandpa.” He winked.

“Thank you.” I rewarded him with a courtly dip of the head. Chuckling, I headed upstairs to change.

Halfway up I realized I had left my briefcase in the car. I would retrieve it after dinner, I decided. I had no plans to work this evening. Upward I went.

Downstairs again a quarter of an hour later, I discovered Azalea on the point of departure. The food was ready, and we could serve ourselves. Stewart was assuring her that he would personally see to the cleaning of the kitchen.

“I’ll supervise,” I said, and Azalea smiled.

“You need me to come in tomorrow, Mr. Charlie? I don’t mind. I could turn out one of those bedrooms upstairs, get it ready.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” I said, and Stewart echoed me.

“I’m going to have to work on Haskell a bit more before he’ll be willing to live here permanently,” Stewart said. “There will be time enough for that once I’ve convinced him.”

“All right then,” Azalea said. “Have a blessed evening, and enjoy your meal.”

I escorted her to her car, which was parked in the driveway, and for once she didn’t argue. It was already dark outside, thanks to the storm clouds. Although the streetlights did illuminate the street decently, they were far enough apart to allow shadows in some places. Shadows made me uneasy at times like this.

I waited and watched till Azalea’s taillights disappeared down the street before I turned to go back inside. No car followed her, and I relaxed. She should be safe at home, especially with that shotgun of her late husband’s.

Because I wasn’t paying attention, I caught my foot on the welcome mat, and I stumbled sideways a couple of inches. Something buzzed right by my head and struck the door just as I put my hand on the knob.

TWENTY-EIGHT

I twisted the knob and pushed at the same time so I could dive inside. I slid a couple of feet on the polished wood.

“Charlie, are you all right?” Stewart hurried toward me.

“Stay back,” I said as I propelled myself around behind the door, scrambling like a crab. “Someone shot at me.” I slammed the door shut and then slowly got to my feet away from the windows on either side of the door.

Stewart halted several feet away and pulled out his phone. Moments later he was speaking to the 911 operator. While he talked to the operator, I turned off the lights in the hall and the one over the front door outside. Then I peered cautiously through the blinds at the yard and the street. Everything appeared as usual. No one wielding a gun, no cars driving by. I engaged the locks on the door.