Miranda James - Classified as Murder

“That’s okay. I don’t have any conflicting plans.” What on earth did James Delacorte’s will have to do with me?

“We would be happy to come to your home, if that’s okay with you.” Ms. Pendergrast’s voice was firm and assured.

“Certainly, if you like.” I gave her the address. “But I frankly don’t understand why you need to talk to me. I had only a brief acquaintance with Mr. Delacorte.”

“I realize this is a surprise for you.” Ms. Pendergrast paused. “But my father will explain everything. It would be better to wait until we meet with you in person.”

“Then I’ll see you at six.” I hung up the phone, mightily puzzled over this strange twist of fate.

FIFTEEN

Sean cocked his head to one side as he regarded me. “Mind if I sit in on this? In case you need legal advice.”

“I’d be relieved if you would. This whole thing seems like a bizarre dream.” I poured myself a glass of cold tea. “I can’t imagine it’s anything bad, but you never know. I figure this meeting must be connected to his rare book collection.”

“Could be. Maybe he left you a million or two. Or maybe he took a shine to Diesel. You could have a very wealthy cat on your hands.”

I’d read about such cases, when rich people left their money tied up for the care of the pets that survived them. Mr. Delacorte was a self-professed cat lover. When Diesel had warbled for him, Mr. Delacorte smiled, a rare full smile that softened his features and made him look much less reserved. “He probably saw him with me at the library, but Saturday and today were the only times he ever got close enough to really meet Diesel.”

I glanced at the clock—not much time before the lawyers arrived. “I think it would be better if Diesel and Dante aren’t present for this meeting. Will you put them in your room?”

“Sure.” Sean headed for the door. “Come on, boys, come with me.”

Dante followed happily. Diesel hesitated and stared at me for a moment. “Go ahead. It won’t be for long.” I made my tone as encouraging as possible.

Diesel meowed once as if he agreed—with reservations—before loping after Sean and Dante.

Sean came back down the stairs right as the doorbell rang, promptly at six o’clock. I walked into the living room while Sean admitted our visitors. I heard him introduce himself, both as my son and my lawyer.

My first close look at Quinton Curtis Pendergrast III and his daughter surprised me. I knew Mr. Pendergrast was over seventy because I’d read about him in the local paper. He was every inch the Southern patrician. Tall, angular, sporting thick white hair, he exuded success in a dark suit and expensive-looking cowboy boots.

His daughter, however, was far younger than I expected. She was roughly the same age as Sean, from what I could tell. No more than thirty, surely. I’d thought she would be closer to my age. She stood as tall as her father, her hair a rich auburn, expertly styled to frame a lovely, intelligent face. Her tailored suit emphasized an attractive figure. Sean, I was quick to note, appeared mesmerized by the sight of Alexandra Pendergrast.

I accepted Mr. Pendergrast’s extended hand, and he shook my hand with vigor and authority. “Good evening, Mr. Harris. I do appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. The matter before us is of some urgency.” His voice had a deep, rich timbre, and he spoke with a Mississippi drawl that reminded me of my paternal grandfather.

“I’m happy to help.” I turned to his daughter. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Pendergrast.”

Sean sat beside me on the couch, and the Pendergrasts took the chairs I indicated across from us. Alexandra opened her briefcase and extracted a file. She turned to her father, obviously waiting for him to speak.

“As my daughter explained to you, I represent James Delacorte’s estate.” Mr. Pendergrast regarded me with an assessing gaze, and for a moment I felt like a schoolboy called into the principal’s office. “You made an impression on my client. He seems to have regarded you highly.”

“I appreciate your saying that, Mr. Pendergrast. He was unfailingly courteous and grateful for the help I was able to give him.” I smiled. “Not everyone is as appreciative of a librarian’s efforts as he was. He seemed to be a gentleman in the truest sense of the word.”

“He was that.” Pendergrast grinned. “And he could be a complete bastard if you crossed him. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, which is one reason he and I got along so well. Many’s the tale I could tell you.”

“Dad.” Alexandra uttered that one word as a reprimand, and her father responded with an amused glance.

“I occasionally embarrass my associate here with my plain speaking, but I’m far too old to change.”

Alexandra colored slightly, and her lips settled into a thin, reproving line.

“But we should focus on the matter at hand.” Pendergrast nodded in my direction. “The situation is very simple, Mr. Harris. My client named you as one of the two executors of his estate. I am the other one.”

Stunned, I stared at Pendergrast. Why would a man I barely knew want me to be his executor?

Sean spoke, expressing my thoughts. “Was there a particular reason your client named my father an executor? This seems highly unusual, sir, given that my father was merely an acquaintance and only started working for him today.”

“That is true, young man. But James Delacorte never did anything without careful thought. He was impressed by your father, and he took the trouble to find out more about him.”

“Let me explain.” Alexandra leaned forward, grabbing the file folder as it started to slide from her lap. “Mr. Delacorte wanted to ensure that his collection would be properly assessed and maintained after his death. I believe he named you as an executor because of your expertise.”

I found my voice again. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Will you be willing to serve?”

“I’ll be happy to,” I said. “But I must tell you that my expertise may not be quite as extensive as Mr. Delacorte thought. I do catalog rare books for the Athena College collections, but I don’t have a particularly deep nor broad knowledge of the kind of volumes Mr. Delacorte owned.”

“You are, are you not, a librarian?” Alexandra had a manner very like her father’s. Her imperious tone was certainly a match for his.

“Yes, I am.”

“And librarians know how to do research when necessary?”

I held up a hand. “I concede. You’ve made your point. I can research anything I’m not certain about, and if necessary I can find another expert.”

Alexandra smiled, her eyes sparkled, and her face glowed with warmth. She was a beautiful woman. I wondered how Sean was reacting to her.

Sean addressed both Pendergrasts. “What is my father expected to do besides complete the inventory? Did Mr. Delacorte leave instructions?”

“Excellent questions, young man.” Pendergrast nodded at Sean. “Yes, James left detailed instructions for the disposal of his collection. Alexandra has a copy for your perusal. But before we discuss that, I must ascertain your availability for the tasks required. First, I would like you to join me when I read the will to the heirs. Will you be available tomorrow morning at ten?”

That seemed sudden to me. A day after Mr. Delacorte died?

Pendergrast evidently sensed my puzzlement. “I know it’s fast, but this is what my late client wanted. You have met the family, I believe?”

I nodded.

“Then I think you can begin to understand why James wanted the family to know where they stand immediately. Now, are you available tomorrow morning?”