Miranda James - Classified as Murder

Moments later I was connected with Kanesha Berry. Did the woman ever go home?

“What’s going on, Mr. Harris? I presume you have a good reason for calling?” The waspish tone irritated me, but I forbore responding in kind.

“Yes, I thought you should know that I’ve received a threatening phone call.”

“What?” In the background I heard a sound like a book banged against a hard surface. “Details. What did the caller say?”

I repeated the conversation, as near verbatim as I could. “And if you can hold on a sec, I’ll give you the number from my caller ID.”

“You mean to tell me that an actual number came up on your caller ID? From a threatening phone call?” Kanesha snorted into the phone. “How stupid is that?”

“I know,” I said. “I thought it was pretty odd myself. That’s why I said what I did to the caller.” I read out the number.

“I recognize the number,” Kanesha said after a brief silence. Something in her tone gave me a slight chill.

“Whose is it?”

“James Delacorte’s,” Kanesha said. “From the private line in his bedroom.”

That was definitely creepy, and I felt the chill more distinctly. But then a question popped into my head.

“How do you know it’s the bedroom phone?” I asked.

“Later,” Kanesha said. “Right now I have to get to the house. That room’s supposed to be sealed.” The phone clicked in my ear.

EIGHTEEN

What the devil was going on in the Delacorte mansion? Had one of the family lost it completely? The whole episode of the phone call seemed surreal now.

What malefactor was so stupid that he forgot to block the phone number from caller ID? Or did he do it on purpose, with the knowledge that I was bound to report it?

I had no answer to those questions, though I lay awake more than an hour trying to find them. The other conundrum I couldn’t solve was why the caller used the phone in the victim’s bedroom.

The caller had thrown down the gauntlet, and Kanesha Berry would rise to the challenge. That call might prove to be a costly mistake.

There was some kind of sick intelligence at work here, and the more I thought about it, the more it disturbed me.

But was it enough to keep me from returning to the Delacorte mansion and fulfilling my duties as an executor?

On balance, I decided it wasn’t. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but I also liked to think I had at least enough courage to do my duty by James Delacorte. He sought my assistance for a reason and put his faith in my abilities, and I was determined I wouldn’t let him down.

With that resolved, I drifted off to sleep. Beside me Diesel slept also, no longer disturbed by my restlessness.

I woke the next morning a little after eight, and I felt much better than I would have expected after the trouble I had falling asleep. Diesel wasn’t on the bed, and I figured he was downstairs somewhere.

Ten minutes later, in pajamas and slippers, I padded into the kitchen to find Sean in sweatpants and T-shirt at the stove.

“Morning, Dad,” he said. “Eggs’ll be ready in a couple minutes. Coffee’s made.”

“Thanks,” I said. I poured myself some coffee and took it to the table. I glanced around. “Where are Diesel and Dante?”

“Out in the backyard,” Sean said. “Thought I’d let them run around while I made breakfast.”

“How long have they been outside?” I had a sip of my coffee.

“About fifteen minutes.” Sean stirred the skillet of eggs.

“I think I’ll go let them in,” I said. “I heard thunder rumbling before I came downstairs.”

“I’ll finish with the toast while you do that,” Sean said.

Dark clouds were rolling in when I opened the door on the porch. Diesel sat on the steps, and he mewed several times as he moved up onto the porch. I couldn’t spot Dante at first, but when I called his name, he emerged from the azaleas along the back fence and ran toward me. Rain began to fall as he hopped up the steps.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” I told them. Diesel meowed twice, and Dante looked up at me, his tongue hanging out as he panted. He must have been playing hard. I checked his feet for dirt, because I suspected he had been digging in the flowerbed. No dirt clung to his paws, I was relieved to see.

“Okay, then, let’s go have breakfast,” I said. The animals preceded me into the house, and when we reached the kitchen, Sean had the table set.

Before I sat down, I checked Diesel’s food and water bowls, which I had moved on top of a table in the utility room to keep Dante from eating the cat food. I added water and crunchies to the bowls, and I noted that Sean had already put out food for the dog.

Back at the table I had a couple of sips of coffee while Sean brought plates of toast and eggs to the table.

“I didn’t cook any bacon or sausage,” he said. “Hope that’s okay.” He sat opposite me and picked up his fork.

“Fine with me,” I said. “I can’t afford to eat it that often. Not good for my cholesterol or my digestion.”

The newspaper lay on the table. I normally read it while I ate, but not with company at the table—even though Sean didn’t seem disposed to make conversation.

We ate in silence for several minutes. I complimented Sean once on the soft, buttery eggs, and he acknowledged my words with a nod and a smile.

Then Sean said, “I thought I heard the phone ring last night. It wasn’t Laura, was it?”

I had planned to tell him about the call but wanted to wait until I had some coffee and my breakfast before I did. The whole thing still seemed slightly unreal, and I thought caffeine and food would help ground me in reality.

“No, it wasn’t.” I had one more sip of coffee. “The caller warned me not to go back to the Delacorte mansion and threatened me if I did.”

“What?” Sean almost dropped his fork. He put it down on his plate. “What did he say?”

I repeated the brief conversation, and Sean’s face hardened in anger. “That’s it, then. Don’t go back to that house, Dad.”

“Let me tell you the rest of it,” I said. I finished the story with my call to Kanesha and her reaction when I gave her the number from the caller ID.

“That’s freakin’ nuts,” Sean said. “I mean it; you need to stay the heck away from those loons.” He rubbed his head hard with his right hand. I think if his hair hadn’t been cut so short, he would have been pulling at it now.

“I’ll admit that was my first reaction too, but the more I thought about it, I decided I had to finish the job Mr. Delacorte hired me to do.”

I could see that didn’t go over well. If anything, Sean’s face got darker. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you? I know how stubborn you are when you make up your mind to do something.”

I regarded him with a smile. “Yes, like another member of the family, whose name begins with S. Any idea who that might be?”

Sean’s eyes narrowed. Stubbornness was one trait he definitely inherited from me.

He grunted. I hadn’t heard that sound from him since he was about sixteen. At that age, he would grunt in deep exasperation at my general cluelessness and then go stomping off to his room.

To his credit, he would usually emerge within a half hour and offer a sheepish apology.

He didn’t get up from the table and disappear. Instead he sat and glared at me.

“No, I’m not going to change my mind,” I said. “For one thing, I imagine there are going to be police and sheriff’s deputies in the house while the investigation is in progress. And for another, I am hoping you still plan to come. I really could use your help.”