Miranda James - Classified as Murder

I was about to protest, but Stewart spoke before I could. “It’s a deal. I want to move in right away.” He hopped up from the sofa. “Oh, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be able to sleep tonight, knowing I’m not sharing a roof with a heartless killer.” He almost raced to the door. “I’m going up to pack some things. I’ll find you when I’m ready to go.” He was out the door before I could stop him.

I rounded on Sean. “Why did you tell him that? And that absurd price? I’m not sure I want him in my house.”

Diesel, alarmed by my tone of voice, started growling, and I had to calm him down while Sean replied.

“First off, I didn’t think he’d be willing to pay that much, but second, I figured as long as he has an alibi, he might be a useful source of information.” Sean laughed. “Arthur—the friend I was talking about—acts like a bubble-headed queen a lot of the time, but he’s really very sharp. I suspect Stewart isn’t much different.”

“Does Arthur flirt with you the way Stewart did?” I was very curious. Sean was actually offering me a glimpse of his life in Houston.

“He did when we first met, a couple of years ago,” Sean said. “But he soon got over it when I told him I wasn’t interested. It’s no big deal, Dad.”

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” I asked.

Sean shrugged. “It did a little, at first. But now I don’t think twice about it. I say ‘No thanks’ and that’s the end of it.”

Sounded to me like it must happen on a regular basis, but I forbore commenting. I was pleased to know, however, that Sean responded in a mature manner.

“What about this source of information? Are you going to pump him for details about the family?”

Sean grinned. “If he’s as much like Arthur as I think he is, we won’t have to do much priming. He’ll be more than happy to shovel the dirt. And he could have some very helpful details.”

“I suppose so,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure about this. I decided I would leave Stewart to Sean’s tender mercies, and if he extracted useful information from my new boarder, I’d be willing to listen. I wondered, though, what Kanesha might have to say about it. If Stewart’s dirt helped solve the case, she probably wouldn’t mind.

“Come on, then,” I said as I stood. “Let’s get to work on the inventory.”

“Sure thing,” Sean said. “When Stewart’s ready to take his things to the house, I can go over with him and get him settled and then come back to help you.”

“Fine,” I said as we walked into the hall. “He can have the big room on the third floor that’s over my bedroom.”

Deputy Bates occupied a chair in front of the library. He glanced up from his cell phone when Sean and I, along with Diesel and Dante, neared him.

“Afternoon,” he said as he got up to unlock the door.

“Thanks,” I said. Sean preceded me into the room with the boys. “Deputy, I forgot to ask earlier, but what happened with my satchel? I don’t remember seeing it in here before I left for lunch.”

Bates shrugged. “If it’s not in here, then it’s probably down at the sheriff’s department. Probably best to ask Deputy Berry about it. She may be willing to release it if it’s not needed as evidence.”

“Thank you, I will,” I said.

Bates followed us into the room, bringing his chair. He set it a couple of feet inside the room and shut the doors. I supposed Kanesha didn’t want anyone watching what we were doing in here.

Sean put Dante in one of the chairs and told him to stay. Diesel curled up on the floor nearby.

After pulling a pair of cotton gloves from the box for Sean, I picked up the first volume of the inventory, and we set to work, picking up where I left off yesterday morning. That seemed like a week ago rather than one day. I did my best to keep the image of Mr. Delacorte’s body out of my head as we worked.

Sean scanned the shelves while I read out the titles, and when a book wasn’t where it should be, we both looked for it. The job went a little faster that way, and we worked for about an hour without a break.

A knock sounded at the door. Bates opened the door a few inches and spoke to the person outside in the hall. “Let me check, sir,” he said.

Bates shut the door and walked over to where Sean and I stood. “Mr. Stewart Delacorte,” he said. “Wants to speak to you.”

“Thanks, Deputy,” Sean said. “I know what he wants.” He turned to me. “If you’ll give me your car keys, I’ll take care of it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I handed over the keys and suggested that he take Dante with him. The poodle would be too restless if he had to stay here without Sean.

I returned to my work, and Bates resumed his seat by the door. Diesel decided that he had been neglected long enough, and he came and rubbed against my legs. I had to put down the inventory book and give him some attention. Otherwise, I knew he would start butting his head against my legs and mewing at me. He was very difficult to ignore when he wanted to be noticed.

After a few minutes of that, Diesel relented and found a spot under the work table. He was close enough to watch me and to reclaim my attention if he wanted. Maine coons can be very possessive, or so I’d read. Diesel could be that way on occasion by maintaining physical contact with me. That was sometimes awkward, but for now, at least, he seemed content to nap under the table.

I worked without a break until Sean returned. When I checked my watch I was surprised to note that it was almost four-thirty.

“Sorry I was gone so long.” Sean shook his head. “Would you believe Stewart got lost three times on the way to the house? He was following in his car, and despite my best efforts, he couldn’t seem to keep up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “It’s not that far.”

“I know,” Sean replied. “But I think he was talking on his cell phone the whole time.” He sighed. “I finally got him to the house and helped him carry his things in. Then he insisted on making another trip back here to pick up stuff he forgot, and that took a while, too. But I finally got away from him. When I left, he was having a grand old time rearranging the furniture in his bedroom.”

“If that keeps him amused, that’s fine with me,” I said. “I’m still not sure about having him in the house, but I’ve decided that you’re going to be his minder, not me.” I noticed then that Sean didn’t have Dante with him. “Where’s your dog?”

“With Stewart.” Sean laughed. “Stewart took a fancy to him, and he begged me to let Dante stay with him so he’d have company until we came home. That was fine with me, and Dante seemed happy to stay. I can work better without having to check on him every five minutes to make sure he’s not getting into something.”

Diesel perked up when Sean returned, and he appeared to be searching the room for his little pal. “Sean left him at home, Diesel,” I told him. The cat stopped, turned, and went back to his spot under the table.

“That’s amazing,” Sean said. “I swear he understands anything you say.”

“I know. It’s spooky sometimes.” I brandished the inventory book I was holding. “Let’s get a bit more done, and then we’ll head home for the night.”

We resumed our earlier method, with me reading and Sean checking the shelves. After a few minutes of this, Sean spoke suddenly.

“I just realized something, Dad.” He rubbed his chin. “All the books we’ve been dealing with so far are pretty old. I don’t think a single one of them was published after 1900.”

I thought about it a moment. “I believe you’re right. Perhaps Mr. Delacorte concentrated on pre-1900 books when he first started collecting. I know there are books in the collection published after 1900, though, like a set of Faulkner first editions, and some Welty editions, too.”