Miranda James - Classified as Murder

“I can’t tell you how happy I was when her mother-in-law turned up. I was getting to the point of running out into the hall and yelling for help, I was so desperate.” He sighed. “The only time she really made sense was when she told me which room was hers.”

Two minutes later I pulled the car into the garage. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, Diesel right on my heels, I smelled an enticing aroma.

Stewart Delacorte was at the stove. He glanced up as we entered. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, gentlemen. I thought I’d better prove to you that I’m not merely decorative.” He laughed at his own joke, and I couldn’t help but laugh with him. Sean did, too.

Dante had been lying under the table, but he emerged with a joyful bark the moment he spotted Sean. My son bent and scooped the dog into his arms, and Dante licked him repeatedly on the cheek. Sean grimaced but didn’t reprimand him.

Diesel had disappeared, but he would be back as soon as he finished in the utility room.

I stepped closer to the stove to see what he was cooking, but the pots were covered. “It smells wonderful,” I said. “What is it?”

“My very special meat sauce,” Stewart replied. “Now, shoo, both of you, out of the kitchen while I put the finishing touches to this delectable repast. I’ll yoo-hoo when it’s ready.”

“Good,” Sean said as he put Dante down again. “I’m starved.”

“Don’t worry,” Stewart said with a flirtatious glance. “There’s plenty here to satisfy a big, strong man like you.”

Sean burst out laughing, and it was then that Stewart’s double entendre registered with me. I probably blushed, but Sean didn’t seem to mind.

Time for me to head upstairs and wash up. This could turn out to be one heck of an interesting meal.

TWENTY-SIX

Dinner with Stewart turned out to be a stimulating experience. The food was superb—whole wheat linguine with a delicious meat sauce, tossed salad, and the best garlic bread I’ve ever tasted. All topped off with a bottle of excellent Merlot I’d had waiting in the cabinet for a special meal.

Dante spent the whole meal going back and forth between Sean and Stewart, begging. Sean let him have a few morsels, but that was all. I suspected that Stewart sneaked the dog as many treats as Sean did—if not more.

Diesel sat by me and watched in hopes that I would slip him a tidbit or two. He loved buttered bread, and I gave him several small chunks. He licked my fingers as a thank-you.

Conversation focused on the murder investigation. I would be in big trouble with Kanesha if we let anything confidential slip to Stewart. Sean and I were careful about what we said—when we had a chance to talk, that is. I soon discovered that Stewart was capable of carrying on the conversation on his own, with only the occasional brief comment from Sean or me.

The first topic during dinner was the victim.

“I meant what I said earlier today about Uncle James.” Stewart gestured airily with his fork. “I was fond of the old man. After all, he did take me in when my parents died and saw that I had a home and an education. But you didn’t dare cross him. No sirree. He could be nasty if he got his dander up.”

Sean smiled. “I’m sure you took care not to annoy him.”

“I had my moments,” Stewart answered in a wry tone.

“What happened when you came out to him?” Sean asked.

“Didn’t even blink,” Stewart said. “He could hardly say anything, could he? Even though he never officially came out of the closet, everyone in the family knew he was gay.” He paused. “Not that he ever did anything about it, I reckon, except nurse his silent passion for Nigel.”

“Silent passion? That’s an odd phrase,” I said. “I suppose that means he never acted on his feelings.”

“Heavens, no,” Stewart said with a mock shudder. “Uncle James was far too fastidious, if you know what I mean. No, he was apparently content simply to have the object of his affection near him at all times.”

“What about Truesdale?” Sean asked. “Did he return this silent passion?”

Stewart laughed. “That randy old goat? No, he didn’t. Mind you, I think he was genuinely fond of Uncle James, but Nigel is as straight as they come. When he was younger, Uncle James couldn’t keep a housemaid because Nigel was always panting after them—as long as they were attractive, of course. The man does have some standards.”

Recalling the scene in the kitchen with Anita Milhaus and the butler, I wondered about that. I couldn’t see it myself, but I supposed some men might find Anita attractive.

“I can’t say that I blame poor Uncle James,” Stewart said. “I’ve seen pictures of Nigel when he was younger—from his days on the stage in England. He was an absolute hunk.” He laughed. “And for his age, he’s not so bad-looking now.”

I tried to imagine Nigel Truesdale as a matinee idol forty years ago. He had a distinguished appearance now, certainly, as befit his position. Former position, I should say.

“You’re telling us your uncle was in love with his straight butler for no telling how long, and he never did anything about it?” Sean sipped his wine. “Man, that’s pretty sad.”

“I agree.” Stewart twirled his fork in his pasta. “But that was Uncle James. I said he was fastidious, didn’t I? The man couldn’t bear to break a sweat, so do you think he would ever get passionate with someone?” Stewart shook his head. “Wouldn’t happen. Besides, he knew he could never have Nigel, and that was that.”

How terribly sad. To be unable to open oneself up to passion with another person—I pitied him. I supposed Mr. Delacorte transferred those feelings to his book collection. That became his passion instead.

“You missed all the excitement this afternoon,” Sean said.

I shot my son a warning look. He nodded slightly.

“Do tell,” Stewart said. “Surely there wasn’t another murder?”

“No, nothing as bad as that.” Sean laughed. “There was a fight between your cousin and his wife. I happened to find them on the stairs. Eloise was crying and clutching the side of her face, and your cousin was yelling at her.”

“Poor, poor Eloise,” Stewart said with what sounded like genuine sympathy. “Hubert is simply horrid to her, and I know he hits her occasionally. What was he going on about?”

“I couldn’t really tell,” Sean said. “But the two deputies were there, and they courted him off to have a talk with him.”

“Good. Serves him right.” Stewart had a sip of his wine. “Uncle James would’ve had a fit. He didn’t like the way Hubert treated Eloise, but most of the time he was able to keep Hubert in check.”

“What do you think will happen now?” I asked.

“I’m sure Hubert will try to have Eloise committed to Whitfield,” Stewart replied. “In a way, I can’t really blame him, because Eloise has been very odd ever since they got married, eons ago. But she’s basically harmless, and she’s rather sweet.” He snorted with laughter. “Frankly, I think if we could get Hubert committed instead, Eloise would do a lot better mentally.”

“Hubert can’t be very happy about the terms of the will,” I said. “And I guess you’re not that happy either.”

“I didn’t expect to inherit every thing, you know.” Stewart patted his lips with his linen napkin. “I was hoping for a bit more than he left me, like the furniture in my room, but I’ll be fine.” He offered us a sunny smile. “One benefit of living in my uncle’s house is that I’ve been able to save a significant part of my salary. The college doesn’t pay me nearly what I’m worth—I’ve won several teaching awards, did you know that? But after a while, it all adds up rather nicely.”