Miranda James - Murder Past Due

Azalea entered the kitchen alone, and I hastily drank some coffee to hide my smile. Justin dipped his head down and stuck another forkful of hotcake and sausage in his mouth.

“Miss High and Mighty Deputy is waiting to talk to you, Mr. Charlie, when you be done with your breakfast.” Azalea proceeded to the stove as if Justin and I had heard nothing of the argument between her and Kanesha.

“Thank you, Azalea,” I said. “I’m not exactly dressed for an interview, but I don’t think she’ll want to wait while I shower and dress.”

Something like hmmph sounded from the direction of the stove, and I shrugged at Justin.

“Are you going to your classes this morning?”

Justin regarded his plate for a moment. “I guess so. Do you think I should? Or maybe I should go over to the hospital?”

“Why don’t you call your mother and talk to her about it? My guess is she’ll say you should go to your classes and keep busy.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin appeared relieved.

The last thing he needed was to be hanging around the house all day. I was hoping the media didn’t know who he was yet, so they’d leave him alone.

“But if people start pestering you with questions,” I said as I thought about it, “you come on back here and don’t worry about your classes, okay?”

“You mean like newspeople?”

I nodded.

Justin made a face. “I’m not talking to them. I don’t want to be in the news.”

“Then you don’t have to talk to them. Remember that.”

“Okay.”

I stood. “Now I’d better go talk to Deputy Berry.”

As I was leaving the room, I glanced back to see Azalea serving Justin more hotcakes and sausage. Diesel remained with him, ever hopeful.

If only I had a metabolism like that, I thought wistfully.

I tightened the belt of my robe before I entered the living room. I should have washed my hands, I realized too late. Oh well.

“Good morning, Deputy. You wanted to see me?”

Kanesha turned from studying one of the bookcases against the far wall. Lines of tiredness had etched her face overnight. I wondered whether she’d had any sleep at all.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris.” Kanesha frowned. Whether she was still riled up from the argument with her mother, I couldn’t tell. “Yes, I do.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” I gestured toward the sofa and chairs.

Kanesha chose one of the chairs, and I sat in the other, bracing myself for an onslaught of questions.

“I came by to tell you not to speak to any newspeople.” Kanesha glared at me. “I don’t want this investigation compromised by someone letting details get loose.”

“I’m in no particular hurry to talk to any reporters,” I said, somewhat stung by the sharpness of her tone. “One of them called me already this morning, but I hung up on him.”

“And who was that?”

“Ray Appleby, from the local paper.”

Kanesha’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already given him a statement. If he bothers you, let me know. Same thing goes for any other reporters.”

“Thank you, I will. I have no desire to see myself or anyone in this house on national television.” I crossed my arms and gazed blandly back at her.

“So far none of them know that Justin Wardlaw was with you last night.” Kanesha shifted position in the chair. “I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible. They’ll find out eventually, though.”

“They won’t find out from me,” I said. “He wants to go to his classes today. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Kanesha considered that for a moment. “I don’t see why not. I need to question him again, but I have other things to do this morning.” She stood.

“That’s all?” I shrugged. “I thought for sure you had more questions for me.”

“I do, but they can wait. You’ll hear from me.”

I stood, ready to show her to the front door.

“I’ll see myself out.”

I nodded as she walked past me toward the hallway. Moments later I heard the door open and close behind her.

I headed back to the kitchen. Justin was gone, along with Diesel. Azalea was clearing the table, putting things in the dishwasher.

She probably wouldn’t ask me what Kanesha had said to me, so I told her.

“Any of them come sniffing around the house, I’ll just turn on the water hose.”

I laughed. I could see her doing it. “Go right ahead.”

As I picked up my coffee cup to get a refill, I saw Azalea regarding me with a frown.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“She gone need some help.” Azalea, for the first time in my acquaintance, looked worried.

“Kanesha?”

Azalea nodded.

“She seems pretty capable to me,” I said. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”

“She’s a smart girl, I know. Always worked real hard. Ambitious, too.” Azalea smoothed her apron, and I waited for her to continue.

“But people ain’t gonna talk to her. You know what they’re like.” Azalea looked at me expectantly.

“You mean because she’s black.” There was no other way to say it, and I knew what Azalea meant. Old attitudes die hard, and many people in Athena weren’t used to the idea of a young black woman in a position of such authority. That could cause Kanesha some problems.

“I sure do,” Azalea said. Her eyes bored into mine. “That’s why you got to help her, only don’t let on like you’re doing it.”

FOURTEEN

Showered, shaved, and dressed, I contemplated the day ahead. Wednesday is my day for errands. I worked at the college library on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and on Fridays I volunteered at the public library.

Justin had gone off to his classes, and Azalea would be here most of the day working and keeping an eye on things. She had already taken another phone call from the local reporter, Ray Appleby, and I doubted he would call back anytime soon.

Before I went upstairs, Azalea extracted a promise from me to help Kanesha as discreetly as possible. I knew there was some truth to what Azalea said, and I couldn’t help being curious about who had killed Godfrey and why. Everyone else in town would be talking about it, so there was no reason I couldn’t, too. And slip in the occasional question.

Was this how the Hardy Boys got started? I laughed at myself in the mirror. I didn’t have a famous detective for a father, but I had read hundreds of mystery novels. I would poke around, but I wasn’t planning to investigate houses on cliffs, old mills, or secret caves anytime soon.

Diesel followed me to the room next to my bedroom, another bedroom that Aunt Dottie had converted into a sitting room for herself. With a few small changes I had turned it into an office of sorts, mainly by adding my computer and printer.

The cat jumped up onto the desk by the computer—his usual spot—and watched as I turned the computer on and got comfortable in my chair. I had a little time to kill—an unfortunate phrase, I realized—before shops would open, so I might as well check my e-mail.

The first message I opened was from my daughter Laura, who had moved to Los Angeles two years ago to pursue a career as an actress.

The news about Godfrey had apparently hit the media in California last night, because Laura’s message was full of questions. She had no idea, of course, how closely involved I was in the case. I glanced at the time stamp on her message. She had sent it around two A.M. Pacific time.

I replied to her message at some length, explaining what I knew about Godfrey’s death and my own involvement. I knew there would be many questions to come, because Laura loved mysteries as much as I did. As a ten-year-old she wrote her own plays based on the Nancy Drew books, and naturally she starred as Nancy. If I wasn’t careful, she’d hop on the first plane home, determined to help me.