Miranda James - Murder Past Due

On the short drive home I pondered the questions I wanted to pose to the agent. How should I start? What preface to my questions could I use to disarm her enough to talk to me?

One big question occurred to me right away, and I knew I would have to be very careful in asking it. Did the agent know that Godfrey wasn’t writing the books himself?

Then I remembered that Kanesha would probably be asking her that question, not to mention countless others, tonight. I would try and see how far I could get.

Julia’s car was parked in front of the house, and Diesel and I found her in the kitchen. We exchanged greetings as I released Diesel from his harness. He went to greet Julia before trotting off to his litter box.

“I came to pick up Justin,” Julia said. “He’s coming home to have dinner with us, and he’ll probably spend the night.”

Justin often spent Friday nights with his parents, and that meant I had the house to myself one night a week. At least until the spring semester, I reminded myself. My other boarder would be back from his semester abroad then.

“How is Ezra doing?” I asked. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?” I went to the fridge for a diet drink.

“No, thank you, Justin should be down any minute,” Julia said. “Ezra is doing okay. Very happy to be home from the hospital, naturally.”

“Good,” I said, popping the top on the can and having a swallow. I came to the table and sat down. “I’ve come across something interesting, and I’d like to talk to you about it, if you have a moment.”

Julia frowned. “This isn’t a good time, I’m afraid. I really need to get back to Ezra. Justin needs to get a move on.”

“I understand,” I said. “But when you do have a moment, it’s important.”

“Okay,” Julia said. “Perhaps when I bring Justin back tomorrow morning. It depends on how Ezra’s doing, though.”

“Of course,” I said. I had to be content with that. Julia obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Justin came clattering down the stairs then, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his hair over his eyes. “I’m ready, Mama.” He spotted me then and said, “Evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Justin. I’ll miss your company at dinner tonight,” I said, and I realized I meant it. I had grown accustomed to having someone at the table with me—besides Diesel, that is.

“Thank you, sir,” Justin said, coloring slightly. He bent to pet Diesel, who had reappeared in the kitchen the moment he heard Justin coming down the stairs.

Julia stood. “We’d better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Charlie.”

“I look forward to it,” I said.

Julia flashed me a questioning look, but she didn’t linger. I hoped she would have time to talk in the morning. For now, however, I would have to curb my impatience.

Diesel followed them to the door, and I heard Justin say good-bye to him before the door shut. The cat came back into the kitchen as I was checking to see what Azalea had left for tonight’s dinner.

There was a roast in the oven, along with a baked potato wrapped in foil. A pot of green beans on the stove rounded out the meal. I sighed in contentment. Azalea’s roasts were tender and delicious, and I looked forward to my dinner.

On the way upstairs to change clothes, I considered calling Rick Tackett, but I quickly rejected the idea. I could think of no reasonable pretext for calling him out of the blue—for he was probably home by now. Plus I knew such a call could get me into deeper trouble with Kanesha Berry. I discounted my chat with Teresa Farmer and the forthcoming talk with Julia. Concerning the latter, I figured it possible that Kanesha might talk to Julia before I did. She often didn’t bring Justin back to my house until lunchtime or after on Saturdays. If Kanesha talked to Teresa early enough tomorrow, she would probably get on to Julia right away.

My son Sean called as I was ready to go downstairs for my dinner. Instead, I sat on the bed and chatted with him for nearly half an hour. That was a long call for Sean. Our conversations usually lasted no more than ten minutes, but tonight I sensed that Sean needed to talk, and I wasn’t going to hurry him.

By now he had heard about Godfrey Priest’s murder, and I told him of my involvement. Sean, in his second year out of law school, worked for a large firm in Houston that specialized in civil law. He expressed concern for me, and I assured him I was fine.

He kept talking about innocuous things, but all the time he spoke I sensed an undercurrent. Finally, I decided to ask him outright what was wrong.

Sean sighed into the phone. “I don’t know, Dad. It’s a number of things. The job, for one. It’s not really what I thought it would be, and the hours are crazy. I work all the time.”

“It’s hard, I know. Those big firms work junior lawyers really hard for the first few years.” Now that he was talking openly, I could sense a certain amount of relief.

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. It’s going to be years before it gets any better, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

That concerned me, because Sean knew he wanted to be a lawyer from the age of twelve when he first read To Kill a Mockingbird .

“You wanted to be Atticus Finch,” I said.

“I did,” Sean said. “I was pretty naive, wasn’t I?”

“Idealistic,” I said. “There’s a difference.”

“Well, it’s hard to hold on to your ideals when you’re working on cases involving millions of dollars and representing big companies who are trying to sidestep the law any way they can.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

Sean didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it. I thought I might spend a couple weeks at Christmas with you, if that’s okay. Do you think Laura’s coming home then?”

“She hasn’t said yet, but I certainly hope she will. And you know, son, you can come and stay as long as you like. There’s plenty of room.” I didn’t dare be too effusive. Sean turned prickly over displays of paternal emotion. He had always been closer to his mother. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I’ll let you know when I can get away.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing you,” I said. I actually hadn’t seen him since his law school graduation over two years ago. He was always too busy to visit me, and whenever I suggested coming to Houston, he put me off.

We chatted a few more minutes, and when I put down the phone I was thoughtful. Sean was in distress, and I wanted to help him. I would have to wait until the holidays, though. I tried not to dwell too much on the possibility that he might leave Houston permanently for Athena. I didn’t want to be disappointed. By December he might change his mind about even coming here for the holidays.

Dinner was every bit as delectable as I expected, and when I finished I thought ruefully about that third helping of roast. I felt discomfort in my stomach, and I scolded myself for overeating. I put it down to my concern for Sean. I had always been a stress eater.

I had a restless night as well, partly because I’d overeaten, but in large part due to worries about my son. When I rose the next morning, bleary-eyed from not getting enough quality sleep, Diesel hopped out of bed, perky as ever. On mornings like this he reminded me of one of my college roommates, who invariably rose from bed chipper and happy. There were times when I could cheerfully have whacked him over the head and stuffed his body in the closet.

Diesel was safe, however. He was much too fast for me.

On Saturday mornings I pottered about the house once I had read the newspaper and eaten my breakfast. Sometimes I worked in the yard, and I knew a couple of the flowerbeds in the backyard needed attention. I was not the world’s most enthusiastic gardener, but I knew it would do me good to be out in the clear, cool air, engaged in a useful activity.