Miranda James: Murder Past Due

“Thanks. My last seven books have debuted at number one,” Godfrey said, the smile giving way to a smug look. “And that’s kind of why I’m here.”

“I heard you’re getting an award for being a distinguished alumnus,” I said.

Godfrey shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, although that’s the ostensible reason I’m back in town. No, I meant the reason I was here talking to you.”

Finally . “And that would be . . . ?” I asked, my voice trailing off.

“The archive,” Godfrey replied. “I am giving my papers to the university archive. I plan to make the announcement tonight at the dinner.” He stared at me. “How do we do this?”

The university administration would be delighted by such a gift, and I thought it was an excellent idea. On one condition. “I know the university would love to have your papers,” I said. “But giving them is one thing. Are you willing to donate money to help with the preparation, cataloging, and maintenance?”

“Sure,” Godfrey said. “What do you have to do, other than put them on the shelves?” He waved a hand in the direction of the bookshelves. “And how much money? I’m sure I can afford it.”

“The papers have to be organized and cataloged,” I said, ignoring that last sentence. “That could take some time, depending on the extent of the collection. I’m the archivist, but I work only part-time. It could take years to get your papers done, considering all the other books and collections waiting to be processed here.”

“If I give enough money, could you hire someone to catalog my papers and get them done sooner?” He frowned. “I don’t want them sitting in boxes, gathering dust.”

“Yes,” I replied. “We have a tiny budget, and we rely on donations.”

“How much?”

“How many papers are we talking about?” I pointed to a nearby box, roughly the size of a box of computer paper. “How many boxes of stuff?”

Godfrey stared at the box. After a moment, he answered. “There are manuscripts of all my novels, and I’ve published twenty-three. Then there’s correspondence, plus copies of my books, in English and other languages.” He paused. “Say fifty-four boxes.”

That was oddly precise, I thought. Had he already boxed everything? He would never imagine the university would turn down his gift.

“And you would continue to add to it,” I said, doing some mental calculations.

“Sure,” Godfrey said. “I’ll be writing for a long time to come, knock on wood.” He rapped my desk with his knuckles.

I found a pad and pencil and made some rough calculations. I named a figure, and Godfrey didn’t blink.

“Sounds good,” he replied. “I’ll double it, just to be safe. That should take care of things for a few years, right?”

“Yes,” I said. Hearing the voice of my boss in my head, I added something, though I didn’t like doing it. “And of course you might want to put a bequest in your will, too. It never hurts.”

Godfrey laughed. “You have to say that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to suppress a sour expression.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. People are holding their hands out for money all the time.” He grinned. “I’ll call my lawyer this afternoon and take care of it.”

“You’ll need to talk to some of the administrative people tonight after you make your announcement,” I said.

He nodded.

I thought our business was done, but Godfrey didn’t move from the chair.

I waited a moment.

“You’re living in Miss Dottie’s house, huh?” Godfrey said.

“Yes.”

“Are you taking in student boarders like she did?” He stared past me at the window where Diesel still slept.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s what she wanted, and it’s not so bad having someone in the house, now that my own two children are grown and out of the nest.”

“You have two kids?” Godfrey glanced at me, an odd look on his face.

“A son and a daughter,” I replied. “Sean is twenty-seven, and Laura is twenty-three.”

“That’s nice,” Godfrey said, his voice soft. “Having kids, I mean.”

Maybe I had accomplished something Godfrey hadn’t. As far as I knew, he didn’t have any children. I was lucky, even if I wasn’t a rich writer.

Godfrey shifted in his chair. “What are the boarders like, the ones living there now?”

“Both nice young men,” I said, puzzled by the conversation. Why was he asking about my current boarders?

“One of them is named Justin, right?” Godfrey examined his hands with care.

“Yes, there is a Justin boarding with me. The other one, Matt, is actually spending a semester in Madrid, doing research for his dissertation.” I was getting more and more uneasy. “Look, Godfrey, what’s going on here? Why these questions? Do you know Justin?”

“No, I don’t,” Godfrey replied. “But I’d like to.” He paused for a deep breath. Then he faced me. “He’s my son, Charlie, but he doesn’t know it.”

THREE

“You’re Justin’s father?” I stared at Godfrey, feeling as if this was a bizarre joke. Back in high school he had a reputation for outlandish pranks.

Godfrey nodded, and I was sure he was serious.

But why the heck was he telling me this? Simply because Justin boarded with me?

“This is incredible.” A fatuous reaction, but I had to say something.

“Yeah, it is,” Godfrey said. Looking down at his hands, he continued. “I had no idea until about six months ago that I had a son. I can’t believe Julia never told me.” His voice had an odd note in it.

“Julia Wardlaw?” I sounded like a not-very-bright parrot, I decided.

Godfrey glanced up at me. “Yes, surely you remember her from high school. Julia Peterson. God, she was beautiful.” He smiled.

Julia had been a knockout thirty years ago. I saw her on a weekly basis now, when she came on Fridays to pick up Justin and take him home for the weekend. Sadly, the years had not been kind. “Have you seen her lately?” I said.

“No, but I’ve talked to her,” Godfrey said. “She wrote to me through my website. Told me about Justin, and I about fell through the floor.”

“I can imagine.” Knowing this helped me put a few things together. When Julia brought Justin to my house, helping him move in his things, she told me more about her family. Obviously as reluctant to tell me as I was to hear it, she seemed to feel it her duty anyway. Justin and his father, Ezra, argued over Justin’s choice of schools. Ezra Wardlaw wanted Justin to attend a small Bible college and follow him into the ministry. Justin rebelled, supported by Julia. He was their only child, and the betrayal—that was the very word Julia had used, quoting her husband—had hit Ezra hard.

“This is really none of my business,” I said, “but are you sure Justin is your son?”

“Absolutely.” Godfrey looked at me like I was an idiot. “You don’t think I’d take someone’s word for it? But I knew it was a possibility. In my position, I have to be sure, so I insisted on a DNA test.”

“Naturally,” I said, my tone wry. “It’s still none of my business, but what do you plan to do?”

“I want to meet Justin,” Godfrey said. “Talk to him, explain the situation. Now that I know, I want to be part of his life.”

Perhaps Justin already knew about his famous biological father, I thought. Julia could have told him recently, knowing that Godfrey was coming to Athena. It had been announced in the local paper a couple of weeks ago.

If Justin knew, that might explain his behavior the past few days. News that his father wasn’t Ezra Wardlaw, but Godfrey Priest, would have come as a huge shock. Poor kid, I thought.