The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  “Justin is a first-class student,” Bellamy said with obvious pleasure. “He took two of my classes and did outstanding work. I had no idea he had boarded with you.”

  We chatted for a moment about Justin, and then Bellamy took his leave. I got back to work after calling Azalea to let her know there would be an additional person for the next couple of months for breakfast and dinner most days.

  Occasional thoughts about my new boarder intruded while I tried to keep my focus on work. Bellamy had charm, I had to admit, an affable, outgoing man, based on this initial interaction with him. I could certainly understand his attraction for women, and I briefly speculated about his friendship—or more—with Irene Warriner. I had continued to feel a sense of familiarity with Bellamy while we talked. Based most likely on my having seen his photograph on the jacket of the book I had read, I told myself. There was more to it, though, I was sure, but I couldn’t imagine what it was. Perhaps it would come to me later.

  Diesel drowsed in the window behind me while I worked steadily. When I felt a paw on my shoulder, I checked my watch. Nearly four. Past time to pack up and go home.

  Downstairs we paused to bid Melba good-bye. As she rubbed Diesel’s head, she said, “Did your appointment show up?”

  “Yes,” I said, thinking it an odd question. “You didn’t see him?” That wasn’t like Melba.

  She looked uncomfortable, then blurted out, “My stomach’s a little upset this afternoon. The deviled eggs I had at lunch aren’t agreeing with me, so I’ve been in and out of the office all afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not pleasant,” I said. “He’s a personable young man. You’ll get a chance to meet him at the event, if not sooner.”

  “Did you accept him as a boarder?” she asked.

  “I did,” I replied.

  “Don’t be surprised if Irene Warriner shows up at your house, then.” Melba arched an eyebrow.

  “Ha-ha,” I replied airily.

  “We’ll see,” Melba responded.

  “Come on, Diesel, time to get home,” I said to the cat, and he followed me out of Melba’s office.

  On the walk home in the now-chilly afternoon air, I considered Melba’s comments about Irene Warriner and Daniel Bellamy. I continued to believe that their relationship was most likely professional, perhaps a friendship and nothing more. Should it prove to be more than that, however, I would put my foot down about Bellamy’s entertaining a married woman in his room. I wouldn’t have a problem with her visiting him downstairs. On the other hand, if she were single, I wouldn’t have a problem with her visiting him in his room. Then I chastised myself for wasting time on something that was only a slim possibility. I doubted whether the issue would arise while Bellamy resided in my house.

  When Diesel and I arrived home, we found Azalea at the stove. Her faithful shadow, Ramses, lay curled up on the floor under a chair where he could keep a close watch in case anything dropped to the floor. He yawned and stretched, then ran over to Diesel. The two cats sniffed at each other while Azalea informed me that dinner was under way. Tonight’s entrée consisted of baked chicken spaghetti, to be served with broccoli salad and fresh cornbread.

  “Sounds fine to me,” I said. “Do you know whether both Stewart and Haskell will be here?”

  Azalea nodded. “Yes, they’ll be here.”

  “Good, and of course the new boarder, Dr. Bellamy. This will be his first meal with us, and he told me he was looking forward to whatever you would serve.”

  “Any special requests for breakfast?” she asked.

  “No, he didn’t mention anything. I think whatever you decide will be fine.” Only occasionally did I make requests for a particular food. Not that Azalea wouldn’t be amenable, but the menu presented one less decision I had to make, and that worked fine as far as I was concerned. I was grateful that she continued to take care of the house, although I knew she did it mostly out of her love and friendship for my late aunt Dottie. She had promised Aunt Dottie she would look after the house and me as long as she could.

  Diesel and Ramses tussled on the floor under the table. I left them to play while I went to the den and fired up my laptop. I could have rummaged in the desk for a copy of the lease I had all boarders sign, but I had the file on the laptop. Once everything was set, I printed the lease, then found a folder and labeled it with Bellamy’s name. I took it back to the kitchen with me and laid it on the table.

  I encouraged Diesel and Ramses to come back to the den with me. Diesel came readily at my call, but Ramses appeared reluctant. The standoff ended when I scooped him up and carried him off to the den, Diesel by my side. I closed the door firmly behind us and set him down. He meowed at me and stared at the door, but when Diesel and I made ourselves comfortable on the sofa, he decided to join us. I picked up a book from the table and began to read, while the cats snoozed beside me.

  We stayed there, with me checking my watch occasionally to keep track of the time. A few minutes before five, I laid aside my book and headed toward the kitchen. Diesel and Ramses followed, my dogged minions.

  The front doorbell rang, and Diesel ran to the door. Ramses continued to the kitchen, ever hopeful of treats, no doubt. I opened the door to find Dan Bellamy, his hand raised to ring the bell again. Beside him stood a woman I did not recognize.

  “Good evening, Mr. Harris,” Bellamy said as he and his companion stepped into the hall. Each carried a suitcase, and they set them down. “My friend Mrs. Warriner kindly offered to help me bring a few things over. Let me introduce you.”

  SEVEN

  Later, looking back, I recalled standing and staring at them beyond the point of politeness, but nothing in the demeanor of either Dan Bellamy or Irene Warriner suggested they found me rude. The latter’s presence took me aback considerably, given the tales Melba shared with me and my own worries on the subject. I had to remind myself sharply of my own conclusion that their relationship was mostly professional because of their shared interest in the Regency period.

  I recovered myself while Bellamy completed the formalities. When he concluded, I said, “Dr. Warriner, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Lucy Dunne has entertained me for many hours, and I’m delighted to have the chance to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your books.”

  Irene Warriner, a trim brunette with a creamy, pale complexion and a soft cloud of dark hair framing her face, smiled graciously. She extended a hand, and we shook. “Mr. Harris, it’s always a pleasure to meet my readers, and I continue to be surprised by the number of men who have enjoyed my books. Many men turn up their noses at romance novels.”

  “A well-written book that tells a good story is what matters to me,” I said warmly. “I don’t pay much attention to the genre as long as I enjoy what I’m reading.”

  During these amenities, in the back of my mind I couldn’t keep down the little voice that wanted to know the exact nature of the relationship between these two people. Nosiness was most definitely my besetting sin, and I readily confessed it.

  Dan Bellamy smiled at Irene Warriner. “Thanks for the ride, Irene. I’ll walk back to the car with you and retrieve the suit bag. I know you’re anxious to get home.” He shot me a sideways glance, and I wondered uneasily if I had somehow betrayed my thoughts.

  That little voice in the back of my mind went silent. I told you so, I thought, relieved.

  Irene Warriner smiled. “Carey made lasagna for dinner tonight, and if I don’t get home in time, he’ll have given half of it to the dog.” She glanced down at Diesel, appearing to notice him for the first time, though he had waited patiently by her to be acknowledged.

  “Goodness,” she said. “So this is the famous Maine Coon. Diesel, isn’t it?”

  Thus acknowledged, Diesel chirped at her and allowed his head to be stroked. He seemed taken with her, butting his head against her hand when she attempted to remove it. “You are quite a handsome fellow.�
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  “He won’t argue with you over that,” I said wryly.

  Irene Warriner laughed. “When I get home smelling of feline, Jonesy—that’s our dog, a terrier mix—will have a fit. He’ll think I’ve been unfaithful.”

  Dan Bellamy shook his head. “You and Carey and that dog, the way you both carry on over him. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He nodded toward the door. “Come on, you’d better get going.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Harris,” she said. “And a special good-bye to you, handsome.” She gave Diesel one last pat before she turned and walked out the door.

  Diesel and I waited until Dan Bellamy returned with his suit bag, and then we escorted him up the two flights of stairs to his new temporary living quarters. I brought one of the suitcases, and Bellamy brought the other. I paused at the top of the second flight in order to regain my breath while Diesel and my new boarder waited. After about fifteen seconds I felt sufficiently recovered to continue. My knees, I decided ruefully, were not happy about all those stairs.

  A wave of nostalgia washed over me when I surveyed the room. This had been Justin’s room for three years, and I fancied I could still feel his presence. Diesel walked in and sniffed around, no doubt detecting traces of the young man he had quickly come to adore. After a moment I set down the suitcase and turned to Bellamy.

  “You have an en suite bathroom, and there is a walk-in closet, so I hope you’ll have enough space for your needs while you’re here.” I explained a few of the routine rules, and he nodded to acknowledge his acceptance of them. “If you’ll come down by a quarter to six, we can go over the lease form before dinner.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Harris,” he said. “I’ll put away a few things and be down soon.”

  “Call me Charlie, if you like,” I said.

  He grinned. “If you’ll call me Dan.”

  I nodded. “Come along, Diesel. I don’t think Dan needs any help unpacking.”

  Diesel meowed loudly and preceded me from the room. He hurried down the stairs well ahead of me. I followed in a more leisurely fashion. When I reached the kitchen, I had to step quickly aside to avoid Diesel as he charged out of the doorway and across the hall to the living room, Ramses trying in vain to match the big cat’s longer stride. They loved chasing each other, and I was amused to see it. The more Diesel wore the kitten out with exercise the quieter Ramses would be later on. A quiet Ramses was a good thing.

  Dan came downstairs a few minutes before the appointed time, and we went over the agreement. He signed and gave me a check for two months’ boarding. Stewart and Haskell came down promptly at six, with Dante on their heels. Haskell and Stewart dished up our food, and the four of us—attended by three hopeful four-legged beggars—sat down to dinner. Dan proved an entertaining dinner companion, talking easily on various subjects, and I thoroughly enjoyed the meal. He volunteered to clear the table when we finished, and Stewart assisted.

  I went to bed that night reasonably content with my new boarder. His easygoing nature seemed to blend well with the comfortable rapport among Stewart, Haskell, and me. Dan had evinced no problems with the cats or the dog, even rubbing heads when presented to him. He did not, I was pleased to notice, slip the supplicants any food. They already had enough hands willing to do that.

  Before bed, however, I had homework—the first two chapters of the text assigned as required reading for the history course. Propped up in bed with my two bedmates beside me, I read the chapters, even going on to the third one, so engrossed was I in the book. I put the book aside when my cell phone rang—my nightly chat with Helen Louise.

  We shared tidbits of the day, including my new boarder. The news surprised Helen Louise, but I explained Dan Bellamy’s need for a quiet place to work during renovations. Helen Louise, who’d had to do extensive renovations before she opened her bistro, said, “I pity the poor man. If they told him it will take two months, you can count on his being your boarder for five or six months.”

  “Unless he causes problems,” I replied, “that’s fine. He doesn’t seem like the kind to do such things, though.” Even as I said those words, I felt an uneasy stirring in the back of my mind.

  “I can only hope you’re right.” Helen Louise chuckled. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a few months trouble-free? No murders, everyone well and happy, no drama?”

  “Yes, it certainly would.” I spoke firmly and sent up a silent prayer that Helen Louise’s words foretold reality.

  We chatted desultorily for a few minutes more, then Helen Louise began yawning and bade me good night. I laid my book on the bedside stand, placed my phone atop it, and turned out the light. Ramses decided to snuggle against me, with Diesel on his other side, and I soon drifted into sleep.

  I awoke the next morning with a tickling sensation on my nose. I opened my eyes to find Ramses sniffing my face, his whiskers brushing against my nose. After removing him gently from my shoulder—and getting his tail out of my ear—I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself up in bed. Who needed an alarm clock when you had a kitten in the house?

  While I showered and dressed for the day, Diesel and Ramses headed downstairs. I knew Azalea would be in the kitchen preparing breakfast, and Ramses no doubt was eager to see her and find out what treats might be in the offing.

  I heard footsteps on the staircase above me when I headed downward, and Dan Bellamy overtook me.

  “Good morning,” he said. “That’s a mighty comfortable bed. I slept well, and I don’t usually do so in a strange bed. At least, not on the first night.”

  “Glad it was comfortable for you.” I glanced sideways to see that he too had dressed for the day, wearing a suit but no tie, his collar open. “I wasn’t sure if you were an early riser,” I continued. “If you usually don’t get up until later, Azalea will be happy to make breakfast for you then. You don’t have to eat this early if you’re not accustomed to it.”

  “No, this is fine. I’ve already had a good run this morning. I’m used to being up early.”

  When we reached the kitchen, I introduced Dan to Azalea, and he greeted her pleasantly and thanked her for the delicious dinner the night before. “After that, I’m really looking forward to breakfast.”

  Azalea nodded to acknowledge the compliment. “If there’s anything particular you like for breakfast, you let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Dan replied. “I will, but I’m always happy with coffee, eggs, and bacon or sausage.”

  Stewart joined us about ten minutes later, explaining that Haskell had been called out early to assist with a fatal accident on the highway. Stewart grimaced. “I don’t know how he does it; they’re always so tragic.” He eyed his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon slightly askance. Despite his comment, however, he did not seem to lack his usual appetite.

  The three of us chatted over breakfast, accosted frequently by Ramses and Diesel, though Ramses directed most of his attention to his least resistant target, Azalea. With breakfast finished, I put Diesel in his harness and leash, grabbed the lunch bag Azalea had prepared for me, and we drove to the public library, where I volunteered on Fridays.

  For the spring college semester, I would be working only from nine until noon instead of my usual nine to three. Although I didn’t like depriving the staff of half the usual hours, the head of the library, Teresa Farmer, waved away my concerns.

  “You have been such a huge help to us, Charlie,” she said. “None of us is going to begrudge you the opportunity to take a class for a semester.” She grinned. “If you start taking classes every semester, then we’ll talk.”

  “Not anything I’m anticipating doing,” I had assured her.

  Diesel, as always, enjoyed his time at the library, thanks to all the attention he received from the library staff as well as the patrons. He was the most popular attraction at the library for many people, and he adored the adulation he received. When he needed a break, he retreated b
ehind the service desk with me or another staff member and rested until he was ready to greet his public again.

  A few minutes past noon found us in the car on the way to campus. I parked in my usual spot behind the administration building. We met Melba on her way out to fetch something for her lunch.

  “I’ll be back in time for you to get to your class,” she said after greeting us.

  “I really appreciate your help with this,” I said, “otherwise Diesel would have to stay home on my class days.”

  “We can’t have that, now, can we, Diesel?” Melba said.

  Diesel warbled an indignant response, and we both laughed. The cat chirped as if he understood.

  I took Diesel upstairs to the office so that I could eat my lunch and he could snack on the dry food I kept there, as well as perform other necessary functions as he needed. At a quarter to one we went downstairs and found Melba at her desk, eating a salad and turning the pages of a magazine.

  “See you a little after two,” I told her and Diesel before I made my way to the building where history classes were held.

  I took the same seat I’d had on Wednesday and prepared my notebook and pen. The classroom held only about half the students that had been present at the first class, but more appeared a minute or two before the bell rang and Carey Warriner entered the room.

  I glanced around but didn’t see Dixie Compton anywhere. I wondered whether she had decided to withdraw from the class. If she had done so because of insecurity over her fitness for the course, I hoped my declining her invitation to be her study partner hadn’t contributed to that decision.

  The bell rang, and the professor began to take roll. As each student responded, I half expected Dixie Compton to slide in at the last moment, but she failed to appear, even several minutes after Warriner began his lecture.

  I couldn’t explain it afterward, but I had the uneasy feeling that something had befallen Dixie Compton that prevented her from coming to class this afternoon. But what could have happened?