EIGHT
I had little time to consider reasons why Dixie Compton had ducked class today. Once Professor Warriner launched into his lecture, I was too busy concentrating on his words and trying to transcribe them to think about much else.
When the bell rang at ten minutes before two and the lecture ended, I let go of the pen and massaged my right hand with my left. I had meant to bring my laptop today and type the notes, but I had forgotten to grab the computer before I left home this morning. Either my hand would soon get conditioned to the amount of writing I was doing, or I would have to figure out the best mnemonic to ensure that I remembered my laptop on class days.
I had halfway anticipated that Carey Warriner might approach me again today after the class to inquire whether I had made a decision about taking the course for credit. To my great relief, he did not. I hadn’t given it much further thought since Wednesday, and at the moment I had no desire to respond in the affirmative. I didn’t feel that I needed to put to the test my ability to make the kind of grades I had many years ago at Athena. I certainly didn’t need another advanced degree. I was perfectly happy with my master’s degree in library science.
But never say never, as my aunt Dottie always told me.
As the students left the classroom, Warriner called out a reminder to check the syllabus for our reading assignments for Monday’s class. I remembered vaguely that the syllabus included occasional discussions throughout the semester, and I wondered briefly whether Monday would bring our first one.
I gathered my things and left the classroom. During the walk back to my office, I thought again about Dixie Compton’s failure to show up for class. I had to wonder, given what I had overheard after class on Wednesday, whether Warriner had managed to discourage her after all. She had exhibited bravado with me, asserting that she was not going to let him intimidate her. Perhaps he had managed to do so anyway.
But why didn’t he want her in the class? The only reason I could imagine involved them in an extramarital affair. Whatever the reason, I felt bad for Dixie Compton. I had little sympathy for Warriner if he had indeed been unfaithful to his wife. Though, I realized, the affair could have happened before he married Irene Warriner. I had no idea how long they had been married.
My nosiness often tended to get the better of me, and I pulled myself up sharply over the direction of my thoughts. These people’s private lives were none of my business. Their actions did not affect me in the least, as far as I could determine. I should therefore banish further such thoughts from my mind and stick to my own concerns.
That resolution made, I forced my thoughts onto more personal matters. My plans for tomorrow included visits with my grandchildren. Sean and Alex had promised to bring Rosie over for me to babysit while they ran errands together. Laura had said she would come over with Charlie at the same time, while Cherelle, the nanny, enjoyed a much-deserved weekend off. Tomorrow night I intended to attend the Lucy Dunne event. On Sunday I had planned for the usual dinner with the entire family, and unless there were last-minute changes, everyone should be there.
Diesel hurried to meet me when I entered the building, trilling and meowing to fill me in on the details of his time with Melba. I paused to rub his head a few times before I proceeded to Melba’s office.
When I reached her door, she glanced my way. She shot me an arch look and said, “How are things with you and your new girlfriend?”
I suppressed a flash of annoyance at this tired joke and replied with a frown, “Candice Bergen? Haven’t seen her for weeks.”
Melba rolled her eyes. “So funny. You know who I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, trying to keep from sounding testy, “and I wish you’d drop this thing. It’s not that funny. As a matter of fact, Ms. Compton wasn’t in class today.”
A slight flush crept over Melba’s face. “Sorry, Charlie, it’s in poor taste. You’re right. I won’t joke about her again.”
I smiled. “Thanks. Apology accepted. I don’t mind if you tease me. We’ve always picked at each other, but some subjects aren’t that amusing.”
“Like infidelity,” Melba said.
“Exactly.” I didn’t tell her that subject had occupied my thoughts far too much recently. Perhaps that was why I was overly sensitive to Melba’s attempts at humor. Normally I didn’t let her rattle me. “Thanks for looking after Diesel for me.”
Melba waved that away. “No need to thank me every time. You know I love spending time with this handsome boy. He’s always good as gold for Aunt Melba.” As if in agreement with her, Diesel meowed loudly, and Melba chuckled.
“All right, then,” I said. “Come on upstairs with me, boy, and let Melba have a break.”
Diesel chirped at me and headed out the door. I smiled a farewell to Melba and followed him.
While the cat napped in his window, I settled down to work for the next ninety minutes. By the time I thought to check my watch, I found it was nearly three forty-five. I could easily have worked for another hour or more, but this was Friday afternoon, after all.
“Come on, boy, time to go,” I said to Diesel.
A few minutes later, we were in the car, headed to the town square. Our destination this time was Helen Louise’s bistro. I thought I would pick up one of her cakes to take home for dessert tonight. I wasn’t sure whether Dan Bellamy planned to eat his dinner with us, but if he did, it would be nice to have a special offering as a kind of welcome, since we hadn’t had one last night.
Trying to find a parking spot on the square on a Friday afternoon could be considered a health hazard, I sometimes thought. I had on more than one occasion witnessed shouting matches between drivers who disagreed on the ownership of an empty place. Today my luck held, however, and I didn’t have to come to fisticuffs with anyone for a place in front of the bistro.
Diesel jumped to the pavement, and, leash in hand, I led him into the bistro. Technically it was against health regulations for an animal, even one as well behaved as my cat, to enter a food service establishment. Helen Louise had in the past informed persons who complained about Diesel that they were welcome to go elsewhere. Diesel never went anywhere near a food preparation area. We generally sat at a table in one corner where there was practically no chance we might contaminate anyone’s food. By now the bistro regulars had become accustomed to his presence, and many of them stopped by to say hello.
Helen Louise, busy at the cash register, nodded as she spotted us. I saw that our usual spot was available. The bistro was only about half-full, the lunch crowd long since departed. Once she finished with the customer at the register, Helen Louise came over and greeted me with a kiss. For Diesel, she had a few scratches for his head and chin that made him purr with happiness.
“Have you had a busy day?” I asked as Helen Louise took the chair to my left.
She nodded. “Typical Friday crowd. People were waiting as much as twenty minutes for tables. Thank goodness it wasn’t raining today.”
“Everything you serve is worth waiting for,” I said, “like the chocolate cake I’d like to take home with me for dessert tonight.”
An expression of dismay crossed Helen Louise’s lovely face. “Oh, Charlie, if only I had known. Henry sold the last one about half an hour ago.”
“Darn,” I said. “I really wanted one for tonight, but I’m sure you have something else nearly as good.”
Helen Louise looked thoughtful for a moment. “I tell you what, I have time to make one for you. There’s only one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked, puzzled.
“I’ll make it for you if you invite me to dinner.” She grinned impishly.
“Silly woman,” I said in mock exasperation. “You know I can’t be bribed by chocolate cake alone.”
“I guess I’ll have to up the ante,” she replied. “Hmm, now, what else can I offer?” She chuckled. “How about th
ree kisses?”
I pretended to consider the offer. “Make it seven, and it’s a deal.”
“Seven it is,” she said. “Here’s the first one.” She bussed my cheek.
No doubt anyone else privy to this exchange would think Helen Louise and I thought we were giddy teenagers. I didn’t care. We had fun with these little exchanges, and that’s all that mattered.
“Dinner at six as usual?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I don’t know if there will be anyone besides the two of us, but in case Dan Bellamy is in, I thought it would be pleasant to have a special dessert for dinner since we didn’t have one his first night.”
“Then you shall have it,” Helen Louise said. “I’ll bring it with me.” She rose from the table. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Yes, you should. You don’t want Henry to catch you slacking off.” I winked. Henry was her full-time manager, the extremely dependable employee who had made it possible for her to cut back her hours at the bistro.
Diesel and I headed for the car after another kiss for me and a head scratch or two for him from Helen Louise. I had to wait for a pause in the traffic around the square to back out of my space, and I kept watch in the mirror with occasional glances over my shoulder. Finally a lull occurred, long enough for me to reverse the car and then start moving forward.
A sudden movement in front of the car caused me to hit my brakes hard. Diesel grumbled from the backseat, and I glanced quickly back to make sure he was okay. He didn’t seem hurt in any way, only startled. I looked at the street ahead, and the two people who had dashed across it in front of me had now reached the sidewalk, apparently oblivious to the car that had nearly struck them.
I felt like getting out of the car right then and reading them the riot act. The man and woman stood on the sidewalk in front of the bistro, talking to each other. With a shock, I realized I knew the man—Carey Warriner. I didn’t know the woman with him, but I thought I had seen her on campus before. What was the name of the English professor Melba’s friends had mentioned?
Barbara Lamont, I recalled after a moment. Then the loud honking behind me caught my attention, and with a jerk I started forward again. I would have a few words to say to Carey Warriner the next time I saw him. What a foolish thing he and his woman friend had done. Had I not been paying attention I could have struck them both, and I felt sick to my stomach at the thought.
I checked in my rearview mirror as I paused at the light. I could no longer see them on the sidewalk, and I wondered where they had gone. I decided I would ask Helen Louise at dinner tonight whether they had gone into the bistro. Not in the presence of Dan Bellamy, however.
As my anger with Warriner faded during the drive home, I decided that I should let well enough alone. No harm was done, after all. No one had been hurt, and I would assure myself that Diesel was fine when we got home.
I turned down my street two blocks from the house. I spotted what looked like two sheriff’s department cars parked near my place, and my heartbeat quickened. The closer I came to home, the faster my heart beat. The patrol cars did indeed occupy space on the street right in front of my house.
What on earth had happened here?
NINE
After a quick check to reassure myself that Diesel hadn’t been hurt during the abrupt stop, I hurried him into the kitchen. I tried to settle my chaotic thoughts by focusing on a quick prayer that everyone was okay, but even that didn’t work. I thrust open the door and stumbled into the kitchen, almost stepping on Diesel. Thankfully, before I could, he hissed and darted aside.
Haskell and his boss, Chief Deputy Kanesha Berry, sat at the table. Azalea stood by the stove, her arms crossed over her bosom, glaring at her daughter. I began to relax. Perhaps Kanesha had simply stopped by to check on her mother.
But why would she bring Haskell with her? And why two cars? I wondered.
“Afternoon, Charlie,” Kanesha said, her tone as usual betraying nothing.
“Good afternoon, Kanesha, Haskell,” I said. “How are y’all?” I nodded to Azalea and wished her good afternoon as well.
Ramses darted out from under the table and headed for Diesel, and Diesel ran out of the room. Ramses chased after him. Kanesha grimaced, whether in response to the feline antics or for another reason, I had no idea.
“I was about to call you, Charlie,” Kanesha said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Do you mind if I sit down?” I asked. “This sounds serious.”
“It is,” Haskell said, and that earned him a frown from Kanesha.
I pulled out a chair and sat. “What’s going on? Has there been an accident?” My heart began pounding again. Please let my children and grandchildren be okay, I prayed.
“There has been a death,” Kanesha replied. “No family member, if that’s what’s worrying you. A death that we are considering a suspicious one.”
“Thank the Lord it’s none of my family,” I said, “but how awful for someone’s family. So the dead person is someone you think I know?”
Kanesha shrugged. “That’s what I want you to tell me. Do you know a woman named Dixie Belle Compton?”
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach all over again. I had been right. Something terrible had happened to her after all.
It took me a moment to find my voice. “I’ve met her a couple of times,” I said. “She was enrolled in the history course I’m taking at Athena. I saw her in class on Wednesday.” I took a moment for a deep breath. “I saw her again yesterday when she came to my office to see me.”
“What did she want?” Kanesha asked when I failed to continue right away.
“I’ll fix you a glass of sweet tea,” Azalea said. “Looks like you need it.”
“Thank you.” I caught Kanesha’s expression, one that I interpreted as irritation. She did not like the idea of her mother’s continuing to work as a housekeeper. Azalea was every bit as strong-minded as her daughter, and this was one area where the two women did not agree. I should have thought of that before I asked Azalea for the tea. I didn’t like to be the cause, even an inadvertent one, of conflict between the two.
While Azalea poured the tea and set the glass in front of me, I started answering Kanesha’s question. “She wanted to find a study partner for the course.” I paused for a drink of tea. My throat felt dry. “She thought that I, as another ‘mature student,’ as she put it, might want to team up and work together.”
“I see,” Kanesha said, her eyes narrowed as she watched me drink more tea. “What was your answer?”
“That I didn’t need a study partner because I was only auditing the course, not taking it for credit,” I said. “She was disappointed with my answer, but she understood why I wasn’t interested.”
“Was that the last time you saw her?” Kanesha asked.
I nodded. “Yes. She wasn’t in class this afternoon, and that surprised me. When I talked to her yesterday, she seemed really determined to do well in the class, despite some opposition . . .” I trailed off, realizing what I was saying.
Kanesha immediately picked up on it. “Opposition? What opposition?”
“From the professor who taught the course,” I said. “Carey Warriner. He wanted her to drop the class. I don’t know why.” I hesitated, then decided I had no choice but to tell her about what I had overheard after class on Wednesday.
Kanesha’s enigmatic expression rarely gave any cues, and her reception of what I had to relate was no exception. I feared that, because of my sharing what I’d heard, Carey Warriner now occupied the lead position on the suspect list in Dixie Compton’s death.
I ventured to ask a question. “Why did you come to me? What connection did you find?”
“Note in her handbag,” Kanesha said. “Your name and the location of your office scribbled on a piece of paper torn from a notebook.”
“I see,” I replied. “Am I allowed to know what happened?”
“She was found dead around noon by her apartment manager,” Kanesha said.
“Poor guy let himself into her unit to change air conditioner filters,” Haskell explained. “That’s how he came to find her.”
“Poor woman.” I shook my head. “I feel so bad for her.”
“Thanks to you, at least,” Kanesha said, “we have a solid lead on a potential person of interest in the case.”
“You mean Professor Warriner,” I said.
“Yes,” Kanesha replied. “I was hoping that, as usual, you might know something helpful.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that remark. The tone had been bland, but with Kanesha, I was never really sure.
“Always glad to help,” I said, raising my glass in salute to her and Haskell.
Kanesha pushed her chair back, and Haskell did the same. “Thanks, we appreciate the information. Now that you’ve given it, though, I hope you’ll let that be the end of it.” She jerked her head in the direction of the front door. “We’ve got more work to do.” She bade her mother good-bye and nodded at me before she left the kitchen.
Haskell shrugged as if to say You know how she is before he followed her to the front door.
Kanesha had not shared any details of what had actually befallen Dixie Compton. I knew only that the poor woman had died under suspicious circumstances. That was awful.
“Are you all right?” Azalea asked. “You’re looking mighty pale.”
“Yes, I’m all right. A little shaken up by this,” I said. “What a terrible thing. Did you happen to know Ms. Compton?”
Azalea shook her head. “I don’t believe so. You only saw her twice?”
I nodded. “She was an attractive woman, in her mid to late thirties, I’d say.”
“Terrible young for her to die like that.” Azalea’s lips moved in silent prayer, her eyes closed.
“Yes, it is.” I downed the rest of my tea, rose from the table, and carried the glass to the sink. “I think I’ll go to the den for a while, in case you need me for anything.”
The Pawful Truth Page 6
