The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  “All right,” Azalea said.

  I turned in the doorway. “Did Stewart say anything to you about dinner tonight? I’m thinking Haskell won’t be here, now that there’s a case to investigate.”

  “Stewart was planning to be here anyway,” Azalea said. “That nice Dr. Bellamy said he wouldn’t, though. He already had plans with a friend.”

  “Thanks.” I left the kitchen and headed for the den. I wondered vaguely where Diesel and Ramses had gone. I found them tussling on the floor in the den. I watched them for a moment before I stretched out on the sofa, my shoes off, my head on a cushion against the armrest.

  The news of Dixie Compton’s suspicious death had knocked me off-balance, and I was still trying to recover my equilibrium. Given what I had overheard between her and Carey Warriner, I couldn’t help but speculate. Did the history professor play any role in her death? As I recalled it, his tone when he asked the poor woman why she was taking his class was nasty. What had happened between the two of them to cause such obviously strong—perhaps even violent—feelings?

  If Carey Warriner were in any way responsible for the woman’s death, I knew Kanesha would be relentless in pursuing him. Her tenacity was one of the qualities that made her such an outstanding investigator. That, and her intelligence. Very little ever got by Kanesha Berry.

  I resolved that this was one instance when I would not get involved in one of Kanesha’s investigations. I had shared what little I knew that was pertinent, and that was the end of it as far as I was concerned. I shifted uneasily on the sofa.

  Ramses chose that moment to jump onto my stomach. He weighed only about five pounds, but that weight yielded enough impact to make me groan in response. Diesel, thankfully, had learned early on not to do that. He had weighed eight or nine pounds when I found him, wet and bedraggled, shivering and hungry, in the shrubbery at the public library several years ago. Now he weighed in at around thirty-seven or thirty-eight pounds. If he landed on any of my body parts, he could cause some damage.

  Ramses crawled forward to try to lick my face, but I held him firmly back, stroking him and rubbing his ears. Diesel’s face appeared near mine as he took up a position on the floor beside me. He meowed loudly, either in complaint or remonstrance over the kitten’s behavior. Which of the two, I wasn’t sure. Ramses ignored him. I twisted my head to look Diesel in the eye.

  “Yes, he hasn’t learned not to do that,” I said. “You are such a good boy, you know better, don’t you?”

  Those words seemed to appease him, and he warbled happily.

  I rubbed Ramses for a few seconds more, then took hold of him and set him gently on the floor. I swung my feet off the sofa and sat up. I realized that I had lain down on the sofa still wearing my jacket. By now it was probably creased in the back. I sighed. I needed to send it to the cleaners anyway.

  “Come on, boys, let’s go upstairs,” I said. “I need to put my jacket away.”

  Diesel hurried out the door with Ramses in hot pursuit. I went after them in a much more leisurely fashion. Upstairs I shrugged out of the jacket and discovered that it was not as badly creased as I had feared. I hung it in the closet before I pulled off my shoes to exchange them for the slip-on sneakers I had recently taken to wearing around the house. All the while the two cats rolled around, wrestling, on the floor.

  “That’s good, Diesel,” I said. “Wear him out.” I watched them play for a couple of minutes before deciding to go back downstairs. I felt restless. I tried to put Dixie Compton out of my mind, but I couldn’t. I kept remembering her in my office, asking for my help. She was beyond anyone’s help now, I reflected sadly.

  Back in the den I turned on the television, already set to one of those nostalgia stations. While I watched the antics of characters from a sitcom from forty years ago, I tried to keep my mind off the tragic death of a woman I had met only twice. I had trouble paying attention to the television screen. I had seen this particular episode more than once and knew what was going to happen in every scene.

  Diesel and Ramses had not accompanied me. They might still be wrestling in my bedroom, or they could be chasing each other on the stairs. I suspected, however, that if Ramses had tired of playing he had gone to the kitchen to beg treats from Azalea. If he thought food was in the offing, Diesel would be right there with him.

  “Hi, Charlie.” Stewart’s voice roused me from my thoughts. I turned to see him in the doorway. He advanced into the room a couple of paces. “Sorry to interrupt you, but do you happen to have your keys with you? I need the key to the liquor cabinet. If you don’t have it, I can run upstairs to get mine.”

  I had started locking the liquor cabinet in the living room as soon as baby Charlie began to crawl. I fumbled in my pocket to extract my key ring. I handed it to Stewart. “Are you having a drink before dinner?” This was not a usual thing with Stewart.

  “Not for me.” Stewart took the keys and turned to leave the room. Over his shoulder he said, “For Dan Bellamy. He just found out his ex-sister-in-law has died.” He disappeared into the hall.

  I sat, stunned by Stewart’s revelation. Was Dixie Compton Dan Bellamy’s former sister-in-law?

  TEN

  Surely it was mere coincidence that Dan’s former sister-in-law had died. That didn’t mean she was Dixie Compton, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the two women were one and the same. Still dazed, I got up and left the room to find out more.

  I found Stewart and Dan in the kitchen, along with Azalea, the two felines, and Dante. The poodle danced around in excitement, trying to entice one or both of the cats into playing with him. At the moment, however, neither one appeared to be interested. Diesel crouched under the table at the opposite end from where Dan and Stewart sat, and Ramses sat beside him.

  Dan, obviously shaken, reached with an unsteady hand for the glass of brandy Stewart had poured and raised it to his lips. After sipping at the amber liquid twice, he upended the glass and drained it. Color flooded his face as the liquor warmed him, and he set down the glass.

  “Thank you,” he said to Stewart, who sat watching him, frowning.

  “Would you like more?” Stewart asked.

  Dan shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m feeling better.” He essayed a weak smile and looked first at Stewart and Azalea, then at me. “Some unexpected bad news. I guess it hit me harder than I realized.”

  “Stewart said that your former sister-in-law died,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Dan said. “I haven’t seen much of her in several years, not after she and my brother, Ray, divorced. Still, it’s a shock. She was only thirty-seven, I think. Maybe thirty-five, I can’t remember.” He shook his head again. “I can’t quite wrap my head around it. The sheriff’s deputy who contacted me said they’re treating it as a suspicious death. I don’t know why.”

  That clinched it. I pulled out the chair at my usual spot and sat. Azalea placed a glass of sweet tea in front of me, and I nodded my thanks. “Was your sister-in-law Dixie Compton?”

  Dan looked at me oddly. “You knew her?”

  “I met her twice in the past couple of days,” I said. “She was enrolled in the course I’m taking in the history department at Athena, and I noticed her in class on Wednesday. Then she came by my office yesterday to ask if I’d be interested in being her study partner.” At Dan’s puzzled look, I hastened to explain. “She and I were the only older students in the class, and she thought she might need help with the class.”

  “What class are you taking?” Dan asked.

  I winced as I felt tiny claws digging into my leg. Ramses climbed up and into my lap, and I rubbed his head. “Dr. Warriner’s early medieval England course.” Ramses settled down and tried to lick my hand. I discouraged him gently.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw Dan’s lips tighten briefly at the mention of the professor’s name. “I had
no idea she had enrolled at Athena,” he said.

  “She was taking two classes,” I said. “The other one was Old English literature.” I wanted to gauge his reaction at this news.

  Dan’s eyebrows rose. “Irene’s course?”

  “Yes, I believe so,” I replied.

  Dan shrugged. “I never knew she was interested in either history or literature.”

  “Why did the sheriff’s department call you?” Stewart asked. “If you don’t mind my asking, isn’t that a bit odd?”

  “I’m not sure why.” Dan frowned. “Unless she had me listed somewhere as an emergency contact. From what I can remember, I don’t think she had any family to speak of, except an ex-husband or two. As far as I know, Ray was the latest. He died on an oil rig offshore a couple years ago.”

  Along with Stewart, I briefly expressed my condolences over the death of his brother, and Dan nodded.

  “She went by the name Compton,” I said. “Was that her maiden name?”

  Dan shook his head. “No, my brother’s name. Ray was my half brother. His father died when he was about seven, and our mother married my father a year or two later. Ray was eleven years older than me.” Suddenly he stood. “Thank you again for the brandy. If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to go up to my room to get ready for dinner with a friend.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  Stewart nodded. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

  Dan smiled briefly and looked at the three of us. “I appreciate it.” He left the room.

  Diesel emerged from under the table then. He rubbed against my leg and meowed softly. I realized that he had not made any effort to comfort Dan, and that was unusual behavior. Perhaps it was because Dan was still so new to him, or there was something about Dan that put him off. I wondered what it could be.

  Azalea spoke then, her tone thoughtful. “He was shocked, but he’s not grieving.”

  Stewart nodded. “I thought the same thing. I don’t believe he really cared for his sister-in-law that much.”

  I hadn’t picked up on any of this. I’d not really given it much thought. Dan had seemed upset, and I hadn’t taken time to analyze the nature of it.

  “You’re right,” I said as I thought back over the conversation. “He seemed more shocked over the idea that her death was suspicious than grieved over her loss. There wasn’t any hint of affection for her, now that you mention it.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time that an in-law didn’t care for someone,” Stewart said.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” I said. “I’m really surprised to find out about Dan’s connection to Dixie Compton. Melba didn’t say anything about it to me, but she knew Ms. Compton.”

  Stewart laughed. “Melba doesn’t always know everybody, although she’d like you to think she does.”

  “I think they’re both from somewhere down on the coast,” Azalea said. “Mr. Dan and that Ms. Compton, I mean.”

  “Really?” Stewart said. “How on earth do you know that? I’ve never heard Dan say anything about the coast.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think the subject has ever come up at the gym. That’s where I know him from.”

  Azalea regarded him with one eyebrow raised. “I thought you went to that place to get you some exercise. Sounds to me like y’all are just sitting around gossiping instead.”

  Stewart grinned. “Some of us gossip while we’re exercising, I’ll have you know. We can talk and do biceps curls or squats at the same time.”

  Azalea didn’t look convinced. She addressed me. “The professor and I talked for a little bit this morning after breakfast, and he happened to mention that he grew up down there, maybe around Bay St. Louis.” She frowned. “Can’t remember exactly where he said.”

  “If his brother worked offshore in the Gulf, then the brother and his wife would have lived down there somewhere, I suppose,” I said. “How long has Dan Bellamy been at Athena, Stewart? Do you know?”

  “Not really sure,” Stewart replied. “He’s been coming to the gym for the past two years, so at least that long.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know that much about the history department or its faculty, unless I’ve served on a committee with someone from there.”

  “Why’re you so curious about the professor?” Azalea asked.

  “You know me,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Always curious about people.”

  Azalea’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. “You’d best not be thinking that poor man had something to do with that woman’s death. You should have seen him when he was talking on the phone. Lord help me, I thought he was sure going to faint.”

  Stewart said, “He did look stunned, Charlie. If he already knew about her death, then he’s missed his calling. He should be on the stage or the screen.”

  “I don’t recall saying, or even hinting, that I suspected him of anything of the kind.” I frowned at both of them. “Is it so wrong of me to want to know something about the background of a man who’s going to be living in this house for two months or longer?”

  “No, I guess not.” Stewart had the grace to appear slightly abashed. Azalea’s expression did not change, nor did she respond to my statement.

  “Everything’s ready for dinner,” she said. “Stewart knows what to do. Time for me to be getting on home.” She went to retrieve her bags, and Ramses trotted after her.

  “Looks like someone wants to go home with you,” Stewart observed.

  Azalea glanced down at the kitten. “Wanting and getting aren’t the same thing,” she said. “You shoo, little Mr. Cat. I don’t have time for you.”

  Ramses sat and meowed plaintively. He clearly wanted to go with her. Azalea’s gaze softened minutely, and she shot me a quick glance.

  I had to suppress a grin. “If you want to take him home for the weekend, you’re welcome to him.”

  Azalea grimaced. “He’s nothing but trouble, but I reckon he’s company. All right, little mister.” She opened her bag, held it down, and Ramses jumped right in. Seconds later his head appeared, stuck out of the bag. I would have sworn he was smiling. “If he gets to be driving me crazy, I’ll bring him back before Monday.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, knowing perfectly well I wouldn’t see Ramses again until Monday.

  Stewart shot me a quick grin, then ducked his head so Azalea couldn’t see his face.

  Dante barked at Azalea. She stared down at him. “I am surely not going to take you anywhere. You get on back to Stewart.”

  Dante whimpered and scuttled backward until he reached his master. Stewart reached down and stroked his head. Now I was the one who had to hide a smile.

  “See you on Monday,” I called to the housekeeper as she left through the back door.

  “He’ll come back stuffed full of bacon and chicken,” Stewart said. “She spoils him rotten.”

  “Being around Diesel the last few years has softened her up,” I said. Hearing his name, Diesel chirped loudly. “Yes, you finally wore her down,” I told him.

  Stewart rose from his place at the table. “Are you ready to eat? I can start getting everything ready.”

  “I forgot to tell you, Helen Louise is coming,” I said. “Plus she’s bringing a chocolate cake.” I glanced at my watch. “She should be here in about ten minutes.”

  “I’m glad she can make it,” Stewart replied. “I’ll go ahead and get things ready if you’ll set the table.”

  Before I could do as Stewart asked, my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and saw that Helen Louise was calling.

  “Hello, love,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m running a little behind,” Helen Louise said. “I should be there around six fifteen. I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

  “Okay, see you then.” I ended the call and laid my cell on the tab
le. “That was Helen Louise. She’s running late. She said she’d tell us about it when she gets here.”

  “Sounds like something must have happened at the bistro,” Stewart said. “If she’s coming from there and not from home, that is. I hope there’s nothing seriously wrong.” Dante danced around his feet, and he motioned for the poodle to move away. Dante stepped back and sat, still within reach of any goodies Stewart might drop.

  “She didn’t sound upset,” I said, “and, yes, she’s coming from the bistro.” I explained that she had to bake the cake for tonight.

  “Too bad Dan won’t be here,” Stewart said, “but there’s more for us.” He grinned.

  Stewart had a weakness for chocolate, and for Helen Louise’s chocolate cakes in particular. As did I. The only difference was, Stewart burned off the extra calories at the gym and could afford to eat multiple pieces.

  While I set the table, Stewart put out a trivet and set the hot dish of Azalea’s marvelous beef stew on it. “I’ll leave the rolls warming in the oven until Helen Louise gets here. Ready for some sweet tea?”

  “More than,” I said.

  He poured glasses for both of us and set the pitcher on the table. Then he rummaged in the fridge to find the cold chicken that Azalea had taken to preparing for us to give as treats to the animals. He set it on the counter to warm while we waited.

  We sipped at our tea and chatted in desultory fashion about nothing of particular import until I heard a car in the driveway. “Helen Louise is here,” I told Diesel, and he immediately trotted to the front door. I followed to open the door for her.

  I swung the door open and stepped out onto the stoop. Helen Louise advanced along the walk from the driveway, and Diesel ran to meet her. He escorted her back to the door, and I stood aside to let her enter. Then I shut the door behind us and exchanged a quick kiss with her, taking care not to disturb the cake plate she carried.