The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

Dan shrugged. “I’m okay. It’s all a bit overwhelming, but I guess I’m handling it okay.” He forked a piece of cake into his mouth and began to chew. After he swallowed, he said, “This is delicious.”

  “Azalea’s desserts are always delicious,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, because of everything that’s happened, but I really enjoyed the presentation the other night at the bookstore.”

  “Thank you,” Dan replied. “Irene and I put several hours’ work into it, and I think it went well. At least until the end.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t believe Carey behaved the way he did. I don’t know what got into him.”

  “From what I gather,” I said slowly, “I think he was under the impression that his wife was seeing another man.”

  “You mean Armand?” Dan said, his tone noncommittal.

  I nodded. “There was another incident involving him and Warriner.”

  “Really?” Dan looked surprised. “Irene never said anything about it to me.”

  “It happened the previous evening at the bistro.” I gave him a brief description of the confrontation.

  Dan shook his head when I finished. “Carey must have been suffering some kind of mania. As far as I know, Irene wasn’t having an affair with Armand.” He paused, as if suddenly struck by something. “But maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched an idea after all.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to betray my excitement at his statement.

  “Nothing I can really put my finger on,” Dan said. “I happened to see Irene and Armand together last week. Irene had told me she was consulting Armand about the musical background to the book she’s currently working on, and at first I thought they were simply meeting to talk about that.” He paused. “But there was something about the way they looked at each other.” He shook his head. “I think I’m probably imagining it now.”

  “Maybe so,” I said blandly.

  Dan had another bite of his cake and a sip of coffee. “If I tell you something, will you promise it won’t go any further?”

  I felt uncomfortable responding in the affirmative, but I figured unless I did so, he wouldn’t say anything more. So I said, “Of course. What is it?”

  He put down his fork and gazed earnestly at me. “You know yesterday morning, I said that I took Irene home and then went out to look for Carey?”

  I nodded.

  “The thing is, I was gone for over an hour while I tried to find him. When I got back to her house, she was acting a little strange. I can’t really explain it.” He paused. “Something just seemed a little off about her. It made me wonder if she hadn’t killed Carey herself.”

  TWENTY

  Although I had already considered the scenario in which Irene Warriner had murdered her husband, and possibly Dixie Compton as well, I still felt a thrill of shock at Dan’s statement.

  “Why do you think she would have murdered him?” I asked.

  “She was so angry with him,” Dan said. “Now that you’ve told me about what happened Friday, I can see that his attack on Armand after the talk on Saturday might have pushed her over the edge.” He hesitated. “You see, she had hinted to me before that Carey was inclined to be possessive, but honestly, I hadn’t seen any signs of it. At least, not until recently.”

  “Strong women don’t care much for possessive attitudes in men.” I knew Helen Louise fit into that category, and I admired her for it.

  “I guess they don’t,” Dan said. “Irene is a strong woman, so I can see where it would have bothered her a lot. But to go to the lengths of killing him because of it.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s pretty extreme.”

  “Have you ever known her to show signs of a volatile temper?” I asked.

  “No, not that I can recall,” Dan said. “Until Saturday night, that is. She really shocked me on the drive home. She was ranting and swearing that she hoped he spent time in jail. She was horribly embarrassed by the whole thing. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “I’m sure she found it mortifying,” I said. “I really have struggled to reconcile his behavior with the behavior I saw in the classroom. He was utterly charming and a terrific lecturer.”

  “He had a gift,” Dan said, “one that I certainly envied. He felt entirely comfortable in front of the classroom, but I’ve always struggled with it.”

  “Perhaps you’d rather not talk about this, but do you think Carey Warriner killed your former sister-in-law?” I asked.

  “I think he must have,” Dan said. “I think he had been having an affair with her. I don’t know for sure, but he was exactly the type of man Dixie would go after.” He sounded bitter. “She ran around on my brother while they were married but Ray was so besotted with her, he was blind to what she was doing.”

  “She was a very attractive woman,” I said, taken aback by his sudden anger at the dead woman.

  “I suppose so,” Dan said. “I never saw it myself. She always looked cheap and hard to me. If Ray had listened to me, he never would have married her. Instead, he wouldn’t have much to do with me after that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Was he your only brother?”

  “My only sibling,” Dan said. “And by that time, my only family.”

  No wonder he had felt so strongly about his former in-law. Though a wiser man would have put up with her for the sake of his relationship with his brother, I thought.

  “Are you going to say anything to Chief Deputy Berry about your suspicions?” I asked.

  Dan toyed with the remains of his cake, poking it about on the plate with his fork. “I don’t know,” he said. “If I’m completely off base, I could get Irene in a lot of trouble, and I’d hate to lose her as a friend.” He dropped the fork, and it clattered against the plate. “What would you do?”

  “It’s a tough decision,” I said. “I understand your reluctance, but if you really have doubts about Irene Warriner’s innocence in the matter, you should confide in Kanesha. She is completely trustworthy.”

  “Sounds like you know her pretty well,” Dan said. “Especially if you call her Kanesha.”

  “I do,” I said. “You may not have realized this, but Azalea is Kanesha’s mother.”

  That startled him. “I had no idea.”

  “Kanesha isn’t happy about it,” I said. “She doesn’t think her mother should be working as a housekeeper, but Azalea has her own opinions. The thing is, I’ve known Kanesha for a number of years, and I’ve actually been involved in several murder investigations in the past.”

  “Have you?” Dan looked surprised.

  “Yes, I have,” I said. “Through no fault of my own. I’ve got an enormous amount of respect for Kanesha and her integrity. If Irene Warriner is not guilty of murder, then you have nothing to worry about. Kanesha isn’t going to railroad her on anyone’s say-so.”

  Dan picked up his fork and resumed eating what was left of his piece of cake. After he swallowed a bite, he said, “Thanks for your advice. I’ll have to think about it awhile longer before I make up my mind about what’s best to do.”

  “I promise I won’t say anything to Kanesha,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Dan said.

  I wouldn’t talk, unless I found a compelling reason to. If I became certain myself that Irene Warriner had killed her husband, I would tell Kanesha for sure.

  “Have you told Kanesha that you think Carey Warriner killed Dixie Compton?”

  “Not yet,” Dan said. “I suppose I should. The thing is, I don’t really have any evidence that they were having an affair.”

  “If they were, I’m sure Kanesha will find out,” I said. “The first question after that will no doubt be whether Irene Warriner was aware of it.”

  “The whole thing’s such a horrible mess,” Dan said.

  “Murder always is,” I said. “It disrupts lives in ways that people don’t always unders
tand.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he replied. “Right now it’s like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.” He pushed back abruptly from the table and removed the sleeping kitten from his lap. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take my second cup up to my room with me.”

  Ramses sat on the floor by the chair, yawning, then began to stretch.

  “That’s fine,” I said. “If you don’t mind bringing the cup back the next time you come down, it would be a help.”

  “Sure.” He refilled his cup. “Thanks for listening.” He left the kitchen.

  Had I not been vigilant, Ramses would have followed him. I was ready for him, though, and I grabbed him before he could get out of the room. “You stay here,” I said, face-to-face, my nose out of reach. “Dan seems to like you, but I don’t know that he wants you as a companion at the moment.”

  Azalea returned a few minutes later, and Ramses forgot all about trying to escape the kitchen to find his new friend. I helped Azalea bring in the groceries from her car, but she wouldn’t let me assist in putting them away.

  “I want to know where they are,” she said. “Last time you put things up, it took me a while to find them. You go on and do something else.”

  “Okay,” I said, although the time to which she referred was at least four years ago. “Dan and I had some of the lemon pound cake. He said it was delicious. I knew it would be.”

  Azalea nodded as she extracted an iceberg lettuce from a bag. “Glad to hear it.”

  I poured myself more coffee and cut another sliver of cake and ate it at the table while Azalea continued what she was doing. I felt ill-mannered sitting there and not helping, but I had been told not to, and I obeyed.

  I replayed my conversation with Dan, and I realized I should perhaps have pushed a little harder on the subject of Armand d’Arcy. In the meantime, I wondered what I could do to encounter the man. I would like to be able to take his measure for myself and not rely on hearsay.

  How to do it? He was a music professor, and I didn’t know anyone in his department that I could ask about him.

  Then it hit me. He was a professor. He taught classes. I could try to audit a class with him. Now that my class with Warriner had been canceled, I had the time.

  “I’m going to the den for a few minutes,” I announced to Azalea. Diesel followed me out of the kitchen and down the hall. I picked up my laptop and switched it on, making myself comfortable on the sofa. Diesel stretched out lengthways on the remaining space, his head against my thigh the way he liked it.

  When the laptop was ready, I opened the browser and found the college’s spring semester classes. It took me a minute to find the music department amid the other courses in the School of Arts and Sciences. When I did, however, I became excited. D’Arcy was teaching medieval and Renaissance music this semester on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:40 until 11:05. Perfect timing. If I could get into the class tomorrow, I’d have plenty of time to make it to the Farrington House restaurant for my lunch appointment.

  I looked up the number of the music department and punched it in on my cell phone. When someone answered, I asked about availability in d’Arcy’s course. The voice replied that it would check. I couldn’t decide whether the voice belonged to a woman or a man. The pitch was indeterminate.

  After an agonizing two minutes—so it seemed—the voice came back on the line and said that there were still spaces available in the class.

  “That’s great,” I said. “I was auditing another course, but it got canceled, and this one sounds really interesting.” I gave the person my name and said that I would come by the office in the morning to get more information before class started.

  After that call ended, I went online to the registrar’s office section of the college website, logged in to my account, and formally dropped Warriner’s course. I found d’Arcy’s course and registered for it. It was marked as pending approval. I thought that meant the instructor had to approve it, but maybe the voice with which I had spoken could do it. I would sort it out tomorrow morning if need be.

  I felt pleased with myself for figuring out a way to meet d’Arcy as part of a group. As far as I was aware, he had no idea who I was, but word had made it around in some quarters about Diesel, if not about my amateur sleuthing.

  My cell phone rang, and I recognized the number. My friend Miss An’gel Ducote, one of the grandes dames of Athena society, along with her younger sister, Miss Dickce, was calling.

  “Good afternoon, Miss An’gel,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Hello, Charlie. A bit frazzled, if you must know,” came the tart reply. “Sister and I have just left an emergency meeting of the board at Athena, and we would like to talk to you about it. Are you at home now?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am. Please feel free to come by, or if it would be easier, I can meet you somewhere else.”

  “We’ll come there,” Miss An’gel said. “We’re only a few blocks away.” She ended the call.

  “Our friends Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce are coming,” I told the recumbent cat. Diesel perked up right away. He recognized the names. “Come on, let’s go tell Azalea.”

  Azalea had finished putting away groceries and was now preparing to cook dinner. I told her that the Ducote sisters were coming for a visit.

  “That coffee’s pretty fresh, isn’t it?” she asked, eyeing the pot.

  “It is,” I said.

  “I’ll bring in coffee and lemon pound cake,” Azalea said, turning away from the stove. “You know they both have a sweet tooth.”

  I nodded. “I’ll take them into the living room.”

  When I reached the front door, I heard a loud screech of brakes and knew that the sisters had arrived. I grinned. Miss Dickce usually drove, and her philosophy was that you never could get anywhere fast enough. Miss An’gel had nerves of steel, I reckoned. I opened the door, and sure enough, their car stood parked, slightly askew, in front of the house.

  Diesel and I met them halfway down the walk. “What a pleasure it is to see you,” I told them, offering Miss An’gel, then Miss Dickce, a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Sorry for descending on you at such short notice,” Miss An’gel said, “but Sister and I agreed that you are the person we need in this matter.”

  I walked between them up the walk to the house, and Diesel scampered ahead.

  “What matter are you talking about?” I asked, though I had already figured out what it probably was.

  “These murders,” Miss Dickce said. “You have to help Kanesha solve them.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I opened the front door, and Diesel and I ushered the Ducote sisters into the house. “Let’s go into the living room,” I suggested. “Azalea’s going to bring us coffee and lemon pound cake.”

  “One of Azalea’s heavenly cakes.” Miss Dickce sighed. “Wonderful.”

  “Why don’t we go in the kitchen?” Miss An’gel stopped in her tracks. “Surely you know us well enough by now not to stand on ceremony. Come on, Sister.”

  I didn’t try to argue. One didn’t argue with Miss An’gel, in the same way one didn’t argue with Azalea.

  If Azalea were at all disconcerted by the sisters’ sudden appearance in the kitchen, she didn’t let on. “Good afternoon, Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, how are y’all doing?”

  “Fine as frog hair,” Miss Dickce said in cheerful tones, oblivious to the pained look Miss An’gel gave her for using such a phrase. “How are you doing, Azalea?”

  “Fine,” Azalea said. “I was going to bring coffee and pound cake to the living room for you.” Her tone held a slight reproof.

  Miss An’gel said, “That’s very kind of you, but we thought we’d rather have it in here. Sister and I have such fond memories of this room, visiting with you and Dottie over the years, Azalea.”

  “Miss Dottie sure did love it when y’al
l came to call,” Azalea said.

  I pulled out a chair for Miss An’gel, and then one for Miss Dickce. After they were comfortably seated, I took my usual place. Diesel busied himself going back and forth between the sisters for attention. Ramses, oddly enough, seemed skittish of our visitors. He didn’t appear to remember them from the last time they visited.

  Miss Dickce coaxed him out of his shyness, though, and soon he was ensconced on her lap. Miss An’gel frowned at her. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. “I can never get Endora to sit in my lap.” Endora was the Abyssinian cat they had adopted.

  “That’s because she knows you prefer Peanut,” Dickce said. “That dog adores you.”

  “Labradoodles are reckoned to be quite clever,” Miss An’gel said tartly.

  Before the sisters got into full bickering mode, Azalea set dessert plates and forks in front of them, followed by coffee. They immediately focused on sampling the cake, and it was easy to see that they both found it delicious.

  “Don’t you dare tell Clementine this,” Miss Dickce said, “but your lemon pound cake is better than hers.”

  Clementine was the Ducotes’ housekeeper and had been with them for many years.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Dickce,” Azalea said, “but that’s her recipe.”

  “Even so,” Miss Dickce replied with a smile.

  I did not interrupt their enjoyment of the coffee and pound cake by asking them to come to the point for their visit. One didn’t rush ladies like these.

  Miss Dickce finished her piece several bites ahead of her sister, and I caught her casting wistful glances at the cake plate.

  “I believe Miss Dickce would like another slice, Azalea,” I said.

  “I do believe I would,” Miss Dickce said.

  “Sister,” Miss An’gel said, her tone stern. “Really.”

  Miss Dickce rolled her eyes. “Really, Sister. You’re going to do all the talking the way you always do, so I might as well enjoy another piece of cake while you talk.” She held out her plate, and Azalea provided a second slice. Miss Dickce grinned in triumph at her sister.