The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  “I don’t think it would have been legal,” Viccy said.

  “What do you mean, legal?” Jeanette asked.

  “I think she was married to some guy,” Viccy said. “I overheard her say something to one of the other women in the office about her husband helping pay for her to go back to school.”

  Miss Dickce and I stared at each other. A husband?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Viccy Kemp’s revelation stunned me. This was the first I’d heard that Dixie Belle Compton had a husband. Miss Dickce appeared to be surprised as well.

  After I’d had a moment to consider it I wondered if it were true. Maybe Dixie Compton had made up the husband for reasons of her own. I’m not sure what they would have been, but she could have done it, just the same.

  Either way, this information bore investigation. I wondered if Viccy Kemp had shared this with Kanesha.

  Melba must have wondered the same thing, because she asked Viccy.

  “I don’t think I did,” Viccy said. “Do you think I should?”

  “Of course you should.” Melba sounded a bit impatient with her friend. “Don’t you see? If she had a husband, and he found out about the affair, he could have killed both of them.”

  “Oh my Lord,” Viccy said, “I never thought of that.”

  “Melba’s right,” Jeanette said. “You need to tell them. He could be aiming for someone else, you never know. I’ve read that once men kill, it’s hard for them to stop.”

  “Goodness, what on earth have you been reading?” Melba asked.

  “True crime,” Jeanette said, sounding defensive.

  “No wonder,” Melba said. “They don’t write those books about boring murders. Surely you realize that.”

  One of them must have caught sight of the clock because they started talking about having to get back to their offices. “Y’all go on,” Melba told her friends. “This is on me, remember. I’ll take care of the check, and y’all can get back on time. I’m not in a hurry like you are.”

  “Thanks, Melba,” they both said in turn.

  “You call Kanesha Berry,” Melba reminded Viccy, who promised that she would as soon as she got back to the office.

  Moments later, Melba came to our booth and started in surprise at seeing Miss Dickce. Then she slid in beside me. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Miss Dickce.”

  I explained that Miss Dickce had signed up for the same class and that I’d invited her to lunch. Melba laughed. “Team effort, I guess. Could you hear everything?”

  “Most of it,” I said.

  Miss Dickce nodded. “That was quite a bombshell about the husband. I had no idea she was still married to anyone.”

  “I’m not so sure she was,” Melba said, “despite what Viccy heard her say. Still, it could be true, and if it is, there’s a husband out there who could be a killer.”

  “Will your friend follow up and call Kanesha?” Miss Dickce asked.

  “She’d better,” Melba said, sounding determined. “Or I’ll call Kanesha myself. Other than the bit about a husband, did you learn anything else important?” She looked at me for an answer.

  “One thing we heard basically confirmed a suspicion that Miss Dickce and I have,” I replied. “About Irene Warriner and the music professor, d’Arcy.”

  “That he’s in love with her?” Melba asked.

  “Yes,” Miss Dickce said. “Mrs. Warriner was in the class this morning, too, and afterward she came up to us while Charlie and I were talking to Dr. d’Arcy. I thought his behavior toward her gave him away. He’s very much in love with her.”

  “Then that should put him high on the suspect list,” Melba said. “Especially since Dr. Warriner attacked him twice in public.” She frowned. “That seems so bizarre to me.”

  “I know,” I said. “It really seems out of character. I wonder what was going on with him, to get him to that state of mind.”

  “Jealousy,” Miss Dickce said. “Remember Othello. Jealousy can fester for a long time and then erupt in violence.”

  “We had to read that in sophomore English at Athena,” Melba said. “Creepy play, if you ask me. But I see your point.”

  Othello was indeed a creepy play in some ways, a terrible example of jealousy, corrosive and destroying, causing a man to murder his wife, his innocent wife. If Carey Warriner had been eaten up with jealousy over d’Arcy’s attentions to Irene, had he ever threatened his wife with violence? If he had, that would add a new dimension to the case.

  Surely Kanesha had already thought of that and had questioned Irene Warriner about it. I wished I knew how, or whether, Irene had responded to any such questions.

  That same corrosive jealousy could be the motive for another husband to have committed two murders. If Dixie Belle Compton was married at the time of her murder, then her husband obviously had to be a prime suspect.

  I wished I could talk to Kanesha and find answers to some of these questions. At this point there were too many possibilities, and it was hard to know where to focus to dig for more information.

  Miss Dickce brought me back to attention by saying that she had better be going. “I’ve tried Sister’s patience long enough,” she said. “She’ll be ready to hang me from the roof when I get home for leaving her to face the garden club board all alone.” She grinned. “Thank you for lunch, Charlie. It was fascinating.”

  “My pleasure,” I said. “If you think of anything or run across any pertinent information”—she and Miss An’gel had all kinds of influential connections—“let me know.”

  “I certainly will,” she said as she slid out of the booth. “Melba, thanks for a most entertaining, if not entirely edifying, lunch.”

  Melba laughed and bade Miss Dickce good-bye. As my guest walked away, Melba turned to me. “Do you have any idea who the killer is, Charlie?”

  “No, not yet,” I said. “Too many possibilities and not enough solid information. I’m beginning to think I should give up and leave everything to Kanesha. She has to know a lot more about what’s going on than we do.”

  “I should hope so,” Melba said. She shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t find out something before she does, something that wouldn’t occur to her, like you’ve done in the past. After all, you’re a lot more familiar with the academic world than she is.”

  “Does that mean you think the answer to all this lies in the academic world, as you call it?”

  “Stands to reason, don’t you think?” Melba cocked her head at me. “What’s the connection between the two murder victims? Professor and student. Other than Dixie Compton’s alleged husband, everyone else involved is an Athena faculty member. So I’d say the answer is just as likely to come out of the academic world.”

  “I see your point,” I said. “But I’d sure like to know about this alleged husband, as you called him.”

  “Why don’t you ask Kanesha?” Melba slid out of the booth. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Are you going home?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know yet. Thanks for everything,” I said.

  “Glad to help.” She grinned. “I’m part of the team, aren’t I?” With that she turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving me chuckling.

  The server came by to ask if I wanted anything else, and I told her I was ready for the check. She pulled it out of her apron and handed it to me. I looked at the total, then pulled out my wallet and handed her enough cash to cover the tab and a good-sized tip. “I’m going to finish my tea,” I told her after she thanked me. “Then I’ll be leaving.”

  I sat in the booth for a few minutes longer, sipping my tea until I finished it, thinking about what I ought to do next. I could go by the sheriff’s department to see if Kanesha was in and would see me. Or I could simply text her and tell her I needed to talk to her. Probably texting would be better. When she was on a case it was hard to catch h
er in her office.

  I pulled out my phone and sent her a brief text that I really needed to talk to her. I made it short and slightly ambiguous on purpose. Let her think I’d found out something potentially important and maybe she’d respond more quickly.

  I left the restaurant and made my way to my car in the lot behind the hotel. Thankfully for my head, what I had consumed of that Long Island iced tea had worn off. I heard my phone buzz, heralding a text message. Expecting to hear from Kanesha, I was slightly surprised to see the message was from Helen Louise. Her message was simple: When you’re done with lunch, come to my house. Barb is here.

  The name didn’t register for a moment, but then I realized whom Helen Louise meant. Barbara Lamont was with her at home. That must mean Barbara wanted to talk, or already had been talking, about Carey and Irene Warriner. I quickly responded to Helen Louise’s message to let her know I was on the way.

  During the brief drive to Helen Louise’s house, in the same neighborhood where I lived, I speculated on what had prompted Barbara Lamont to seek out Helen Louise. I couldn’t imagine that this summons related to something else entirely. It had to have something to do with the murders. I debated a moment on stopping by my house to pick up Diesel, since he was often such a calming influence, in case Barbara was upset.

  I had to go by my house anyway, and stopping to pick up the cat wouldn’t take more than a minute. I pulled into the garage and hurried into the kitchen. I found Azalea there with both cats while the housekeeper worked on that evening’s dinner. I said a quick hello, explained that I was on the way to Helen Louise’s, and I wanted to take Diesel with me. Both he and Ramses had swarmed around me. Azalea stared at me briefly as if she hadn’t understood me, then she nodded.

  “One thing, real quick. Mr. Dan asked if he could bring his friend, the lady whose husband was killed, to dinner tonight. I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I said, amazed at this news. Perhaps now I’d have my chance to observe the two of them more closely together and to find out more about Irene’s relationship with her husband. “What time did you tell them?”

  “Six o’clock, same as usual,” Azalea said.

  I nodded. “Come on, Diesel. No, Ramses, you stay here with Azalea. Diesel and I are going to see Helen Louise for a little while.” When he heard Helen Louise’s name, Diesel went straight to the door. Ramses tried to follow, but I scooped him up. “Not today,” I told him, and put him down by Azalea.

  Diesel and I made it out the door without Ramses escaping. Diesel hopped into the backseat, and I drove us the few blocks to Helen Louise’s house. The cat preceded me up the walk to the front door. Helen Louise must have heard my car, because she opened the door before I had a chance to knock. She glanced down at Diesel in surprise.

  “Did you take Diesel to lunch with you?” she asked, leading the cat inside and motioning for me to follow.

  “No, but I stopped on the way to pick him up.” I gave her a quick kiss after she closed the door. In an undertone, I said, “What’s going on?”

  “Barb wants to talk to you about the murders,” Helen Louise said. “She hasn’t told me much yet, just came by the house about half an hour ago.” Diesel rubbed against her legs, and she patted his head absentmindedly. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Helen Louise led the way, Diesel right by her side. I followed them, impatient to find out what Barbara Lamont wanted to talk about. Would she have information that could shed more light on the murders?

  “Here they are,” Helen Louise called out as we entered the kitchen. “This is the famous Diesel.”

  Barbara Lamont came into view, sitting at Helen Louise’s rustic farm table. She wore an oversized wool sweater, handwoven by the look of it, and her face was pale. When I drew closer, I thought she might have been crying. She clutched a wineglass in one hand, but she set it down as Diesel came closer to her.

  “Hello, Charlie. Diesel is gorgeous. I’ve never seen a cat this big.” She held out her fingers for Diesel to sniff. He did so, then started rubbing his head against her hand, a sure sign that he felt comfortable with her. “How sweet,” she said as she began to stroke his head.

  “He’s gentle and affectionate,” I said. “He obviously likes you, or he wouldn’t have allowed you to rub his head. He can be picky about that.”

  “Charlie, how about some wine?” Helen Louise asked.

  I almost shuddered. The thought of alcohol did not appeal. “I’d rather have tea or coffee, if that’s okay.” I would have to tell her later about my drink in the hotel bar with Miss Dickce.

  “Of course.” Helen Louise smiled. “I’ll put the coffee on now. I think we’ll all be ready for it before long.” She gestured toward the table. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  I pulled out the chair across from Barbara Lamont, who had taken a chair on the short side of a table that could comfortably accommodate eight people. I didn’t want to make her uneasy by sitting too close to her.

  “How’ve you been?” I asked her. “I know you’ve been shaken badly by Carey Warriner’s death.”

  Barbara gave a jerky nod and reached for her wine. After a couple of sips, she looked down into the wine. “I’m terrified, too,” she said.

  Diesel meowed loudly, and she glanced down at him, puzzled.

  “He can tell that you’re upset,” I said gently. “It’s his way of trying to reassure you. He’s quite empathetic.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said, reaching out to stroke the cat’s head again.

  “What has you terrified?” I asked as Helen Louise rejoined us at the table. I exchanged a quick glance with her, and she gave a slight shrug. Evidently Barbara hadn’t yet confided in her.

  Barbara raised her head to look at both of us. She inhaled deeply before she spoke. “I’m terrified because I’m worried that Irene murdered that woman and then murdered Carey, and I don’t know what I should do about it.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “What makes you think she might have killed them?” I asked, a bit stunned by Barbara Lamont’s statement.

  Without asking, Helen Louise refilled Barbara’s wineglass and received a teary smile in thanks. Barbara had more wine before she responded to my query.

  “It was something she said to me one day about a week ago,” Barbara said. “We were in my office at work. She had come to talk to me about a committee issue, and then, all of a sudden, she started talking about Carey.”

  “Was she upset?” Helen Louise asked.

  Barbara nodded. “One minute we were calmly discussing the committee, the next she started ranting about Carey. I knew he’d been acting a bit strange recently, but there was more to it than I knew, she said.”

  “When you say ‘acting strange,’ can you explain what you mean?” I asked.

  “Carey loved Irene, and he’d always been a little bit jealous when another man admired her,” Barbara said. “But he’d simply make a joke out of it, comparing Irene to Helen of Troy or Nefertiti, and talk about her power over men. I think Irene found it amusing. At least until a few weeks ago.” She paused to have more wine.

  “Coffee’s ready,” Helen Louise murmured. She got up to see to it, and Barbara didn’t appear to notice.

  “What changed?” I said.

  “Carey seemed to grow more suspicious. She said he’d started to ask her questions about what she did during the day, whom she’d seen or talked to, where she’d been. Questions like that.”

  “All at once?” Helen Louise said as she placed a mug of coffee in front of me, and I smiled my thanks.

  “No, it didn’t happen overnight, but it did get worse pretty quickly, Irene said. He frightened her, she told me.” Barbara shuddered. “He hadn’t become physically abusive, but he would shout at her when they were at home. He would keep on and on with the questions until she was ready to pack up and leave him. She threatene
d to do it a couple of times, and that stopped him, at least briefly.”

  “How horrible for her,” Helen Louise said. “I’m surprised she didn’t walk out. That was a dangerous situation, if his behavior was escalating. He might have hurt her at some point.”

  “That’s what I told her.” Barbara shook her head as she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. “But she loved him. She was sure she could persuade him that he had no reason to be jealous, but it didn’t work. I saw it for myself.”

  “During bridge?” Helen Louise asked.

  I remembered then that Barbara had told us on a previous occasion that she often played bridge with the Warriners, with either Dan Bellamy or Armand d’Arcy as a fourth.

  “Yes, one night last week, when Armand was our fourth,” Barbara said. “Irene suggested that she and Armand be partners, and I would play with Carey. He had a fit over that and insisted that Irene and I play as partners instead. To placate him, that’s what we did. Irene hardly spoke to Armand that night, and he was careful not to talk to her that much, either. It was such a strain. I hated every second of it.” She gave us a grim smile. “I finally pleaded a migraine coming on to put an end to the evening.”

  “I can imagine the duress you were under. D’Arcy and Irene as well,” Helen Louise said. “It sounds to me like Carey Warriner was mentally ill. Something might have triggered it. I wonder if there was any type of mental instability in his family.”

  “I asked Irene that same question, and she said not any that she knew about,” Barbara said. “She couldn’t explain why he had changed, didn’t understand it at all.”

  “We know he was violent toward d’Arcy,” I said. “What about Dan Bellamy? I know that he and Irene were spending time together preparing for their presentation at the bookstore. Didn’t that upset Carey?”

  Barbara stroked the back of her neck again. “No, and that’s weird, come to think of it. He didn’t see Dan as a threat, I guess, only Armand.”