The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  Like Kanesha, however, I had the uneasy feeling we were missing something. I couldn’t figure out what it might be, but I kept hoping that an idea might surface in my crowded thoughts about the case. Surely there would be a break soon.

  I checked my watch. Nearly three thirty, so I had over two hours before dinner. I hoped that Dan Bellamy did bring Irene Warriner, as he had said to Azalea he would. In the meantime, I decided to do some digging into these people’s backgrounds. I doubted I could find things that Kanesha’s team couldn’t, but I might pick up on something they had overlooked.

  I retrieved my laptop, and once the browser was open, I went to the Athena College website to look at departmental pages. First the English department, where I looked for information on Irene Warriner. According to what I found, she had earned her Ph.D. from Emory University. There was the Atlanta connection. I wondered if Carey Warriner had also earned his degree at Emory. A quick check of the history department page yielded the information that he had. They had probably met while at Emory, if not before. The dates on their terminal degrees were the same.

  Searching for the Warriner name, coupled with Georgia or Atlanta, yielded numerous hits. I didn’t try to read everything, but what I did read corroborated the fact that the Warriners were indeed a rich clan. I also found the announcement for Irene Elizabeth Murray’s marriage to Carey Alan Warriner, son of Mrs. Judson Warriner and the late Mr. Warriner. They had been married in Atlanta seven years ago, and they had honeymooned in Paris and Venice.

  I didn’t find anything else that seemed pertinent to the case. I didn’t turn up anything on Irene Murray until the wedding announcement. On to Armand d’Arcy, then. According to the music department’s page, he was a graduate of McGill University in Montreal, with a doctoral performance degree. His instrument was the baroque bassoon.

  I found a few articles in French, but they were beyond the comprehension of my rudimentary grasp of the language. I saved a few of the links to share with Helen Louise, who spoke and read French easily after her years studying in Paris. From what little I could gather from the articles, they were mostly about his music studies.

  I checked Dan Bellamy’s and Barbara Lamont’s credentials as well. Both had Ph.D. degrees from respected graduate schools, Dan’s in Texas and Barbara’s in Colorado. Research on Barbara Lamont’s name didn’t yield anything of interest. On to Dan Bellamy. I found little on him, other than that his middle name was Carson.

  Feeling frustrating, I went to the college library site to use some of the databases to which I had access there. I could search newspapers from around the country, for example. I didn’t know whether the sheriff’s department had their own access to this, but if not, they could use the databases available through the public library. It also had access to these newspapers.

  Half an hour later, I had the beginnings of a headache along with mounting exasperation. I had found mentions of the professors in the local paper, short puff pieces on their work as part of an ongoing series on Athena College’s younger teachers. Nothing much of interest, although in the piece on Dan, he did mention having grown up on the Gulf Coast, though whether in Mississippi or Louisiana wasn’t clear. He referred to both in the article.

  I also searched Dixie Belle Compton but turned up nothing, not even another person with a similar name. Only various companies called Dixie Belle or Bell, and a few street addresses. I decided to try my luck in a genealogical database.

  A broad search yielded nearly a hundred hits on Dixie Compton, but no Dixie Belle among them. I ruled out most of the hits on the basis of dates. I figured the late Ms. Compton was no older than forty, maybe forty-five at the outside. That narrowed the list down to five hits. I began checking them each in turn.

  No luck. On a whim I searched for the name Dixie Belle with the age limit.

  I hit pay dirt.

  THIRTY

  I found a Dixie Belle Lee born about thirty-six years ago in Biloxi, Mississippi. She seemed a likely candidate. I searched her full name, with date parameters, in the newspaper index, and I got a couple of hits. One was a marriage announcement from eighteen years ago, when Miss Dixie Belle Lee married one Lewis Smathers in Baton Rouge. The dates fit, and the grainy picture of the bride-to-be could be Dixie Belle Compton, I thought, though I really couldn’t be sure.

  Four years later, according to the second hit, Mrs. Dixie Lee Smathers, a divorcée, married Ray David Bellamy in Biloxi, Mississippi. Mr. Bellamy was described as an employee of an oil company. I was pretty sure Dan had said his brother’s name was Ray, but that they’d had different fathers. I tried to recall the conversation. Had Dan mentioned the name Compton? Or had he let us assume that was his brother’s surname for some reason?

  More details of the conversation came back to me. Dan had never directly said that his brother’s surname was Compton, though he had definitely said they had different fathers. He had allowed us to assume that Compton was his brother’s name. But why?

  Maybe he didn’t want the name Bellamy associated with the murder, especially of a woman who’d had an ugly reputation as a gold digger in Athena, involved in scandals with married men.

  Who was Compton, then? Was he the third husband, the one to whom she referred in the history department? Viccy Kemp said she’d heard Dixie refer to a husband, and from the context it sounded like she was married.

  Yet searching the name Dixie Compton hadn’t brought up a valid result. I couldn’t figure it out. Was there a Compton? Or had she simply changed her name to distance herself from her second husband and his brother?

  I searched Ray Bellamy in the genealogical database and found a death record. He had died four years ago. That much at least was true.

  Kanesha hadn’t mentioned any of this, so it seemed obvious that her staff hadn’t uncovered it. I wrote her an e-mail, detailing my findings. After I sent it, I texted her to request that she check her e-mail immediately.

  Five minutes later, she called.

  “How did you find this? We obviously missed it,” she said, sounding annoyed.

  That’s why it pays to work with a librarian. I dismissed my snarky thought and hastened to explain.

  “I see,” she said. “Thanks for this. Dr. Bellamy obviously has more questions to answer. I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

  “I’m wondering now if there is a Mr. Compton involved in this,” I said. “Could he be the missing connection you’ve been looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Kanesha said. “So far we haven’t turned up anybody by that name here in Athena, even registered in one of the hotels or motels. I’m wondering if she changed her name for some reason.”

  “I think maybe she did, but I don’t know why,” I said. “There’s got to be a reason, though. Have you turned up anything in Dan Bellamy’s background that might shed light on this?”

  “Not so far,” Kanesha said, “other than a birth certificate and his driver’s license. Education records. That’s about it. I’ll have my guys search the records again for Ray Bellamy, instead of Ray Compton, and see what they turn up.”

  I gave her the death date I’d found, and she thanked me.

  “One more thing,” I said. “Dan is supposed to be bringing Irene Warriner to dinner here tonight. I’m not sure why. Would you have time to drop by? At six.”

  “I think I’ll make time,” Kanesha said. “This could prove to be pretty interesting. See you later.” She ended the call, and I laid my phone aside.

  I heard the front doorbell ring. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes Laura dropped in unexpectedly while she was out running errands. She didn’t have classes on Tuesday or Thursday afternoons, I recalled. I hurried to the front door, and Diesel scurried ahead of me.

  Laura, baby Charlie on her hip, diaper bag on the opposite shoulder, stood on the stoop.

  “Sweetheart, this is a lovely surprise,” I said, reaching
out for my grandson. He came to me readily, and Laura laughed as she stepped inside.

  “He’s always happy to see his grandfather,” she said. “So am I.” She let the diaper bag slip off her shoulder to the floor and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Charlie gurgled and flapped his hands at me, and I held him slightly away from my body, my hands grasping either side of his torso.

  “What have you been up to this afternoon, young man?” I asked. He gurgled again. “You haven’t started walking yet, have you?” He smiled.

  “Not yet,” Laura said, “but he’s a champion crawler. We just came from the pediatrician’s office. He had a checkup.”

  “Come on into the kitchen; I know Azalea wants to see you both.” Diesel stood on his hind legs, his front paws braced against my side, as he nuzzled at the baby’s bottom. “Yes, I know you want to see him, too, Diesel.” I headed for the kitchen, asking Laura over my shoulder, “What did the pediatrician have to say?”

  “That your grandson is in the top percentile in every category,” Laura said with obvious pride. “He’s healthy as a baby horse, to boot.”

  “Of course he is,” I said to Charlie. “You’re amazing, young man.” Charlie laughed and made more noises. I took that as his agreement. “Look who’s dropped by for a visit,” I said to Azalea when I entered the kitchen.

  She turned away from the stove and started beaming the moment she spotted Laura and baby Charlie. “Let me see that precious angel.” Azalea held out her arms, and Charlie seemed ready to jump. I hastily handed him over before he could wriggle loose. Azalea crooned to him.

  I gestured for Laura to take a seat. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’d kill for a cup of coffee,” Laura said. “Just one, mind you. I had one earlier today, and I try to limit myself to no more than two a day.”

  She had explained to me early on, after Charlie was born, that both her doctor and Charlie’s pediatrician had told her it was safe, as long as she didn’t consume a lot of caffeine every day, or any while she was actually nursing.

  “Coffee coming right up.” I prepared the coffeemaker and then joined her at the table.

  Azalea still had Charlie, bouncing him on her hip and singing to him in a low voice. He seemed enthralled by whatever song she had chosen. I couldn’t quite make it out.

  Laura gazed fondly at Azalea and her son. “She’s wonderful with him, isn’t she?” she said softly.

  I nodded. Azalea had a gift. If she was around when either Charlie or Rosie was fussy, she could calm them quickly. I wasn’t sure how she did it, but the babies obviously found her safe and soothing.

  “What all is new with you?” I asked, one eye on the coffeemaker. “You look excited, even more so than from a good report from the baby’s doctor.”

  “I am,” she said. Diesel settled down beside the chair with his head on her feet. He rubbed against her shoes, marking them.

  “We had a department meeting this morning, and I wanted you to be the first to know,” Laura went on. “Frank was there, of course.”

  Laura had returned to her job in the college theater department this semester, now that she felt she could leave baby Charlie in the capable hands of the nanny she and her husband, Frank, shared with her brother, Sean, and his wife, Alex.

  “I hadn’t told you about this before,” Laura said, “because I had no idea whether it would work out. You know how we always do a play in the spring semester with a guest actor.”

  When I nodded, she continued, “I can’t tell you who that is going to be yet, but I think it’s going to be somebody I worked with in Hollywood.”

  “After the time you spent there, you certainly ought to have some good contacts,” I said.

  “I did,” she said. “But I’ve been gone for a couple of years now, and memories are short in Hollywood. If we can get the person I want, it’s going to be great. And, the best part is, I’m playing the lead female role.”

  “Congratulations, sweetheart,” I said. “I know you’ve missed acting. Is it a good part? Do I know the play?”

  Laura shook her head. “It’s a fairly new play by a writer with connections to Athena. It’s called Careless Whispers.”

  “Sounds like a mystery,” I said.

  “It is, and a fun one.”

  “When do you start rehearsals?” I asked.

  “Not until early March,” she said. “The run is set for late April. But, speaking of mysteries, how is it going with those campus murder cases? I’m sure you’re in it up to your eyeballs.”

  She didn’t sound censorious, as her brother probably would have. He had always been more critical of my sleuthing activities than Laura, though I know she had the same concerns about my welfare that Sean did.

  “I am involved,” I said, “in an advisory capacity.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her that one of the suspects was currently living in my house. Actually, I hadn’t thought about Dan as a serious candidate for the role of murderer until this afternoon. I couldn’t understand why he would lie, at least by omission in this instance, about his late brother.

  Laura giggled. “I know what that means. Kanesha is doing her best to keep you from getting too involved, but you’re still going around, snooping.” She sobered. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Dad. You know we all worry.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” I said. “I promise, I’m not going to do anything foolish.” I checked the coffeemaker again, and it had finished brewing. I got up to prepare coffee for Laura and me. Azalea never drank it, or else I would have made some for her. She continued to keep the baby occupied. Ramses danced around her feet, having suddenly appeared from wherever he’d been all this time.

  Laura took her coffee like I did mine, with cream and sugar. She accepted the mug gratefully and took a long sip. “Ahh, much better.”

  “How much do you know about what’s happened?” I asked, curious to discover what kind of gossip was going around campus. The theater department, like every other department at the college, stewed over every bit of scandal attached to faculty, staff, or students.

  “Two murders,” Laura said. “One professor and one student, who may or may not have been having an affair.”

  That was worse than I expected. “Any bets on who the murderer is?”

  Laura looked uncomfortable. “I hate to say it, but most people think it has to be Irene Warriner. I’ve met her a couple of times, and she seems like a perfectly nice woman. I have a hard time seeing her killing anyone, but if her husband really was cheating on her, well, who knows?”

  “It’s possible that he was,” I said. “Has there been any talk about Mrs. Warriner having an affair?”

  “Yes.” Laura grimaced. “She’s been seen in the company of two men, one big blond guy who I think is from the history department. The other one is that gorgeous Frenchman with the lovely accent. Music department, I think.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Armand d’Arcy. He’s actually Canadian, from Quebec, and he does have a noticeable accent. Teaches early music and plays the baroque bassoon.”

  “I’ll have to pay more attention the next time the early-music group on campus gives a concert,” Laura said. “I’ve never seen a baroque bassoon, or heard one, either, that I know of.” She took another sip of coffee. “Some people are saying that she’s had affairs with both men. Who’s the blond guy?”

  “Dan Bellamy,” I replied. “He’s a history professor. His specialty is Regency-era England. That’s the period she writes about in her historical fiction. Remember, I told you about her. Lucy Dunne.”

  “Right,” Laura said. “One of these days, when I actually have some time to read for pleasure, I want to try one of her books.” She glanced at her son, still happily swaying on my housekeeper’s hip. “That imp of a grandson doesn’t give either his father or me much time to relax, between work and looking after him
. Cherelle is a godsend, I have to tell you.” She directed her last remark to Azalea.

  Azalea nodded. “She’s a fine girl. Loves looking after babies.”

  “She has your gift with them,” Laura said, and Azalea smiled.

  Laura glanced at the kitchen clock and groaned. “I hate to go, but I’ve got to get home. Frank and I have to get ready for dinner with some of our colleagues tonight. It’ll take me two hours to get him ready.” She giggled. “Frank, I mean. Cherelle will be taking care of Charlie this evening.” She rose.

  “I’m sorry you have to go so soon,” I said, “but I understand. We’re happy to see you and Charlie even for a few minutes.”

  Azalea handed Charlie to his mother, anxiously watched by Diesel. Ramses meowed loudly, wanting to be noticed, and Laura said hello to him and called him a good boy. That seemed to appease him. He had learned his name quickly and generally responded to it. Except when he was too intent on mischief, that is.

  I grabbed the diaper bag, and Diesel and I escorted Laura and Charlie out to the car. I strapped Charlie into his car seat under Diesel’s supervision, and Laura slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Thanks for the coffee, Dad,” she said. “You be careful, all right? Don’t do anything rash.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” I said. Besides having a potential murderer or two in the house for dinner tonight, I added silently as she backed out of the driveway and drove off.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I had little doubt as to what my children—and their respective spouses—would have to say if they knew that the prime suspect in the two murders, Irene Warriner, was coming to dine at my house tonight. With Dan Bellamy, who remained a large question mark in my mind. What was his role in all this? Accessory to murder, perhaps, helping Irene dispose of Carey Warriner’s body.

  As Diesel and I made our way back to the kitchen, I took comfort in the fact that Kanesha would be present. With her, and possibly Haskell as well, in the house, we should all be safe enough. I began to relax.