The Pawful Truth

by Miranda James

  Dan Bellamy occupied a chair, and Kanesha stood at the sink, filling a pitcher with water. D’Arcy had not ceased his ranting, and Kanesha calmly came toward him with the water. D’Arcy was too worked up to realize what she intended, and the cold water shocked him into silence. He evidently swallowed some of it and started coughing. Haskell thumped him on the back, and after a tense few moments, he subsided.

  D’Arcy stumbled toward the table, one foot sliding in the water on the floor, but the sight of Dan Bellamy appeared to enrage him all over again. He launched himself at Dan and hit him with such force that Dan went over backward in his chair.

  By the time Dan hit the floor with d’Arcy on top of him, however, Kanesha and Haskell reached them and dragged d’Arcy away. Stewart knelt by Dan. I was relieved to see that he appeared to have suffered no significant injury, but it took him a moment to right himself. With Stewart’s help, he managed to get up off the floor.

  I scrambled to find a couple of dishcloths to wipe up the water. In the meantime Kanesha was telling d’Arcy that unless he ceased his belligerent actions immediately, she would handcuff him to a chair. D’Arcy appeared finally to recognize the voice of authority. He sat when she pointed to a chair but regarded her with a sullen expression.

  I glanced at Dan as I placed the sopping cloths in the sink. His own expression, directed to d’Arcy, was murderous. I couldn’t blame him for his anger. I wondered whether he would press charges against d’Arcy for assault. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. What was behind this outrageous behavior of d’Arcy’s?

  Haskell left the kitchen, and I wondered whether he was headed upstairs to retrieve his handcuffs. Probably not a bad idea, I figured. In the uneasy silence that prevailed in the kitchen, I could hear him running up the stairs. Stewart remained near Dan.

  “I want to press charges for this completely unprovoked assault,” Dan said, his voice cold and controlled.

  “All right.” Kanesha pulled out her phone and tapped in a number. After a moment, she identified herself to the person who responded. She gave my address and requested a squad car to pick up d’Arcy.

  As she put away her phone, she glanced between the two men. D’Arcy had not reacted to Dan’s statement or to Kanesha’s phone call. Haskell reappeared, now in uniform, complete with handcuffs and gun. Kanesha informed him that backup was on the way, and he nodded.

  Still d’Arcy did not react. He and Dan glared at each other, and the tension in the room made me want to hurry upstairs and join Diesel. I stayed where I was, however. I knew I might have to talk to the police, although with Kanesha and Haskell as witnesses, they wouldn’t need much corroboration from Stewart or me.

  D’Arcy spoke, startling me. “You should not arrest me. He is the one who should go to jail.” He pointed at Dan, who started to rise from his chair. One look from Kanesha, however, stopped him.

  “Why should I arrest him?” Kanesha asked in a mild tone. “You are the one who attacked him.”

  Haskell walked over to stand beside Dan and indicated that Stewart should join me on the sidelines. He promptly did so.

  D’Arcy snorted. “Because if you do not, he will harm ma belle Irène. His attentions to her are unwelcome, and he knows this. He knows that she prefers me, and this makes him angry.”

  Dan laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He rattled off a few words of French, and d’Arcy’s face suffused with red. He half rose from his chair, but Kanesha’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “What did he say to you?” Kanesha asked.

  “What you would expect from one of his sort,” d’Arcy said. The contempt in his tone obviously riled Dan, but with Haskell next to him, Dan didn’t dare move. “What is it you say in English? A guttersnipe, oui, that is the word. He is a guttersnipe.”

  I hadn’t heard anyone use that epithet in real life, though I had encountered it in historical fiction often enough.

  Stewart murmured in my ear. “Dan called him un salaud.”

  A bastard.

  I recognized the word as one Helen Louise had informed me was insulting to a French speaker. The two men obviously loathed each other, both jealous of the other’s interest in Irene. Did she actually favor one over the other? Or were they both imagining that she, so recently bereaved, had romantic feelings toward either of them?

  If Irene had been committing adultery like her husband, however, this proprietary attitude of d’Arcy’s would be more understandable. Particularly if he were the man with whom she’d been having the affair. Until tonight Dan had never demonstrated any strong feelings toward Irene. How they behaved with each other in private, however, could have been completely different.

  Considering that both of these men were in love, perhaps deeply so, with Irene Warriner, I had little trouble considering that one of them had murdered Carey Warriner. But why would either of them have killed Dixie Belle Compton? If I could answer that question, I thought, I would know who killed Warriner.

  Unless Irene Warriner had killed her in a fit of jealousy over her husband’s affair.

  Which brought me back to square one. Her collapse at the dinner table notwithstanding, Irene Warriner was as capable of having killed two people as either of the men in my kitchen. I hoped Kanesha had more information at her disposal than I did and would soon bring this case to a close. My nerves couldn’t take much more of this.

  I marveled that Dan had said nothing to counter Armand d’Arcy’s accusations. I eyed him uneasily. Now he appeared cold, remote, completely detached from the situation. What was going through his mind? Why didn’t he speak up in his defense, or at least denounce his rival? I couldn’t understand it.

  When the doorbell rang, Stewart announced that he would admit the police. I was thankful they had arrived. The sooner both men were out of my house, the happier I would be. I decided that I would ask Dan to find other accommodations until his renovations were complete. I would be happy to refund the money he had paid me. I remembered then that I hadn’t yet made it to the bank to deposit the check. I would simply tear it up and give it back to him. Relieved by my decision, I felt slightly better.

  Two Athena police officers appeared in the kitchen, led by Stewart. Kanesha explained the situation, identifying the two men. One of the officers asked Dan if he wished to press charges. Dan replied in the affirmative, and the other officer cuffed Armand d’Arcy and issued a brusque command to accompany them to police headquarters. The first officer escorted Dan out, following his colleague and d’Arcy.

  “You go with them,” Kanesha said to Haskell, and he left the room. “I’m going to the hospital to check on Mrs. Warriner,” she informed Stewart and me. “Sorry about the ruined dinner,” she added.

  I had completely forgotten about dinner in all the drama. I wasn’t sure I still had any appetite, but I would certainly put the food away. No reason for it to spoil.

  “Will you let us know how Mrs. Warriner is doing?” I asked. “How serious is her condition, do you think?”

  “To answer your second question, I think she might have had a panic attack brought on by stress,” Kanesha said. “Not anything I expected, or I wouldn’t have accepted the invitation to dinner tonight. I will let you know how she’s doing once I find out more.” She nodded and headed out of the kitchen.

  I turned to Stewart. “Do you feel like eating?”

  Stewart grimaced. “Would you think me terrible if I said I do?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Go ahead. I’m going to check on Diesel, then I’ll start putting the food away.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do it,” Stewart said. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  I hesitated, and my stomach betrayed me by rumbling. Lunch had been over six hours ago, after all. “Maybe a little something,” I said. “After I check on Diesel.”

  Stewart nodded and I left the room.

  I didn’t have to go far to
check on my cat. I found him coming down the stairs. He had somehow figured out that things had calmed down and thus felt it safe to return. I was relieved to see him. He greeted me with a couple of loud, complaining meows, and I smiled.

  “Come on, boy, let’s go to the dining room, and I’ll find you a treat or two.” He followed me happily then.

  We found Stewart calmly eating, even though his food had cooled. I looked at the table. So much food untouched on the plates. I sighed. I hated to throw it out. I picked up my plate and told Stewart I was going to the kitchen to warm it in the microwave. He nodded.

  “Come on, Diesel,” I told the cat, and he followed me.

  I set the plate in the microwave and selected the time and power. While the plate rotated in the microwave, I watched it, my thoughts drifting back to tonight’s melee.

  Jealousy. That seemed to lie at the root of the murders. I remembered that Miss Dickce had mentioned Shakespeare’s Othello, a powerful example of malignant jealousy. For the first time in my life, I thought, I had encountered something similar.

  The microwave pinged, and I gingerly withdrew my plate and set it on the table. I retrieved a fork and sat down to eat.

  Jealousy.

  Othello.

  I laid my fork aside as a thought struck me. Could my wild notion possibly be right?

  THIRTY-THREE

  I picked up my fork again and stuck it into something on my plate. I was too distracted by my thoughts to pay much attention to what I was eating. I almost burned the roof of my mouth and my tongue on the first bite, however, and that brought me back to earth. I let the food cool for about thirty seconds before I attempted another bite, but I blew on it before I put it in my mouth.

  Diesel placed a large paw on my thigh to remind me that I had promised treats, and I pulled off a bite of pork chop and gave it to him.

  My wild idea about how jealousy played its role in the two murders was formed by something I’d heard tonight and that needed corroboration. Kanesha might already have the information. I wished she would hurry and call to let me know about Irene Warriner’s status. If I were correct in my thinking, Irene wasn’t the murderer, but she was the reason that two people had died. I could be completely off base, though, and might have fingered the wrong person. Only getting more information would tell me whether I was correct.

  Stewart walked into the kitchen and took his plate to the sink. He turned to me. “What do you want to do with the plated food? I’m planning to save Haskell’s for later. Do you think I should do the same for Dan?”

  “No,” I said. “I intend to ask Dan to leave the house first thing in the morning. I’d rather he go tonight, but that is probably too much to expect. I don’t have any idea how long it will be before he finishes at the police station.”

  “He might want to go to the hospital afterward,” Stewart said. “I didn’t think he was in love with Irene Warriner until this evening.”

  “I’m not completely convinced that he’s in love with her,” I said.

  Stewart appeared not to have noticed my slight emphasis on the pronoun. “Frankly, I thought he might be one of those people who simply isn’t interested in a relationship with either sex. We see a lot of attractive men and women at the gym when we work out, and I don’t recall ever hearing Dan make a comment about any one of them.” He laughed. “Trust me, that’s unusual.”

  “I agree.”

  Diesel evidently was still convinced that he hadn’t had enough to eat, because I felt the paw of demand on my thigh again. “I’m going to have to put both of us on a diet,” I told him, even as I gave him another bite of pork chop.

  “What about the food?” Stewart reminded me. “I won’t save Dan’s, but I hate to throw out everyone else’s when nobody had time to even taste it.”

  “I don’t want to save what was plated,” I said. “But whatever wasn’t plated we can keep, along with Haskell’s dinner, if you think he’ll want it.”

  “He probably will,” Stewart said. “Okay, I’ll put away what we can save, then I’ll clear away the rest. I don’t want to be the one to tell Azalea, though, what happened to her delicious dinner.”

  “I won’t, unless I have to,” I said. “I’m sure she’d understand.”

  Stewart grinned. “She might find some way to blame Kanesha for it. You know how they are.”

  “They’re too much alike,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

  Stewart left the kitchen, and I got up to put my plate in the sink. “That’s all, Diesel.” He meowed sadly in response before trotting off to the utility room. I leaned against the sink cabinet and considered what to do.

  I debated texting Kanesha with my questions, but I thought that might aggravate her unnecessarily. Considering how easily I irritated her in general, I didn’t need to go to extra lengths. I stood a better chance of getting information from her if I waited to hear from her first.

  Instead I focused on what I would say to Dan when he returned to the house. I’d prefer to talk to him with Haskell here, because I wasn’t sure how he might react. I feared there might be pent-up rage waiting to boil over, since he had restrained himself, for the most part, during the scene with Armand d’Arcy. D’Arcy was so obviously the volatile type, one who boiled over easily, whereas I thought Dan was the opposite, the type to stew for a long time. When he did erupt, it might be epic, compared to d’Arcy.

  How could I frame what I wanted to say to Dan in a polite, inoffensive way?

  I heard Melba’s voice in my head. I want you to get the hell out of my house. That’s what you say to him.

  I shook my head. No, I couldn’t do that. Dan, I think it best if you find somewhere else to stay while your renovations are completed. I don’t feel comfortable with this arrangement any longer.

  That sounded polite enough, I reckoned. Would he be offended? I wasn’t sure. A reasonable person ought to understand why I thought it best he removed himself from my house. But how reasonable was he?

  Why hadn’t Kanesha called?

  Surely she ought to be able to get information out of the ER staff more quickly than a mere human like I could. If nothing else, I thought, she could get hold of that cardiologist she dated for a while and get him to run interference for her, if her badge wasn’t enough.

  Diesel came back from the utility room and dropped three pieces of his dry food on the floor by my feet. He looked up at me before he picked one up again and crunched it in his mouth. He went through the same routine with the other two pieces.

  “See, I told you that you weren’t going to starve,” I said.

  In response he began to clean his right front paw and ignored me. I grinned and rubbed his head, and that earned me a couple of chirps.

  Come on, Kanesha, call me.

  I halfway expected the phone to ring, but it didn’t. I stirred restlessly from my position against the sink and went back to my usual place at the table. Diesel followed me and stretched out on the floor near my chair. Perhaps I should follow his example and go to the den, stretch out on the sofa there, or up to the bedroom. I half rose, then sat down again. I couldn’t settle.

  I pulled out my phone and laid it on the table, almost willing it to ring. It lay there, inert, silent, frustrating me. Stewart, carrying three plates from the dining room table, bustled back into the kitchen. One plate he set aside on the counter, the other two he took into the utility room to dump into the garbage there. He came back in a moment and set those two in the sink. Then he found the plastic wrap to put over Haskell’s plate and set the covered plate in the fridge.

  “Now for the leftovers,” he said.

  “I should help,” I said.

  Stewart waved me away. “No, I’ll do it.” He glanced at me, his gaze shrewd. “I know the mood you’re in. You think you’ve got this thing figured out, and you’re brooding over it. Am I right?”

 
I responded with a rueful grin. “Waiting to talk to Kanesha. I need information.”

  “Then stay right where you are,” Stewart said. “I’ll be Donny Domestic and you be Sherlock, sans pipe or cocaine.”

  I rolled my eyes at his retreating back. He was irrepressible.

  I glared at my phone, and it startled me by ringing. My heart racing, I looked at the number of the incoming call. Finally.

  “Hello,” I said to Kanesha. “How is she?”

  “Panic attack, like I thought,” Kanesha replied. “They’ve given her meds, and they’re checking her heart and so on, but they’re pretty sure the stress got to her and brought this on. Evidently it’s not the first time.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay,” I said. “Do you think this was guilt-induced? Do you believe she committed the murders?”

  “I don’t think she did,” Kanesha said. “I have someone else in mind for the part.”

  “So do I,” I said. “But I need information from you to clinch it in my mind.”

  “Like what?” Kanesha asked sharply.

  “Background,” I said. “Childhood stuff, really.”

  “Like who had a deprived childhood and who didn’t, you mean?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “My idea rests on the fact that the killer grew up pretty poor and is looking for money.”

  Kanesha caught on immediately. “In that case, I can tell you, both d’Arcy and Bellamy come from poor backgrounds. Not much money in either case. Same thing with Barbara Lamont.”

  Barbara Lamont. Hearing her name startled me, because I had basically eliminated her from my calculations. She might have grown up poor, like the other two, but I couldn’t see how she otherwise might fit the profile I’d built up in my mind.

  Unless . . .

  No, I thought she was in love with Carey Warriner, not Irene. Both Helen Louise and I had thought so. D’Arcy and Bellamy were in love with Irene, not Barbara Lamont.