What the Cat Dragged In

by Miranda James

  Ramses startled me by jumping into my lap and butting his head against my chin. I rubbed his head for a moment. He turned around in my lap several times and finally settled down. Diesel watched this performance with what I would have called an expression of disdain on a human. I had to smile again.

  Stewart scooped Dante into his arms and rose from his seat. “I’ve got work I’ve been putting off, and I can’t ignore it any longer. I hope you don’t mind, Charlie.”

  “Getting ready for the first day of classes?” Stewart was a professor of chemistry at Athena College, and the semester was starting the following week.

  He nodded. “I’ve been doing this for over a quarter of a century, and you’d think it would get easier. For some reason, it never has.” He shook his head.

  “Because you’ve never become jaded with your profession,” I said. “Unlike some tenured persons I’ve encountered at the college.”

  “Thanks,” Stewart said with a quick grin. “I try to keep things fresh and interesting for all concerned. Here’s hoping this year’s crop of chemistry students is a good one.” He waggled one of Dante’s front paws in farewell as he left the room.

  For Stewart’s sake I hoped he did have promising new students. He could have insisted on teaching only upper-level courses, to seniors and graduate students, but he loved teaching freshmen, sparking their interest in chemistry. I admired his dedication.

  I thought about Laura’s news. A third grandchild would be wonderful. Sean and Alex had given me beautiful, sweet Charlotte Rose, my dear Rosie, and I wondered if they would have another child. Alex had suffered terribly from postpartum depression with Rosie, and I wouldn’t want her to go through that again. Sean hadn’t mentioned the possibility of another child, and I couldn’t bring up the subject myself.

  My thoughts drifted lazily as I imagined a baby girl who looked like Laura. What would they name her? Maybe Jacqueline after Laura’s mother? Before long I dozed off, Ramses still in my lap, and Diesel on the floor beside my chair.

  The next thing I knew, I heard Azalea calling my name. I surfaced to find her standing a foot away from my chair, frowning.

  “Didn’t want to bother you,” she said, “but there’s a person here to see you. He says it’s important. He tried to give me a card, but I told him to hold on to it.” She paused to eye me dubiously. “Are you awake enough to talk to him?”

  I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “Sorry, yes, I suppose I am. Where is he?”

  “In the living room,” she said as she turned away. “I’ll go tell him you’re coming.”

  “Thank you,” I called after her. Ramses had begun stirring when Azalea woke me, and now he hopped onto the floor and padded after her. No doubt he was hopeful for a snack.

  I glanced at Diesel while I put down the footrest of the recliner. He gazed up at me and yawned. “Let’s go see who this stranger is, boy.” I rose from the chair, and he preceded me to the door.

  Azalea crossed our path, her lips tightly pursed. Obviously, something about this unexpected caller had not sat well with her. Had he been rude? I followed her to the kitchen.

  “Azalea, did this person do anything to upset you?”

  Evidently surprised, Azalea turned around to gaze at me. “He was polite, if that’s what you mean. I just got a bad feeling about him. Can’t say more than that.”

  “Okay.” I had a healthy respect for Azalea’s feelings. Her impressions of people were almost always spot-on.

  “Come on, Diesel.” I headed back down the hall to the living room.

  My visitor turned from looking out the front window when I entered. “Good afternoon. I’m Charlie Harris. You wanted to talk to me, I gather.”

  He stepped forward, hand extended. “Thank you for seeing me without any advance notice, Mr. Harris.” After a quick handshake, he passed me his business card. “Marvin Watkins, with Watkins-Hightower Development.”

  The card revealed that he developed real estate. I judged him to be in his midthirties. He wore what was probably an expensive suit, well tailored to suit his tall, muscular frame. His brown hair had been expertly cut and slicked back, and his brown eyes were candid, his gaze and manner friendly.

  I distrusted him immediately. I wasn’t sure what had put Azalea off, but overall, he seemed, well, packaged, for want of a better term. Too slick for my taste.

  I attempted to return his card, but he waved me away with a smile. “No, please keep it. I hope you’ll find occasion to make use of the information.”

  Nodding, I tucked the card into my shirt pocket. Watkins appeared to notice Diesel for the first time. “Goodness, what kind of cat is that? I’ve never seen one that big before.”

  I gave my standard spiel about Maine Coons, and Watkins appeared to listen intently while he observed Diesel. I noticed that Diesel made no effort to approach the man’s outstretched hand, not even to sniff his fingers.

  Watkins laughed when I’d finished. “He’s a big one, all right. Funny, though. Cats and dogs usually like me.”

  I didn’t respond to that. Instead I said, “Please have a seat, Mr. Watkins, and let’s talk about why you came to see me.” I indicated one of the armchairs across from the sofa.

  “Please, call me Marv,” he said when he had seated himself. “ ‘Mr. Watkins’ is way too formal.”

  I nodded at him while Diesel stretched out on the sofa beside me. “Okay, Marv. What is it you want to talk about?”

  “You’re direct, Charlie,” he said, again flashing a smile. “I like that. I’m direct myself. Saves time, doesn’t it?” He paused. “I’m here about your farmland. My company is looking for country properties to develop, and yours sounds like exactly what we’re looking for.”

  “How did you hear about my farmland?” I asked. I almost added that I’d only heard about it myself this very morning, but I held back.

  “From a young man named Hale,” Marv said. “He said it belonged to you, not to his family.”

  “When did you talk to Hale?” I asked.

  “Had breakfast with him this morning at the Farrington House Hotel,” Marv said. “He was staying there.”

  NINE

  I itched to call Kanesha right away and tell her about this. Sean, too, because evidently he was off in his assessment of young Hale’s finances. If he had been staying at the Farrington House Hotel, he had money.

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “I’ve not met young Mr. Hale myself. May I ask why you were talking to him? About the farmland, I presume.”

  Marv flashed me his engaging smile again. “Got it in one, Charlie. He had contacted me a few days ago, said he had some land to sell here out in the county, and we arranged to meet this morning.” His expression sobered. “That’s when I found out the land wasn’t his to sell. It would have been a complete waste of my time, but he told me you’re the owner.”

  I wondered why it had taken him so long to get to me, if he was truly interested in the property. As far as I knew, he had made no attempt to contact me earlier today. “I see. Tell me, if you will, exactly what your plans are for this land, should I decide I want to sell.”

  Marv leaned back in the chair and regarded me with obvious pleasure. “Like I said, I like a man who is direct. I’m happy to talk about our plans with you. It’s beautiful land, by the way. Absolutely charming, exactly the kind of landscape that we think our potential buyers will go for in a big way. Now, what we’re thinking is that a lot of families these days want more space for themselves and their kids. No McMansions for them, you could say.” He paused for a breath.

  “So, you’re wanting to provide larger lots with more privacy and the illusion of country living,” I said.

  Marv chuckled and slapped his knee. “Exactly. You’re sharp. We’re thinking of two-to-four-acre lots, depending on the buyers’ needs, with houses starting at four hundred thousand, up to as much as
three-quarters of a million. Perhaps even more.”

  I could almost see the dollar signs dancing in front of his eyes. The fervor of his tone as he mentioned the money was too blatant to ignore.

  “Sounds impressive,” I said, though I did not care for the idea at all.

  “Isn’t it?” Marv said, teeth bared in a wide grin.

  I rose from the sofa, and I took some small satisfaction in seeing him disconcerted, although he hid it quickly. He rose also.

  “Thank you, Marv.” I moved toward the door into the hall. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. You’ll understand, of course, that there are various legal formalities that have to take place before I can make any decisions on disposal of the land. You know how these things work, I’m sure. My lawyer is my son, Sean Harris. I’ll make sure he has your card, and when I’m ready he will be the one to talk with you about it.”

  “Of course, Charlie,” Marv said, no sign of disappointment in his expression or his body language. “I think I’ve met your son at some function, probably the Rotary meetings.”

  I nodded. “Very likely.” I opened the door, but before he stepped out, I said, “I meant to ask you about young Hale. How was he at breakfast? Did he seem terribly upset about the land?”

  Marv frowned. “I could tell he wasn’t happy, but he seemed more philosophical about it than anything.”

  “I know it must have been a big disappointment to him,” I said. “Well, nice talking to you.”

  With that, Marv walked out of the house, and I resisted the urge to shut the door rather firmly behind him. I looked down to see Diesel beside me. “We didn’t like him, did we?”

  Diesel trilled.

  “I agree. Way too slick.”

  We went to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of sweet tea from the fridge. Azalea was not there, nor was Ramses. I took my usual place at the kitchen table and pulled out my phone. I might as well call Sean and let him know about Marv Watkins.

  Luckily, I caught my son between appointments. “Hi, Dad. Yeah, I know the guy. Looks like he stepped out of a page from GQ magazine. He’s got a reputation for sharp dealing. What did he want from you?”

  I gave Sean a quick rundown of the conversation.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you would be the one to deal with him once all the legalities had been taken care of,” I said.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of selling the land, are you?” Sean sounded annoyed.

  “Not to him, that’s for sure,” I said. “I don’t know what I want to do with the house and the land, to be honest. I’ve hardly had time to think about it.”

  “True,” Sean said. “I’d hate to see it go out of the family, though.”

  “Me too,” I admitted. “But there’s a lot to think about.”

  “Yeah, I know. Look, you said he had breakfast with Hale this morning. At the Farrington House. I can’t believe Hale was really staying there, he acted like he was stony broke.”

  “That’s what Watkins said,” I replied.

  “I think I’m going to check on that,” Sean said. “Then I’m going to call Kanesha. She’ll want to interview Mr. Slick. Talk to you later, Dad.”

  I put my phone on the table. I felt restless, and I knew why. I wanted to know what was going on at my grandfather’s house. Were Kanesha and her crew still there? Had they found anything? I was tempted to jump in the car and drive out there again, but I figured my reception would be chilly, to say the least. As the property owner, however, I had a right to know what was going on.

  That sounded good. How would Kanesha answer that?

  I started to rise but sank down again.

  Did I really want to face Kanesha down over this?

  No, I decided. Not right this minute.

  Instead, I decided to call her. If she didn’t answer, I would leave a message, telling her I’d like to know what was going on. I could do that much, at least.

  I made the call. I was mentally preparing the message I planned to leave, but after a few seconds, Kanesha answered.

  “Yes, Charlie?” she said, her tone brusque.

  “Hi, Kanesha. I’m calling to get a status update. Have you made any new discoveries? Sean just called and told me about Hale.”

  “I hear you had a visit from Marvin Watkins,” she said as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Yes, I did. But you didn’t answer my question,” I replied tersely.

  “No, I didn’t,” Kanesha said. “Because there’s nothing to report, other than that I’m back in town. You should be able to get back in the house by late tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have calls to make. Starting with Marvin Watkins.”

  “No, that’s all. Thanks,” I said.

  She ended the call. I’d gotten more out of her than I’d frankly expected. Not enough to satisfy my curiosity, but Kanesha knew that, of course. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to run an investigation without any help—or interference—from me. I wouldn’t be unhappy if situations like the present one stopped occurring in my life. I might be a bit bored, honestly, but not unhappy.

  In order to distract myself from thinking about my grandfather’s house and young Hale’s untimely death, I decided to get out of the house and go visit the independent bookstore, the Athenaeum, on the town square. Helen Louise’s French bistro was located nearby, and I could drop by and pick up some pastries to bring home. Not that my waistline needed any of the tasty delicacies from the bistro, but my taste buds would thank me.

  “Come on, Diesel, we’re going out.” Diesel warbled, and I went into the hall and called out for Azalea. After a few seconds she appeared at the head of the stairs, and I let her know that Diesel and I were going to run some errands. She nodded to acknowledge that she’d heard before turning away. Ramses sat at the head of the stairs looking down at Diesel and me. For a moment he appeared undecided whether to scamper down to us, but evidently Azalea’s allure was stronger. He ran after her.

  Ten minutes later I found a parking spot in front of the bookstore. Diesel hopped out of the backseat, and he preceded me to the door. A bell jangled when I opened the door, and Diesel hurried inside. The owner of the store, Jordan Thompson, was a favorite of his, and he of hers. She always had a treat or two for him, plus she lavished praise and affection on him.

  Today was no different. I waited while Jordan and Diesel had their conversation. Diesel trilled and chirped excitedly while Jordan talked to him. When they had finished, with Diesel chomping on a couple of treats, I greeted Jordan and made the usual inquiries about how she and the bookstore were doing.

  “Fine.” She turned to the shelves behind the counter and pulled a stack of seven books from a cubbyhole. “These are the books you requested, plus a couple I thought you’d find interesting.”

  I grinned. Jordan knew my reading tastes all too well, and I found it hard to resist the books she thought I’d find interesting. She was almost always right. “Thanks.” I pulled the stack toward me and began examining them one by one.

  Carolyn Hart’s newest Bailey Ruth novel sat atop the stack. That would be coming home with me for sure. In addition, there were new books by Donna Andrews, Lindsey Davis, Anna Lee Huber, a new Inspector Varg book by Alexander McCall Smith, and two nonfiction titles on historical topics.

  “Sold.” I pushed the stack back to Jordan, and she laughed. “I know,” I said. “I’m such an easy touch.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Jordan said, trying and failing to suppress another laugh. “You’re a bibliophile like me and so many others in town, thank goodness.”

  “True.” A sudden idea struck me. “I’m interested in some local history.” I explained about my grandfather’s house and farm. “Do you have anything that covers antebellum and post–Civil War life in this area?”

  Jordan thou
ght for a moment. “You know, I think I do have something. It’s a self-published book by a local amateur historian. Hang on, and I’ll get it for you.”

  She returned less than thirty seconds later with a small hardbound book with a plain cover, titled Antebellum Life in Athena County, 1832–1865. Esther Carraway was the author and publisher of the book.

  I glanced through the book, pleased to find photographs of some of the well-known antebellum homes in town and in the county. I saw that Miss An’gel Ducote, who along with her sister, Miss Dickce, owned the magnificent Riverhill, had provided a foreword for the book. That was enough for me.

  “I’ll take it,” I said.

  “You saw that Miss An’gel wrote the foreword,” Jordan said.

  “If she was in any way involved, then it must be solid research,” I said. The Ducote sisters were the last members of one of the most storied and distinguished families in Athena County. Neither of them would let their name be associated with anything unworthy.

  Jordan rang up my books and bagged them. While I extracted my credit card from my wallet, she managed to slip Diesel at least one more treat. I pretended not to notice.

  Diesel and I bade Jordan farewell, and I stowed my bag in the car. I was eager to get home to delve into Ms. Carraway’s book. I hadn’t checked for any mentions of my family’s farm, because I didn’t think the Harrises had been among the wealthy planter class of antebellum days. If I found any mention, I would be pleasantly surprised.

  My errand at the bistro took only a few minutes. Helen Louise’s manager, Henry, greeted me and Diesel with a smile, and he picked out some choice items that he himself had baked that morning.

  Loaded up with pastries and books, Diesel and I headed back home. I set the pastries on the kitchen counter and took the bag of books into my den. Diesel had disappeared into the utility room. He would soon join me.

  Ramses appeared at the foot of the stairs, and he followed me to the den. He made himself comfortable in my lap while I pulled out the Carraway book to examine. I flipped through the book again before turning to the back to look for an index. To my surprise I found what looked like a thorough one, not something I had expected in a self-published book. I knew putting together an index was a time-consuming, even tedious, job.