What the Cat Dragged In

by Miranda James

  A cast-iron bed frame with an old, stained mattress stood against the outer wall under the lone window, and a chair and small dresser completed the furnishings of the room. Rumpled bedclothes gave evidence that the bed had been slept in, and a few toiletries lay scattered atop the dresser. One drawer stood partially open, and I glimpsed articles of clothing, perhaps underwear, sticking out.

  “Do you think the victim was living here?” Sean asked.

  “Yes, he was,” Kanesha said. “We found papers with his name on them in one of the drawers of the dresser. From what we can tell, he had been living here for several days, if not a week or more.” She frowned. “Right now we don’t know when he arrived in the county. I figure he flew into Memphis and probably rented a car, but so far there’s no sign of a car.”

  “Could he have hitched a ride?” Sean asked.

  Kanesha shrugged. “Possible, and we’re looking into that, but it doesn’t seem too likely.”

  “Or someone met him at the airport and drove him here,” I said slowly. “What about Marvin Watkins? He apparently had business with young Hale.”

  “Watkins claims that he didn’t meet Hale face-to-face until Hale was already here.” She waved her hand to indicate the house. “I think it’s possible that he’s lying about that, but at present I don’t have any evidence to contradict him.”

  “Didn’t his grandfather have a truck or a car?” I asked. “Maybe Hale was using it.”

  “He had a pickup,” Kanesha said. “But it’s nowhere to be found. Hasn’t turned up at the airport in Memphis so far. We know that the elder Hale flew out of there to California.”

  “Have you found anyone else in the area who had contact with Hale?” Sean asked.

  “Not so far,” Kanesha said.

  I remembered that I had looked in the refrigerator during my visit yesterday. There had been no food in it then. “What was Hale doing for food?” I asked.

  Kanesha shrugged. “We found a few snack items in this room, and several takeout containers in the garbage. He was getting food from someone or leaving the house to eat his meals. Without a car, though, he’d have to catch a ride with someone.”

  I recalled what Marvin Watkins had said about Hale’s claim he was staying at the Farrington House. I mentioned this to Kanesha.

  “No, he wasn’t registered there,” Kanesha said. “Watkins told me the same thing. Hale obviously lied, probably because he didn’t want anyone to know he was living in this house.”

  “Someone had to know,” Sean said. “He had to have transportation and food. I can’t see him walking into town from here to buy food. It’s a good fifteen miles or so, one way.”

  “I agree,” Kanesha said. “I’ve got a couple of my officers canvassing this road to find out whether anyone saw Hale in this area in the past week. They haven’t turned up anything so far, though.”

  I heard the note of frustration in her tone. At some point there had to be a break in this case, I figured. Hale hadn’t been invisible. Someone had to have seen him.

  “Once the news of the murder gets around,” Sean said, “you might hear from people. Are you going to get the newspaper to run a picture of him?”

  “The only picture we have isn’t one that would do us any good in the newspaper,” Kanesha said.

  I winced. That meant only a photo of the corpse, and I doubted readers would want to be confronted with that over the breakfast table.

  Kanesha went on. “We’re trying to get a usable picture of him from his family in California. His sister will be arriving tomorrow, and I’m hopeful she’ll have information to share with us.”

  “What about Dr. Seton?” I asked. “When is he going to be able to examine the bones? And hunt for the burial site?”

  “He’s still involved with a case in Memphis,” Kanesha said, and I sensed more frustration. “I’m hoping he can focus on this case tomorrow or the next day. I’d like answers, and I’m not getting any. I need this investigation to move further along.”

  I was starting to share Kanesha’s annoyance at these delays and the lack of information. I didn’t dare suggest, however, that I should assist. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I could.

  “Do you think there’s any connection between Hale’s murder and the bones in the attic?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t honestly see how there can be,” Kanesha said. “Until we know more about the bones and hopefully where they came from, the only thing connecting them to the present murder is this property.”

  She cut a sideways glance at me, and I figured I knew what she was thinking. Was my grandfather a murderer or a grave robber? Or both? I had no idea, but I sure as heck hoped he was neither.

  “I’ve got to get back to the office,” Kanesha said. “We’re finished with the house, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go wandering around the property yet. I’d rather you wait until Seton and his dog have had a chance to investigate. No sense in adding to whatever scents already exist out there.”

  I nodded. “I agree. I’ll stick to the house.” I hesitated. “I guess that means I should hold off on getting anyone in to check the structure or do any kind of repair work.”

  “Yes, you should,” Kanesha said. “Until I know where those bones came from, I don’t want any more people here than are necessary.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Sean nodded in my direction. “We won’t do anything to interfere with your investigation.”

  I thought I saw Kanesha’s lips twitch, but I decided I had imagined it. Before she departed the room, she said she would be in touch in the next day or two if there were any developments.

  Sean waited until she was presumably out of hearing before he addressed me. “I meant what I said, Dad. We are not going to get involved in this investigation.”

  I frowned at him. “I do hope you didn’t mean that to be as patronizing as it sounded.”

  He flushed slightly at my tone, but his stern expression didn’t falter. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but I know your tendency to get involved in these things.”

  Diesel, who had been hiding under the bed, emerged to chirp loudly at Sean. I had forgotten he was there, and a quick glance informed me that he collected dust and cobwebs during his sortie.

  While the cat continued to fuss at my son, I used my hands to brush away as much of the dirt as I could. Diesel stood patiently as I did it, but he continued to gaze at Sean.

  “Diesel is annoyed with me,” Sean said.

  “He didn’t like your tone any more than I did,” I said, straightening. “I need to wash my hands. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

  Sean trailed after Diesel and me. At the moment I concentrated on washing the dirt off and ignored my son. I knew he meant well, but I wasn’t a doddering old fool who needed looking after. I didn’t put myself in the way of danger when I got involved in these cases. I remembered one notable exception, however, and felt a sudden stab of guilt.

  Sean waited in silence while I finished my cleanup. I then used a rag I’d found to wipe the cat’s feet. I would have to brush Diesel thoroughly when we got home, but I figured he was clean enough for the moment.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Sean said, and he did look contrite. “I didn’t mean to be patronizing. I know you usually don’t deliberately put yourself in dangerous situations, but you did have one pretty close call.” He paused. “We all worry, the way you did when Laura and I were kids.”

  “I know that,” I said, my tone gentler than before, but still not yielding. “There’ll be time enough for you two to bicker over me when I’m in the nursing home.”

  Diesel meowed loudly and started toward the hall. Moments later, a gruff voice called out, “What the hell are you?”

  THIRTEEN

  The owner of the voice appeared in the kitchen doorway about five seconds later. Sean and I had apparently been too engrossed in our conversation
to hear anyone enter the house. Diesel had heard the intruder, though.

  The man, a stocky redhead about my own age, had sun-reddened skin and a mottled complexion. He stood several inches shorter than Sean and me, which made him about five nine, I reckoned. He wore scarred and stained cowboy boots with rounded toes, and his jeans matched his boots. His work shirt, a dull blue denim, was splotched with sweat, and he exuded the scent of a man who worked hard in the sun.

  “Who are y’all?” he asked.

  “We might ask you the same thing,” I said stiffly. “Do you usually just walk into houses without knocking?”

  “I did knock, but nobody heard me,” the stranger replied. “I thought maybe ol’ Martin was sick, and I came in to check on him.” He gestured at Diesel. “When I saw that bobcat, I knew something was wrong.”

  “He’s not a bobcat,” I said. “He’s a Maine Coon cat.”

  Sean took over. He thrust out his hand, and the stranger took it. “I’m afraid Mr. Hale is dead. He passed away while visiting his family in California.” He nodded in my direction. “This is my father, Charlie Harris. He is the new owner of the house and the farmland.”

  “Harris, eh?” The man looked back and forth between Sean and me. “I reckon you’re the grandson of ol’ man Harris who owned this place when I was a kid.”

  “I am,” I said. “You still haven’t told us who you are.”

  Diesel warbled loudly. He hadn’t approached the stranger, and I took that as a sign he didn’t think the man was anyone he wanted to know.

  The stranger grinned unexpectedly. He proffered his hand to me, and when I took it, he shook and said, “Sorry ’bout that, the ball and chain’s always getting on me about my manners. Gil Jackson. My farm’s just down the road a couple miles. I been leasing some of the land from ol’ Martin for about fifteen years now. About six hundred acres.”

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” Sean said. “According to the terms of my great-grandfather’s will, the house and land returned to his heir, my father, upon the death of Mr. Hale.”

  “That’s a hell of a note,” Jackson said. “Where does that leave me? I got crops on that land, and you’re not going to tell me that they’re yours now.” His face had reddened in anger, and for a moment I thought he might strike Sean.

  Sean remained cool and didn’t back away. “There’s a lot to sort out in this matter, Mr. Jackson. I don’t see any reason why your lease can’t continue. I represent my father.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet. He withdrew a business card and handed it to the farmer. “Call my office in a couple of days and make an appointment. Bring your lease agreement, and we’ll discuss this further.”

  Jackson appeared slightly mollified by this. I supposed I couldn’t blame him. He had leased the land in good faith.

  “Mr. Hale never told you that he held the land only for his lifetime?” I asked.

  “No, he sure as hell didn’t,” Jackson said. “He always acted like it was his, and he talked about selling it and moving to California to live with his family, as a matter of fact.”

  “When was this?” Sean asked.

  The farmer shrugged. “Probably first started talking about it a couple years ago. Told him I wanted first option on buying the land, and he told me I’d be welcome to have it.” He looked hard at me. “I’m telling you the same thing. You don’t look like a farmer, so I’m betting you want to get shed of it all. I’ll make you a good offer.”

  “I only found out about this yesterday,” I said. “I haven’t had time to consider what I’m going to do. This land has been in my family since before the Civil War, after all.”

  “Fair enough, I guess,” Jackson said. “As long as I can keep farming the land I got from Hale, I’ll make do. I got a question, though. Couple times I drove by here, yesterday and today, I saw sheriff’s department cars here. What’s been going on?”

  I left this one to my son.

  Sean said, “They’re investigating a suspicious death on the property. They found a body in the woods under a tree brought down by that storm yesterday.”

  “What’s suspicious about that?” Jackson asked. “If a man was fool enough to be in the woods during that storm, it’s all on him.”

  “I don’t recall mentioning that the body belonged to a man, Mr. Jackson,” Sean said coolly. “What makes you think it was a man who was killed?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “Ain’t no woman I ever known stupid enough to get out in a thunderstorm like that.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  I could think of several reasons a woman might risk going out in dangerous weather, but I didn’t think listing them would add to the conversation in any helpful way.

  “Have you seen anybody coming in and out of this house in the past few days?” Sean asked.

  I thought Jackson hesitated before he answered, but I could have been mistaken.

  “Naw,” he said in a firm tone. “Hadn’t been down this way in several days. Just happened to go by yesterday and today, heading into town for the wife. That’s when I saw the sheriff’s cars.” He shrugged. “Today I thought I’d check in on ol’ Martin when I came back by and saw two cars still here.”

  Diesel rubbed himself against my legs, and I rubbed his head. He didn’t like Jackson, and I didn’t think I cared for the man, either. There was something about him that made me a bit uneasy. I didn’t really buy his conscientious neighbor act, for one thing. Mr. Hale had been gone for a noticeable length of time, and it was only today that Jackson decided to check on him. I knew farmers worked hard this time of year, but had he been too busy to notice that Hale wasn’t around?

  Jackson glanced at the business card, still in his hand. He stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “I’ll be giving you a call,” he said. “I better get back to the field.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  Sean stepped to the door and into the hall. I followed him. We watched Jackson’s progress to the front door. He went out and closed the door behind him. We turned to look at each other.

  “What did you make of him?” I respected my son’s assessment of character. He had a lot of experience dealing with clients from various walks of life.

  “Hard man,” Sean said. “Will try to bulldoze anyone in his way, if he can.” Suddenly he grinned. “Not going to work with me, though. You can count on me whatever you decide to do with the property.”

  “I know that, and I appreciate it,” I said. “I have no idea what the property is worth.”

  “I was looking into that earlier today,” Sean said. “I came up with an estimate for what a sale might bring.” He pulled out his wallet again and extracted a folded piece of paper.

  I accepted it from him and opened it. When I saw the seven-figure number written there, I almost fainted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Sean grinned and shook his head. “I was surprised, too. Didn’t realize how valuable good farmland is worth. I checked the county tax office, and my estimate was actually a little under the appraised value.”

  “How would someone like Jackson ever raise that sum?” I asked. “Would a bank even lend that much to a small farmer?” I couldn’t imagine trying to borrow that kind of money. I had a comfortable income between my pension from the city of Houston and income from my late aunt’s investment, but I was not rich.

  “We don’t know that he’s a small farmer,” Sean said. “I’m going to investigate him, now that we know who he is. I think there’s another lessee, but I haven’t dug up the name yet. The few papers I have of the elder Mr. Hale’s aren’t that informative, unfortunately.”

  “Since Mr. Jackson turned up, maybe the other lessee will show up soon,” I said. “I’m surprised that young Hale wasn’t in contact with them, frankly.”

  “I suspect he was,” Sean said. “Jackson impresses me as a sharp operator. If he had any contact with
the grandson, I doubt he’s going to admit it. I wish we knew what the grandson was up to. His grandfather surely ought to have known he couldn’t get away with selling this house and the farmland. The deed is still in your grandfather’s name. I checked.”

  “Maybe he just liked to talk big,” I said. “I’ve known men and women who liked to present themselves as more than they are.”

  “Grandson may have inherited those tendencies,” Sean said. “If he did, that might be what got him killed. He might have swindled someone out of a big sum of money, got found out, and the person killed him.”

  That scenario sounded possible to me. “I wonder what his sister will be like,” I said. “Will she be honest about her brother and her grandfather? Or will she be like them?”

  “We’ll find out tomorrow,” Sean said. “I need to get back to the office. Are you going to hang around here for a while?”

  I thought about it, but I decided I wasn’t in the mood to examine the house for potential repairs. “No, I think Diesel and I will head home.” Diesel warbled loudly to signify his approval.

  We walked to the front door. Sean opened it and followed the cat and me onto the porch. I handed him my key to lock the door. A sound in the driveway caught my attention. “We’ve got more company,” I said.

  A battered pickup moved slowly up the driveway. Sean turned to watch with me. The driver, an elderly Black man, parked and extracted himself slowly from the cab. He used a stout stick for aid as he came toward us. He moved stiffly, and I decided it would be better if he didn’t climb the steps to the porch. I met him in the yard in the shade of a huge oak.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he said, his voice soft but roughened by the years. He glanced down at Diesel, who slowly approached him to sniff at his walking stick. “That’s the biggest kitty I’ve ever seen.” He returned his gaze to me and stuck out his free hand, his left. “Asa Luckney, and you must be Charlie Harris.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said, taking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Luckney. This kitty is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon.”