What the Cat Dragged In

by Miranda James

  The handshake finished, Luckney held out his gnarled fingers for Diesel to sniff. Then the cat butted his head against the elderly man’s hand. Luckney smiled.

  I noted that Diesel evidently liked Mr. Luckney, whereas he had remained aloof from Gil Jackson.

  “This is my son, Sean, Mr. Luckney,” I said. “He’s a lawyer in town.”

  Sean shook hands while Luckney gazed at him appraisingly. “Look like your great-granddaddy, young man. I knew him as a boy, and you’re the spittin’ image of him.” He moved his gaze to me. “And you look like your daddy,” he said. “Lot of your granddaddy in you, but you got your grandmama’s eyes. The sweetest lady I ever knew.”

  I felt the tears gather and hoped they wouldn’t fall. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a bit husky. “I loved her dearly.”

  Luckney chuckled. “Bet you don’t remember the time I took you and my son fishing.”

  I started to shake my head, but a memory began to surface. I recalled a boy about my own age, slightly taller and huskier, showing me how to cast a fishing line. A picture of the adult with us began to emerge in my mind, and I started to smile.

  “I do,” I said. “I can’t remember your son’s name, but he was really patient with me. Even stopped me from falling in the pond a couple of times.”

  “Levon,” Mr. Luckney said. “He’s got grandkids of his own now. He loves to fish.”

  “It was the summer I stayed with my grandparents for a few weeks while my parents went on a trip,” I said as more and more of the time came back to me. “I was about four years old.”

  “That sounds right,” the elderly man replied. “You was a little bitty thing, but scrappy.”

  Sean laughed. “I like that word scrappy.”

  Luckney nodded. “He was getting into all kinds of mischief, and his grandmama asked me if I could take him off her hands one morning for a few hours. He like to have drove her crazy, trying to help with the housework.”

  I had to laugh as I remembered my helpfulness. “I created more work for her, I’m sure. She had to go behind me and clean up wherever I said I had been helping.”

  “She loved you, though. You was her one and only grandbaby, if I recall.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I never had any brothers or sisters.”

  There was a brief pause in the conversation. I didn’t want to be blunt and ask Mr. Luckney if he had any other reason for stopping by other than to reminisce. I also wondered how he knew who I was, other than his recognition of my resemblance to my late father.

  As if he had read my mind, Mr. Luckney said, “You gotta be wondering why I stopped by today. You see, my wife and Miz Azalea been friends since their school days. My wife, Oralee, spoke to Miz Azalea last night and found out about Mr. Hale’s death and you getting the property back.” His expression turned grim. “Also heard about what happened to the grandson. Why would somebody want to kill him? He was a stranger here, mostly.”

  “We don’t know, sir,” Sean said. “The sheriff’s department is investigating. We discovered that someone, probably young Hale, had been living in this house for a few days, or maybe longer. Did you happen to notice anyone around here during the past week?”

  Luckney shook his head. “Not that I recall. Don’t come this way much.” He nodded his head to the right, the opposite direction that Jackson had indicated earlier. “My farm’s down that way. Didn’t have much call to come this way, ’less it was to give Mr. Hale a check.”

  “You are leasing some of the land?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Luckney said. “About a hundred and seventy-five acres. My son and I work it. Been doing so for twenty years, I guess. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “The leases will continue as they are for now,” Sean said. “My father only found out about the property returning to the family yesterday. Until everything is settled with Mr. Hale’s estate, and the investigation into his grandson’s murder, we’re not going to make any decisions about the property.”

  “Fair enough.” Luckney nodded. “If you decide to sell, I hope you consider selling me what I’ve been farming all these years.”

  “I will definitely consider it,” I said warmly. Mr. Luckney’s pleasant manner and tone had impressed me, far more than Jackson’s had.

  “Thank you. It’s good land for corn,” Luckney said.

  “Not cotton?” I asked.

  Luckney smiled. “Not in this soil. Better for corn.”

  I laughed. “That shows you how much I know about farming. I don’t even remember what my grandfather planted.”

  Sean extracted a business card and gave it to the farmer. “Here’s my information, Mr. Luckney. If you’d like to talk more about all this, please give me a call and we can set up a meeting.”

  Luckney stowed the card in a pocket of his overalls. “Thank you kindly.” He nodded in turn at Sean and me, and he once again offered his fingers to Diesel. The cat meowed and butted his hand. The farmer chuckled. “Miz Azalea told Oralee all about him.”

  “I’ll bet she did.” I grinned. “She probably told your wife about Ramses, too.”

  Luckney chuckled again. “Oralee can’t believe Miz Azalea is taking that cat home with her. I’ve always been partial to dogs myself, but this fella here is pretty nice.” He patted the cat’s head. “I’m sure y’all have plenty to do, so I’ll get on my way.”

  We bade him goodbye and watched his slow progress. Luckney waved once he had climbed back into his pickup. He turned the truck and headed back down the drive.

  “Nice man,” Sean said.

  “Much nicer than Gil Jackson,” I said.

  “Appears to be,” Sean said. “But right now I don’t think you should trust anybody connected to this property. Either one of them could have killed the grandson.”

  FOURTEEN

  After brief reflection, I had to admit that my son was correct. Even though Asa Luckney seemed like a nice man, I didn’t know that he was any more trustworthy than Gil Jackson. I had taken a dislike to the latter man because of his brash manners. Both men obviously had a strong interest in the farmland that now belonged to me. But would they kill for it?

  “Be sure and tell Kanesha about them,” I said. “Unless you want me to do it.” I opened the back door of my car, and Diesel climbed inside.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Sean opened my door for me, and he closed it when I got into the car. I rolled down my window. “Love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, when you’re not patronizing me.” I gave him a big smile and rolled up my window. He stood there laughing while I backed the car around. I lost sight of him as I drove down to the road. I knew he’d be right behind me in a matter of moments.

  He tailed me all the way into town, until the point came for him to turn down a street in the direction of his office. Diesel and I continued home. I checked the time on the clock on the dash. Azalea should still be there. I wanted to ask her about Mr. Luckney, and also about Gil Jackson. She might not know the latter man, but I was sure she could fill me in on her friend’s husband.

  Ramses greeted Diesel the moment we walked in the kitchen door, and he accompanied his big brother while Diesel headed for the litter box and water bowl. Azalea emerged from the pantry as I approached the fridge for a cold drink. We greeted each other, and I took my accustomed place at the table with the can of diet soda I had found.

  “I met Mr. Asa Luckney this afternoon,” I said. “He reminded me of a time when he and his son took me fishing when I was a little boy. I believe he said his son’s name is Levon.”

  “Asa is a good man, and Oralee has been my friend since we were little girls,” Azalea said.

  “I found out he has been leasing some of the farmland that belonged to my grandfather. I also met another man who is leasing land, a man named Gil Jackson. Do you know him?”

  “Only by
reputation, and it’s not a good one. You ask Miss Melba about him,” Azalea said. “He’s a hard man.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised at that, after meeting him. His manners are lacking.” I sipped from the can, and the cold liquid felt good doing down.

  Azalea snorted. “Manners ain’t ever met that man, from what I heard.”

  “Mr. Luckney impressed me, though,” I said. “A gentleman, I’d say.”

  “He is,” Azalea replied. “Oralee picked out a good one. Too bad about Levon.” She shook her head.

  “What’s wrong with Levon?” I asked, surprised.

  “Bad to drink,” Azalea said shortly. “Asa’s lucky if he gets that boy to work two days out of seven. Levon’s wife ran off years ago and left him with two teenagers, and one of them has two little ones now of her own. They all live there with Asa and Oralee.”

  “Goodness, that’s sad about Levon’s wife,” I said. “So Mr. and Mrs. Luckney have to look after all those family members and provide for them?”

  “Levon’s son, Junior, is a good worker, and so is his daughter, Ashanti,” Azalea said. “Their parents are no-account, but they turned out good despite that. Levon took after his granddaddy, Oralee’s daddy. Seems to want to drink his life away.”

  “Did Levon have anything to do with old Mr. Hale in his drinking days?” I asked.

  “Probably,” Azalea said. “I might as well tell you, although I’m sure Miss Melba will tell you the same. Gil Jackson runs a still, or so people been saying for years. Martin Hale used to be one of his best customers until he found the Lord and dried out.” She paused for breath. “I reckon Levon is one of his best customers now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I can imagine how that must worry his parents.” I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to deal with an alcoholic child.

  Laws on alcohol sales in Mississippi were strict and controlled by a state agency. Illicit stills no doubt existed in many counties around the state, as they had for decades. I was frankly shocked that Gil Jackson was rumored to be operating one. I’d better not find out he was doing it on any land belonging to my grandfather’s estate. I’d have to tell Sean about this the next time we talked.

  My brain shifted from this topic to the murder and the mysterious bones in my grandfather’s attic. They might not be directly related, I thought, but there had to be a connection of some kind. I would simply have to trace the relationships of the people who were connected somehow to my grandfather’s property through the years.

  What would be of great help was a timeline starting with my grandfather’s death. Then I would add in when Hale’s wife disappeared, when he went on the wagon and got religious, when he leased out the farmland, and so on. Then, when there was more information on the bones in the attic, they might fit in somewhere. I also wanted to know exactly when Mr. Hale’s son died and when his widow moved with her children to California. The grandson had spent his early years here, and he and his mother may have kept in touch with their connections here over the years.

  “Did you hear me?” Azalea’s voice broke through my abstraction.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I didn’t. What did you say?”

  She quirked an eyebrow at me, waited a moment, then spoke. “I was telling you about your dinner. Hamburger steak with onion gravy, green beans, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. Caramel cake for dessert. How does that sound to you?”

  Diesel, who had by now returned with Ramses in tow, chirped loudly, and I glanced down to see Ramses rubbing himself against Azalea’s legs.

  “Sounds delicious to me,” I said. “Do you know if Stewart and Haskell will be here for dinner?”

  “They’re going to be out until later,” Azalea said. “There’s plenty for them when they get home, if they want. If not, it’ll keep until tomorrow.” She looked down at Ramses and shook a finger in his face. “None of it’s for you, you bad boy.” She transferred her gaze to Diesel. “You either, Mr. Cat. You stick to eating your cat food for once.”

  I wondered what had brought on these admonitions about food. Ramses had been looking a bit plump lately, so maybe Azalea had put him on a diet. I decided not to ask, however.

  “Come on, boys,” I said, pushing back my chair and rising. “Let’s go to the den and leave Azalea alone. No more pestering her.”

  “Yes,” Azalea said firmly. “Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour.”

  “Thanks.” I made my way out of the kitchen with Diesel alongside me. Azalea had to shoo Ramses out of the room before he decided he had better follow us.

  In the den I went to my desk, sat, and opened a side drawer in search of pen and paper. I found a blank sheet, took up a pen, and inscribed Timeline in the center at the top. For this initial effort I would have to rely on the vague figures given me by various people. Then I could work on finding the exact dates. I started with my grandfather’s death and filled out the list, as follows:

  45 yrs ago Grandfather’s death

  40 yrs ago Mrs. Hale runs off

  25 yrs ago Hale Jr. killed in accident

  23? yrs ago Widow remarries; moves to California

  20 yrs ago Luckney leases land

  15 yrs ago Jackson leases land

  Present: Mr. Hale’s death; grandson Hale’s murder

  That was the basic framework I established, subject to verification. Did the bones in the attic fit into this timeframe somewhere? Impossible to know until after the forensic anthropologist had examined them and the sheriff’s department located their original site of deposit. If they did fit into this timeline, then there probably was a connection to the murder. Otherwise, the presence of the bones would be an odd coincidence.

  Sean might be able to track down the exact dates more quickly than I could, like the exact dates for when Mr. Luckney and Jackson had leased farmland from Martin Hale. I figured I could find the date of Martin Hale Jr.’s death online in the local newspaper’s obituaries. I decided now was as good a time as any to do that, so I turned to my laptop, woke it up, and connected to the public library’s databases.

  The local paper’s archives had been digitized, thanks to a grant from the Ducote sisters, and the search engine was easy to use. I found the obituary within a couple of minutes. Martin Hale Jr. had died twenty-six years ago, leaving a widow and two young children, Martin III and Alissa. No ages were given for the children, but given the date of the father’s death, they would be in their late twenties to early thirties now. Martin Hale Jr. had been only twenty-seven himself when he was killed.

  I made the correction on my list of dates. I had a dandy new scanner that Sean had given me for my birthday a couple of months ago. I scanned my list and converted it to a pdf. Then I e-mailed it to Sean’s work account. He was obsessive about checking his e-mail, and he called me about three minutes after I had sent the message.

  “What is this for?” he asked.

  “It’s a timetable,” I said.

  “I can see that.” He chuckled. “Now who’s patronizing whom?”

  “Point well taken. I thought it might help to set up a framework so we can understand the relationships of person to person and person to events. The answer to the murder of the grandson has to be somewhere amidst these connections.”

  Sean did not answer right away, and I knew he was considering what I had said. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, he said, “I think you’re probably right about that. This may not provide any answers about the bones in the attic, though, unless that person in life was connected in some way to this.”

  “I agree,” I said. “We’ll have to wait until the forensic anthropologist has had time to examine the bones. Who knows how long that will take, though? In the meantime, I think this will be helpful. Can you track down the dates of the land leases? And maybe get copies of birth certificates so we know how old various people a
re?”

  “I’ll get to work on it. I believe there’s information on the subleases of the land in some of the papers from the elder Mr. Hale. Right now, I have to deal with another, more pressing matter, though. Talk to you soon.”

  Sean ended the call before I could ask whether he thought we should share this with Kanesha. Coming from him, she might not be as annoyed as she would if I shared it with her. With a sudden laugh, I thought about how I used to help my grandmother when I was small. My grandmother had been far more tolerant, although Kanesha did occasionally ask for my help. I didn’t see her doing that in this case, however.

  I glanced through the list of dates again. One of them stuck out—the date when Mrs. Hale left her husband and disappeared. How would we find the exact date when that happened? We had only an approximate one, and that might have to suffice. Kanesha might know what happened to Mrs. Hale, and I wondered whether she would be willing to share that particular bit of information. I was ambivalent about approaching Haskell on the matter, given what Stewart had told me. Haskell might not know anyway, as his relationship with his family was an uneasy one.

  If the bones in the attic didn’t belong to the missing Mrs. Hale, perhaps her disappearance had nothing to do with the present-day case. Until we knew more about the bones, though, I had the feeling the current case wouldn’t get much further.

  FIFTEEN

  The next day found Diesel and me in the archive office at the college. I hadn’t heard anything more from Sean since I had talked to him last night. I knew he was busy with various clients, and I told myself I had to be patient.

  Calling Kanesha wouldn’t get me anywhere. Her usual attitude, unless she specifically asked for information or other help, was hands off, Charlie. I understood that, annoying as it was. I’d had an uneasy night, dreaming about those bones, worried that my grandfather was responsible in some way. I hoped Dewey Seton, the forensic anthropologist, had wrapped up what he was doing in Memphis and could now focus on this case.