What the Cat Dragged In

by Miranda James

  Melba had been busy with our boss this morning when Diesel and I arrived, and that provided another test to my patience. I e-mailed her to tell her that I had some questions for her when she had time to talk. I’d been at work cataloging books for two hours now, and not a peep from downstairs yet. I looked up from my work and glanced at the window behind me where Diesel liked to sprawl. He had an excellent vantage point there to keep an eye on dastardly squirrels and evil birds who might attempt to get into the office. He sat up, yawned, and then climbed down from the window. He walked around my desk and sat in front of it.

  Moments later I heard footsteps in the hall, and Melba appeared in the doorway. Diesel went to greet her, and she fussed over him, rubbing his head and scratching down his spine. He meowed happily and followed his friend when she came over and took the seat in front of my desk.

  “Good morning,” she said. “What’s up? Any developments? I read about the murder in the paper this morning.”

  “No, nothing yet,” I replied. “I’m hoping you can help me fill in some blanks, though.” I handed over the piece of paper with my chronology on it. She scanned it but handed it back to me.

  “I don’t know specific dates for any of this,” she said. “Some of those things happened when we were kids.” She shrugged. “You found out when Martin Hale’s son was killed in that accident, I’m guessing from the newspaper archive online. But there’s not going to be anything in the paper about Mrs. Hale running off, or the son’s widow marrying and moving to California.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I was hoping it might spark some memories; maybe you’ve heard things over the years that could tie in to all this.” I explained my idea about the chronology helping to figure out who killed young Hale and why. “It’s the connections I need.”

  “I can tell you a little about one person, at least I think so. Is the Jackson you’ve got listed there Gil Jackson by any chance?”

  “Yes, it is,” I replied.

  Melba’s lip curled in disdain. “He’s a jackass. He’s another one whose wife ran away because she couldn’t put up with him. Whenever I saw her, she had a bruise or two. They didn’t have any children, and one day she managed to get away from him and hop a bus north. I don’t know where she ended up.”

  I couldn’t say that Melba’s news shocked me. “There’s no current Mrs. Jackson?” I asked.

  Melba shook her head. “He’s had a couple of live-ins since then, but no one permanent. They don’t put up with his crap for long.”

  “Do you know how long ago Mrs. Jackson left him?”

  Melba considered this for a moment. “About twenty years ago, maybe.”

  “That makes two women connected to the men in this case who have disappeared,” I said.

  “You don’t think those bones belong to Mrs. Jackson, surely?” Melba looked incredulous. “I know two people who saw her get on that bus.”

  I shrugged. “That’s as may be. She could have come back without anybody knowing about it. Jackson could have beaten her up again and gone too far.”

  “Why would he dig her up years later and hide her bones in your grandfather’s house?” She shook her head again. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s far-fetched, I agree, but I’m simply exploring the possibilities,” I said.

  Diesel trilled, and Melba resumed her attentions to him. She had been too engrossed in our conversation to minister to his needs for affection. “When are they going to look at those bones and figure out how old they are?”

  “Hopefully today or tomorrow. Dr. Seton has been working on a case in Memphis, but he should be back soon,” I replied.

  “What’s Kanesha’s take on all this? Is she talking to you?”

  “No, not in any detail,” I said. “She did discover that young Hale was apparently living in the house. There was no sign of a car, however. They don’t know how he was getting back and forth into town.”

  “Somebody was giving him rides,” Melba said.

  I nodded. “The question is, who?”

  “Whoever had the most to gain from associating with him,” Melba replied.

  “Yes, but I have no idea who that is at the moment,” I said.

  “I’d start looking at Gil Jackson,” Melba said. “If there’s anything shady going on, he’s probably at the back of it. Have you heard about him and his bootlegging operation?”

  “Azalea told me about it last night,” I said. “I met him yesterday. I didn’t take to him.”

  Melba nodded. “What was that other name on your list? The other person who leased land.”

  “Asa Luckney,” I replied. “His wife, Oralee, is a good friend of Azalea’s.”

  “I don’t know him or his wife, but I know about their son, Levon,” Melba said.

  I could tell from her tone that what she knew was evidently not that good. “Azalea said he’s an alcoholic, or in her words, bad to drink.”

  “He’s been kicked out of every bar in town,” Melba said. “He’s a mean drunk. I heard that he’s involved in Jackson’s bootlegging operation. I imagine he gets paid in moonshine.”

  “His poor parents,” I said.

  “And his poor kids,” Melba replied. “Their mother is long gone, and their daddy’s a drunk. If it weren’t for their grandparents, they’d be on the streets begging.”

  Azalea had told me last night about Levon Luckney’s wife, and I hadn’t really registered the potential significance of it. Now I did.

  “That’s the third wife who ran off,” I said. “Do you know where she went, and when?”

  “I can’t remember who told me,” Melba said. “Better ask Azalea, since you said she’s friends with Levon’s mama.”

  “I will. She told me last night, but at the time it didn’t really click. Those bones could belong to Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Jackson, or Mrs. Luckney. Potentially,” I added.

  “Maybe you’d better talk to Kanesha about this,” Melba said, rising from the chair. “I’d better get back.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I said.

  Melba waved and turned toward the door. Diesel followed her into the hallway, and I heard her talking to him briefly. Then he returned to the office and resumed his spot in the window.

  I picked up my phone, intent on calling Kanesha’s office number. Then I paused. Would it do any good? She probably already knew about all three of these women. She worked with Mrs. Hale’s nephew, after all. And her mother’s good friend was the mother-in-law of another. Finally, she was probably well acquainted with Gil Jackson and his history, if the rumors about his bootlegging operation were true.

  I put the phone down. Then I picked it up again and dialed Kanesha. Maybe if I shared this information with her, she might at least tell me what she knew about these women and their present whereabouts.

  Kanesha answered after two rings and identified herself.

  “Good morning,” I said. “This is Charlie Harris.”

  “I recognized the number,” she responded coolly. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve found out that three women who are connected to the farm all disappeared at some point. All three of them left abusive or drunken husbands, and I think those bones could belong to one of them,” I said. “You’re probably aware of this, but I thought I ought to tell you anyway.”

  “Thanks,” Kanesha said. “Yes, I’m aware. We’re investigating the whereabouts of all three women, but I don’t have any satisfactory answers yet. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

  “For now,” I said. “And thank you.”

  Kanesha ended the call, and I set my phone down. At least Kanesha and I were thinking along the same lines, I thought. She had the machinery that could produce answers more quickly than I could, and I hoped she found those answers soon.

  I went back to my cataloging and worked at it for about half an
hour before my phone rang. Sean was calling.

  “Hello, son, what’s up?”

  “Hi, Dad,” he said. “How would feel about letting Mr. Hale’s granddaughter stay at the house? I don’t think there’s much money in that family, and she might not be able to afford a hotel for an extended stay.”

  “In my house?” I asked. “I guess so, I have plenty of room, and I suppose it would be a nice gesture, given everything that’s happened.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Sean said. “Plus it will give you a chance to find out more about the Hale family. She might be more forthcoming with you than she would be with the sheriff’s department.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked. “How come you’re suddenly wanting me involved in this? I thought I was supposed to stay out of it.”

  “I know you too well,” Sean said wryly. “You’re not going to stay out of it, no matter what I say, or Laura, either, so I might as well help you.”

  So you can keep an eye on me, I thought.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll call Azalea and ask her—”

  Sean interrupted me. “No need. I’ve already talked to her. Ms. Hale should be in Athena around six o’clock tonight. You can expect her then.” He ended the call.

  I was tempted to call him right back and express myself over his high-handedness, but then I saw the humor in the situation and laughed at myself.

  The clock informed me it was close enough to lunchtime for me and Diesel to head home for our meals. “Come on, boy, time to eat.”

  Diesel knew those words well enough, and he was at the door into the hallway before I was halfway out of my chair. We headed down the stairs and through the back door into the small parking lot. The archive and the library’s administrative offices occupied a restored antebellum home on the edge of the college campus. The much more modern library building stood next door. I opened the car doors to let out the built-up heat, and Diesel hopped inside.

  A few minutes later we were walking into the kitchen from the garage. Ramses greeted us. He always seemed to know when we arrived home. I supposed he learned the sound of the car and the garage door opening. Azalea must be upstairs seeing about a room for Ms. Hale.

  Lunch stood ready on the table. Slices of recently baked ham, potato salad, and a fresh garden salad. While Diesel went to water himself and take care of other needs, I served myself, watched carefully by Ramses. I cut off several small bits of ham and gave them to him, and he gobbled them down.

  I had almost finished eating by the time Azalea appeared in the kitchen. “Thanks for having lunch ready,” I said. “That ham is delicious.”

  “How much of it did Ramses and Mr. Cat have?” Azalea asked, sounding stern.

  “Only a little,” I said. “You know how they beg, and it’s hard to resist them.”

  Azalea chuckled as her expression softened. “I sure do.”

  “Sean told me we could expect Ms. Hale around six,” I said.

  “Everything’s ready for her,” Azalea replied.

  I was about to thank her, but she spoke again.

  “I been thinking about something,” she said, and I could see she appeared troubled now. “You remember I told you that Levon Luckney’s wife ran off.”

  “I do, and I also found out that Gil Jackson’s wife did the same thing.”

  Azalea nodded. “That man’s a pig. Ain’t no good woman ever gonna take up with him now. But I’m talking about Levon’s wife. Her name was Janelle. She didn’t have much family to speak of, and they’ve all died since she ran off.”

  “Do you have any idea where she is now?”

  Azalea shook her head. “That’s the trouble. Nobody knows. I’m thinking now those bones in your granddaddy’s attic might be hers.”

  SIXTEEN

  “How long ago did she leave?” I asked.

  Azalea considered for a moment. “About fifteen years ago, maybe. Her children were small, and I couldn’t understand her up and leaving them like that, even as bad as Levon was.”

  “She might have been desperate,” I said, though privately I agreed with Azalea. I could never have abandoned my children, but then, I hadn’t been in Janelle Luckney’s position, living her life.

  “Did she say anything to anybody about her plans?” I asked.

  “Not that I ever heard. I knew her mama. Her daddy’d been dead for a few years by that time, and her brother moved to Detroit a long time ago. He was about fifteen years older than her.”

  “Nobody saw her leave?”

  Azalea sighed. “Oralee told me they woke up one morning and she was gone. Not a word, even for her babies. She kissed them good night, like she always did. In the morning she was gone.”

  “No one ever suspected she could have been murdered or kidnapped, I suppose.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Oralee knew how rough Levon was. She and Asa tried everything they could, but Levon wouldn’t listen. He even struck his daddy down once, but he wouldn’t raise a hand to his mama.”

  “Kanesha is probably aware of all this,” I said.

  “Janelle was a couple of years ahead of her in school, and they were friends,” Azalea replied. “They didn’t keep in touch after Janelle started with Levon. He wanted her to himself.”

  That was never a good sign for a relationship, I thought. That behavior was typical of abusers who wanted to isolate their victims from any friends or family.

  “Did Levon and Janelle live with his parents?” I asked.

  “On their property,” Azalea said. “Asa and Levon built a small house at the back of the yard for them.”

  “Let’s hope that Janelle is alive and well somewhere,” I said.

  “Yes, praise the Lord she is,” Azalea said.

  I couldn’t think of anything to ask her, and by now it was time for me to be back in the office. I rounded up Diesel, gave a firm no to the supplicant Ramses, and the big cat and I drove back to the office.

  Melba reappeared during the afternoon, and I shared what Azalea had told me about the missing Janelle Luckney. Melba frowned. “Isn’t it strange that three women can just disappear like that and nobody makes a fuss about it?”

  “I agree, but there’s probably more to each of those stories than we know. The families may know more than they’re willing to share with outsiders.”

  “That’s true, I guess,” Melba said, “but I still think it’s odd. The one thing in common is that they all lived out in the county, away from town. Nobody close by to see what was going on, or what could have happened to them.”

  I hadn’t thought of the situation in quite those terms, but now that Melba had voiced it, I found it chilling. Those farms were probably several miles apart, making it much too easy for bad things to happen without any external witnesses.

  Melba and I exchanged glances, and Diesel must have sensed our mutual unease. From his position on the floor beside Melba, he meowed loudly. Melba stroked his head to assure him we were fine. After he quieted, she rose. “Back to work again. I guess y’all will be leaving soon.” She pointed to her watch. “It’s nearly three-thirty.”

  I nodded. “A couple of small things to finish here, and then we’ll head out. Have a good weekend, if I don’t see you before then.”

  She waved goodbye and departed. I finished with the book I’d been working on when Melba came in and made a last check of my e-mail for the day before packing up and leaving.

  On the short drive home, I thought about the isolation of those farms. I hadn’t considered that before. I grew up in town and had always lived in town. Other than brief stays with my grandparents when I was very young, I hadn’t lived on a farm with neighbors who might live several miles away. Would I, as an adult now, find spending nights in my grandfather’s house spooky at all?

  I figured I should test myself at some point. I couldn’t make an informed decision un
til I had spent time in the house. I might find I liked the quiet of country living. The odds of that were small, I admitted, but I wouldn’t know until I tried. Maybe when Helen Louise returned from her New Orleans vacation, I would suggest we spend a long weekend there. I knew she would be interested in seeing the house. Before we spent even a night there, however, I wanted someone to go through it and clean it thoroughly. All the bed linens needed to be replaced, for one thing. I didn’t like the idea of using sheets that had belonged to someone else for who knew how long.

  Diesel and I greeted Azalea and Ramses in the kitchen, and the cats padded into the utility room. Struck by a question that hadn’t really occurred to me before, I asked Azalea.

  “I can’t remember, did Aunt Dottie get any of my grandparents’ furniture or other effects when my grandfather died? I’m wondering if any of the things in the house might have been left there for the Hales to use.”

  Azalea nodded. “I was working for Miss Dottie when your granddaddy died, but she told me later on about the pieces she took for this house. There’s a list somewhere. She was real organized about it.”

  “Then I’ll look for the list,” I said.

  “Anything that looks old,” Azalea said, “is probably from your granddaddy’s house. I know this kitchen table was there, and some of the pieces in the living room.” She thought for a moment. “I reckon there’s a few things stored in the attic, too, that she didn’t want to leave but couldn’t find a place for here. She didn’t like to put anything delicate in the boarders’ rooms. Young men aren’t careful about things.”

  For years my late aunt had rented rooms to college students and gave them two meals a day for modest fees. She liked having young men about the house, but I understood why she wouldn’t want them using prized family possessions. When I inherited the house, I had continued per her wishes, but after my last college-student boarder graduated, I hadn’t kept up. For one thing, there hadn’t been any new applicants, and I decided the idea had run its course.

  I texted Sean a quick question about the contents of my grandfather’s house. He ought to have information on that. I would have to work on the assumption that everything there belonged to the Hale heirs now. I wondered if Alissa Hale would be prepared to make decisions about the disposal of the items.