Claws for Concern

by Miranda James

  “I’m willing to talk to him to explore the possibility,” I said. “I have to be honest, though. On the whole, I think I’m still inclined to keep my accidental sleuthing activities out of the public eye.” I decided not to mention to Ernie that the local newspaper had thus far been circumspect about not including my name in articles about homicides in Athena the past several years. That was thanks to the reporter Ray Appleby. He had managed to enhance his own reputation, thanks to me, because Kanesha gave him exclusives on the cases. They both won acclaim, and I got to stay behind the scenes—exactly as I preferred. And now I was considering stepping into the public eye. Was I really ready for that?

  Ernie regarded me, her eyes narrowed, and I began to feel uncomfortable. She didn’t appear pleased with me.

  “Frankly, I think you aren’t quite ready to talk to Jack yet, Charlie.” Her expression softened. “Even though you just said you are willing, I don’t think you’re comfortable with that decision. Am I right?”

  She had read me well. I nodded. “You’re right. I’m still uneasy at the thought of being in the public eye suddenly.”

  Ernie chuckled, and that surprised me. “We’re back to the beginning, then. When I get back to Tullahoma, I can tell Jack that I met you and explain how you feel. He will probably try again, however, to persuade you.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “In the meantime I’ll think about it, and I might come to feel differently.”

  “No harm done either way,” Ernie said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry.” Ernie flashed a smile before she focused her attention on the conversation going on across the coffee table.

  I leaned back and let the conversation flow around me. I soon became engrossed in my own thoughts. I felt relieved that Ernie understood my hesitation, but underneath I felt foolish. Surely I was old enough by now to know my own mind? Why was I having trouble making a firm decision?

  Perhaps subconsciously I wanted the attention that would come if the public knew more about my role in the investigations in which I had assisted. Had I been hoping for that all along? Had I been suppressing a desire for acclaim?

  Much of this indecision had to do with my upbringing. My parents had always been proud of my achievements. I had made good grades in school and had graduated second in my high school class. I had even acquitted myself well in sports, though I never had the talent to play beyond high school. My parents had taught me that a gentleman, a man of honor, doesn’t push himself forward in order to get attention. His behavior and his deeds should speak for themselves. A man who goes around calling attention to himself, seeking glory, is no gentleman. And to my parents, not being a gentleman was a bad thing indeed.

  I had instilled the same beliefs in my children, and I found it somewhat ironic that my daughter had chosen to be an actress. Laura hadn’t performed simply for the sake of attention, I knew. She loved the art and the craft of assuming a role and bringing that character to life. If she had valued empty attention and accolades beyond other things, she never would have decided to become a teacher and stay in Athena with her husband to raise a family.

  Sean was thriving as a small-town lawyer. He had quickly come to hate practicing corporate law in Houston. Here in Athena he knew he was helping people who needed honest legal counsel, not a huge corporation, and that brought him great satisfaction. I was proud of him for his dedication to his work and to his family.

  Helen Louise called me out of my reverie, and I became aware that Clementine, the Ducotes’ housekeeper, stood by me with a tray of cake and cookies.

  “I’m sorry, Clementine.” I picked up a dessert plate from the tray and helped myself to a small slice of cheesecake and two chocolate chip cookies. “I was off in my own little world.” That is an understatement, I thought. The way my mind meandered these days surprised me, hopping from one thought to the next like a frog in a jumping contest.

  Clementine chuckled. “Not to worry. You just enjoy.” She set the dessert tray down on the coffee table and picked up the tea tray. “I’ll be back with more tea in a minute.”

  “Thank you, Clementine,” Miss An’gel said. “Now, Charlie, what had you looking so perturbed? I wish you could have seen the frown you were giving us.”

  “Looked awful serious to me,” Miss Dickce said. “Whatever it was.”

  “My apologies, ladies.” I glanced at Helen Louise and could see she was holding back a smile. I figured she knew what I had been fretting over. “I hope I didn’t alarm you. I was simply thinking about, well . . .” I paused for a moment as I sought the best way to express myself without being overly personal. “About having been raised by my parents to be reticent about certain things.”

  “Behaving like a gentleman, in other words, and not putting yourself forward unnecessarily,” Ernie said.

  She was a bit unnerving, I decided, the way she could read my thoughts, not to mention the way she cut right to the heart of things. I nodded. “More or less.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Miss An’gel sniffed. “Far too many people these days have no concept of manners or decent behavior.”

  “And far too many other people think it’s their business what everyone else is doing,” Miss Dickce said.

  “That’s how small towns work and probably always have.” Helen Louise smiled as she reached for a cookie from the dessert tray.

  Diesel, who had been extraordinarily quiet for several minutes now, must have decided to add his thoughts to the conversation right then. He sat up and emitted a couple of loud meows, followed by a trill. Then he went back to his relaxed position on the rug, having had his say.

  Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce exchanged amused looks, while Ernie Carpenter laughed aloud. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a cat talk like that before. I’m sure he was agreeing with y’all.”

  “He usually has to put in his two meows’ worth.” I grinned and shook my head.

  Miss An’gel, perhaps sensing my discomfort at having the conversation focused on me, changed the subject. “Speaking of gentlemen, Ernie, didn’t you tell us that young cousin of yours, Andy, I believe, has recently published a book?”

  “He certainly has,” Ernie said. “His dissertation has been published.” She glanced at me, then at Helen Louise. “He has a doctorate in medieval history, and he and his partner live in Houston where they both teach. I don’t have a copy of the book yet, but I’m heading to Houston soon for a visit and will get one while I’m there.”

  Helen Louise and I both said the appropriate things, and Ernie and the Ducotes talked about cousin Andy and his book for a few minutes. I noticed Helen Louise glance at her watch a couple of times, and I got the signal. Time for us to be going.

  When a lull came in the conversation, I explained that we must be heading out. I thanked the sisters, as did Helen Louise, and expressed delight again at having met Ernie Carpenter. A few minutes later, after Diesel had been appropriately noticed and petted, the three of us headed for the car and drove back home.

  We had barely reached the end of the long driveway at Riverhill before Helen Louise brought up the subject that had been exercising my mind most of the afternoon.

  “You’ve been having second thoughts about being a part of this book,” she said.

  “Second, third, fourth, and so on,” I said. “I thought that talking to Miss Carpenter and hearing more about the writer would help me make up my mind to go ahead with it, but I keep shying away from it.”

  “Because of the way you were raised,” Helen Louise said. “I understand that, believe me. My parents were the same way.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “I think you should go ahead and talk to the writer,” she replied. “If you don’t, you’ll always wonder. Besides, he could go ahead with the project without your permission. If he really wants to, he can find away around it.”

 
“And then I would find myself in the invidious position of being damned if I do or don’t,” I said. “Take legal action to stop him, thereby bringing the attention upon myself that I didn’t want in the first place.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Helen Louise’s tone expressed her sympathy for my position.

  I sighed. “I guess I’ll e-mail him and tell him I’m willing to meet with him, then.”

  “It will all work out okay,” Helen Louise said. “Ernie Carpenter seems to think a lot of him, and Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce obviously have great affection and respect for Ernie. We both have tremendous respect for the Ducote sisters and their intelligence. So, if you follow my chain of reasoning, Jack Pemberton ought to be a stand-up kind of guy.”

  “I don’t think that reasoning would hold up in court,” I said. “But for now I guess I’m going to have to believe that you’re right.”

  My parents would have understood that reasoning, and for the most part I did, too. I had to hope that Jack Pemberton, via Ernie, via the Ducote sisters, didn’t put the lie to it.

  EIGHT

  I e-mailed Jack Pemberton before I went to bed that night, and the next morning I had a response. He explained that he was teaching summer school at the community college and that it would be difficult for him to come to Athena during most of the week. He was free on Friday, if that suited me. I e-mailed back to say that Friday was fine. He could come to the public library, and we could talk during the time I usually took my lunch hour. That worked for him, and so our meeting was set.

  During the week I had plenty to occupy my time and thoughts besides the upcoming meeting with Jack Pemberton. I worked my three days in the archives at Athena College. There were two graduate students in the history department using materials from the archives for their dissertations, and they took up some of my time because I had to supervise their use of documents. Diesel, when he wasn’t sleeping in the window behind my desk, visited them to check their progress and to offer encouraging chirps and trills. Luckily they were both amenable to that, and I didn’t have to leave Diesel at home while they worked or try to keep him away from them. He had learned as a younger kitty not to jump on the tables where they were working, and I was thankful to have a well-behaved feline.

  The college library’s new director, Andrea Thomas, had a warm and ebullient personality. She had been on the job since the first of June, and thus far all the staff seemed to have taken to her well. I liked her, not least because she made no fuss about Diesel’s continuing to accompany me to work. She quickly earned the official seal of approval from my friend, Melba Gilley, who had been the Athena director’s administrative assistant for more than a decade.

  “She’s smart,” Melba told me after Andrea’s first week. “Plus she’s even better organized than I am.” That was saying a lot, because Melba had always been the best organized person I ever knew.

  With Andrea at the helm the library had now settled back into a happy, efficient rhythm after seven months of uncertainty and turmoil. I had no regrets at turning down the offer to be the director. Now with baby Charlie on the scene and another grandchild soon to appear, I had other ways to spend my time. I would keep working at the archive as long as I continued to enjoy what I was doing, and then I would happily retire. One of these days.

  By Thursday evening, with my workweek at the college library complete, I began once more to let my thoughts focus on tomorrow’s meeting with the writer. I had not made a final decision, but I was leaning toward declining to participate.

  When Diesel and I left home the next morning for our day at the public library, Laura and baby Charlie were in the kitchen with Azalea. I hated to leave the house while my grandson was there, but I would see him over the weekend. Diesel stayed by Charlie’s side until it was time to go.

  Teresa Farmer greeted us at the door and let us inside. A few minutes later, we opened the front doors, and several patrons entered. Among them was Bill Delaney. He nodded in my direction after I caught his eye, but he made a beeline for the chair in a far corner, the same chair he had used every time I had worked at the library during his visits.

  This morning, instead of working at the reference desk, I was cataloging and processing new books purchased from funds raised by the Friends of Athena Public Library. Their generosity and tireless efforts made a huge difference in the amount and variety of resources the library had to offer. The state library commission did its best, but lack of proper funding meant limited resources for the many public libraries across the state.

  Diesel stayed with me for a few minutes before he evidently decided that he would get more attention if he assisted Teresa at the reference desk. I knew Teresa would keep an eye on him and not let him get into mischief or let him be mishandled by anyone.

  I worked steadily until eleven fifteen. Jack Pemberton was due to meet me at eleven thirty. I had e-mailed Teresa last night to tell her I was expecting a visitor to discuss a project. I hadn’t told her what the project was, and she didn’t press me for details even though I knew she was curious.

  I joined Teresa and Diesel at the reference desk.

  “He’s been a good boy,” Teresa said.

  Diesel meowed to agree, and both Teresa and I smiled. We chatted for a couple of minutes, until a patron came to the desk for help with a database. I remained there while Teresa followed the patron back to the computer she was using.

  At eleven twenty-five, a tall, lean, bespectacled man entered the library. He appeared to be in his midforties, roughly a decade younger than I. I recognized him from the author photo in the book I had read. He approached the reference desk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Pemberton,” I said. “I’m Charlie Harris.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Harris,” he replied as he extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me to discuss my proposal.”

  “Glad to do it,” I said. “If you’ll follow me, we can talk about it in the back, in the staff-only area.” I moved from behind the desk, and Diesel came with me.

  Jack Pemberton smiled. “So this is your famous sidekick. He’s a beautiful animal. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his name, though.”

  “Diesel,” I replied.

  Diesel sniffed Pemberton’s extended fingers, then butted his head against the man’s hand. He warbled, which was his sign of approval. Pemberton had passed one important test without knowing it. Diesel appeared to like him.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Diesel,” Pemberton said as we continued into the staff area. I pointed the writer to a seat by the desk where I worked. Diesel remained near him while I made myself comfortable behind the desk.

  I offered my guest a bottle of water, and he accepted. After he had a drink, he capped the bottle and set it on the floor by his chair.

  “Thanks,” Pemberton said. “I know you have questions for me, but I thought I would start by giving you a more detailed description of the project I have in mind.”

  I nodded. “Yes, please do.”

  Diesel meowed, and the writer chuckled. “I guess your assistant is ready to hear more about it, too. I know you met a good friend of my wife’s and mine on Sunday, Ernie Carpenter.” After I nodded again, he continued, “I’m sure Ernie mentioned that Wanda Nell, my wife, and I also have some experience as amateurs involved in murder investigations. Wanda Nell and I haven’t sought publicity for our part in these cases before now, and we’re still not. I believe you said you had read one of my books?”

  “Yes, Hell Has No Fury,” I replied. “I thoroughly enjoyed it. I have to say that it was the first true crime book I’ve ever read. You write well, and I liked the fact that you didn’t sensationalize the truly tragic aspects of the case the way other writers might have done.”

  “Thank you.” Pemberton smiled. “I think the facts in these cases are dramatic enough in themselves, and reporting them is enough to make the
point. My approach is the same in each of the books I’ve written so far, and I don’t plan to deviate from that. Based on my research into some of the cases here in Athena, I’d say the facts of them are pretty dramatic, so they don’t need embellishment. The same is true of the cases Wanda Nell and I have been involved with.”

  My take thus far on Jake Pemberton was that he was a forthright, down-to-earth person. A stand-up guy, to use Helen Louise’s term. I thought him sincere in what he said about his work and his approach toward it. Because of this, I felt more relaxed with him. My reservations about participating in the project had begun to waver.

  Pemberton reached for his bottle and drank more water. “What I propose to do—and, of course, my publisher would have to approve, or I won’t be doing the book—is write about these cases and bring in the aspects of how amateur sleuths assisted the police. I’d like to write about two or three of them per book.”

  “So you’re thinking of a series of books, then,” I said.

  “Yes,” Pemberton said. “All these cases are interesting, but they’re not the long, drawn-out kind that I’ve written about before. I don’t think they need the full-length-book treatment.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I have to say that I find your approach to this interesting. My only real concern in this is that I don’t want to find myself in the spotlight afterward. I don’t want the attention this could bring.”

  “Understood,” Pemberton replied. “Wanda Nell and I don’t want that kind of attention, either. For that reason I am not intending to use real names. I would give you a pseudonym, just like I will be giving myself and my wife.”

  “That’s fine, up to a point,” I said. “But there will be people who read the books who will recognize the cases, of course. They might also know enough to recognize the real identities of the amateurs involved.”

  “That’s true,” Pemberton said. “I can’t do anything about that, so there is still a risk involved. There is another issue, though, that could affect this project. I don’t know about the attitude of local law enforcement in Athena, but in Tullahoma I know they’re not going to be eager to acknowledge the roles that Wanda Nell or I might have played in bringing the killers to justice. They want the credit for that, and for the most part, I think they deserve it.”