“If this works out as well as I hope,” she said, “you might get tired of me hanging around all the time.”
“Never,” I assured her. And with that one word, I realized that my feelings for her were much stronger than I had been willing to admit to myself before now. I felt a sudden lump in my throat and couldn’t speak.
Intuitive as always, Helen Louise was quick to respond. “The same for me, mon petit chou.” The warmth in her voice touched me.
My response was lighthearted. “I’ve never figured out how calling someone my little cabbage ever came to be an endearment, but it certainly sounds charming in French.”
Helen Louise laughed. “French is, after all, the language of romance.”
“Guess I’d better start brushing up on it, then.” I did remember how to flirt, it seemed.
“There will be plenty of time to learn, I hope,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice.
“The sooner you hire some help, the better.”
“If only the Athena Daily Register comes through the way I hope it will. Otherwise I might have to put an ad in the Memphis paper.”
“Good idea,” I said. I decided not to mention the fire or Damitra Vane’s murder. I didn’t want to spoil the mood. We made tentative plans for dinner over the weekend and chatted for a few moments longer, then she had to end the call to attend to customers.
I probably had a big, goofy grin on my face as I put my cell phone away. I glanced at my watch, surprised to note that it was 6:25. Time to get up and start warming up dinner.
I put the papers back on the desk, turned out the lights, and headed for the kitchen. Thinking back over my conversation with Helen Louise, I decided I might give her ad in the Daily Register a boost. I would talk to Melba Gilley, my friend at the library. She would be a good source for a potential employee, because she knew practically everyone in Athena, too.
Then I pulled up short. Athena Daily Register. Of course.
THIRTY-THREE
I hurried back into the den and turned the lamps on again. Then I scrambled through the short stack of notes until I found the one I wanted—the page headed “ADR,” with the strings of numbers.
ADR. Athena Daily Register. Why hadn’t I cottoned to it sooner?
I scanned the page.
MCA. Memphis Commercial Appeal.
The name of the paper was The Commercial Appeal, but locals often added the Memphis.
The strings of digits most likely signified page numbers with dates. For example, ADR 1-84321 might mean the first page of the March 21, 1984, paper. As I scanned down the page again, I noticed that 84 was part of all the strings of digits.
What had happened in 1984 that so interested Connor Lawton? Interested him enough to make notes of newspaper dates and pages?
Back issues of the Register earlier than 1998 hadn’t been digitized yet, and that meant I couldn’t access them over the Internet. I would have to check on the Commercial Appeal. Offhand, I didn’t know the status of its archives. Even if it were not available online back to 1984, I knew our public library had it on microfilm. Just like the Register.
The public library closed at six, so I would have to wait until tomorrow to check out my theory. Then I remembered that the last time I saw Lawton at the library, he wanted to look at old issues of the local paper. I had left him in the microfilm room that afternoon.
I felt increasingly certain about my theory. The library opened at nine tomorrow morning, and I planned to be there.
Time to head back to the kitchen to get dinner started—or at least heated up, I corrected myself as I replaced the page and turned off the lights.
In the kitchen I found Justin and Sean already at work on our evening meal. Sean stood at the stove, stirring the pot of green beans, while Justin set the table.
“Hi, Mr. Charlie.” Justin looked up from his task with a shy smile. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I said. “Thanks for setting the table.” I nodded in Sean’s direction. “And for taking care of the food.”
“Justin is starving, as usual, and I’m pretty hungry myself.” Sean grinned when Justin made a face at him. Sean treated my boarder like a kid brother, and I had detected signs of hero worship in Justin. He had even mentioned law school a couple of times recently, and I knew Sean had been talking to him about his experiences as a law student and then as a corporate attorney in a big Houston law firm.
I didn’t know if Sean had told Justin the reason he left his job in Houston and moved to Athena. I knew Sean still felt embarrassed over the situation, and we hadn’t discussed it again since the time he confessed it to me several months ago.
“You feel like going to tell Laura dinner’s about ready?” Sean gave the beans another stir, then replaced the lid on the pot. “If not, I’ll go, and you can fix the tea.”
“I’ll go.” I grinned. “The stairs will do me good.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Sean favored me with a sly grin, and Justin laughed.
“Just wait till you hit fifty,” I told them. “Then talk to me.”
“Fifty,” Justin said, his eyes widening. “Gosh, I’m not sure I can count that high.”
Sean guffawed, and I shook my head at them. “Careful, or I’ll send you both to bed without any dinner.”
With that I turned and headed out of the kitchen, not waiting for a reaction. Their laughter followed me.
I trod up the stairs, pretending not to feel slightly winded by the time I reached the second-floor landing. I really needed to get more exercise. Or cut down on my food intake. Or both.
Sighing, I turned down the hall toward Laura’s room. The door was closed, and I knocked a couple of times and waited for an invitation to enter.
I heard a muffled “Come in.” When I opened the door and stepped into the room, I found Laura in the window seat with her laptop—just barely in the seat, because of course Diesel had scrunched himself into the small space with her. The window seat was only about three feet wide and eighteen inches deep, and Diesel could easily fill the space on his own. Laura didn’t appear at all uncomfortable, however.
“Dinner’s about ready,” I said. “Feeling any better?”
Diesel meowed at me and unfolded himself from the window seat. Once on the floor he stretched and yawned before he padded over to me for a greeting.
As I rubbed his head, Laura responded to my question. “Not a lot. I’m still really upset about Damitra. There really isn’t even anyone to mourn her. I don’t think she had any family left, at least not any that had anything to do with her.” She sighed as she closed her laptop and set it on the floor. “It’s just so sad.”
I moved to the window seat and slid in beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder while I slipped an arm around her. She snuggled closer. We sat that way for a moment. Diesel stretched out on the floor in front of us, his head on his front paws like a dog. His eyes focused on us.
“Yes, it is, sweetie,” I said, my voice soft. “I wish I had the words to comfort you, but when something senseless like this happens, solace can be hard to find.”
“It’s all such a waste, Dad.” Laura sat up, pulling away from my embrace. She turned to me, her face three inches from my own. The pain in her expression hurt me, and I wanted so badly to make that pain go away. That sense of loss would remain with her, I knew, and only the distance of time could make it bearable.
I kissed her forehead, then stood. I held out my hand, and she clasped it. “Whenever you need to talk, I’ll be here for you.”
“I know.” Laura smiled as she got up from the window seat, her hand still in mine. Diesel pushed himself up, chirped at us, then turned and trotted out the door.
“I think he’s telling us it’s time to eat.” Laura laughed softly. “I’m actually a bit hungry.”
“Then let me escort you downstairs.” I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm, and off we went.
Thanks to the interrupted sleep of last night, I was ready for bed
by eight-thirty. With my stomach full of Azalea’s fine meal, I soon began to feel logy and knew that my bed was calling out to me. Diesel and I settled in, and I read for a few minutes. When I dropped the book the second time, I knew it was time to turn out the lights and go to sleep.
My hand barely left the lamp switch before I fell asleep—or so it seemed when I woke the next morning to the sound of my alarm. I hadn’t even had to get up during the night to go to the bathroom, and for a man just past fifty-one, that was an accomplishment. I felt much refreshed this morning, I decided. I threw back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.
Diesel muttered at me but remained in bed while I went to the bathroom. When I emerged to dress sometime later, he was still asleep. “Come on, lazybones,” I said to him. “Time to get up. You don’t need any more beauty sleep.”
He opened his eyes and glared at me, as if to tell me not to be so perky this early in the morning. Then he yawned and rolled over on his back to stretch. I rubbed his tummy, and he warbled for me, his good humor seemingly restored.
Diesel and I breakfasted alone this morning. I had a whole wheat bagel with low-fat cream cheese and coffee, while Diesel had to make do with only his regular food. After I finished my second cup of coffee and the paper, I sat for a moment to review my plans for the day.
Sean would again accompany Laura to campus. She didn’t need to be there until ten and would be done around three. I wanted to go to the public library to check the back issues of the Athena and Memphis newspapers to test my theory about the numbers among Lawton’s notes. If that proved successful and I did find something of interest, I had no idea whether it would have any bearing on Lawton’s death. I had to find out, however, as any good librarian would want to do.
Depending on what I discovered, I might call Kanesha Berry again. Though I didn’t look forward to another conversation with her, I hoped perhaps she might be a little more tolerant.
Right—and Diesel might start speaking French, too.
By the time Diesel and I left the house at ten minutes to nine only Justin had appeared downstairs. We left him glancing through the paper and munching some toast heavily laden with Azalea’s homemade scuppernong jelly. My mouth watered at the sight of that jelly, but I steeled myself against temptation. I had work to do.
At three minutes to nine, Diesel and I stood patiently in front of the unshaded main entrance to the Athena Public Library. The morning was already steamy, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back.
We didn’t wait long, for which I was thankful. Right on the dot of nine, Teresa Farmer, the head of the reference department and second in command, unlocked the doors and ushered us in. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said in her soft voice. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I said, and Diesel chirped his greeting. “We’re here to do a little newspaper research this morning.”
Teresa paused for a moment to scratch the cat’s head, then excused herself to put away the keys in her office. Diesel and I greeted the other library staffers we saw on our way to the room that contained the microfilms and readers.
I removed Diesel’s leash and put it on a table. While I did my research, he would probably go visit with his buddies among the library staff. I knew I didn’t have to worry about him here where he was universally adored.
I pulled the page of notes from my pocket and unfolded it. Holding it up, I began to examine the drawers of microfilm to find the ones containing the back issues of the Register. I would start there and then look for the Commercial Appeal. After a quick online check last night, I discovered that the digital archives of the Memphis paper didn’t start until sometime in June of 1990.
The first number was 1-84321 and, if I was correct in my interpretation, that meant page one of the March 21, 1984, issue. I found the appropriate drawer and then the box. Settling down at the microfilm reader, I prepared the film for reading. I was an old hand at this, and I quickly found the page I wanted.
I scanned the headlines. There was a report from the recent city council meeting and a piece on street improvements in the oldest part of town. All run-of-the-mill stuff, and I couldn’t see Lawton being interested in any of it. There was one small headline near the bottom, “Former Mayor Dead at 83.”
According to the brief article, only several sentences long, Hubert Norris, who had served as mayor of Athena for twelve years back in the early 1960s, had died at home at the age of eighty-three.
That didn’t sound promising either, though the name Norris rang a faint bell. Where had I heard it recently?
I glanced at the article again. The survivors mentioned were his wife, a daughter, Sarabeth Conley, and a son, Levi Norris.
That’s why it was familiar. Sarabeth’s father.
This had to be what interested Lawton, since he’d obviously known Sarabeth. But why?
THIRTY-FOUR
There were no other details about former mayor Norris’s death. The next issue indicated was two days later, the twenty-third. A Friday, as it turned out. Hoping for further information, I scrolled down the pages until I came to the first page of the issue.
Hubert Norris’s death was the main headline: “Tragic Death in Norris Family.” I noted with some surprise that the byline belonged to Ray Appleby. I hadn’t realized he was working for the Register that long ago.
That explained, however, why Lawton had the reporter’s name in his notes. Had he talked to Appleby about this? I would have to check with the reporter, though I wasn’t keen on revealing my connections with Lawton’s murder. I would have to, though, because I doubted Appleby would simply open up to me out of the goodness of his heart. He was a seasoned and shrewd reporter, accustomed to digging up information, not giving it away.
Norris’s death did indeed sound tragic. He had drowned in his bath. According to Appleby, a “tearful Mrs. Norris” confided that “Hubert found it relaxing to soak in the tub with a glass or two of whisky.” But “nothing like this ever happened before,” Mrs. Norris went on to say.
I winced at that latter statement, knowing that people will often say nonsensical things when in shock or grieving.
Appleby didn’t come right out and say it, but the inference was clear. Hubert Norris had had too much to drink, fallen asleep in the bathtub, and drowned. Did he have a drinking problem? I wondered.
I couldn’t recall anything about the family other than Sarabeth’s babysitting me when I was a child. My parents didn’t socialize with the Norrises from what I could remember, nor could I recall hearing Aunt Dottie talk much about them. By the time Hubert Norris drowned in the bathtub, I was married and living in Houston, the proud father of an infant son.
I had several sources for Norris family history, however. Helen Louise was in France at the time of Norris’s death, I calculated, but she still might know something. Azalea and my friend Melba Gilley could fill in any necessary blanks, as could Ray Appleby, if he were so inclined.
But why was Connor Lawton so interested in Hubert Norris’s death? It seemed like an ordinary tragedy and not terribly useful to a playwright.
Unless, of course, Lawton thought there was more to the story. But what could there be? Maybe that Norris’s death wasn’t an accident?
Hold on, I told myself.
Before I went too far down the road of idle speculation, I decided, I should check out the rest of the page references from Lawton’s notes.
I had to pull several more boxes of microfilm from the cabinets, including some of the Commercial Appeal issues, but once I had read through them all I had a better understanding of Lawton’s interest in the Norris family.
As I read I jotted down notes on the pad I’d brought with me. My eyes were tired and my neck slightly sore by the time I finished with the microfilm. I relaxed and massaged my neck while I read through my notes.
Ray Appleby, who continued to report on Hubert Norris’s death, wrote that there was to be an official investigation of the for
mer mayor’s death. Normal procedure, I supposed, in a case of accidental death, particularly of a prominent citizen.
There were several short articles about the investigation, and one about the funeral. That event evidently attracted notables from surrounding counties, and even a former governor and several state legislators. Hubert Norris had been well known in political circles, though the highest office he ever held was the mayoralty of Athena.
The articles grew shorter and ceased by the end of June. There were sparse details of the investigation, but from what I gathered the police and the sheriff’s department were eventually satisfied with the verdict of accidental death.
Why had the investigation dragged on for three months, though? That seemed odd to me. Unless the two departments were bogged down in multiple other investigations, I couldn’t see this one taking three months to resolve.
So why had it? That was a question I would put to Ray Appleby for sure.
The articles mentioned little about the rest of the Norris family. The first one had listed Sarabeth under her maiden name, but subsequent ones identified her as “Sarabeth (Mrs. Jack) Conley.” The son, Levi, was apparently a teenager, and that meant there was quite a gap in age between him and Sarabeth. No age was given for the widow, but after quick calculations, based on Sarabeth’s probable age of thirty-two or so in 1984, I figured Mrs. Norris was a good fifteen to twenty years younger than her husband. Perhaps she was still alive—another fact I might check.
I made a note to check the obituaries in the Register. Not today, however. I’d had my limit of microfilm. Later I’d start with the digitized versions of the paper, and if that yielded no result, then I would tackle the microfilm again. Another of the joys of being over fifty, I had discovered to my dismay, was that my eyes tired more easily now.
Back to my notes—the final two articles from the Register dated from the late 1980s and concerned Levi Norris. One was simply a mention in the weekly arrest reports the paper published—much to the chagrin of the families of those arrested, I was sure. Levi had been arrested for burglary in 1988, but I couldn’t find any further details on that incident.
File M for Murder Page 20
