Murder Past Due

by Miranda James

  Justin chewed for a moment, and after he swallowed he replied, “Most of the time we just talked. We argued, like I told you, but nothing weird happened.”

  “Were you in his hotel room most of the time?”

  “Yes, sir,” Justin said. “He said he didn’t want anyone bothering us, so it was better to be somewhere private.” He frowned. “That didn’t stop people from calling him, though.”

  “How many phone calls did he get?” These might be slim leads, but they were better than nothing.

  “Just two.” Justin ate a forkful of beans. “The first one was from his agent, he said. They only talked a few minutes, and he went into the bedroom to do that.”

  “What about the second call?” I asked.

  “Somebody else,” Justin said. “He went into the bedroom again, but he wasn’t there long.”

  “Did he say who it was?”

  “Not exactly,” Justin said. He thought for a moment. “When he came out of the bedroom he was muttering to himself, so I asked him if everything was okay. He said it was just some guy he knew bugging him about reading a book.”

  That didn’t sound like a clue to anything. “That was all?”

  Justin frowned. “Now that I think about it, he didn’t say book, he said manuscript. That’s different, I guess.” He paused. “I asked him if he read other people’s manuscripts and why, and he said he did sometimes because they wanted him to give them some kind of quote to use on the book when it was published. Then he said a lot of times people wanted him to read their stuff because they thought he would help them get it published. But he said this guy was a pest with no talent, and he wasn’t going to do it.” His face reddened a bit. “Actually the way he said it was a lot ruder, but I’m not going to repeat his actual words.”

  “I think I can guess the gist of it,” I said. Justin was very different from my son, Sean, at that age. Sean had delighted in trying to shock his mother and me with rude language. “So that was it? Just those two phone calls?”

  “Yes, sir,” Justin said. “Oh, I almost forgot. I did ask him about the guy and how he knew he had no talent if he wasn’t going to read the guy’s manuscript.”

  “What did he say to that?” As big a bestseller as Godfrey was, aspiring writers who wanted his help probably approached him all the time. Knowing Godfrey, he probably wasn’t that gracious about it, either.

  “He said he’d known this guy a long time, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Justin pushed a couple of beans around on his plate with his fork. “You don’t think somebody like that would get mad enough to kill him, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It depends on how desperate the man was. And how stable. Someone with mental health problems might respond violently to being thwarted.”

  “That’s pretty freaky,” Justin said. He set his fork aside.

  “Yes,” I said. There was something odd about that second conversation. “Which phone did Godfrey talk on? The hotel phone or his cell phone?”

  “His cell phone,” Justin said.

  “For both calls?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why would Godfrey give his cell phone number to someone he described as a pest?” That was what was bothering me about the second call. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

  “You’re right,” Justin said. “It doesn’t. He talked to me about his writing and stuff, and he said once his books started selling really well, he had people coming out of the woodwork all the time. He had his own security guards at his house in California to keep the crazies away from him.” Justin turned a bit pink again, and I figured Godfrey had used a much coarser term than crazies.

  “I’m not surprised. I’ve seen it happen before when really big-name authors have signed at the bookstore here in town. I remember one woman who held up the signing line to tell the author in detail about the book she had written. It was sure to be a bestseller, if only she could get someone to read it—according to her. The author politely—and tactfully—declined, but the store staff had to intercede to get the woman out of the line. Even then, she hung around waiting to accost the author again. The staff finally had to eject her. It was embarrassing for everybody.”

  “Sure sounds like it,” Justin said. His mouth twisted in obvious distaste. “But how would they find the person he was talking to?”

  “They probably could get a record of his calls and trace the number that way,” I said. “Of course, we have no idea where the person was calling from. There’s no reason to think he was here in Athena.”

  “That’s true,” Justin said.

  “You told all of this—everything you told me just now—to Deputy Berry?” I wanted to be sure.

  “Yes, sir,” Justin said. “I told her, but she didn’t say much, just kept asking questions.”

  “As long as she received the information,” I said. “That’s the key thing.” I stood up, ready to clear the table.

  Justin forestalled me. “I’ll clean up, Mr. Charlie. Why don’t you go relax?”

  “Thanks, I think I will.” I smiled and looked down at Diesel, who had been napping on the floor near my chair during dinner. “What about you, boy? You want to come up with me or stay here and help Justin?”

  Diesel sat up and warbled at me. He stretched a moment before getting to his feet and walking over to Justin’s chair. “There’s my answer,” I said. “See you later, then.”

  I left the two of them and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I wanted to change out of my clothes and relax with a book—the history book, not Godfrey’s novel. I wasn’t in the mood for it right now.

  But when I was comfortably in my pajamas, slouched into my chair, book in hand, I found I couldn’t concentrate on late antiquity. My mind kept returning to the murder.

  Was there someone else who might have a motive for wanting Godfrey dead? The mysterious Mr. or Ms. X?

  I needed to know more about Godfrey’s past. I needed dirt, if there was any. And I knew the right person to call. Putting my book aside, I retrieved my cell phone and settled in for a long chat.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The obvious person to call was Melba Gilley. With her healthy interest in the doings of her fellow Athenians and her long-term involvement in a variety of community activities, she was a prime source of information.

  Calling her, however, meant that I would have to tell her why I was so involved in Godfrey’s murder. If she had somehow heard that I—really, Justin and I—discovered the body, she hadn’t let on, and such behavior would be totally out of character.

  I found her number in my cell phone’s address book and initiated the call. She picked up after two rings.

  “Good evening,” I said. “It’s Charlie. How are you?”

  “Hey, Charlie, I’m doing fine. How about you?” She sounded as chipper as ever.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Is this a good time? Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Only some lame show on TV,” she said, laughing. “Sometimes I don’t know why I even turn the dang thing on, except it’s company. What’s on your mind?”

  “I need to talk to you about Godfrey,” I said. “I need to find out some things, and I figured you were the person to ask.”

  She gave a hearty chuckle. “You mean you called the biggest gossip you know.”

  I had to laugh. “Well, if you want to put it like that.”

  “I’m nosy. I admit it,” Melba said. “So what do you want to know? But maybe I should ask why first. Godfrey wasn’t exactly a buddy of yours.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” I said. “And if it weren’t for certain circumstances I’d be happy to keep my nose out of it.”

  “And they would be?”

  “First off, you know Justin Wardlaw is boarding with me,” I replied. “And I’m sure by now you’ve heard about his relationship to Godfrey.”

  “Yes, I have,” Melba said. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I remember how hard Godfrey was running after Julia back then. And frank
ly, honey, if I had to pick between Godfrey and Ezra, I’d pick Godfrey. Even knowing he was a class A jerk most of the time.”

  I started to speak, but Melba went on. “And her already engaged to Ezra. That’s what got me. Julia never seemed like the type, but I guess you never can tell, can you? When the baby was born, people started counting up, but it was close enough that no one knew for sure.”

  Poor Julia, I thought. Having to be the cynosure of all those suspicious people in town, many of them gleefully assuming the worst.

  “It was certainly a surprise to me,” I said. “I feel a certain amount of responsibility for Justin because he’s boarding with me, and I can’t help feeling concerned for him and Julia, naturally.”

  “Of course,” Melba said. “They need support right now, because I’m sure the sheriff’s department is looking pretty closely at them.”

  “They are,” I said. “But the other reason I’m concerned about this is . . . well, I found the body, basically.” I didn’t see any point in giving Melba the full details of the situation. This would be more than enough to make her eyes pop.

  “You dog,” Melba said. “You never said a word to me.” She chuckled. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Trust me, I’d rather not have been the one. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “No, I’m sure it wasn’t,” Melba said, her tone serious. “It’s one thing to read about it in a book, like one of Godfrey’s, but it’s something else to experience it for real.”

  “It sure is,” I said, doing my best to suppress that ugly image from reappearing in my head. “I guess you can see now why I’m curious about it all.”

  “Sure,” Melba said. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  “I know Godfrey came back to Athena on a regular basis,” I said. “He had quite a track record with women, like the episodes with Julia and Peter Vanderkeller’s wife. Are there any other outraged husbands or boyfriends or spurned women in the area?”

  Melba was silent for a moment. “The first one that comes to mind is the woman who owns that bookstore on the square. Can’t remember her name at the moment.”

  “Jordan Thompson,” I said. “I heard about her. Can you think of anyone else?”

  “The other one that comes to mind is Frank Ledbetter.” Melba sighed into the phone.

  “Frank Ledbetter?” Why did that name sound familiar?

  “My ex-husband,” Melba said.

  “Oh,” I said, too stunned for the moment to say anything else.

  “I know,” Melba said, sounding sheepish. “It’s not something I’m proud of, let me tell you. But I had a brief fling with Godfrey about ten years ago, and it cost me my marriage.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.” Poor Melba. I knew she was divorced, but that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge.

  “Frank and I were going through a bad patch,” Melba said. “Old, old story. And here comes Godfrey on a book tour. I went to hear him talk, there were some sparks, and I went out to dinner with him afterward. And you can guess the rest.”

  I could, but I was curious about one thing. “I do have to ask you one question.”

  “Shoot,” Melba said.

  “Did Godfrey hang around town while you had this, er, relationship?”

  “I wasn’t stupid enough to run off to California with him, thank the Lord,” Melba said. “Yeah, Athena was the last stop on his tour, and he was planning to stay here for a couple of months, doing research for a book.”

  “And when he finished, he went back to California?”

  “And I stayed here,” Melba said. “By then I’d realized what a fool I’d made of myself, and poor Frank, too. He filed for divorce right away.”

  “Another question,” I said, “and forgive me for asking it, but I have to. Did either you or Frank hate Godfrey enough to kill him?”

  “Ten years ago Frank was ready to skin him alive—and he loved to hunt,” Melba said. “But by the time Godfrey came back to town a couple years later, Frank was remarried.”

  “And you?” I prompted her gently.

  “I hated him, too,” Melba said. “But I hated myself more, let me tell you. I learned my lesson from that.” She laughed, a little wildly, I thought. “I got back at Godfrey in my own way, though.”

  “How so?” I was almost afraid to ask, uncertain of what I would hear.

  “I took every one of his books I owned and sat down in front of the fireplace. I ripped out every page, one by one, and burned them. It felt pretty good, though of course I don’t normally hold with burning books.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I said, trying to ease the tension a little. “Especially since you work in a library.”

  She laughed, and I felt relieved. I couldn’t completely cross her off the suspect list, but it sounded to me like she had worked through her feelings.

  I wondered if things might be awkward between us at work after her confession, and I hoped they wouldn’t be. I liked Melba. Her sunny, upbeat disposition made her fun to be around, and I would hate for her to feel embarrassed with me.

  “I appreciate you telling me all this,” I said.

  “No big deal,” Melba said, though her tone belied the words. “I figured somebody was bound to bring it up sooner or later, and I’d rather you heard it from me.”

  It was time to move on. “Can you think of anybody else?” I didn’t want to say it, but Godfrey, I was sure, probably found a different, but willing, woman whenever he popped back into town for a visit.

  “Besides Julia, the bookstore lady, and me?” Melba snorted. “The notches that man must have had on his bed. Well, there is one more that I know of. Janette Turnipseed.”

  “That’s an odd name,” I said. “I don’t recall anybody by that name.”

  “No reason you should,” Melba said. “She was a professor at Athena, a post-doc in the English department. She was here about six years ago. Godfrey spent three months here one fall in that writer-in-residence program they have, and apparently they had quite an affair.”

  “She left after her post-doc?” I said.

  “Before it was finished,” Melba replied. “Poor woman. She left at the end of the fall semester. I think I heard she went to some school out in Nebraska or Oklahoma.”

  “Why did women keep falling for him? Surely they knew about his past?” I realized my questions could be insulting, but Melba seemed not to take them that way.

  “He could be incredibly charming when he wanted to,” Melba said. “He’d focus those eyes on you, and suddenly you felt like the most desirable woman in the world.” She laughed. “Listen to me. I sound like a teenager. But he made me feel that way.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said wryly. “I’ve been reading his new book, and I have to say, the way he writes about women makes him seem like a misogynist.”

  “That’s the weird thing,” Melba said. “I got that from his books, too, but in person he wasn’t like that. I think he truly liked women, and that was his problem. He liked them so much he couldn’t limit himself to one, or even one at a time.”

  “Then I wonder why he wrote about them with such disdain?”

  “Only his shrink knows for sure,” Melba said.

  Diesel appeared in the doorway and ambled over to my chair. He leaped into my lap, and I tried not to wince from the impact. I grunted into the phone anyway.

  “Are you okay?” Melba asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a bit winded from being the landing spot for a large cat.”

  Melba laughed. “I can see it now. He’s pretty big for a lap kitty.”

  “Try to tell him that,” I said as I shifted in the chair to redistribute some of Diesel’s weight. “Okay, now I can breathe again.”

  Diesel chirped at me, and I rubbed his head with my free hand. He would be happy to sit like this for an hour or two—or until my hand cramped and my legs went to sleep, that is.

  He l
aid his head against my chest, and when he did that, I forgave him everything. He was such a loving companion, and if it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what I would have done the past couple of years.

  “Thanks for all the information,” I said. “So far, though, I don’t think any of these people—especially you—sounds like a good suspect, though. Can you think of anyone else? I believe Godfrey’s parents have passed away, but did he have any other family?”

  “Some distant cousins, I think,” Melba said. “On his father’s side. But they live in south Alabama. I don’t think Godfrey’s parents had much contact with them, though.”

  I was about to ask another question when Melba continued.

  “The only other one I can think of is his half brother,” she said.

  “Half brother?” That was news to me. I didn’t remember ever hearing that Godfrey had any siblings.

  “Yeah, he’s about ten years older. Godfrey’s mother was married to someone else before she married Mr. Priest.”

  “I never knew that,” I said. “And I sure didn’t know about a half brother.”

  “You know him. You just don’t know you know him,” Melba said, an impish tone in her voice.

  “Okay, I give. Who is it?” I said. I really had no idea.

  “Rick Tackett, the operations manager.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “So Rick is Godfrey’s half brother,” I said.

  Was that why he was so interested in the value of Godfrey’s papers?

  “Yeah, I guess a lot of people probably don’t know that. I don’t think they ever had much to do with each other,” Melba said. “What I heard was that the boys’ mama left her first husband, Mr. Tackett, and Rick for Godfrey’s daddy. This was back in the fifties, and I reckon it was a real scandal for a while.”

  “She left both her first husband and her son?” I said. “That’s really sad for the son.”

  “I know,” Melba said. “I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Rick on account of it. His daddy wouldn’t let him have anything to do with his mama. But apparently Godfrey took after his daddy in a lot of ways.”