“I came to pick up Justin,” Julia said. “He’s coming home to have dinner with us, and he’ll probably spend the night.”
Justin often spent Friday nights with his parents, and that meant I had the house to myself one night a week. At least until the spring semester, I reminded myself. My other boarder would be back from his semester abroad then.
“How is Ezra doing?” I asked. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?” I went to the fridge for a diet drink.
“No, thank you, Justin should be down any minute,” Julia said. “Ezra is doing okay. Very happy to be home from the hospital, naturally.”
“Good,” I said, popping the top on the can and having a swallow. I came to the table and sat down. “I’ve come across something interesting, and I’d like to talk to you about it, if you have a moment.”
Julia frowned. “This isn’t a good time, I’m afraid. I really need to get back to Ezra. Justin needs to get a move on.”
“I understand,” I said. “But when you do have a moment, it’s important.”
“Okay,” Julia said. “Perhaps when I bring Justin back tomorrow morning. It depends on how Ezra’s doing, though.”
“Of course,” I said. I had to be content with that. Julia obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Justin came clattering down the stairs then, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his hair over his eyes. “I’m ready, Mama.” He spotted me then and said, “Evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Justin. I’ll miss your company at dinner tonight,” I said, and I realized I meant it. I had grown accustomed to having someone at the table with me—besides Diesel, that is.
“Thank you, sir,” Justin said, coloring slightly. He bent to pet Diesel, who had reappeared in the kitchen the moment he heard Justin coming down the stairs.
Julia stood. “We’d better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Charlie.”
“I look forward to it,” I said.
Julia flashed me a questioning look, but she didn’t linger. I hoped she would have time to talk in the morning. For now, however, I would have to curb my impatience.
Diesel followed them to the door, and I heard Justin say good-bye to him before the door shut. The cat came back into the kitchen as I was checking to see what Azalea had left for tonight’s dinner.
There was a roast in the oven, along with a baked potato wrapped in foil. A pot of green beans on the stove rounded out the meal. I sighed in contentment. Azalea’s roasts were tender and delicious, and I looked forward to my dinner.
On the way upstairs to change clothes, I considered calling Rick Tackett, but I quickly rejected the idea. I could think of no reasonable pretext for calling him out of the blue—for he was probably home by now. Plus I knew such a call could get me into deeper trouble with Kanesha Berry. I discounted my chat with Teresa Farmer and the forthcoming talk with Julia. Concerning the latter, I figured it possible that Kanesha might talk to Julia before I did. She often didn’t bring Justin back to my house until lunchtime or after on Saturdays. If Kanesha talked to Teresa early enough tomorrow, she would probably get on to Julia right away.
My son Sean called as I was ready to go downstairs for my dinner. Instead, I sat on the bed and chatted with him for nearly half an hour. That was a long call for Sean. Our conversations usually lasted no more than ten minutes, but tonight I sensed that Sean needed to talk, and I wasn’t going to hurry him.
By now he had heard about Godfrey Priest’s murder, and I told him of my involvement. Sean, in his second year out of law school, worked for a large firm in Houston that specialized in civil law. He expressed concern for me, and I assured him I was fine.
He kept talking about innocuous things, but all the time he spoke I sensed an undercurrent. Finally, I decided to ask him outright what was wrong.
Sean sighed into the phone. “I don’t know, Dad. It’s a number of things. The job, for one. It’s not really what I thought it would be, and the hours are crazy. I work all the time.”
“It’s hard, I know. Those big firms work junior lawyers really hard for the first few years.” Now that he was talking openly, I could sense a certain amount of relief.
“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. It’s going to be years before it gets any better, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
That concerned me, because Sean knew he wanted to be a lawyer from the age of twelve when he first read To Kill a Mockingbird.
“You wanted to be Atticus Finch,” I said.
“I did,” Sean said. “I was pretty naive, wasn’t I?”
“Idealistic,” I said. “There’s a difference.”
“Well, it’s hard to hold on to your ideals when you’re working on cases involving millions of dollars and representing big companies who are trying to sidestep the law any way they can.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.
Sean didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it. I thought I might spend a couple weeks at Christmas with you, if that’s okay. Do you think Laura’s coming home then?”
“She hasn’t said yet, but I certainly hope she will. And you know, son, you can come and stay as long as you like. There’s plenty of room.” I didn’t dare be too effusive. Sean turned prickly over displays of paternal emotion. He had always been closer to his mother. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I’ll let you know when I can get away.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing you,” I said. I actually hadn’t seen him since his law school graduation over two years ago. He was always too busy to visit me, and whenever I suggested coming to Houston, he put me off.
We chatted a few more minutes, and when I put down the phone I was thoughtful. Sean was in distress, and I wanted to help him. I would have to wait until the holidays, though. I tried not to dwell too much on the possibility that he might leave Houston permanently for Athena. I didn’t want to be disappointed. By December he might change his mind about even coming here for the holidays.
Dinner was every bit as delectable as I expected, and when I finished I thought ruefully about that third helping of roast. I felt discomfort in my stomach, and I scolded myself for overeating. I put it down to my concern for Sean. I had always been a stress eater.
I had a restless night as well, partly because I’d overeaten, but in large part due to worries about my son. When I rose the next morning, bleary-eyed from not getting enough quality sleep, Diesel hopped out of bed, perky as ever. On mornings like this he reminded me of one of my college roommates, who invariably rose from bed chipper and happy. There were times when I could cheerfully have whacked him over the head and stuffed his body in the closet.
Diesel was safe, however. He was much too fast for me.
On Saturday mornings I pottered about the house once I had read the newspaper and eaten my breakfast. Sometimes I worked in the yard, and I knew a couple of the flowerbeds in the backyard needed attention. I was not the world’s most enthusiastic gardener, but I knew it would do me good to be out in the clear, cool air, engaged in a useful activity.
Besides, Diesel loved exploring the backyard. The lot was large, and there were plenty of spots for an enterprising feline to delve into in hopes of finding something fun to play with. As I weeded the flowerbeds, Diesel popped into and out of them, batting fallen leaves about and cheering me up to no end.
Near noon I decided to break for lunch. There had been no sign of Julia and Justin, and I hoped they would appear soon. I was eager to talk to Julia about the writers’ group.
As I was washing my hands in the kitchen sink, I heard the front door opening. Justin had a key, so I assumed it was he and Julia. Diesel scampered off. He would accompany Justin upstairs, I was sure.
“Good afternoon,” Julia said moments later, as she paused in the doorway. “You look like you’ve been working out in the yard today.”
I glanced down and saw the streaks of dirt on my old khakis.
“Weeding flowerbeds while Diesel stalked the jungle in search of dangerous leaves.”
Julia laughed at that.
“Come in and have a seat,” I said. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” Julia said as she came to the table. “We finished lunch a short time ago. Justin was anxious to get back. He has a paper due for his English class on Monday.”
I filled a glass of water from the tap and sat down at the table. “How are things?”
“Okay,” Julia said. “Though we had a visit this morning from Kanesha Berry.”
“I see,” I said. “I have an idea what you might have talked about.”
“How would you know?” Julia asked. “Is she taking you into her confidence?”
“Not exactly,” I said wryly. “But I did manage to find out a few things that she didn’t know.”
“Something to do with a writers’ group that I used to belong to.” Julia said it flatly. She looked annoyed, whether with me or Kanesha, I wasn’t sure.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why all the interest in something that happened twenty years ago?” Julia frowned. “I can’t see what my belonging to that group for a couple of years has to do with anything.” She paused for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes. “Though that is when I had my fling with Godfrey, the Lord forgive me, and got pregnant with Justin.”
“I can’t really say why Kanesha is interested, or why I am either,” I said. “But I do think it’s important. I never knew you were interested in writing.”
Julia shrugged. “I tried my hand at several things back then, trying to figure out what I could do besides being a preacher’s wife. I’d always made good grades in English, so I assumed—wrongly, as it turned out—that I had potential as a writer.” She laughed suddenly, a bitter sound. “I had visions of becoming the new Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt. Not only were books like that not being published anymore—unless you were Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt—but I wasn’t very good at writing them. Godfrey might have been a jerk in many ways, but at least he convinced me to stop wasting my time.”
“You weren’t interested in writing thrillers?” She had sounded sincere when talking about her writing, but I needed to be sure she wasn’t X and trying to put me off the scent.
“Heavens, no.” She laughed again, this time sounding amused. “I almost never read them. I never had a desire to write them, I promise you.”
“Good,” I said. “What about the other members of the group? Were any of them interested in writing thrillers?”
“Not that I recall,” Julia said. She thought for a moment. “Rick Tackett was writing a book about Vietnam. I think it was therapy for him, more than anything else. The other two women in the group were writing romance novels, and one of them was working on a western. The history professor—I think he’s actually teaching Justin this semester—was writing this horrendously awful historical novel about an oversexed druid in ancient Britain.”
“That’s six of you,” I said. “Were there others in the group?”
“Occasionally,” Julia said. “We had three people join for a brief time, if I remember correctly, but they never lasted.”
“Do you remember who they were?” I was thinking of the person lurking behind Julia in the photograph. “Someone who might have been part of the group when Godfrey spoke to you twenty years ago?”
“That’s what Kanesha Berry wanted to know,” Julia said, her head tilted to one side.
“Oh,” I said. “And did you have an answer for her?”
Julia looked at me for a moment. “There was this strange little man who came a few times, but he never showed us any of his writing. Shortly after Godfrey talked to us, he stopped coming.”
“Who was he?” I said. I had the feeling Julia was deliberately dragging this out.
“He was one of our classmates in high school,” Julia said. She paused for a moment, and I thought I would have to prompt her again. Then she spoke. “It was Willie Clark. He always was an oddball, you know.”
TWENTY-NINE
“Willie.” Of course, I thought. Who I had seen the day Godfrey died, scribbling away at something in the staff lounge.
Then I put another piece of the puzzle together. The misogyny of the books. Who had a reputation for it? Willie did. I remembered the conversation I had overheard the other day in Hawksworth Library. Willie didn’t like women, while Godfrey did.
Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions, but for me, that clinched it. Willie was the X who wrote the books.
And who had a powerful motive for killing Godfrey.
“Charlie.” Julia’s voice brought me back to earth. “What is it? Why are you so excited about Willie?”
I tried to restrain myself. I didn’t want to give away anything to Julia, not without talking to Kanesha Berry first.
“I can’t really say,” I told her. “But knowing that Willie was part of your group, even briefly, helps fill in some missing pieces of the puzzle.”
Julia scrutinized me for a moment, as if she were trying to read my mind. “It’s the oddest thing,” she finally said.
“What is?” I asked when she fell silent again.
“About Willie,” Julia replied. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I could have sworn I saw him at Farrington House on Tuesday.”
“You did?” This was even better—a witness to place him near the scene of the crime.
Julia nodded. “I think it was him. You know how it is, when you’re in a hurry and you catch sight of someone in the corner of your eye. I don’t think it really registered at the time who he was.” She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to visualize the scene. “As I was leaving, I was aware of someone in the revolving door, entering the hotel. But I was in a hurry to get to the bank and then back to the hospital, so I didn’t think much about it at the time.”
“And it was Willie?” This put both Willie and Jordan Thompson in the hotel. I knew Jordan had seen Godfrey. The signed and dated copies of his new book were evidence of that.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure, the more I think about it,” Julia said.
If Willie was the killer, he saw Godfrey after Jordan did. According to her, she didn’t stay that long with Godfrey. Then in comes Willie with a strong grievance over Godfrey’s treatment of him. Perhaps he had wanted more money for his part of the deal, or maybe he simply was tired of the anonymity of his position and wanted recognition.
Whatever the motive, he might have become enraged by Godfrey’s attitude and struck Godfrey down on impulse.
Yes, that sounded like a believable scenario.
“When you talked to Kanesha about the writing group,” I said, “did you happen to mention that Willie was a member for a while?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “She had a picture with her. Actually an annual report from the library. I had forgotten all about that picture. Willie was there that day, I remembered, but he hid behind me. At the time I thought it was peculiar, but you know how he was in high school. Always scurrying from one place to another, trying not to be noticed.”
“So the football team wouldn’t pick on him, as I recall.” Willie’s life in high school had to have been pretty miserable. “And Godfrey was one of the worst.” How ironic that was, if I was right about Willie being X.
“Yes, he was.” Julia sighed. “He really was an out-and-out bastard a lot of the time.”
“You need to tell Kanesha that you saw Willie at the hotel that day.”
“Of course. As soon as I get the chance.” Julia glanced at her watch. “Perhaps I’d better go hurry Justin along.”
“Are you going somewhere this afternoon?” I asked.
Julia nodded. “Godfrey’s memorial service. I promised Justin I would go with him.” She gestured at my clothes. “Doesn’t look like you were planning to go.”
The moment Julia mentioned it, I realized I had forgotten all about it. I checked my watch. It was 12:32. If I hurried, I could clean
up and get dressed and still make it to the service just about on time.
“I can’t believe I forgot about it,” I said, rising. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run upstairs and get ready. I’ll see you and Justin there.” So much for lunch. But there would be food after the memorial service, I remembered.
“Good. We’ll save a spot for you, if we can. I expect a lot of people will turn out, just out of curiosity.”
“Probably so,” I said. “See you soon.” I hurried up the stairs.
I met Justin on the second floor landing. He was wearing a dark suit and looking pale but composed.
“Hello, sir,” he said. “Are you coming to the service?” He eyed my clothes with doubt.
“Yes, just running a little late,” I said. “I’ll see you there. Was Diesel with you?”
“He was,” Justin said, pausing on his way down the stairs. “But he disappeared while I was in the shower.” He hesitated, as if he was about to add something, but then he turned and continued down.
Diesel was napping on my bed, his head on one of the pillows. He opened one eye when I came in the room, regarded me for a moment, then shut it again. His tail twitched a couple of times while I took off my clothes, but after that he appeared to be sound asleep.
Just as well, I thought. The memorial service was one place I shouldn’t really take him. I hoped he would stay asleep while I got ready.
I took a very quick shower, and as I was toweling off, I reconsidered my decision not to take Diesel with me. I remembered Justin’s hesitation before he went on down the stairs. This memorial service was bound to be difficult for him, and I guessed he might have been planning to ask me to bring Diesel. Cat and young man seemed to have a special bond, and Justin needed support right now.
Diesel could come with me after all. For Justin’s sake.
I dressed quickly into one of my own dark suits. Diesel woke up when I sat on the bed to tie my shoes. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Diesel hopped off the bed and was at the door in a flash. He knew those words too well.
Murder Past Due Page 20
