The newspaper lay on the table. I normally read it while I ate, but not with company at the table—even though Sean didn’t seem disposed to make conversation.
We ate in silence for several minutes. I complimented Sean once on the soft, buttery eggs, and he acknowledged my words with a nod and a smile.
Then Sean said, “I thought I heard the phone ring last night. It wasn’t Laura, was it?”
I had planned to tell him about the call but wanted to wait until I had some coffee and my breakfast before I did. The whole thing still seemed slightly unreal, and I thought caffeine and food would help ground me in reality.
“No, it wasn’t.” I had one more sip of coffee. “The caller warned me not to go back to the Delacorte mansion and threatened me if I did.”
“What?” Sean almost dropped his fork. He put it down on his plate. “What did he say?”
I repeated the brief conversation, and Sean’s face hardened in anger. “That’s it, then. Don’t go back to that house, Dad.”
“Let me tell you the rest of it,” I said. I finished the story with my call to Kanesha and her reaction when I gave her the number from the caller ID.
“That’s freakin’ nuts,” Sean said. “I mean it; you need to stay the heck away from those loons.” He rubbed his head hard with his right hand. I think if his hair hadn’t been cut so short, he would have been pulling at it now.
“I’ll admit that was my first reaction too, but the more I thought about it, I decided I had to finish the job Mr. Delacorte hired me to do.”
I could see that didn’t go over well. If anything, Sean’s face got darker. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you? I know how stubborn you are when you make up your mind to do something.”
I regarded him with a smile. “Yes, like another member of the family, whose name begins with S. Any idea who that might be?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. Stubbornness was one trait he definitely inherited from me.
He grunted. I hadn’t heard that sound from him since he was about sixteen. At that age, he would grunt in deep exasperation at my general cluelessness and then go stomping off to his room.
To his credit, he would usually emerge within a half hour and offer a sheepish apology.
He didn’t get up from the table and disappear. Instead he sat and glared at me.
“No, I’m not going to change my mind,” I said. “For one thing, I imagine there are going to be police and sheriff’s deputies in the house while the investigation is in progress. And for another, I am hoping you still plan to come. I really could use your help.”
“I guess I’m going to have to,” Sean said in a grudging tone.
“Thanks.” I resumed eating.
Sean scowled at me, but he didn’t argue any further with me.
When I finished breakfast, I put my plate and silverware in the dishwasher. “I’m going up to shower and get dressed,” I said. “We need to be there a few minutes before ten, so be ready to go by nine-thirty.”
“I’ll be ready.” Sean popped the last bit of toast into his mouth.
Diesel followed me upstairs and napped on the bed while I showered.
True to his word, Sean was dressed when I came downstairs around nine-thirty. He wore a suit, sans the tie, and he looked smart and professional—and very handsome. I felt a surge of pride as I regarded him.
Dante sat at Sean’s feet, leash attached to his collar. “Okay,” I said. “Let me get Diesel into his harness, and we’ll go.”
Fifteen minutes later I parked in the driveway behind an older model Cadillac that had to belong to Q. C. Pendergrast. It seeming a fitting car for such an outsize personality.
By the time Sean and I reached the front door with our four-legged friends, Truesdale was there to greet us.
After we stepped inside and Truesdale shut the door, I introduced Sean. “And this is Dante.”
Truesdale shot a sour glance at the two animals, but he didn’t comment.
“Mr. Pendergrast and Miss Pendergrast are waiting for you in the small parlor.” Truesdale gestured toward the room where Sean and I were yesterday. We followed the butler, and he opened the door to announce us. He stood aside as we entered and then shut the door behind us.
Q. C. Pendergrast stood before the fireplace, and he turned toward us as we approached. Alexandra sat to one side in an armchair upholstered in leather the color of dark blood.
Pendergrast nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Harris, and the younger Mr. Harris as well. I see you’ve brought your assistants.” He chuckled.
Alexandra maintained a bland expression, but I caught a flash of something—irritation, interest?—when Sean stepped past me with Dante.
“Was it necessary to bring the dog as well as the cat?” Alexandra stood. “This house is full of expensive rugs and carpeting, and I hardly think the family—”
Sean interrupted her. “Will want a dog peeing on the floor. Yes, I’m sure you’re right, but Dante won’t be peeing on anything here, except the grass outside. He’s well trained, and I plan to make sure he goes outside whenever he needs to. Is that satisfactory, Miss Pendergrast?”
I winced a little at the sharpness of Sean’s tone, while Q. C. Pendergrast pursed his lips. Alexandra, however, flushed bright red. “That is satisfactory, Mr. Harris. See that you keep an eye on it.”
“Him, Miss Pendergrast. Dante is a male.” Sean glowered at her.
“Time to settle down to business.” The elder Pendergrast’s tone was pleasant, but it was clear he would brook no further argument. Alexandra sat down, and Sean stood beside me, arms folded across his chest. “Why don’t y’all have a seat? We need to talk briefly before I present James’s will to the family.”
Sean and I took a sofa that stood perpendicular to the fireplace and that faced Alexandra. Diesel sat by my feet. He was busy looking around, and I knew he would like the chance to explore this room. Dante hopped up into Sean’s lap, turned around a couple of times, then curled up and quivered. Sean stroked him lightly.
“As we will be working together, perhaps you won’t mind if I dispense with calling you Mr. Harris and address you as Charles instead?” Pendergrast smiled. “Just call me Q.C.”
“Charlie is fine,” I said. I really couldn’t see myself referring to him as anything other than “Mr. Pendergrast” because of my Southern programming. Like generations of my forebears, I’d been reared to address my elders with respect. I had a hard time using an elder’s given name in a casual fashion and still used “sir” and “ma’am” when addressing them.
“Good.” Pendergrast nodded. “Here’s what will happen in a few minutes.
“I will introduce you as my coexecutor, but I will wait until I reach the pertinent clause in the will before I explain that you’ll continue with the inventory, as James wanted.”
“I’m pretty sure at least one family member already knows I’ll be doing that.” I rubbed Diesel’s head to keep him near me. He was showing signs of restlessness.
Pendergrast frowned. “What do you mean? Has one of them been in contact with you?”
“Last night I received a threatening phone call,” I said. “At first I didn’t take it seriously. But when I reported it to Deputy Berry, she told me the caller used the phone in Mr. Delacorte’s bedroom.”
“A room that had been sealed by the sheriff’s department,” Sean said. He shifted in his chair, disturbing Dante. The dog grunted and lifted his head before he settled down again. “Seems to me a family member had to be the caller.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Pendergrast shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on the heels of his cowboy boots. “James was right not to trust his family, and I suspect we’ll soon find out one of them killed him. It could be any one of them, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Father.” Alexandra packed considerable force into that one word. “You must be careful about saying things like that. Consider the implications.”
Pendergrast t
hrew an affectionate glance at his daughter. “I surely don’t think Charlie or his son here will go running to the press and start quoting my opinion to all and sundry.”
“Certainly not.” Sean glared at Alexandra.
Alexandra glared right back at him as she leaned forward in her chair. “Did I accuse either you or your father of intent to do such a thing? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Alexandra.” The tone of paternal command in that one word caused Alexandra to subside.
I glanced at Sean and saw him struggling not to smile at the young woman’s discomfiture. I shook my head at him, but he only quirked an eyebrow at me.
Sean’s antagonism toward Alexandra Pendergrast puzzled me. He appeared to have an antipathy to women lawyers, and I wondered whether that had something to do with his decision to quit his job and come to Mississippi. I filed that thought away for further consideration.
“We have strayed from the point.” The wry note in Pendergrast’s voice amused me. “I do believe that a member of the family is involved in James’s death, in an unlawful way. I also have every confidence in the abilities of Ms. Berry to find the truth and arrest the guilty party.”
“She is a very capable officer,” I said. “I have cause to know.”
“Yes, I seem to recall that you were involved in a murder investigation back last autumn.” Pendergrast nodded and glanced at his watch. “Time to meet with the family and read the will. As I said before, I won’t tell the family you will be continuing the inventory until I reach that provision. I expect that might bring interesting reactions—as if the rest of the will won’t.” He shook his head. “There’s bound to be great weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, as the Good Book says. James changed his will significantly just last week, though I advised him against it.”
I rose and followed Pendergrast toward the door. “No, you stay here,” I told Diesel. He meowed in complaint, but I repeated my words in a firmer tone. He turned his back to me.
Neither Sean nor Alexandra spoke as Pendergrast and I exited the room. I wouldn’t mind having a recording of what transpired in the smaller parlor while Pendergrast and I were with the family. I hoped they could manage to get along until the reading of the will was done.
I realized I was trying hard not to think about the scene about to ensue with the Delacorte family as Pendergrast knocked at the doors to the large front parlor. I disliked confrontations, and Pendergrast had already predicted histrionics in response to James Delacorte’s will.
The situation was increasingly coming to resemble the plot of an Agatha Christie novel, complete with a body in the library. Would I spot the clues properly, or would I end up being chagrined at overlooking the important ones when the solution to “whodunit” was revealed?
Then an unpleasant thought struck me. What if the terms of the will made someone angry enough to kill again?
NINETEEN
Q. C. Pendergrast strode confidently across the hall to the front parlor, where he headed for the massive fireplace against the wall shared with the library.
I trailed in his wake like a dory attached to the QE2. I knew there were people in the room, but at the moment I concentrated all my attention on the lawyer. If I focused on Pendergrast, I reasoned, I wouldn’t have to think as much about potential histrionics among the family members.
Pendergrast halted before the fireplace and faced his audience. I took position about four feet to his right, beyond the edge of the mantel, while the lawyer cleared his throat.
“Morning, everyone. I regret having to meet with you under such sad circumstances, especially when I know y’all are in mourning for a beloved member of the family.” Pendergrast smiled, and the image of a wolf stalking its prey popped into my head. “I’m sure y’all are wondering why Mr. Charles Harris, here, is with me. James named Mr. Harris my coexecutor, so there is an official reason for his presence.”
I heard an indrawn breath from a person in the room when Pendergrast introduced me, but when I turned to survey the family, I couldn’t tell from whom the sound originated.
“Good morning,” I said. “Please allow me to express my deepest sympathies for your loss.” I could have said more, but I tended to babble in situations like this. Better to dam the flow before it started.
Pendergrast made a few further preliminary remarks, and while he spoke, I made as discreet an examination as I could of the family. I wanted to try to gauge their emotions.
The first person I examined was Eloise Morris. I wasn’t all that surprised to see that she was once again garbed in full Scarlett O’Hara regalia. This time the dress was made of some blue material, probably satin. She sat with her voluminous skirt spread about her. She gazed intently at Pendergrast. He still spoke in platitudes, and I tuned him out while I continued my perusal.
Hubert Morris occupied the sofa about three feet from his wife. Today he wore an outmoded suit of fabric shiny from age and wear. He blinked often and held a handkerchief to his eyes, dabbing at tears. Crocodile? Or genuine? I wondered.
Daphne, Hubert’s mother, reclined on the other sofa parallel to his. She rubbed at her forehead with one hand while the other clutched at her throat—exactly the same as I had seen on Saturday. Soft moans issued forth as she continued to minister to herself. No one else in the room seemed to be paying her the slightest attention.
Truesdale hovered discreetly near Daphne but did not appear unduly concerned by the woman’s seeming distress. His expression remained impassive.
I noticed that the final two family members, the great-niece and -nephew, had claimed chairs behind Hubert. That’s when I realized that every one of them sat in the same spot he or she had occupied on Saturday.
Cynthia Delacorte appeared as completely detached from everything today as she had been when I first met her on Saturday. Stewart, on the other hand, seemed barely able to contain his emotions—excitement?—as he squirmed in his chair.
I tuned back in as Pendergrast wound up his prefatory spiel. He pulled a thick document from the inner pocket of his jacket and began to unfold the pages.
Before the lawyer could continue, however, Eloise spoke, rustling her skirts about her. “Uncle James loves cookies. I think there are some in the kitchen just for him. Truesdale said so. We always have such a nice time eating cookies.”
Eloise rose from her perch on a stool, but Hubert leaned forward and shoved her back down. “Shut up about cookies, Eloise. Uncle James is dead, remember? He’s not going to be eating any more cookies with you.” Hubert’s voice, high and thin, could have been the voice on the phone last night.
Eloise, to my great surprise, showed no emotion. She remained quiet and stared at the floor.
Daphne Morris, on the other hand, was quick to complain. “Hubert, Eloise, I beg of you, don’t have another argument. I don’t think I can bear it, not with my poor brother so cruelly dead before his time. It was bad enough having all those horrid policemen in the house, going through our personal things. If you two keep arguing, I think I’ll have a heart attack like poor James.” While she spoke, her hands never left off caressing her forehead and her throat.
Her voice, eerily like her son’s, could also have been the one that threatened me last night. Very interesting.
Also interesting to know that the authorities searched the house. If they turned up anything relevant to the rare book collection, I hoped Kanesha would share information with me.
“Give it a rest, Aunt Daphne,” Stewart said. Every word he spoke dripped with acid. “Asking Hubert not to be ugly to Eloise is like asking the government to abolish the income tax.”
Hubert huffed a time or two but didn’t respond. Eloise continued to gaze with a vacant stare, while Daphne moaned a few times and then subsided.
Cynthia remained aloof from it all, or at least appeared to. I wondered if she were truly emotionally disconnected from her family, or only wanted everyone to think she was.
Pendergrast spoke again. “If I might reclaim your att
ention, ladies and gentlemen, there is the matter of James’s will, which I am about to read to you.”
At those words Daphne sighed in pitiable fashion a couple of times, but no one else spoke. Pendergrast continued, beginning with the standard phrases. “I, James Sullivan Delacorte, being of sound mind . . .”
I let my mind wander as I continued to take covert glances at the family. With the exception of Daphne, none of them seemed all that distressed at the death of James Delacorte. I did catch Truesdale dabbing at his face with a handkerchief, but I wasn’t sure whether he was crying or sweating. The room was a bit warm.
When I focused again on the lawyer’s words, he was reading out the bequests from the will.
“To Stewart Delacorte, the grandson of my brother Arthur, the sum of $250,000.”
At the mention of his name and a large sum of money, Stewart’s face lit up. He didn’t seem so happy, however, when Pendergrast continued.
“Stewart, I heartily suggest you use some of your inheritance to find your own place to live. Your days as a resident of Delacorte House are over. You are to be out of the house three months from the day of my death. And no, before you ask, you may not take with you any of the furnishings except for those things you brought with you when you moved in thirty-two years ago or have purchased since.”
Stewart’s face reddened to the point that I thought he might well have a stroke. He didn’t say anything, and that surprised me. He even stopped squirming in his chair, almost as if he were frozen in place.
If he had killed his great-uncle, he wasn’t getting a lot for his trouble. Although $250,000 was not a trifling sum, the fact that he was being kicked out of the house was obviously painful.
Pendergrast continued, “To Cynthia Delacorte, the granddaughter of my brother Thomas, the sum of $250,000.”
Cynthia at last tuned in. She blinked and actually shifted her position on her chair.
“Cynthia, you need to follow Stewart out of the house. It’s time you had your own place and got on with your life. You have three months to find somewhere else to live. Don’t waste any more time.”
Classified as Murder Page 14
