Maybe I was overestimating them both. Otherwise, why would Anita have been heading to Memphis and a flight somewhere in order to sell the copy of Tamerlane? Didn’t she realize that trips out of town by anyone connected to the case would arouse suspicion?
Anita never failed to let those around her know how intelligent she was. Apparently Hubert also thought he was very bright. In their arrogance they failed to realize how inept they were, and how shortsighted in thinking they could get away with stealing from Mr. Delacorte’s collection.
But I didn’t think they had killed James Delacorte to hide their pilfering of his book collection.
Pendergrast mentioned Mr. Delacorte changed his will significantly the week before he was killed. Nigel Truesdale knew he was the chief heir in the new will. His position had changed in a big way, which no doubt the lawyer could confirm.
The motive for murder was greed, pure and simple. Truesdale wanted to retire, but evidently Mr. Delacorte wouldn’t let him. There was that remark in the will itself about the butler’s finally being able to retire. I also remembered what Helen Louise had told Sean and me, that Mr. Delacorte was known for not paying his household staff well.
With James Delacorte dead, Truesdale had access to a tremendous amount of money, not to mention a beautiful mansion as a home.
I recalled the odd scene I had witnessed when I went to find the butler to inform him of his employer’s death. I saw him hand a good-sized wad of currency to a man Truesdale said was the gardener. Now that I thought about it, though, the words between them hadn’t sounded much like the butler paying the gardener his wages. Truesdale had said something about having “the rest of it” soon, while the alleged gardener had replied that he wasn’t going to wait much longer.
I was now willing to bet the man wasn’t a gardener, but either a loan shark or a bookie. Maybe Truesdale had a bit of a gambling problem. With legalized gambling in Mississippi, there were plenty of people who gambled more than they could afford.
That was something Kanesha could check out.
I put the pen down and quickly scanned what I had written. Some facts, some suppositions. Kanesha could check the facts, and maybe she could find concrete proof linking Truesdale to both murders.
Kanesha walked in. “Okay, Mr. Harris, what is it you have to tell me? I need to get your statement about finding the Tamerlane.” She moved closer to where I sat at the desk.
I handed her the pieces of paper containing my notes. “Read this first; then we’ll talk.”
She frowned at me as she accepted the pages, but she couldn’t have read much before she paused to speak. “You’re telling me the butler did it? When I’ve already got my two best suspects cooling their heels at the sheriff’s department? They stole the books, or are you telling me the butler did that, too?”
I did my best to keep my temper as I replied. “No, they stole the books. Just read the rest of it. Please.” Patience is a virtue, I reminded myself. Think about the sermon you heard on Sunday.
Kanesha frowned again, but at least she went back to reading. This time it looked like she read every word. In fact, when she reached the end, she started over and went through it a second time.
When she finished, she looked at me and smiled. “Interesting.” She handed the pages back to me. “Now, about your statement. Tell me what happened when you found the copy of Tamerlane.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. I knew my face had reddened. My hold on my temper was slipping. “What about Truesdale? Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“That’s all speculation.” She pointed to the pages I held. “I can’t arrest a man on a bunch of maybes.”
“I know that none of this is hard-and-fast evidence. But don’t you find it plausible, at least?”
“Yes, it’s plausible,” Kanesha said. “I will check things out. If you’re correct in saying that Truesdale knew about the change in the will before the murder, that does make a difference. I can’t ignore the possibilities, but I have to have something more concrete to go on.”
As much as it pained me to admit, I knew she was right. I was convinced Truesdale was the killer, but my conviction wasn’t enough. I glanced at Sean, who had been trying to get my attention. He held his hand out for the papers, and I gave them to him. He began reading.
“Tell me what happened when you found Ms. Milhaus with the missing Tamerlane.” Kanesha sounded more impatient than usual. “I need to get on with this.”
“Certainly,” I said. I gave her the details of my interactions with Anita this morning. I emphasized Anita’s attempts to cajole Truesdale, and why I believed she was the one who told him about the change in Mr. Delacorte’s will.
“Very good,” Kanesha said. She hadn’t bothered to make any notes. “I’ll need you to make a formal statement later, Mr. Harris. If you could come down to the department later today or tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some suspects to question.”
I didn’t do anything but nod as she turned to go. Further argument seemed pointless.
When the door closed behind her, Sean said, “I think you’re right, Dad, about the butler being the killer. But she’s also right. There’s nothing here solid enough to make an airtight case.” He handed the pages back to me.
I felt considerably deflated now. I was so excited that I had figured it all out, but harsh reality—in the form of Kanesha Berry—intruded. I knew both she and my son were right.
All I had to do now was prove that the butler did it.
THIRTY-FOUR
Diesel chirped at me. I patted him, but he kept chirping. Then he started butting my thigh with his head. When I looked down at him, I suddenly realized what he wanted.
“I’ve got to take Diesel outside right now,” I said as I stood. “Come on, boy.” Diesel loped ahead of me to the door.
“What’s going on?” Sean followed me. “Is he telling you he needs to use the litter box?”
“Something like that,” I said as we walked into the hall and headed for the front door. “I forgot about the cheese he got from Anita’s bag, and I don’t know how much he ate or what kind of cheese it was. It may have upset his stomach a bit, and he needs to get outside to do his business.”
I opened the front door, and Diesel bolted out of it. I hurried after him, and Sean brought up the rear.
By the time I made it down the steps into the front yard, all I saw was a bushy tail disappearing into one of the flower beds behind some azaleas to my right. I moved closer to wait for Diesel to finish while Sean remained on the verandah. I was aggravated with myself, because if I had taken the cheese away from him sooner, Diesel wouldn’t be dealing with an upset stomach right now.
“Are we going home now?” Sean asked. “The library is locked now, and we can’t get in to work on the inventory.”
“We might as well,” I said. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Diesel popped out of the azaleas and meowed. I rubbed his head. “I’m sorry, boy; I shouldn’t have let you eat enough cheese to make you sick. You were naughty to do it, but it wasn’t really your fault.”
Sean laughed as the cat and I met him at the foot of the steps. “The way you talk to that cat, I swear you think he’s human sometimes.”
I replied in a wry tone. “If you ever need evidence I’ve gone completely potty, you can always use it to get me committed.”
The sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway caused me to turn. A cruiser from the sheriff’s department pulled in and parked in front of my car. Deputy Bates exited from the driver’s side and approached us.
“Morning again, Mr. Harris.” Bates held out his hand and offered me a key. “Ms. Berry sent me over with this, so you can get into the library and work on that inventory. Said to tell you she’d appreciate it if you could get back to it.”
“You arrived just in time, Deputy,” I said as I accepted the key. “We were about to head home.”
Bates nodded. “She said to te
ll you also that she took Mr. Truesdale to the sheriff’s department with her to get his statement on what happened this morning.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad to hear that. You can tell her we’ll work on the inventory and get as much done today as we can.”
“Yes, sir,” Bates said. With a tip of his hat, he turned and went back to his cruiser.
“Back at it, then,” I said to Sean as we mounted the steps to the verandah.
“I don’t know about you, Dad, but I could use something to drink.” Sean turned to me with a frown as he shut the front door behind us.
“Sounds good to me. I’m sure Diesel could use some water by now, too.” I headed for the kitchen, with Diesel trotting right beside me.
The house was eerily silent, and I realized that we might be the only occupants. Unless, of course, Daphne Morris and Cynthia Delacorte were here somewhere.
In the kitchen we helped ourselves to water, and I filled a small bowl for Diesel. He lapped at the water and then chirped at me when he finished.
Sean refilled his glass from the tap while I drained mine. I put my hand on the faucet, but I froze as I heard the sound of a door opening.
Sean and I turned to see Cynthia Delacorte, dressed in hospital scrubs and looking very tired, enter the kitchen from the back door.
She pulled up short when she spotted us. “Morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”
“Exhausted.” She suppressed a yawn as she went to the refrigerator and opened it. She pulled out a plastic pint bottle of milk and opened it.
As Sean and I watched, she finished the milk and then tossed the bottle in a recycling bin nearby.
“You must have been at the hospital all night,” Sean said as Cynthia started to walk by us without another word. “Have you heard what happened here last night?”
She stopped and stared hard at my son. “I’ve been at the hospital since about seven last night. What are you talking about?”
“About your cousin’s wife,” I said.
“Eloise?” Cynthia shook her head. “What, is she sick? Should I go look in on her?” She didn’t appear too happy about the idea. I was sure all she wanted was her bed.
“No, I’m sorry to tell you Eloise is dead. Your aunt found her last night.” I wondered how she would react. Thus far in my experience she had always kept her emotions well in check.
The tote bag slung over her shoulder slid off and onto the floor as Cynthia’s body went slack. Her shock was obvious. “What on earth happened?”
“According to Stewart, who spoke to your aunt, it was an allergic reaction to something she ate.”
“Just like Uncle James, you mean.” Cynthia frowned, her brow furrowed. “But how the heck did she get hold of peanuts?”
“My guess is cookies,” I said. “The same way your uncle did.”
Cynthia didn’t appear to have heard me. She stared hard at something beyond me. “Bastard!”
“Excuse me,” I said, startled. Beside me Diesel meowed.
“Sorry,” Cynthia replied as she focused once again on Sean and me. She glanced down at the cat, then back up at me. “I think I know where the cookies came from.”
My pulse jumped. This could be the proof needed to link Truesdale to the murder.
“Where?” Sean asked.
“Last night I came through here on my way out back to the garage, like I always do. I stop in here to find something to take with me because the cafeteria at the hospital is closed all night.” She paused. “I was just coming in the door”—she pointed to the door through which we had entered earlier—“and I could hear the phone ringing in the butler’s pantry. As I was entering, I saw Truesdale over there.” She pointed to a door in the far wall, about fifteen feet away. She strolled in that direction, and Sean, Diesel, and I followed along.
“He was on his way to answer the phone, and he set down something on this table before he entered the pantry.” Cynthia rested her hand on a table against the wall. “I went to the fridge and got some cheese, grapes, and a couple of apples and put them in my lunch bag. Then I headed toward the back door. That’s when I glanced at the table and saw what Truesdale had put there.”
I was getting antsy, and when she stopped talking, I couldn’t keep quiet. “What was it?”
“A plateful of cookies. There must have been a dozen and a half, kind of small.”
Sean and I exchanged glances. This definitely linked Truesdale to Eloise’s murder, but how to prove he gave her the cookies? Especially when none of them were left.
“What did you do then? Leave?” Sean asked.
“Yes, but I grabbed a cookie first and was out the door before Truesdale came back. I didn’t think he’d notice one cookie gone,” Cynthia said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Normally I don’t eat any kind of sweets, only fruit, but they were too tempting. I thought eating one wouldn’t hurt.”
“And did you eat it?” I prayed that she hadn’t, by some miracle, because that cookie could be the necessary proof.
“I sure wanted to,” Cynthia said. She headed back to the other side of the kitchen to where her tote bag lay on the floor. She stooped and rummaged around in it until she extracted one of those insulated lunch bags by its handle. “I stuck it in here, and by the time I had a chance to eat something, it was all broken up. I didn’t bother with it and ate some of my fruit and the cheese instead. I left the bits in here.”
Sean and I stepped forward as she unzipped the bag and held it open for us to see. I could hardly breathe as I glanced inside.
A small red apple nestled among the cookie crumbs.
“Thank goodness you didn’t throw them out,” I said. “They’re important evidence.”
“If it turns out those crumbs have peanuts in them,” Sean said, sounding like the lawyer he was. “If they don’t, there goes your evidence.”
“What should I do with them?” Cynthia asked. “I’m so tired I’m about to drop in my tracks.”
“I’m sure you’re exhausted,” I said in sympathy. “But this is vital. You have to turn this over to the sheriff’s department as soon as possible.”
“You’re right,” Cynthia said. “I can always sleep later, I guess. I’m not due back at the hospital again until Saturday night.”
“I think we should go straight down there,” Sean said. “Before they let Truesdale leave.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Let’s go. Sean, you drive, and I’ll call right now to let them know we’re coming and that there’s important new evidence.”
Cynthia zipped up the lunch bag and stuck it back in her tote. As she followed Sean out of the kitchen, Diesel right behind them, I brought up the rear. I already had my cell phone out, punching in the number of the sheriff’s department.
THIRTY-FIVE
Four of us sat down to dinner Saturday night. Helen Louise Brady joined Stewart, Sean, and me for a festive meal.
Better make that six—of course Diesel and Dante were present as well.
Stewart insisted on preparing the meal, and in honor of Helen Louise’s presence—and the gâteau au chocolat she brought for dessert—he prepared vichyssoise, coq au vin, and green beans. I remembered Helen Louise telling me once vichyssoise was most likely created here in America, albeit by a French-born chef who worked at the Ritz-Carlton in New York. No matter what its origin, it was delicious.
Neither Helen Louise nor Stewart had ever met a stranger, as far as I could ascertain. They got on like the proverbial house afire, and the conversation between the two of them kept Sean and me entertained through the first half of the meal.
When we finally reached the dessert course and each had a large piece of the gâteau along with a cup of coffee ready to consume, Helen Louise turned to me and said, “Enough about food, though I’m sure Stewart and I could natter on for hours. What’s the latest on the case of the murderous butler?”
I finished chewing a bite of the sinfully delicious cake before I
replied. Helen Louise watched me avidly. “He’s been formally charged with Eloise’s murder now.”
“Only poor Eloise?” Helen Louise frowned. “What about Mr. Delacorte?”
I shrugged. “I believe Kanesha is holding off charging him with that one, because she still doesn’t have enough solid evidence to link him to it. She’ll keep digging, though, and I’m sure she’ll find evidence if it’s there.”
“They know for sure now that Anita Milhaus told Truesdale about the change in the will,” Sean said. “Anita’s niece, who works for Q. C. Pendergrast, confessed that she told her aunt.”
“And Anita was apparently all too happy to assure Kanesha that she told Truesdale the good news.” I forked up another piece of the cake.
“At least they’ve got him for Eloise’s murder. Thanks to dear Cousin Cynthia,” Stewart said. “I’m still amazed by that. She’s always so quiet, slipping in and out of the house, half the time I forgot she was there. Thank goodness, though, for the sweet tooth she tries to pretend she doesn’t have. If she hadn’t swiped that cookie, Truesdale might have got away with it.”
“So the cookie she took turned out to have peanuts in it?” Helen Louise sipped her coffee.
“They’re still waiting for results from the state crime lab,” I said. “But Kanesha told me she’s convinced that those crumbs will turn out to have peanuts in them. She also said they’ve been able to track down where Truesdale bought the cookies.”
“Where?” Helen Louise’s eyes grew big.
I had to laugh. “The Piggly Wiggly, where else? Can you believe it, he still had the receipt. He bought them when he bought other groceries, and he put the receipt away to record in his expense book.”
Classified as Murder Page 25
