File M for Murder (27 page)

After a couple more pages of such random words—random to me, anyway—I found something that sparked a memory. Lawton had recorded “1744 Rosemary,” and that, I recalled, was the address of the Johnstons’ house, the scene of the party I had attended with Laura. What was the significance of that, amidst all these other notes? It seemed an odd place to record an address.

I turned the page. More cryptic notes. The capital letters “ADR,” followed by strings of numbers, like “1-84321” and “1-84323.” I scanned the page. There were perhaps ten numbers in all before a new heading, more capital letters, “MCA,” with several strings of numbers following them.

I stared at the page for a minute or so, trying to understand what they could mean. I couldn’t come up with anything and went on to the next page. There was more of what seemed like gibberish to me, words like “bathtub,” “ankles,” and “bruises?” Further down the page I spotted what looked like a name, “R. Appleby,” followed by numbers that translated into a local phone number after I stared at them for a moment.

Appleby
, I thought.
Why is that familiar
?

Of course. That reporter for the local newspaper, Ray Appleby. Why would Lawton have his name and number? Maybe he was looking for PR for himself and his play. I
could easily see him cultivating Appleby, hoping for a profile in the local paper. Anything to get some attention.

He certainly had attention now—national, perhaps even international. He was highly regarded enough as a playwright, I reckoned, to warrant media attention from all over the place.

Now that I thought about it, wasn’t it odd that Appleby hadn’t approached me or my family about Lawton’s death? He had been pretty quick in the past to call on a hunt for news items with the other murder cases I’d been a part of.

Perhaps he didn’t know yet that any of the Harris family was involved in the investigation. I hoped it would stay that way. Appleby seemed to be a decent guy, but the less I had to do with the press, the happier I would be. I could see the headlines now, along the lines of “Local Man Thinks He’s Sherlock Holmes” or some other such nonsense.

My cell phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Helen Louise was calling.

“Hello there, how are you?”

“Hi, Charlie. Taking a short break.” I could hear noise in the background, the usual sounds of her bakery, with customers enjoying themselves. “Getting ready for the evening. I just wanted to call and let you know I finished my ad for the paper, and it will start running tomorrow.”

“That’s excellent news.” I hoped she was imagining my happy smile. “Fingers crossed that you get some great applicants right away.”

“That would be lovely. I’m more than ready for some time off.”

I could hear the tiredness in her voice. She worked awfully hard, and I was delighted that she might soon be able to slow down a bit and have more time for us to spend together. I told her that, and she chuckled.

“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.

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.