No Cats Allowed: A Cat in the Stacks Mystery (15 page)

Why didn’t someone call me?
My hands trembled on the wheel as I steered the car into the garage.
I should have been firmer with Azalea and convinced her to take time off
. I was so rattled I almost left Diesel in the car. Only several loud meows stopped me from abandoning him in the garage. I was desperate to get inside to find out what had happened.

Diesel shot inside the moment the door opened wide enough. I stumbled on the threshold but caught myself before I went sprawling on the floor. My chest heaved as I righted myself and stared into four startled faces. My housekeeper occupied one chair, and Kanesha, Stewart Delacorte, and Haskell Bates occupied the others.

“Thank the Lord you’re okay, Azalea.” I managed to squeeze the words out. “What happened? Did someone try to break in?”

“Have mercy, Mr. Charlie, what’s the matter with you?” Azalea replied over the barking of a dog. I spotted Stewart’s poodle, Dante, wiggling ecstatically as he tried to lick his buddy Diesel’s
face. Diesel swatted at him but failed to convince him the attentions were not appreciated.

“I saw the patrol cars outside, and I figured there had been some kind of emergency,” I said. Stewart and his partner, Haskell, exchanged glances while Kanesha frowned at me. “But nothing happened, I guess.”

“That’s correct,” Kanesha said. “I came by to check on my mother, and Stewart and Bates stopped by to see you.”

I leaned against the refrigerator and drew deep breaths. My pulse rated dropped back to normal, and I felt like an idiot. “I’m glad nothing’s wrong.”

Diesel, accompanied by the happy poodle, disappeared into the utility room. I pulled out the chair next to Kanesha and sat. “Nice to see you, Stewart,” I said. “You, too, Haskell. We don’t get to see much of you these days.”

“I keep telling Haskell he ought to give up that tiny apartment of his and move in here with me.” Stewart grimaced at his boyfriend. “There’s plenty of room, even for his ginormous boot collection, but he keeps resisting.”

Haskell frowned. I knew he didn’t like discussing personal matters in front of others. He was so reserved he would make a clam seem chatty.

“It would be fine with me,” I said. “There’s more room on the third floor if you’d like extra space. Justin uses only the one bedroom, and the other two are empty. Plenty of closet space.”

“Thank you,” Haskell said. “I will keep that in mind.” He shot Stewart a glance that seemed to promise an argument once the two were alone together. Stewart appeared not in the least worried, though. He grinned back at Haskell. I had no doubt Stewart would eventually get his way.

I turned to Kanesha. “How’s the investigation progressing? Did Chief Ford get in touch with you about what happened to my car?”

Stewart responded before Kanesha could answer me. “What happened to your car? Did somebody hit you?”

“No, I got a great big rock through the windshield. Deliberately.”

Stewart frowned, but this time Kanesha spoke first. “Yes, I heard about it. To answer your first question, yes, the investigation is progressing.”

I waited to hear more details but she didn’t continue. “That’s all you’re going to say?” I asked.

“That’s all you need to know,” she replied coolly as she rose. “Make sure you keep using the alarm system, you and Mama both.” She looked at Bates for a moment. “It might be a good idea if you did stay here a few nights, Bates. You’re off this weekend, too.”

Haskell frowned. “Is that an order, ma’am?” He didn’t appear happy at being forced into this particular corner.

“No, it’s not,” Kanesha said. “But I would take it as a personal favor if you would stay here, at least until the investigation is complete. I would feel a lot better about the security of this house with you on the premises.”

Thus she boxed him up and tied the bow as neatly as Forrest Wyatt had done with me. There was no way he could refuse now without looking like a completely selfish jerk. I felt sympathy for him, but I was relieved as well.

“All right, ma’am,” he said.

Stewart grinned and leaned over to whisper in Haskell’s ear. To my amusement, and Haskell’s no doubt chagrin, he blushed.
He nodded and kept his gaze averted from the rest of us for a moment.

“Thank you, Haskell. I really would feel a lot safer having you in the house the next few days,” I said.

Diesel and Dante came back into the room. The poodle had calmed down a little. He was no longer hopping around Diesel, but he continued to gaze adoringly at his friend. Diesel ignored him and headed straight for Stewart.

“See, Haskell, Dante is thrilled to be spending time with Diesel,” Stewart said as he rubbed the cat’s head. “And Diesel is
so
happy to see his uncle Stewart, too, aren’t you, boy?”

Diesel recognized his cue and meowed and chirped in response. I saw one corner of Haskell’s mouth twitch. Even he wasn’t completely immune to Diesel.

“If there’s gonna be two more men for dinner,” Azalea announced, “I got me some cooking to do.” She shot pointed glances at Kanesha and me. “You got time to stay and eat?” This last was addressed to her daughter. “Be ready in about thirty minutes.”

Kanesha shook her head. “Thank you, Mama, but I’m due back at the department. Time to check on a few things. Charlie, would you mind seeing me out?” She nodded at Stewart and Haskell and headed out of the kitchen.

I hurried to catch up with her. I wondered what she wanted, after saying to me a few minutes ago she had nothing to share concerning the investigation.

“What is it?” I asked when she stopped at the front door.

“I couldn’t talk in front of my mother and Stewart.” She frowned at me. “It’s bad enough I’m talking to you about a murder case.”

“I see. I can understand that.”

“I know how nosy you are.” Kanesha crossed her arms. “You’ll
be trying to find things out like you always do, and I figure I might as well get some benefit out of it. As long as you do not put yourself or anyone else—
particularly my mother
—in harm’s way by doing so. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. We’d had similar conversations before, and I had no idea why she felt she had to repeat her usual admonitions.

“All right. I’m trying hard to figure out what the motive is for Reilly’s murder. In the case of his brother-in-law, I figure it’s because he knew something, maybe saw something, and the killer got spooked. Took him out as a precaution.” She looked grim. “But with Reilly I can’t get a handle on why he was killed. So I’m asking you, have you come across anything that could constitute a motive?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I spent several hours today going over the library’s budgets for the last few years. I figure there might be a connection to money somehow, since that was supposed to be Reilly’s area of expertise. I’m meeting with President Wyatt and the board on Monday, and I may get more details about any financial issues then. In the meantime it wouldn’t hurt if you got in touch with Wyatt or the vice president for finance, Wayne Taylor. You might find out something pertinent from them.”

“Sounds good. Anything else?”

“I’m meeting with the department heads, Lisa Krause, Delbert Winston, and Cassandra Brownley, on Wednesday. I know Lisa has talked to you, but what about Delbert? I urged him to, after he came to me and insisted on telling me his story. He had a motive, certainly. Cassandra, I’m not sure about. She’s a difficult woman, but I’ll do my best with her. I know she was really angry with Reilly over some matter, but then she’s angry with just about
everybody.” I relayed the scene I’d witnessed two days ago when Cassandra stormed out of Reilly’s office.

“Thanks for the information,” Kanesha said. “I have talked to Mr. Winston, so I’m aware of his potential motive. Can you think of anyone else, besides the three department heads, who had any reason to want to get rid of Reilly?”

“Not unless there is someone in the financial affairs department he got on the wrong side of, I can’t think of anyone.”

She nodded and reached for the doorknob, but before she could open the door, I spoke. “Can you answer one question for me?”

Kanesha eyed me warily, her hand still on the knob. “Maybe. What is it?”

“What’s the status of Brent Tucker? Chief Ford told me about his being arrested in DeSoto County.”

“He was released on bond this morning,” Kanesha said. “So if you’re wondering whether he could be the one who smashed your windshield, the answer is
yes
.”

“What about the murders? Was he already in jail when the second murder occurred?” If he had been locked up, I reasoned, at the time of Stanley’s death, he probably hadn’t killed Reilly, either.

“We have only an approximate time of death for Stanley,” Kanesha said. “A window of about three hours at the moment. It’s possible that Mr. Tucker murdered both men. Now, is that all?”

I knew better than to press my luck any further. “Yes, thanks.”

She nodded. “Stay safe.” She opened the door and stepped out. I closed it behind her.

Haskell Bates passed by me as I entered the kitchen, and moments later I heard the front door open and close again. Stewart, still at the table, watching the antics of cat and dog as they
played nearby, said, “Haskell’s making a run to his place to retrieve a few necessities. He’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Good,” I said. “He surely wouldn’t want to miss whatever that is you’re cooking, Azalea. It smells wonderful. What is it?”

“Meat sauce.” Azalea stirred the pot on the stove. “Mr. Stewart’s recipe.”

“It may be my recipe,” Stewart said, “but you make it better than anyone, even me.” He smiled when Azalea turned around to thank him.

“I do add a little something extra,” she said before she turned back to the stove.

“And you won’t tell me what it is,” Stewart replied in a mock-severe tone. “I’ve guessed everything from allspice to wormwood, but she won’t ever tell me if I’m right. You’re a hard woman, Azalea Berry, but I adore you anyway.”

“You get on with your fool self.” Azalea waved a hand in Stewart’s direction without turning around. “Why don’t you set the table, do something useful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stewart said and grinned at me. He and Azalea picked at each other like this all the time.

“While you do that,” I said, “I’m going to run upstairs and change out of my monkey suit into more comfortable clothes.”

Stewart eyed me critically. “You do look handsome in a suit, Charlie. It doesn’t take much imagination to see where that gorgeous son of yours gets his looks, Grandpa.” He winked.

“Thank you.” I rewarded him with a courtly dip of the head. Chuckling, I headed upstairs to change.

Halfway up I realized I had left my briefcase in the car. I would retrieve it after dinner, I decided. I had no plans to work this evening. Upward I went.

Downstairs again a quarter of an hour later, I discovered Azalea on the point of departure. The food was ready, and we could serve ourselves. Stewart was assuring her that he would personally see to the cleaning of the kitchen.

“I’ll supervise,” I said, and Azalea smiled.

“You need me to come in tomorrow, Mr. Charlie? I don’t mind. I could turn out one of those bedrooms upstairs, get it ready.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” I said, and Stewart echoed me.

“I’m going to have to work on Haskell a bit more before he’ll be willing to live here permanently,” Stewart said. “There will be time enough for that once I’ve convinced him.”

“All right then,” Azalea said. “Have a blessed evening, and enjoy your meal.”

I escorted her to her car, which was parked in the driveway, and for once she didn’t argue. It was already dark outside, thanks to the storm clouds. Although the streetlights did illuminate the street decently, they were far enough apart to allow shadows in some places. Shadows made me uneasy at times like this.

I waited and watched till Azalea’s taillights disappeared down the street before I turned to go back inside. No car followed her, and I relaxed. She should be safe at home, especially with that shotgun of her late husband’s.

Because I wasn’t paying attention, I caught my foot on the welcome mat, and I stumbled sideways a couple of inches. Something buzzed right by my head and struck the door just as I put my hand on the knob.

I twisted the knob and pushed at the same time so I could dive inside. I slid a couple of feet on the polished wood.

“Charlie, are you all right?” Stewart hurried toward me.

“Stay back,” I said as I propelled myself around behind the door, scrambling like a crab. “Someone shot at me.” I slammed the door shut and then slowly got to my feet away from the windows on either side of the door.

Stewart halted several feet away and pulled out his phone. Moments later he was speaking to the 911 operator. While he talked to the operator, I turned off the lights in the hall and the one over the front door outside. Then I peered cautiously through the blinds at the yard and the street. Everything appeared as usual. No one wielding a gun, no cars driving by. I engaged the locks on the door.

The faint noise of a siren reached my ears. I went to the stairs and sat on the third tread. My chest still heaved from the exertions
and the adrenaline. Diesel and Dante ran into the room, and the cat came right to me. He meowed, and I rubbed his head. Dante danced around Stewart’s feet and barked until Stewart shushed him.

The sound of the siren had grown increasingly louder, and now I could see the play of the flashing lights against the blinds. Stewart ended the call with 911 and went to slip the lights back on. He had the door open before the Athena police officers were halfway up the walk. Right on their heels came Haskell Bates, a large canvas bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He had changed out of his uniform into civilian clothes.

I spent the next twenty minutes talking to the police officers while Stewart and Haskell kept Diesel and Dante out of the way. Finally, Haskell stepped forward to assure them that he would communicate with the sheriff’s department, who would investigate further because of the connection of this incident to the ongoing murder investigation. The city cops didn’t argue. The police department and the sheriff’s department worked well together, and in cases like this, they didn’t waste time over jurisdictional matters.

Before they left, however, the older of the two policemen examined the door and found the bullet embedded in the thick oak. It had entered the door a good inch above my head.

“You were lucky, Mr. Harris,” he said. “Good thing you stumbled at just the right time.”

In the background I heard Haskell talking on his cell, and I wondered how long it would be before his colleagues arrived to examine the door.

“Yes, sometimes being clumsy has its rewards, I guess.” I smiled. “Thank you, Officers, for responding so quickly.”

I ushered them out, and then Stewart, Haskell, and I, along
with two hopeful four-legged friends, moved to the kitchen for our delayed meal.

While we ate—and Diesel and Dante both begged for food—Stewart, Haskell, and I discussed the incident. Stewart opened a bottle of red wine, and we toasted my lucky escape. My blood pressure was settling back to normal, and I thanked the Lord for my clumsiness at the right moment.

“Although,” I said, “I can’t help thinking that there was more than luck involved in this.”

“What do you mean?” Stewart asked. “If you hadn’t stumbled when you did, well.” He grimaced.

“Either the shooter isn’t a good marksman,” Haskell said, “or he never intended to kill Charlie. Maybe frighten him or only wound him.”

I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, after the first rush of sheer terror subsided.” I had a sip of my wine. “Otherwise, why did the shooter wait until I was about to come into the house to fire? I was a lot closer to the street for a couple of minutes, and surely if he wanted to kill me, he had a better chance of succeeding then, instead of when I was at the door, an additional fifty or sixty feet away.”

Diesel tapped my leg with a large paw, and I gave him a bit of buttered bread. No garlic, only bread and butter. He chirped in thanks as he attacked his tidbit.

“I see what you mean,” Stewart said.

The doorbell rang, and Haskell stood. “That will be Chief Deputy Berry. I’ll go.” He walked briskly from the room.

I had time for the last bite of pasta and meat sauce and a final sip of my wine before Haskell came back with Kanesha.

“Were you hurt?” she asked.

“Maybe a bruise or two from hitting the floor,” I said. My knees would be complaining before long. “Nothing serious, though.”

Kanesha nodded. “Tell me what happened.”

I complied with her request, and when I’d finished, she didn’t respond right away. Finally she said, “I wonder if the shooter was aiming to kill you or only frighten you.”

“We were discussing that before you arrived.” I repeated the gist of the conversation.

“Hard to say, really, but it seems to me more like a threat rather than an intent to kill.” Kanesha looked at Haskell. “Where were you?”

He regarded her with his usual stony expression. “I ran home to pick up a few things. I was gone less than half an hour.”

Kanesha shrugged and turned back to me. “I’ll check on the whereabouts of the suspects, try to find out what they were doing when this happened.”

“Is your mother okay?” I asked.

“She’s fine. The police are keeping an eye on her house. Melba Gilley’s, too, just in case. They should have the bullet out by now. I have to go. Y’all be careful.” She turned and walked out. Haskell followed her.

“She’s in a bad mood,” Stewart said. “She can’t stand it when things like this happen. She’s definitely got control issues.”

“That’s probably one of the things that makes her so good at her job.” I had a few control issues myself, and I could sympathize with Kanesha. “I hope she gets this sorted out soon. I don’t like feeling I’m in a state of siege, practically.”

Stewart got up from the table and started clearing. Dante pranced around, still begging for food, but Stewart told him firmly the food
was all gone. Diesel tapped my leg again. I had saved one last bite of bread and butter for him, and he accepted it happily before Stewart took my plate away.

I got up and put my wineglass in the sink. Two servings of wine were my limit. Stewart and Haskell were welcome to the rest of the bottle.

Haskell returned, stony expression still intact, and poured himself more wine after he resumed his seat. “They’re gone.” He drank down half the wine in his glass and set it aside.

Interesting dynamics
, I thought as I resumed my seat. Was Kanesha really angry with him because he wasn’t present when the attack took place? If so, it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t have known. I started to say something, then thought better of it. Haskell was intensely private, and I didn’t want to offend him. His relationship with his boss was his business, not mine.

Stewart came over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Haskell looked up at him, and Stewart smiled. Haskell returned the smile briefly, and I could see the set of his shoulders change to a more relaxed position.

I pretended to be busy giving Diesel attention, lest Haskell realize I had seen the interaction.

“Seems like there isn’t much progress in this case.” Stewart sat across from Haskell and refilled his wineglass. “Any luck in tracing the gun that was used in the second murder?”

“We’ve identified the type of bullet used,” Haskell said. “But since this state doesn’t require registration of firearms, for the most part, it doesn’t do a lot of good. Unless the suspects voluntarily reveal their firearms, we can’t do much.”

“Unless you can get a search warrant,” Stewart said.

Haskell nodded. “And even with a search warrant, they can
conceal the weapons somewhere else. We pretty much have to find the weapons on them. In a lot of cases, that’s what happens, especially in domestic violence situations. Something like this, however, is much harder.”

“That’s discouraging,” I said.

“The way it is,” Haskell replied with a shrug. “How about you show me how your alarm system works? Long as I’m going to be here a few days, I’d better know how to set it and turn it off.”

“I can show you,” Stewart said. “You haven’t changed the code lately, have you, Charlie?”

“No, it’s still the same.” The six-digit code I used was my late mother’s birthday.

Stewart rattled it off, and I nodded. “That’s it.”

I stood. “Since you’re going to take care of that, I guess Diesel and I will head upstairs. I’ll bid you both good night.”

They both said
good night
in return, and I was halfway up the stairs, Diesel at my side, when I remembered my briefcase. This time I did turn around and go down the stairs. When I walked into the kitchen, Stewart was standing behind Haskell, still in his chair, massaging the deputy’s neck and shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said, “I forgot that I needed to get my briefcase out of the car. It’ll only take a moment.”

The two men nodded, and I hurried past them to the door. I flipped on the switch for the garage light and went to the car. I grabbed the briefcase and hurried back inside, turning off the light and locking the back door. “Good night again,” I said.

“See you in the morning,” Stewart called after me. He told Dante to stay, otherwise I think the poodle would have followed me upstairs for more playtime with Diesel.

I found my sweet boy on the bed when I got upstairs. He was
already stretched out, no doubt tired from all the attention from his small and enthusiastic canine friend.

I put the briefcase on top of the chest of drawers and proceeded to change into my comfortable pajama shorts and T-shirt. I had about a hundred and fifty pages left in
Lionheart
, and I planned to read until it was time to call Helen Louise around ten.

A quarter of a frustrating hour later, however, I discovered that not even Penman’s masterful storytelling could keep my mind from jumping back and forth from the twelfth century to the present. Reluctantly I set the book aside, marked my place, and let my mind focus on the events of the day. Particularly on the terrifying event of the evening.

Had the shot been an attempt at murder? Or simply intimidation?

What was the point of intimidation? To keep me from going back to the library and perhaps reneging on my acceptance of the temporary position?

What good would that do, other than simply to delay the inevitable? At some point, the job would be filled, and the new library director would no doubt be asking the same questions about the budget that I would. If there were indeed problems with the budget other than those caused by Peter Vanderkeller, that is.

I hadn’t found anything in my studying of the figures today, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem concealed in them. I might have to dig deeper—a lot deeper—to find evidence of any malfeasance, if it was there.

I considered the other unanswered questions.

Why had Porter Stanley come to Athena in search of Reilly?

How did the intruder get into the library administration offices without a key?

Was there a connection between Stanley’s appearance and Reilly’s murder? Or only coincidence?

Hard luck on Stanley if it were the latter. Had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? In other words, had he happened to witness Reilly’s murder?

Were the pranks against Reilly the work of the murderer? Or were murderer and prankster two different people?

After lying there a few minutes and going round and round over these questions, I decided I ought to write them all down. I often thought better, and more clearly, when I wrote things down.

I got out of bed to retrieve a notepad and pen from the briefcase. I settled back against my pillows and began to record my questions. When I’d finished, I read through them again. Diesel never stirred the entire time.
He really must be tired
, I thought.

I tapped the pen against the pad while I went over the questions yet again. As I did so, I noticed that the cap looked odd. I held it under the bedside light to examine it, and I realized that the cap contained a detachable part. I pulled it out and discovered that it was a thumb drive.

How clever, and how useful
. Then I noticed the pen bore the logo of one of the library’s longtime vendors. Vendors often gave away promotional items like pens, thumb drives, notebooks, and so on. This was the first of its kind that I had seen. It wasn’t mine, so it had to be one of the ones from the director’s desk.

I looked at my list of questions again and ran down them. I tapped the pen against the paper a few more times. Then I stared at the cap of the pen. I pulled out the thumb drive and looked at it in sudden wonder.

Could this be what the intruder had been searching for?