Classified As Murder

He labored for breath for a moment, but gradually he relaxed, and his face resumed a more normal color. Cynthia took his arm and led him to the sofa occupied by Hubert. Mr. Delacorte nodded up at her, and she stepped back.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” he said, his voice not quite steady.

Truesdale appeared then—had one of the family summoned him?—and offered his employer a glass of water. Mr. Delacorte smiled briefly before he sipped at the water. Truesdale watched, his concern obvious. Cynthia resumed her seat near Stewart.

I felt rather awkward through all this, and poor Diesel remained behind my legs. I found a chair near Daphne’s sofa and sat. Diesel put both front paws on my legs, and I rubbed his head and murmured softly to reassure him.

No one else spoke, and from my vantage point I watched the various family members in turn as they kept their eyes glued to Mr. Delacorte. Did any of them feel remorse for having induced his attack? At least, I assumed their behavior brought it on.

Diesel sat on the floor beside me, and I kept one hand on his back.

Finally Daphne broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “James, dear, are you all right?”

I hoped no one ever gave me a look like the one James Delacorte cast at his sister. She shrank back on the sofa and dropped her gaze.

I had to glance away for a moment because the raw emotion between the siblings made me uncomfortable.

When Mr. Delacorte spoke again, his voice was stronger and tinged with acid. “I’m as well as could be expected, Daphne, after the shameful behavior exhibited by my family in front of my guest. You all owe Mr. Harris an apology for such an appalling display.”

I wanted to crawl under the sofa at that moment. Hubert regarded me balefully, as if the incident were my fault. Stewart stared at something in his hands. Daphne didn’t turn my way, and Eloise appeared lost in her own world. Cynthia appraised me coolly, and it was all I could do not to turn and run from the room. I abhorred confrontations like this, and I was having serious second thoughts about assisting Mr. Delacorte with his inventory. This family might be more than I could take on a regular basis.

No apology appeared to be forthcoming, and frankly I was grateful. I’d just as soon forget the whole incident.

“May I get you something else, sir?” Truesdale continued to hover by his employer’s side.

“Tea,” was Mr. Delacorte’s response. “Mr. Harris, would you like some tea?”

For a moment I was tongue-tied. Then I managed to say, “Yes, thank you. Cream, two sugars.”

The silence continued as Truesdale prepared our tea. I thanked him in a low voice, and he acknowledged my thanks with the barest nod. He returned to stand behind the sofa near Mr. Delacorte.

My host sipped at his tea, his face a polite mask. After a moment, he spoke. “I invited Mr. Harris and Diesel here this afternoon so everyone could get acquainted. I have hired Mr. Harris, because of his expertise with rare books and cataloging, to assist me with my collection. It’s been far too long since I’ve gone through it and done an inventory, and I decided I might as well have the assistance of an expert.”

They all stared at me, making me extremely uncomfortable. I glanced at each of them in turn, wondering if I might spot some hint of unease in their faces or their posture to identify the thief.

No such luck. If one of them was stealing from the collection, I didn’t spot any clues. Other than Eloise, still adrift in her own little world, they all had excellent poker faces.

Suddenly I realized the silence had stretched a tad too long. Mr. Delacorte was regarding me expectantly.

“I’m looking forward to working with the collection,” I said, my voice a shade too hearty. “I know it’s going to be very interesting.” I paused. What else could I say? “Oh, and I’ll be bringing Diesel with me. He won’t bother anyone, I can promise you that. He’s accustomed to going places with me, and I’m really used to having him around all the time.”

Okay, time to stop babbling, I told myself sternly.

“Diesel is quite welcome here,” Mr. Delacorte said. His tone brooked no opposition. “I really do miss having a cat about the place.”

“I believe I’d like tuna salad for lunch,” Eloise announced. She rose from her perch and swept away toward the door.

Hubert scowled, then spoke in a low voice to his uncle. “She belongs in Whitfield, Uncle James. She gets loonier all the time. Surely you can see that?”

Such personal comments made me want to squirm. The Mississippi State Hospital, a psychiatric facility, was located at Whitfield, not far from the state capitol, Jackson.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Delacorte snapped. “Eloise is simply eccentric. She’s perfectly fine right here. I will not discuss this again, Hubert.”

Hubert looked over at me. “What do you think? You think she’s just eccentric? Or is she a lunatic?”

Stewart saved me from having to answer. “Of course she’s a lunatic, Hubert. Why else would she have married you?” He laughed.