Classified As Murder

I placed the note on the table, frowning as I did so. Sean probably was tired from the trip, and I suspected he hadn’t been sleeping very well or very much in the weeks before he left Houston. But it could also be a tactic to delay any questions about his decision to quit his job and come to Mississippi.

I wished he felt comfortable confiding in me. The restraint between us disturbed me. What could I do to reestablish the close relationship we once enjoyed?

I thought about it off and on during dinner, with Diesel for company. The cat stuck close to me while I ate—partly in hopes of scoring some of my fried chicken, I knew, but also to comfort me. I was grateful—as always—for Diesel’s companionship. People who don’t have pets don’t understand the kind of bond we pet lovers have with our animals.

Sean failed to make an appearance before I went to bed, around nine. I was surprised Diesel hadn’t at some point gone looking for Sean and Dante, because he was usually a very sociable cat. Tonight he didn’t leave me. He was stretched out on his side of the bed, sound asleep.

I turned off the light and tried to emulate my cat, but I had trouble taming my thoughts enough to allow sleep to claim me. A half-hour’s reading soothed me, and I dropped off.

The next morning I discovered that Sean had been in the kitchen early. The coffeepot was half full, and the Sunday paper lay on the table. His car was still parked outside on the street, but there was no sign of him anywhere downstairs, including the back porch.

Diesel and I breakfasted on our own while I read the paper. When I went upstairs to dress for church, I glanced down the hall toward Sean’s room, wanting to talk to him. His door was shut, however, and I didn’t want to wake him up if he were asleep again. Maybe he’d be up and about by the time I came home.

I put a note for Sean on the fridge to explain where I was going and when I would return. Diesel eyed me hopefully in the hallway as I headed for the front door, but church was the one place I didn’t take him. I rubbed his head and told him I’d be back soon, and he warbled in reply. I think he knew perfectly well that I was going without him, but he couldn’t resist testing me.

Thanks to spring break, attendance at the nondenominational service in the college chapel was light. The chaplain focused his sermon on patience, a lesson I sorely needed, at least where Sean was concerned. I listened attentively, and by the time the service ended, I felt more at peace with the situation at home.

My mellow mood carried me home in more buoyant fashion, and the spectacular spring weather only enhanced it all. As I closed the front door behind me, I heard noise coming from the kitchen.

Dressed in ragged athletic shorts and a tattered jersey, Sean stood at the stove, his back to me. Dante and Diesel sat on the floor nearby, watching him with avid interest.

“Hi, Sean,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied without turning around. “Thought I’d take care of lunch and give you at least one meal off duty. It’s nothing fancy, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

The aroma was enticing. I approached the stove to see what he was cooking. There were four chicken breasts, already grilled, simmering in a large skillet with diced tomatoes, onions, and broccoli. Sean added pinches of salt and pepper while I watched, stirred it all thoroughly, then put a lid on the skillet.

“This needs about twenty minutes,” he said as he turned away from the stove. “It’s a pretty complete meal in itself, but I think there’s still plenty of salad in the fridge if you want something to go with it.”

“No, what you’ve made looks fine,” I said. “And it smells great. I had no idea you cooked like this, though. I thought you ate out most of the time.”

Sean rubbed a hand across his bristly chin. “Yeah, well, I got tired of restaurants. Too danged expensive. So I learned some of the basics.” He brushed past me. “Think I’ll go have a quick shower and a shave. Just stir it a couple of times, will you? I’ll be back in twenty.” The dog scampered after him.

“Sure.” I frowned at his retreating back, a bit deflated by his coolness.

I tried not to let it affect my mood too much. I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair, loosened my tie, and rolled up my sleeves. Diesel watched me for a moment before padding off to the utility room. I was at the stove stirring when Sean returned, as he’d said he would, in twenty minutes. Dante bounced alongside him, his head turned to look up at Sean.

Freshly showered and shaved, in jeans and dress shirt, Sean was far more presentable than he had been earlier. Now that I had a chance to examine him more closely, I thought he appeared to have slept well. His face had lost more of the signs of strain I saw yesterday.

He stood beside me and examined the contents of the skillet. “It’s ready if you are. I sure am.” I noticed the clean smell of soap emanating from him, along with the faint aroma of cigar coming from his shirt.