Classified As Murder

In a few quick strides Sean loomed in front of me. Dante, attached to a leash, ran alongside him. “Dad, are you okay? They wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, and I had to insist on talking to you as your legal counsel to get in the door.”

Diesel approached Dante, and the two sniffed each other. Then Dante crouched down, an invitation to play.

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Answering some questions for Chief Deputy Berry.” I introduced them, and they shook hands. Dante tried to engage Diesel in play, but my cat wasn’t interested. Sean pulled lightly on the dog’s leash, and Dante sat.

“Now I remember.” Sean smiled after the handshake ended. “Your mother is Dad’s housekeeper. She’s a wonderful cook.”

Sean couldn’t have said anything more calculated to annoy Kanesha. I braced myself for a brief show of fireworks.

“I’m well aware of that.” Kanesha’s tone was cool.

Sean blinked. “Uh, right. What’s going on?”

“There’s been a death,” Kanesha said. “We’re here to investigate. Standard procedure.”

“Who died?”

I glanced at Kanesha. She nodded. “James Delacorte,” I said. “I found him right after I came back here from lunch at home.”

“Good lord,” Sean said, his face grim. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Why are you here?” Kanesha directed her laser stare at Sean.

“I thought maybe Dad could use some help with the inventory.” Sean shrugged.

“I see. Gentlemen, if you’ll both excuse me, I have work to do.” She nodded at Sean. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harris. I’ve finished with your father for the moment, but I might have more questions later. You don’t need to hang around here.” Without waiting for a response from either Sean or me, she exited the room, followed by Grimes.

“Brrrr.” Sean shivered after the door closed behind the two officers. “I guess I really stepped in it with her. What’s her problem?”

“She was more restrained than I expected.” I explained Kanesha’s attitude about her mother’s choice of work. “Azalea insists on doing what she wants, of course, and Kanesha is no match for her mother.”

Sean smiled. “From what I’ve seen of Azalea, I can sure believe that. She’s a tough lady.”

I recalled one exchange between Azalea and Sean during the Christmas holidays. Sean let things lie where he discarded them. Azalea thought he was too old for such childish behavior and told him so, in no uncertain terms. Sean took the scolding with good grace.

“This is a lavish setup,” Sean said. He gazed around the room. “Serious money here.”

“Yes, there is,” I said. “Sean, how did you know to come over?”

“I didn’t want to leave Dante too long with Azalea, so I came home early. I figured I might as well come over here and check things out, see if you needed help.”

“And you walk into police in the house and your father being interrogated by the chief deputy.” I shook my head. “Not anything you could have anticipated. I certainly didn’t expect to find Mr. Delacorte dead in his library.”

“Did he have a heart attack?” Sean asked. “You said he had some kind of episode with his heart on Saturday when you were here for tea.”

“I don’t think it was as simple as a heart attack. You cannot repeat this to anyone, or Kanesha will have my hide. I think he might have been poisoned.”

“Nasty,” Sean said. “One of the family, you think?”

“I don’t know who else it could be,” I replied. “I was here all morning, and he was fine when I left for lunch.” I shrugged. “Unless some stranger slipped into the house and did it, it has to be someone in the house.”

“Then we ought to go home before one of the family turns up.”

Both cat and dog perked up at the words go home. I knew Diesel would be much happier in a familiar environment.

I was more than ready to go myself, but then I remembered something. “My satchel. It’s still in the library. I left it there while I went home for lunch.”

“Then it’s part of the scene,” Sean said. “You can ask, but they won’t let you have it back for a while.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s still aggravating.” Then I realized how I sounded. Mr. Delacorte was dead, possibly murdered, and here I was whining about my satchel. There was nothing in it I couldn’t live without, at least temporarily.

Sean must have sensed what I was thinking. He patted my shoulder. “It’s okay; I understand.”

As the four of us neared the door, it swung open without warning. Daphne Morris walked in, accompanied by her son, Hubert.

They both stopped short.

“I beg your pardon,” Daphne said in her fade-away voice. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Hubert scowled. “Why are you here anyway?” He pointed at our feet. “And with a dog and a cat, too. They have no business in here with these priceless antiques. If one of them pees on the floor or scratches anything, you’ll have to pay for it.”