Classified As Murder

Everyone in Athena knew Quentin Curtis Pendergrast III. He was one of the “characters” in town, a lawyer with near-legendary status for his exploits. I remembered vaguely hearing that he had a daughter, but I’d never met either the great man himself or his offspring.

“Yes, I do. What can I do for you, Ms. Pendergrast?” I couldn’t imagine why a lawyer I didn’t know personally would be calling me, unless it had something to do with James Delacorte. But the man had been dead only a few hours.

That thought unsettled me.

Alexandra Pendergrast confirmed my guess. “My father and I represent the estate of James Delacorte. We need to discuss something with you pertaining to Mr. Delacorte’s will. Would you be available in a little while, say at six? I apologize for the short notice, but it is urgent.”

“That’s okay. I don’t have any conflicting plans.” What on earth did James Delacorte’s will have to do with me?

“We would be happy to come to your home, if that’s okay with you.” Ms. Pendergrast’s voice was firm and assured.

“Certainly, if you like.” I gave her the address. “But I frankly don’t understand why you need to talk to me. I had only a brief acquaintance with Mr. Delacorte.”

“I realize this is a surprise for you.” Ms. Pendergrast paused. “But my father will explain everything. It would be better to wait until we meet with you in person.”

“Then I’ll see you at six.” I hung up the phone, mightily puzzled over this strange twist of fate.

FIFTEEN

Sean cocked his head to one side as he regarded me. “Mind if I sit in on this? In case you need legal advice.”

“I’d be relieved if you would. This whole thing seems like a bizarre dream.” I poured myself a glass of cold tea. “I can’t imagine it’s anything bad, but you never know. I figure this meeting must be connected to his rare book collection.”

“Could be. Maybe he left you a million or two. Or maybe he took a shine to Diesel. You could have a very wealthy cat on your hands.”

I’d read about such cases, when rich people left their money tied up for the care of the pets that survived them. Mr. Delacorte was a self-professed cat lover. When Diesel had warbled for him, Mr. Delacorte smiled, a rare full smile that softened his features and made him look much less reserved. “He probably saw him with me at the library, but Saturday and today were the only times he ever got close enough to really meet Diesel.”

I glanced at the clock—not much time before the lawyers arrived. “I think it would be better if Diesel and Dante aren’t present for this meeting. Will you put them in your room?”

“Sure.” Sean headed for the door. “Come on, boys, come with me.”

Dante followed happily. Diesel hesitated and stared at me for a moment. “Go ahead. It won’t be for long.” I made my tone as encouraging as possible.

Diesel meowed once as if he agreed—with reservations—before loping after Sean and Dante.

Sean came back down the stairs right as the doorbell rang, promptly at six o’clock. I walked into the living room while Sean admitted our visitors. I heard him introduce himself, both as my son and my lawyer.

My first close look at Quinton Curtis Pendergrast III and his daughter surprised me. I knew Mr. Pendergrast was over seventy because I’d read about him in the local paper. He was every inch the Southern patrician. Tall, angular, sporting thick white hair, he exuded success in a dark suit and expensive-looking cowboy boots.

His daughter, however, was far younger than I expected. She was roughly the same age as Sean, from what I could tell. No more than thirty, surely. I’d thought she would be closer to my age. She stood as tall as her father, her hair a rich auburn, expertly styled to frame a lovely, intelligent face. Her tailored suit emphasized an attractive figure. Sean, I was quick to note, appeared mesmerized by the sight of Alexandra Pendergrast.

I accepted Mr. Pendergrast’s extended hand, and he shook my hand with vigor and authority. “Good evening, Mr. Harris. I do appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. The matter before us is of some urgency.” His voice had a deep, rich timbre, and he spoke with a Mississippi drawl that reminded me of my paternal grandfather.

“I’m happy to help.” I turned to his daughter. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Pendergrast.”

Sean sat beside me on the couch, and the Pendergrasts took the chairs I indicated across from us. Alexandra opened her briefcase and extracted a file. She turned to her father, obviously waiting for him to speak.

“As my daughter explained to you, I represent James Delacorte’s estate.” Mr. Pendergrast regarded me with an assessing gaze, and for a moment I felt like a schoolboy called into the principal’s office. “You made an impression on my client. He seems to have regarded you highly.”