Classified As Murder

“As we will be working together, perhaps you won’t mind if I dispense with calling you Mr. Harris and address you as Charles instead?” Pendergrast smiled. “Just call me Q.C.”

“Charlie is fine,” I said. I really couldn’t see myself referring to him as anything other than “Mr. Pendergrast” because of my Southern programming. Like generations of my forebears, I’d been reared to address my elders with respect. I had a hard time using an elder’s given name in a casual fashion and still used “sir” and “ma’am” when addressing them.

“Good.” Pendergrast nodded. “Here’s what will happen in a few minutes.

“I will introduce you as my coexecutor, but I will wait until I reach the pertinent clause in the will before I explain that you’ll continue with the inventory, as James wanted.”

“I’m pretty sure at least one family member already knows I’ll be doing that.” I rubbed Diesel’s head to keep him near me. He was showing signs of restlessness.

Pendergrast frowned. “What do you mean? Has one of them been in contact with you?”

“Last night I received a threatening phone call,” I said. “At first I didn’t take it seriously. But when I reported it to Deputy Berry, she told me the caller used the phone in Mr. Delacorte’s bedroom.”

“A room that had been sealed by the sheriff’s department,” Sean said. He shifted in his chair, disturbing Dante. The dog grunted and lifted his head before he settled down again. “Seems to me a family member had to be the caller.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Pendergrast shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on the heels of his cowboy boots. “James was right not to trust his family, and I suspect we’ll soon find out one of them killed him. It could be any one of them, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Father.” Alexandra packed considerable force into that one word. “You must be careful about saying things like that. Consider the implications.”

Pendergrast threw an affectionate glance at his daughter. “I surely don’t think Charlie or his son here will go running to the press and start quoting my opinion to all and sundry.”

“Certainly not.” Sean glared at Alexandra.

Alexandra glared right back at him as she leaned forward in her chair. “Did I accuse either you or your father of intent to do such a thing? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Alexandra.” The tone of paternal command in that one word caused Alexandra to subside.

I glanced at Sean and saw him struggling not to smile at the young woman’s discomfiture. I shook my head at him, but he only quirked an eyebrow at me.

Sean’s antagonism toward Alexandra Pendergrast puzzled me. He appeared to have an antipathy to women lawyers, and I wondered whether that had something to do with his decision to quit his job and come to Mississippi. I filed that thought away for further consideration.

“We have strayed from the point.” The wry note in Pendergrast’s voice amused me. “I do believe that a member of the family is involved in James’s death, in an unlawful way. I also have every confidence in the abilities of Ms. Berry to find the truth and arrest the guilty party.”

“She is a very capable officer,” I said. “I have cause to know.”

“Yes, I seem to recall that you were involved in a murder investigation back last autumn.” Pendergrast nodded and glanced at his watch. “Time to meet with the family and read the will. As I said before, I won’t tell the family you will be continuing the inventory until I reach that provision. I expect that might bring interesting reactions—as if the rest of the will won’t.” He shook his head. “There’s bound to be great weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, as the Good Book says. James changed his will significantly just last week, though I advised him against it.”

I rose and followed Pendergrast toward the door. “No, you stay here,” I told Diesel. He meowed in complaint, but I repeated my words in a firmer tone. He turned his back to me.

Neither Sean nor Alexandra spoke as Pendergrast and I exited the room. I wouldn’t mind having a recording of what transpired in the smaller parlor while Pendergrast and I were with the family. I hoped they could manage to get along until the reading of the will was done.

I realized I was trying hard not to think about the scene about to ensue with the Delacorte family as Pendergrast knocked at the doors to the large front parlor. I disliked confrontations, and Pendergrast had already predicted histrionics in response to James Delacorte’s will.

The situation was increasingly coming to resemble the plot of an Agatha Christie novel, complete with a body in the library. Would I spot the clues properly, or would I end up being chagrined at overlooking the important ones when the solution to “whodunit” was revealed?

Then an unpleasant thought struck me. What if the terms of the will made someone angry enough to kill again?

NINETEEN

Q. C. Pendergrast strode confidently across the hall to the front parlor, where he headed for the massive fireplace against the wall shared with the library.