Classified As Murder

“It’s not like he suddenly left town,” Sean said. “You know where he is, and if you need him, you can get to him. Besides,” he grinned at her, “this way Dad and I can pump him for all the dirt on the family. Not that we’ll have to do much pumping, I expect.”

Kanesha pondered that for a moment. “I reckon it’s okay. But you can tell Mr. Delacorte that if he decides to move anywhere else, he needs to let me know right away.”

Bates returned then, without a bag. “Nothing big enough,” he told Kanesha.

“Right, then,” she said. “Get on to the crime scene guys, tell them what I need, and have someone come over and pick up this book. I’ll send someone to relieve you in a couple of hours.”

Bates nodded and pulled out his cell. Kanesha turned back to me and Sean. “Y’all go on home, and if you can do some more work tonight, that would be great. The sooner I have an answer about thefts, the happier I’ll be.”

“Thanks, Deputy,” I said. “We’ll find you an answer as quickly as we can.” I motioned for Diesel to come out from under the table. “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

Diesel didn’t have to hear those words more than once. He knew what they meant. He hurried to my side, and I rubbed his head a few times. Then Sean preceded us out the door.

As we exited I heard Kanesha tell Bates she was going upstairs to question Eloise. I wished her luck on that, and I hoped poor Eloise had recovered from the incident on the stairs. Someone should take a belt or a baseball bat to Hubert for his treatment of his wife. I had absolutely no use for men like that.

On the drive home I asked about Eloise. “Did she say anything about the incident?”

“No,” Sean said. “At first all she did was cry, and I couldn’t blame her. He hit her hard enough to bruise her. Man, I’d like a few minutes alone with that jerk, show him what it’s like to be hit by someone bigger and stronger.”

“I know how you feel,” I said. “I sympathize, but I wouldn’t suggest actually doing it.”

“I know. But I’d sure like to.”

From the backseat, Diesel meowed loudly. Sean laughed and turned to look at him. “I’m glad you agree, cat.” He faced forward again.

“Did Eloise say anything?” I asked.

“After she stopped crying, she started rambling,” Sean said with a frown. “It was hard to make any sense of it, because each sentence didn’t connect to the one before it. She talked about cookies, the summer hunt ball, canning vegetables, and other stuff. Made me dizzy to listen to her. And she kept looking at me like I was supposed to know what she was talking about.”

“I suppose it’s the way her mind copes with unpleasant things,” I said. “Poor woman.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I was when her mother-in-law turned up. I was getting to the point of running out into the hall and yelling for help, I was so desperate.” He sighed. “The only time she really made sense was when she told me which room was hers.”

Two minutes later I pulled the car into the garage. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, Diesel right on my heels, I smelled an enticing aroma.

Stewart Delacorte was at the stove. He glanced up as we entered. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, gentlemen. I thought I’d better prove to you that I’m not merely decorative.” He laughed at his own joke, and I couldn’t help but laugh with him. Sean did, too.

Dante had been lying under the table, but he emerged with a joyful bark the moment he spotted Sean. My son bent and scooped the dog into his arms, and Dante licked him repeatedly on the cheek. Sean grimaced but didn’t reprimand him.

Diesel had disappeared, but he would be back as soon as he finished in the utility room.

I stepped closer to the stove to see what he was cooking, but the pots were covered. “It smells wonderful,” I said. “What is it?”

“My very special meat sauce,” Stewart replied. “Now, shoo, both of you, out of the kitchen while I put the finishing touches to this delectable repast. I’ll yoo-hoo when it’s ready.”

“Good,” Sean said as he put Dante down again. “I’m starved.”

“Don’t worry,” Stewart said with a flirtatious glance. “There’s plenty here to satisfy a big, strong man like you.”

Sean burst out laughing, and it was then that Stewart’s double entendre registered with me. I probably blushed, but Sean didn’t seem to mind.

Time for me to head upstairs and wash up. This could turn out to be one heck of an interesting meal.

TWENTY-SIX

Dinner with Stewart turned out to be a stimulating experience. The food was superb—whole wheat linguine with a delicious meat sauce, tossed salad, and the best garlic bread I’ve ever tasted. All topped off with a bottle of excellent Merlot I’d had waiting in the cabinet for a special meal.

Dante spent the whole meal going back and forth between Sean and Stewart, begging. Sean let him have a few morsels, but that was all. I suspected that Stewart sneaked the dog as many treats as Sean did—if not more.