Classified As Murder

Eloise’s death saddened me and, at the same time, enraged me. Who had hated or feared her enough to kill her?

Hubert was an obvious suspect. He clearly despised his wife and wanted to be rid of her. With her out of the way, he was free to marry Anita, if that’s what he wanted.

Had he also killed his uncle? He might have done it if he thought he was the chief heir to James Delacorte’s estate. Inherit millions, get rid of his inconvenient wife, and settle down with his mistress—that could have been the plan.

Another thought struck me. What if there were two killers at work here? After pondering that for a few minutes, I dismissed it as unlikely. Eloise’s murder could be a copycat killing, but I didn’t really think it was.

Her death could be the result of fear on the killer’s part. What did Eloise know that could harm James Delacorte’s murderer? Eloise didn’t seem to be particularly lucid most of the time, but that didn’t mean she might not witness something and then blurt it out later. The things she said often seemed to come out of nowhere, but now that I thought back on her oddball remarks, I realized they occasionally fit the context of the situation in some way.

Had Eloise unwittingly offered a clue to the killer’s identity? Had she known who killed James Delacorte without completely realizing it? I’d have to think back over all my interactions with her to search for potential leads.

After grappling with all those questions, I felt logy when I crawled out of bed at seven. Diesel raised his head from the pillow and yawned. He regarded me for a moment before rolling on his back to stretch and yawn some more.

By the time I finished my shower and dressed for the day, Diesel had disappeared. As I neared the kitchen, I smelled sausage frying. Azalea was here, and breakfast would soon be ready. My stomach gurgled in anticipation.

“Good morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

Azalea returned my greeting without turning away from the stove. “Eggs be ready in a couple minutes. Sausage, too.”

“Smells wonderful.” I gazed at the plate of biscuits and the bowl of red-eye gravy on the table. I fancied I could feel my arteries clogging at the sight, but where Azalea’s biscuits and gravy were concerned, I had absolutely no resistance.

“We have a new boarder.” I had a couple sips of coffee. “Stewart Delacorte, James Delacorte’s great-nephew. He moved in last night, into the third-floor room over mine.”

“I suspect I best set another place at the table, then.” Azalea turned from the stove and set a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage patties in front of me.

“He might not be down for a while.” My mouth watered as I opened two biscuits and covered them with gravy. “He had bad news last night, and we were up late.”

Azalea stared at me, hands on her hips. “What bad news?”

I paused with a forkful of biscuit and sausage halfway to my mouth. “Eloise Morris was murdered last night.” I put the fork down. It seemed disrespectful to poke food into my mouth right after delivering such bad news.

Azalea shook her head. “That poor lamb.” Her voice was soft. “Never harmed nobody. May the Lord bless and keep her.” Azalea’s lips continued to move, and I knew she must be offering a silent prayer on Eloise’s behalf.

When she finished, Azalea turned back to the stove. “Poor Mr. Stewart. I was working there when he come to live with his great-grandmama. Poor little mite he was, done lost his mama and daddy. Miss Eloise took up a lot of time with him, her being only about ten years older than him.”

No wonder Stewart was so upset. He hadn’t let on to Sean and me how close he and Eloise had been at one time. No surprise, then, that he despised Hubert so thoroughly for his treatment of his wife.

“How long Mr. Stewart gone be staying here?” Azalea came back to the table with another plate of eggs and sausage, which she set at Sean’s place.

Right on cue, Sean walked into the kitchen. “Good morning. That sure smells good.” He pulled out his chair and sat.

“I’m not sure how long Stewart will be here, Azalea,” I said. “He wanted to get out of the Delacorte house and stay here until he could find a permanent place of his own.”

“Can’t say as I blame him for that.” Azalea brought Sean a cup of coffee, and he thanked her in between bites of egg, biscuit, and sausage.

“You looking a lot better this morning.” Azalea stood near the table and fixed her stern gaze upon my son. “Eating good food and getting you some sleep’s made some difference.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sean smiled at her. “With food like this, I can’t help but do better. These are the most delicious biscuits I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Azalea’s expression softened for a moment. “I just make’em the way my mama taught me when I was only a bitty girl.” She squared her shoulders. “Now I got plenty of laundry to be doing. I can’t stand around here talking or I ain’t gone get everything done.” She headed into the utility room.

Sean grinned at me. “She’s a trip. I hope she never quits.”