Classified As Murder

I wondered how long before I came back from lunch that this all occurred. Not very long, was my guess. Had I returned earlier, I might have caught Truesdale in the act. He would probably have had some plausible tale, however.

Later, Truesdale gave Eloise more cookies with peanuts in them to silence her permanently. Her seemingly nonsensical remarks would give him away if anyone paid close enough attention to what she said.

If only I had done that earlier, Eloise might still be alive.

That thought made me angry and sick at the same time, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. I had to complete my case against the butler.

What else was there?

The thefts from the collection, of course. They weren’t connected to the murder after all. Hubert and Anita probably had the fright of their lives when Mr. Delacorte was killed. They were pretty stupid to think they could get away with the thefts for very long, because Mr. Delacorte was bound to discover them sooner or later. His death might have seemed like a gift, as long as it was natural, but the minute it was labeled murder, they had probably started sweating. They had to realize they would be prime suspects, once their guilt in the thefts became known.

Maybe I was overestimating them both. Otherwise, why would Anita have been heading to Memphis and a flight somewhere in order to sell the copy of Tamerlane? Didn’t she realize that trips out of town by anyone connected to the case would arouse suspicion?

Anita never failed to let those around her know how intelligent she was. Apparently Hubert also thought he was very bright. In their arrogance they failed to realize how inept they were, and how shortsighted in thinking they could get away with stealing from Mr. Delacorte’s collection.

But I didn’t think they had killed James Delacorte to hide their pilfering of his book collection.

Pendergrast mentioned Mr. Delacorte changed his will significantly the week before he was killed. Nigel Truesdale knew he was the chief heir in the new will. His position had changed in a big way, which no doubt the lawyer could confirm.

The motive for murder was greed, pure and simple. Truesdale wanted to retire, but evidently Mr. Delacorte wouldn’t let him. There was that remark in the will itself about the butler’s finally being able to retire. I also remembered what Helen Louise had told Sean and me, that Mr. Delacorte was known for not paying his household staff well.

With James Delacorte dead, Truesdale had access to a tremendous amount of money, not to mention a beautiful mansion as a home.

I recalled the odd scene I had witnessed when I went to find the butler to inform him of his employer’s death. I saw him hand a good-sized wad of currency to a man Truesdale said was the gardener. Now that I thought about it, though, the words between them hadn’t sounded much like the butler paying the gardener his wages. Truesdale had said something about having “the rest of it” soon, while the alleged gardener had replied that he wasn’t going to wait much longer.

I was now willing to bet the man wasn’t a gardener, but either a loan shark or a bookie. Maybe Truesdale had a bit of a gambling problem. With legalized gambling in Mississippi, there were plenty of people who gambled more than they could afford.

That was something Kanesha could check out.

I put the pen down and quickly scanned what I had written. Some facts, some suppositions. Kanesha could check the facts, and maybe she could find concrete proof linking Truesdale to both murders.

Kanesha walked in. “Okay, Mr. Harris, what is it you have to tell me? I need to get your statement about finding the Tamerlane.” She moved closer to where I sat at the desk.

I handed her the pieces of paper containing my notes. “Read this first; then we’ll talk.”

She frowned at me as she accepted the pages, but she couldn’t have read much before she paused to speak. “You’re telling me the butler did it? When I’ve already got my two best suspects cooling their heels at the sheriff’s department? They stole the books, or are you telling me the butler did that, too?”

I did my best to keep my temper as I replied. “No, they stole the books. Just read the rest of it. Please.” Patience is a virtue, I reminded myself. Think about the sermon you heard on Sunday.

Kanesha frowned again, but at least she went back to reading. This time it looked like she read every word. In fact, when she reached the end, she started over and went through it a second time.

When she finished, she looked at me and smiled. “Interesting.” She handed the pages back to me. “Now, about your statement. Tell me what happened when you found the copy of Tamerlane.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. I knew my face had reddened. My hold on my temper was slipping. “What about Truesdale? Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“That’s all speculation.” She pointed to the pages I held. “I can’t arrest a man on a bunch of maybes.”