Classified as Murder Read online

  That seemed sudden to me. A day after Mr. Delacorte died?

  Pendergrast evidently sensed my puzzlement. “I know it’s fast, but this is what my late client wanted. You have met the family, I believe?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I think you can begin to understand why James wanted the family to know where they stand immediately. Now, are you available tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. I have the week off. I can be at your disposal except for the times that I volunteer at the public library.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. Harris.” Pendergrast nodded. “Whatever you need to do beyond a week, I’m sure we can agree to a mutually satisfactory schedule.”

  “There is one other thing.” Alexandra cut a sideways glance at her father. “Mr. Delacorte has also stipulated that you are to be paid a fee for your services to his estate. I’m sure you will find that fee more than generous.”

  “He already offered me a fee for the inventory,” I said. “I’ve barely started it, however. The amount he quoted—three hundred dollars an hour—is more than sufficient.”

  Alexandra nodded. “That is the fee stipulated in the will.”

  “I have a condition of my own, however.” If the Pendergrasts were surprised by my statement, they hid it well. “I don’t mind working in the Delacorte house every day this week, but if I’m going to be working for eight or more hours a day, I want to bring my cat with me. Mr. Delacorte had no problem with that. In fact, he seemed to like Diesel very much.”

  This could be a deal breaker, but I wasn’t about to leave Diesel for that length of time every day, even with Sean here to look after him. But I rather suspected that Sean would insist on going along with me.

  Pendergrast laughed, surprising me. “I’ve heard about that cat of yours and how he goes everywhere with you. I don’t have a problem with it, as long as the family doesn’t object. And even if they do, maybe having the cat will keep them from pestering you while you work.”

  “We will address the situation if, and when, it arises.” Alexandra eyed her father slightly askance. Then she turned to me, handing me the folder she’d held in her lap. “Here are Mr. Delacorte’s detailed instructions, Mr. Harris. I’m sure you’d like to read through them before tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you. We didn’t have as much time to talk about the job as I would have liked.” I accepted the folder and laid it on the couch beside me. “I’ll read through it this evening.”

  “I believe there is also a detailed inventory of the collection. You’ll need to be familiar with that.” Alexandra seemed determined that I realized the importance of the folder’s contents.

  “My father is a professional, an expert in his field, as you are in yours, I would hope.” Sean’s tone was sharp, and Alexandra frowned at him.

  “I beg your pardon.” Her tone was frosty. “I meant no criticism of your father’s abilities.”

  “Good. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Without you telling him how to do it seemed to hang in the air unsaid as Alexandra replied. “Yes, I’m certain he does.”

  Pendergrast cast a quelling glance at his daughter, who appeared about to speak again. “Then we’re all agreed?”

  “We are,” I said.

  Pendergrast stood and extended his hand, and I shook it. “If you’ll meet me tomorrow morning about a quarter to ten at the Delacorte home, we will endeavor to carry out my late client’s wishes.”

  I escorted father and daughter to the front door and then went to the kitchen to start dinner. A few minutes later Sean entered with Diesel and Dante. Diesel came over immediately to complain about being locked upstairs. I petted him, and the meowing trailed off after a minute or so.

  Sean pulled a beer from the fridge. “It’s a good thing old man Delacorte put it in the will about you getting paid three hundred dollars an hour. Though I’ll bet you it’s not anywhere near what Pendergrast and his snooty daughter make off the estate.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.” I regarded my son with a smile. “Speaking of Alexandra, I thought she was a very attractive young woman.”

  “Yeah, if you like the type.” Sean’s sour expression amused me. He swigged his beer.

  “And she had the most extraordinary blue eyes.” I watched him for his reaction.

  “No, they were green.”

  Sean grinned ruefully when he realized he’d stepped into the trap I’d set for him. He raised his beer bottle in my direction. “Touché, Dad. All right, she is beautiful. But like I said, she’s not my type.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “Female lawyer.” Sean snorted. He eyed me with a serious expression. “Dad, I was thinking about this job, continuing to work on this rare book collection. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, even for the money involved.”

  “How so?” I wondered how long it would take him to reach the same conclusion I already had.

  “You’ll be working in the dead man’s house, with his family all around.” He shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of you stuck there with a murderer.”

  SIXTEEN

  “We don’t know that one of Mr. Delacorte’s family is the murderer.” I felt compelled to make that point, though I really didn’t believe it myself. “But I’ll agree that it’s more than likely.”

  “I don’t think you should take the chance, then.” Sean’s mouth set in a stubborn line I knew all too well. “Someone who has killed once may not hesitate to kill again if he feels threatened.”

  “I’m not disagreeing with you.” I had a sip of my tea. “I don’t see how I could be much of a threat to anyone, though, simply working with Mr. Delacorte’s book collection.”

  “What if the collection was the reason he was murdered? He thought a member of the family was stealing from it, and that person might have killed him to stop the inventory.” Sean prowled restlessly back and forth. “But if you continue it, you could be putting yourself in danger. If you insist on doing it, however, I’m going to insist on going with you. I really don’t like the idea of you being in that house with that family. I can’t help but think about all the things your bakery friend told us about them. And Azalea. If half of what they said is true, you could be walking into a viper pit.”

  “I haven’t forgotten what Helen Louise or Azalea told us. It’s fine with me if you want to go with me. I’ll probably need some help, and your back and legs are younger and stronger than mine.” I sipped more tea. “And I’ll split the money with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m not after the money.” Sean halted abruptly, his beer halfway to his mouth. He appeared worried. “Is that why you’re insisting on doing this? Do you need the money?”

  “No, I don’t.” I appreciated his concern, but thanks to my inheritance from my dear aunt Dottie, my pension from Houston, and my modest salary from Athena College, I was very comfortably situated. “I’ll do the inventory because Mr. Delacorte wanted me to. From my limited acquaintance with him, I liked and respected him, and I’d like to carry through with his wishes.”

  “I can understand that.” Sean pulled out a chair and sat down. “But surely you can understand why I’m worried about this.”

  “I do. But you’ll be there with me, and with you watching over me, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” I drained my glass and got up to refill it. “Will you bring Dante?”

  Sean considered that for a moment. “I don’t see why not. If he’s alone in the house, he’ll get bored. He might tear something up.”

  “True enough,” I said. I remembered the mess I’d found Saturday near the front door. “How about some dinner? I’m hungry.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Sean drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. “How about some pizza? Any decent delivery place here?”

  “Yes. Pizza sounds good. What kind do you want?”

  “Thick crust with lots of meat and cheese,” Sean said. He got up to dispose of his empty bottle. “That okay with you?”

  �
��Sounds fine.”

  “If you’ve got the number, I’ll call it in.” Sean walked over to the wall phone.

  “It’s there on the pad by the phone,” I said, gesturing toward a notepad hung on the wall.

  Sean called the order in. He pulled out his wallet and extracted several bills. “This ought to cover it. About twenty-five minutes, they said. While we’re waiting, I’d like to check my e-mail and look up a few things on the Internet.”

  “Thanks for the pizza.”

  “My pleasure.” He headed upstairs to retrieve his laptop. Both animals trailed along behind him. Diesel seemed determined to keep his new playmate in sight.

  The pizza arrived thirty minutes later. I set it on the table and then went to let Sean know it was here. He and the two animals followed me into the kitchen.

  Sean had ordered a large pizza, and I wondered whether he should have ordered a medium instead. When I saw him pile half the pizza on his plate, I didn’t wonder any longer.

  “Mind if I eat out on the porch?” Sean grabbed some paper towels. “There’s some stuff I still need to finish up on with e-mail, and I might as well get it done.”

  I was disappointed, but all I said was, “Sure. I guess I’ll start going through those instructions and copy of the inventory Alexandra Pendergrast left with me.”

  “See you later, then.” Sean headed out of the kitchen, a very excited poodle running along with him.

  Diesel stayed with me, and I rewarded him with a couple of bites of pizza. We didn’t have it often, and the bits of cheese and meat were a treat for him. I decided to wait to read the file until my hands were completely free of pizza grease.

  I managed three of the four pieces of pizza Sean had left and then closed the box. I had a feeling the last piece would be gone before long.

  Upstairs, hands washed, pajamas on, I climbed into bed with the file. Diesel jumped up beside me and settled down for a nap.

  By the time I finished skimming the list of the collection, I felt like I’d strained my eye muscles from the many times my eyes must have turned into saucers. James Delacorte had amassed an amazing collection, not only of early American printed books, but also of fine examples of the earliest European printers. I couldn’t wait to get back to the collection and locate some of the gems. For a rare book cataloger, the Delacorte collection was the equivalent of heaven.

  The list of instructions was brief. The main thing Mr. Delacorte wanted was to ensure that the collection remained intact. He was quite insistent on a thorough inventory. I wondered when he had drawn up these instructions.

  He already thought some items were missing. Perhaps he feared the thief would loot the collection after his death. There were definitely many items that could fetch significant sums at auction. The first editions of Faulkner’s works, many of them signed and in apparently fine condition, would command an eye-popping sum on their own.

  A family member who tried to steal any of the books had to be pretty stupid, however. The theft would be detected right away. Surely none of the Delacorte heirs was that desperate, or that dumb. I would know better after hearing the terms of the will tomorrow morning, I figured.

  After I completed the inventory, my next task was to prepare it for the move to its new home. I grinned with pleasure when I read that the collection was to go to the Athena College library. There were provisions for a significant sum of money to be given as well, for the upkeep and cataloging of the books. I would be working on this collection for years to come.

  I regretted deeply, however, the manner in which the collection was coming to my care. But all too often death was the event that triggered such magnificent gifts.

  Around nine the phone rang. I checked the caller ID before I answered it. I recognized the number. Someone from the sheriff’s department was calling. My stomach grumbled. All that pizza felt like lead now.

  Kanesha Berry spoke into my ear, her voice as brisk and businesslike as ever.

  “Good evening, Mr. Harris. I apologize for troubling you this late, but I’d like to come by and talk to you if you’re available.”

  “Sure. Come on over.” Was I in for another round of questions over my actions earlier today?

  “Thank you. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  I changed back into my clothes and slipped on my shoes; then Diesel and I headed downstairs. Sean was still on the porch, hunched over his laptop with a cigar smoldering in an ashtray beside him. I let him know Kanesha was on the way because I figured he’d be annoyed if I talked to her without him.

  The more I thought about, the more I was touched that my son was so determined to protect me.

  By the time the doorbell rang, Sean, Dante, and Diesel were all settled in the living room, along with the tea tray I’d hastily prepared. I admitted Kanesha, who had come alone, I was interested to note. She brought with her a briefcase.

  “You remember my son, Sean,” I said as we entered the living room. “And Diesel and Dante.”

  Kanesha greeted Sean politely even as she eyed the animals with some forbearance, or so it appeared. Dante came dancing up to her, and after a moment she bent to hold her fingers out for him to sniff. He licked her hand, and she patted his head a bit awkwardly.

  Diesel merely observed the antics from his position on the sofa. He remained a bit wary of Kanesha, though from what I could tell he didn’t actively dislike or fear her.

  After everyone was seated, I offered Kanesha a cup of tea, and she accepted. That meant, I figured, this wasn’t an interrogation on the record.

  Dante jumped on the sofa to sit next to Diesel, ensconced next to me. Sean started to make him get down, but I told him it was okay. He shook his head but didn’t argue. It was fine with me if Dante wanted to get on the furniture. Any family member should be able to use it, and these animals were members of the family.

  But it was time to get the conversation moving. “There’s something I think you should know, Ms. Berry,” I said as she took her first sip of tea. “Q. C. Pendergrast and his daughter Alexandra came to see me this evening.”

  Kanesha’s eyes narrowed at the news. “In connection with Mr. Delacorte’s death?” She held the cup and saucer with such care I knew she was tense.

  “Yes. Mr. Delacorte named me as one of the two executors of his will, along with Mr. Pendergrast himself.” I smiled in self-deprecation. “I had no idea, naturally, he had done that.”

  Sean, in the chair across from me, appeared to be signaling me with his eyes. What was he trying to tell me?

  “I didn’t think you knew James Delacorte very well.” Kanesha set her tea on the coffee table. Her eyes bored into mine.

  “I didn’t. He was only an acquaintance, really.” I shrugged. “According to Mr. Pendergrast, Mr. Delacorte named me an executor because of my experience as a rare book cataloger. And he wanted me to inventory the collection.”

  Again Sean was doing his best to convey a message. I frowned at him, and Kanesha’s gaze flicked to him and then back to me.

  “Are you supposed to appraise the collection?” Kanesha folded her arms across her chest as she regarded me.

  “No, just do the inventory.” Should I tell her now that the collection was to be given to the college? I decided I’d better.

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “That works out pretty well for you, doesn’t it?”

  Sean bristled at her words. “What do you mean by that?”

  Kanesha glanced at him but then focused her gaze on me. “You get a very valuable collection in your keeping, isn’t that right?”

  The way she said it sounded like I was going to start pilfering the collection myself, the minute I had it under my control.

  I glared at her. “I will be its custodian, yes, for as long as I work at the college. But it will belong to the college, not to me.”

  Kanesha shrugged. “That’s all I meant.”

  Sean and I exchanged looks. She had deliberately provoked me, and we all knew it.
r />   “I take it, then, you’re willing to finish the inventory?” Kanesha relaxed enough to let her arms down into her lap.

  “I am. Sean’s going with me as my assistant.” I sipped some tea. “Mr. Pendergrast also asked me to be present tomorrow morning when he reads the will to Mr. Delacorte’s heirs. Then he wants me to continue with the job as soon as possible. When will I be able to get into the library again?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, possibly. This is an unusual situation.” Kanesha paused. “You’ll be in the house for quite some time, then. That’s not such a bad idea.”

  “What do you mean?” Sean spoke rather sharply, and Dante sat up and barked. Sean shushed him, and the poodle put his head down between his front legs.

  “I mean I think it will be helpful to the investigation to have someone inside the house. A person who isn’t an official investigator.” Kanesha directed her words to Sean, but she glanced quickly at me as if to gauge my reaction.

  This was certainly a switch. She hadn’t been all that happy last fall when I was in the middle of another murder investigation. We had finally managed to get along, but it wasn’t easy.

  And now here she was, practically asking me to snoop on her behalf.

  I put my thoughts into words, rather more tactfully than I might have. “You want me to be alert to anything that might have a bearing on the investigation, right?”

  “Yes, exactly. I know from past experience”—and here she flashed me a brief smile—“that you’re observant, and frankly I could use all the help I can get on this investigation. I can’t get much sense out of any of them. I’ve never seen a family like that.”

  I shook my head at Sean, because I could see he was ready to protest. “Thank you for the compliment. I will pass along anything I think is pertinent, naturally.”