The Pawful Truth Read online

  “She’s been married twice, and she’s been mixed up in at least two divorces that I know of.” Melba shook her head. “She stirs up trouble, and you don’t want to get too friendly with her.”

  “I’m hardly likely to.” I was tempted to ask Melba whether she knew anything about Dixie Compton and Carey Warriner, but decided against it.

  “I reckon you wouldn’t be the first man to say that,” Melba retorted, “and then find yourself hip-deep in all kinds of mess. Helen Louise will know what I’m talking about.”

  “You think I should talk to Helen Louise about her?” I asked, trying not to grin. “Maybe warn her that Dixie Compton is on the prowl, and that she’s got me in her sights?”

  Melba shot me a withering glance. “You think you’re so funny sometimes. Don’t try to act all superior with me, Charlie Harris. I know what I’m talking about. If that woman ever turns up dead in a ditch somewhere, I’m not going to be surprised. She’s pissed off way too many women, and probably a few men, in this town.” With that, she got up and hurried out of the room.

  Carey Warriner could be one of those men. That thought came unbidden, and I dismissed it. I had a tendency to occasionally let my imagination run away with me. No doubt the result of my experiences with murder the past few years.

  I felt guilty over being facetious with Melba. I knew better than to respond this way when she was in one of these moods. I’d give her a little time to cool down, and then I’d apologize. She meant well, I knew, but frankly I had a hard time seeing myself as the target of a femme fatale’s designs.

  I had to wonder, though, whether Dixie Compton’s invitation to be her study partner was her only purpose in coming to see me. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but the whole episode felt slightly off to me. Her relationship with Carey Warriner—whatever it was, or might still be—made me leery. There was no point in my spending any more time analyzing it. I could sit here for way too long wasting my time.

  “I need to get back to work,” I said to Diesel. “We’ll go downstairs in a bit, and you can work your magic on Melba and get her to forgive me.” He gave me a lazy chirp in response and resumed snoozing.

  I worked steadily until lunchtime with no further interruptions, other than the occasional muttering from Diesel whenever he spotted activity in the trees outside his window. He jumped down when he saw me making preparations to leave and beat me to the door. While I locked it, he scampered down the stairs. He knew we were headed home, where treats awaited him. Fried chicken, if I remembered Azalea’s plans correctly.

  Melba’s office stood empty, and I supposed she had already left for her own lunch. Diesel waited patiently for me to put on his harness and attach the leash, and then we set off down the sidewalk toward home. Before we reached the first street crossing, a tall, attractive blond man who looked vaguely familiar nodded to me as he passed by, with only a cursory glance at Diesel. Usually strangers stopped, struck by the sight of a cat on a leash, but this man was either not interested or in too much of a hurry to comment or question.

  That sense of vague familiarity nagged at me as Diesel and I continued toward home. I tried to recall the context in which I had seen the stranger but none came easily to mind. I paused to glance back, but he had disappeared from view. At some point I would recall where I had seen the man before, I knew. I thought instead about Azalea’s delicious fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy and biscuits. Several minutes later we reached home and headed inside for our meal.

  We found Stewart seated at the kitchen table, a pleasant surprise because it wasn’t often that he came home from campus for lunch. I expressed these thoughts while Diesel, with Ramses meowing enthusiastically by his side, went to the utility room. Dante was not present, so I presumed that Stewart had left him upstairs.

  Stewart grinned. “I had a hankering for fried chicken, and nobody’s is better than Azalea’s.”

  Azalea made a sound vaguely like a snort as she set a platter of chicken on the table, along with bowls of green beans and potatoes and a gravy boat. Next came glasses of sweet tea and a plate piled high with biscuits. I could feel my waistline expanding from merely inhaling the delicious aromas.

  While I washed and dried my hands at the sink, Stewart continued talking. “It’s a shame you weren’t here a few minutes ago, Charlie. I had a visitor who is interested in renting a room for a couple of months. I thought you might be willing to rent Justin’s old room.”

  Justin Wardlaw, a student at Athena who had boarded with me for several years, had recently moved in with family who lived near campus. I missed having him around the house, and Diesel certainly missed him, but I was happy for Justin.

  “Who is it?” I asked as I returned to the table and took my usual seat. “If it’s someone you know, I’m certainly willing to consider it.”

  “Dan Bellamy,” Stewart said. “I don’t know him really well, but we’ve been friendly for several years now. He goes to the same gym where Haskell and I are members. He works out sometimes when we do.”

  I stared at Stewart, a forkful of green beans halfway to my mouth. “The Dan Bellamy that we were talking about before?”

  Stewart grinned again. “He’s the only one I know. He apparently needs a place to stay temporarily while he has some work done on his house. Extensive renovations, he said, and there’s too much noise and confusion. He needs a quieter space until it’s done.”

  I chewed on my beans and didn’t respond until I had swallowed and had a sip of sweet tea. “If you think he’s okay, then it’s fine with me. I’d like to talk to him first, though.”

  Stewart pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll text him. He hasn’t been gone long. He might have time now to come back and talk.”

  “Or just have him come by my office sometime this afternoon,” I said.

  Stewart nodded, his thumbs quickly tapping away on the screen of his phone. I envied him his ability. I remained firmly stuck in the one-finger style of texting.

  Azalea had been doling out bits of chicken to the two cats while Stewart and I talked. The housekeeper noticed that I was watching, and she wiped her hands and held them up to let the cats see that they were empty of treats.

  “That’s all, you two. I can’t stand around here all day just giving you chicken.”

  Diesel meowed, and Ramses started rubbing himself against her legs. Azalea glanced at me, and I shook my head. “Go on, you two, now scat. Blame Mr. Charlie, not me.”

  Diesel left Azalea and came to me, quickly followed by Ramses. I looked down at the two expectant faces. “No, you’ve both had enough. Despite what you are thinking, you do not need any more chicken.”

  That stern comment earned me an indignant trill from Diesel, while Ramses decided to scale my leg and scramble into my lap. Stewart watched, laughing the whole time. Then his cell phone buzzed, and he picked it up to glance at the screen.

  “Dan,” he said as he looked up at me. “Says he’ll drop by your office around one thirty, if that’s okay.”

  I nodded. “Fine.”

  Stewart tapped on his phone again, then set it aside.

  Ramses kept trying to climb from my lap into my plate, and I put him down on the floor, looked at him, and said in my firmest tone, “No, Ramses, no.”

  Ever the optimist, Ramses attempted to climb my leg again, but this time Diesel batted him down. Diesel understood what I meant when I told him no. Ramses wailed indignantly, but Diesel kept pushing him away. Finally, the smaller cat gave up and went back to Azalea.

  I didn’t see the housekeeper give Ramses any more chicken, but he stayed near her until she left the kitchen for another part of the house. Ramses went with her. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out she had chicken in her apron pocket. She spoiled the kitten unrepentantly.

  Now that Ramses was out of the room and Diesel had stopped pestering me, I could focus my thoughts on my pros
pective boarder. Suddenly my brain connected my encounter with the vaguely familiar stranger to Stewart’s relaying of Bellamy’s request.

  “On the way home for lunch,” I said, “a tall blond man who I thought looked familiar passed us on the sidewalk near campus. I wonder if that might have been your friend Bellamy.”

  Stewart shrugged. “Very possible. The timing would fit. He is tall and blond. Muscular and handsome, too.”

  I nodded. “Fits the man I saw. I can’t figure out why he looked familiar, though. I’ve never met Dan Bellamy that I can recall.”

  “Didn’t you read one of his books?” Stewart asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Excellent book.” Then light dawned. “There was a picture of him on the book jacket. Now I remember. I looked at it briefly, but I don’t usually pay much attention to pictures of authors.”

  “Mystery solved then.” Stewart grinned as he picked apart a drumstick and placed the meat on a saucer. “I’m taking this up to Dante. He was a good boy this morning and didn’t eat any of my shoes.”

  I laughed. “One thing I don’t have to worry about with Diesel. Ramses, however, is another matter. I caught him sharpening his claws on an old pair of dress shoes in my closet yesterday.”

  We finished our meal, continuing to chat about our pets and their quirks, some adorable and others downright annoying. My philosophy had always been, however, if you had something valuable you didn’t want a dog or cat to play with, then it was up to you to put it safely away. You couldn’t blame the pet for taking what was available for a plaything.

  Stewart said he would clear the table while Azalea was busy elsewhere, and Diesel and I left him to it. I wanted to track down my Lucy Dunne books and put them together in anticipation of the coming event. The last two had been published in hardcover, while the first few had been paperback originals. I knew where the hardbacks were, but the paperbacks could be in several places.

  I quickly found the hardbacks and pulled them from the shelf. Diesel watched from the sofa, stretched out and yawning, when I placed the books on the desk. I rooted among the shelves that covered one whole wall of the den and found two of the paperbacks. Another one was upstairs in a shelf in my bedroom, and after thinking about it for a bit, I remembered that I had taken one to Melba a couple of weeks ago. I would have to remind her to bring it to me before the event.

  I had borrowed Daniel Bellamy’s book from the college library. I imagined Jordan Thompson would have copies for sale at the event, and I might consider purchasing one and having the author sign it.

  A check of my watch alerted me to the need to head back to the archive. “Come on, Diesel,” I said. “Time to go back to work.”

  Diesel perked up and hopped off the couch. Two minutes later, the cat back in his harness and leash, we headed up the street to campus. Time to apologize to Melba.

  SIX

  Melba had returned from lunch. She glanced up as we approached the office suite’s open door. She frowned at me, but she had a smile for Diesel when he ran to her after I let him off the leash. I followed the cat slowly and stopped a couple of paces from her desk while she scratched Diesel’s head and crooned to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my expression penitent. “Friends again?”

  Melba rolled her eyes at me. “Of course we are. You need to be reminded every once in a while you can be a little too much of a smarty-pants, that’s all. When I tell you something I know about a person, am I usually wrong?”

  “No, not usually,” I said. “In fact, I have a hard time recalling a time when you were wrong.”

  Melba shot me a glance full of triumph and a lot of I told you so. I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender, leash dangling.

  “Diesel, would you like to visit Melba awhile if it’s okay with her?” I looked directly at the cat. He knew what I was asking him, and he responded with a loud meow. I glanced at Melba, who nodded.

  “All right then,” I said, turning to head upstairs. Almost to the door, I paused and looked back. “I have a visitor coming around one thirty. Potential new boarder.”

  “Anyone I know?” Melba asked.

  “History professor Daniel Bellamy, the one you were talking about yesterday,” I said. “That reminds me. Do you mind bringing me that Lucy Dunne book you borrowed?”

  “How did that remind you of the book?” Melba looked puzzled.

  “Lucy Dunne and Daniel Bellamy are doing an event this weekend for the bookstore,” I said. “I’d like to take my books and get them signed.”

  “I don’t know Dr. Bellamy myself, only what I’ve heard mostly from Viccy and Jeanette. I’m curious to see him.” Melba pulled out a drawer and delved into it. Her hand emerged with the book I’d lent her. “I read it last night, stayed up until midnight. Really good. I need to read more of her books.”

  I walked back to retrieve the book. “You can borrow mine, if you like, after the event.”

  “I think I might go to this event myself,” Melba said. “I might even buy my own copies.”

  “And check out what goes on between Lucy Dunne, aka Irene Warriner, and Daniel Bellamy.” I grinned.

  “Ha-ha,” Melba said, her tone sour.

  Ignoring that, I gave her the details of the event.

  “I’ll put it in my calendar,” she said. “Now go away.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.” I headed upstairs to my office.

  After checking e-mail, I returned to cataloging more of the collection. Absorbed in my work, I paid little heed to the time until Diesel caught my attention by meowing loudly from beside my chair. Startled, I glanced down at him, and he meowed again.

  “Did you have a good visit?” I asked. He chirped and jumped into the window. I took that sound to mean yes.

  A cough from the doorway alerted me to the presence of another person. I looked toward the door and saw the man Diesel and I had encountered on our way home for lunch. I rose from my desk and went around to greet him.

  “You must be Daniel Bellamy.” I extended a hand, and he accepted it with a firm grasp. “Please, have a seat.” I indicated a chair.

  “Thank you,” Bellamy said, his voice a resonant bass. He made himself comfortable in the chair while I resumed my own seat. “That’s quite a cat you have. I’d heard he was big, but I hadn’t imagined quite how large he actually is.”

  “Diesel is above average size for a Maine Coon,” I replied. “He’s about ten pounds heavier and several inches longer from nose to tip of the tail than other males usually are.”

  “He’s definitely handsome,” Bellamy said. “He greeted me downstairs, then showed me the way to your office.” He smiled at this. “He let me rub his head.”

  I regarded him across my desk. A handsome young man, perhaps thirty-five or forty, I calculated, he had darkish blond hair and deep-blue eyes. His hair, short on the sides but thick and slightly long on top, flopped toward his eyes. He brushed it back with his left hand. He looked back at me, his gaze direct, his smile friendly.

  “Stewart Delacorte told me you might be able to help me out for a couple of months,” he said.

  “He mentioned that you’re having renovations done to your home,” I said.

  Bellamy nodded, his left hand raking his unruly hair back off his forehead again. “It’s an older house, a Craftsman, built around 1925. It’s been pretty well maintained over the years, but some of the flooring needs to be replaced, and some of the plumbing, too, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “The kitchen’s going to be a mess, and so are the bathrooms. I’d just as soon not try to live there while all this is going on. It ought to go faster if I can stay somewhere else for two to three months.”

  “I can certainly understand that,” I said. “I’m not sure how much Stewart told you about the arrangements for boarding.”

  “The bare bones, probably,” Bellamy replied. “As long as I have
a comfortable room with a good bed and a bathroom, I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “I backpacked around Europe as a student, staying in hostels, so I can adapt to pretty much anything.”

  I laughed. “The room I have in mind will certainly be more comfortable than a youth hostel. It’s on the third floor, down the hall from Stewart’s suite. Other than Stewart and his partner, there’s no one else up there, so you’d have your privacy. And, of course, a bathroom to yourself.”

  “Sounds fine to me.” He hesitated. “Are there any meals included? They’re not necessary, but it would be convenient.”

  “Breakfast and the evening meal,” I said. “I have a wonderful housekeeper, Azalea Berry, who is a first-class Southern cook. If you’re depending on health food, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

  Bellamy laughed, his hand once more going to his head. “Good Southern home cooking is fine with me. I work out almost every day at the gym. That’s actually how I got to know Stewart and Haskell. Plus climbing two flights of stairs every day can only help offset the calories.”

  “Climbing one several times a day hasn’t helped me that much.” I grinned. “But I don’t go to the gym, either.” Enough chitchat. Time to settle the details. “When would you like to move in?”

  “Would this evening work?” Bellamy asked. “I’ve already packed most of what I need in hopes that you would agree to let me board with you.”

  “Five o’clock?”

  He nodded. “That’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll have a key for you and also a form you’ll need to fill out and sign.” I named the amount for a month’s board, and he seemed surprised.

  “That’s not very much,” he said.

  I shrugged. “It’s not really a moneymaking venture. I’m continuing what my late aunt started. She rented rooms to students and the occasional young starving professor, and I’ve kept it up. Though I haven’t had that many boarders, come to think of it, other than Stewart, Haskell, and a student named Justin Wardlaw.”