Helen Louise picked up her wineglass and drained it. She poured more for herself and then gestured with the bottle. I shook my head. I still had half a glass, and I felt stuffed from the excellent meal of spinach, cheese, and onion quiche and salade niçoise.
She picked up her glass again and stared into it. “I don’t imagine you’ll have to. My guess is they’ll be calling you soon enough. The grapevine in this town is amazingly swift.”
“True.” I supposed it was the same in every small town in the country, or in any kind of small community. Like a college. A sudden thought struck me. “You know, I hadn’t thought about the history department. They will be up in arms against Reilly’s plans. The contents are a gold mine for their grad students in Southern history.”
“There will be all kinds of allies,” Helen Louise said. “Wait until the word has got around. A hornet’s nest will have nothing on it.” She forked the last bite of quiche on her plate and ate it. When she finished, she said, “Tell me about the wedding. I really hated that I couldn’t be there.”
“I wish you could have been there, too,” I said. “Sean and Alex were disappointed you couldn’t come, but they’re planning a big party for when her father gets home from Australia.”
We chatted for a few minutes more about the wedding. I declined dessert, though I knew it would have been heaven on the tongue. My pants had been feeling a little tight lately, and between Azalea and Helen Louise, my taste buds remained locked in mortal combat with my waistline. The taste buds had been winning more often than not. I heard Stewart’s voice in my head.
The gym, Charlie. Come with me and I’ll get you started.
One of these days I really ought to pay more attention to Stewart.
Helen Louise had to be up at four the next morning, so Diesel and I reluctantly bade her good night at eight thirty. We were lucky she managed to squeeze in the occasional night like this during the week for dinner together. I always looked forward to Saturday nights, because the bistro was closed on Sundays.
On the short trip home, Diesel and I walked briskly. There was a chill in the air, not unpleasant, but it didn’t encourage us to linger. Along the way I thought about what it would be like when Helen Louise and I married. We hadn’t actually discussed it, but the time was approaching when we ought to. We’d been comfortable so far with the way things were. Her demanding work schedule meant we didn’t have a lot of time together, and I didn’t expect that to change with marriage. She loved her business, and I wouldn’t ask her to give it up.
There were definitely a number of issues to consider before we took that step. Soon, I realized, we really had to talk.
Once home—quiet and empty except for Diesel and me—we went up to my bedroom. I changed out of my clothes into the worn T-shirt and pajama shorts I favored for sleepwear. I turned down the ringer on my cell phone to a low but still audible setting and picked up my book. Thanks to the nap earlier, I didn’t feel that sleepy, so I would be able to get considerably further into the adventures of Richard the Lionheart before I drifted off.
The musical signal of an incoming call on my phone woke me. As I fumbled for the phone, I squinted at the clock. A few minutes after six. The caller ID told me my son was calling.
“Morning, Sean.” I yawned. “You’re calling really early. Is everything okay?” A terrible thought occurred to me, and I jerked upright on the bed, disturbing Diesel, who meowed sleepily. “Alex is okay, isn’t she? She’s not sick, I hope.”
“No, Dad, Alex is fine, and so is the baby,” Sean said. I could hear the barely suppressed irritation in his voice. “I’m afraid I have shocking news. Oscar Reilly was killed sometime last night, and I’m about to head to the county jail to meet Melba. They’ve taken her in for questioning.”
FIFTEEN
Oh, no, not another murder. I felt sick. Then the last part of what Sean said sank in. “Melba! Why have they taken her in for questioning?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.” Sean sounded grumpy, whether with me or the early call to the jail, I didn’t know.
“Sorry, of course,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not at the moment,” Sean said. “If they don’t hold her, I will bring her to your house. I know she’ll want to see you and talk to you about it. I wanted you to be prepared.” He broke off. “Look, Dad, I’m pulling up to the jail. I’ll call as soon as I can.” He ended the call.
I wished I could break him of talking on his cell phone while he drove, but at least he wasn’t doing it on a freeway in Houston anymore. I had nightmares about him and Laura talking and driving when we lived there.
My rambling thoughts focused on Melba. Other than the fact that she had been Reilly’s administrative assistant, at least until yesterday afternoon, why did they take her in?
An appalling thought popped into my head.
They would take her in if they found some kind of evidence at the scene that suggested she was present.
I refused to believe that my dear friend from childhood had killed Reilly, no matter the provocation. They couldn’t arrest her, surely. There couldn’t be sufficient evidence.
I realized I had no idea how—or where—he was killed. Frustrated by my lack of knowledge and my inability to do anything constructive to help Melba, I felt like pulling my hair. Poor Diesel picked up on my tension, and talking to him and reassuring him calmed me down as well.
“Our friend Melba’s in trouble,” I said. “But we’ll help her, won’t we?”
He recognized Melba’s name and meowed in response.
I yawned again. I was tired. I didn’t know exactly when I’d fallen asleep last night, but I had read until pretty late. The last time I remembered looking at the clock, it was nearly one.
“Come on, boy, let’s wash our faces and then get downstairs for some caffeine. I have a feeling I’m going to need a few gallons of it this morning.”
On the way downstairs I recalled my meeting with Penny Sisson. I hadn’t remembered it in time to tell Sean I would be out of the house for a while this morning.
As my foot hit the bottom step, I realized that the meeting would have to be put on hold. With Reilly’s murder, everything changed. Perhaps I wouldn’t lose my job after all.
I chided myself for my lack of compassion while I filled the coffeemaker with water. A man was dead, and by foul means, and here I was thinking about myself.
A little voice reminded me how much I loathed the dead man, and that false piety over his death was hypocritical. Then I decided I still wasn’t awake enough for these kinds of philosophical discussions with myself. I put coffee in the basket and hit the button.
The back door opened, and Azalea walked in. “Good morning, Mr. Charlie. You’re up early today.” Hearing a loud meow, she looked around to see the cat approaching from the direction of the utility room. “Good morning to you, too, Mr. Cat.”
I returned her greeting and then explained why Diesel and I were downstairs before our usual seven or seven thirty. Occasionally eight.
“Lord have mercy, Mr. Charlie.” Azalea shook her head. “I reckon you’re going to be involved in another murder. You and my daughter.”
Azalea’s daughter, Kanesha Berry, was chief deputy in the Athena County Sheriff’s Department, and their principal homicide investigator. The city had too small a police force to run a homicide investigation, and the sheriff’s department stepped in for murder cases. If necessary, they might call in the state cops, the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation.
If the murder occurred on campus, though, the campus police would be involved as well. Talk about complications. Thankfully for me, I didn’t have to worry about jurisdiction issues.