Claws For Concern

“We do stock his books,” Jordan said. “I remember who he is now. He’s from Tullahoma, I think, so he’s practically a local writer. Let me see.” She paused a moment. “I have two in stock, according to the computer. Hell Has No Fury and Murder at Dawn. Would you like me to add one of them to your stack?”

“Yes, I’ll take Hell Has No Fury,” I said. “According to our online catalog it’s about a murder in Mississippi. I’m working at the public library today until five, but Diesel and I will swing by on the way home.”

“Great,” Jordan said. “I’ll see you then.”

Briefly I wondered how many books Jordan had set aside for me. Probably anywhere from three to a dozen or more. She knew my favorite authors and always set aside their books for me, plus she often suggested new writers she thought I might like. I appreciated the level of customer service she and her staff provided, and I enjoyed visiting the store and browsing the shelves.

I pocketed my phone and headed back to the desk. A few paces out of the staff area, I heard an “excuse me, sir.” I turned to see the man I’d helped with the phone books approaching. I stepped toward him, noting that he held one of the phone books in his right hand. The book was open, and he had a finger of his left hand on a page.

“How can I help?” I asked when I reached him.

He moved to stand beside me. “Can you tell me how to find this address?” He held out the book, his finger pointed at an entry.

I bent closer to read the small print. When I saw the name and the address, I felt a shock. It was my address, and the name, Delbert Collins, was that of my late aunt Dottie’s husband.

FIVE

For a moment I couldn’t respond. Why is this man interested in my address?

“Can you read it okay?” the man asked. “I had a little trouble myself, the print being so small the way it is.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, I can read it. It’s not far from the library.” I hesitated, worried that my next words might offend him. “Maybe a little far to walk on a hot day, though. May I ask why you’re interested in this particular address?” I stepped back, and he closed the phone book, one finger inserted to hold his place.

He regarded me briefly, then his gaze dropped when he began to speak. “My mother used to know Mr. Collins a long, long time ago. I reckon he must have passed on or else sold his house because I had to look in an old book to find his name.” He tapped the cover of the phone book, and I saw that it was dated eight years ago.

Aunt Dottie was still living when that issue was published. Even though Uncle Del had died more than twenty years ago, the listing in the phone book remained in her husband’s name. That was the custom, of course, and Aunt Dottie had never changed her entry.

“Yes, I’m afraid Mr. Collins has been gone a long time now,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I never introduced myself. I’m Charlie Harris.” I was hoping he would tell me his name now.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harris,” the man said. “Bill Delaney.” He stuck out his free hand, and I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Delaney.”

“Is Mrs. Collins still living?” Delaney asked, his gaze once again lowered.

Was he really that shy, I wondered, that he didn’t want to look directly at me? Or was he afraid I would read his thoughts?

I shook my head. “No, she passed away about seven years ago.”

“Did they ever have any children?” Delaney asked. “Would you happen to know?”

He seemed overly interested, at least to me, in Uncle Del and Aunt Dottie. I decided I wasn’t going to reveal my connection to them—and to the house—until I knew more about Delaney and the reasons for his interest.

“No, they didn’t,” I said. That wasn’t completely accurate, because they had had one child, a daughter named Veronica, who died in childhood, but I didn’t see any point in revealing that to a stranger.

“That’s too bad,” Delaney said. “Sure would’ve been nice to talk to Mr. Collins about my mother. When you get to be my age, you know, there just ain’t that many folk around who knew your parents in the old days.”

“I know what you mean.” My parents would have been in their late eighties by now, and most of their friends in Athena were gone.

“Well, I reckon that’s that.” Delaney shrugged. “Thanks again, Mr. Harris, for helping with the phone books.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

He nodded and walked away. Obscurely troubled, I stood there for a moment and watched his retreating back. I couldn’t explain it, but I had a feeling there was more behind Delaney’s interest than simply wanting to find someone who had once known his mother. But I had no idea what that more could be.