Claws For Concern

Pemberton reached for his bottle and drank more water. “What I propose to do—and, of course, my publisher would have to approve, or I won’t be doing the book—is write about these cases and bring in the aspects of how amateur sleuths assisted the police. I’d like to write about two or three of them per book.”

“So you’re thinking of a series of books, then,” I said.

“Yes,” Pemberton said. “All these cases are interesting, but they’re not the long, drawn-out kind that I’ve written about before. I don’t think they need the full-length-book treatment.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “I have to say that I find your approach to this interesting. My only real concern in this is that I don’t want to find myself in the spotlight afterward. I don’t want the attention this could bring.”

“Understood,” Pemberton replied. “Wanda Nell and I don’t want that kind of attention, either. For that reason I am not intending to use real names. I would give you a pseudonym, just like I will be giving myself and my wife.”

“That’s fine, up to a point,” I said. “But there will be people who read the books who will recognize the cases, of course. They might also know enough to recognize the real identities of the amateurs involved.”

“That’s true,” Pemberton said. “I can’t do anything about that, so there is still a risk involved. There is another issue, though, that could affect this project. I don’t know about the attitude of local law enforcement in Athena, but in Tullahoma I know they’re not going to be eager to acknowledge the roles that Wanda Nell or I might have played in bringing the killers to justice. They want the credit for that, and for the most part, I think they deserve it.”

“I agree with you on that,” I said. “Chief Deputy Berry, who is the chief homicide investigator here, is a smart, capable officer. We haven’t always gotten along well, but we managed to work out our differences. I wouldn’t want her to think that I suddenly decided I wanted all the credit for the work she and her officers have done in the past.”

“I understand,” Pemberton replied. “And the same for me and my wife. This project has a number of hurdles, and I have to see if I can get over them before it can go forward. I haven’t broached the idea with my agent and my editor yet, and they could very well tell me not to go forward with it.”

Until now I’d had the impression that Pemberton was ready to get started, once he had my permission. Frankly I was relieved to hear that not everything was settled yet.

“What do you think?” the writer asked. “Will you cooperate with me, if I get the go-ahead on this?”

I hesitated before I replied. “I have to be honest with you. I’m still uneasy over the situation, but if you can get the go-ahead from Chief Deputy Berry, then I will participate, too.”

Pemberton smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. I’m delighted to have you on board. Luckily I was able to arrange a meeting with the chief deputy for this afternoon. I have some time to kill. Could I treat you to lunch?”

“Thank you, that’s kind of you, but I brought my lunch today,” I said. “I’ll be working here until three. If you need a recommendation for a place to eat, I can recommend the French bistro on the square.” I rose from my chair.

Pemberton stood. “I’ve eaten there before. Great food. Thanks for reminding me.” He extended his hand again, and we shook.

“Let me walk out with you,” I said. Diesel accompanied us.

“I’ll be in touch,” Pemberton said when we neared the door. He gave Diesel a couple of pats on the head before he exited.

“Nice guy,” I said, and Diesel warbled. “Come on, time for lunch.” I turned back toward the staff area, but we had moved only a few steps before Bill Delaney approached me.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Can we talk somewhere private for a few minutes?” He looked away, then his gaze focused on me again. He had his hands shoved into his pants pockets.

I wondered what was making him so uneasy. “Sure, come on back with me.” Diesel trotted ahead, and I guided Delaney to the work area. “Have a seat, and tell me what’s on your mind.” I indicated the chair that Jack Pemberton had vacated only a few minutes ago.

Delaney nodded and removed his hands from his pockets. He perched on the edge of the chair, and I could see he was still uneasy about something. Diesel came to sit by my legs behind the desk. I think he had picked up on Delaney’s emotional state, and it was making him a little uneasy, too.

Delaney looked at me for a moment, then stared down at his hands. He didn’t look up when he began to speak.

“I found out that you live in that house,” he said. “The one I asked about that used to belong to Delbert Collins.” He raised his head, and I could see that he was confused.

“Yes, I do,” I said. “My aunt was married to Delbert Collins, and that was their home. When she died, she left it to me.”

Delaney nodded. “Figured you might be kin some kind of way to one of them.”