Claws For Concern

“I’ve invited him for dinner tomorrow evening,” I said. “That will give me a chance to get to know him a little better.” A thought occurred to me, and I shared it with Azalea. “I haven’t asked him whether he intends to stay in Athena. He’s from Tullahoma originally, and for all I know he might have a home there that he’s planning to go back to.”

“That’s true,” Azalea said. “He might not be looking to stay here for long, just till he finds out what he wants to know about his daddy.”

“I can’t tell him much more myself,” I said. “I can show him Aunt Dottie’s photograph albums and let him have some of those photos, if he likes. I don’t really know much at all about Uncle Del because he died when I was so young.”

“I didn’t know him myself,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie’d been widowed for several years before I came to work for her.” She fell silent for a moment. “I’ll be thinking on it, see if I can come up with somebody who might have known him.”

“I should have thought of that myself,” I said. “I wonder, do you think Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce might have known him?”

“They might have,” Azalea said.

“I’ll talk to them,” I said. “Thank you, Azalea. I appreciate your help with this.”

“Can’t say I helped all that much, but you’re mighty welcome.”

I ended the call and set the phone aside. I thought about calling Miss An’gel to ask her about Uncle Del, but I decided it could wait until tomorrow.

Before I went any further with this idea of mine, I wanted to discuss it with Helen Louise. The problem was that by the time I could talk to her tonight, she would be exhausted from a long day at the bistro. She would also be up pretty early tomorrow morning to go in for another long day.

This was one of the frustrations in our relationship. I valued Helen Louise’s opinion, particularly on a decision this important, but I wouldn’t have time to discuss it thoroughly with her before Bill Delaney showed up for dinner tomorrow evening.

I could always postpone the dinner until Sunday evening, I reckoned. But other than going to his apartment and knocking on his door, I had no way of getting in touch with Delaney. I doubted he had a landline phone. Then I realized he would most likely be at the library tomorrow. I could talk to him there and see if he was amenable to changing the date.

With that settled, I decided I was ready for some quiet time with a book. Diesel followed me upstairs, and we settled in for the night. It took some effort, but I pushed all thoughts of Bill Delaney out of my mind. There would be time enough tomorrow to think about him and any potential repercussions of inviting him to stay here.

ELEVEN

All night long I dreamed of having strange people in the house. Nothing terrible happened, at least nothing that I could recall when I awoke briefly after one of the dreams. Yet when I finally woke, ready to start the day, I felt uneasy, and it took me a while to shake that off. During my nightly call with Helen Louise, I forbore to mention Bill Delaney because I didn’t want to keep Helen Louise on the phone when she needed rest. Perhaps if I had been able to discuss the matter thoroughly with her, though, I wouldn’t have gone to sleep with subconscious doubts eating away at me.

One point hit me when I woke up. I had recently met two people from Tullahoma who might have knowledge of Bill Delaney. Ernie Carpenter and Jack Pemberton had lived there all their lives, and they might know him or know something about him. Tullahoma wasn’t a big town, not as big as Athena, anyway.

I decided I would e-mail Jack Pemberton this morning and inquire whether he knew anything about my prospective houseguest and alleged step-cousin. Later on I might call Ernie Carpenter. Since she and my aunt had been good friends, she might know something about my uncle Del as well. He might have been from Tullahoma himself for all I knew.

Diesel ran downstairs ahead of me, no doubt eager to get to his litter box. I retrieved the newspaper from the front yard before I headed into the kitchen to make the coffee. To my delight I discovered the coffee already made, thanks to Stewart. He had his head in the fridge, and I called out a “Good morning” to let him know I was there. He started slightly, almost banging his head as he withdrew it. He pivoted to return my greeting before delving into the fridge again.

I poured myself some coffee and, paper in hand, seated myself in my usual spot at the table. I glanced at the main headlines on the front page of the paper. All pertained to local matters, none of which sounded particularly intriguing.

Stewart emerged from his foray into the fridge with the egg carton, a bag of shredded cheese, and a pint of milk. He set everything on the counter. “How are you this morning, Charlie?” he asked when he turned to face me.

“Doing fine,” I said. “And you?”

“The same,” Stewart replied. “I’m about to scramble eggs for breakfast for Haskell and me. Can I throw a couple more in for you?”