Claws For Concern

“Four members of a family were shot to death,” Haskell said. “Parents and two young children. One child, an older girl, survived because she wasn’t home at the time. I think she was spending the night at a friend’s house.”

“How horrible,” I said, my imagination only too easily conjuring up a mental version of the crime scene. “What connection did Bill Delaney have with the family?”

“Father was a farmer. Delaney worked for him,” Haskell said. “They lived out in the county about fifteen miles from Tullahoma.” He frowned. “I think their name was Barber.”

“What motive did he have for killing the family?” Stewart asked.

“He’d had a big blowout with Mr. Barber over something, can’t recall what it was now,” Haskell said. “All this was according to a neighbor. Barber fired Delaney, but he kept coming around. Don’t know why. Maybe he thought Barber owed him money. Then about a week after Delaney got fired, he allegedly went to the house one night and killed four people.”

“They couldn’t prove any of this?” I asked.

“No, Delaney had some sort of alibi. Even though the cops thought it was fishy, they couldn’t break it,” Haskell said. “Trouble was, they couldn’t find anyone else with a strong enough motive.”

“Couldn’t it have been a murder-suicide thing?” Stewart asked. “Surely that’s the obvious answer.”

Haskell frowned. “Of course they thought of that. With any murder you always look at the domestic angle first. Thing was the evidence of the wounds didn’t bear that out. None of them was self-inflicted. So that ruled out murder-suicide.”

“What about the possibility of a stranger?” I asked.

“Delaney kept saying that it was probably a stranger. Claimed to have seen a guy lurking around one of the outbuildings on the farm,” Haskell said. “Apparently Barber was in the habit of keeping a pretty good bit of cash on hand. That was missing. I don’t think it ever turned up.”

“So the case has never been solved,” Stewart said. “I’d hate to have that kind of thing hanging over me.”

Dante yipped twice suddenly, and Stewart picked the dog up and put him in his lap. “What was all that about, you silly dog?”

“Attention,” Haskell said in a tone of irritation. “You’ve been ignoring him, and he hates that.”

Stewart did not respond to that remark. Instead, he said, “Charlie, I think you should get the writer interested in this case. Maybe the two of you together might be able to solve it. You might find out things the police never did.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I wouldn’t get involved in it if I were you,” Haskell said. “They might reopen the case, now that they know Delaney is back. He disappeared about a year after the murders, and they hadn’t known where he was until now.”

“What are you going to do about him?” Stewart asked me. “Are you still thinking about letting him live here? Supposing he wants to, that is.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “This really complicates everything. I’m going to have to find out more about the case and the fact that he was, or perhaps still is, a murder suspect. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find Delaney at the library today and put off the dinner until tomorrow evening. I was planning to do that anyway so that I’d have time to talk it over with Helen Louise, but now I think it’s even more important to postpone having him here.”

“I agree,” Haskell said. Stewart nodded.

“I also want to see what more I can find out about him, from a source other than the law,” I said, with a quick look at Haskell. He didn’t appear insulted by my statement, so I continued, “I’ll see what my two new contacts from Tullahoma know and go from there.”

“Sounds like a reasonable plan to me,” Stewart said.

Diesel evidently agreed because he meowed twice. Either that, or he—like Dante—was tired of being ignored. I scratched his head until he purred. That done, I said, “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to e-mail Jack Pemberton and Miss An’gel.” Seeing both men frown, I added, “For Ernie Carpenter’s phone number, or her e-mail address, whichever Miss An’gel feels comfortable sharing with me. I forgot to ask Ernie herself last weekend.”

“Go right ahead,” Stewart said. “We’re going out in a little while, unless you need us to hang around here for any reason.”

I knew what he meant—for protection, in case Bill Delaney should show up here uninvited. I hadn’t told them that I had seen him walking down the sidewalk in front of the house last week.

“No, I’ll be fine. Once I’ve finished with e-mails, I’m going to shower and get ready to run by the library. Thank you, though.”