Claws For Concern

“That angel child, you mean?” Laura shook her head. “No, not my boy.”

“Let’s revisit this conversation in thirteen years,” I said.

Laura giggled as she pushed her chair back. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I would love to stay and talk more, Dad, but I really need to get to the grocery store and do a few other things before I come back to pick up Charlie. Lord bless Azalea, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“She’d have a fit if you let anyone else look after him,” I said. “Besides me, that is.”

Laura kissed my cheek before she grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.

I sat, savoring the quiet for a moment, and then I realized it was too quiet. I hadn’t heard a chirp or a warble or a meow out of Diesel during the conversation with Laura. Normally he would have followed her to the door but when I checked, he wasn’t even in the kitchen.

I knew where he probably was, however. Whenever Azalea or I had charge of baby Charlie, Diesel stayed somewhere near the infant when at all possible. He must have left the room with Azalea, and I hadn’t noticed it. When I tiptoed into the living room, I found Azalea asleep in the rocking chair by the crib. Diesel lay stretched out beneath the crib, snoozing. Baby Charlie slept soundly as well. I tiptoed back out and retraced my steps to the kitchen.

The water had quenched my immediate thirst, and now I craved caffeine. I found a pitcher of tea in the fridge and poured myself a glass. Nobody made better sweet tea than Azalea, but because of the sugar content I rationed myself to no more than one glass a day. Between Azalea’s Southern soul food and Helen Louise’s haute cuisine, I found myself battling the bulge more than ever.

Well, at least I won’t die hungry, I told myself. Nevertheless, I resolved to go up and down the stairs a few extra times a day.

I resumed my place at the table and picked up the letter from Jack Pemberton. I read it more slowly this time, and as I did, the name of a person Pemberton mentioned as a reference jumped out at me. Ernestine Carpenter. Apparently she was a retired schoolteacher in the Tullahoma area, and must be a person of good character. Otherwise, why would Pemberton mention her?

Ernestine Carpenter. For some reason, the name rang a bell. I knew I had heard it somewhere, in the not-too-distant past, but where? On what occasion?

I tried to dredge up the memory while I sipped at my tea, savoring the taste and the coldness. My memory stubbornly refused to cooperate, though, and I decided I’d do better to occupy my thoughts otherwise.

Idly I pulled out my phone and tapped the icon for my e-mail. I usually didn’t read messages on my phone, preferring my laptop for the task. At the moment, despite my pledge to get more exercise, I felt too indolent to haul my carcass up and down the hall to the den where my laptop lived most of the time.

Other than a few friends from my many years in Houston, I had few e-mail correspondents. I spent more time deleting unwanted messages than I did reading anything I actually wanted to see. I purged several messages before I got to one from a dear friend here in Athena, Miss An’gel Ducote.

Miss An’gel and her younger sister, Miss Dickce, were the two grande dames of Athena society. Their family were among the founders of the town, and Ducotes had been leading citizens ever since. The sisters, in their early eighties, were the last of the direct line, however. They had recently taken a young man from California named Benjy Stephens, a connection of an old friend of theirs, as their ward, however, and speculation was rife around town that he would one day inherit the Ducote millions.

Miss An’gel, after observing the niceties, got right to the point in her message.

Sister and I would be delighted if you and Helen Louise could join us for tea on Sunday afternoon. A dear friend will be visiting, and you really should meet her. You have something in common, but I won’t tell you what until after you’ve met. Don’t forget to bring Diesel! Shall we say three p.m.?

I had no plans for Sunday afternoon but knew I would have to check with Helen Louise. She wasn’t supposed to be at the bistro then, but I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t decide that something there needed her attention.

As I was about to reply to Miss An’gel, I received a notice that I had a new message. From Miss An’gel, no less.

Forgive my lapse, Charlie, but I forgot to tell you our dear friend’s name. Miss Ernestine Carpenter. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

Mystery solved, I thought. I remembered now that Miss An’gel or Miss Dickce had mentioned the woman in a recent conversation, though I couldn’t quite recall the context.