Claws For Concern

I watched Dr. Finch closely, and she maintained a blank expression. Nor did she protest again that the hit-and-run was only an accident. Instead she simply watched me and Jack, her glance moving back and forth between us.

“So you see,” Jack said, “we have every reason to believe that Bill Delaney’s life is in danger. You must have recognized him, at least by name, if nothing else. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill him?”

“I think you’d better ask Mr. Delaney that question. Yes, I recognized the name, but he was my patient. My immediate concern was to assess his injuries and do what was necessary to stabilize him.” She rose from her chair. “Now I really must ask you to leave. I have a lot to do, and there’s nothing more I can tell you.”

I felt certain that she had plenty she could tell us, but at this moment, I didn’t think we’d get any further. Still, I decided to ask another question.

“When was the last time you saw Elizabeth Barber or talked to her?”

This time I wasn’t imagining the flash of fear I saw in her expression, though she did her best to disguise it quickly. “You have to leave, immediately, or I will call the police. Get out of my house.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“Thank you for your time,” I said to Dr. Finch as she herded us toward her front door.

She made no response to this other than to jerk her door open and stand beside it, glowering as we departed. Jack preceded me, and I had barely cleared the door when it slammed behind us.

“She’s frightened,” Jack said as we walked to the car.

“Yes, she is,” I replied. “I think we succeeded in getting her rattled. I wonder, though, whether we’ll be able to get anything further out of her.” I unlocked the car and got in.

Jack waited until I had the car cranked and the AC blowing before he joined me. “I don’t think we will, until we can go back to her with new information that will shake her up even more.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Do you want to try Bill Delaney again this afternoon?” I drove down the street to the next intersection and idled there while Jack considered my question.

“I don’t know that we’d have any better luck with him this afternoon,” Jack said. “May be better to let him stew a bit longer, too, and go back to him with any new information we can get.”

“All right, then. We’ll go back to my house.” I turned onto the cross street and headed home.

Neither of us spoke again until we reached the house and I pulled the car into the garage. “Come on in and have something to drink,” I said. “Is there anything else you want to talk about today?”

Jack followed me into the kitchen where a happy, warbling feline met us right inside the door. “Stewart must have heard us drive into the garage, didn’t he, boy?” Diesel chirped, and I gave him the attention he wanted while Jack responded to my question to him.

“I think I might as well go on home,” Jack said. “We can make a fresh start in the morning. How about we meet at nine at the diner where Wanda Nell works? It’s called the Kountry Kitchen.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Diesel and I will be there.”

Jack gave me directions, and I offered him a bottle of water for the drive home. He accepted, and Diesel and I saw him to the door.

I turned to see Stewart standing halfway up the stairs as I closed the door.

“I saw your car,” he said. “I let Diesel out so he could greet you. I think he must have heard the car because he meowed at me until I opened the door.”

“He probably did,” I said. Diesel chirped in agreement, or so I interpreted it.

“Has Jack gone?” Stewart asked.

“Yes, we accomplished what we could today,” I replied. “I’m heading to Tullahoma in the morning. We are going to talk to various people and see what we can find out.”

“I presume you’ll be taking Diesel with you,” Stewart said.

“Definitely. He’s an excellent icebreaker.”

“That’s good, because Haskell is on duty tomorrow, and I need to be in Memphis for a good part of the day. Dante is coming with me.” Stewart cocked his head to the side, apparently listening to something.

Now I heard it also. From upstairs I could hear frantic barking, steadily increasing in volume. Dante was unhappy about being left alone.

“Good grief, it’s a wonder he doesn’t shred his vocal cords.” Stewart grimaced. “I’d better get back upstairs before he starts chewing something up. Talk to you later.” He turned and ran lightly up the stairs.

I looked down at Diesel. “For such a small dog, Dante sure can generate a lot of noise.” The cat weighed about three times as much as the poodle but was, despite his chatty nature, not really loud like the dog.

Going in and out of the summer heat today must have affected me more than I realized because I felt like lying down for a nap. “Let’s go upstairs for a nap,” I told Diesel.

The cat regarded me for a moment. He meowed twice and headed for the utility room. I figured he was going to the litter box and his water bowl. He would join me upstairs when he was done.