Claws For Concern

Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think there may be some fibers snagged in the light surround, but it’s hard to tell without some kind of magnification. I’ll report it to Elmer Lee. It’ll be up to the Athena police, I guess, to have it examined.”

“If they’ll accept what we tell them. That reminds me, that bit about the video cameras around the square was a bluff, wasn’t it?”

“Mostly.” Jack grinned. “But you never know. Let’s head to the sheriff’s department. I’m about to burn up out here.”

Finally. I opened my door and slid into the wonderfully cool air. I wished I had a cloth of some kind to wipe my head with. The sweat would soon dry, however.

Before I drove away, I decided on impulse to call the hospital in Athena to check on Bill Delaney. I told Jack what I was going to do, and he nodded.

Within a minute I was connected to the nurses’ desk in the ICU, and I asked for an update on Delaney’s condition after identifying myself.

This time I was talking to a man who told me that Delaney’s condition had improved somewhat. He had rallied a bit and was alert and able to eat on his own. If he continued to improve they would be moving him out of the ICU later in the day, or by the next morning. I thanked the man for the update and ended the call.

I shared the information with Jack as we headed back to the sheriff’s department. On the way I was thinking about what I should do next. I decided I should go on home. Jack could easily handle the talk with the sheriff. I said as much to Jack.

“Sure,” he said. “In that case, head for the Kountry Kitchen. I can pick up my car and go to the sheriff’s department from there.”

Within a few minutes we reached the diner and I pulled into the parking lot behind Jack’s car. Before he got out I reminded him to take the folder of autopsy reports. I didn’t want to be tempted to look in the folder if I went home with them.

“I think we accomplished a lot today,” Jack said.

“Much more than I ever expected, frankly,” I replied.

“We’re getting close,” Jack said. “Keep me posted on Bill Delaney. Are you going to try to see him tonight?”

“I think I will,” I said. “I don’t want to risk causing a setback, though, so I’ll have to be careful.”

“I’ll let you know what Elmer Lee has to say,” Jack said.

“Please thank your wife for everything. It was a pleasure to meet her,” I said.

“Will do. She enjoyed meeting you and Diesel.” Jack opened the door and got out. He closed the door and bent to wave good-bye to Diesel. The cat meowed.

I decided to fill up the car before we left Tullahoma, and I found a gas station on the way. With the tank full, Diesel and I headed for home.

As I drove, I mulled over all that we had learned today. I tried to assimilate it all and put it into a plausible pattern. I came up with several scenarios, each of which might explain everything. The question was whether any of them contained the actual truth of what happened that night.

We made record time on the drive home, and I was surprised to see that it was only four thirty-three when we walked into the kitchen. Given all the activities of the day, I felt like it should be past my bedtime.

Azalea greeted us and asked how the day had gone. Before I could respond, Diesel started warbling and chirped, with a couple of meows thrown in. Azalea stared at his face in fascination, as if she understood every single sound.

“Is that so?” she said when Diesel finally stopped. He meowed once before he padded away in the direction of the utility room. Azalea looked at me. “I swear that cat thinks he’s a person like you and me.”

“I wouldn’t argue with you on that.” I chuckled. “I imagine what he was trying to tell you is that we had a pretty busy day. We talked to several different people today, and we learned a lot.”

“You reckon you got everything figured out now?” Azalea asked before she turned back to the stove. She stirred the contents of a pot that was emitting a tantalizing scent.

“In a way,” I said. “The problem is there are several potential answers, and I’m not sure which is the correct one. What is that you’re cooking?”

“The filling for a couple of pecan pies,” Azalea said. “Mr. Stewart’s been pestering me for one. Says he can’t make them like I do.”

“I don’t imagine anyone can.” I was never a huge fan of pecan pie until I tasted Azalea’s. She refused to divulge her secret recipe, however, despite all Stewart’s blandishments.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked.

“Roast beef,” she said. “Over there.” I followed the direction of her nod and saw the Crock-Pot on the counter. I sighed happily. Azalea made the most tender roast I’ve ever eaten. It would practically melt in your mouth.

“When will it be ready?” I asked.

“Around six,” she said. “I have to leave before then, but it’ll turn itself off. Stewart said he’ll whip up some mashed potatoes and gravy to go with it, and there’s a pot of green beans in the fridge that just needs warming up.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I said. “I’m going to the den for a while but I’ll see you before you go.”