File M For Murder

While I waited for the coffee to finish, I thought about our predicament. Laura wouldn’t be safe until Lawton’s killer was in custody. I didn’t doubt Kanesha’s ability to catch the guy, at least in the long run. I didn’t, however, see any reason not to help the investigation along in any way I could. Kanesha would consider it interference, as she had before, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I knew I could count on Sean as well.

I grinned. If I fancied myself as Holmes, Sean certainly made a more than capable Watson. More like Nero and Archie, I thought a bit ruefully, as I patted my stomach. I wasn’t anywhere near a seventh of a ton like Nero, but that was only because of concerted effort on my part. Azalea’s cooking, though distinctly different from that of Fritz Brenner, was every bit as calorie-laden and mouthwatering.

The coffeemaker beeped to let me know it had finished. As I poured myself a cup, I glanced at the clock. Nearly eight now. And speaking of Azalea, here she was coming through the back door.

“Morning, Mr. Charlie.” She set her capacious bag down on the counter and rummaged inside it for her apron.

“Morning, Azalea. How are you?” I was glad I’d remembered to put on my robe this morning. Considering how sleep-deprived I felt, I could easily have been caught in my pj’s, and Azalea would have been highly affronted by that.

“Doing right fine.” Azalea paused in tying the apron behind her back and sniffed. “Why’s there smoke in the air?” She frowned. “You ain’t been using the fireplace, surely, this time of year.” She finished with her apron and stood glaring at me.

“No, not the fireplace.” I explained what happened, and her eyes grew round with outrage.

“Thank the Lord y’all wasn’t hurt.” She closed her eyes, and I could tell she was offering a silent prayer. Then her eyes opened again, and I could almost feel the sparks jumping out of them. “What Miss Dottie would think, well, I thank the Lord she be resting safe in His arms. She sure loved this house.”

For a brief moment I felt guilty—as if it were my fault the house had been damaged. I doubted that was Azalea’s intent, but I knew how close she and my late aunt had been. Azalea took the care of this house seriously, considering it her duty to Aunt Dottie. Sometimes I felt I was here only on sufferance and that if Azalea thought I should go, I’d have to.

“What you need is a good breakfast.” With that announcement Azalea headed to the refrigerator. “I’m gone whip up some pancakes. You want bacon or sausage with ’em?”

“Bacon, please.” I could never resist Azalea’s bacon, fried to crisp perfection every time.

Plaintive meows sounded nearby, and I turned to see Diesel trot into the kitchen. He came to me and put his front paws on my leg, then butted his head against my side as if determined to make me notice him.

“Good morning, boy,” I said as I scratched between his ears. “Did you take good care of Laura last night?”

As Diesel chirped in response, I heard a snort from Azalea’s direction. I grinned. “Diesel, you tell Azalea you understand every word I say and that you’re a good watch-cat.”

Diesel chirped a few times more, and I watched Azalea’s back as she stood at the counter, mixing pancake batter. Her head shook back and forth three times, and I could imagine her expression. I thought she secretly found Diesel entertaining, but she would never admit it.

“I think I’ll go get the paper.” I stood as I made my announcement. Diesel, instead of following me to the front door, ambled toward the utility room and his litter box.

The sun was bright, and the day already hot when I opened the front door. The paper lay a few feet down the walk, and as I headed for it I saw the police car parked on the street in front of my house. After I retrieved the paper, I stood for a moment and watched the car. The officer inside saw me and inclined his head. I nodded back, then turned and headed inside again.

Reassured by the police presence outside, I felt a little lighter of heart as I returned to the kitchen. I informed Azalea that our police guard was on duty, and she nodded to acknowledge that she heard me.

I opened the paper—the Commercial Appeal from Memphis—and began reading. Diesel returned and made himself comfortable by my chair. He knew pancakes were in the offing and hoped to score a few bites. I really had become lax about letting him have human food, although I consoled myself with the knowledge that, with his size and appetite, he ate far more of his own food than he did treats from the table. He had regular checkups with his vet, and Dr. Romano was always pleased with his general state of health. She did remind me, though, to keep the treats to a minimum.