File M For Murder

I heard a muffled “Come in.” When I opened the door and stepped into the room, I found Laura in the window seat with her laptop—just barely in the seat, because of course Diesel had scrunched himself into the small space with her. The window seat was only about three feet wide and eighteen inches deep, and Diesel could easily fill the space on his own. Laura didn’t appear at all uncomfortable, however.

“Dinner’s about ready,” I said. “Feeling any better?”

Diesel meowed at me and unfolded himself from the window seat. Once on the floor he stretched and yawned before he padded over to me for a greeting.

As I rubbed his head, Laura responded to my question. “Not a lot. I’m still really upset about Damitra. There really isn’t even anyone to mourn her. I don’t think she had any family left, at least not any that had anything to do with her.” She sighed as she closed her laptop and set it on the floor. “It’s just so sad.”

I moved to the window seat and slid in beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder while I slipped an arm around her. She snuggled closer. We sat that way for a moment. Diesel stretched out on the floor in front of us, his head on his front paws like a dog. His eyes focused on us.

“Yes, it is, sweetie,” I said, my voice soft. “I wish I had the words to comfort you, but when something senseless like this happens, solace can be hard to find.”

“It’s all such a waste, Dad.” Laura sat up, pulling away from my embrace. She turned to me, her face three inches from my own. The pain in her expression hurt me, and I wanted so badly to make that pain go away. That sense of loss would remain with her, I knew, and only the distance of time could make it bearable.

I kissed her forehead, then stood. I held out my hand, and she clasped it. “Whenever you need to talk, I’ll be here for you.”

“I know.” Laura smiled as she got up from the window seat, her hand still in mine. Diesel pushed himself up, chirped at us, then turned and trotted out the door.

“I think he’s telling us it’s time to eat.” Laura laughed softly. “I’m actually a bit hungry.”

“Then let me escort you downstairs.” I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm, and off we went.

Thanks to the interrupted sleep of last night, I was ready for bed by eight-thirty. With my stomach full of Azalea’s fine meal, I soon began to feel logy and knew that my bed was calling out to me. Diesel and I settled in, and I read for a few minutes. When I dropped the book the second time, I knew it was time to turn out the lights and go to sleep.

My hand barely left the lamp switch before I fell asleep—or so it seemed when I woke the next morning to the sound of my alarm. I hadn’t even had to get up during the night to go to the bathroom, and for a man just past fifty-one, that was an accomplishment. I felt much refreshed this morning, I decided. I threw back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.

Diesel muttered at me but remained in bed while I went to the bathroom. When I emerged to dress sometime later, he was still asleep. “Come on, lazybones,” I said to him. “Time to get up. You don’t need any more beauty sleep.”

He opened his eyes and glared at me, as if to tell me not to be so perky this early in the morning. Then he yawned and rolled over on his back to stretch. I rubbed his tummy, and he warbled for me, his good humor seemingly restored.

Diesel and I breakfasted alone this morning. I had a whole wheat bagel with low-fat cream cheese and coffee, while Diesel had to make do with only his regular food. After I finished my second cup of coffee and the paper, I sat for a moment to review my plans for the day.

Sean would again accompany Laura to campus. She didn’t need to be there until ten and would be done around three. I wanted to go to the public library to check the back issues of the Athena and Memphis newspapers to test my theory about the numbers among Lawton’s notes. If that proved successful and I did find something of interest, I had no idea whether it would have any bearing on Lawton’s death. I had to find out, however, as any good librarian would want to do.

Depending on what I discovered, I might call Kanesha Berry again. Though I didn’t look forward to another conversation with her, I hoped perhaps she might be a little more tolerant.

Right—and Diesel might start speaking French, too.

By the time Diesel and I left the house at ten minutes to nine only Justin had appeared downstairs. We left him glancing through the paper and munching some toast heavily laden with Azalea’s homemade scuppernong jelly. My mouth watered at the sight of that jelly, but I steeled myself against temptation. I had work to do.

At three minutes to nine, Diesel and I stood patiently in front of the unshaded main entrance to the Athena Public Library. The morning was already steamy, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back.