File M For Murder

“Now, you’ll have to excuse me,” Kanesha said with a quick nod. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll let you know about the package as soon as I have more information.” She turned and headed down the walk.

“Of course. Thanks, Deputy.” I spoke to her rapidly retreating back. With a shake of the head, I stepped inside and shut the door.

Diesel rubbed against me, and I scratched his head. I told him again what a smart kitty he was. I told myself I’d feel foolish if the package turned out to be harmless, but I couldn’t forget Diesel’s behavior. That had to mean something was odd about the package. I prayed that no one was injured when they examined it further.

My head had begun to throb, and I figured I was a bit dehydrated. In the kitchen I poured myself a large glass of chilled water from the fridge, and after downing that I started to feel better. Diesel came back from a visit to the utility room as I was finishing my second glass. I decided he deserved a treat for his cleverness, and I rewarded him with a handful of the tidbits I stocked for that purpose. The moment he saw the package in my hand he started warbling, because he knew exactly what I was doing. He placed a large paw on my hand and pushed down as I bent over to put the treats on the floor for him.

I watched until he finished, and when he looked up, hopeful for more, I gave him a second handful. I made sure he saw me put the package away in the cabinet, however, when he finished his second round.

“That’s all for now, boy,” I told him. He gazed at me for a moment before he commenced washing his right front paw.

Time to get back to work, I decided. What had I been doing before Diesel alerted me to the presence of the strange envelope?

Ah, yes, I was reading the draft of Lawton’s play. I headed back to the den, this time with Diesel on my heels. We settled down on the sofa, me confined to a small portion of it on one end while Diesel stretched out to occupy the rest. He soon dozed off, curled on his back with his front paws in the air. I resumed my reading.

I didn’t spend much time on the portion of the play I thought was based on Ralph and Magda Johnston. There didn’t seem to be much new that I could glean from those pages. Instead I focused on the sections that featured the Ferris family. The more I thought about it, the more I figured it was obvious that the “Ferrises” were really the Norrises.

Based on Lawton’s notes and the articles from the two newspapers, I had to conclude that Lawton was deliberately writing about the real family, thinly disguised. But why? I kept coming back to that question.

How did Lawton know so much about the history of the Norrises? He had spent his early years in Athena, I knew, but hadn’t he left when he was only four or five? I thought that was what someone told me. So what was the connection?

Pictures of Connor Lawton flashed in my head—Lawton at the Theater Department party, both inside and outside the house. I had puzzled over his behavior at the time, and that might be the clue I needed.

On a hunch I got up and went to the desk and fired up my computer. I waited, not very patiently, for it to finish all the preliminary gyrations it had to go through before I could use it.

When it was ready I opened my browser and typed in the address to the public library website. From there I could link to the information I wanted: Athena County property tax records.

I wanted to follow a hunch to find out what, if any, property the Norris family might still own in Athena. Then I would try to find out where the Lawtons had lived in Athena when Connor Lawton was a child. The answer might be that simple, that the Norrises and the Lawtons were neighbors back then.

After I found the link I wanted, I clicked and was taken to the property tax database. I could search by parcel number or by name. Since I had no idea what the parcel number in question was, I put in the name Norris.

There were eight results, but none of the Norrises was Hubert or Levi or even Sarabeth. Nor were the addresses ones I expected.

Now what? I thought for a moment, then typed in Conley, Sarabeth’s married name.

This time there were seventeen results, Conley apparently being a more common name than Norris, at least in Athena.

I scanned the listings and then stopped at one for a Joseph Conley. The address was 1744 Rosemary Street. Why did that sound familiar?

I puzzled over it for a moment, then I had it—Ralph Johnston’s house, the site of the Theater Department party.

At least I had thought it was his house, but evidently it belonged to Sarabeth and her husband instead.

Lawton also had it in his notes, so it meant something to him.

I decided to follow my hunch further. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in the number for the public library. The very person I wanted to speak to answered. “Hi, Teresa, this is Charlie. How are you?”

We exchanged pleasantries, then I asked, “Are you really busy right now?”