Classified as Murder (29 page)

“Eloise dead?”
Was I having a bad dream?
I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, Stewart was still standing there, tearful. I felt the chill of the hardwood floor under my bare feet.

“I know; I can hardly believe it either,” Stewart said, a catch in his voice.

“Let’s go down to the kitchen.” I patted his shoulder. “Maybe a cup of hot tea? I know I could use one.”

“Yes, thank you.” Stewart turned toward the stairs. “Here’s Sean.”

My son was loping down the hallway toward us. Dante trotted beside him. “What’s going on?” He rubbed at his eyes and yawned. He wore a tattered jersey and some old athletic shorts. I noticed Stewart giving him covert glances.

“Stewart’s had some bad news. We’re going down to make some tea.” I felt a familiar body brush against my legs. Now that the loud racket was over, Diesel felt comfortable joining us.

Diesel led the way with Dante not far behind. As we descended, Stewart repeated what he had told me, and Sean expressed condolences.

I snapped on the light in the kitchen and headed immediately to fill the kettle with water. Sean took it from me and set it on the stove to heat. I checked the cabinet for tea and found some of the bedtime variety I liked. It had a soothing effect and helped me sleep sometimes when I was restless. This was what we all needed.

Stewart sat at the table with Diesel beside him and Dante in his lap. My cat, sensitive to distress as always, had one paw on Stewart’s leg as he stared up at the man and warbled for him. Stewart rubbed Diesel’s head and thanked him. Dante snuggled against him, and Stewart used his other hand to pet the dog.

Sean watched the scene with a bemused expression. Then the kettle whistled, and he added boiling water to the teapot I’d prepared.

Over tea Stewart revealed the few details he knew of Eloise’s death.

“Aunt Daphne found her,” he said. “She was so shocked she completely forgot about her own health for more than five minutes.” He grimaced. “Aunt Daphne had gone down to the kitchen to fetch more of the special brew she drinks to calm her nerves. She keeps a supply of it in her room and makes it there, but she had run out and went down to find more. Truesdale, who does all the grocery shopping, always makes sure there’s some in the pantry.”

He paused for a sip of tea. “Sorry, I’m rambling. That’s what happens when I’m upset about something. Anyway, Aunt Daphne went into the kitchen, where she found Eloise slumped over the table in the corner. At first she thought Eloise was sleeping, but then she realized something was wrong.”

I really did not want to hear any gruesome details, not after my own experiences with finding dead bodies. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks that I hadn’t been the one to find Eloise.

Stewart continued. “When she got a look at poor Eloise’s face, she knew right away what had happened.” He shuddered. “She was highly allergic to peanuts—Eloise, that is, not Aunt Daphne—and somehow she’d gotten hold of something that must have had peanuts in it. Aunt Daphne thought it was probably cookies, because there were only crumbs left on the plate.”

“That’s horrible,” Sean said. “Wouldn’t she be careful about eating things, knowing she had an allergy?”

“She was very careful,” Stewart said. “Loopy as she was most of the time, she knew better than to eat anything with peanuts. It really wasn’t an issue, though, because Uncle James wouldn’t have them in the house. He was deathly allergic to them, too.”

I couldn’t help recalling Mr. Delacorte’s body as I found it—the swollen, protruding tongue. An allergic reaction. Mr. Pendergrast believed Mr. Delacorte had eaten peanuts and died. And now Eloise. How very odd that two people in the same household died from the same allergy.

A faint memory stirred. One of the family members said something I was sure was relevant, but for the moment I couldn’t recall who had said it or what he or she had said.

“Don’t people who are allergic like that usually have epinephrine with them?” Sean frowned as he set down his mug. “I used to work with someone allergic to bees, and she always had one of those pen devices with her.”

“Eloise usually did, too.” Stewart looked ill all of a sudden. “But Aunt Daphne said it wasn’t with her when she found Eloise. She must have left it upstairs.”

“What I want to know is, if peanuts were banned from the house, how did Eloise get hold of cookies—or whatever it was—with peanuts in them?” I already knew the basic answer to that, but I felt I had to express the thought aloud.

“Obviously someone brought the cookies into the house for the express purpose of killing both Uncle James and Eloise.” Stewart sat back, stunned, even as he said the words. “But why was Eloise murdered, too?”

“Maybe she knew who killed your uncle,” Sean said. “Or maybe Hubert did it because he wants to be rid of her so badly. Or it could have been his girlfriend, what’s-her-name the librarian.”

“Anita,” I said. Was Anita really cold-blooded enough to murder her cousin? In my experience, Anita was completely self-absorbed, and I supposed that if she wanted something badly enough she might go to great lengths to get it—or him, in this case.

“I’ll put my money on Hubert.” Stewart’s face darkened. “He’s been trying to get shed of her for years.”

“Maybe he thought he’d inherit most of your uncle’s money and get rid of his wife, too.” Sean drained his mug and then set it down.

“That sounds like Hubert,” Stewart said. He picked Dante up from his lap, turned the dog’s head toward him, and kissed him on the nose. Then he set him on the floor. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. I think I’m going back up to bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Good idea.” I stood and started gathering the empty mugs.

“Thanks for the tea,” Stewart said. He stood and glanced down at the floor. “And thank all of you for listening. I really appreciate it.” His face had a tinge of red. I wondered whether he was embarrassed. Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to being comforted like this.

“You’re more than welcome,” I said. I felt sorry for him.

Sean clapped him on the back, and Stewart flushed more deeply. He muttered something I couldn’t catch and practically bolted out of the kitchen. The two pets ran after him.

“What did I do?” Sean appeared bewildered. “He shot out of here like I fired him from a cannon.”

For someone who had a gay friend very like Stewart, Sean was being pretty dense.

“Surely you can figure it out,” I said in a dry tone. “Think about it for a moment.”

Sean stared hard at me for a few seconds. Then it was his turn to blush. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a couple of deep breaths. “I do not need this right now.”

The phone rang. “Who on earth?” I said. I reached over and plucked the receiver off the wall.

“Good evening. I’d like to speak to Sean Harris.” The female caller spoke like someone used to giving orders. Her tone bordered on rudeness. She also had a faint English accent.

“Who is calling?” I didn’t bother trying to be polite.

“Tell him it’s Lorelei; there’s a good chap.”

I was not going to tolerate such bad manners. “I’m not your ‘good chap.’ I’m Sean’s father, and I’ll thank you not to speak to me like I’m your servant.” Without giving her time to respond, I said, “I’ll see if he wants to talk to you.”

I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s some woman named Lorelei. Do you want to talk to her?”

Sean swore. “Tell her to . . .” Evidently he thought better of finishing that phrase. Instead he came over to me and thrust out his hand. “Let me talk to her.”

I handed over the receiver. I decided that a hasty retreat was in order. Before I was out of range, however, I heard Sean say in rough tones, “What the hell do you want, Lorelei? I told you the other day not to call me again. I thought you’d get the message when I didn’t answer your calls on my cell phone.”

On the second-floor landing I met Diesel on his way down from the third floor. “Did you help Stewart feel better, boy?” I bent to scratch behind his ears, and he rewarded me with his diesel-engine purr. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

Diesel and I were barely comfortable, settled down in our usual spots, when I heard a loud crash downstairs. I threw back the covers and ran downstairs. Diesel stayed in bed.

My chest was heaving slightly by the time I skidded to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen. I tried to catch my breath as I surveyed the scene in front of me. Sean stood at the sink, his back toward me, head down. On the floor near him lay the shards of at least two of the mugs we used earlier for our tea.

“What is going on here?” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Did you throw those on the floor?” From the loudness of the crash, I figured he had to have thrown them deliberately on the floor.

“Not now, Dad.” Sean didn’t turn around. “I’ll clean up the mess and replace the damn mugs.”

“I’m getting really tired of waiting for you to find a good time to tell me what is going on with you.” I took three steps into the kitchen. “You can’t pull a stunt like this and not expect me to be annoyed and concerned. What is going on with you, son?”

Sean turned around then. He stared at me for a long moment. “Why do you even want to know?” His face reddened. “I don’t have to answer to you or anyone else.” He stepped over the debris on the floor and headed toward the utility room.

“Sean Robert Harris, you come back here. Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”

Sean turned around to scowl at me.

“And what do you mean by why would I even
want
to know?” I held on to my temper by the barest thread. “You’re my son. Naturally I want to know what’s going on in your life, especially if something’s bothering you.”

“Why now, all of a sudden?” Sean took a step in my direction, his face twisted in fury. “Tell me, Dad. You haven’t been very interested in my life the past four or five years. What’s so different now?”

“How can you say such a thing?” My head ached, my blood pressure had jumped so high. “We’ve talked on the phone several times a month for years.”

“Yeah, because I called
you
. How many times did you actually pick up the phone and call
me
, Dad?”

For a moment I couldn’t breathe. The truth of what he said hit me hard. I
had
waited for him to call me. I hardly ever called him, except on his birthday. Why not? Not wanting to bother him when I knew he was busy with work?

Suddenly that seemed like a thin excuse.

Sean moved closer to the table. His hands gripped the back of a chair as if he needed support to continue standing. “And when I did call, and I tried to talk to you about something serious, you’d mouth some platitude and tell me everything would be fine. You never listened, so I finally gave up. After that when I called, we talked about stupid things like your damn cat and the latest funny thing he’d done.”

“Sean, I’m so sorry.” I was furious with myself for what I had done to my son. I knew exactly what happened, and why.

And now I had to explain it to my son and pray that he would understand and forgive me.

“You’re right,” I told him. “I didn’t listen. I let you down when you needed me. I can’t excuse myself. All I can do is tell you what I’ve come to understand about the years since your mother died.”

Sean’s face darkened at the mention of his mother. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself. “While your mother was so ill, all I could focus on was her. Then Aunt Dottie died not long after, and that hit me really hard, too. I suppose the pain of those two deaths made me turn inward, away from everyone else, even my own son and daughter.” I paused for another breath. “Then I moved back here and found a kitten in the parking lot of the public library.

“From that point on I focused all my attention on Diesel, and he rewarded me with loving companionship. I guess you could say I cocooned myself in a quiet little world of routine. I had my job and my volunteer work, and I didn’t let much else intrude.”

Sean didn’t say anything. He stared at me.

“The murder last fall shook me out of my little safe world. I began to recognize my selfishness and what I’d let happen, but I never realized the extent of the hurt I caused.”

I waited for a response but Sean just kept staring at me.

“Can you try to understand and forgive me?” I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
Had I damaged my relationship with my son beyond repair?

“We were all hurting, Dad.” Sean’s voice was hoarse. “Laura and I were devastated. Losing Mom was unimaginable.” He paused to take a shaky breath. “But then it was like we lost you, too. Laura handled it better than I did. You two were always close.”

Before I could formulate any kind of coherent response, Sean went on. “But you just seemed to get further and further away. You sold our house without even talking to us about it. You moved six hundred miles away. Laura went off to California, and there I was.” He paused. “It felt like you were cutting me out of your life.”

As he looked at me, the years of pain he’d experienced were almost a palpable presence between us.

I felt like I’d been gut-punched repeatedly. My legs were none too steady, but I managed to walk only inches from him. “Sean, look at me.”

For a moment he stared straight ahead. Then slowly he turned until we were eye to eye.

“From now on I will always listen. I’ll never push you away again. You and your sister are more important to me than anyone or anything.” I paused for a breath. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to do that, and I’ll never turn away from you again, I promise.”

I slipped my arms under his and pulled him close. He was stiff at first, but then he put his arms around me. I felt him tremble as he relaxed.

We stood that way for a moment, and then I gently disengaged myself. I stepped back, and Sean looked at me with a shy smile.