“Then maybe it won’t be a problem,” Haskell said. “I just thought I should tell you what I know.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “I don’t plan on doing anything rash, and Jack strikes me as pretty level-headed.”
“That’s good,” Stewart said. “It would be so embarrassing to have to call Sean to bail you out of jail.” He laughed.
“Yes, it would be,” I replied, repressing a shudder. Sean would not mince words with me, either. I felt a paw on my thigh and looked down into a winsome expression, that of a cat in need of chicken. I pinched off a bit of the breast I was eating and gave it to Diesel.
Stewart changed the subject, telling us about the latest scandal in the chemistry department at Athena College. One of his colleagues had earned a reputation for the number and abbreviated length of his dalliances with women on campus and in the town. I listened but my mind soon focused on another subject—tomorrow’s activities.
I wondered what we might be able to elicit from the people we planned to interview. I knew, based on my recent experiences, that sometimes small details slipped by the attention of otherwise vigilant investigators, and those small details could lead to significant information. One or more of the people Jack had on the list to interview might have seen or heard something that could put a new twist on the case. I hoped fervently that Jack and I might uncover one or more of those details.
Stewart wrapped up his anecdote, and I came out of my reverie when he suggested fresh apple pie with ice cream for dessert. I badly wanted to say yes, but after the meal I had finished, I knew I’d regret it before the night was over. I declined politely, and Stewart didn’t push me to change my mind.
“If you leave the dishes,” I said, “I’ll clean up the kitchen once you’ve finished with dessert. In the meantime, I’m going to the den to watch a little television.”
“Thanks,” Stewart said. “I’ll take you up on that.”
“Come on, Diesel.” I pushed back from the table. “I’m going to wash my hands, and then we’re going to the den.”
The cat meowed twice, and I wondered whether he was complaining about having to leave people eating or whether he was saying he was ready to join me. He did not need any bites of apple pie nor any ice cream, no matter what he might think.
In the den Diesel and I got comfortable on the sofa. He stretched out, his head against my leg. I turned the television to a channel that showed old comedies from the fifties and sixties, the ones I grew up with. They were comfort whenever I was upset or preoccupied with a problem. I could watch and listen to the familiar antics but still mull over whatever was troubling me.
Tonight, while Lucy and Ethel got themselves into yet another scrape, I thought about the Barber case. There had to be details the original investigators either missed completely or did not recognize as significant. I wondered if Jack knew who had worked the case twenty years ago. If one of them was retired by now, might he be willing to talk about it? Or maybe even an officer still in the department? Since Jack wanted to write about the case, maybe one of them would want to be in the book badly enough that he would cooperate.
I was certain Jack had already considered that, although he hadn’t mentioned it to me. If he didn’t bring it up in the morning, I would mention it to him and see what he thought. We needed to know more about the original investigation, that was all there was to it. Even if we had to ask the current sheriff himself.
The house phone rang and interrupted my thoughts. I reached for the handset on the end table beside me. “Good evening, this is Charlie Harris.”
“Mr. Harris, sorry to bother you this evening,” a female voice responded. She identified herself as a nurse at the hospital. “Mr. Delaney is asking for you. He’s pretty agitated, and he threatened to leave the hospital and come to your house if we didn’t call. Can you come?”
“Certainly,” I said. “Tell Mr. Delaney that I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” the nurse replied. “I’ll tell him right away.”
I hung up the phone and patted Diesel’s side. “Sorry, buddy, but I’ve got to go somewhere, and you can’t come with me. You’ll have to stay here.”
Diesel meowed but followed me from the den without further complaint. Stewart and Haskell, along with Dante, were finishing their desserts. I explained that I had to go to the hospital and why.
“Don’t worry about Diesel,” Stewart said. “You go and see what’s got the poor man so upset.”
“Thanks,” I said on my way to the back door.
As I backed the car out of the garage, I could feel my heart rate pick up. Was Bill Delaney finally ready to talk to me about the Barber case?
TWENTY-SIX
The Barber case might be solved tonight. Bill Delaney must be willing to tell me what he’s been keeping back, I thought. Otherwise why would he be so agitated and insist that he would leave the hospital if he had to in order to talk to me?
When I left the car in the hospital parking lot, I felt the heat close in on me. The humidity, even this late in the day, felt suffocating. I had to stop at a water fountain in the hospital and gulp down several mouthfuls of water before I began to cool down. I loved my life in Athena, but in the summer months I preferred to live as much of it as possible inside in the air-conditioning.
Thankful that the hospital was cool, I took the elevator up and soon I reached Bill Delaney’s room. The door stood wide open, and when I stepped into the room I was shocked to find several people in scrubs and white coats around the bed. One of the nurses turned and noticed me. She walked over to me and motioned for me to move out of the room.
“Are you Mr. Harris?” she asked when we were out in the hallway. “He had us list you as his emergency contact.”
“Yes,” I said. “What’s going on? Is he going to be okay?”
“He had a heart attack,” the nurse replied. “He was extremely agitated, and he kept asking for you. We assured him you were on the way, but the stress evidently triggered a cardiac event. He’s stable now. Luckily one of the attendants was with him and recognized the signs.”
“Will I be able to talk to him?” I asked.
“Not for a while yet,” the nurse replied.
“All right,” I said. “Can you at least let him know that I’m here? I don’t want him to get agitated again.”
“I’ll talk to the doctor,” she said. “Why don’t you go down to the waiting room near the nurses’ station and wait? Someone will come talk to you soon.”
I nodded, and she turned away to reenter the room. I walked down the hall and found the small waiting area. I had it to myself at the moment. I chose a seat and pulled out my cell phone to call Stewart and let him know I could be at the hospital much longer than I had planned.
“Don’t worry about Diesel,” Stewart said. “Is there anything you need? You’re not going to stay all night, are you?”
“Thanks, I’m okay,” I said. “How long I stay depends on how he’s doing. If at all possible, I’d like to talk to him. He obviously has something he needs to tell me, and I’m afraid he’ll upset himself again if he can’t talk to me.”
“Call me back if you do need me to bring you anything,” Stewart said.
I thanked him again and ended the call. I debated calling Jack Pemberton to let him know about this new development, but after brief reflection I decided I should wait until I knew what had upset Bill Delaney so badly.
A few minutes later a tall man in a white coat entered the room. He looked to be about forty, with dark hair graying heavily at the temples. “Mr. Harris?” he asked, and I nodded as I rose from my chair. “I’m Dr. Greenway, a cardiologist. I understand that you’re related to Mr. Delaney?”