“Sure thing,” Jack said.
The moment Johnson cleared the door, Jack was on his feet, examining the contents of the metal tray. He soon extracted a file and shoved it partially down the back of his pants. His jacket would keep anyone from seeing it.
I was amused, both by Jack’s quick action and by the sheriff’s method of sharing information with us. We got what we wanted, and in the long run he might get what he wanted, a conviction in a cold case.
By the time the sheriff walked back into the room, Jack was in his chair, relaxed and leaning back, his left leg crossed over his right. Johnson didn’t give any indication that he suspected one of us had removed the file. He never glanced at the metal tray.
When he was seated again, he said, “Well, gentlemen, I think I’ve told you everything I can. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“I can’t think of anything else right now,” Jack said. “Charlie?”
I shook my head. “Same here.”
“Guess we’ll be going,” Jack said. “Thanks for your time, Elmer Lee.”
I echoed Jack’s words, and then we walked out of the office. Diesel preceded us. He sniffed as he walked and his head went side to side as he checked out interesting sights and smells. We got several startled looks, and a couple of deputies grinned when they saw me with a large cat on a leash. We didn’t stop to talk to anyone and proceeded out to the car.
“Where to next?” I asked once we were settled in. Jack stuffed the autopsy folder under the seat.
“Depends on how hungry you are,” Jack said. “We could have lunch now, and then head out to talk to one of the Barbers’ neighbors. I thought Mitzi Gillon would be a good person to talk to. I taught her grandson last year.”
“Let’s eat first,” I said. “Diesel is probably ready for some water, and I noticed a small section of grass by the diner where I can let him do his business if he needs to. I suppose we can eat in the office?”
“Probably so,” Jack said. “Let’s go back to the diner. Do you know how to get there from here?”
“I’m pretty sure I remember,” I said. “Tell me if I make a wrong turn, though.”
My memory and sense of direction didn’t fail me, however. We soon arrived at the diner. This time I parked in front, and I took Diesel around the side to see if he needed to do anything. Jack entered through the front to let his wife know we were back.
By the time Diesel finished sniffing and selecting a place to urinate, Jack stood at the open side door waiting for us.
“Good news,” he said. “Melvin’s going to let us eat in the back dining room. They’re not too busy at the moment, so we can sit in there, shut off from the front. Nobody will know there’s a cat back there with us.”
“Sounds good,” I said. We followed Jack to the back dining room, where I found a bottle of water and a large bowl. I filled the bowl for Diesel, and he lapped thirstily at the water.
Served by Wanda Nell, Jack and I dined on a variety of vegetables, cornbread, and fried chicken, all excellent. Diesel had a few bites of my chicken and was happy.
Thirty minutes after we arrived at the diner, we headed out for the Gillon farm. Jack directed me, and the drive took about twenty minutes. As he’d mentioned earlier, once we left the highway, we drove along paved country roads that curved frequently. It would be difficult to drive fast here without having an accident at some point.
We turned off the road onto a paved driveway that led to the Gillon farm. We drove through a stand of trees about a hundred yards from the road, and when we emerged on the other side, I could see that we were at the foot of a gentle slope. A large frame house, painted a pale green, with a porch on the front and one side, stood atop the rise.
I brought the car to a stop on a circular driveway in front of the house. We got out of the car and approached the front door. Jack rang the bell while Diesel and I stood slightly to one side.
After a few seconds the door swung open and a small girl, probably no more than four or five, stood there. Diesel warbled loudly because he likes children. The girl looked at the cat. Her eyes widened in terror. She screamed and slammed the door.
THIRTY-ONE
“This doesn’t bode well,” I said to Jack. Diesel had shrunk back against me when the little girl screamed. She was obviously afraid of cats, and she had probably never seen one as large as Diesel.
“I’m sure everything will be okay.” Jack rang the bell again.
This time an elderly woman, small, plump, with gray hair in a neat bob, opened the door. She looked at us and said, “That’s not a cougar. Come back here, Britney. It’s just a big ol’ kitty cat. No need to be afraid.”
The woman, whom I presumed to be Mrs. Gillon, looked at Jack. “You’re Mr. Pemberton. You taught my grandson, Larry, last year.”
“Yes, Mrs. Gillon, I did.” Jack smiled. “We’re sorry we frightened your granddaughter like that.”
“Great-granddaughter,” Mrs. Gillon said. “Larry’s older sister’s baby. And who are you?” She looked straight at me.
“My name is Charlie Harris, and this is my cat. His name is Diesel. I’m really sorry we frightened Britney. He’s very gentle and loves children.”
Britney peered around her great-grandmother’s skirts and gazed fearfully at Diesel. “Just a kitty cat?” she asked, her voice tremulous.
“Yes, he’s a kitty,” I said. “He lives with me. He even sleeps on my bed with me. Would you like to say hello to him?”
The girl hesitated. Mrs. Gillon said, her tone patient, “Go ahead, honey. He’s a nice kitty. He’s just big.”
Britney moved from behind Mrs. Gillon and slowly approached Diesel. He eyed her warily, afraid she might scream again. She reached out a hand. Diesel extended his neck so that he could sniff at her fingers. Britney giggled. “He tickles,” she said as she drew her hand back.
Diesel chirped, and Britney giggled again. “What a funny sound.”
“He makes a number of different ones,” I said. “That’s a happy sound. He’s telling you he’s very pleased to meet you.”
“Can I pet him?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He likes having his head rubbed.”
Britney extended her hand again and gave Diesel a tentative pat on the head. He chirped again, and she stroked more confidently. After a moment Diesel warbled for her.
“Funny.” Britney giggled.
“All right, honey, now that you see this big kitty is sweet and friendly, let’s ask these gentlemen into the house. It’s hot out there on the porch, and it’s not polite to keep company waiting,” Mrs. Gillon said.
“Yes’m,” Britney replied. “Please come in.” She moved behind her great-grandmother to let us inside.
“Thank you,” Jack said.
Along with Jack, Diesel and I followed Mrs. Gillon and Britney into the living room. I could see that Mrs. Gillon wasn’t obsessive about having everything appear immaculate like Mrs. Cooper, but this room had a more comfortable air to it. Clean, but not everything precisely in place.
We took the seats indicated, and Diesel stretched out beside my chair. Mrs. Gillon sent Britney to play in another room. When the child was out of earshot, she said, “Gentlemen, I’m an old woman, and I don’t think this is an ordinary social call. So I’m asking you up front what it is you’re here about.”
“I appreciate your directness, Mrs. Gillon,” Jack said. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but in addition to teaching at the high school, I also write books.”
“Books about murder,” Mrs. Gillon said. “I’ve read all of ’em. You’re good. You make it all seem real, like I know the people in the book.”