While I waited for the coffee, I went to the front door to retrieve the paper. Standing on the doorstep, breathing in the fresh, cool air, I began to feel more awake. I scanned the front page, but there was no mention of Godfrey’s death. Tomorrow’s paper would be full of it, I was sure. And there would probably be national news crews all over the place. The mysterious death of a bestselling writer would attract attention across the country.

I was working the crossword and sipping coffee when the back door opened. I looked up to greet Azalea Berry. Today, Wednesday, was one of her three weekdays at my house. She had other clients on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

At nearly six feet tall, Azalea was an imposing figure. She had a regal bearing and she rarely smiled, but she was kind, with a warmth that belied her reserve. She was only about three or four years older than I, but she possessed the poise of a grande dame in her eighties.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, Mr. Charlie,” Azalea replied. She closed the door behind her and set her purse and keys on the counter nearby. “It sure is some beautiful morning.”

“Yes, it is.” I wondered whether she had heard about Godfrey Priest’s death. Surely Kanesha had mentioned it to her mother.

“Terrible thing about that poor man.” Azalea retrieved her apron from a hook by the back door and put it on.

“It sure was. It seems like a nightmare instead of something real.”

“And you finding him that way.” Azalea shook her head. “It’s a wonder you wasn’t up all night.”

“It was pretty grisly.” I took a sip of my coffee.

“How is Justin this morning?” She shook her head. “That poor child.”

“I haven’t seen him this morning. He was completely worn out last night.”

“Then he’s going to need a good breakfast. Build up his strength. You, too.” She went to the refrigerator and began pulling out eggs, sausage, and milk. Next she retrieved the flour canister, and I knew she was going to make hotcakes.

My mouth began watering. Azalea made wonderful hotcakes.

Diesel wandered into the kitchen and sat down a few feet away from Azalea.

She regarded him with a gimlet eye, and he stared back unfazed. “I don’t need no help from you,” Azalea said.

Diesel warbled at her, and Azalea turned her back on him, busying herself with preparing breakfast.

“Diesel, let’s go see if Justin is up.” I put my coffee cup aside and stood. “Come on, boy.”

Diesel was off like a streak. I followed at a much more leisurely pace.

When I reached Justin’s room, I found the door open and Justin sitting at his computer with Diesel climbing into his lap. I tapped lightly on the door, and Justin looked up at me.