“I will get in touch with my son and have him meet you at the sheriff’s office. In the meantime, I know he would caution you not to answer any questions until he has had a chance to talk to you and find out exactly what is going on.” I was burning with curiosity to know exactly what was going on myself but I didn’t feel like I should ask. Better to talk to Sean and let him sort things out. Kanesha’s patience was probably worn out by now. I could imagine the effect that Eagleton would have on her.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris. I shall not forget your kindness in my hour of need, I can assure you. Oh, dear, the policewoman is looking at me rather fiercely now, so I suppose I must end this call and wait for my legal representation to sort this out. But pray do not believe what you will hear, for I am not a thief.” The phone clicked in my ear.

Thief? What had Eagleton allegedly stolen? Carrie Taylor’s copy of Spellwood Mansion? That was the only thing I could come up with that was pertinent to the case.

Diesel nudged my hand, his signal that more attention should be paid, and I rubbed his head with that hand while I speed-dialed Sean with the other.

“Hey, Dad,” he said when he answered. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

I assured him I was fine before I told him that he had a new client. I explained who Winston Eagleton was and related what I knew of the circumstances—precious little, actually. “It must have something to do with Carrie Taylor’s murder, though,” I concluded.

“I’ll get down there right away,” Sean said. “Alex and I were watching a movie, but it can wait. I’ll see what I can do for the man.”

“Thanks, Son,” I said. “I’ll just warn you that he tends to use seven words when one will do, particularly when he’s excited. So be prepared.”

Sean chuckled. “Got you. Talk to you later.”

I put the phone down, confident that Sean would advise Eagleton well. If only I could go with Sean, I thought. I burned with curiosity over what happened. Who accused Eagleton of theft? If I knew that, I might have some idea of what it was he was supposed to have stolen.

If he was indeed in financial straits, as I suspected, he might well have stolen a valuable item in hopes of selling or pawning it. Or maybe he couldn’t pay his hotel bill, and the Farrington House management sent for the police.

Would they really do that, though? I wondered.

I was giving myself a headache from the fruitless speculation. I went into the bathroom, found the aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and downed a couple with water.