Out Оf Circulation

TWENTY-FOUR

I pondered what Helen Louise told me. Holding on to the ancestral home was a powerful incentive indeed, especially for a family as proud as the Beauchamps.

“So add both Sissy and Hank to the list of potential murderers,” I said.

“I hate to think of either Sissy or Hank as a killer,” Helen Louise said. “But money—or the lack of it—makes people do terrible things.”

“I wouldn’t want to marry a murderer,” I said. “Or be the sibling of one.”

Helen Louise arched an eyebrow at me. “They may be the best suspects, but they’re not the only ones.”

“The Ducote sisters, you mean.” I sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but I can’t take them seriously as cold-blooded killers. Besides, we don’t know that they have a compelling motive. Intense dislike of Vera isn’t enough.”

“They are ruthless in their own way; cold-blooded is an apt description really.” Helen Louise stroked Diesel’s head. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have dreamed up that award business last night. That was a killing in its own way. They killed Vera’s career as a prominent public figure in one neat gesture.”

“True. They achieved their goal, though, so why would they go even further and eliminate her completely?” I shook my head. “I simply don’t see it. There’s no motive strong enough.”

“That you know of,” Helen Louise pointed out. “What about this business of that old photograph? What if Essie Mae Hobson is the key to it all?”

I had the sudden urge to yawn. The warmth of the fire, the delicious meal, and the two glasses of port all hit me at once, and I felt sleepy. I shook my head in an attempt to make myself more alert.

“I’m going to dig into the Ducote papers tomorrow,” I said. Then the yawn escaped me after all. “Sorry, it’s not the company. Too much good food, I guess.” I yawned again.

Helen Louise started to smile but then had to yawn herself. “I know what you mean. I think I’m starting to fade, too.” She glanced down. “Even Diesel is asleep, or at least looks like he is.”

“Time to wake him up and get him home,” I said, rousing Diesel gently. “Come on, boy, time to go.”

Diesel yawned as he gazed at me reproachfully for disturbing him. He stretched in a graceful, languorous movement before he climbed off our laps.

“You could stay here tonight.” Helen Louise smiled shyly.

I was truly tempted. Helen Louise had never looked more lovely, but now was not the time to move our relationship into a more intimate phase. I think she realized that, too, as I gently declined.

She escorted us to the door, and we shared a satisfying kiss before Diesel and I headed home. “Talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“Good night. You sleep well, too.”

I felt like whistling as we walked, but I’ve never been able to carry much of a tune. Instead I smiled a lot.

As Diesel and I neared our house an unfamiliar car pulled up to the sidewalk ahead of us. I slowed my pace and kept a wary eye on it as the driver’s door opened and a dark figure stepped out.

The moment she turned to face me I recognized Kanesha Berry, and I relaxed.

“Good evening, Mr. Harris. You two out for a stroll? Seems a little chilly for it.” She stepped onto the sidewalk a few feet away as I paused.

“Coming home from dinner with a friend.”

I heard the faintest trace of humor in her voice as she replied, “And I reckon the cat was invited, too.”

“Naturally,” I said. I gestured toward the house. “Won’t you come in? I’m assuming that you’re here to talk to me.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back sooner, but we had a couple of emergencies to deal with.” She preceded me up the walk to the front door. “I was on my way home and thought I’d stop by on the off chance you had a moment to talk.”

“You’re always welcome,” I said as I inserted my key in the lock. Diesel chirped at her, but she was still wary of him. She had her mother’s mistrust of cats, but I think Diesel was gradually winning her over.

“Come on in the kitchen. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” she said. “I won’t keep you long, just wanted to follow up on the message you left me. Plus I have a bit of news for you.” She took the chair I pulled out for her, and I sat down across from her. Diesel padded off into the utility room.

“You go first,” I said.

She shrugged. “Okay. I managed to get hold of one important piece of information about Vera Cassity’s death from a source I have. It was definitely murder because she didn’t fall. She had two big bruises on her back. Looks like the killer hit her pretty hard to knock her down the stairs. The rest of the bruising could be accounted for by the fall, but not the ones on her back, because of the way she fell forward.”

I felt sick at my stomach. I had seen the body on the stairs—only dimly because of the poor light—but it had a certain air of unreality about it.

Until now.

The mental image of the killer striking Vera that hard brought home the viciousness of the attack and the cold, heartless intent behind it.

Kanesha regarded me almost sympathetically. “Nasty, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Nasty and sad. You know, I don’t think there’s a single person who will mourn her passing.”

“Probably not. She didn’t work too hard on getting people to like her.” She paused. “One more thing, and this is good news. My same source tells me the sheriff is backing down on treating my mother as the only suspect.”

“That is good news. Maybe now he’ll get somewhere.” I recalled Tidwell’s visit to Morty Cassity this afternoon, and I told Kanesha about it. “Shouldn’t the sheriff have had another officer with him if he was going to question Morty?”

In my peripheral vision I noticed Diesel return from the utility room. Instead of coming over to sit by me, however, he left the kitchen and, I presumed, headed upstairs. He was ready for bed.

“He should have, to make it formal, but Tidwell likes to play the ‘good ole boy’ routine. Thinks it’ll get him what he wants faster, at least with some people. Like Morty Cassity, I reckon. They go hunting and fishing together a few times a year, so they’re buddies.” Kanesha didn’t sound too pleased about that.

“Tidwell wouldn’t look the other way if he found evidence that Morty was the killer, would he?” The whole good-ole-boy thing irritated the heck out of me, and it made me angry to think the sheriff was guilty of cronyism.

“He can’t afford to. He knows if he pushes things too far, the MBI will step in. I’ll see to that. I have a good contact there.” Kanesha smiled, and if Tidwell knew what was good for him, he’d better watch his back.

“What do you think of Morty’s attitude?”

“His whole image as a businessman is based on that kind of no-bull, down-to-earth talk. Haven’t you ever seen one of his commercials?”

“Probably.” I shrugged. “Frankly I don’t pay much attention to ads like that. I usually turn the sound off.”

“There isn’t any point to him acting grief stricken over Vera’s death. Everybody in town knows it wasn’t a happy marriage. Now, about my mother. Tell me again about the second talk you had with her.”

I did as she asked, and she listened, her eyes intent on my face.

“You think she knows something about Vera’s mother that she’s not telling? In addition to something she’s not telling about what she saw on the stairs last night?”

“Yes. It isn’t anything concrete, like I may have said to you before. I simply can’t shake the feeling that she’s holding back. In both instances.”

Kanesha shook her head. “And if she doesn’t want to tell you, she won’t. My mother could out-stubborn the stubbornest mule you ever met.”

“Laura wanted to try talking to her, but I discouraged her. One more person putting pressure on her to talk wouldn’t do any good, I think. It might make things worse.”

“I know Mama is pretty fond of your daughter, but the more you try to get Mama to do something, the less she’s inclined to do it. It’s best that Laura stays out of it.” Kanesha rose. “It’s bad enough that I had to involve you. I need to get home, so I won’t keep you any longer. Let me know anything you find out.”

“I will,” I said as I showed her to the front door. “I need to check the county and city records for anything regarding Essie Mae Hobson. But maybe it would be better if you did it.”

She paused on the doorstep. “No, it’s better if you do it. I need to keep my fingerprints off this investigation as much as possible, at least for now. The woman in the records office will help you. They get people looking in the records all the time, and she’s not going to think anything about your poking your nose in. Good night.” With that she turned and headed down the walk.

I waited until she reached her car before I closed the door and locked it.

The house was quiet as I climbed the stairs. It was only a quarter past nine, but I was more than ready for bed. There was no cat on the bed when I entered my room. Diesel was most likely with Laura. I left the door cracked so he could get in, whenever he deigned to join me for the night.

I dropped off to sleep quickly, too tired even to think much about the events of the past twenty-four hours. I awoke the next morning when the alarm went off. Diesel purred in my ear to make sure I didn’t try to roll over and go back to sleep.

Fat chance of that happening, not with a thirty-six-pound alarm clock always ready to pounce into action.

On the way downstairs about twenty minutes later I was surprised not to smell the usual odors of fresh biscuits and bacon or sausage wafting through the house. Surely Azalea was here. She had never missed a day since the day I moved in.

I found a note on the kitchen table. It informed me—in Azalea’s hand—that Azalea was unwell and couldn’t work today. Not a surprise, really. I thought she should have stayed home the day before, too, but she was too stubborn to give in. Today, though, it had all caught up with her. I hoped she took it easy and actually did rest at home, but I wouldn’t count on it.

Though I had the time, I didn’t feel like cooking a full breakfast. Instead I contented myself with cereal, toast, and some apple juice. It wouldn’t hurt me to miss one cholesterol-laden breakfast, that was for sure. I enjoyed the quiet as I read the paper, sipped my coffee, and finished my simple meal.

Diesel didn’t pester me for anything, once he realized there were no pancakes, bacon, or sausage to be had. He turned up his nose at mere wheat toast and bites of cereal.

As I was rinsing my dishes in the sink, Stewart bounced into the kitchen with a cheery “Good morning, Charlie. How’s my favorite landlord today?” He poured himself coffee, then leaned against the counter near me. His eyes sparkled with morning energy, and he grinned broadly between sips of coffee.

He could be annoyingly like Tigger on occasion, a little too perky and awake in the mornings, but I tried not to hold that against him. “Doing fine, I guess. How about you?” I dried my hands on a towel before I faced him.

“Excellent,” he replied. He set his coffee cup down on the counter in order to rub Diesel’s head with both hands. The cat rewarded him with happy chirps, and Stewart talked nonsense to him for a moment. Then he regarded me again as Diesel rubbed against his jean-clad legs. “No Azalea today? If I’d known that, I could have made breakfast for us.”

“No, she won’t be here,” I said. “I couldn’t believe she was here yesterday, after all the stress of the night before. But I guess it finally caught up with her, and she decided she’d better take it easy today.”

Stewart grimaced as he topped up his coffee. “I still can’t believe that someone finally did Vera in. It’s amazing to me that she lasted this long, frankly, but why now? What did she do to push someone over the edge?”

I frowned at his poor choice of words, and he shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” I sighed. “You’re right, though. Whoever pushed Vera down those stairs must have reached the point of desperation. But who was it?”

“I can think of several candidates, but I can’t imagine which of them would actually hit the breaking point and kill.” Stewart set his coffee down and moved to the fridge where he extracted eggs, milk, and cheese. “How about a little more breakfast?”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough,” I said. “Time to get ready for work. What are you up to today?”

“Not much of anything,” he replied with evident satisfaction. “The semester is over, and Stewart is going to be a bum.”

Diesel and I left him to his breakfast preparations and headed up the stairs.

By the time I was ready to leave for the library, Stewart had disappeared, and no one else had come downstairs. Laura and Justin were probably sleeping in, now that the semester was officially finished. I wondered idly where Sean was, because I’d expected him to be down for breakfast. I had a sneaking suspicion his bed hadn’t been slept in. He was spending more and more time with Alexandra at her house, including a few nights.

The weather had turned colder overnight, but was still bearable. Diesel seemed unaffected by it, though I feared his feet might get too cold. Today was my last in the office, because the library would be closed the next two weeks for the holidays and the semester break. I was looking forward to the time off.

Diesel settled down happily in his window aerie, and I put away my things before firing up the computer. I’d barely sat down and begun to check e-mail, however, when I heard a knock on my open door.

I turned to see Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce standing there. I rose. “Good morning, ladies. What a pleasant surprise.” What do they want now? I wondered. Were they going to drop by every day until the case was solved? Not that I minded seeing them, of course, but they did require a high level of mental energy.

“Morning, Charlie.” Miss An’gel beamed at me as she approached the desk and took the same seat she’d sat in the previous morning. Miss Dickce smiled and sat down beside her.

Before they even had time to make themselves comfortable, Diesel stood between them, looking back and forth to see which of them would pay attention to him first.

I allowed them a few moments to adore the cat before I spoke. “What can I do for you? I should have let you know yesterday afternoon, but I’m afraid I forgot. I did return the plaque to Morty Cassity as you requested.”

“No matter,” Miss An’gel said, dismissing my apology with a wave of one elegant, beringed hand. “We knew we could rely on you.”

“How did you find the grieving widower?” Miss Dickce asked. “Not grieving too deeply, I’m sure.” She kept one hand on Diesel’s head as we talked, and Diesel purred, adding his rumbling voice to the conversation.

“No, he wasn’t, I have to say.” I gave them a brief account of my interview with Cassity. I did not mention, though, that I’d seen Sissy Beauchamp’s car parked behind the house.

The sisters shared a look, one I couldn’t interpret, then Miss An’gel turned back to me. “We have another little favor to ask you, Charlie. We know you’re busy, but if you wouldn’t mind handling one other little matter for us, we’d appreciate it.” Miss Dickce nodded as her sister spoke.

“I’d be happy to do whatever I can, Miss An’gel.” I smiled, though I could feel the start of a dull ache across my forehead.

“It’s the money for the gala, you see.” Miss Dickce leaned forward in her chair. “Usually everyone gives us their contributions before the end of the evening.”

Miss An’gel took it from there. “With the events of that night, naturally, not everyone fulfilled their promises. Dickce and I will be calling upon most of them, except in one case. We would like you to handle that one.”

“Besides,” Miss Dickce broke in, “it will give you a chance to snoop around a little.”

“Dickce.” Miss An’gel glared at her sister. “You make it sound sordid.”

“Don’t be so persnickety, Sister,” Miss Dickce said. “We asked Charlie to be a snoop, so call it what it is.”

That ache in my forehead grew stronger. “Whom would you like me to call on, ladies?”

“Sissy and Hank Beauchamp,” Miss An’gel replied.

“And good luck getting the money out of them,” Miss Dickce said.

That remark started another squabble about manners, and I let them carp at each other while I considered what they wanted me to do.

Lovely, I thought. Now I can add bill collector to my resume.