Six Cats A Slayin'

THIRTY

“Murder?” I said.

My two informants nodded their heads. Stewart indicated that Azalea should go first.

“You know she’s been married several times,” Azalea said.

“Three times. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Stewart replied.

“Always older men,” Azalea said. “People say she married them for money. Her family’s been around ever since Athena started up. Used to be, they had a lot of money, but her daddy wasn’t too good with holding on to it. By the time she was grown, they were just barely hanging on to that old house she lives in.”

“So, she married money,” I said.

“Yes,” Azalea replied. “Every time. She was kind of pretty when she was young. Some people said she really loved Mr. Thompson, her first husband, but he had to be nearly forty years older than her. She keeps going back to his name, so I reckon there must be something in that.”

“Maybe,” Stewart said. “From what I’ve always heard, he left her about half a million, and she parlayed that into three or four million. She’s pretty shrewd when it comes to investments, supposedly.”

“If she had that kind of money, why did she keep marrying for more?” I asked. “Wasn’t she satisfied with several million?”

“Not our Deirdre,” Stewart said. “You know how notoriously cheap she is, right?”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories,” I replied.

“People like her, seems like they always want more money even if they’ve got a lot,” Azalea said, shaking her head. “She grew up poor, but real proud of who her family was, and I reckon she doesn’t want to be poor again.”

“So, she married twice more, both times to older, rich men,” Stewart said.

“I guess murder comes into it because people think she killed her husbands to make sure she got the money before they could spend it all,” I said.

“That’s pretty much it,” Stewart said.

“Is there any basis to these rumors? Did anything particular happen to set people off talking about her?” I asked.

“Mr. Thompson came down with pneumonia real bad,” Azalea said. “He wasn’t strong to start with—had a few strokes—and that pneumonia, he just couldn’t shake it off. Nobody talked about murder when he died.”

“No, that started when number two died of pneumonia,” Stewart said in a wry tone.

“Don’t tell me number three died of pneumonia, too,” I said.

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Stewart grinned, but Azalea simply looked pained.

“Mrs. Thompson has always been real cheap about hiring people to clean and do things like that. Hardly anyone ever stayed with her more than a few months,” Azalea said. “She finally found her a strong girl that could do the cleaning and some of the cooking. The girl didn’t know enough to realize she wasn’t getting fair pay, but I don’t think she had any family or friends to tell her different.”

“She was slow, as they used to say,” Stewart said. “A euphemism for mental impairment. She was the only other person in the house when husbands two and three came down with pneumonia.”

“And if she was mentally impaired, Deirdre Thompson could get away with murder, and the servant wouldn’t understand what had happened.”

“Yes,” Stewart said. “Pneumonia can be induced, and the old codgers she roped into marrying her weren’t hearty physical specimens to begin with. She picked her pigeons carefully.”

“Did anyone—anyone official, that is—ever look into their deaths to find out whether they’d been helped along?” I asked.

“Not seriously, at any rate,” Stewart said.

“I don’t think so,” Azalea said. “People just started talking, not too long after Mr. Reardon died. He was number two. Mrs. Thompson doesn’t have many friends. Most people don’t like her because she’s so stingy. She goes around like some grand duchess and acts like she’s always giving money to charity.”

Stewart grinned. “I know for a fact she does give money to charities, because I was briefly on the board of one. I saw how much she gave.”

“How much?” I asked, because I knew he wanted me to.

“Twenty dollars,” Stewart said. “Other people in her income bracket were giving twenty thousand or more.”

“That is pretty darn cheap,” I said.

“Word gets around,” Azalea said. “Not much is ever secret, and when you don’t treat people right, well, that just makes people talk more because they don’t like you and want to drag you down.”

I couldn’t argue with that analysis. Since I had moved back to Athena several years ago, I had seen and heard such things.

“What happened to the mentally impaired woman? Is she still working for Deirdre?” I asked.

“No, she died six or seven years ago,” Stewart said. “She was probably close to forty by then. Don’t you think?” he said to Azalea.

She nodded. “She worked for Mrs. Thompson for over twenty years, and she got buried in the cheapest coffin you could imagine.” She sighed. “People say by the time she died, she was thin as a rail. Used to be kind of heavyset.”

I was considerably appalled. Not only had Deirdre gone for the cheapest possible funeral, she had evidently also kept the poor housekeeper on starvation rations. I wondered if that had any connection to her cause of death.

Stewart caught my eye and nodded. He read my expression of mingled disgust and horror all too easily.

“That woman is truly a piece of work,” I said, “if all of this is true.”

“Nobody knows for certain,” Azalea said. “Lots of talk, but nobody’s ever proved any of it. The funeral parlor knows the truth about the cheap coffin and what that poor housekeeper looked like, but they’ve never said a word. I don’t know where all that talk got started.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked. “I mean, what you’ve told me is horrifying enough, but there could be more.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Stewart said.

I looked to Azalea. She shook her head. “Nothing else I know.”

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” Stewart said. “What is all this in aid of? It must have something to do with Gerry Albritton’s murder.”

“It does,” I said.

“Was Gerry trying to blackmail Deirdre?” Stewart asked.

“Possibly,” I said. “Look, this shouldn’t go any further, and I know you will both keep it to yourselves.” I waited until they both nodded before I continued. “Helen Louise and I overheard most of a private conversation between Deirdre and Gerry at the party. It sounded like Gerry was threatening Deirdre with something she knew.”

“Something she could use to get Deirdre to ease the way for her with the high-society folk?” Stewart asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Basically,” I said. Stewart startled me by laughing. I noticed Azalea was smiling, too.

“Okay, what is it? What am I missing here?” I asked.

Stewart was still laughing, so Azalea explained.

“People like Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce don’t have much to do with Mrs. Thompson,” Azalea said. “They’re about as high in high society here as you can get, and those other society folks follow their lead.”

Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce Ducote, dear friends of mine, were indeed the true doyennes of Athena society. Given their constant generosity to many charitable causes, I could see why they wouldn’t find Deirdre Thompson at all congenial.

“If somebody told Gerry Albritton that Deirdre was her ticket to high society, they were either leading her on or didn’t have a clue,” Stewart said.

Had Jared Carter encouraged Gerry to cultivate Deirdre? As her silent partner, he was probably the likeliest candidate. He was not in that rarified atmosphere himself, so perhaps he really didn’t know the truth about Deirdre’s standing with the real aristocracy in Athena.

The question that occurred to me was what kind of proof Gerry could have had to make good on her threat to expose Deirdre. Maybe she was connected to the housekeeper somehow?

“Do you know what the housekeeper’s name was?” I asked.

Stewart shook his head. “I might have known it at one time, but at the moment I can’t dredge it up.”

“Azalea?” I asked.

“I think her name was Glory Smalls,” Azalea said.

“Any connection to the Albrittons?” I asked.

Azalea frowned. “I’ll have to think about that. I don’t believe the girl came from around here. I can ask a couple of friends who might know something.”

“Thanks.” I knew Azalea would do it discreetly. “If you come up with anything, it could help. Before I forget, is Kanesha familiar with these rumors?”

“Yes,” Azalea said.

“All right, I’m done.” I smiled at them. “I have no idea if what we’ve talked about has a bearing on the investigation, but you never know.”

Azalea stood. “Are you ready for lunch now?”

I had been so involved with my quest for information, I had forgotten about lunch.

“My goodness, yes,” I said. “I’m sorry, I hope it’s not ruined because of my questions.”

“No, it’s not.” Azalea went to the fridge and pulled out a salad bowl, one of the larger ones. She brought it to the table. “Grilled chicken salad. I know you prefer the chicken chilled.”

“It looks delicious,” I said. “Yes, definitely chilled.”

Azalea looked at Stewart. “There’s another one, if you want it.”

“Yes, please,” Stewart said. “I’m in the mood for a good salad.”

Azalea took another bowl from the fridge and set it in front of Stewart. Next, she pulled out three bottles of dressing. I almost always chose my favorite, Thousand Island. Stewart varied his choices between balsamic vinaigrette and ranch. Today he chose the former.

After Azalea gave us utensils and napkins, Stewart and I dug in. A glass of sweet tea appeared by my place, and Stewart received a large glass of filtered water before Azalea left the kitchen. Azalea never ate with us even though I would have been happy to have her join. I knew she did eat lunch, but usually when she was on her own in the kitchen.

I put my fork down. Sean. I hadn’t heard from him. I wasn’t going to wait any longer for him to call. I dug out my phone and hit Speed Dial. The call went to his voice mail after six rings. I ended the call. I decided to text instead. He might have been with a client when I called. That was me calling. Update on Alex and Rosie? I set the phone aside and resumed eating my salad.

Stewart had watched me closely. “Are you trying to reach Sean?”

I nodded. “Yes, I want an update on Alex and Rosie.”

“I’d like that, too,” Stewart said.

We didn’t have long to wait. My phone buzzed to announce a new text message. In fact, it buzzed three times, so I knew the message was a long one.

I read through it slowly, making sure I took in the details. Then I heaved a sigh of relief. The gist of it was that Alex was continuing to improve physically, gaining some strength, and beginning to have an appetite again. Her psychological gains were slower but steady, thanks to her therapy sessions. I knew she would need counseling for a while, perhaps months, before she returned to her usual self. Rosie was doing fine with Cherelle, and Sean was extremely pleased with her.

I passed the phone over to Stewart so he could read the update for himself. He scanned the messages quickly. With a smile, he passed the phone back to me. “Excellent news.”

“Yes, I’m very pleased,” I said. “I was hoping Alex might be able to come here for Christmas, but that might be too much to ask.”

“It is the season for miracles,” Stewart said.

“I’ll be praying for one,” I said. “I forgot to ask Sean if she was up to having visitors.” I picked up the phone and tapped out another text.

Sean responded quickly, saying that Alex would love to see me. I decided to run over to their house then, before I got caught up in something else. I was anxious to see Alex.

I announced my intentions to Stewart and hurried through the rest of my salad. I decided not to take Diesel with me. Better not to overwhelm Alex, and I wouldn’t stay long anyway. I didn’t want to tire her unnecessarily. I was about to run upstairs to brush my teeth when I heard the doorbell. I hoped whoever was at the door wasn’t going to take up a lot of my time, because I wanted to get to Sean’s place. Diesel came loping out of the kitchen the moment he heard the bell.

When I opened the door, I saw a small figure wearing a jacket with a black hood. The gremlin face was gone, replaced by the solemn mien of a child.