The Silence Of The Library

Miss An’gel Ducote fixed her houseguest with a gimlet eye. “I expect you to behave like a proper gentleman while you’re here.”

Diesel Harris regarded his hostess unblinkingly for a moment before he meowed.

Miss Dickce Ducote snorted with laughter. “Good gracious, Sister, you don’t need to lecture him on how to conduct himself. Diesel has better manners than some of the two-legged fools who’ve set foot in Riverhill.”

“True.” Miss An’gel pursed her lips as she continued to regard the large Maine Coon cat. “He is in unfamiliar surroundings, though, and I’ve heard that cats don’t like change. He might be upset because Charlie and the rest of the family have gone off and left him.” She pointed to the elderly Aubusson carpet that covered a third of their front parlor. “I’m not sure this can withstand accidents, if you know what I mean.”

“Really, An’gel.” Dickce shook her head. “Diesel is a smart kitty. He already knows where we put his litter box. He’s not going to make a mess on one of our priceless antiques.”

“That’s all well and good.” An’gel glared at her sister, the younger by almost four years. “Even if his bathroom habits are impeccable, what shall we do if he starts clawing the furniture?”

“If you were this worried about the contents of the house, why did you ever agree to keep Diesel?” Dickce glared right back. “Frankly, I seem to recall that you volunteered to cat-sit. Charlie never once opened his mouth to ask you. In fact, he looked mighty startled when you said we’d be delighted, though he’s such a gentleman he hid it immediately.” She sat back, arms folded over her chest, and waited.

There was no arguing with Dickce when she was in one of her contrary moods. An’gel suppressed a sigh as she threw up her hands in mock surrender. Before she could speak, Diesel warbled loudly and placed his large right front paw on her knee. An’gel stared down into the cat’s eyes, and she would have sworn he was trying to reassure her.

Dickce pointed at the Maine Coon. “See? He’s telling you he’s going to be extra-special good.”

The triumphant note in Dickce’s voice irritated An’gel, but she pretended it didn’t. Instead she stroked the cat’s head and told him twice she knew he was a good boy.

“Come sit with me, Diesel.” Dickce patted the sofa cushion beside her. “You can stretch out and nap with your aunt Dickce.”

Diesel pawed at An’gel’s knee again and meowed. He gazed up at her, and she had the oddest feeling that he was asking her permission. At least the cat was smart enough to know who was really in charge here. “Go ahead, it’s fine with me.”

The cat blinked at her before he turned to amble over to the sofa. He jumped up beside Dickce and settled himself with his head and front legs in her lap. Dickce stroked him and grinned at her sister when Diesel started to purr loudly.

An’gel picked up her glass of sweet tea and sipped at it. There was nothing better during the dog days of summer. Their housekeeper, Clementine, made the best sweet tea in Athena County, if not in the whole state of Mississippi. “The only reason I’m glad to see August come around every year is the fact that we don’t have any committee meetings to attend, any garden club functions to arrange, or any other social commitments. It’s nice to have a vacation.”

“It sure is.” Dickce nodded. “I keep thinking we ought to retire and live a quieter life, but I know we’d both be bored and ready to strangle each other in a month or two.”

“Besides, you know as well as I do that no one else will keep things organized and running the way we can.” An’gel shook her head. “If the community had to pay someone to do what we do, the town couldn’t afford it.”

Dickce frowned. “Did you hear that? Sounded like a car drove up just now.”

“I heard it.” An’gel stood. “We weren’t expecting visitors this afternoon. I’m not in the mood to entertain.”

“Tell whoever it is to go away.” Dickce yawned. “I think I’d like to go upstairs for a nap.”

An’gel strode to the front window and pulled the heavy red damask drapes aside to peer through the window. “I don’t recognize the car, and I can’t see who’s driving. Clementine is probably napping now herself. I’ll go.”

The bell sounded before An’gel reached the door. She opened it to find a woman about her own age standing there, finger on the bell, poised to ring it again. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red, and her face was devoid of makeup. She didn’t look like a salesperson, but she did seem vaguely familiar.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

Startled, the woman took a step back. “My goodness. An’gel, it’s you, isn’t it? I never expected you to answer the door.” She smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

An’gel peered at the woman’s face as she tried to recall who she was. Recognition dawned, along with the first stirring of dismay. What on earth was Rosabelle Sultan doing here?

An’gel stepped back and waved the visitor in. “Of course I am, Rosabelle. This is a surprise. Weren’t you living in California?”

Rosabelle opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes widened, and she dropped her purse. “What on earth is that?” She pointed to a spot behind An’gel.

“That’s Diesel. Dickce and I are cat-sitting for a friend.” An’gel stooped to retrieve the visitor’s purse. “I know he’s large, but he’s a pet. He’s friendly and gentle. You don’t have to be afraid of him.” And if the cat has any sense he’ll stay away from you anyway, she added silently.

Rosabelle clasped the purse to her side. “If you say so, but I’ve never seen a house cat that big before. Does he have some kind of glandular condition?”

Diesel moved closer and stood by An’gel. He stared at the visitor but did not approach her. An’gel had never seen him act like that, but she couldn’t fault his intelligence. Rosabelle never brought good tidings. Besides, An’gel realized, she smelled funny, like stale perfume overlaid by sweat.

“No, he’s a Maine Coon. They are large cats, and he is larger than usual. Nothing unnatural, though.” An’gel turned and gestured for her guest to follow. “Dickce’s in the parlor. Come along and say hello.”

“I’m so happy to find you both home,” Rosabelle said, sounding tired. “I’ve been driving for such a long time. I’m just glad I remembered the way.”

“Wasn’t that lucky?” An’gel murmured. She raised her voice at the parlor door. “Dickce, you’ll never guess who it is. Rosabelle Sultan.”

Dickce’s mouth dropped open but she closed it quickly. She stood to greet the visitor. “My goodness, Rosabelle, what a surprise this is.” She flashed a glance at her sister, and An’gel gazed stonily back. They would find out soon enough what their former sorority sister wanted.

“Dickce, I declare, you are just as darling as ever.” Rosabelle sounded tired. “I never did know how you and An’gel managed to keep your figures.” She dropped her purse on the floor and plopped down beside Dickce. “I always felt like such a lump around you two.”

An’gel could have told Rosabelle how, but good manners precluded her telling a guest that she always ate like a pig at a trough. She eyed their visitor critically. Perhaps Rosabelle had reformed her habits, or had been seriously ill. She was thinner than An’gel ever remembered seeing her. Her dress was at least two sizes too large, and it came off a bargain store rack. Rosabelle must have fallen on hard times. An’gel took a deep breath. She and Dickce were going to be hit up for money. It wouldn’t be the first time Rosabelle had done it.

“Would you like some sweet tea?” An’gel recalled her duties as a hostess. “Or something else?”

“Sweet tea would be fine.” Rosabelle leaned back and closed her eyes. “That might revive me.”

“I’ll go,” Dickce said. “You rest there, and I’ll be back in minute.” She frowned at An’gel as she headed toward the door. “Where is Diesel?”

Startled, An’gel glanced around. “He was with me in the hall. He didn’t go outside. Maybe he went to see Clementine.”

Dickce glanced at their visitor, who still had her eyes closed. She pointed at Rosabelle and pinched her nose before she left the room.

“What brings you all the way to Mississippi from California?” An’gel resumed her seat. “I can’t believe you drove all that way by yourself.”

Rosabelle’s eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked at An’gel. “Oh, dear, I fell asleep for a minute there. So tired from all that driving.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “It took me several days to get here, but I had to come.”

“Do you have particular business here? I didn’t know you still had family in the state.”

“Nobody in Corinth anymore,” Rosabelle said, her eyes tearing up. “Everyone left years ago. No, I came because I had to get away from California.”

An’gel waited a moment but Rosabelle did not continue. “We haven’t heard from you in twenty years, I reckon. Last we heard you had remarried.”

“That was my second husband.” Rosabelle nodded. “Tom Thum. He was a dear man, but he died seven years ago. I married again not long after Tom passed.” She sighed. “Antonio Mingione. Handsome as the devil, but a rat. A complete and utter rat.”

“A rat? Where?” Dickce sounded alarmed as she arrived with a silver tray bearing a glass of tea and a pitcher. “Maybe Diesel will catch it for us.”

“Not that kind of rat,” An’gel said. “A two-legged one. Rosabelle’s current husband.”

“No, not current.” Rosabelle sniffled. “He died a year ago.”

“My goodness, how awful.” Dickce handed their visitor the glass and took her place on the sofa.

Rosabelle sipped at the tea. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back here, where people know how to make sweet tea.” She drained the glass, and Dickce refilled it for her. “Thank you, so kind, like you always were. I could always rely on the Ducote sisters for their kindness.”

The sisters exchanged wary glances.

“We’ve always done our best.” Dickce patted the woman’s arm. “Sounds like you are in need of kindness.”

“Kindness and sanctuary,” Rosabelle said. She burst into tears.

An’gel had seen this act before. No doubt the “rat” of a husband had run through her funds and left her destitute. The only way to deal with her was to be firm. “Buck up, now, and tell us what’s wrong.”

Rosabelle stared at her through streaming eyes. She looked so intentionally tragic An’gel wanted to smack her.

“Come on, now,” Dickce said gently. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yes, it is. It’s murder.”

“Murder? What on earth are you talking about?” An’gel said.

Dickce spoke at the same time. “Who’s been murdered?”

Rosabelle glanced at each of them in turn. She drew a deep breath. “Me. I’m going to be murdered.”