James, Miranda - Out of Circulation (CAT IN THE STACKS MYSTERY)

Sissy wore a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, and her high-spiked heels caused her to thrust her two major assets forward at a dangerous angle. A black and red shawl that looked like cashmere draped her shoulders. One hand clutched a red silk purse, the small kind that women brought to parties. She had a stuffed dog, a Yorkie, by the look of it, attached to her other wrist, like a corsage. The dog’s head was near her hand, and its tail almost to her elbow. It looked awkward to me, but I supposed it was easier than carrying it around all evening.

The Yorkie, Chablis, offered the telling clue. Sissy had to be none other than Tinkie Bellcase Richmond, sidekick to Carolyn Haines’s heroine Sarah Booth Delaney. If anyone was ever reared to be a “daddy’s girl,” it was Sissy.

Her brother surely wasn’t dressed as Oscar Richmond, Tinkie’s husband. That would be creepy. No, Hank’s dark suit looked severely Victorian rather than contemporary and bankerish, but his appearance was on the untidy side. His hair was not as carefully groomed as usual, and his pants pockets bulged under the contours of his jacket. His handkerchief straggled out of the breast pocket, and surely that was a pencil beside it. If he was going for messy, he’d achieved it. The suit looked like he had been wearing it for days.

“Good evening.” Hank turned to me and Helen Louise and inclined his head. “Thomas Pitt, at your service.”

The untidiness should have tipped me off because Anne Perry’s policeman hero went about in such fashion. Hank’s face, however, made me think more of Mr. Rochester, the tortured love interest of Jane Eyre. The skin beneath his eyes appeared bruised, and his eyes themselves were bloodshot. His handshake lacked firmness, and his whole demeanor betokened weariness, if not utter exhaustion.

Sissy, however, sparkled with energy and gaiety. “This is going to be the event of the year, Miss An’gel. Oh, Miss Dickce, you look absolutely fabulous. You, too, Miss An’gel.”

Hank smiled at the sisters, but it seemed an effort for him. “If I’m correct, you must be Amelia Peabody and Jacqueline Kirby. Right?”

“Right.” Miss Dickce nodded approvingly. “You’re so clever, Hank.” She batted her eyes in an overtly flirtatious manner, and Hank forced his lips into the ghost of another smile.

If I read him properly, I’d say Hank Beauchamp was near the breaking point. Was it merely physical exhaustion? Or was it emotional strain? I recalled the odd episode at Helen Louise’s bakery just last week. Helen Louise explained to me later that Hank evidently suffered from financial problems—due, she suspected, to a gambling habit—and that his law practice was in trouble, too. That was certainly more than enough to make a man look tired and perhaps desperate.

Two of the catering staff entered the room, bearing trays with drinks and finger food. Miss An’gel insisted that we all eat and drink. “Because things will start getting hectic soon, and we all have to be on our toes tonight. Remember, we want to get pockets open and money into our hands.”

We all nodded at that. I wasn’t looking forward to glad-handing people and urging them to donate even more money to the library. I believed in the cause, certainly, but I didn’t like feeling pushy, and that was the way fund-raising made me feel.

But the Ducote sisters would not be denied. The library was probably their favorite charity, and they worked hard to support it and literacy efforts in Athena and surrounding counties. So I’d have to suck it up, as the saying went, and do my best to solicit more donations.

If ever I could have used Diesel at my side, tonight was the time. He was a terrific icebreaker, and he charmed most everyone except the most hardened antifeline contingent. He made people feel good, and when they felt good, they were more open to giving money.

For a moment I wished I were at home with Diesel and Justin, but then I chastised myself for being such an old fogy. Tonight would be fun, and I should stop being silly and enjoy myself. I sipped at my champagne and nibbled on canapés and listened to the small talk.

Stewart came bopping—not a word I often used, but one that seemed appropriate at the moment—into the parlor right then. His breezy “How ya doin’, peeps? Ain’t we gonna have fun tonight!” put Miss An’gel at a temporary loss. Her expression went utterly blank.

Stewart had that effect on people sometimes.

Helen Louise and I exchanged glances, and that did it. We both burst into laughter, and Miss Dickce joined in. Miss An’gel’s face had taken on a slightly pained look. Neither Sissy nor Hank reacted that I could see. Sissy was too absorbed in staring into a mirror on the wall, and Hank seemed wrapped in apathy.

“I haven’t the foggiest notion what a peep is in this context, Stewart, but I presume you’re not talking about those absurd marshmallow candy things I see all over the place at Easter.” Miss An’gel reminded me of one of my high school English teachers, Mrs. Leverette, who abhorred any use of slang.

“No, ma’am,” Stewart replied. “It means comrades , I suppose, in this context, or perhaps fellows at arms . We are going into battle tonight, aren’t we? Fighting for dollars, so to speak.”

“We sure are,” Miss Dickce said. “I’ll be your peep, Stewart, even if An’gel won’t. She’s so proper sometimes.” For a moment I thought she might stick her tongue out at her sister.

Miss An’gel ignored her. “Money is the object of the gala, naturally, but I hope you’re planning to be a tad more genteel in pursuit of it tonight, Stewart.”

Stewart bowed. “I shall display every ounce of gentility I possess, dear lady, which is considerable.” He smirked.

“Get over yourself, Stewart. You’re such a poser.” Hank Beauchamp’s comment startled me because I thought he was oblivious to what was going on around him.

“Hank, darling, you are so utterly and divinely predictable.” Stewart’s cool tone didn’t fool me. I could see the color rising in his face. “I thought surely you’d be over me by now, but could it be you’re still pining?”

“Gentlemen, cease this at once.” Miss An’gel’s voice struck like the lash of a whip. “If neither of you can behave in a civil fashion, then you will leave right now.”

Both Hank and Stewart blanched. Hank apologized first with a muttered, “Sorry, Miss An’gel,” before turning away.

“I will be on my best behavior from now on,” Stewart said. The rigid set of his back and shoulders led me to think he was still angry but embarrassed enough by his outburst to comply with Miss An’gel’s orders.

“Very well.” Miss An’gel summoned one of the waiters to bring her champagne. Glass in hand, she turned to Helen Louise. “The canapés you provided are delightful. I don’t know what we’d do without your contributions every year.”

“Yes, they are nummy,” Sissy said.

“Thank you,” Helen Louise said. “I’m happy to do what I can.”

Their conversation continued from there, with Miss Dickce joining in. Hank remained aloof and quiet, however, wandering into a corner of the room away from the rest of us.

By this time I felt almost ill from all the tension. I hated confrontations, but I’d had little choice with this one. More than ever I longed to be home with Diesel and a good book, but if I tried to bolt now, Miss An’gel would have my hide. Plus Helen Louise would be sorely disappointed in me, and I didn’t want that.

So suck it up, Charlie, I told myself.

“I bet you’re wondering who I am.” Stewart sidled up to me and turned his back. “Maybe these will help you figure it out.”