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

“Evening, Mr. Harris.” Bates paused in front of me. “Why don’t you go on in, sir? I need to speak to everyone.”

“Certainly.” I walked into the parlor, and all eyes focused on me and the man entering behind me.

Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce occupied one sofa, and Helen Louise shared it with them. Stewart sat on the arm of the sofa next to Miss An’gel. Hank and Sissy Beauchamp sat in chairs nearby, while Morty Cassity stood staring out a window opposite the door. Teresa Farmer, now wigless and looking exhausted, sat with Clementine on another sofa. Cathy Williams must have left already—probably had to go to the hospital to deal with some emergency among her nursing staff, I speculated. Then I realized the catering staff wasn’t in the room, and I wondered where they were. Someone, perhaps Dr. Sharp, had probably sent them to another room where there were enough chairs for them all. There wouldn’t have been in here.

“Evening, folks.” Deputy Bates took up a stance in the middle of the room as I moved to sit on the arm of the sofa by Helen Louise. I put my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her hand brushed mine gently as she gazed into my eyes. I wished there were room on the sofa so I could put my arm around her and draw her close. I could certainly use the comfort, and no doubt she could, too.

The officer continued. “I’m sorry to have to tell y’all this, but there’s been an accident involving Mrs. Cassity. Sheriff Tidwell is here and will be investigating. I have to ask y’all to remain here until the sheriff can talk to you. In the meantime I also have to ask you not to talk about anything to do with the accident until the sheriff has interviewed you.”

“Certainly, Officer Bates.” Miss An’gel spoke for us all. “We will do whatever we can to assist the sheriff.”

As we waited for the sheriff to appear, I finally felt my head clear enough to think about what I had seen in the kitchen. My forebodings of disaster for the evening had come true, and I wondered whether I had some sort of affinity for dire happenings.

Another murder. This made the fourth time I’d encountered a dead body, a potential homicide.

I chided myself. It could have been an accident. Vera might have been in a hurry, trying to rush down the stairs, when her hoops stuck. In trying to wrench them free she could have fallen and broken her neck.

I prayed again that it would turn out to be an accident. Tragic, but an accident.

But what was Azalea doing locked in the back stairway with Vera?

Could they have argued again? Did Azalea’s temper get the better of her? Could she have pushed Vera down the stairs in anger?

The arrival of Kanesha and Dr. Sharp cut my speculations short. Kanesha’s normally impassive countenance was gone, replaced by an expression of sheer fury.

She made a beeline for me, shrugging away her companion’s restraining hand and ignoring Bates’s command to halt.

Kanesha looked so angry I thought she was going to strike me, and I jerked myself up from the arm of the sofa and braced myself for an attack.

Instead of hitting me, however, she halted mere inches from me and glared at me. “I’m going to need your help. My idiot boss thinks Mama killed Vera Cassity.”

FOURTEEN

“Deputy Berry.”

Bates’s voice rang out, and Kanesha turned to face him as he strode toward her. He did not look happy.

“I know you’re upset, but it’s not gonna do you any good if you piss off the sheriff.” Bates spoke in a low voice, but he was close enough that I heard every word.

Kanesha sighed. “I know, Bates, I know. Thanks for the reminder. But he’s telling me I can’t work this case. He’s crazy if he thinks my mama killed that woman.”

Bates realized that both Dr. Sharp and I were listening avidly to his conversation with his superior officer, and he motioned for her to follow him to the area near the door.

“This is nuts,” Dr. Sharp muttered as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets.

I nodded in sympathy, but since Bates kept glancing my way, I didn’t dare speak. The doctor nodded back in understanding.

Azalea as the chief suspect in a murder. How bizarre.

Then it hit me.

If the sheriff considered Azalea a suspect, that had to mean he thought he was dealing with a murder, not an accidental death.

I wondered what evidence of homicide the sheriff might have found. I also wondered how competent he was at investigating murder. Usually that duty fell to Kanesha, as chief deputy, or in special cases the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation.

Considering the identity of the victim, I thought it highly possible the MBI could be brought in to handle this.

No matter what the sheriff thought, I couldn’t see Azalea as a murderer. I knew she hated Vera with a passion, although I didn’t know why. But Azalea was a woman of strong faith and ironclad principles. She wouldn’t kill a person simply because she hated her.

But I also recalled those words I’d heard not that long ago, from Azalea herself—she hoped the Lord would strike Vera down. Had Azalea considered herself an instrument of God and pushed Vera down the stairs?

Down the stairs.

There was something wrong with that picture. I frowned, forcing my tired brain to recall the scene in that dimly lit staircase.

The door was blocked from the outside, and it opened outward. Azalea was stuck inside because she couldn’t get the door open. She might have been able to get out if she went up to the next floor, however.

She couldn’t do that, I realized, because Vera’s body and her big hoops blocked the narrow stairwell effectively. Azalea would have had to climb over Vera’s body to go either up or down the stairs, and I couldn’t see her doing that.

The crime-scene investigators would surely find some sign if Azalea—or anyone else—had climbed the stairs over Vera’s body. That could be why the sheriff was convinced Azalea had done it. He’d found evidence to that effect.

No, I simply couldn’t see it. Azalea had to have been at the bottom of the stairs when Vera fell—or was pushed.

In that case, maybe Azalea knew who the killer was because she’d seen the person behind Vera on the stairs. This could all be over quickly if she had witnessed the attack.

I perched on the sofa arm again, and Helen Louise’s hand sought mine. I squeezed it, and she leaned against me. I knew if I was tired, she must be exhausted. She had put in a pretty full day at the bakery—a day that started at four a.m.—even before we came to the gala.

At least another quarter of an hour passed before the sheriff finally came to the parlor. He called Kanesha out into the hall, but they reappeared a couple of minutes later. Kanesha beckoned for Dr. Sharp to join her. After a brief conversation, he returned to his former position near me while Kanesha departed.

Where was Azalea? I wondered. I hoped that the sheriff had allowed Kanesha to take her home and that she wasn’t sitting in a cell at the county jail right now.

Sheriff Tidwell addressed the room. His attention seemed focused on Miss An’gel, however. “Thanks for your cooperation, folks. I know y’all must be mighty tired by now, but I’m sure y’all understand that we’ve got a serious situation we’re dealing with here. I’m going to need to talk to each and every one of you, and then you’ll be able to go home. I promise to make it as quick as possible. Miss An’gel, I’d like to start with you.”

Miss An’gel rose. “Sheriff, since I am in my own home and don’t have anywhere else to go, I suggest you leave my sister and me to the last, and take my guests first.”

Considering the tone Miss An’gel used, she did more than suggest. The sheriff knew when he was outmatched, I was sure, and he didn’t argue. He simply nodded.