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

“He’s at least twenty or twenty-five years older than she is, right? What do you think she sees in him?”

Helen Louise shrugged. “He’s actually rather attractive, but for Sissy I imagine the main attraction is money. She’s like Morty in that respect, and maybe the two of them deserve each other.”

“Is she really that mercenary?” I didn’t know Sissy well at all, but she hadn’t come across that way to me.

“Not for her sake, no, but she’d do anything to help Hank.”

“I know you mentioned that he’s been having financial issues and could lose his law firm.” I also remembered something about Hank having a gambling problem, too.

She looked troubled as she nodded in agreement. “From what I’ve heard recently, Hank’s on the verge of bankruptcy. There are even rumors that he’s going to sell Beauchamp House. That must mean they’re both pretty desperate.”

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?”