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

“Back to the window.” I pointed. He meowed, but when I repeated my command, he jumped back onto the sill. “Good boy.” I gave him a treat from the stash in my desk as a reward for his good behavior.

Now to delve into the box. I started with the letters and skimmed them quickly. There were a few from Richard Ducote to his wife, Cecilia, the parents of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, from the first year of their marriage. I felt like a voyeur, but I scanned them so quickly for any mention of Essie Mae that I didn’t really absorb their meaning.

No luck with the letters, so I moved on to the account books. The Ducotes were meticulous record keepers, particularly when it came to household expenses. I resisted the urge to go through and compare 1920s prices to current ones. I had to focus on my goal. There were periodic entries for wages with employees listed by name, but I couldn’t find names or initials to match either Essie Mae Whoever or Essie Mae Hobson, nor even an Essie or a Mae.

I finally put that box aside. A check of the time revealed that it was a few minutes past noon. Thanks to the skimpier-than-usual breakfast I’d eaten that morning, I felt hungry. If I started on another box I could spend an hour or more with it, and I was ready for some food right then.

I remembered that I might have to provide my own lunch because Azalea was home sick. If no one else had beaten me to it, there might still be some of that delicious ham and potato salad I’d had the day before. That would do nicely.

When Diesel and I walked into the kitchen, appetizing odors, along with Laura and Stewart, greeted us. Stewart presided over the stove while Laura prepared a salad.

“Just in time for lunch.” Laura pecked me on the cheek. “And there’s my big beautiful boy.” She blew a kiss to the cat, and Diesel rubbed against her legs, warbling happily.

“Howdy, Charlie.” Stewart said. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I sure am. I thought you were going to be a bum today, and here you are cooking.” I walked over to the stove to see what was cooking. “Beef stroganoff. I do hope that’s for lunch.”

“It is.” Stewart grinned. “When you told me Azalea wouldn’t be here today, I couldn’t resist the chance to get into the kitchen on a weekday.”

“I’m glad your resistance was low,” I said. “I was figuring on having leftover ham and potato salad.”

“Too late for that anyway.” Laura giggled. “I think Justin must have had it for a midnight snack last night.”

“Then I’m doubly thankful Stewart had the urge to cook.” I sat down at the table. I hoped the stroganoff would be ready soon. The aroma was driving me crazy with hunger.

“Sean is lunching with Alexandra,” Laura said as she placed the large bowl of salad on the table. “Justin’s gone to see his father, so it’s just the three of us.” She began to set the table.

“This will be ready in just a minute.” Stewart added a heaping tablespoon of sour cream and stirred it in. “Any further leads on who killed Vera?”

“Nothing concrete,” I said. “I think Morty is the best suspect, though. Get rid of Vera, no need for a divorce, and then he could marry Sissy.”

“Speaking of our beautiful Miss Beauchamp, I ran into her yesterday afternoon.” Stewart began ladling noodles and beef onto plates. “I was walking around the square, and out she popped from the Atheneum. The poor thing looked upset about something—which I never could winkle out of her though I certainly tried—so I invited her over to the ice cream shop for a milk shake to cheer her up.”

While Stewart related his story, I’d been watching the cat pace back and forth near the counter where Laura had prepared the salad. She hadn’t put away the bag of grated cheese when she finished, and the cat could smell it. All of a sudden he leaped onto the counter and tried to stick his head into the bag.

“Diesel, no! You get down from there. You know better than that.” At my sharp tone the cat turned to glare at me. Laura retrieved the bag and returned it to the fridge. Diesel grumbled as he jumped to the floor and disappeared into the utility room.

“Poor kitty,” Stewart said. “He’s going to waste away to absolutely nothing if you won’t let him eat.” He set a plate of stroganoff in front of me, and Laura dished out the salad.

“Yes, he’s always on the point of starvation. Or at least he thinks he is.” I had to smile. After all, it did take a fair amount of grub to keep a thirty-six-pound cat in decent shape.

“How about some iced tea, Dad?” Laura held up a glass, and I nodded. She put it on the table and then took her seat. “I’m sorry Azalea wasn’t feeling well today. Do you think she’s really sick? Or just worn out from all she’s been through?”

“I think she was probably exhausted,” I said. “If she was truly ill I’m sure Kanesha would have called to let us know.”

“If she’s not back tomorrow I’m going to check on her,” Laura said.

“You might be able to get away with it,” Stewart said. “But you’re the only one. She really likes you. The rest of us she only tolerates.” He grinned.

Laura smirked. “Can I help it if Azalea is such a good judge of character?”

“Where is Dante?” It finally dawned on me the little dog was nowhere in evidence. Usually he was within a foot of Stewart at all times.

“He’s at the doggy beauty parlor, getting all fabulous,” Stewart said. “He was overdue for a cut and a shampoo. I’ll go pick him up after we finish lunch. Pardon the change of subject, but to get back to the murder for a moment. Laura told me about Azalea’s ordeal in the back stairs Tuesday night. Poor woman. I think that would give me nightmares.”

“Me, too,” Laura said. “Stewart and I have been discussing the case, Dad. He’s part of the family now, so he might as well be part of the investigative team, right?”

Stewart looked at her adoringly, and I grinned. He had become part of the family, though I certainly hadn’t expected it when he moved in the previous year. I didn’t think of him in a paternal way, however. He was more like a kid brother.

“Of course it’s okay, but I’m not sure about this investigative team . That makes us sound like a family of private eyes.” I wiped my mouth and put the napkin down beside my empty plate. “I know I can count on both of you not to go talking about this to anyone outside the family, though.” I gazed sternly at each of them in turn.

Neither of them paid any attention to that attempt at humor.

“Do you think she actually saw anything other than Vera falling?” Stewart picked up my plate and took it to the stove for a second helping. I didn’t protest.

“It’s hard to say. It must have been pretty dim in there. The one lightbulb gives off very little light, and it’s at the top of the stairs.” I tucked into my second portion of stroganoff.

“Have you thought about a reenactment?” Stewart asked. “I don’t know that Azalea would go for it, but you could try it to test whether a person at the top of the stairs would have been visible enough to identify.”

“That’s a terrific idea,” Laura said. “I’ll lend a hand, Dad. It will probably be creepy, but if it will help, I can handle it.”

“It is an excellent idea,” I said. Why didn’t I think of that myself? Then I realized there could be a problem. “The stairs might still be sealed off, and if they are, we’ll have to wait.”

“Can’t you call Miss An’gel and ask?” Laura said.

“Of course. Let me look up the number.” I got up from the table and went to the drawer where we kept the local phone book. I handed it to Laura. “Find the number and call it out to me. You can read those small numbers more easily than I can.”