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

“I thought the house looked rather sad, needs new paint, and there’s not a lot of furniture, at least in the hall and in the front parlor.”

Kanesha nodded. “Aunt Lily told me they had started selling the furniture. She said it like to have broke her heart, seeing all those family heirlooms go. Then they had to let her go, too. They couldn’t pay her, and she couldn’t work for free.”

“I didn’t know your aunt worked for the Beauchamps.”

“For nearly forty years.” Kanesha made a sour face. “And now she has to go out looking for a new job, at her age. She can’t afford to retire.”

“I’m sorry she’s lost her job.” I was about to add, If there’s anything I can do, let me know , but I realized in time that wouldn’t go over too well. Kanesha would bite my head off.

“What about Morty Cassity?” I asked. “Is his financial position solid?”

“From everything I can find out, he’s in excellent shape. Worth about twenty-five million or so.”

“Money that the Beauchamps could certainly use, and with Vera out of the way, Morty is free to marry Sissy.”

“That could wrap it up pretty neatly,” Kanesha said. “But there’s a matter of proof. Motive is there, but we still have to make sure one of the three of them had the opportunity.”

“Morty was upstairs with Vera,” I said. “We know that from Azalea’s evidence.”

“He was upstairs with her part of the time, but we don’t know for sure that he was still upstairs when she got pushed. Unless Mama can swear in court that she saw him do it, of course.”

Her cell phone rang as I was about to pose a question. Kanesha held up a hand to forestall me as she answered her phone. “Right,” she said. “On my way right now.” She ended the call and put the phone back in her pocket. “Three-car accident about three miles out of town. We’ll talk more later.”

That was fine with me. Maybe by the time we talked again, I would know enough to make a decision about sharing what I’d learned about Vera’s connection to the Ducote family. I showed Kanesha to the door, then wandered back to the kitchen to figure out what to have for dinner.

Diesel waited by the fridge and peered inside the moment I opened it. I never could figure out what it was he looked for, but he inevitably wanted to see inside whenever someone opened the door.

I found a casserole dish with a note on it. “Found this in the freezer, so I took it out to let it thaw for you. Love, Laura.” I pulled the casserole out and peeled off the foil and plastic wrap. It looked like one of Azalea’s chicken, broccoli, rice, and cheese casseroles. Good rib-sticking food. Not exactly healthy, but definitely tasty.

I put it in the oven to warm. While I waited for dinner to be ready, I went upstairs to wash up and fetch the book I was reading, the latest Ellery Adams Books by the Bay mystery. This was a relatively new series, but I loved the characters and the North Carolina setting.

Downstairs again, I checked the casserole, but it needed about another fifteen minutes. I tried to read, but I couldn’t block my worries about Vera Cassity’s murder from my mind. I put the book aside for now and focused instead on the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone.

I kept coming back to Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. What if one of them had killed Vera? For the sake of the family honor. Would an eighty-year-old scandal be that much of a scandal now? All the principals involved were long dead.

Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce might be embarrassed by the revelation that Cecilia Ducote was not their birth mother. They might be even more embarrassed to have to acknowledge Vera Cassity as a half sister.

But I couldn’t see embarrassment as a compelling motive for murder.

Then again, my family had never been as prominent as the Ducotes, though they had been in Athena about as long. I was proud of my ancestors, and I knew of some skeletons in the family cupboards that were rather embarrassing, but still.

A lot would hinge on what I found out about the wills of the three principals, Richard, Cecilia, and Essie Mae. And whether Vera could possibly be a third daughter of Richard Ducote. I think if I could have broken into the courthouse right then and there to get to the information I wanted, I would have. Patience had never been one of my virtues, particularly when the stakes were this high.

The casserole was as delicious as I expected, and I ate rather more than I should have. That was what happened when I was anxious. I fetched Diesel some of the treats he liked rather than letting him have any of the casserole. There were also onions in it, I realized, and he didn’t need onions or cheese. He for once seemed satisfied with the treats, perhaps because I pretended they came from the casserole dish.

The Ducote sisters. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Every which way I turned, there they were. They’d orchestrated Vera’s “retirement” from public life, and I had to wonder how much else they might have orchestrated. Now that I thought about it, they had certainly been directing my footsteps. First they asked me to involve myself in the case, then they sent me off to talk to Morty Cassity. This morning they had me going to talk to Hank and Sissy Beauchamp.

Were they purposely directing me so that I wouldn’t have time to think about them as possible prime suspects in Vera’s murder?

THIRTY

The Ducote sisters were definitely devious enough to be pulling the puppet strings, and I had been all too willing to let them.

I found it difficult, though, to think of them in that way. They would have to be fine actresses to dissemble that well—the Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine of Athena.

No, I just couldn’t see them that way.

All this speculation was fruitless. With a sigh I got up and started to clear the table. Once that was done, I went to the den to watch television, but that failed to hold my interest. Diesel was not pleased when I roused him from the couch and told him I was going to bed.

He followed me nevertheless, and by the time I was ready to slip under the covers, he was sound asleep, sprawled over his half of the bed. More like two-thirds, really. I made myself comfortable, picked up the Ellery Adams book, and this time I focused on the story and was soon absorbed by it.

When I woke in the morning, after a surprisingly restful night’s sleep, I was alone in bed. Diesel could be quite the nocturnal gadabout, but I was used to it by now.

As I came down the stairs, I sniffed and happily detected the smell of bacon. Azalea was back today, and I could look forward to a nice, full breakfast. No making do with cereal and toast today.

Once I had fortified myself with a stout breakfast I would try to convince Azalea to talk to me and tell me everything she’d seen in that dark stairwell on Tuesday night.

When I walked into the kitchen I thought for a moment I was seeing double. There were two Azaleas standing at the stove, their backs to me. After the first moment of shock passed I realized that one of the Azaleas was slightly taller than the other and wore a different-colored dress.

“Good morning, Azalea.”

The two figures turned, and Azalea turned out to be the shorter one. The resemblance between the two of them was eerie. Then I noticed the other woman looked older than Azalea and tired. Deep lines scored her forehead, and I realized this must be Azalea’s sister Lily.

“Morning, Mr. Charlie,” Azalea said, wiping her hands on her apron. “This is my sister Lily Golliday. I brought her with me to help with some of the heavy cleaning today. She used to help me out some when Miss Dottie was alive. I sure hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said warmly. “Good morning, Mrs. Golliday. I’m glad to meet you.” I advanced and extended a hand.