Kanesha’s lips tightened. “You’ve got to ask her that. I
tried to get a look at the statements they took last night, but the sheriff is making sure I can’t.”
“I will. That aside, what is your impression of her story?”
“It all sounds like the way she’d behave in those situations. Overhearing the argument, then getting stuck in the dark at the bottom of those stairs.” She paused. “One thing at least. I’m more convinced than ever that Mama didn’t kill Mrs. Cassity.”
“I don’t see how she could have, unless, like Sean said earlier, she’s an Olympic-level gymnast.”
Kanesha ignored that. “The sheriff ought to be focusing on Morty Cassity. Surely Mama told Tidwell about the argument she overheard.” Her eyes flashed. “But of course he could always say she was making that up to divert suspicion from herself.”
“He can’t keep this up for long, surely.”
“He’d better not,” Kanesha said. “And for all I know he’s grilled Morty Cassity about all this. I can’t get any real info on what’s going on. Even Bates can’t find out, because no one will talk to him, either. He’s actually gotten to where he likes me, and right now that’s not a good thing in the department.”
I couldn’t blame Kanesha for feeling frustrated. The whole thing was petty and stupid, but it was all too human and believable.
“There’s one thing I haven’t told you about your mother’s story.” I paused for a breath, and Kanesha’s eyes narrowed. “I think Azalea might have seen something that she didn’t tell me. I may be totally off base on this, because it was simply an impression I had that she hesitated the tiniest fraction of a second before she answered my question.
About whether she saw anyone or anything at the top of the stairs after Vera fell.”
“Why would she do that?” Kanesha didn’t sound angry, and that relieved me.
“I don’t know. Like I said, I could have imagined it, because Azalea is always such a straight shooter.”
“Yeah, right between the eyes.” Kanesha shrugged. “You could be right. If Mama saw something and she’s not talking about it, she has her reasons. They might not make sense to anybody else, but they will to her. Getting her to tell you, well, I don’t know.”
“I’ll try talking to her again when I go home for lunch,” I said. I glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was nearly eleven. “There’s more I need to tell you.”
Kanesha leaned back in her chair and nodded. I handed her Vera’s letter and explained who the woman in the photograph was.
“What has her mother got to do with anything?” Kanesha stared down at Essie Mae Hobson.
“I don’t have a clue. Wait, though, I want to play you a message from Vera that came in yesterday. I don’t work here on Tuesdays, so I didn’t hear this until a little while ago.” I skipped to Vera’s message on my voice mail and played it for her.
When it ended I saved it and waited for Kanesha to comment.
“What did she mean about looking in the Ducote papers?”
“Sorry, I should have explained that. Vera came in here last week and demanded access to the Ducote archives, and I had to tell her she couldn’t have it. The papers are sealed, and no one can look at them without permission
from the family or their legal representatives.” I paused. “She even threatened me because I denied her.” I shared the threats with Kanesha, but I did not mention what Vera had tried to do to Helen Louise. I didn’t see any point in bringing Helen Louise into this.
Kanesha handed back the photograph. “Are you allowed to look through the papers?”
I nodded. “As archivist, I can, basically to conserve and catalog them.”
“I think you should.”
“Why? How could Vera’s mother be connected to any of this?”
“I don’t know,” Kanesha said. “There’s something about that woman’s face. I get the feeling that there’s an interesting story there. Could be a false lead, but I don’t want to take a chance on missing anything important.” She stood. “Anything else to tell me?”
“That’s it for now.”
She headed for the door but paused before she opened it. She glanced back at me. “Thank you.” Then she was gone.
I felt a paw on my shoulder and turned to see Diesel yawning and stretching. “Looks like I’m going to be pretty busy, boy. I can count on you to help, can’t I?”
Diesel warbled, as if to say, “Of course,” and I grinned. The paw retracted, and Diesel stretched some more before settling down again.
I picked up the photograph and studied it. Kanesha was right. There was something about Essie Mae’s face. If only I could find a better picture of her I could figure out what was haunting me.
Then another thought struck me. What if this was the only photograph Vera had of her mother?
I managed to focus on regular work long enough to put in about forty-five minutes, but by then my stomach started rumbling. Time for lunch. I shut down the computer and roused Diesel from his nap.
On the walk home I thought more about Azalea’s story. Surely she must have told the sheriff what she’d told me. Otherwise why was the sheriff treating Vera’s death as murder? Without Azalea’s evidence of a third person in that stairwell, it could easily be considered an accident.
As Kanesha said earlier, though, the sheriff seemed to be using the case for his own personal and political ends.
My head ached from all the ideas bouncing around in my brain. I needed time to let the bouncing ideas subside. A good lunch would help.
There was no sign of Azalea when Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. I found a note on the table that informed me she
had gone to the grocery store. My lunch was in the fridge.
Diesel sat by my chair and watched hopefully as I enjoyed my ham and potato salad. I picked out a few small bits of ham as a treat for Diesel, and that seemed to satisfy him. As long as he got even a small quantity of something from the table, he was happy. I supposed he didn’t want to feel left out.
Besides, I’m sure Azalea’s and Stewart’s cooking tasted far better than his cat food.
For dessert I had a nice big wedge of Azalea’s lemon icebox pie. I treated Diesel to a couple of licks of the pie from my finger, and he warbled happily. I agreed. This was my favorite dessert, and I’d never had better than Azalea’s recipe.
I wondered idly where everyone was. Sean was at work at the Pendergrast law offices. Until he could take the Mississippi bar exam in February, he was serving as an assistant—for that read gopher and researcher—for Alexandra and her famous father. Laura and Stewart were done for the semester, and I’d thought I might find one or both of them here.
Foolish hope in Laura’s case—she seemed to spend most of her spare time with Frank Salisbury. Since I liked Frank and thought he was good to my daughter, I didn’t quibble too much over the hours Laura was with him.
I was anxious for Azalea to return from shopping so I could pose my question to her. While I was at it, I might as well ask her if she knew anything about Essie Mae Hobson. Azalea knew as much, if not more, about the families of Athena as Melba did. There was a domestics network that rivaled anything Melba and her cronies operated.
Dirty dishes put away in the sink, I checked my watch.
Nearly twelve thirty. I should be back at the library by one, but frankly my heart wasn’t in it. As long as I was preoccupied by the mystery of Vera’s death and its implications, I wouldn’t be able to focus all that well on regular work.
I was reaching for the phone to call Melba and tell her I wasn’t coming back this afternoon when the front doorbell rang. Diesel shot off toward the front door. I’d call Melba later.
“Twice in one day.” Miss Dickce flashed a bright smile when I opened the door. “I hope you won’t get sick at the sight of us, Charlie. Hello, Diesel.”
I invited the Ducote sisters in, and Miss An’gel apologized for bothering me again so soon. She carried a large shopping bag, and she showed me its contents—the award plaque from the previous night—as I ushered them into the living room.
“We feel rather awkward about this,” Miss An’gel said as she took her seat on the sofa. Diesel jumped up between her and Miss Dickce and settled in for some serious attention.
“Clementine found it a little while ago, stuck behind a potted plant in the library,” Miss Dickce said. “We think Morty Cassity should have it.”
Miss An’gel interposed, “But we think it might be better if someone else took it to him. Morty is aware of the ill feelings Vera had toward us, and it might be more tactful if we kept ourselves out of it.”
I thought they were being overly sensitive, but far be it from me to tell them that. “Would you like me to deliver it to Mr. Cassity?”
“Thank you, Charlie. Yes, we would.” Miss An’gel exchanged a glance with her sister. “We also thought it would give you a good opportunity to have a little chat with Morty. As part of your investigation.”
“I see.”
And I did see—the Ducote sisters were intent on making sure that I didn’t slack off on my
investigation
.
They were a trip, as Sean might say. But a delightful one.
“I’ll do my best. I’ll see if I can talk to him this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” Miss An’gel beamed at me. Miss Dickce was busy cooing and petting Diesel. “Come along, Dickce. We mustn’t take up more of Charlie’s valuable time.” She took a moment to stroke Diesel’s back before she rose, and the purring doubled in volume.
“So lovable.” Miss Dickce sighed before she kissed Diesel’s nose. “All right, Sister. I’m coming.”
Diesel and I escorted them to the front door and bade them good-bye. Instead of closing the door, however, I stood in the doorway, suddenly curious to see what kind of car they had and who did the driving.
They strolled at a sedate pace down the walk to a late-model Lexus parked at the curb. Miss Dickce got in on the driver’s side, and moments later the Lexus took off. Miss Dickce floored it, and it’s a wonder Miss An’gel’s head wasn’t in the backseat somewhere. I sent up a quick prayer for anyone who happened to cross their path, thankful that I was safe inside.
Chuckling, I went back to the living room and retrieved the plaque. Though I’d promised the sisters I would try to talk to Morty Cassity today, I certainly wasn’t looking forward to it. He might not be a grieving widower, but he might have been the one who pushed Vera down the stairs. I didn’t relish the idea of confronting him on my own, with only Diesel as backup.
I grinned. Diesel could be pretty fierce on occasion,
though. His size sometimes intimidated people, and when he growled he sounded scary to those who didn’t know him.
Back to the phone to call Melba. Luckily for me she was out, and I left a message. Otherwise I might have been on the phone with her for ten minutes.
Azalea still hadn’t returned from shopping, and it was now a few minutes past one. While I waited for her to return, I looked up the number of Morty Cassity’s car dealership here in Athena. Might as well try to reach him, see if I could make an appointment.
I spoke to a man who put me through to Morty’s secretary.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Cassity is not here today. His wife passed away yesterday, and he probably won’t be in for a few days. Can someone else help you?”
I thanked her but said that I would try again next week.
If Morty wasn’t at work today, then he would probably be at home. I debated whether to call him there but decided that he could easily put me off. Whereas if I showed up on his doorstep with the plaque, he would be more likely to let me in the house.
I waited another fifteen minutes for Azalea, but to no avail. I might as well go talk to Morty Cassity and get it over with.
“Come on, Diesel, we’re going for a ride.” I scooped up the plaque, and we headed for the car.
Ranelagh, the antebellum house the Cassitys had purchased some years ago, was in the same neighborhood as the Delacorte mansion. The drive there didn’t take long, and soon I pulled the car into the oak-lined driveway.
Ranelagh was smaller than River Hill, but just as lovely, with the same Greek Revival architecture. I’d never been inside, but I’d heard the Cassitys spent a fortune restoring
it and filling it with period furniture. The drive wound about fifty yards into the property and curved in front of the house. A leg of the driveway veered off behind the house, and as I rounded the curve I caught a flash of bubble-gum pink from a car parked near the back of the house.
The only person in Athena I knew who had a car that color was Sissy Beauchamp.
How interesting.
I hesitated as I stopped the car near the front door. Perhaps I should come back another time. Things could be awkward if Sissy was really here.
Diesel chirped at me, no doubt wondering why we still sat in the car. That decided me. Forge ahead.
“Come on, boy.” I grabbed the bag with the plaque and held the door open for the cat.
I clanged the ornate door knocker three times and waited. Diesel sat at my feet and stared up at me. This was a new place, and he was curious.
No response. I knocked again, three times.
Moments later the door opened, and an unshaven, tired-looking Morty Cassity stared out at me. He wore a rumpled suit jacket with a pair of ragged gym shorts. He looked like I’d gotten him out of bed and he’d thrown on the first thing he could find.
“Good morning, Mr. Cassity. I’m Charlie Harris. We
met last night,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to intrude on you at a time like this, but I have something for you.”
He glanced down at the shopping bag, then at Diesel. I expected him to reach out for the bag and slam the door in my face, but for whatever reason, he stood aside and motioned me to enter.
“I’ve heard about your cat,” he said once the door shut behind us. He held out a hand to Diesel, and the cat sniffed it, then butted his head against it. “I’ve always liked cats, but Vera didn’t. Wouldn’t have one in the house.”
Good thing I’d brought Diesel with me; otherwise he might really have slammed the door in my face.
“This is Diesel. He’s a Maine Coon.”
“He’s a big, beautiful boy,” Cassity said. His face looked less drawn as he continued petting the cat. He straightened. “No point standing around here in the hall. Come on into my study.”