“Do you really think Azalea is holding out on you?”
“I think so, but it’s simply an impression.”
“Want me to try talking to her? I might be able to wheedle it out of her, whatever she’s not telling.” Laura looked eager. Her choice of Nancy Drew as a character for the gala was truly heartfelt, and as an actor, she could probably see herself in the role. Even though Azalea definitely had a soft spot for my beautiful daughter, I thought it best that Laura left this to me.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. “I’m sure she’s feeling upset enough at the thought of me being in her business, you might say, without having another member of my family getting into it too.”
“You’re probably right.” Laura sighed, obviously disappointed. “But if you need me for anything, I’m there for you.”
I thanked her. We talked about more mundane matters for a while, including plans for the rapidly approaching holidays. Laura said she still had some Christmas shopping to do, and I told her smugly that mine was all done.
Diesel head-butted my leg, and automatically I reached down to rub his head. “I didn’t forget you, boy, never fear. You’ll have a present or two to play with.” He warbled. An empty box was as good as anything to him. Like most cats he liked to stuff himself into them, and the smaller they were,
the better he appeared to like them. He also loved ribbon, but we had to watch him to make sure he didn’t try to eat any.
I broached the subject of Laura’s postholiday plans with some caution. She had been remarkably uninformative on the subject whenever I mentioned it recently, and I secretly hoped it meant she might stay in Athena for another semester at the very least. I knew Frank wouldn’t be any happier to see her leave for California than I would.
“No firm plans yet,” Laura said with a shrug. She avoided my eyes as she continued. “I talked to my agent yesterday, and she’s working on some auditions in January. Two movies and one TV sitcom thing. Just minor parts, but you never know when they can lead to something bigger.”
“I see.” I felt deflated. I knew it was selfish of me to want my daughter to give up her career in Hollywood to live here in Athena, but since I’d had her and her brother with me for months now, I was reluctant to see either one of them move too far from home. “Well, I’m sure you’ll knock their socks off in those auditions and get the parts. They’d be idiots not to hire you.”
“Thanks, Dad. My biggest fan.” She beamed at me.
“Always.” I finished my drink and got up to dispose of the can. “I’d better start getting ready for dinner. See you later, sweetheart.”
Diesel remained with Laura while I went upstairs to shower and change clothes. I checked my face in the mirror and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to shave again. My five o’clock shadow looked more like seven thirty.
The cat wandered into my bedroom as I finished tying my shoes. “Are you ready to go, boy? We’re going to have dinner with Helen Louise.”
His ears perked up at the mention of Helen Louise, and
he meowed. It was very sweet, the way those two adored each other. And a good thing as well, since I could never care for anyone who didn’t love my cat as much as I did.
Helen Louise lived only a few blocks away, so Diesel and I walked over. It was a fine, clear night, though chilly, but not too cold to be uncomfortable for a cat walking on the pavement. I rang the doorbell right on the dot of six thirty. Helen Louise knew I always turned up on time, so she would be ready for us.
The door swung open, and she greeted me with a kiss and Diesel with head rubs. We followed her to the kitchen, led as much by the enticing aromas as by our hostess.
Helen Louise had inherited the house from her parents, and Bradys had lived in it since the early twentieth century. Though not as large as Aunt Dottie’s place, it nevertheless had the same sense of warmth and welcome, the aura created by a loving family.
The one room Helen Louise had changed was the kitchen, remodeling it to serve her needs as a baker and chef with more up-to-date ovens and refrigerator. I had no idea what the appliances cost, but her fridge alone was twice the size of mine. She was proud of her kitchen, and with her culinary skills, she deserved a first-class one.
“Do I smell coq au vin?” I sniffed appreciatively.
“
Mais oui, mon petit chou
. I know how much you love it. We also have
haricots verts Lyonnaise
and
gratin Dauphinoise
.” Helen Louise grinned wickedly as she continued, “And there just might be a special
gâteau au chocolat
for dessert.”
I still wasn’t quite used to being referred to as a
little cabbage
, but I knew it was a classic French term of endearment.
I pulled her into my arms, and we spent several satisfying minutes
before I released her. “What happened to that early night you planned on? You must be exhausted, and here you are cooking dinner for us.”
“I’ve caught my second wind,” she said with an impish smile. “You just recharged my batteries.”
I laughed and pulled her close again.
Diesel warbled indignantly at being ignored so long, and we were both grinning as we separated and reached at the same time to stroke his head.
“This is what I needed,” Helen Louise said softly.
“Me, too.”
She tapped me playfully on the chest as I attempted to kiss her again. “Time for more of that later. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Sit yourself down and prepare to feast.” She pointed to my chair.
The old oaken table was covered by a beautiful white linen cloth that made the cobalt Fiestaware stand out nicely. Helen Louise’s set was vintage, lovingly cared for by her grandmother Brady and then her own mother.
“Why don’t you pour the wine?” Helen Louise said as she took my plate to fill it.
She’d chosen a Nuits-St.-Georges Chardonnay, a favorite of both of ours. Helen Louise would never settle for cheap wine, and, having benefited from her expertise on numerous occasions now, I had to agree.
Over the delicious dinner we chatted about ordinary things, neither of us wishing to let the events of the previous night intrude. We ate dessert in her living room in front of the fireplace, all nice and cozy. The dark chocolate cake, paired with a delicious tawny port, had me groaning with a combination of pleasure and guilt.
Diesel desperately wanted to taste the chocolate, but Helen Louise fended him off with a couple of bites of chicken
instead. Chocolate was dangerous for cats and dogs, no matter how much they might beg for a taste.
When we set our plates aside, the cat took it as his signal to jump onto the sofa with us. He spread himself across our laps, with Helen Louise getting his head. His tail thumped against my chest, and I only narrowly avoided receiving a mouthful of hair. He settled down after a moment, and then we were able to talk about the subject we had avoided thus far.
“Was it only last night?” Helen Louise shook her head. “Hard to believe.”
“I know. I feel like I’ve aged a couple of months already.”
“Tell me what you’ve been up to. I have a feeling you haven’t been able to keep out of this.” Helen Louise grinned.
“True,” I said, “but not exactly by choice.” I shared with her the visits from the Ducote sisters and Kanesha Berry, then went on to relate the rest of my day.
“You have been busy,” she said when I finished. She filled my glass with more of the delicious tawny port, and I had a few sips. “Any conclusions?”
“Not really, though I still figure Morty Cassity had the best motive for pushing Vera down the stairs.”
“He’s the most likely one,” Helen Louise agreed. “I can’t believe he and Sissy are brazen enough to be carrying on in Vera’s house less than twenty-four hours after the woman died. That’s cold.”
“Isn’t it?” I recalled Morty’s attitude when I talked to him that afternoon. “He certainly didn’t hold back his feelings. No grief there, for sure. How long have he and Sissy been having an affair?”
“A couple of years, maybe three,” Helen Louise said. “It’s hard to know. First I heard of it was two years ago, I think.” She frowned. “Before that there was always talk
that Morty was seeing other women, but no one could ever come up with a name that I recall.”
“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.”
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.