Out of Circulation (22 page)

“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.”

Laura took the book eagerly and thumbed through the pages. “Here it is.”

I punched in the number and after four rings, the housekeeper
answered. I identified myself and asked Clementine whether one of the Ducote sisters was available.

“Miss Dickce here somewhere. Let me get her.” Clementine set the phone down with a slight clunk, and I waited.

It took almost two minutes, but Miss Dickce eventually came on the line. We exchanged greetings, and then I asked whether the back stairs were still sealed off.

“No, they’re not. A nice young officer from the sheriff’s department removed everything this morning, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?”

I explained Stewart’s idea, and she squealed into the phone. “Of course you must do that. How exciting. When can you come?”

“How about half an hour from now?” Laura and Stewart nodded enthusiastically when I glanced their way. “Good. We’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t you have to go pick up Dante?” Laura asked.

“It’s barely noon now,” Stewart said. “He won’t be ready until two at the very least, and they won’t mind keeping him an extra half hour or so. Besides, do you really think I’m going to miss out on this?”

We quickly finished lunch and put everything away. I drove, and on the way we discussed who would do what. I would play Azalea’s role, Laura would be Vera, and Stewart would be the killer.

Miss Dickce was waiting on the verandah when we arrived. She was fairly hopping with excitement, but she took time to coo over Diesel for a moment. Then she hurried us into the house and up the stairs to the second floor. We followed her down the hall to the back of the house, and she pointed out the entrance to the back stairs.

“You turn the light on here. There’s another switch downstairs to turn it off.” She pointed to a switch on the wall
next to the door, then flipped it. “The fixture is on the wall to your right. There is another light down at the bottom, but there’s something wrong with the wiring. Since we don’t use these stairs anymore, though, we haven’t had it fixed.”

“Thank you.” I turned to my two assistants. “Give me at least two minutes before you open the door. I want my eyes to have time to adjust the way Azalea’s would have.”

Laura and Stewart nodded.

“Diesel, you stay here with Miss Dickce.” He meowed as if he understood, and Miss Dickce stroked his back. I took a deep breath before I opened the door and stepped into the stairwell.

The door shut behind me, and I peered down through the murky light to the bottom of the stairs. The light on the wall beside me did little to illuminate any farther than about a third of the way down, from what I could see. The musty odor made my nose twitch, and I hoped my sinuses wouldn’t pay me back later for this.

I started cautiously down the stairs, mindful of what I knew about the state of the wood beneath my feet. I reached out to grasp the handrail but then realized there wasn’t one. I had maybe two inches’ clearance on each side of me, and, as I discovered, not even that much space over my head. Claustrophobia began to kick in, worsening as I went further down, counting each step.

At number twenty-six I reached the bottom. These antebellum homes had higher ceilings than most houses did these days, and that accounted for the longer-than-usual staircase. I felt for the knob and grasped it. By now my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, and I discovered that it was pretty dark at the bottom.

I turned to look up. Deep shadows covered the lower two-thirds of
the run of stairs, and the light appeared even weaker than before from this vantage point. I turned and faced the door again, because I remembered Azalea’s telling me she was in that position when she heard someone enter at the head of the stairs.

The seconds stretched out, and I breathed in the damp air. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I sympathized with Azalea.

Finally I heard movement above me, and the floor creaked as Laura and Stewart entered the stairwell. I counted to five before I turned and looked up.

Laura was only a silhouette, and I couldn’t see Stewart at all. They were approximately the same height, so that wasn’t surprising. Laura started down the steps, and then I could see the edge of Stewart’s silhouette behind her, outlined by a faint nimbus of light. As I watched, I saw the silhouette behind Laura change shape slightly.

“I’m pretending to shove her down now,” Stewart said, and I could just see the movement of his arms behind Laura. They were dark projections of his body. Then I focused on Laura as she pretended to pitch forward, and without thinking I started up the stairs toward her to break her fall.

She called out to me. “I’m okay, Dad. I’m not really falling.”

I stopped where I was, and as I did I realized I could no longer see anyone behind her on the stairs. Evidently Stewart had slipped back up the stairs and out the door while my attention was focused on Laura.

“Jeez, it’s dark in here,” Laura said. “That lightbulb must be an antique itself. Did they ever make ten-watt bulbs?”

“I don’t know, but we can look it up when we get home. Stay
where you are for a moment.” I went back down to the bottom door and twisted the knob. It opened, for which I was deeply thankful. I stepped out into the kitchen, blinked rapidly in the bright light, then turned back to peer up the stairs.

With the added light I could see more, but this made me realize how difficult it would have been for Azalea to see much that night.

But what exactly
had
she seen?

More than she was telling, I was pretty sure.

How could I get her to tell me everything?

Laura joined me in the kitchen. “How eerie was that?” She rubbed her arms.

I nodded. “I’d hate to get stuck in there. Poor Azalea.”

Stewart called down to us from upstairs. “Are we done?”

I stepped back into the stairwell and shouted up to him. “Yes, come on down.”

“Okay.”

Laura and I moved out into the hallway and met Stewart, Diesel, and Miss Dickce at the foot of the main staircase.

“Was that helpful?” Miss Dickce asked.

“I think so,” I said. “At least now I have a better understanding of what it was like for Azalea in there.”

“Could you see anything?” Miss Dickce peered anxiously at me. “I’m glad you didn’t ask me to go in there. I can’t abide dark places. An’gel should either have the wiring fixed
and the stairs replaced or shut the whole thing off permanently.”

“It’s hard to see anything,” I said. “I doubt Azalea could see much, either. I think the sheriff is going to have to solve this thing without a full eyewitness account.”

“That’s too bad,” Miss Dickce said. “I wish this were all over.” Diesel rubbed against her legs, and I tried not to notice the trail of hair he left on her navy blue dress. Our hostess didn’t seem to mind, however. She scratched the cat’s head and smiled down at him.

Stewart patted her arm. “We all do, Miss Dickce. But Charlie will figure it out, don’t you worry.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” I said. “But it’s not going to be easy. Thank you, Miss Dickce, for letting us come do this. We’d better get going, though. I need to get back to work, and Stewart has an errand to take care of, too.”

“You’re so welcome, Charlie,” Miss Dickce said warmly. “I wish you had time to stay longer, but I understand.”

I suddenly remembered the check I collected from Sissy Beauchamp that morning. I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to Miss Dickce. She accepted it, glanced at it, and frowned. I wondered whether the amount was for less than what the Beauchamps had pledged, and given what I suspected about their finances, it probably was.

“Thank you for taking care of that, Charlie.” Miss Dickce showed us to the door and bent to give Diesel a kiss on the nose as a good-bye.

Laura and Stewart chatted on the drive home, but I paid scant attention. My thoughts focused on that dark stairwell, bouncing back and forth between our reenactment and the events of Tuesday night. I had to talk to Azalea again, and this time I had to persist until she finally told me everything.

Diesel and I made it back to my office at the library by a quarter to two. He showed brief interest in the box I opened, but another treat distracted him. He munched it and then snoozed on the windowsill while I delved into the box’s contents.

According to the list there were only letters here, more correspondence, chiefly business matters, from the 1920s and 1930s. I scanned letter after letter, gradually emptying the box, but found nothing of interest to my current quest.

Near the bottom of the box I felt a hard lump underneath the last inch of paper. Curious, I pulled all the letters up to reveal a small leather-bound book lying beneath. Slightly larger in dimension than a paperback and half as thick, it had a monogram stamped in gold on the cover. The letters were
KCD
.

Why wasn’t this listed as part of the contents? I picked up the little book and opened it. An inscription in cramped, tiny handwriting adorned the front flyleaf, and I had to pull out a magnifying glass in order to read it.
The Private Journal of Katherine Cecilia Ducote.

Cecilia Ducote was the mother of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. I had a sudden feeling that this little book could hold the answers to Vera Cassity’s quest to know more about her mother. I also wondered whether the sisters knew about the existence of their mother’s journal.

I turned the page. There was no date, but the first sentence revealed that the keeper of the journal was on her honeymoon.

Oh, my. I probably blushed a little, reading the most private thoughts of this young woman. I hoped she wouldn’t rhapsodize in any further detail.

I began to skim and worked my way through the splendors of Paris, Vienna, and Rome. By the time the young couple left Rome to return to the United States, they had spent nearly five months in Europe. Near the end of the trip Cecilia confided to the journal that she suspected she was going to have a baby.

Home again in Athena Cecilia wrote about the events of daily life at River Hill and her developing pregnancy. She began to have problems around the fifth month, and her doctor put her on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy.