“You really don’t have to, Lily,” I said. “I’d rather you stay here with Azalea.”
Kanesha nodded. “I’ll take you home later.”
Lily shook her head. “No, ’Zalea be like to have a fit, she find out I didn’t do what she done told me to do. Besides, I be feeling better if I got something to do. You don’t worry ’bout me, ’Nesha.”
Kanesha hugged her aunt, and Lily clung to her for a moment.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Kanesha said, her voice husky.
I nodded and waited for Lily to compose herself. “Call if you need anything,” I said. “Anything at all.”
Lily was quiet on the ride home. I had plenty to think
about, too. Azalea’s revelation puzzled me. What on earth could she have seen?
Whatever it was, it had to be part of someone’s costume, I figured. I needed to sit down and think carefully about what everyone wore that night and decide what could have made such an odd shadow.
Stewart, Dante, and Diesel were busy in the kitchen when we arrived. Lily took over at the stove and announced that everything was ready. I filled Stewart in on Azalea’s condition while Lily dished up the food. Dante and Diesel watched her with great interest, and Dante pranced around on his back legs for a moment. Lily grinned at the little poodle, and I was pleased to see it.
Diesel chattered to me while I talked to Stewart, and I patted his head and stroked his back until he finally calmed down. He obviously wasn’t happy that I had left him behind for the second time that day, and he had to tell me all about it.
I asked Lily to eat with us, even though I halfway expected Azalea to rise up out of her hospital bed and come after both of us if Lily accepted. She declined politely and said she wasn’t hungry but might eat later.
That was that, so I thanked her for the delicious-looking meal of pork chops, green beans, mashed potatoes, and homemade rolls.
“You’re welcome,” she said, ducking her head shyly.
“Why don’t you go on home,” I said. “It’s been a long day, and Stewart and I will clean up afterward.”
Lily looked like she wanted to argue, but I think tiredness won out. “All right, Mr. Charlie,” she said. “Now, if you need me this weekend, you just let me know.”
I promised I would, and after making sure she had a
ride home—she had Azalea’s car—I bade her good-bye. Then Stewart and I tucked into the meal. It was every bit as tasty as it looked.
After a few mouthfuls I put my fork down for a moment. “You weren’t kidding earlier,” I said. “About Lily being such a good cook. Everything tastes wonderful.”
“Yes, I had more than a few opportunities to sample Lily’s cooking,” Stewart said.
“When she was working for the Beauchamps?” I said.
Stewart nodded. “You might as well know, Hank and I were together for a couple of years. It didn’t work out.”
“I sort of gathered that from that little episode the night of the gala,” I said, trying to make light of it.
“Not one of my better moments, I’ll admit,” Stewart said. “It’s too bad, because Hank can be a really great guy. He just has this little problem. Oh, well, he’s moved on, according to Lily, though I don’t know to whom.” He shrugged. “Good for him. And good for Sissy, too. We all thought she would never have a life of her own.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I really don’t know her, but as gorgeous as she is, surely she’s never lacked for attention from men.”
“No, I guess not,” Stewart said. “But she was stuck in that house for years, looking after that nasty grandmother of hers, then it was her mother, and finally her father. Old man Beauchamp was too cheap to hire extra help besides Lily, so poor Sissy got stuck being the dutiful, unpaid drudge of a daughter. Made Hank angry, but Daddy was the one with the money, and whenever he said ‘Leap, frog,’ they just asked, ‘How high
?
’”
“That’s too bad. Beauchamp Senior died about three years ago, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and it was about ten years too late, if you ask me.” Stewart grimaced. “Nasty, unfeeling old bastard. He gave Hank hell for being a
pansy
, as he called it. Hank did his best to stand up to him, but it was hard. Of course, Sissy helped. She’s always done anything and everything for her little brother.” He fed Dante a bite of pork chop, and the dog barked excitedly. Stewart told him to hush.
“I’m sorry things were so rough for them,” I said. “Their father sounds like a nightmare. At least they can live their own lives now, and according to the gossip I’ve heard about Sissy and Morty Cassity, she’s making up for lost time.”
Stewart shrugged. “I guess so. But that’s the strange thing to me. I always figured Sissy was just as queer as her brother. Surprised the heck out of me when I heard she was slipping around with a married man.”
“She doesn’t have to slip around any longer,” I said, “with Vera permanently out of the way.”
“No, she doesn’t. Well, it’s no business of mine.” Stewart attacked his food, and conversation languished. Dante barked occasionally, and Stewart admonished him, but as long as he kept rewarding the behavior with bits of food, the dog would never learn not to do it. I didn’t share this with Stewart, however.
We worked together once we finished eating to clean up the kitchen and put everything away. Diesel had several bites of pork chop, just like his little buddy Dante, and he was a happy kitty as we trudged up the stairs later on.
I got ready for bed, Diesel already comfortable on his side, and found a notepad and pen. I wanted to make notes about the costumes my chief suspects wore the night of the gala. I was hoping that inspiration would strike as I worked on remembering everything I could.
I started with the Ducote sisters, a.k.a. Amelia Peabody
and Jacqueline Kirby, then moved on to Morty Cassity, Hank Beauchamp, and finally Sissy.
As I scanned the details, one item leaped out at me. I focused on creating a mental image of that dark stairwell, and then I was convinced I was right. I was pretty sure I knew what Azalea had seen and who had worn it.
That absurd stuffed Yorkie Sissy had attached to her like a wrist corsage had to be what Azalea saw. It was the only thing on the list that I could imagine would cast a shadow like the one Azalea described.
That settled it in my mind. Sissy had pushed Vera to her death on those stairs.
With Vera out of the way Sissy was free to marry Morty—and gain access to Morty’s millions. No more genteel poverty for her or her beloved little brother, Hank.
A fairly simple solution after all. Money lay at the root of it.
The motive was easy, but where was the proof? Azalea would tell the sheriff what she saw, and I could explain it, but a good defense lawyer would probably make nonsense of it in court.
The explanation did sound faintly ridiculous, even though
I was convinced of the truth of it. It all came down to the accessories of a costume.
Costume.
Something else was niggling at me, something to do with another costume.
I looked at the list again, poring over the descriptions I’d compiled. What was nagging at me?
I lingered over the details of Hank Beauchamp’s costume as the rumpled but clever Victorian policeman, Thomas Pitt.
Rumpled. That was it.
Poor Hank was reduced to wearing that same suit, because all his other suits were at the cleaner’s. Probably a euphemism for having to sell them, or else he owed the cleaner’s so much money they wouldn’t release his clothes until he paid them.
Either way, Hank had only the one suit. No wonder it looked like it did.
There was another elusive memory. Where else had I seen that suit, or part of it?
It took me a minute, but then I had it.
Morty Cassity was wearing the jacket when he came to the door the day I went to take Vera’s plaque to him.
But how?
Then I remembered a chance remark Stewart had made. I sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was only a few minutes till ten, and I knew Stewart stayed up late.
I slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb Diesel. I hurried up the stairs to the third floor and knocked lightly on Stewart’s door.
“Come in,” he called.
He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, still dressed as he had been at dinner, with Dante napping beside him.
He put aside the book he’d been reading. “Hi, Charlie. What’s up?”
“Remember the other day, when you were talking about how you ran into Sissy Beauchamp on the square?”
Stewart nodded. “Sure.”
“Can you tell me approximately what time it was when you ran into her, and how long the two of you were together?”
“Okay, let me see. I’m sure you’ll tell me why you want to know this?” At my nod he continued, “Well, it was around one o’clock, as I recall. We must have spent about an hour together over our milk shakes, so it was probably after two when I left her.”
“I see.” If Sissy had been with Stewart while I was with Morty Cassity, then it wasn’t Sissy driving that pink car that day. It had to be Hank instead.
Hank.
Sissy wasn’t Morty’s lover, Hank was.
I sat down abruptly on Stewart’s bed.
“Charlie, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
I nodded, my thoughts running amok in my head. “Give me a minute.” I started recalling the various things I’d heard about Sissy.
The Ducote sisters telling me how surprised they were to hear that Sissy was running around with Morty, when she’d never been known to do that kind of thing before.
Helen Louise saying much the same thing.
Stewart telling me, earlier this evening, that he was surprised to hear that Sissy was running around with Morty because he’d always thought she was gay like her brother.
It all made sense, though. Sissy was known to be willing to do whatever she could to help out her beloved little brother.
Even pretending that she was having an affair with a married man so that no one would suspect that Hank and Morty were lovers.
And, finally, pushing Vera down the stairs to clear the way for her brother and Hank—and on top of that, access to those millions for her brother and herself.
“Charlie, you’re beginning to worry me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I surfaced from my whirlpool of thoughts to see Stewart regarding me with concern. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just a bit stunned, that’s all.”
“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” Stewart started bobbing up and down on the bed. “Tell me, tell me, or I’m going to bust a gasket right here and now.” Dante sat up, disturbed by the bobbing, and started barking. Stewart put a hand on him to calm him, and he shut up.
“Okay. Here goes.” I launched into my explanation.
Stewart’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head at first, but then he started nodding. When I finished, he said, “I think you have to be right, Charlie. I never could see why Sissy would take up with Morty, but I sure can see why Hank would. He always did seem to have a thing for older men, and powerful men, too. Morty is certainly that, with all that money. I can’t believe I didn’t see it myself.”
“They were extraordinarily careful,” I said. “Sissy was the key, the smokescreen.”
“Pretty effective,” Stewart said.
“Yes, she was.” I felt drained all of a sudden.
“Charlie, do you think Hank and Morty were in on the murder, though? Was it Sissy acting completely on her own, or do you think they egged her on?” Stewart sounded troubled, and I was sure he didn’t want to think a former boyfriend
of his was capable of inciting his own sister to murder.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “I bet they’ve figured out by now that she did it, but the other day Hank seemed awfully convinced that Vera was drunk and fell down the stairs on her own.”
“He’s a terrible actor,” Stewart said, his face clearing a little, “and a terrible liar. Trust me, I’ve had plenty experience with it. He must have really believed it was an accident.”
“Maybe so.” I was going to reserve judgment on that one.
“What are you going to do now? Call Kanesha?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. For one thing, Azalea is in no condition right now to talk to the sheriff, and Kanesha can’t do anything about it without involving Tidwell. It can wait until morning.”
I was probably cavalier in making that decision, but I felt that it was the right one. Convincing Kanesha, and then Tidwell, could be a monumental task, and I didn’t have the mental or physical energy to tackle it at ten thirty at night.
“Not a word to anyone else about this,” I said as I got up from the bed. “Okay?”
“No one will hear it from me,” Stewart said. “It’s going to be one hell of a mess, though, when it all comes out. Morty Cassity turning out to be gay will be a huge scandal.”
“No doubt,” I said wryly. Athena would be buzzing for months to come, if not years.
Diesel sat up sleepily when I got back in bed. He meowed at me, and I reassured him that everything was fine. He settled back down, and I tried to emulate him. My stomach churned, and my head buzzed, and it took quite a while that night for me to calm myself enough to fall asleep.
After a restless night I woke up at six the next morning. Too nervous to think about food, I also decided that caffeine
wouldn’t help, so I settled on a cold glass of milk. Diesel was disappointed that there was no bacon to cadge, and he wandered off, probably in search of another bed to snooze on.
I kept glancing at the clock, waiting until a decent hour to call Kanesha.
Finally, at eight o’clock, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I called Kanesha’s cell phone and was relieved when she answered straightaway.
“How is Azalea doing?” I asked.
“She had a good night,” Kanesha replied. “I think she’s really going to be okay, thank the Lord. They moved her into a room not long after you left, and they’ll probably keep her until tomorrow. But if she keeps on doing well, she can go home then.”
“That’s wonderful news,” I said. “If she can have visitors, I’ll come visit later this morning.”
“I think she’d like that,” Kanesha said. “Aunt Lily’s with her now, but she won’t stay long.”
“Are you at the hospital now?”
“No, I’m at home. Why? What’s up?”