Out of Circulation (20 page)

Kanesha regarded me almost sympathetically. “Nasty, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Nasty and sad. You know, I don’t think there’s a single person who will mourn her passing.”

“Probably not. She didn’t work too hard on getting people to like her.” She paused. “One more thing, and this is good news. My same source tells me the sheriff is backing down on treating my mother as the only suspect.”

“That
is
good news. Maybe now he’ll get somewhere.” I recalled Tidwell’s visit to Morty Cassity this afternoon, and I told Kanesha about it. “Shouldn’t the sheriff have had another officer with him if he was going to question Morty?”

In my peripheral vision I noticed Diesel return from the utility room. Instead of coming over to sit by me, however, he left the kitchen and, I presumed, headed upstairs. He was ready for bed.

“He should have, to make it formal, but Tidwell likes to play the ‘good ole boy’ routine. Thinks it’ll get him what he wants faster, at least with some people. Like Morty Cassity, I reckon. They go hunting and fishing together a few times a year, so they’re buddies.” Kanesha didn’t sound too pleased about that.

“Tidwell wouldn’t look the other way if he found evidence that Morty was the killer, would he?” The whole good-ole-boy thing irritated the heck out of me, and it made me angry to think the sheriff was guilty of cronyism.

“He can’t afford to. He knows if he pushes things too far, the MBI will step in. I’ll see to that. I have a good contact there.” Kanesha smiled, and if Tidwell knew what was good for him, he’d better watch his back.

“What do you think of Morty’s attitude?”

“His whole image as a businessman is based on that kind of no-bull, down-to-earth talk. Haven’t you ever seen one of his commercials?”

“Probably.” I shrugged. “Frankly I don’t pay much attention to ads like that. I usually turn the sound off.”

“There isn’t any point to him acting grief stricken over Vera’s death. Everybody in town knows it wasn’t a happy marriage. Now, about my mother. Tell me again about the second talk you had with her.”

I did as she asked, and she listened, her eyes intent on my face.

“You think she knows something about Vera’s mother that she’s not telling? In addition to something she’s not telling about what she saw on the stairs last night?”

“Yes. It isn’t anything concrete, like I may have said to you before. I simply can’t shake the feeling that she’s holding back. In both instances.”

Kanesha shook her head. “And if she doesn’t want to tell you, she won’t. My mother could out-stubborn the stubbornest mule you ever met.”

“Laura wanted to try talking to her, but I discouraged her. One more person putting pressure on her to talk wouldn’t do any good, I think. It might make things worse.”

“I know Mama is pretty fond of your daughter, but the more you try to get Mama to do something, the less she’s inclined to do it. It’s best that Laura stays out of it.” Kanesha rose. “It’s bad enough that I had to involve you. I need to get home, so I won’t keep you any longer. Let me know anything you find out.”

“I will,” I said as I showed her to the front door. “I need to check the county and city records for anything regarding Essie Mae Hobson. But maybe it would be better if you did it.”

She paused on the doorstep. “No, it’s better if you do it. I need to keep my fingerprints off this investigation as much as possible, at least for now. The woman in the records office will help you. They get people looking in the records all the time, and she’s not going to think anything about your poking your nose in. Good night.” With that she turned and headed down the walk.

I waited until she reached her car before I closed the door and locked it.

The house was quiet as I climbed the stairs. It was only a quarter past nine, but I was more than ready for bed. There was no cat on the bed when I entered my room. Diesel was most likely with Laura. I left the door cracked so he could get in, whenever he deigned to join me for the night.

I dropped off to sleep quickly, too tired even to think much about the events of the past twenty-four hours. I awoke the next morning when the alarm went off. Diesel purred in my ear to make sure I didn’t try to roll over and go back to sleep.

Fat chance of that happening, not with a thirty-six-pound alarm clock always ready to pounce into action.

On the way downstairs about twenty minutes later I was surprised not to smell the usual odors of fresh biscuits and bacon or sausage wafting through the house. Surely Azalea was here. She had never missed a day since the day I moved in.

I found a note on the kitchen table. It informed me—in Azalea’s hand—that Azalea was unwell and couldn’t work today. Not a surprise, really. I thought she should have stayed home the day before, too, but she was too stubborn to give in. Today, though, it had all caught up with her. I hoped she took it easy and actually did rest at home, but I wouldn’t count on it.

Though I had the time, I didn’t feel like cooking a full breakfast. Instead I contented myself with cereal, toast, and some apple juice. It wouldn’t hurt me to miss one cholesterol-laden breakfast, that was for sure. I enjoyed the quiet as I read the paper, sipped my coffee, and finished my simple meal.

Diesel didn’t pester me for anything, once he realized there were no pancakes, bacon, or sausage to be had. He turned up his nose at mere wheat toast and bites of cereal.

As I was rinsing my dishes in the sink, Stewart bounced into the kitchen with a cheery “Good morning, Charlie. How’s my favorite landlord today?” He poured himself coffee, then leaned against the counter near me. His eyes sparkled with morning energy, and he grinned broadly between sips of coffee.

He could be annoyingly like Tigger on occasion, a little too perky and awake in the mornings, but I tried not to hold that against him. “Doing fine, I guess. How about you?” I dried my hands on a towel before I faced him.

“Excellent,” he replied. He set his coffee cup down on the counter in order to rub Diesel’s head with both hands. The cat rewarded him with happy chirps, and Stewart talked nonsense to him for a moment. Then he regarded me again as Diesel rubbed against his jean-clad legs. “No Azalea today? If I’d known that, I could have made breakfast for us.”

“No, she won’t be here,” I said. “I couldn’t believe she was here yesterday, after all the stress of the night before. But I guess it finally caught up with her, and she decided she’d better take it easy today.”

Stewart grimaced as he topped up his coffee. “I still can’t believe that someone finally did Vera in. It’s amazing to me that she lasted this long, frankly, but why now? What did she do to push someone over the edge?”

I frowned at his poor choice of words, and he shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” I sighed. “You’re right, though. Whoever pushed Vera down those stairs must have reached the point of desperation. But who was it?”

“I can think of several candidates, but I can’t imagine which of them would actually hit the breaking point and kill.” Stewart set his coffee down and moved to the fridge where he extracted eggs, milk, and cheese. “How about a little more breakfast?”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough,” I said. “Time to get ready for work. What are you up to today?”

“Not much of anything,” he replied with evident satisfaction. “The
semester is over, and Stewart is going to be a bum.”

Diesel and I left him to his breakfast preparations and headed up the stairs.

By the time I was ready to leave for the library, Stewart had disappeared, and no one else had come downstairs. Laura and Justin were probably sleeping in, now that the semester was officially finished. I wondered idly where Sean was, because I’d expected him to be down for breakfast. I had a sneaking suspicion his bed hadn’t been slept in. He was spending more and more time with Alexandra at her house, including a few nights.

The weather had turned colder overnight, but was still bearable. Diesel seemed unaffected by it, though I feared his feet might get too cold. Today was my last in the office, because the library would be closed the next two weeks for the holidays and the semester break. I was looking forward to the time off.

Diesel settled down happily in his window aerie, and I put away my things before firing up the computer. I’d barely sat down and begun to check e-mail, however, when I heard a knock on my open door.

I turned to see Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce standing there. I rose. “Good morning, ladies. What a pleasant surprise.”
What do they want now?
I wondered. Were they going to drop by every day until the case was solved? Not that I minded seeing them, of course, but they did require a high level of mental energy.

“Morning, Charlie.” Miss An’gel beamed at me as she approached the desk and took the same seat she’d sat in the previous morning. Miss Dickce smiled and sat down beside her.

Before they even had time to make themselves comfortable, Diesel stood between them, looking back and forth to see which of them would pay attention to him first.

I allowed them a few moments to adore the cat before I spoke. “What can I do for you? I should have let you know yesterday afternoon, but I’m afraid I forgot. I did return the plaque to Morty Cassity as you requested.”

“No matter,” Miss An’gel said, dismissing my apology with a wave of one elegant, beringed hand. “We knew we could rely on you.”

“How did you find the grieving widower?” Miss Dickce asked. “Not grieving too deeply, I’m sure.” She kept one hand on Diesel’s head as we talked, and Diesel purred, adding his rumbling voice to the conversation.

“No, he wasn’t, I have to say.” I gave them a brief account of my interview with Cassity. I did not mention, though, that I’d seen Sissy Beauchamp’s car parked behind the house.

The sisters shared a look, one I couldn’t interpret, then Miss An’gel turned back to me. “We have another little favor to ask you, Charlie. We know you’re busy, but if you wouldn’t mind handling one other little matter for us, we’d appreciate it.” Miss Dickce nodded as her sister spoke.

“I’d be happy to do whatever I can, Miss An’gel.” I smiled, though I could feel the start of a dull ache across my forehead.

“It’s the money for the gala, you see.” Miss Dickce leaned forward in her chair. “Usually everyone gives us their contributions before the end of the evening.”

Miss An’gel took it from there. “With the events of that night, naturally, not everyone fulfilled their promises. Dickce and I will be calling upon most of them, except in one case. We would like you to handle that one.”

“Besides,” Miss Dickce broke in, “it will give you a chance to snoop around a little.”

“Dickce.” Miss An’gel glared at her sister. “You make it sound sordid.”

“Don’t be so persnickety, Sister,” Miss Dickce said. “We asked Charlie to be a snoop, so call it what it is.”

That ache in my forehead grew stronger. “Whom would you like me to call on, ladies?”

“Sissy and Hank Beauchamp,” Miss An’gel replied.

“And good luck getting the money out of them,” Miss Dickce said.

That remark started another squabble about manners, and I let them carp at each other while I considered what they wanted me to do.

Lovely,
I thought.
Now I can add
bill collector
to my resume.

If the sisters sensed my hesitation, they didn’t let on when they stopped dickering after a few minutes.

“Can you go this morning, Charlie?” Miss An’gel smiled at me while Miss Dickce sulked.

“I don’t see why not.” Might as well get it over with, then perhaps I could get back here and start looking in their family papers for information about Essie Mae Hobson. I felt a surge of guilt over that, but I quickly suppressed it. If I were going to investigate thoroughly, I couldn’t afford to overlook anything, no matter how tenuous it might seem.

“Thank you. We promise to leave you alone the rest of the day.” Miss An’gel glanced at her sister. “Though my sister phrased it poorly, we are aware that the Beauchamps are having certain financial difficulties. If they aren’t able to come up with their contribution, we can overlook it.”

“We are also aware”—Miss Dickce matched her sister’s prim tone—“of the talk about Morty Cassity and Sissy, and
we certainly remember the scene she and Vera caused at the gala. We hate to think of Sissy as a common gold digger, but we understand the depth of her loyalty to her brother and to her family name.”

I could understand it, too, though I couldn’t condone going to extreme lengths to preserve the family honor.

“What is so surprising,” Miss Dickce continued, “is that Sissy has never behaved like this before. She has always been a sensible girl, the kind of Southern lady she was raised to be. Why would she turn her back on everything her parents taught her?”

“Where certain kinds of men are involved, anything is possible. Sissy is only human, after all, and Morty is an attractive, virile man.” Miss An’gel rose. “Come along, Dickce. We have more calls to make, and Charlie is a busy man. Good-bye, Diesel. Make sure Charlie brings you to visit us soon.”

Diesel followed them to the door, warbling and meowing the whole way, to the sisters’ evident delight. I called my good-byes after them.

The cat padded back while I stared blankly at the top of my desk. Might as well get it over with, I figured. “Come on, boy, we’re going home to get the car and then take a little ride.” I decided to call Melba rather than stop by her office to let her know I had to go out for a while. That way I could forestall questions more easily.

Twenty minutes later Diesel and I were in the car headed for Beauchamp House.

Built over a decade before either River Hill or Ranelagh, at around the time Mississippi became a state in 1817, the Beauchamp family home occupied a large lot on Main Street a few blocks from the town square. I had always admired the simple, graceful Federal-style architecture, but I noticed the
house looked decidedly shabby as I pulled the car to a stop in front of it. I wondered how long it had been since the house was painted. The grounds seemed to be suffering from neglect as well, though the autumn weather obviously had taken a toll. Hedges were uneven, and some of the elderly oak trees had dead branches. In fact there was one whole tree that needed to be cut down. Sissy’s pink convertible provided the only color in the whole drab landscape.