Out of Circulation (CAT IN THE STACKS MYSTERY)

by James, Miranda

  “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?”

  “I’ve got it figured out,” I said. “I need to talk to you right away.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Kanesha said.

  I felt a little better now and decided that I could eat something. I didn’t have the energy to cook, so I settled for cereal and toast. Probably better for my waistline, anyway, so long as I didn’t load down the toast with any of Azalea’s homemade apricot preserves or strawberry jam.

  Kanesha was as good as her word. Ten minutes from when we hung up, she was at the front door. I set down the last bit of toast and went to let her in.

  “Come on into the kitchen,” I said. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “I could use some coffee,” she said. She looked like she hadn’t slept much, and I could sympathize.

  “Sure, won’t take but a few minutes. I was about to make some for myself,” I added to forestall any objections.

  “Thank you,” she said. “So tell me. What was it that Mama saw that night? I thought a lot about it, but I couldn’t get it.”

  As I prepared the coffeemaker, I reminded her about Sissy’s Yorkie wrist corsage, and she nodded. “Got you. It would make a weird shadow. And maybe it shed some of its hair on Vera when she pushed her. That could help prove she did it.”

  I hoped she was right. Then I went on to explain the realization I had come to about the true nature of the relationship among Sissy, Hank, and Morty.

  Kanesha apparently didn’t have any trouble believing it. “Makes sense to me,” she said. “The main question will be whether they were accessories.”

  “I’m glad I won’t have to be the one to decide that,” I said. The coffee was ready, and I poured cups for both of us. She took hers without cream or sugar. I had to have both in mine.

  “What will you do now?” I asked after she’d had a few sips of her coffee.

  “I’ll have to go to Tidwell,” Kanesha said. “Not looking forward to that, but he’s in charge. I just don’t want him to harass Mama about this.”

  “I don’t imagine either you or Dr. Sharp will let that happen.”

  Kanesha smiled faintly. “You’re right about that.” She drained her coffee and put the cup aside. “Thank you, Charlie. For the coffee and everything.” She stood. “I can’t put this off. I’ll give you a call later, but the sheriff may be in touch with you first.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll be here.”

  I showed her to the door and walked tiredly back to the kitchen. I debated whether to go back to bed but decided I might as well stay up.

  I poured myself more coffee and thought about Vera’s murder. A terrible tragedy all the way around.

  Most of all I felt sorry for Vera, and also for her mother, Essie Mae. I thought about the Ducote sisters and wondered whether they knew the truth about Essie Mae, or if they even remembered her at all.

  Should that skeleton stay in the closet? Was it my place to tell the sisters about it? Whatever I decided, I knew I would be haunted by Essie Mae for a long time.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I spent a restless morning as I continued to debate with myself whether I should give the diary to the Ducote sisters, and once I had decided that I must, how I should explain my having read it in the first place. Poor Diesel watched me pace around my bedroom for an hour before he had enough and abandoned me for someone who would give him more than the occasional pat on the head.

  When I came downstairs around ten I found Laura in the kitchen, Diesel in her lap as she thumbed through a magazine.

  “Morning, Dad.” Laura frowned. “You look rough. Bad night?”

  “And morning.” I smiled tiredly. “Too much to think about.”

  “You’ve figured it out all, haven’t you?” Laura closed the magazine and shifted Diesel out of her lap. He grumbled as he stalked off in the direction of the utility room. “Sit down and let me get you a drink. How about hot tea?”

  “Sounds lovely, thanks.” I subsided into a chair, feeling about a century older today than yesterday. “I talked to Kanesha this morning, and it’s all in her hands—and the sheriff’s—now.” I gave her a rundown of the case against Sissy Beauchamp while she prepared my tea.

  Laura waited to comment until I finished and had a few sips of the hot drink. “Talk about sacrifice. She spent her whole adult life taking care of one member after another of her family. You almost can’t blame her for snapping and pushing that awful woman down the stairs.”

  “I certainly have a lot of sympathy for her plight.” I drained my cup, and Laura poured more tea. “That doesn’t excuse murder, however.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Laura said. “But surely her lawyer will use her situation somehow in her defense. I’d hate to see her executed, despite what she did.”

  “I agree with you. A competent defense attorney will do everything possible for her.”

  “Finding the answer can be painful.” Laura came over and bent to wrap her arms around me, her head against mine. “The truth has to come out, though, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” I sighed as Laura gave one more squeeze before letting go. “Now I have to face causing more pain.”

  “How so?” Laura resumed her seat at the table and regarded me with a frown.

  Diese
l returned from the utility room and padded over to me. He butted his head against my leg, and I stroked his head and back. I didn’t feel I could share the whole story of Vera and Essie Mae with Laura, and I thought for a moment about how to explain what I meant.

  “As part of my nosing around,” I began, “I had to consider everyone, including the Ducote sisters. I had to figure out why Vera sent me that picture of her mother, and what connection, if any, her mother could have to the Ducotes. I found out by searching through the Ducote archives at the library, and I don’t think the sisters are aware of what I discovered. It’s something private, and I can’t share it with you. I have to tell Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, and they may be livid over what I did.”

  Diesel’s rumbling purr filled the silence as I waited for my daughter’s response. Her curiosity rivaled mine, and not knowing would irk her, but she was mature enough to handle the situation.

  “Did what you discovered help you reach the solution to the murder?”

  “No,” I said.

  “But you had no way of knowing that when you were going through their archives.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Laura sighed. “They are intelligent women, and they ought to understand why you did it. They wanted you to find out the truth, although they might not have thought you would consider them suspects.”

  “Exactly. Plus as it turned out, I meddled in their family’s affairs for no reason.” I rubbed Diesel’s back, and the purring continued.

  “Do Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce have to know whatever it was you discovered?”

  “I believe so,” I said. “It’s an important piece of their family history. They should know, but it’s up to them what they do with the knowledge. I will never reveal what I found out to anyone else.”

  “They have respect for you,” Laura said with a gentle smile. “You simply have to tell them and trust them to do the right thing.”

  I had reached the same conclusion earlier, but hearing those words from my bright and sensitive daughter reassured me. “Then I guess I have a phone call to make.”

  Three hours later Diesel and I drove out to River Hill, Cecilia Ducote’s precious journal wrapped in acid-free paper. Large butterflies cavorted in my stomach as the time for the dreaded interview loomed closer. I hated the thought of causing pain to two women I admired so deeply, but I didn’t see any other way. This was the right thing to do. Clementine opened the door to admit us, and we followed her into the front parlor where Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce waited, side by side on the sofa. Diesel scampered to them immediately and jumped onto the sofa. There was no point in my remonstrating with him because the sisters were already smothering him with attention. I took the seat proffered by Clementine and waited for one of the sisters to greet me. I held the journal in my lap.

  Miss An’gel spoke first. “Afternoon, Charlie. Dickce and I are devastated by the news. Poor Sissy.”

  “And Hank and Morty Cassity.” Miss Dickce’s cheeks reddened. “Why, I don’t think anyone ever suspected such a thing.”

  “Still waters and so on.” Miss An’gel frowned. “One can’t blame Morty for turning elsewhere, I suppose, but dear Hank is not the most stable person he could have chosen.”

  “Now, Sister,” Miss Dickce said, “Hank and Sissy both had a lot to put up with. If anyone’s to blame it’s that jackass of a father and his witch of a mother.”

  “That’s true,” Miss An’gel responded. “Two more selfish, mean people never roamed the good Lord’s earth, and I hope they are both roasting in hell as they so properly deserve for the terrible things they did to those children and their mother.”

  Diesel warbled loudly to regain their attention, and Miss An’gel patted him fondly on the head. “Quite right, Diesel, enough of that.” She glanced my way. “You have something you need to tell us, Charlie. I suppose it involves that package you have.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, one hand on the wrapped journal. “Before I show this to you, I need to explain how I came to find it and what it is.”

  “‘Curiouser and curiouser.’” Miss Dickce grinned as she quoted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

  I doubted either one of them would be smiling by the time I finished what I had come to say. After one deep breath to steady my nerves, I launched into my explanation, starting with the photograph of Essie Mae Hobson that Vera had sent me.

  Miss Dickce’s expression remained alight with curiosity while I talked, but Miss An’gel’s countenance grew stonier by the sentence. As the elder sister she might have vague memories of Essie Mae, whereas Miss Dickce would have been only an infant when their biological mother was forced to leave them.

  “I never truly thought either of you killed Vera,” I said as I neared the end of my story. “But to be thorough I had to consider any possible angle to get at the truth, and that’s why I examined your family archives. What I found turned out not to have anything directly to do with Vera’s murder, though it had a lot to do with her life.” Now the only sound in the room, besides our breathing, came from my cat. His purr rumbled as I watched the sisters carefully for a hint of their reaction. Miss An’gel’s head could have been carved from granite.

  When at last she spoke, Miss An’gel sounded neutral, to my great surprise. “Thank you for your honesty, Charlie. Had you not told us we would never have known what you did, and I appreciate your position. I certainly don’t relish the idea that you considered us as suspects, but I can see that you had to be thorough.”

  Miss Dickce nodded. “Certainly, Charlie, you did the right thing.” She flashed a quick grin. “Unlike my iron-drawered sister here, I am frankly tickled that you might have thought for a moment that I would push Vera down those stairs.”

  Miss An’gel shot her sibling what should have been a quelling look, but Miss Dickce returned it with a defiant glare instead.

  I breathed a little more easily, now that I had successfully negotiated one hurdle. The most difficult one remained, however.

  “Thank you both,” I said. “Now I need to share with you something I found while I was looking through your family papers.” My hands trembled a bit as I unwrapped the journal. I let the paper fall to the floor, and Diesel immediately scrambled off the sofa to investigate the paper. While he played with it, I handed the journal to Miss An’gel.

  The Ducote sisters stared at the book but neither moved to open it. “What is it?” Miss An’gel asked.

  “Your mother’s journal,” I said, feeling my chest tighten. I took a deep breath before I continued. “There is information in those pages that I think you both should know, and I will leave you to read it. Before I go, however, I want you to know that I will never reveal what I read.”

  “Must be pretty serious, whatever it is.” Miss Dickce frowned. “Can’t you just tell us?”

  “I could,” I said, “but I think you need to read the whole thing so that you can see it all through Cecilia’s eyes. It’s her story to tell, not mine.”

  “Thank you, Charlie.” Miss An’gel handed the journal to her sister as she rose from the sofa. “We will read it, and naturally both Dickce and I have every confidence in you. No matter what is in Mother’s journal, we trust you to do the right thing.”

  “Bless you both.” I stood and took Miss An’gel’s hand. To my consternation she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Miss Dickce didn’t move from the sofa. Her hands caressed the book in a constant motion. “Come along, Diesel.” I bent to take the paper away from him, and he glared at me. “Come on, I said, it’s time for us to go.” I placed the paper on a table, and he reluctantly followed me as Miss An’gel walked with us through the parlor and to the front door.

  Neither Miss An’gel nor I spoke again, and even Diesel was subdued. He sensed the gravity of the situation, ever sensitive to mood.

  On the drive home I thought about the contents of Cecilia’s journal and the stunning revelations it held for Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. Both had an impressive mental tough
ness, but the truth of their parentage would rock them to the core. I hoped and prayed they would be okay.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  A week later, on Christmas Day, I woke early with Diesel curled against my side. I savored the warmth and lay there for a while, recalling other Christmases.

  When Sean and Laura were small, they would burst into our bedroom, faces aglow with excitement, eager to tell us what Santa Claus had brought them. Jackie and I would exchange secret smiles over their heads as they climbed into the bed with us, each clutching a precious new toy.

  The first Christmas after Jackie’s death had been tough for all of us, but we made it through the holidays. I felt her presence near me every day during that time. I often felt it here, too, along with that of Aunt Dottie. I liked to think that those we loved best never completely left us. I knew they would always be in my heart, but somehow I believed it was more than that.

  There were no excited childish voices to savor—until there were grandchildren, and I looked forward to that. I would be a doting grandfather, I knew, and I would have to try hard not to spoil my grandchildren terribly.

  Diesel sat up and stretched, so I threw aside the covers and went over to the window. Dawn had arrived, and with it, the snow. I smiled. We hadn’t had a white Christmas in several years, and seeing the dusting of snow on everything added a lovely touch of magic to the day.

  This would be a happy day, with my children and friends here to celebrate with me. Helen Louise would be here, as would Stewart. Justin had gone to spend the holidays with his family, and though I would miss him, I was pleased to know that he would be with his father. Alexandra Pendergrast and Frank Salisbury were coming as well. Alexandra’s father was off somewhere on a hunting trip with his cronies, and Frank couldn’t bear to be apart from Laura.

  A happy day for me and my family, certainly. I thought about Sissy and Hank Beauchamp, though, and the sad holiday they would have with Sissy in jail, awaiting indictment on a murder charge.