I smiled. Laura would appreciate my slight misquotation of Shakespeare, no doubt.
Diesel dozed in the window behind me, and other than the occasional yawn or lazy warble, I heard only the music I played while I worked. Today I listened to Telemann horn concertos. The precision of Baroque music, I generally found, provided a certain orderliness to my thought processes.
My concentration was so deep, in fact, that I worked for almost two hours without a break. Only a series of sharp raps on the office door pulled me out of a state of deep concentration.
I stood and stretched my back and arms as I glanced at the door. I figured the person who knocked was my friend Melba Gilley, who worked downstairs in the library director’s office. She visited Diesel and me at least once a day.
The person who strode into the office was Vera Cassity. To my knowledge this was her first visit to the college archives, and I wondered why on earth she was here now.
“Good morning, Mr. Harris.” She stopped two feet in front of my desk and frowned. Her shoulders twitched a couple of times.
It took me a moment to realize that she expected me to take her coat—a mink I regarded with considerable distaste—and to offer her a chair. I hurried to accommodate her as I returned her greeting.
The mink safely placed on another chair and Vera seated properly, I returned to my position behind my desk.
“Tell me, Mr. Harris, do you enjoy your job here at the college?” Vera cocked her head to the right and regarded me with what she probably intended as a friendly smile.
“Yes, I do, very much.” Behind me I heard Diesel mutter for a moment before he subsided. Vera’s presence bothered him, and I had to admit I felt faintly uneasy.
“That’s good.” Vera’s head returned to an upright position, and her gaze bored into mine.
The silence lengthened as I waited for the woman to explain the purpose of her visit. I was determined not to speak again until she continued.
At last she spoke. “I’m sure you know my husband and I give a lot of money to the college.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard about the scholarships for deserving students. Very generous of you.” When would the blasted woman get to the point?
Vera nodded, her expression smug. “I heard that one of the lucky boys actually lives with you. Justin Wardlaw.”
“Yes, he boards with me. He’s a fine young man and truly worthy of your scholarship.”
Vera’s eyes narrowed. “Your aunt used to have boarders, didn’t she?”
“Yes, for many years. I decided to continue her tradition.” Surely she wasn’t here to inquire about Justin, was she?
“Your aunt was a lovely lady. A pillar of the community, you might say.” Vera again offered a smile.
“Thank you. Aunt Dottie was a wonderful person.” Vera was trying to butter me up for something. That must be it. But what? I itched to demand that she get to the point and stop dillydallying.
“The archives have lots of treasures, I’m sure.”
Vera’s abrupt change of subject threw me. Now what?
“Indeed. Some excellent collections of rare books, like the Delacorte Collection, for example.” I was curious to see her reaction to the Delacorte name.
Vera shifted in her chair and shrugged. “I’ve known the Delacortes all my life.” Her tone suggested disdain for the family.
I decided to ignore that. “The archives also house manuscripts by Athena graduates and the papers of many distinguished alumni and benefactors.”
“I figured as much.” Vera nodded. “Some of Athena’s finest families, probably.”
Again that gaze bored into me. Had we finally reached the point of her visit? I was willing to bet it had something to do with the Ducote sisters. Vera probably still smarted over her latest defeat at their hands. I figured she was the type to nurse a grudge until it was ready for Social Security.
“Certainly families important to the history of the college and of the town, too.”
“Like the Ducotes.” Vera fairly spat out the name.
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. If she went to the trouble, Vera could find out that much by examining the library’s website and the main page for the archives. The Ducote family papers were among those listed there.
“I’m interested in the history of Athena.” Vera regarded me coolly. “I’ve been thinking about writing some pamphlets for the Athena Historical Society. I’m president of the Society, did you know?”
“Yes, I believe I heard that.” From what I’d gleaned from Helen Louise, the Athena Historical Society did very little besides having the occasional luncheon for its members where they knocked back piña coladas and shredded the reputations of any members not present. The Ducote sisters had never joined.
“I thought it would be interesting to do a pamphlet on the first families of Athena.”
“That could entail a lot of research.” Somehow I didn’t see Vera as having the commitment for a project like that. Besides, I knew her real goal. She wanted to dig around in the Ducote family papers to try and unearth a scandal.
“I’m sure it would,” Vera said. “But I think I’d enjoy it. I thought I’d start with probably the oldest family in Athena, the Ducotes.”
I almost laughed. She tried to suppress her eagerness, but the gleam of malice in her eyes betrayed her.
“They are certainly one of the oldest and most distinguished families.” I decided to draw it out a bit before delivering the blow.
“An’gel and Dickce are so proud of their ancestors.” Vera couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from her tone. “I’m sure they have their reasons.”
“I believe Beauregard Ducote was one of the founders of the town.”
Vera ignored that as she continued, “To do the job properly I need to look at their papers, of course.”
The moment had arrived. I kept my expression neutral as I responded. “Yes, that would be ideal for your project, but I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”
“What do you mean?” Vera frowned. “Surely I can look at whatever I want to in the archives.”
“In this case, you can’t. The Ducote family papers are not open to the public.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Vera’s face reddened considerably. “Anyway, I’m not the public. I fork out a lot of cash to this school. You can just get busy and let me see those papers.”
“No, I can’t. Not without the written permission of a member of the family or their legal representatives.” Diesel had a better chance of having tea with Queen Elizabeth than Vera had of getting permission to view the Ducote Collection.
Vera jumped up from her chair and loomed over my desk. Her nostrils flared, like those of a bull ready to charge. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I stared calmly back at her, though I had to struggle not to flinch. Her head was mere inches from mine. “I’m the person in charge of the archives, and it’s my responsibility to uphold the ethics of the position.”
“I can have you fired.” Any moment now I expected her to start foaming at the mouth, she was so angry.
I made no effort to disguise my extreme dislike as I replied, “Go right ahead. My boss’s office is right downstairs. I’m sure he’d be happy to speak with you.”
Diesel growled as he leaped over my shoulder to land on my desk. Papers went flying, and I had to grab a couple of rare volumes to keep them from hitting the floor. Vera jolted back and stumbled into her chair. She sat abruptly as my cat hissed at her.
“Call off that thing.” Vera trembled and scooted her chair back at least a foot. “I’ll sue the hell out of you if it so much as touches me.”
I bit back a retort. Diesel wouldn’t want his mouth on any part of her. I placed my hand on the cat’s head and stroked. He calmed after a moment.
“I don’t believe there’s anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Cassity.” I got up from behind the desk and retrieved her fur.
She snatched it away and grabbed her purse.
She stomped off but paused in the doorway and turned back. “I think it’s time I reconsidered some of the scholarships I give out. And maybe have a talk with the animal control people about that monster.” She gestured rudely at Diesel before she disappeared.
SIX
All the rest of that day and the next I stewed over Vera’s threats against Justin and Diesel; I replayed the scene in my head several times a day. But I saw no evidence that she followed through with either threat.
Should I have been more conciliatory?
No, the end result wouldn’t have changed. I could not let her have access to the Ducote papers, no matter what she swore to do.
Perhaps Vera blustered more than she bit. Many bullies talked big but didn’t follow through with their threats. I tried to comfort myself with that thought, but I remained preoccupied with my concerns. I confided in no one, though, because I didn’t want to alarm my family unduly.
Vera didn’t reappear at the archives or come to the public library on Friday when I did my volunteer stint, Diesel at my side. I braced myself for a confrontation from the moment I walked in the door that day, because Vera often turned up on Fridays. For all her faults she was a voracious reader and usually ripped through five or six books a week, mostly romances and thrillers. As the end of my volunteer shift approached, however, there had been no sign of her.
Miss Dickce Ducote came in a few minutes before three and approached me at the reference desk. The moment she said hello, Diesel, snoozing at my feet, perked up and stretched before loping around the desk to rub himself against her legs. I waited while Miss Dickce cooed over my cat and rubbed his head. Diesel rewarded her with purrs and chirps, and other people nearby looked on indulgently. Diesel was popular with library patrons, and I knew quite a few of them waited until Fridays to visit the library, just so they could see him.
“He is such a lovely boy. Aren’t you, Diesel?” Miss Dickce kept her hand on the cat’s head as she focused on me. “Charlie, I know this is a terrible imposition, and awfully last-minute, but An’gel and I were hoping you might join us at River Hill this afternoon for tea. Diesel, too, of course.”
“It’s no imposition at all.” Miss Dickce spoke so charmingly that I couldn’t refuse, even had I wanted to. I had nothing special planned for the afternoon, and I knew Diesel would love being fussed over by the sisters. “Diesel and I are delighted to accept your invitation.”
Miss Dickce smiled. “You are always the gentleman.” She glanced down at the cat. “You, too, you gorgeous thing.” She faced me again. “How about four o’clock? Will that be convenient for you?”
I assured her that it would, and after a final pat on the head for Diesel, Miss Dickce left the library.
Diesel and I headed home soon after. I wanted to freshen up a bit before we drove out to River Hill. I toyed with the idea of changing into a suit, because somehow an invitation to tea from the Ducote sisters seemed to merit the formality. I wavered, wondering whether I was being foolish, but quickly decided that I wasn’t. The sisters always dressed impeccably, and since this was my first invitation to tea with them, I figured I should live up to the standards they set.
Attired in a dark suit, white shirt, and deep purple tie, I pointed the car toward the outskirts of Athena. Our destination lay several miles to the west of the city limits, in the gently rolling hills. Diesel stared intently out the window in the backseat, alert to the fact that we were not taking one of our usual routes. He rarely went into the country, so the terrain here was strange to him.
I wondered what lay behind this invitation to River Hill. Miss Dickce hadn’t said Diesel and I would be the only guests for tea, so perhaps this was to be an impromptu Friends of the Library board meeting. That thought caused me some anxiety. Would Vera be there? I wasn’t sure I wanted to face her again so soon after that scene in my office. Good manners prevailed, however. I had accepted the invitation, and I wasn’t going to turn the car around and head home just because Vera might attend.
With a start I realized we were nearing the turn from the highway onto the Ducote estate. The driveway wound through an acre of trees vivid with autumn hues of red, yellow, and orange. After a sharp bend in the road the house came into sight, the last hundred yards or so of the drive was bordered by huge, ancient oak trees. When we cleared the trees, I could see the house more clearly.
The builder of River Hill, Beauregard Ducote, chose the Greek Revival style, much in vogue in the 1830s when the house was erected. Tall columns stretched across the front of the three-story house. Larger than many of its contemporaries, River Hill featured galleries around both upper floors. The view from there would be stunning, I was sure. The white paint of the house glistened in the late-afternoon sunlight, but shadows from the tall oaks crept ever closer.
Diesel followed closely by my side as I strode up the walk and onto the verandah. In answer to my knock, the door opened almost immediately. Miss Dickce smiled and bade us enter.
The interior of River Hill appeared as elegant as the exterior. A grand staircase led to the upper stories, and the marble floor, where it was bare of antique rugs, gleamed in the light.
“Welcome to River Hill, Charlie, Diesel.”
Miss An’gel approached us through a door to my right and extended her hand. I shook it gently, then released it as she switched her attention to my cat.
The preliminaries of petting Diesel out of the way, we followed the elder Ducote sister into the front parlor. The room reminded me somewhat of the parlor at the Delacorte mansion, simply but beautifully furnished with period pieces. Several portraits and small paintings graced the walls. Miss An’gel invited me to sit in an armchair that proved sturdy despite its delicate appearance. The slender, highly polished arms felt smooth and cool to my touch, and the cushioned seat was surprisingly comfortable.
The Ducotes occupied a nearby sofa close to the fireplace, leaving room for Diesel to spread himself between them. He placed his head in Miss An’gel’s lap, while his tail flopped across Miss Dickce’s legs. The sisters appeared happy with this arrangement, though I winced to think how much cat hair they would have to remove later on from their black dresses.
Miss An’gel pointed to the portrait over the fireplace. “Our ancestor, Beauregard Ducote, who built River Hill.”
I gazed with interest at the gentleman. I had heard his name often enough but had never seen an image of him. From what I could discern from the artist’s vision, Beauregard Ducote was a man of intelligence. Handsome, with a strong nose and an easy smile. Both the sisters favored their ancestor. “Who was the artist?”
“C. R. Parker,” Miss Dickce replied. “He was quite well-known in the antebellum South. He had a studio in New Orleans.”
“As I recall he received a commission for some portraits in the Louisiana Capitol in the 1820s.” I saw some of Parker’s works in an exhibition a few years ago.
“Yes, that is correct.” Miss An’gel inclined her head and bestowed a smile upon me, I assumed in approval of my knowledge.
“Here is Clementine with our tea.”
At Miss Dickce’s words I glanced toward the door to see an elderly woman approaching us pushing a tea cart in front of her. She wore a black maid’s uniform complete with frilly white apron and lace cuffs at her wrists. Her head was bare of a cap, however, and her mocha-colored skin made her silvery hair even more striking.
“Thank you, Clementine, I will pour.” Miss An’gel nodded at her employee, and Clementine rolled the cart to a stop in front of her. She flashed a quick smile at me, but her gaze appeared riveted on Diesel.
“Is that a bobcat?” she asked, her voice deep and raspy. She sounded like a lifelong heavy smoker.
“No, ma’am. He’s a Maine Coon cat, and they can get to be really big. His name is Diesel, and he’s large even for a Maine Coon.” I smiled up at Clementine. “He’s actually a sweet-natured cat and very friendly.”
“Yes, sir.” Clementine grinned. “That the biggest ol’ cat I ev
er did see. I reckon I heard about him from Azalea Berry.” With that she turned and left the room.
“I believe Clementine was a good friend of Azalea’s late mother.” Miss An’gel began to pour out the tea, and Miss Dickce prepared a small plate of cookies for me.
I accepted both, worried that I might have one of my clumsy spells and pour tea all over the no-doubt priceless carpet underneath my chair.
Miss Dickce evidently picked up on my anxiety. She pointed to a small table at my elbow that I had overlooked. “There’s a table and a coaster all ready for you, Charlie.”
“Thank you.” I set the cup and saucer down gently. When I focused on the sisters again, I noticed that Miss An’gel had a small plate of what looked like chicken.
“Is it okay to give Diesel a little treat? I thought it would be rude of us not to include him, and Clementine cooked the chicken this afternoon.” Miss An’gel cocked her head to one side as she regarded me.
“That’s very kind of you.” I would have to watch what Diesel cadged from the dinner table tonight, but I figured a little chicken now wouldn’t hurt him.
Miss An’gel fed Diesel a couple of small bites of the chicken before passing the plate to her sister. Diesel quickly shifted position to keep the treats in sight.
I sampled one of the cookies, oatmeal raisin, and almost groaned aloud in pleasure. My expression surely communicated my happiness.
The sisters exchanged a smile, and Miss An’gel chuckled. “Yes, Clementine has quite the touch when it comes to baking.” She wiped her fingers on a linen napkin, then set it aside. Her tone turned brisk as she continued, “We’re delighted you could join us for tea this afternoon, Charlie. I’m sure you must be wondering, though, why we invited you here on such short notice.”
I set my teacup down with extreme care as I answered. “Yes, ma’am, I do admit to being curious.”
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