“Back to Eugene,” Helen Louise said. “We wandered off track again.”
“Kanesha picked up the wig and waved it in front of him, and that shut him up. He was mad, though, and I thought any minute he’d start hopping up and down like a temperamental child.”
“Where was his mother during all this?”
“Sitting in a patrol car out in the parking lot. The phone call was a ruse to separate her from Eugene. She walked out to the front desk, where a deputy waited for her. He hustled her out before she could cause a commotion. Apparently the minute he got her in the car, she started crying. She was terrified of Eugene because she never expected him to kill anyone. At least, that’s what she told Kanesha later.”
“Poor woman. I guess they needed money pretty badly, or surely she wouldn’t have gone along with a crackpot scheme like that.”
“They had Mrs. Cartwright’s social security and some investment income, but Eugene couldn’t hold a job, and Marcella couldn’t, either. They could get by, but just barely.” I explained how the plot of The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion mirrored the current situation, including the bogus Mrs. Eden, who turned out to be a penniless, greedy cousin of the real Mrs. Eden. Then I laughed. “Veronica actually snatched the wig off the impostor’s head to expose her. I thought about doing that to Eugene, but it wasn’t necessary.” Helen Louise laughed, too.
Diesel raised his head and yawned. He stretched and turned on his back, exposing his belly. That was a clear signal that Helen Louise and I should rub it. Of course, we did as we were trained to do. A rumbling purr rewarded our ministrations.
“Thank the Lord they hadn’t murdered poor Mrs. Cartwright after all.” Helen Louise shook her head.
“I don’t think Marcella would have allowed that,” I said. “She truly loves her mother, though she is worn down from having to care for her.” I had to chuckle. “Kanesha said that when the two deputies executed the search warrant and went through the house, Mrs. Cartwright and Yancy Thigpen were in an upstairs bedroom playing poker.”
Helen Louise snorted with laughter. “They didn’t have any idea what was going on?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “Yancy Thigpen was spending time with one of her clients, completely oblivious to the plot Eugene was carrying out. Even when Eugene insisted on parking her car in an old barn behind the house she didn’t think much about it or how odd that was.”
“Almost straight out of The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion.”
“That’s what tipped me off to the truth,” I said. “I was rereading it during all this, and it finally dawned on me what was going on.”
“How is Mrs. Cartwright doing?” Helen Louise asked. She continued to rub Diesel’s belly, and the rumbling increased in volume.
I had to raise my voice slightly. “Physically she’s in pretty good shape for a centenarian. She has trouble walking and standing for long. In a way, she’s pretty sharp mentally, too.” I paused. “Only thing is, she believes she’s Veronica Thane.”
“Seriously?” Helen Louise sounded skeptical.
“Absolutely.” It sounded weird to me, too, but the mind is a strange and wonderful thing. “Evidently she chatters about her adventures in solving mysteries, and Lucy and Artie are as real to her now as they were when she first wrote the books.”
“I guess she’s happy anyway. Who’s going to look after her?”
“For the time being, Yancy Thigpen. Kanesha told me she thought Marcella might get off with probation. She didn’t know Eugene had murdered Carrie Taylor, and given the circumstances with Mrs. Cartwright’s age and so on, Kanesha thinks the judge will be lenient.”
“Eugene, on the other hand . . .” Helen Louise sighed.
I knew exactly what she was thinking. Eugene faced years in prison, if not the death penalty.
“One good thing, though,” I said. “Those manuscripts turned out to be real. Mrs. Cartwright wrote them years ago. Winston Eagleton is working with Yancy Thigpen on a deal to publish them, along with the rest of the series. Gordon Betts and Della Duffy are going to put up the money. I don’t know exactly how that’s all going to work, with Mrs. Cartwright thinking she’s Veronica Thane, but I think her agency will work it out.”
“That would be wonderful. Money for Mrs. Cartwright, and for poor Marcella.”
“Mrs. Cartwright could live for several years more,” I said. “Like I said, she’s supposed to be in pretty good shape physically, for her age. She’s not able to do the event at the library, obviously, so we’ve cancelled that. The exhibit of juvenile mysteries will go on as planned, though.”
“I’m glad it’s all over, and no one else got hurt. I am so sad about Carrie Taylor, though.”
“Me, too.” I sighed heavily. “She had that same picture in her files—the one with Marietta Dubois and Mrs. Cartwright—along with other photos and a few letters signed by Mrs. Cartwright. Eugene was terrified Carrie Taylor would figure it out, and he killed her to get the files. He went in as Eugene and came out as Mrs. Cartwright. Eugene trying to be clever.”
“In the end, though, you were smarter.” Helen Louise leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“I suppose,” I said. “But Veronica Thane helped. If I hadn’t been rereading the book, I might not have cottoned on to the deception.”
Helen Louise covered her mouth as she yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed.” She held Diesel as she shifted out from under him, then moved him off my lap onto the sofa beside me.
I stood and drew her to me for a kiss. “Me, too. You go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She grinned and blew me a kiss before she left the room.
I looked down at Diesel, stretched lazily out on the sofa. “You have to stay here, boy.”
He warbled once. Then, I would have sworn, he winked at me.
AFTERWORD
Many adult mystery readers look back with fondness to the teen detectives they read as children and young adults. I discovered Nancy Drew when I was about ten, thanks to a cousin who had a few of the books. I picked up The Secret of Shadow Ranch (the revised version) and couldn’t put it down. I was hooked.
I read every Nancy Drew book I could find, and I discovered there were many other series: Trixie Belden, the Dana Girls, Judy Bolton, the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt, Cherry Ames, Vicki Barr, and the Three Investigators, to name some of my favorites.
Many of these books are collectible today. There are thousands of copies of Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books for sale on popular auction sites, and there are Internet groups who routinely discuss the books and the fine points of collecting them.
I am indebted to Jennifer Fisher, Nancy Drew expert extraordinaire, for her willingness to answer questions. She bears no responsibility for anything I might have gotten wrong, however. I have also learned much online from James and Kim Keeline. James in particular is amazingly knowledgeable about Edward Stratemeyer and the Stratemeyer Syndicate, without whom the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew would never have existed.
If readers are interested in finding out more about the groups devoted to various teen detectives, go to the Yahoo Groups website and search on the name of your favorite sleuth. There’s probably at least one group for each of them.
Here are a few websites I have found consistently helpful:
Nancy Drew Sleuths: nancydrewsleuth.com
Girls Series books: series-books.blogspot.com
Stratemeyer Syndicate, etc.: keeline.com
Judy Bolton: judybolton.com
Hardy Boys: hardyboysonline.net
There are many more useful sites out there. Use your favorite Internet search engine, and start surfing.
For those readers who would like to read the rest of Veronica Thane’s first adventure, The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion, go to my website, catinthestacks.com, for the full text. I had a lot of fun writing it, and
I hope you will enjoy it, too!
Dear Reader,
Last year, when I was asked to join the board of the Friends of the Athena Public Library, I had little idea what excitement lay ahead. The annual holiday gala was a rousing success—despite the murder.
Two of the board members are the doyennes of Athena Society—Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce Ducote. I grew up hearing about them frequently, though our paths never crossed until I joined the board. I occasionally spotted them around town, but my family did not move in the same social circles. The Ducotes were among the original founders of Athena before the Civil War, and they have been leading citizens ever since.
I was prepared to be thoroughly intimidated when I finally met them—and I was, briefly—but their warmth and charm soon put me at ease. Diesel adored them right away, and they in turn appeared enamored of him. Miss An’gel doesn’t tolerate fools, nor does her younger sister, but they are the heart of all charitable activities in Athena. Bigger hearts you’ll never find.
When Helen Louise and I, along with my children, their partners, and our friend Stewart Delacorte, decided to vacation in Europe over the summer, I was in a quandary over what to do with Diesel. He obviously couldn’t travel with us, and I knew my housekeeper, Azalea Berry, wouldn’t relish the task of caring for him for three weeks. I happened to mention my dilemma during a conversation with the Ducote sisters one day at the library, and Miss An’gel insisted that she and Miss Dickce would be delighted to have Diesel as their guest. Diesel immediately spoke up—he warbled loudly—and that settled it. I knew the sisters would care for him and that he would be happy.
What I didn’t count on, naturally, was that the sisters would become involved in another murder while I was out of the country. In Bless Her Dead Little Heart, you can find out exactly what happened. I was just happy to be enjoying myself in Paris, completely unaware of it all.
Continue reading for a special excerpt of Bless Her Dead Little Heart.
Sincerely,
Charlie Harris
Miss An’gel Ducote fixed her houseguest with a gimlet eye. “I expect you to behave like a proper gentleman while you’re here.”
Diesel Harris regarded his hostess unblinkingly for a moment before he meowed.
Miss Dickce Ducote snorted with laughter. “Good gracious, Sister, you don’t need to lecture him on how to conduct himself. Diesel has better manners than some of the two-legged fools who’ve set foot in Riverhill.”
“True.” Miss An’gel pursed her lips as she continued to regard the large Maine Coon cat. “He is in unfamiliar surroundings, though, and I’ve heard that cats don’t like change. He might be upset because Charlie and the rest of the family have gone off and left him.” She pointed to the elderly Aubusson carpet that covered a third of their front parlor. “I’m not sure this can withstand accidents, if you know what I mean.”
“Really, An’gel.” Dickce shook her head. “Diesel is a smart kitty. He already knows where we put his litter box. He’s not going to make a mess on one of our priceless antiques.”
“That’s all well and good.” An’gel glared at her sister, the younger by almost four years. “Even if his bathroom habits are impeccable, what shall we do if he starts clawing the furniture?”
“If you were this worried about the contents of the house, why did you ever agree to keep Diesel?” Dickce glared right back. “Frankly, I seem to recall that you volunteered to cat-sit. Charlie never once opened his mouth to ask you. In fact, he looked mighty startled when you said we’d be delighted, though he’s such a gentleman he hid it immediately.” She sat back, arms folded over her chest, and waited.
There was no arguing with Dickce when she was in one of her contrary moods. An’gel suppressed a sigh as she threw up her hands in mock surrender. Before she could speak, Diesel warbled loudly and placed his large right front paw on her knee. An’gel stared down into the cat’s eyes, and she would have sworn he was trying to reassure her.
Dickce pointed at the Maine Coon. “See? He’s telling you he’s going to be extra-special good.”
The triumphant note in Dickce’s voice irritated An’gel, but she pretended it didn’t. Instead she stroked the cat’s head and told him twice she knew he was a good boy.
“Come sit with me, Diesel.” Dickce patted the sofa cushion beside her. “You can stretch out and nap with your aunt Dickce.”
Diesel pawed at An’gel’s knee again and meowed. He gazed up at her, and she had the oddest feeling that he was asking her permission. At least the cat was smart enough to know who was really in charge here. “Go ahead, it’s fine with me.”
The cat blinked at her before he turned to amble over to the sofa. He jumped up beside Dickce and settled himself with his head and front legs in her lap. Dickce stroked him and grinned at her sister when Diesel started to purr loudly.
An’gel picked up her glass of sweet tea and sipped at it. There was nothing better during the dog days of summer. Their housekeeper, Clementine, made the best sweet tea in Athena County, if not in the whole state of Mississippi. “The only reason I’m glad to see August come around every year is the fact that we don’t have any committee meetings to attend, any garden club functions to arrange, or any other social commitments. It’s nice to have a vacation.”
“It sure is.” Dickce nodded. “I keep thinking we ought to retire and live a quieter life, but I know we’d both be bored and ready to strangle each other in a month or two.”
“Besides, you know as well as I do that no one else will keep things organized and running the way we can.” An’gel shook her head. “If the community had to pay someone to do what we do, the town couldn’t afford it.”
Dickce frowned. “Did you hear that? Sounded like a car drove up just now.”
“I heard it.” An’gel stood. “We weren’t expecting visitors this afternoon. I’m not in the mood to entertain.”
“Tell whoever it is to go away.” Dickce yawned. “I think I’d like to go upstairs for a nap.”
An’gel strode to the front window and pulled the heavy red damask drapes aside to peer through the window. “I don’t recognize the car, and I can’t see who’s driving. Clementine is probably napping now herself. I’ll go.”
The bell sounded before An’gel reached the door. She opened it to find a woman about her own age standing there, finger on the bell, poised to ring it again. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red, and her face was devoid of makeup. She didn’t look like a salesperson, but she did seem vaguely familiar.
“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
Startled, the woman took a step back. “My goodness. An’gel, it’s you, isn’t it? I never expected you to answer the door.” She smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
An’gel peered at the woman’s face as she tried to recall who she was. Recognition dawned, along with the first stirring of dismay. What on earth was Rosabelle Sultan doing here?
An’gel stepped back and waved the visitor in. “Of course I am, Rosabelle. This is a surprise. Weren’t you living in California?”
Rosabelle opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes widened, and she dropped her purse. “What on earth is that?” She pointed to a spot behind An’gel.
“That’s Diesel. Dickce and I are cat-sitting for a friend.” An’gel stooped to retrieve the visitor’s purse. “I know he’s large, but he’s a pet. He’s friendly and gentle. You don’t have to be afraid of him.” And if the cat has any sense he’ll stay away from you anyway, she added silently.
Rosabelle clasped the purse to her side. “If you say so, but I’ve never seen a house cat that big before. Does he have some kind of glandular condition?”
Diesel moved closer and stood by An’gel. He stared at the visitor but did not approach her. An’gel had never seen him act like that, but she couldn’t fault his intelligence. Rosabelle never brought good tidings. Besides, An
’gel realized, she smelled funny, like stale perfume overlaid by sweat.
“No, he’s a Maine Coon. They are large cats, and he is larger than usual. Nothing unnatural, though.” An’gel turned and gestured for her guest to follow. “Dickce’s in the parlor. Come along and say hello.”
“I’m so happy to find you both home,” Rosabelle said, sounding tired. “I’ve been driving for such a long time. I’m just glad I remembered the way.”
“Wasn’t that lucky?” An’gel murmured. She raised her voice at the parlor door. “Dickce, you’ll never guess who it is. Rosabelle Sultan.”
Dickce’s mouth dropped open but she closed it quickly. She stood to greet the visitor. “My goodness, Rosabelle, what a surprise this is.” She flashed a glance at her sister, and An’gel gazed stonily back. They would find out soon enough what their former sorority sister wanted.
“Dickce, I declare, you are just as darling as ever.” Rosabelle sounded tired. “I never did know how you and An’gel managed to keep your figures.” She dropped her purse on the floor and plopped down beside Dickce. “I always felt like such a lump around you two.”
An’gel could have told Rosabelle how, but good manners precluded her telling a guest that she always ate like a pig at a trough. She eyed their visitor critically. Perhaps Rosabelle had reformed her habits, or had been seriously ill. She was thinner than An’gel ever remembered seeing her. Her dress was at least two sizes too large, and it came off a bargain store rack. Rosabelle must have fallen on hard times. An’gel took a deep breath. She and Dickce were going to be hit up for money. It wouldn’t be the first time Rosabelle had done it.
“Would you like some sweet tea?” An’gel recalled her duties as a hostess. “Or something else?”
“Sweet tea would be fine.” Rosabelle leaned back and closed her eyes. “That might revive me.”
“I’ll go,” Dickce said. “You rest there, and I’ll be back in minute.” She frowned at An’gel as she headed toward the door. “Where is Diesel?”
The Silence of the Library Page 23
