Out of Circulation (18 page)

He strode away to a door halfway down the hall. I glanced about as Diesel and I followed him. The hallway at Ranelagh wasn’t that different from the one at River Hill. Beautiful Oriental rugs, antique furniture, and paintings adorned the space. The effect was gracious and elegant.

The study was more of a library, I thought, as I gazed at a couple of book-lined walls. A large desk occupied one quadrant of the room, but a leather sofa and two chairs sat before a fireplace. Morty Cassity motioned for me to have a seat on the sofa while he took one of the chairs. I expected Diesel to sit with me, but he took up position beside our host’s chair instead. Morty seemed pleased with the attention. Thank goodness for a smart cat, I thought.

“Again, my apologies for intruding, Mr. Cassity,” I began.

“Morty, please. Charlie, right?” He didn’t pause in his attentions to the cat.

“Right. Well, Morty, I’m really sorry about the loss of your wife. She was, um, she did a lot for the community.” I winced inwardly at the awkwardness of that, but I couldn’t bring myself to heap fulsome praise on the dead woman.

Morty cast me a sharp glance. “Vera was a giant pain in the ass to everybody, me included. She spent a lot of money trying to get people to like her and think she was a Somebody with a capital
S
.” He grimaced. “I’m not saying that the money didn’t do good. Of course it did, but she didn’t do it out of the generosity of her heart.”

I wasn’t prepared for such bitterness, even though I knew he hadn’t been happy with his marriage. I couldn’t think of any way to respond to him that wouldn’t sound hypocritical or idiotic. No point in trying to defend Vera, even if I had wanted to.

My host left off his attentions to Diesel and leaned back in his chair, arms across his chest. “Sorry if I’m shocking you, but I’m too tired right now to give a horse’s patoot what anybody thinks.”

“I understand,” I said. “It was all a great shock.”

He snorted. “Only that it didn’t happen years ago. Vera made enemies the way rabbits reproduce. Somebody’d finally had enough, I guess. It wasn’t me that knocked her down the stairs, though.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, though it sounded fatuous to me.

“What have you got in the bag?”

I extracted the plaque and stood to hand it to him. “The award that the mayor presented last night. The Ducotes’ housekeeper found it this morning.”

Morty accepted the plaque and stared at it for a moment.
Then he reached and stuck it on the seat of the other chair near him. “Vera was livid. You have to give it to those two old busybodies, though. They figured out a way to get Vera off their backs publicly.”

Someone else figured out how to do it permanently,
I added to myself.
Was it you, Morty?

I didn’t quite buy this let-it-all-hang-out routine. Was he really this careless and uncaring, to talk this way to someone he’d met once? Or was it calculated? How could he know I was investigating Vera’s death?

He could have seen my name in the local paper in connection with the previous murders. In the past six months or so I’d been approached twice by people who thought I was some kind of private detective. Morty Cassity could suspect me of ulterior motives, then.

“Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce ought to be running a major corporation,” I said. “They definitely know how to get people to do what they want.”

Morty’s expression hardened as he spoke. “They’re completely ruthless when it comes to getting what they want. They’re also devious enough to double-bluff their way out of murder.”

That second statement shocked me. “What do you mean? Are you accusing them of murdering Vera?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s entirely possible. First they stage this elaborate public display, which on the surface of it looks all nice and wonderful. But that’s only a cover-up so nobody would ever think they’d put Vera out of the way permanently.”

I had to admit—but only to myself—that the Ducote sisters probably
were
devious enough to think of a scheme like that. But did they despise Vera enough to go to such lengths?

I put the question to the widower.

He gazed at me through slitted eyelids. “Vera hated those two old biddies with a passion. I never could figure out why and couldn’t have cared less. But the past couple of weeks she seemed more intent than ever on digging up something to humiliate them. She couldn’t stand how high-and-mighty they were.”

I debated whether to mention Vera’s letter and her phone message. Perhaps Morty would know something about that.

I quickly decided against it, however. I didn’t want to tip my hand in any way with him. I would probe indirectly instead.

“The Ducotes are a proud family,” I said. “With a pretty distinguished history in this town, too. They probably have a few skeletons in the family closet, like everybody else, but I can’t see them wanting to kill anybody.”

“Maybe they didn’t.” Morty shrugged again. “Just saying. All I know is, it wasn’t me.” He checked his watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to hit the shower. Places to go, people to see, you know how it is.”

I took the hint and rose. “Of course. Thank you for your time. Come on, Diesel, time to go.”

Diesel meowed as he left Morty’s side.

“He sure is beautiful,” Morty said as he followed the cat and me to the front door. “What did you say he is again? I might get one now.”

“Maine Coon. They’re wonderful companions.”

Morty nodded and opened the front door. I was about to step out when I realized a man stood there, hand raised to knock. I moved back. “Excuse me.”

“Gerry. Come on in.” Morty extended a hand to Sheriff Tidwell.

“Sorry to bother you, Morty, but you know how it is.” Tidwell’s gaze swept Diesel and me. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris. Didn’t expect to see you here. And with your pet mountain lion. I’ve heard plenty about it.” He guffawed. He held a hand out to Diesel, but the cat moved away, his ears laid back. Tidwell shrugged.

“I was delivering something to Mr. Cassity,” I said coolly. “At the request of Miss An’gel Ducote. Diesel and I will get out of your way, Sheriff. Good to see you. Good-bye, Morty.”

Tidwell mumbled something, and Morty snickered before the door closed behind us. “Jerk,” I muttered. As usual, Diesel was an excellent judge of character. I would certainly be voting for Kanesha when she decided to run against that oaf.

As we drove away, I wondered how official the sheriff’s call on Morty Cassity was intended to be. He came alone, and I found that odd, if he planned to question Morty about the previous night.

This kind of speculation wouldn’t get me anywhere, I realized. I would mention it to Kanesha, though, to get her take on it. She knew Tidwell far better than I ever would, or wanted to.

Diesel chirped away from his spot in the backseat of the car. I remembered that he seemed quite taken with Morty Cassity, and that was a good sign. Especially contrasted with his reaction to the sheriff. I wasn’t going to exculpate Morty in his wife’s death simply because my cat liked him, of course, but it was a definite mark in Morty’s favor.

I pondered my next move as we neared my house. What would Hercule Poirot or Miss Jane Marple do?

If Azalea was in the house, I would talk to her. After that, I wasn’t sure.

No signs of life as Diesel and I entered the kitchen. I checked the laundry room. No Azalea. I looked in the fridge, and it was fuller than it was at lunchtime, so she had at least come back from grocery shopping.

I went to the bottom of the stairs and called out her name.

No response.

Up to the second-floor landing, then, Diesel right alongside me. I called out again.

“What you need, Mr. Charlie?”

I glanced up to see Azalea’s head sticking over the railing on the third-floor landing.

“I need to talk to you for a minute. I’ll come up there,” I said.

“I done finished up here. Be right down.” Azalea brought the vacuum cleaner with her, puffing slightly from the weight of it.

I knew better than to try to take it from her, however. I’d made that mistake a couple of times before, right after I moved back to Athena, and my housekeeper had let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need any help from me.

Perhaps today I should have risked it. Her face looked gray from tiredness, and she moved more slowly than usual. I remembered her saying how poorly she’d slept last night.

She stowed the vacuum cleaner in the closet where she kept extra cleaning supplies and then finally joined Diesel and me on the landing. “Yes, sir?”

“Just a quick question,” I said in a reassuring tone. “I forgot something when we talked this morning.”

Her lips tightened, but she nodded.

“I wanted to check. Did you tell the sheriff everything you told me? When he questioned you last night?”

“Yes, sir, I told that fool what he wanted to know.”

I noticed that she didn’t answer the exact question I’d posed, but I decided not to press her on it. Then I remembered there was something else I wanted to ask her.

“Sorry, Azalea, I just thought of one more thing. Do you know anything about the Hobson family? In particular Essie Mae Hobson? She was Vera Cassity’s mother.”

“No-account white trash,” Azalea sniffed. “Miss Essie Mae was a nice lady, but she sure married into a bad group of folks.”

“Do you know anything more about Essie Mae? Like who her people were, anything like that?”

Again, that fleeting second of hesitation before she responded. “No, sir, I sure don’t. Now, I got to get supper started.” She headed down the stairs.

Slightly stunned, I stood at the top of the stairs and watched Azalea go down. Why did I get the feeling that she was holding something back? Was my imagination working overtime?

“Come on, Diesel.” I went into my bedroom and closed the door after the cat walked in. He hopped up on the bed and settled down for a snooze. Right about now a nap would be nice, but I didn’t have the time.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my cell phone. Maybe Kanesha could dig up some information on Essie Mae Hobson. Once again I got voice mail. I let her know her mother’s response to the question of whether she had told the sheriff what she’d told me about Vera’s last moments. Then I related the incident just now and ended the call.

There was no point in my going back to the archives for the rest of the afternoon, but I felt at a loss over what to do next. I’d
start looking in the Ducote papers for some mention of Essie Mae tomorrow.

I looked down at Diesel, comfortably stretched out and already asleep. All of a sudden I felt really tired.
What the heck,
I thought. I kicked off my shoes and stretched out right alongside the cat.

The ringing of my cell phone roused me sometime later. I checked my watch as I sat up and reached for the phone. I’d napped for nearly ninety minutes—it was almost four thirty. My brain felt a little foggy as I answered the call.

“Hello, honey,” Helen Louise said. “How about dinner tonight at my house? Diesel, too, of course. I feel like spending some time with my two favorite guys. I decided I can catch up on my sleep later.”

“Sounds good to me, although Diesel might have to check his social calendar.”

Helen Louise laughed. “See if he can manage to squeeze me in. About six thirty?”

“We’ll be there, as long as you’re sure you’re not going to be too tired.”

After reassuring me she’d be fine, Helen Louise rang off. I realized I needed to let Azalea know there would be one less for supper tonight.

When Diesel and I reached the kitchen, I discovered Azalea had left for the day. Supper was done, according to the tersely worded note I found. Everything was either in the oven or in the fridge.

Diesel suddenly shot off into the hall. He probably heard someone at the front door. I followed at a more leisurely pace, and Laura walked through the door moments later. “Hello, you sweet boy,” she said as she patted his head. “Hi, Dad. Isn’t it adorable how he always comes to meet me?” She came forward to kiss my cheek.

“You look familiar, young lady. Where have I seen you before?” I gazed at her sternly.

Laura giggled. “I haven’t been gone that much lately, have I? Sorry, Dad, all this business of grading exams and turning in the final grades for the semester has kept me hopping. But it’s all finally over.” She walked toward the kitchen, Diesel right by her side.

“Not to mention all the time making sure poor Frank isn’t too lonely.” I sighed. “It’s okay, I’m merely a father, and I’m used to my only daughter abandoning me. I’m much too dull, I know, whereas Frank…”

Laura punched me playfully on the shoulder. “Oh, you poor thing. So neglected. Well, you’ll be happy to know that I am yours for the whole evening.”

“Not this evening,” I said. “Diesel and I will be dining with Helen Louise.”

“You cad. Deserting me for the Other Woman.” Laura giggled again. “Two nights in a row with Helen Louise. What will the neighbors think?”

“The neighbors can mind their own business,” I said dryly, well aware of the irony of that statement.

Laura shot me a look that said she was aware of it, too. She fetched a can of diet soda from the fridge. “Want anything while I’m in here?”

“I’ll take one of those,” I said. Diesel chirped. “No,” I told him. “I draw the line at letting you drink anything with caffeine. You go have some water.”

After giving me an affronted look, he turned away, tail in the air, and headed for his water bowl in the utility room.

Laura and I laughed as we sat down at the table.

“I still can’t fully believe what happened at River Hill last night. How awful. Vera being killed so violently and poor Azalea, being locked in with the body like that. I
hope she doesn’t have nightmares.” Laura shivered and a shadow crossed her face. I knew she was again reliving her own discovery of a dead body only a couple of months before. I also knew that while Laura and Sean had both inherited my love of mysteries, this last one hit far too close to home because Azalea was involved.

I brought her up to speed on all that had happened earlier in the day, and when I finished, she posed a question.