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Diesel had picked up on it as well. He no longer lay sprawled across the sofa and the Ducote sisters’ laps. He sat between them, and I would have sworn he was frowning. He leaped from the sofa, across the coffee table and came to sit beside my chair. I stroked his head to reassure him, and I could feel some of his tension ease.

Vera Cassity glared at Diesel, then her gaze swept upward to my face. The sheer fury in her eyes shocked me, and I looked away, unable to face her. No wonder Diesel wouldn’t go near her earlier when she’d arrived. He’d taken one look and backed away, though he usually made a point of greeting guests as they came in the front door.

Miss An’gel broke the silence. “That’s settled, then. We’ll continue with our preparations for the gala at River Hill. Vera, honey, I was thinking that a sit-down dinner at Ranelagh would be just the thing for the fund-raiser next spring. You know, the one for the county mental health association?”

I wanted to run for cover because I expected major fireworks after that little barb. All eyes focused on Vera as we awaited her response.

Her face reddened, but when she spoke, her tone was chilly. “That’s a fine idea, An’gel, my dear. I’ll be happy to have that event at Ranelagh. Then I guess it’ll be your turn to head the fund-raiser for unwed mothers. Or perhaps Sissy would like to handle that one?” Her eyes glittered with malice.

I risked a glance at Sissy Beauchamp and noted that her face was about the same color as her flaming hair. Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce appeared perfectly calm, however.

Diesel muttered, and I understood how he felt. The tension in the room was thick enough to make gravy. I risked another glance at Sissy and was relieved to see her looking calmer.

“I suppose you’re thinking about my cousin Mary Lee Beauchamp.” Sissy shot Vera an icy glance. “Poor girl just can’t seem to get them to the altar until after they get her pregnant. But I do envy her those sweet little babies, don’t you, Vera, honey?”

That was way below the belt. Vera and Morty had no children, and Vera was known to dote on other people’s offspring. Pretty terrifying prospect, if you thought about it much.

“Little they may be,” Miss An’gel said, her voice deceptively mild, “but they behave like the spawn of Satan, and you know it. It’s no wonder Mary Lee can’t keep a husband around for more than a year at a time.”

Vera gave a snort of laughter, quickly quelled when Miss An’gel looked at her.

Sissy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her jaw snapped shut, and she frowned while Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce exchanged glances. They rose in unison from the sofa.

“We really must be going.” Miss An’gel smoothed her silk skirt and nodded. “There’s so much to do.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Miss Dickce’s head bobbed up and down. “So much to do.”

“Let me see you out.” I escorted them, with Diesel’s help, to the front door. I extracted their wraps from the hall closet and helped each sister into hers, Miss An’gel first.

Then each sister had to pat Diesel on the head a few times and coo at him, telling him what a handsome gentleman he was. Diesel purred and chirped, in obvious agreement.

I suppressed a smile as I waited to open the door. From the direction of the living room I heard conversation in progress, some of it sounding heated. Were Vera and Sissy at each other’s throats? I hoped not. I didn’t need a headache like that.

Miss An’gel shook my hand gently. “Thank you for being our host this evening, Charlie. And pay no attention to Vera, or whatever she might say once we’re gone.” She shared a glance with her sister, and they both smiled. “Vera won’t be a thorn in our sides much longer. Dickce and I have seen to that.” Miss An’gel pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to me.

“We thought we might save the postage.” Miss Dickce beamed at me. “We were sure you wouldn’t mind hand delivery.”

Miss An’gel nodded. “The others went to the post office this afternoon.” With that she and her sister stepped out into the cool December night, and I closed the door behind them.

Diesel warbled, and I glanced down. He gazed up at me, then reared up on his hind legs to bat at the envelope.

“All right, I’ll open it.” The paper was thick, heavy, and no doubt expensive. By the shape I figured it could be an invitation. I managed to get it open without ripping the envelope too much and withdrew the card inside.

It was indeed an invitation—to the Friends of the Library winter gala at River Hill next Tuesday.

TWO

Fifteen minutes after Diesel and I bade good-bye to the last board member, we got in the car and headed for the town square and my dear friend Helen Louise Brady’s French patisserie. After the rancor and tension of the board meeting, Diesel and I both needed to relax. Plus, I hadn’t seen Helen Louise in three days, and I missed her even though we talked on the phone daily.

Diesel chirped at me when I told him our destination. He loved Helen Louise, and the adoration was mutual. She always made a fuss over my cat, and if anyone in her establishment dared object to his presence, she informed the offender not to let the door hit him on his way out.

I pulled the car into a slot right in front of the bakery. Diesel hopped out over me as soon as I opened the door, eager to see his friend and whatever tidbits she would offer.

Even before we stepped inside, I felt my mouth watering from the appetizing smells that emanated from the bakery. Brioches, croissants, gâteaux, éclairs—the combination of these and more made my early dinner a rapidly fading memory. Perhaps I’d have a small piece of Helen Louise’s sumptuous gâteau au chocolat, a particular weakness of mine.

Helen Louise greeted me from behind the counter, and the thought of chocolate cake receded. There stood the real attraction. Rake thin and nearly six feet tall, Helen Louise wore her dark, luxuriant hair in a short bob. The curls framed blue eyes that sparkled with fierce intelligence and wicked humor, a mouth that often quirked in amusement, and a shapely nose that wrinkled adorably when she laughed.

She came around the counter as Diesel and I approached, and we shared a hug and a brief kiss.

“Missed you.” Helen Louise’s words shimmered softly in the air between us, and I pulled her close again for a longer kiss.

Diesel warbled and inserted himself between us, and we broke apart, laughing.

Helen Louise grinned at me as she bent to stroke my incorrigible feline’s head and neck. “We could never forget you, mon brave. Tu es un chat très formidable.”

After ten years in Paris learning her art, she often lapsed into French. Diesel warbled at her as if he understood her.

“He’s not formidable, just shameless.” I, too, stroked Diesel’s head, and my hand brushed against Helen Louise’s. We smiled at each other.

Diesel butted his head against my thigh, then did the same to Helen Louise. “Someone expects a treat, I think.” I shook my head.

Helen Louise laughed. “Go have a seat, and I’ll bring you both something très délicieux.”

Only a few customers at eight thirty in the evening, I noted as Diesel and I moved to our usual table near the cash register at the end of the counter. Diesel waited until I sat and then positioned himself against my left leg, his head turned toward the spot from where Helen Louise would shortly emerge.

I watched Diesel’s face, and his nose twitched as Helen Louise approached the table with two dessert plates. Chocolate cake for me and some bits of chicken for my poor starving feline.