“Do I smell coq au vin?” I sniffed appreciatively.
“Mais oui, mon petit chou. I know how much you love it. We also have haricots verts Lyonnaise and gratin Dauphinoise.” Helen Louise grinned wickedly as she continued, “And there just might be a special gâteau au chocolat for dessert.”
I still wasn’t quite used to being referred to as a little cabbage, but I knew it was a classic French term of endearment.
I pulled her into my arms, and we spent several satisfying minutes before I released her. “What happened to that early night you planned on? You must be exhausted, and here you are cooking dinner for us.”
“I’ve caught my second wind,” she said with an impish smile. “You just recharged my batteries.”
I laughed and pulled her close again.
Diesel warbled indignantly at being ignored so long, and we were both grinning as we separated and reached at the same time to stroke his head.
“This is what I needed,” Helen Louise said softly.
“Me, too.”
She tapped me playfully on the chest as I attempted to kiss her again. “Time for more of that later. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Sit yourself down and prepare to feast.” She pointed to my chair.
The old oaken table was covered by a beautiful white linen cloth that made the cobalt Fiestaware stand out nicely. Helen Louise’s set was vintage, lovingly cared for by her grandmother Brady and then her own mother.
“Why don’t you pour the wine?” Helen Louise said as she took my plate to fill it.
She’d chosen a Nuits-St.-Georges Chardonnay, a favorite of both of ours. Helen Louise would never settle for cheap wine, and, having benefited from her expertise on numerous occasions now, I had to agree.
Over the delicious dinner we chatted about ordinary things, neither of us wishing to let the events of the previous night intrude. We ate dessert in her living room in front of the fireplace, all nice and cozy. The dark chocolate cake, paired with a delicious tawny port, had me groaning with a combination of pleasure and guilt.
Diesel desperately wanted to taste the chocolate, but Helen Louise fended him off with a couple of bites of chicken instead. Chocolate was dangerous for cats and dogs, no matter how much they might beg for a taste.
When we set our plates aside, the cat took it as his signal to jump onto the sofa with us. He spread himself across our laps, with Helen Louise getting his head. His tail thumped against my chest, and I only narrowly avoided receiving a mouthful of hair. He settled down after a moment, and then we were able to talk about the subject we had avoided thus far.
“Was it only last night?” Helen Louise shook her head. “Hard to believe.”
“I know. I feel like I’ve aged a couple of months already.”
“Tell me what you’ve been up to. I have a feeling you haven’t been able to keep out of this.” Helen Louise grinned.
“True,” I said, “but not exactly by choice.” I shared with her the visits from the Ducote sisters and Kanesha Berry, then went on to relate the rest of my day.
“You have been busy,” she said when I finished. She filled my glass with more of the delicious tawny port, and I had a few sips. “Any conclusions?”
“Not really, though I still figure Morty Cassity had the best motive for pushing Vera down the stairs.”
“He’s the most likely one,” Helen Louise agreed. “I can’t believe he and Sissy are brazen enough to be carrying on in Vera’s house less than twenty-four hours after the woman died. That’s cold.”
“Isn’t it?” I recalled Morty’s attitude when I talked to him that afternoon. “He certainly didn’t hold back his feelings. No grief there, for sure. How long have he and Sissy been having an affair?”
“A couple of years, maybe three,” Helen Louise said. “It’s hard to know. First I heard of it was two years ago, I think.” She frowned. “Before that there was always talk that Morty was seeing other women, but no one could ever come up with a name that I recall.”
“He’s at least twenty or twenty-five years older than she is, right? What do you think she sees in him?”
Helen Louise shrugged. “He’s actually rather attractive, but for Sissy I imagine the main attraction is money. She’s like Morty in that respect, and maybe the two of them deserve each other.”
“Is she really that mercenary?” I didn’t know Sissy well at all, but she hadn’t come across that way to me.
“Not for her sake, no, but she’d do anything to help Hank.”
“I know you mentioned that he’s been having financial issues and could lose his law firm.” I also remembered something about Hank having a gambling problem, too.
She looked troubled as she nodded in agreement. “From what I’ve heard recently, Hank’s on the verge of bankruptcy. There are even rumors that he’s going to sell Beauchamp House. That must mean they’re both pretty desperate.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I pondered what Helen Louise told me. Holding on to the ancestral home was a powerful incentive indeed, especially for a family as proud as the Beauchamps.
“So add both Sissy and Hank to the list of potential murderers,” I said.
“I hate to think of either Sissy or Hank as a killer,” Helen Louise said. “But money—or the lack of it—makes people do terrible things.”
“I wouldn’t want to marry a murderer,” I said. “Or be the sibling of one.”
Helen Louise arched an eyebrow at me. “They may be the best suspects, but they’re not the only ones.”
“The Ducote sisters, you mean.” I sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but I can’t take them seriously as cold-blooded killers. Besides, we don’t know that they have a compelling motive. Intense dislike of Vera isn’t enough.”
“They are ruthless in their own way; cold-blooded is an apt description really.” Helen Louise stroked Diesel’s head. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have dreamed up that award business last night. That was a killing in its own way. They killed Vera’s career as a prominent public figure in one neat gesture.”
“True. They achieved their goal, though, so why would they go even further and eliminate her completely?” I shook my head. “I simply don’t see it. There’s no motive strong enough.”
“That you know of,” Helen Louise pointed out. “What about this business of that old photograph? What if Essie Mae Hobson is the key to it all?”
I had the sudden urge to yawn. The warmth of the fire, the delicious meal, and the two glasses of port all hit me at once, and I felt sleepy. I shook my head in an attempt to make myself more alert.
“I’m going to dig into the Ducote papers tomorrow,” I said. Then the yawn escaped me after all. “Sorry, it’s not the company. Too much good food, I guess.” I yawned again.
Helen Louise started to smile but then had to yawn herself. “I know what you mean. I think I’m starting to fade, too.” She glanced down. “Even Diesel is asleep, or at least looks like he is.”
“Time to wake him up and get him home,” I said, rousing Diesel gently. “Come on, boy, time to go.”
Diesel yawned as he gazed at me reproachfully for disturbing him. He stretched in a graceful, languorous movement before he climbed off our laps.
“You could stay here tonight.” Helen Louise smiled shyly.
I was truly tempted. Helen Louise had never looked more lovely, but now was not the time to move our relationship into a more intimate phase. I think she realized that, too, as I gently declined.
She escorted us to the door, and we shared a satisfying kiss before Diesel and I headed home. “Talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well.”
“Good night. You sleep well, too.”
I felt like whistling as we walked, but I’ve never been able to carry much of a tune. Instead I smiled a lot.