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Were they purposely directing me so that I wouldn’t have time to think about them as possible prime suspects in Vera’s murder?

THIRTY

The Ducote sisters were definitely devious enough to be pulling the puppet strings, and I had been all too willing to let them.

I found it difficult, though, to think of them in that way. They would have to be fine actresses to dissemble that well—the Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine of Athena.

No, I just couldn’t see them that way.

All this speculation was fruitless. With a sigh I got up and started to clear the table. Once that was done, I went to the den to watch television, but that failed to hold my interest. Diesel was not pleased when I roused him from the couch and told him I was going to bed.

He followed me nevertheless, and by the time I was ready to slip under the covers, he was sound asleep, sprawled over his half of the bed. More like two-thirds, really. I made myself comfortable, picked up the Ellery Adams book, and this time I focused on the story and was soon absorbed by it.

When I woke in the morning, after a surprisingly restful night’s sleep, I was alone in bed. Diesel could be quite the nocturnal gadabout, but I was used to it by now.

As I came down the stairs, I sniffed and happily detected the smell of bacon. Azalea was back today, and I could look forward to a nice, full breakfast. No making do with cereal and toast today.

Once I had fortified myself with a stout breakfast I would try to convince Azalea to talk to me and tell me everything she’d seen in that dark stairwell on Tuesday night.

When I walked into the kitchen I thought for a moment I was seeing double. There were two Azaleas standing at the stove, their backs to me. After the first moment of shock passed I realized that one of the Azaleas was slightly taller than the other and wore a different-colored dress.

“Good morning, Azalea.”

The two figures turned, and Azalea turned out to be the shorter one. The resemblance between the two of them was eerie. Then I noticed the other woman looked older than Azalea and tired. Deep lines scored her forehead, and I realized this must be Azalea’s sister Lily.

“Morning, Mr. Charlie,” Azalea said, wiping her hands on her apron. “This is my sister Lily Golliday. I brought her with me to help with some of the heavy cleaning today. She used to help me out some when Miss Dottie was alive. I sure hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said warmly. “Good morning, Mrs. Golliday. I’m glad to meet you.” I advanced and extended a hand.

Lily’s hand trembled as she placed it in mine. She ducked her head shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Lily, why don’t you go on and be sorting out that laundry,” Azalea said. “Soon’s I finish up with breakfast we gonna start on the upstairs.”

Lily nodded and glanced at me before she disappeared into the utility room.

Azalea poured me a cup of coffee, then returned to the stove to plate my food. As she set it down, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. I appreciate you letting Lily help me today. She done lost her job and she can’t stand not being busy.”

“Lily can help you as much as you need her,” I said. “I heard about her losing her job.” Belatedly I realized that was probably a mistake.

Sure enough, Azalea glowered at me. “How you be hearing about Lily losing her job? Ain’t nobody knowing about that but me and her and the Beauchamps.”

“Actually I heard it from Kanesha,” I said meekly. “I talked to her yesterday when I mentioned I’d been to see the Beauchamps about something. When I told her I was surprised the house was in bad shape and there wasn’t much furniture, she told me about your sister being let go. That was all it was.” I probably said too much. Azalea had that effect on me sometimes.

She appeared to be mollified, however. Maybe she wouldn’t rake Kanesha over the coals later for blabbing to me. “I forgot Kanesha knew. She and Lily be real close.”

That was a bullet dodged. Azalea turned away, and I tucked into my breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. While I ate, Azalea followed her sister into the utility room, and they emerged several minutes later and headed upstairs.

There was still no sign of Diesel. I wished I could lie in bed till all hours sometimes, but this morning I had too much to do. Before I reported for my volunteer shift at the public library at eleven I needed to get to the courthouse. And before I left for the courthouse I wanted to talk to Azalea.

I checked the clock. I had two hours and forty-three minutes to do all that. I chewed my final mouthful of bacon and biscuit, had a last sip of coffee, then hurried upstairs to get dressed.

I heard movement on the third floor when I came out of my bedroom ten minutes later, and I headed up the stairs. There were four bedrooms up there, an empty one on either end. Stewart and Justin occupied the other two, also at opposite ends of the floor. Azalea and Lily must be working in the vacant ones.

As I neared the open door of one bedroom I could hear voices.

“…such nice things Miss Dottie had,” Lily said with a catch in her voice. “Miss Sissy and Mr. Hank used to have, but they’s all about gone now. My heart be just about breaking for them, ’Zalea. That house look so pitiful now.”

I paused about three feet away from the door. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to interrupt the sisters for my conversation with Azalea.

When I heard Lily start sobbing I beat a hasty retreat. I would talk to Azalea later.

Diesel greeted me on the second-floor landing. Laura’s door stood open, and she poked her head out. “Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, sweetheart. How are you this morning?”

“Fine.” She yawned. “Still sleepy, but okay. How are you?”

“Fine also, but I have a busy morning, and I need to leave Diesel here. I have some business at the courthouse, and I can’t take him with me.”

“I’m going to be here until lunchtime,” Laura said. “Is that long enough?”

“Should be. Thank you.” I looked down at the cat. “Diesel, I want you to stay with Laura this morning. I would take you if I could, but the person I need to see is allergic to cats.”

The one time before I had tried to take Diesel with me to the vital records section had been a disaster. The poor woman there sneezed so much that I took Diesel away after about three minutes. I explained this hurriedly to Laura.

“No problem, Dad. Come on, Diesel, come back in here with me.”

Diesel looked from me to her before, tail in the air, he turned and strode in majestic leisure down the hall to my daughter’s room. Laura and I exchanged grins before I hurried downstairs.

I couldn’t remember the name of the woman in the vital records office, but a nameplate told me that she was Laurel Sanders. I greeted her, and she looked up from her desk. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized me.

She frowned at me. “Did you bring your cat with you?”

When I assured her I hadn’t, she relaxed. “I actually do like cats,” she said. “I’m just horribly allergic.”

“No need to apologize,” I said. “I need your help this morning.”

She approached the counter, peering over the glasses that had slid down her nose. “What are you looking for?”

“Birth and death certificates, and also several wills.” I jotted the names and approximate dates down for her.

She scanned the list. “Some prominent names here.” She nodded. “This will take a few minutes, but I’ll find what you need.” She pointed to a desk in the corner. “Just wait there.”

“Thank you.” I sat down at the desk and divested myself of my coat and briefcase. I pulled out a pen and a notepad, ready to jot down details.