“Yes, it is,” I said. “But she seemed convinced of what she saw. It wasn’t the devil, obviously, but it was something with a distorted shadow. We just have to figure out what it was.”
Lily came out of the room and interrupted further conversation. “’Zalea says I should go back with you and finish up dinner.” She smiled, though her eyes were wet with tears. “She go’n’ be okay, she ordering me around like that.”
“You really don’t have to, Lily,” I said. “I’d rather you stay here with Azalea.”
Kanesha nodded. “I’ll take you home later.”
Lily shook her head. “No, ’Zalea be like to have a fit, she find out I didn’t do what she done told me to do. Besides, I be feeling better if I got something to do. You don’t worry ’bout me, ’Nesha.”
Kanesha hugged her aunt, and Lily clung to her for a moment.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Kanesha said, her voice husky.
I nodded and waited for Lily to compose herself. “Call if you need anything,” I said. “Anything at all.”
Lily was quiet on the ride home. I had plenty to think about, too. Azalea’s revelation puzzled me. What on earth could she have seen?
Whatever it was, it had to be part of someone’s costume, I figured. I needed to sit down and think carefully about what everyone wore that night and decide what could have made such an odd shadow.
Stewart, Dante, and Diesel were busy in the kitchen when we arrived. Lily took over at the stove and announced that everything was ready. I filled Stewart in on Azalea’s condition while Lily dished up the food. Dante and Diesel watched her with great interest, and Dante pranced around on his back legs for a moment. Lily grinned at the little poodle, and I was pleased to see it.
Diesel chattered to me while I talked to Stewart, and I patted his head and stroked his back until he finally calmed down. He obviously wasn’t happy that I had left him behind for the second time that day, and he had to tell me all about it.
I asked Lily to eat with us, even though I halfway expected Azalea to rise up out of her hospital bed and come after both of us if Lily accepted. She declined politely and said she wasn’t hungry but might eat later.
That was that, so I thanked her for the delicious-looking meal of pork chops, green beans, mashed potatoes, and homemade rolls.
“You’re welcome,” she said, ducking her head shyly.
“Why don’t you go on home,” I said. “It’s been a long day, and Stewart and I will clean up afterward.”
Lily looked like she wanted to argue, but I think tiredness won out. “All right, Mr. Charlie,” she said. “Now, if you need me this weekend, you just let me know.”
I promised I would, and after making sure she had a ride home—she had Azalea’s car—I bade her good-bye. Then Stewart and I tucked into the meal. It was every bit as tasty as it looked.
After a few mouthfuls I put my fork down for a moment. “You weren’t kidding earlier,” I said. “About Lily being such a good cook. Everything tastes wonderful.”
“Yes, I had more than a few opportunities to sample Lily’s cooking,” Stewart said.
“When she was working for the Beauchamps?” I said.
Stewart nodded. “You might as well know, Hank and I were together for a couple of years. It didn’t work out.”
“I sort of gathered that from that little episode the night of the gala,” I said, trying to make light of it.
“Not one of my better moments, I’ll admit,” Stewart said. “It’s too bad, because Hank can be a really great guy. He just has this little problem. Oh, well, he’s moved on, according to Lily, though I don’t know to whom.” He shrugged. “Good for him. And good for Sissy, too. We all thought she would never have a life of her own.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I really don’t know her, but as gorgeous as she is, surely she’s never lacked for attention from men.”
“No, I guess not,” Stewart said. “But she was stuck in that house for years, looking after that nasty grandmother of hers, then it was her mother, and finally her father. Old man Beauchamp was too cheap to hire extra help besides Lily, so poor Sissy got stuck being the dutiful, unpaid drudge of a daughter. Made Hank angry, but Daddy was the one with the money, and whenever he said ‘Leap, frog,’ they just asked, ‘How high?’”
“That’s too bad. Beauchamp Senior died about three years ago, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and it was about ten years too late, if you ask me.” Stewart grimaced. “Nasty, unfeeling old bastard. He gave Hank hell for being a pansy, as he called it. Hank did his best to stand up to him, but it was hard. Of course, Sissy helped. She’s always done anything and everything for her little brother.” He fed Dante a bite of pork chop, and the dog barked excitedly. Stewart told him to hush.
“I’m sorry things were so rough for them,” I said. “Their father sounds like a nightmare. At least they can live their own lives now, and according to the gossip I’ve heard about Sissy and Morty Cassity, she’s making up for lost time.”
Stewart shrugged. “I guess so. But that’s the strange thing to me. I always figured Sissy was just as queer as her brother. Surprised the heck out of me when I heard she was slipping around with a married man.”
“She doesn’t have to slip around any longer,” I said, “with Vera permanently out of the way.”
“No, she doesn’t. Well, it’s no business of mine.” Stewart attacked his food, and conversation languished. Dante barked occasionally, and Stewart admonished him, but as long as he kept rewarding the behavior with bits of food, the dog would never learn not to do it. I didn’t share this with Stewart, however.
We worked together once we finished eating to clean up the kitchen and put everything away. Diesel had several bites of pork chop, just like his little buddy Dante, and he was a happy kitty as we trudged up the stairs later on.
I got ready for bed, Diesel already comfortable on his side, and found a notepad and pen. I wanted to make notes about the costumes my chief suspects wore the night of the gala. I was hoping that inspiration would strike as I worked on remembering everything I could.
I started with the Ducote sisters, a.k.a. Amelia Peabody and Jacqueline Kirby, then moved on to Morty Cassity, Hank Beauchamp, and finally Sissy.
As I scanned the details, one item leaped out at me. I focused on creating a mental image of that dark stairwell, and then I was convinced I was right. I was pretty sure I knew what Azalea had seen and who had worn it.
THIRTY-THREE
That absurd stuffed Yorkie Sissy had attached to her like a wrist corsage had to be what Azalea saw. It was the only thing on the list that I could imagine would cast a shadow like the one Azalea described.
That settled it in my mind. Sissy had pushed Vera to her death on those stairs.
With Vera out of the way Sissy was free to marry Morty—and gain access to Morty’s millions. No more genteel poverty for her or her beloved little brother, Hank.
A fairly simple solution after all. Money lay at the root of it.
The motive was easy, but where was the proof? Azalea would tell the sheriff what she saw, and I could explain it, but a good defense lawyer would probably make nonsense of it in court.
The explanation did sound faintly ridiculous, even though I was convinced of the truth of it. It all came down to the accessories of a costume.
Costume.
Something else was niggling at me, something to do with another costume.
I looked at the list again, poring over the descriptions I’d compiled. What was nagging at me?
I lingered over the details of Hank Beauchamp’s costume as the rumpled but clever Victorian policeman, Thomas Pitt.