“It’s hard to see anything,” I said. “I doubt Azalea could see much, either. I think the sheriff is going to have to solve this thing without a full eyewitness account.”
“That’s too bad,” Miss Dickce said. “I wish this were all over.” Diesel rubbed against her legs, and I tried not to notice the trail of hair he left on her navy blue dress. Our hostess didn’t seem to mind, however. She scratched the cat’s head and smiled down at him.
Stewart patted her arm. “We all do, Miss Dickce. But Charlie will figure it out, don’t you worry.”
“I appreciate your faith in me,” I said. “But it’s not going to be easy. Thank you, Miss Dickce, for letting us come do this. We’d better get going, though. I need to get back to work, and Stewart has an errand to take care of, too.”
“You’re so welcome, Charlie,” Miss Dickce said warmly. “I wish you had time to stay longer, but I understand.”
I suddenly remembered the check I collected from Sissy Beauchamp that morning. I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to Miss Dickce. She accepted it, glanced at it, and frowned. I wondered whether the amount was for less than what the Beauchamps had pledged, and given what I suspected about their finances, it probably was.
“Thank you for taking care of that, Charlie.” Miss Dickce showed us to the door and bent to give Diesel a kiss on the nose as a good-bye.
Laura and Stewart chatted on the drive home, but I paid scant attention. My thoughts focused on that dark stairwell, bouncing back and forth between our reenactment and the events of Tuesday night. I had to talk to Azalea again, and this time I had to persist until she finally told me everything.
Diesel and I made it back to my office at the library by a quarter to two. He showed brief interest in the box I opened, but another treat distracted him. He munched it and then snoozed on the windowsill while I delved into the box’s contents.
According to the list there were only letters here, more correspondence, chiefly business matters, from the 1920s and 1930s. I scanned letter after letter, gradually emptying the box, but found nothing of interest to my current quest.
Near the bottom of the box I felt a hard lump underneath the last inch of paper. Curious, I pulled all the letters up to reveal a small leather-bound book lying beneath. Slightly larger in dimension than a paperback and half as thick, it had a monogram stamped in gold on the cover. The letters were KCD.
Why wasn’t this listed as part of the contents? I picked up the little book and opened it. An inscription in cramped, tiny handwriting adorned the front flyleaf, and I had to pull out a magnifying glass in order to read it. The Private Journal of Katherine Cecilia Ducote.
Cecilia Ducote was the mother of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. I had a sudden feeling that this little book could hold the answers to Vera Cassity’s quest to know more about her mother. I also wondered whether the sisters knew about the existence of their mother’s journal.
I turned the page. There was no date, but the first sentence revealed that the keeper of the journal was on her honeymoon.
My darling Richard has brought me to Paris on our wedding trip. Paris! The city of my dreams. And then Vienna and Rome! Was any girl ever so fortunate? Richard is so attentive and so passionate. I blush to write of such things here, but dear Maman should have told me that a woman’s duty could entail such delightful feelings!
Oh, my. I probably blushed a little, reading the most private thoughts of this young woman. I hoped she wouldn’t rhapsodize in any further detail.
I began to skim and worked my way through the splendors of Paris, Vienna, and Rome. By the time the young couple left Rome to return to the United States, they had spent nearly five months in Europe. Near the end of the trip Cecilia confided to the journal that she suspected she was going to have a baby.
Home again in Athena Cecilia wrote about the events of daily life at River Hill and her developing pregnancy. She began to have problems around the fifth month, and her doctor put her on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy.
I read with sadness the account of the stillbirth of the child, a boy, in the eighth month. Then came the shocking news that the doctor feared Cecilia would never be able to bear another child, at least not to full term.
Shaken, I put the journal down. Cecilia was heartbroken over the loss of her baby, and as a father, I could only imagine the depth of sorrow and despair she and Richard felt. Sean and Laura were both such healthy babies, and Jackie and I could have had more children, had we chosen to do so. But we were happy with our two and decided they were enough.
I brightened at that thought, because I realized that long-ago doctor had been proven wrong. Cecilia and Richard went on to have two daughters.
Thus heartened, I picked up the book and took up where I left off.
Cecilia was evidently ill for some months after the death of the baby, and her entries in the journal were sporadic at best. Then I hit an entry that gave me a tingling of excitement.
Richard insists I need a companion. He’s so busy now and can’t be with me during the day. He worries that I’ll be bored and lonely with only the housekeeper and the staff in the house. I finally consented and began to consider who might be suitable. Someone who will not fatigue me unnecessarily and whose face I can bear to see day after day, naturally. I considered various family members, but they are mostly too old and depressing. Cousin Lavinia has the face and disposition of a prune, and I should go mad after one day in her company. Aunt Berenice isn’t much better, nor is her whiny daughter, my cousin Mary Elizabeth. Then I thought about a distant connection, Esther McMullen. If I recall it correctly, she is the granddaughter of my mother’s great-aunt Matilda, or something like that. I have met her a couple of times, and she is a quiet, modest young woman. Richard has arranged for her to travel here from Georgia for a trial period. She is apparently quite grateful for she is alone with very little money.
Esther McMullen. That wasn’t the same as Essie Mae, but Essie could be a nickname for Esther.
After a few entries Cecilia mentioned her cousin again.
Cousin Esther is here and is so far proving satisfactory. She is as quiet and modest as I remembered and so pathetically grateful as to be embarrassing. I have managed to extract certain details from her about her reduced circumstances. Her mother married against her family’s wishes, and her choice was a charming but faithless Irish rogue named Mick McMullen. He abandoned Esther and her mother when Esther was only five years old! How terrible it must be not to have a father one can rely upon. Esther’s maternal grandparents turned their back on her and her mother as well. That was not the Christian thing to do!
The tale of Esther and her mother was a sad one, but not uncommon. I read further.
My cousin has settled in well, and I am quite pleased with her. She is a comfortable and unobtrusive companion. I have discovered that she prefers to be called Essie Mae, however. It was her father’s pet name for her. I should think she would find it abhorrent, given that the man abandoned her, but she clings to her memories of him. So she will be Essie Mae henceforth, though I wince at the common sound of the name every time I hear it.
So Vera Cassity was a distant cousin of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. I put the journal down and considered that.
I wondered if Vera suspected anything like this. If she had, that might have been why she was so determined to snoop in the Ducote papers.
But what would she have done with the proof that she was related to the Ducotes of River Hill?
She would have crowed about it to everyone she met, I decided. Her blood had a tinge of blue after all.
I didn’t think Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce would be all that thrilled to have to acknowledge the connection.
Suddenly my mind was abuzz with the possibilities.
Did they already know?
And could they have killed Vera to prevent anyone else from ever knowing?
TWENTY-EIGHT
The more I thought about it, the more I considered
the blood relationship between Vera Cassity and the Ducote sisters a weak motive for murder. Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce would have to be the other side of crazy to want to kill Vera to stop her from claiming kinship to them.
Besides, I had no proof that the sisters were even aware of the relationship. They had the means and the opportunity, though. Even at their ages—early eighties, I suspected—they appeared vigorous and healthy enough to give Vera a hard shove down the stairs.
I also realized that I simply didn’t want to think the sisters would do any such thing. I liked and admired them tremendously, and I would be both horrified and disappointed if either of them turned out to be the murderer.
How could I prove that they did or didn’t know Vera was a distant cousin?
Then I realized how odd it was that Vera didn’t already know herself. She must have suspected something; otherwise, she wouldn’t have sent me the photograph of her mother. She at least had no proof, or the whole state of Mississippi would have known.
Essie Mae McMullen, later Hobson, evidently kept the knowledge of the relationship from her daughter. Why? Was she forced to do so by the Ducotes? Or did she not want to claim kinship for her own reasons?
I stared at the journal. The answers to those questions might lie within its pages. With a certain amount of reluctance I picked it up and found the last entry I’d read.
Essie Mae figured often in Cecilia’s journal. The young Mrs. Ducote relied more and more heavily on her cousin-companion, and within months Cecilia pronounced her indispensable. One typical entry summed up the situation.
Essie Mae is the dearest girl on earth. And so grateful to Dick and me for giving her a home, one where she feels appreciated and useful. She is more like a sister to me now, the sister I never had. She is only fifteen months older, but sometimes seems so much younger. For her birthday three days ago, Dick and I gave her a silk dressing gown, and she actually cried. She told us both over and over there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for us. So very sweet! She has spoken only rarely of her life before she came to us, but I suspect it was far more dreadful than I first realized.
Essie Mae had really wormed herself into Cecilia’s heart.
That thought brought me up short. Why did I think of it in those terms? I realized I was projecting backward, based on my distaste for Vera. That was not fair to Essie Mae, and I resolved not to fall into that trap again.
I returned to reading. There were occasional references to the baby, but judging from the tone of the entries, Cecilia seemed determined to be more cheerful, particularly with her husband, who still felt the loss of the child keenly.
Dick so desperately wants a child. I know he would love a son to carry on the Ducote name. He is an only child, and now that his father is gone, he is the only male Ducote left. I want so much to give him a son and am quite willing to try, but he is terrified that another pregnancy will be dangerous. I suspect the doctor told him things that neither of them shared with me about my health. I have taxed him with that, but he always evades the questions. Once I suggested that we adopt a child, but he was adamant. I don’t think I have ever seen him so furious. Only a child of his blood would be good enough to inherit River Hill. The Ducote bloodline must carry on.
I frowned. Had Cecilia been able to overcome Dick’s objections to adoption? Or was the doctor wrong after all? I began to have suspicions that the answer to both questions was no.
I skimmed through ten pages of routine journal entries, mostly accounts of social engagements. I found an amusing reference to Hester Beauchamp, who I figured must be the grandmother of Hank and Sissy. According to Cecilia, Hester was a homely frump and a vicious gossip. Neither Hank nor Sissy inherited his or her looks from Granny Hester, that much was obvious.
I turned a page, and my eyes widened in shock, even though I had begun to suspect what I read.
There is to be a child with Ducote blood after all. Essie Mae is with child, and Dick confessed shamefacedly that the child is his. I am sick over this double betrayal. Not one, but two vipers I have nursed in my bosom!!!
Poor Cecilia. Perhaps my assessment of Essie Mae’s character hadn’t been off after all.
The next entry was dated four days later.
I am trying to reconcile myself to the fact that my husband and his concubine are having a child. I tried to insist that Essie Mae be sent away forever because I can’t stand to have her near me, but Dick refused. He has grown callous in a way I never suspected he could be. He is determined to have a child. What am I to do?
I felt heartsick for Cecilia. I could only imagine the depth of her outrage and her hurt. I also realized that Essie Mae’s child had to be Miss An’gel, and that was hard to grasp. Vera and Miss An’gel were half sisters.
What about Miss Dickce? I read on.
Essie Mae and I are going to North Carolina for the next six months. Dick is telling everyone that I am “in an interesting condition,” and that I need time in the clear mountain air to be sure to deliver a healthy child. No one besides the three of us knows the truth, and we will leave before Essie Mae grows large enough with child to reveal the shameful secret. When we return, the child will be considered my own. Essie Mae has agreed to this. She is terrified, of course, that she will be sent away once the baby is born, but I will reserve judgment on that.
The next entry came six months later.
Essie Mae was delivered of a girl this morning. One glimpse of that angelic little face, and I was lost. The child is the innocent in all this, and I will not visit the sins of her father and mother upon her. She is so like a little angel that I have decided that shall be her name. It should have a French sound, however, so her name will be An’gel. An’gel Ducote. Dick will not dare argue with me over this. He of course will be disappointed that my An’gel is not a boy, but perhaps the Lord has decided to repay him in this way for his perfidy.
I was so absorbed in my reading that I completely forgot my napping cat. Diesel took care of that by butting the back of my head several times to get my attention. I took a minute to reassure him that he was still wonderful and that I adored him, and he purred in satisfaction. When he’d had enough he went back to napping, and I returned to the journal.
From that point on I skimmed even more rapidly, searching for mention of a second child. Cecilia grew reconciled to the presence of Essie Mae in the household, and everyone within the house and without apparently accepted An’gel without question as the child of Cecilia and Richard. At first Dick had little to do with his daughter, severely disappointed that she wasn’t a son. Eventually the child won him over, however.
I was rather glad to read that. I would have hated to think that Miss An’gel wasn’t cherished by her father.
When An’gel was a year old, Cecilia began to long for another child. Richard continued to refuse to risk her health and at last confided in her that the doctor had said another pregnancy might kill her. She battled with her emotions in the pages of her journal, but she finally resolved to ask Dick to father another child with Essie Mae.
That shocked me, but I could understand Cecilia’s longing for another baby. At least, as she reasoned to herself, a second child would be a full sibling to little An’gel. Richard readily agreed to the scheme, but Essie Mae took more persuading. She soon consented, however, and within two months was with child again.
They followed the same procedure as before. Away Cecilia and Essie Mae went to the mountains of North Carolina, and six months later came home with another baby, again a daughter, this time named Richelle after her father. I knew that at some point Richelle became Dickce, a nickname formed from the names of her legal parents, Dick and Cecilia (often called Kitce by Dick, I discovered, Kit for Katherine and Ce for Cecilia).
I had a slight headache now from reading the cramped handwriting, and I set the book aside even though there were more pages left to read. I wanted to consider the implications of the true relationship between Vera Cassity and the Ducote sisters.
/> Being a distant cousin was one thing. Being a full sister or a half sister—especially if Vera had been able to prove the relationship—was quite another.
If she were their full sister, Vera might have some claim to her father’s estate—worth millions, if rumors about the Ducote fortune were accurate.
That was not a crazy motive for murder.
TWENTY-NINE
Slow down, Charlie, I told myself. Vera was the half sister of An’gel and Dickce, but only half, and it was because they shared the same mother. As far as I knew, Vera’s father was Jedediah Hobson, not Richard Ducote, and I couldn’t see Richard Ducote allowing a child of his to be passed off as the child of another man.
There was a simple way to settle this. I knew Richard Ducote died in an accident while Miss An’gel and Miss Dicke were very young. If his death occurred long enough before Vera was born, that would settle the issue. All I had to do was find out the exact dates of Richard Ducote’s death and Vera Hobson’s birth.
The former was simple enough. The archives kept a file of information about notable citizens of Athena, and the Ducote family figured prominently in it. Digitized a couple of years ago, it was accessible via computer.
In less than five minutes I had the information I needed. Richard Ducote died in a hunting accident seventy-five years ago, when Miss An’gel would have been about nine and Miss Dickce seven. I also checked Cecilia’s death date. She outlived Richard by nearly forty years. I recalled someone telling me that Vera’s mother died when Vera was about thirty, and that meant that Cecilia had outlived Essie Mae, more than likely.
Now to find out exactly when Vera was born. I checked an online genealogical database but that yielded no results.
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