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.