“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.