“Right.” Miss Dickce nodded approvingly. “You’re so clever, Hank.” She batted her eyes in an overtly flirtatious manner, and Hank forced his lips into the ghost of another smile.

If I read him properly, I’d say Hank Beauchamp was near the breaking point. Was it merely physical exhaustion? Or was it emotional strain? I recalled the odd episode at Helen Louise’s bakery just last week. Helen Louise explained to me later that Hank evidently suffered from financial problems—due, she suspected, to a gambling habit—and that his law practice was in trouble, too. That was certainly more than enough to make a man look tired and perhaps desperate.

Two of the catering staff entered the room, bearing trays with drinks and finger food. Miss An’gel insisted that we all eat and drink. “Because things will start getting hectic soon, and we all have to be on our toes tonight. Remember, we want to get pockets open and money into our hands.”

We all nodded at that. I wasn’t looking forward to glad-handing people and urging them to donate even more money to the library. I believed in the cause, certainly, but I didn’t like feeling pushy, and that was the way fund-raising made me feel.

But the Ducote sisters would not be denied. The library was probably their favorite charity, and they worked hard to support it and literacy efforts in Athena and surrounding counties. So I’d have to suck it up, as the saying went, and do my best to solicit more donations.

If ever I could have used Diesel at my side, tonight was the time. He was a terrific icebreaker, and he charmed most everyone except the most hardened antifeline contingent. He made people feel good, and when they felt good, they were more open to giving money.

For a moment I wished I were at home with Diesel and Justin, but then I chastised myself for being such an old fogy. Tonight would be fun, and I should stop being silly and enjoy myself. I sipped at my champagne and nibbled on canapés and listened to the small talk.

Stewart came bopping—not a word I often used, but one that seemed appropriate at the moment—into the parlor right then. His breezy “How ya doin’, peeps? Ain’t we gonna have fun tonight!” put Miss An’gel at a temporary loss. Her expression went utterly blank.

Stewart had that effect on people sometimes.

Helen Louise and I exchanged glances, and that did it. We both burst into laughter, and Miss Dickce joined in. Miss An’gel’s face had taken on a slightly pained look. Neither Sissy nor Hank reacted that I could see. Sissy was too absorbed in staring into a mirror on the wall, and Hank seemed wrapped in apathy.

“I haven’t the foggiest notion what a peep is in this context, Stewart, but I presume you’re not talking about those absurd marshmallow candy things I see all over the place at Easter.” Miss An’gel reminded me of one of my high school English teachers, Mrs. Leverette, who abhorred any use of slang.