I waited another fifteen minutes for Azalea, but to no avail. I might as well go talk to Morty Cassity and get it over with.

“Come on, Diesel, we’re going for a ride.” I scooped up the plaque, and we headed for the car.

Ranelagh, the antebellum house the Cassitys had purchased some years ago, was in the same neighborhood as the Delacorte mansion. The drive there didn’t take long, and soon I pulled the car into the oak-lined driveway.

Ranelagh was smaller than River Hill, but just as lovely, with the same Greek Revival architecture. I’d never been inside, but I’d heard the Cassitys spent a fortune restoring it and filling it with period furniture. The drive wound about fifty yards into the property and curved in front of the house. A leg of the driveway veered off behind the house, and as I rounded the curve I caught a flash of bubble-gum pink from a car parked near the back of the house.

The only person in Athena I knew who had a car that color was Sissy Beauchamp.

How interesting.

TWENTY-TWO

I hesitated as I stopped the car near the front door. Perhaps I should come back another time. Things could be awkward if Sissy was really here.

Diesel chirped at me, no doubt wondering why we still sat in the car. That decided me. Forge ahead.

“Come on, boy.” I grabbed the bag with the plaque and held the door open for the cat.

I clanged the ornate door knocker three times and waited. Diesel sat at my feet and stared up at me. This was a new place, and he was curious.

No response. I knocked again, three times.

Moments later the door opened, and an unshaven, tired-looking Morty Cassity stared out at me. He wore a rumpled suit jacket with a pair of ragged gym shorts. He looked like I’d gotten him out of bed and he’d thrown on the first thing he could find.

“Good morning, Mr. Cassity. I’m Charlie Harris. We met last night,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to intrude on you at a time like this, but I have something for you.”

He glanced down at the shopping bag, then at Diesel. I expected him to reach out for the bag and slam the door in my face, but for whatever reason, he stood aside and motioned me to enter.

“I’ve heard about your cat,” he said once the door shut behind us. He held out a hand to Diesel, and the cat sniffed it, then butted his head against it. “I’ve always liked cats, but Vera didn’t. Wouldn’t have one in the house.”

Good thing I’d brought Diesel with me; otherwise he might really have slammed the door in my face.

“This is Diesel. He’s a Maine Coon.”

“He’s a big, beautiful boy,” Cassity said. His face looked less drawn as he continued petting the cat. He straightened. “No point standing around here in the hall. Come on into my study.”