“Sorry to bother you, Morty, but you know how it is.” Tidwell’s gaze swept Diesel and me. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris. Didn’t expect to see you here. And with your pet mountain lion. I’ve heard plenty about it.” He guffawed. He held a hand out to Diesel, but the cat moved away, his ears laid back. Tidwell shrugged.

“I was delivering something to Mr. Cassity,” I said coolly. “At the request of Miss An’gel Ducote. Diesel and I will get out of your way, Sheriff. Good to see you. Good-bye, Morty.”

Tidwell mumbled something, and Morty snickered before the door closed behind us. “Jerk,” I muttered. As usual, Diesel was an excellent judge of character. I would certainly be voting for Kanesha when she decided to run against that oaf.

As we drove away, I wondered how official the sheriff’s call on Morty Cassity was intended to be. He came alone, and I found that odd, if he planned to question Morty about the previous night.

This kind of speculation wouldn’t get me anywhere, I realized. I would mention it to Kanesha, though, to get her take on it. She knew Tidwell far better than I ever would, or wanted to.

Diesel chirped away from his spot in the backseat of the car. I remembered that he seemed quite taken with Morty Cassity, and that was a good sign. Especially contrasted with his reaction to the sheriff. I wasn’t going to exculpate Morty in his wife’s death simply because my cat liked him, of course, but it was a definite mark in Morty’s favor.

I pondered my next move as we neared my house. What would Hercule Poirot or Miss Jane Marple do?

If Azalea was in the house, I would talk to her. After that, I wasn’t sure.

No signs of life as Diesel and I entered the kitchen. I checked the laundry room. No Azalea. I looked in the fridge, and it was fuller than it was at lunchtime, so she had at least come back from grocery shopping.

I went to the bottom of the stairs and called out her name.

No response.

Up to the second-floor landing, then, Diesel right alongside me. I called out again.

“What you need, Mr. Charlie?”

I glanced up to see Azalea’s head sticking over the railing on the third-floor landing.

“I need to talk to you for a minute. I’ll come up there,” I said.

“I done finished up here. Be right down.” Azalea brought the vacuum cleaner with her, puffing slightly from the weight of it.

I knew better than to try to take it from her, however. I’d made that mistake a couple of times before, right after I moved back to Athena, and my housekeeper had let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need any help from me.

Perhaps today I should have risked it. Her face looked gray from tiredness, and she moved more slowly than usual. I remembered her saying how poorly she’d slept last night.