“And good luck getting the money out of them,” Miss Dickce said.

That remark started another squabble about manners, and I let them carp at each other while I considered what they wanted me to do.

Lovely, I thought. Now I can add bill collector to my resume.

TWENTY-FIVE

If the sisters sensed my hesitation, they didn’t let on when they stopped dickering after a few minutes.

“Can you go this morning, Charlie?” Miss An’gel smiled at me while Miss Dickce sulked.

“I don’t see why not.” Might as well get it over with, then perhaps I could get back here and start looking in their family papers for information about Essie Mae Hobson. I felt a surge of guilt over that, but I quickly suppressed it. If I were going to investigate thoroughly, I couldn’t afford to overlook anything, no matter how tenuous it might seem.

“Thank you. We promise to leave you alone the rest of the day.” Miss An’gel glanced at her sister. “Though my sister phrased it poorly, we are aware that the Beauchamps are having certain financial difficulties. If they aren’t able to come up with their contribution, we can overlook it.”

“We are also aware”—Miss Dickce matched her sister’s prim tone—“of the talk about Morty Cassity and Sissy, and we certainly remember the scene she and Vera caused at the gala. We hate to think of Sissy as a common gold digger, but we understand the depth of her loyalty to her brother and to her family name.”

I could understand it, too, though I couldn’t condone going to extreme lengths to preserve the family honor.

“What is so surprising,” Miss Dickce continued, “is that Sissy has never behaved like this before. She has always been a sensible girl, the kind of Southern lady she was raised to be. Why would she turn her back on everything her parents taught her?”

“Where certain kinds of men are involved, anything is possible. Sissy is only human, after all, and Morty is an attractive, virile man.” Miss An’gel rose. “Come along, Dickce. We have more calls to make, and Charlie is a busy man. Good-bye, Diesel. Make sure Charlie brings you to visit us soon.”

Diesel followed them to the door, warbling and meowing the whole way, to the sisters’ evident delight. I called my good-byes after them.

The cat padded back while I stared blankly at the top of my desk. Might as well get it over with, I figured. “Come on, boy, we’re going home to get the car and then take a little ride.” I decided to call Melba rather than stop by her office to let her know I had to go out for a while. That way I could forestall questions more easily.

Twenty minutes later Diesel and I were in the car headed for Beauchamp House.

Built over a decade before either River Hill or Ranelagh, at around the time Mississippi became a state in 1817, the Beauchamp family home occupied a large lot on Main Street a few blocks from the town square. I had always admired the simple, graceful Federal-style architecture, but I noticed the house looked decidedly shabby as I pulled the car to a stop in front of it. I wondered how long it had been since the house was painted. The grounds seemed to be suffering from neglect as well, though the autumn weather obviously had taken a toll. Hedges were uneven, and some of the elderly oak trees had dead branches. In fact there was one whole tree that needed to be cut down. Sissy’s pink convertible provided the only color in the whole drab landscape.