Diesel trotted beside me up the walk, gazing curiously around. There was no verandah, but a small portico protected the front door. I knocked, and Sissy Beauchamp opened it moments later.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she recognized me, then saw Diesel. She smiled. “I think this is the first time Beauchamp House has ever had a cat come calling. Morning, Charlie, y’all come on in.”

Sissy led us through a bare hallway into a parlor that also seemed short of the usual furniture. Had they been selling antiques? I’d not been inside the house before, but according to local legend the Beauchamps had a fine collection of early American and Federal-style furniture.

Dressed casually in Capri pants, flat shoes, and a snug-fitting T-shirt, Sissy appeared comfortable though I found the room chilly. She patted Diesel’s head for a moment but didn’t seem all that interested in him.

“Have a seat.” My hostess plucked a man’s rumpled suit jacket from the back of a chair and indicated I should sit there. She draped the jacket over the arm of a threadbare sofa and sat on a particularly bald spot. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I’m sorry to barge in on you unannounced and uninvited,” I said as Diesel settled on the floor beside my chair. “It’s about the gala.”

Sissy interrupted me. “Wasn’t it wonderful? All those gorgeous costumes and the food was awesome! It was a great party.” Her face clouded. “But the way it ended was real awful. Poor Morty. Losing his wife like that.”

“Yes, that was a shock,” I said.

“And how humiliating for Vera,” Sissy said with a frown. “I mean, if she had any idea how she died, she’d be mortified. Falling down the back stairs at River Hill. The servants’ stairs, that is. Imagine that.”

I hadn’t thought of Vera’s death in that light, but I realized Sissy was right. Had the killer planned it that way? One final humiliation in death? That extra bit of viciousness was disturbing to contemplate.

“Sissy, have you seen my jacket?” Hank Beauchamp wandered into the room but pulled up short when he saw that his sister had company. “Oh, morning, Charlie. I see you brought your cat with you.” He didn’t sound pleased about it.

“Yes, he goes almost everywhere with me.” I kept my tone light and cheerful. “He’s well behaved, so you don’t have to worry about him scratching the furniture or causing any damage.”

Hank nodded, then his eyes lighted on his jacket. “There it is.” He picked it up, shook it in a vain attempt to get rid of some of the wrinkles, then slipped it on.

“That looks pretty messy,” Sissy said. “Are you sure you want to go to court dressed like that?”

“I don’t have any choice. Everything else is at the cleaner’s, remember?” There was an unpleasant edge to Hank’s voice and an odd emphasis on that last word.

Sissy stared at him blankly for a moment. “Sorry, forgot about that.” She turned to me with a bright smile. “What were we talking about? Oh, the gala.”