“Dear Electra has promised to attend, and I have secured promises from Gordon Betts, Della Duffy, and your delightful cohort from the library, Teresa Farmer. Dare I assume that you will join us? One would also suggest that you bring that charming feline of yours, but I gather the hotel frowns upon that sort of thing. And Della does have that unfortunate fear of all things feline.”

“Yes, that is regrettable,” I said. I would not have considered taking Diesel with me anyway. There are times when it is not appropriate to bring him along, and this would be one. “I will be there. What time does your soiree commence?” Good grief, I was starting to sound like him.

“Shall we say seven, for seven thirty? There will of course be cocktails and hors d’oeuvres beforehand. No black tie necessary.” He chuckled. “One mustn’t be too formal.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll see you there.”

“Good-oh,” Eagleton said. “I shall look forward to it. Au revoir.”

I put the phone down but didn’t immediately pull out into the street again. Instead, I sat there wondering what the true purpose was for this get-together of Eagleton’s. Perhaps I was being overly suspicious, but the man was up to something, I was sure.

But what?

TWENTY

The rest of the way home I pondered the motive behind Eagleton’s dinner party but realized that I didn’t know the man well enough to discern what lay behind any of his actions. Based on what Carrie Taylor had said, I suspected he might be doing his best to woo Mrs. Cartwright so that he could wring a contract from her for the unpublished Veronica Thane novels. That seemed the most likely.

The garage was empty when I pulled in, and no cars lined the street in front of the house. That meant Diesel and I had the house to ourselves. While the cat visited the utility room, I headed upstairs. I felt like putting my feet up for a bit and doing my best to think about something other than Carrie Taylor’s untimely death.

Diesel returned from his pit stop, hopped on the bed beside me, and stretched out while I made myself comfortable, propped up against a couple of pillows. I picked up The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion and found my place, the beginning of the second chapter.

Veronica felt a chill creep along her spine as Mrs. Eden uttered those ominous words. What kind of danger did the poor woman fear?

The plucky girl’s sturdy common sense took hold. Mrs. Eden’s appearance proclaimed her an invalid of some years’ standing. Perhaps she suffered from a nervous disorder, and her mind was disturbed by fears that came only from a fevered imagination.