Out of Circulation (2 page)

Diesel, my Maine Coon cat, nestled between the sisters. His head and upper torso lay across Miss Dickce’s lap, and his purr rumbled from across the room. He lifted his head briefly to acknowledge my return, but as long as the Ducote sisters remained in my house, he would stick close to them. The ladies adored my cat from the first moment they saw him, and Diesel appeared to be every bit as smitten with them.

Vera Cassity’s strident tones claimed my wandering attention as I eased toward my chair. She cast a frown in my direction as she held forth. “As I was saying before Mr. Harris left the room, it’s ridiculous to consider holding the gala anywhere else but Ranelagh. We have the only private dining room that can seat seventy.” She leaned forward in the wingback chair and glared at the other members of the board of the Friends of Athena Public Library.

Besides Vera Cassity, the Ducote sisters, and me, the board was composed of Teresa Farmer, the library’s new director; my boarder, Stewart Delacorte; and Sissy Beauchamp. The three of them appeared no more inclined than I to wander onto the battlefield.

“Vera, honey, we all know how big the dining room at Ranelagh is.” Miss An’gel treated her adversary to a brief smile. “But we are not proposing to have a state dinner. We’re having a
gala
, and I believe that means a
festive
occasion. Darling, there’s nothing
festive
about a sit-down dinner for that many people.”

“Pardon me for trying to inject some
class
into the event.” Vera puffed up like a porcupine about to discharge her quills. “I seem to recall last year’s gala at River Hill got downright rowdy, and there were several complaints from your neighbors. Although apparently
that’s
nothing unusual.” She sniffed and twiddled with the oversized collar of her dowdy pea green dress. The color did not flatter her sallow skin.

The annual duel of the antebellum mansions
, I thought. From what I’d heard before I joined the Friends board two months ago, Vera and Miss An’gel argued over the site of the gala every year. Miss An’gel usually won. The Ducotes, after all, had lived at River Hill ever since it was built way back in 1838. Vera Cassity and her husband, Morton (“call me Morty”), bought Ranelagh from its impoverished owners only fifteen years ago. Vera has apparently been trying to wrest control of Athena society away from the Ducote sisters ever since.

“Can Dickce and I help it if people actually have fun at River Hill?” Miss An’gel’s sweet tone fooled no one, I was sure. “The point of a gala is to loosen people up so they’ll whip out their checkbooks and write numbers with a bunch of zeros in them. The looser they are, the bigger the donation, darling. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“Getting people drunk, even in the name of charity, is downright disgusting.” Vera bared her teeth in her version of a smile. “But I suppose River Hill has seen its share of heavy drinking.”

Sissy Beauchamp smothered a laugh, while both Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce regarded Vera with catlike disdain. “The Ducote men have always enjoyed their liquor, I must admit.” Miss Dickce coughed delicately. “Before I forget, Vera, honey, how
is
your poor brother doing these days? Is he comfortable down at Whitfield?”

Whitfield was the state mental hospital near Jackson, and everyone in Athena knew that Vera’s brother, Amory Hobson, had lived there for the past thirty years. According to local gossip, Amory was crazy as a betsy bug and given to stripping off all his clothes and running around hugging anyone he saw.

Vera’s face turned an angry red, and she gripped the arms of her chair so hard I feared she’d rip the sixty-year-old fabric.

Before she could form a reply, Teresa Farmer—brave soul that she was—attempted to scale back the hostilities. “Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, Mrs. Cassity, it’s really wonderful that you all want to host this year’s gala. If it hadn’t been for your support over the years, the Friends wouldn’t be the highly effective, respected group it is. Everyone in Athena has benefited from your efforts, and I hope we can continue to work together for even more success this year.” As head of the Athena Public Library now, Teresa had to play peacemaker. I knew she hated confrontations like this as much as I did, and I didn’t envy her the challenges of her new job.

Sissy Beauchamp spoke next. Her sultry voice always made me think of Lauren Bacall, but with a Southern accent, of course. “I think we should be guided by the theme of this year’s gala, don’t y’all? We’re going to be dressing up as our favorite literary characters and giving out prizes for the cleverest costumes and holding a contest for who can name most
characters correctly. Who’s going to have time to sit down to a formal dinner at a masquerade ball?”

Sissy—real name Judianne—treated Vera to a malicious smile. The two women loathed each other. Sissy—again according to local gossip—had recently started an affair with Morty Cassity. She was nearly half Vera’s age and a real stunner, with gorgeous red hair, a creamy complexion, and a figure reminiscent of Hollywood glamour girl Ava Gardner.

Stewart Delacorte, a new board member like me, nodded emphatically. “A formal dinner would cost a lot more, too, and we need to keep the expenses down as much as possible. Finger food is a lot cheaper and works just fine with a costume party.” He smiled at the Ducote sisters. No doubt at all where his sympathies lay.

Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce exchanged glances, then looked at me. “Well, Charlie,” Miss An’gel said, “what’s your opinion? Formal dinner or finger food?”

That wasn’t the real question, and we all knew it. Was I going to support the Ducote sisters and River Hill publicly or go over to the enemy and vote with Vera Cassity and Ranelagh?

Considering that I didn’t like Mrs. Cassity any more than the other members of the board did, I had little difficulty in answering, “Finger food.” I hated, however, the atmosphere of hostility and dissension brought on by an absurd power struggle.

Diesel had picked up on it as well. He no longer lay sprawled across the sofa and the Ducote sisters’ laps. He sat between them, and I would have sworn he was frowning. He leaped from the sofa, across the coffee table and came to sit beside my chair. I stroked his head to reassure him, and I could feel some of his tension ease.

Vera Cassity glared at Diesel, then her gaze swept upward to my face. The sheer fury in her eyes shocked me, and I looked away, unable to face her. No wonder Diesel wouldn’t go near her earlier when she’d arrived. He’d taken one look and backed away, though he usually made a point of greeting guests as they came in the front door.

Miss An’gel broke the silence. “That’s settled, then. We’ll continue with our preparations for the gala at River Hill. Vera, honey, I was thinking that a sit-down dinner at Ranelagh would be just the thing for the fund-raiser next spring. You know, the one for the county mental health association?”

I wanted to run for cover because I expected major fireworks after that little barb. All eyes focused on Vera as we awaited her response.

Her face reddened, but when she spoke, her tone was chilly. “That’s a fine idea, An’gel, my dear. I’ll be happy to have that event at Ranelagh. Then I guess it’ll be your turn to head the fund-raiser for unwed mothers. Or perhaps Sissy would like to handle that one?” Her eyes glittered with malice.

I risked a glance at Sissy Beauchamp and noted that her face was about the same color as her flaming hair. Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce appeared perfectly calm, however.

Diesel muttered, and I understood how he felt. The tension in the room was thick enough to make gravy. I risked another glance at Sissy and was relieved to see her looking calmer.

“I suppose you’re thinking about my cousin Mary Lee Beauchamp.” Sissy shot Vera an icy glance. “Poor girl just can’t seem to get them to the altar until after they get her pregnant. But I do envy her those sweet little babies, don’t you, Vera, honey?”

That was way below the belt. Vera and Morty had no children, and Vera was known to dote on other people’s offspring. Pretty terrifying prospect, if you thought about it much.

“Little they may be,” Miss An’gel said, her voice deceptively mild, “but they behave like the spawn of Satan, and you know it. It’s no wonder Mary Lee can’t keep a husband around for more than a year at a time.”

Vera gave a snort of laughter, quickly quelled when Miss An’gel looked at her.

Sissy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her jaw snapped shut, and she frowned while Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce exchanged glances. They rose in unison from the sofa.

“We really must be going.” Miss An’gel smoothed her silk skirt and nodded. “There’s so much to do.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Miss Dickce’s head bobbed up and down. “So much to do.”

“Let me see you out.” I escorted them, with Diesel’s help, to the front door. I extracted their wraps from the hall closet and helped each sister into hers, Miss An’gel first.

Then each sister had to pat Diesel on the head a few times and coo at him, telling him what a handsome gentleman he was. Diesel purred and chirped, in obvious agreement.

I suppressed a smile as I waited to open the door. From the direction of the living room I heard conversation in progress, some of it sounding heated. Were Vera and Sissy at each other’s throats? I hoped not. I didn’t need a headache like that.

Miss An’gel shook my hand gently. “Thank you for being our host this evening, Charlie. And pay no attention to Vera, or whatever she might say once we’re gone.” She shared a glance with her sister, and they both smiled. “Vera won’t
be a thorn in our sides much longer. Dickce and I have seen to that.” Miss An’gel pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to me.

“We thought we might save the postage.” Miss Dickce beamed at me. “We were sure you wouldn’t mind hand delivery.”

Miss An’gel nodded. “The others went to the post office this afternoon.” With that she and her sister stepped out into the cool December night, and I closed the door behind them.

Diesel warbled, and I glanced down. He gazed up at me, then reared up on his hind legs to bat at the envelope.

“All right, I’ll open it.” The paper was thick, heavy, and no doubt expensive. By the shape I figured it could be an invitation. I managed to get it open without ripping the envelope too much and withdrew the card inside.

It was indeed an invitation—to the Friends of the Library winter gala at River Hill next Tuesday.

Fifteen minutes after Diesel and I bade good-bye to the last board member, we got in the car and headed for the town square and my dear friend Helen Louise Brady’s French patisserie. After the rancor and tension of the board meeting, Diesel and I both needed to relax. Plus, I hadn’t seen Helen Louise in three days, and I missed her even though we talked on the phone daily.

Diesel chirped at me when I told him our destination. He loved Helen Louise, and the adoration was mutual. She always made a fuss over my cat, and if anyone in her establishment dared object to his presence, she informed the offender not to let the door hit him on his way out.

I pulled the car into a slot right in front of the bakery. Diesel hopped out over me as soon as I opened the door, eager to see his friend and whatever tidbits she would offer.

Even before we stepped inside, I felt my mouth watering from the appetizing smells that emanated from the bakery.
Brioches, croissants, gâteaux, éclairs—the combination of these and more made my early dinner a rapidly fading memory. Perhaps I’d have a small piece of Helen Louise’s sumptuous
gâteau au chocolat
, a particular weakness of mine.

Helen Louise greeted me from behind the counter, and the thought of chocolate cake receded. There stood the real attraction. Rake thin and nearly six feet tall, Helen Louise wore her dark, luxuriant hair in a short bob. The curls framed blue eyes that sparkled with fierce intelligence and wicked humor, a mouth that often quirked in amusement, and a shapely nose that wrinkled adorably when she laughed.

She came around the counter as Diesel and I approached, and we shared a hug and a brief kiss.

“Missed you.” Helen Louise’s words shimmered softly in the air between us, and I pulled her close again for a longer kiss.

Diesel warbled and inserted himself between us, and we broke apart, laughing.

Helen Louise grinned at me as she bent to stroke my incorrigible feline’s head and neck. “We could never forget you,
mon brave
.
Tu es un chat très formidable
.”

After ten years in Paris learning her art, she often lapsed into French. Diesel warbled at her as if he understood her.

“He’s not
formidable
, just shameless.” I, too, stroked Diesel’s head, and my hand brushed against Helen Louise’s. We smiled at each other.

Diesel butted his head against my thigh, then did the same to Helen Louise. “Someone expects a treat, I think.” I shook my head.

Helen Louise laughed. “Go have a seat, and I’ll bring you both something
très délicieux
.”

Only a few customers at eight thirty in the evening, I
noted as Diesel and I moved to our usual table near the cash register at the end of the counter. Diesel waited until I sat and then positioned himself against my left leg, his head turned toward the spot from where Helen Louise would shortly emerge.

I watched Diesel’s face, and his nose twitched as Helen Louise approached the table with two dessert plates. Chocolate cake for me and some bits of chicken for my poor starving feline.

“You do spoil us.” I grinned at her as she set the cake in front of me.

Diesel reared up and put his front paws on her arm as she took the chair opposite mine. “You’re both worth spoiling.” Those blue eyes sparkled, and I thought for the umpteenth time how beautiful they were.

“Here you go, Diesel.” Helen Louise tore the chicken into smaller pieces and held her hand out to the cat. Diesel wasted no time in scarfing the food out of her hand, and she laughed. “Charlie needs to feed you more, sweet boy. You’re obviously wasting away into nothing.”

My mouth full of sinfully delicious cake, I groaned as Helen Louise doled out the rest of the chicken. We exchanged glances as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. Diesel popped up on his hind legs again, head over the table, searching for more chicken.