Free Out of Circulation by Miranda James Page B

again.”

TEN
    All my earlier worries about tonight returned. Miss Dickce spoke lightly, but the import of her words chilled me. What on earth were the sisters planning to do to Vera?
    Helen Louise squeezed my arm as she whispered, “Don’t look so alarmed, Charlie.”
    I gave her a weak grin. “I’ll do my best,” I responded in an undertone.
    The attention of the sisters shifted toward the parlor door, and Helen Louise and I turned to see the new arrivals.
    “Sissy, dear, and Hank. Don’t you both look wonderful.” Miss An’gel stepped forward and held out both hands as the Beauchamp siblings neared her.
    Sissy grasped one hand and Hank the other as they murmured their responses. I speculated on the identities of the fictional characters they represented. Sissy’s was easy todiscern, but Hank’s puzzled me. They certainly presented sharp contrasts, one to the other.
    Sissy wore a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, and her high-spiked heels caused her to thrust her two major assets forward at a dangerous angle. A black and red shawl that looked like cashmere draped her shoulders. One hand clutched a red silk purse, the small kind that women brought to parties. She had a stuffed dog, a Yorkie, by the look of it, attached to her other wrist, like a corsage. The dog’s head was near her hand, and its tail almost to her elbow. It looked awkward to me, but I supposed it was easier than carrying it around all evening.
    The Yorkie, Chablis, offered the telling clue. Sissy had to be none other than Tinkie Bellcase Richmond, sidekick to Carolyn Haines’s heroine Sarah Booth Delaney. If anyone was ever reared to be a “daddy’s girl,” it was Sissy.
    Her brother surely wasn’t dressed as Oscar Richmond, Tinkie’s husband. That would be creepy. No, Hank’s dark suit looked severely Victorian rather than contemporary and bankerish, but his appearance was on the untidy side. His hair was not as carefully groomed as usual, and his pants pockets bulged under the contours of his jacket. His handkerchief straggled out of the breast pocket, and surely that was a pencil beside it. If he was going for messy, he’d achieved it. The suit looked like he had been wearing it for days.
    “Good evening.” Hank turned to me and Helen Louise and inclined his head. “Thomas Pitt, at your service.”
    The untidiness should have tipped me off because Anne Perry’s policeman hero went about in such fashion. Hank’s face, however, made me think more of Mr. Rochester, the tortured love interest of Jane Eyre. The skin beneath his eyes appeared bruised, and his eyes themselves were bloodshot.His handshake lacked firmness, and his whole demeanor betokened weariness, if not utter exhaustion.
    Sissy, however, sparkled with energy and gaiety. “This is going to be
the
event of the year, Miss An’gel. Oh, Miss Dickce, you look absolutely fabulous. You, too, Miss An’gel.”
    Hank smiled at the sisters, but it seemed an effort for him. “If I’m correct, you must be Amelia Peabody and Jacqueline Kirby. Right?”
    “Right.” Miss Dickce nodded approvingly. “You’re so clever, Hank.” She batted her eyes in an overtly flirtatious manner, and Hank forced his lips into the ghost of another smile.
    If I read him properly, I’d say Hank Beauchamp was near the breaking point. Was it merely physical exhaustion? Or was it emotional strain? I recalled the odd episode at Helen Louise’s bakery just last week. Helen Louise explained to me later that Hank evidently suffered from financial problems—due, she suspected, to a gambling habit—and that his law practice was in trouble, too. That was certainly more than enough to make a man look tired and perhaps desperate.
    Two of the catering staff entered the room, bearing trays with drinks and finger food. Miss An’gel insisted that we all eat and drink. “Because things will start getting hectic soon, and we all have to be on our toes tonight. Remember, we want to get