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question was, who got the money if Sondra died? An’gel had heard the terms of the will at some point, but now she struggled to recall them. That Sondra would inherit upon marriage or her twenty-fifth birthday, whichever came first, An’gel knew. She thought the money would then go to Sondra’s offspring when Sondra died. In this case, the child Tippy, whom An’gel had yet to meet.
    If Tippy inherited before she became an adult, who controlled the money? Surely Terence Delevan had considered that possibility and stipulated the terms in the will. Perhaps Sondra’s husband?
    An’gel grimaced at the thought of Lance Perigord in charge of the Delevan fortune. If there were no restrictions on his handling of the money, Lance would probably be penniless in less than a year, and Tippy would be left with nothing.
    No, An’gel decided as she peered into the bathroom mirror to finish with her makeup, Terence had surely made provisions. He had been too good at making money to risk letting it be squandered quickly after his death. The likeliest answer was that Sondra’s executors would be entrusted with Tippy’s inheritance. Sondra’s stepfather, Horace Mims Junior, and Terence’s closest friend, Richmond Thurston, were the chief trustees, as An’gel recalled.
    A tap on her leg brought her out of her reverie. She glanced down to see Endora sitting at her feet. Endora meowed, and An’gel extended her hand to rub the cat’s head. Endora pushed against the hand and started to purr. An’gel rubbed a few moments longer, then informed Endora that she had other things to do. She felt foolish when she caught herself talking to the cat, or to Peanut for that matter, but she supposed most people with house pets must do the same.
    Endora rubbed against her leg while An’gel peered into the mirror again to satisfy herself that her makeup was as impeccable as she could make it. “It’s a good thing I don’t have my stockings on yet,” An’gel muttered.
    “Sister, where are you?” Dickce’s voice rang out in the living room. “Are you decent?”
    “Yes, come in.” An’gel turned to await her sister’s entrance. Endora, hearing Dickce, trotted out to greet her. When Dickce came in the bedroom, the cat rode in her arms.
    “How is Sondra?” An’gel asked.
    “A little shaken up, once the reaction set in. Still able to fuss and carry on and give everyone a headache, though.” Dickce perched on the edge of the bed and eyed her sister critically. “I thought Mireille might have a conniption fit on the spot when she heard what happened. Jacqueline had to give her a shot of brandy to buck her up.”
    “For all that shrinking violet bit she displays on occasion, Mireille has always been strong as a horse.” An’gel frowned. “I hope she isn’t having health problems she hasn’t shared with us.”
    “A few sips of brandy put her right,” Dickce said. “Fortunately Estelle was busy elsewhere, or she would have had all of us on the edge of a nervous breakdown.”
    “Mireille has enough stress at the moment without strange events like this adding to it,” An’gel said. “I’m afraid, Sister. I’ve got a feeling that something nasty is going on under the surface here.”
    “I agree,” Dickce said. “I have a bad feeling about those brakes and why they failed.”
    They stared at each other for a moment. An’gel couldn’t help remembering the events of a couple of months ago, when an old school friend turned up uninvited on their doorstep. Tragedy arrived with her, and An’gel didn’t care to go through anything like that again. She might not have a choice, she realized. She and Dickce would simply have to remain vigilant and do their best to guard against any further looming disasters.

CHAPTER 6
    D ickce glanced around the twelve-foot-long Louis XV walnut dining table and did a quick count. Nine people. Isn’t that supposed to be unlucky, an odd number at the table? she wondered. No, it was thirteen at dinner,