“No, sir. Most of the time, you don’t even think about the weights being there.”
“Easy off and on?”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I improvised using old window weights in a toolbox instead of the ones that attach to the wheels or the liquid that goes in the tires.”
“Do you recognize this socket wrench?” Howard handed her the tool to examine.
Lou glanced at the wrench. “It belonged to Beth’s father. Most of his tools are stamped with his initials to make sure borrowers didn’t keep any of his by mistake. Beth said he would loan anything he owned, but he wanted his tools back.” She pointed to the three letters.
“You left the wrench in the shed the last time you worked on the tractor?”
“No, sir. Beth gave me hell for leaving her father’s tools lying about.”
Howard nodded. A photograph of Lou’s shop area at the college appeared on the projector screen. “This is the work area at Fletcher Women’s College that you are responsible for?”
“Yes, sir.” Lou’s face turned a bright red.
“There are tools scattered on every surface.”
“Yes, sir.”
Howard walked toward his table, then stopped and faced Lou.
“The trench down the hillside…one of your projects?”
“Yes, sir. Taking the roof and foundation water away from the house.”
“How did you leave the trench?”
“So I could find where I stopped.” Lou looked puzzled.
“Backfill compacted?”
“No, sir. That would have been a waste of time since I would have to dig it out again.”
“How long have you been working on this project?”
“Since Beth moved in. She always gave me a hard time about not finishing things.”
“Over time, with rains and with normal freeze and thaw, wouldn’t letting an underdrain just cause a sink hole?”
“It would depend on the soil and amount of water.”
“But you are employed as a grounds manager of three thousand acres?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So it just looked like another red clay bare spot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were there other spots like that in the pasture?”
“Oh, yes, sir. If the dog peed on the same spot twice, it killed the grass.”
There was nervous laughter among the jurors.
“So Beth didn’t always know the progress of your digging?”
“We used to joke about it.” Lou frowned. “She knew it was an ongoing project.”
“And you didn’t always know when she used the tractor. How did you know which red spot marked the end of the trench?”
“By finding the one out from the corner of the house.”
“Easy enough to do on foot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not so easy if riding on a tractor?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t mow there on the lawnmower?”
“No, sir. Beth did all the pastures using the Deere. I did the yard with the riding mower.”
“And you dug the trench by hand?”
“Yes, sir. Small pipe. Didn’t want to disturb any more of the grass than I had to. Beth said I was too cheap to rent a ditch witch and hardheaded enough to dig it a little at a time with a shovel and mattock.”
“One last question about the tractor itself, Ms. Stephens.” Howard leaned against the railing of the jury box.
Lou waited.
“Did you ever consider putting a roll bar and seat belt on the tractor?”
Lou’s face remained blank. “It…it didn’t come with those.”
“But both could have been added fairly easily?”
Lou’s head dropped. “Yes, sir.”
“Twenty/twenty hindsight.”
“Mr. Mills,” the judge warned Howard.
“I swear that I did nothing to the tractor that day,” Lou volunteered.
“That day?” Howard pounced on the very words that Lou should not have spoken.
“I did nothing to the tractor that would have caused Beth’s accident. I swear to God and anyone else you want me to. I did not hurt Beth.” Lou was adamant, too much so.
“Did you encourage Beth to leave the house, to leave you and Patti alone on the sofa, watching a movie?”
“Beth hated those damsel-in-distress movies…that’s what she called them.”
“Really?”
“She never understood why they didn’t just do something to resolve the problem, that it was like her father used to tell her, do something even if it’s wrong. She said she could solve their problems in far less than two hours.”
“And is that what you and Patti decided, to do something to get rid of someone standing in the way of what Patti wanted?”
Lou looked evenly at Howard. “No, sir.”
“Beth Candler could not be manipulated by you and Patti Candler, so a more drastic solution was needed?”
Lou appeared rigid in the chair. “No, sir.”
“Patti wanted you to execute her plan for Beth’s death?”
“Yes, sir, but I didn’t do it.”
“So you removed the weights and urged Beth onto the tractor?”
“No, sir.”
“But you said you would kill for Patti Candler.” Howard’s voice cut through the entire room.
“I would have done anything for her.” Lou’s voice was as wistful as a child making a wish on the first star in a dark sky. It took Lou a moment to realize she had spoken aloud.
It took Judge Henderson a full thirty seconds of sharply rapping her gavel to quiet the courtroom. She then stopped the proceedings for the day.
The days that followed brought a repetition and reinforcement of what had already been said. The closing arguments were an exercise in dramatic rhetoric—short on Howard’s part, long on Rich’s. Three weeks after the commencement of the guilt phase of the trial, it ended. The judge and both attorneys spent the next morning instructing the jury, emphasizing that invoking the Fifth Amendment was not an admission of guilt. The diverse group of men and women deliberated for three hours.
Judge Henderson stared at the packed courtroom. “I will only caution you once. The jury has reached their verdict. They will return in a few minutes. I will read their statement as prepared by their foreman. I will then announce the jury’s verdict. I will not tolerate any outbursts or interruptions.” She stared the crowd into silence and the defendant into immobility.
Gloria anchored the end of the first bench. She held Ellen’s hand, Ellen held Janet’s, Janet held Greg’s, Greg held Andy’s, and Andy held Ruth’s. They were split fifty-fifty with heads down and eyes closed or eyes locked on the judge’s. Janet stared at Daphne and willed her to speak true to Janet’s own heart.
Lou stood, visibly shaking.
It was not until Daphne was silent and the courtroom erupting that the verdict sank in with Janet. Her mind replayed it several times.
“The jury has unanimously determined that the defendant, Louise Stephens, is guilty of murder of the first degree in the death of Elizabeth Candler. The sentencing phase of the trial will follow. Dismissed.”
A lone blow of the gavel ended the day. There was little sense of leniency among the jurors or the judge. Lou Stephens faced the consequences of a class two felony with possible sentencing of twenty years to life and a fine up to $100,000.
Patti Candler while successful in reducing her charge from murder of the first degree to conspiracy to commit murder faced the consequences of a class five felony with possible sentencing of one to ten years in prison.
Press coverage in the days to follow regarded Ashley Tate’s finesse with the prosecution. Speculation focused on how few years Patti Candler would spend incarcerated. Lou Stephens was a done deal.
Epilogue
Janet Evans stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. There was just enough light from the dusk-to-dawn light outside to make out vague images of their furni
ture. Once again, she was wide awake at two a.m. and unable to go back to sleep. She had done this every night for the past two weeks—every night since the end of the guilt phase of the trial. She listened to Ellen snoring and wondered that her partner had any sinus linings remaining in her head. Buddy eased across the room and raised his front paws to the edge of the bed.
“Come on up, boy. I could use the company.” Janet patted the king-sized bed.
Buddy clamored up on the bed, turned around in a circle twice, and dropped beside her hip. She let her hand rest on his chest, idly rubbing his stomach.
“Good boy.” She patted his head. “Do you still think about her, Buddy? Do you remember her?” Something nagged at Janet.
Janet and Ellen had hosted a party the Saturday following the end of the initial portion of the trial—neither of them had the heart to suggest a bonfire, even though it was still cool enough to enjoy one. It was a bittersweet celebration of Janet’s coming out to the community at-large.
Although the girls at the party felt vindicated, how could there be any measure of satisfaction or victory? Beth was dead. Now everyone knew her lifestyle and the details of the privacy she had so diligently protected. It was not Beth’s complete outing or even her own that bothered Janet. The phone had rung continuously at work with clients using any excuse to let her know their opinion of her was no different than it had been before the trial.
Janet adjusted the sheet as Buddy settled beside her. “Don’t hog the covers, boy.” She tried to convince herself that if she lay still, she would go back to sleep. “Something is just not right.” If she had thought and said it to herself once in the past two weeks, she had done so a hundred times. Janet kept seeing her friend Beth—her calm, deliberate friend, who thought through every action, who saw all sides of any issue, and who explored every possible way to consider options. Next was the worst. As much as Janet hated to allow the thought in her head, she found herself believing Lou’s testimony.
Janet eased out of bed and went to her office waiting for Buddy to follow before closing the door behind her. She moved the mouse enough to activate the operating system of the computer. She checked her e-mail.
“Auntie Em…” The instant messenger popup waited for her to type after letting her know Queen_of_Denial was online.
“What are you doing awake, Cupcake?”
“It’s me, Andy.”
“Did his snoring force you to the computer like my partner’s did?”
Janet stared at the pulsating prompt. Neither of them was typing.
“What’s wrong, Andy?”
The blinking continued.
“What’s wrong, Andy?”
“I don’t want to think or write this.”
“What? Don’t make me come over there in my housecoat.”
She waited with growing impatience until he began typing.
“Beth would have felt the difference in steering without the extra weight on the front end.”
Janet frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Why didn’t Beth check for the weights when the tractor was not as stable as she was used to?”
“She didn’t notice the difference until too late.”
“She chose to mow over a fresh trench covered with dead grass clippings, the one soft spot in that field on enough of a slope to flip a tractor.”
“She was on her way to the front pasture and decided to ride around the low side of the house. She just wanted to get out on the tractor and clear her head. She was in a hurry to be alone, or she felt a little reckless.”
“The tractor was always her escape. She killed herself to expose Lou and Patti.”
Janet stared at the dialogue box. She saw Beth’s determination in the hospital as she lay dying to write a few last words—the phrase ‘burden of knowledge,’ reference to a character whose livelihood was based on pretending, and the clue needed to access her e-mail.
“Janet, you and I both know that Lou, Patti, and Will killed something very precious in Beth before she ever sat on that tractor the last time. Her spirit was gone long before her body.”
Janet cut the power strip off so that everything about the computer died at once. Why had she come into her office? Andy’s words reverberated through her mind. Janet agreed that the tractor was always Beth’s escape even as a child. Had Beth killed herself? Surely not.
Janet leaned back in her chair. What did she know? Buddy nudged her hand and whimpered.
“I know you’re the best dog ever.” She leaned down and kissed his head. He licked her knee.
But what did she know? Beth had loved Lou. Beth had finally found happiness in a relationship. Beth had lost Keith after helping her mother face her sexuality and leave the family homeplace. Beth could put a guilt trip on herself like no one else. Beth had tried to talk with Lou and Will, only to have her logic twisted back on her or ignored or worse—find out that Will didn’t care. Beth had lost interest in her work. Beth knew that Patti was turning Lou against her and that Will was lost to her. Beth had promised Keith to help Will free himself of Patti. Beth had watched Keith choose death rather than suffer with uncertain surgery and dialysis.
Beth had lost faith in everything and everyone. Yet she could not bring herself to harm Lou or Patti, and she knew they were planning to harm her and Will. Beth must have been fairly certain the women would get away with their plan based on all else she had witnessed.
Patti and Lou had discussed an accident of some sort to get Beth off of Lou’s property. Lou could not afford the renovated farm on her own. Beth knew all that they were plotting. Once Beth was out of the way, they would go after Will.
“Beth gave up on life.” Janet didn’t like the sound of her words. “She wanted her own kind of revenge. She had to help her brother.” Tears ran down Janet’s cheeks.
Janet would never know for sure—none of them would. But what if Beth was so devastated by the combination of her mother’s death, Lou and Patti’s scheming, and Will’s complete rejection of her that she decided to go through with her version of the plan? What if Beth committed suicide so that it would look like the murder being planned for her? What if Beth counted on her friends not resting until Lou and Patti were brought to some sort of reckoning? What if she reasoned the tractor roll to be her only way out that would ensure Patti’s exposure? What if she decided that the tractor roll was the only way to save Will? Who but Beth could turn a murder planned to look like suicide into a suicide that would be judged as murder—a suicide pretending to be a murder pretending to be a suicide?
Janet spoke to Buddy. “Beth did throw her body on the grenade of Lou and Patti to save Will.” Suicide was Beth’s revenge and solution—the arcanum of Beth.
Buddy placed his front paws on her thigh and rose up to lick her cheek. Janet held the dog close, as close as she would keep her suspicions about Beth Candler’s ultimate revenge. She turned the computer on to check if Andy was still there.
There was a new message in her inbox from “melwindcit.” She opened the single line message. “About damn time you came out.”
About the author
Mary Jane Russell is a native Virginian—the sixth generation to be raised on the family farm. She recently retired from local government after thirty-one years of service, during which she set a series of firsts—first female draftsman, staff engineer, project manager, and first female director of economic development.
Her lifelong love has been books and reading; her dream since a teenager was to be a published writer. This made her second career an easy choice. She is encouraged by her Cardigan Corgi, Winnie, and ignored by her cats. She lives with her partner in Roanoke, Virginia, and is discovering the joys of being an honorary grandmother.
The Arcanum of Beth is her first published novel.
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