—Meanwhile, Mrs. Hugh Laney reports that she is out of fresh strawberries for bartering.…
CHAPTER 23
LILY
Monday, September 27—10:00 a.m.
“Coffee or tea, Sheriff Ross?” Mabel Cooper gestures toward the parlor—as if Lily doesn’t already know her way around the house.
Lily enters the parlor, where the draperies are drawn even though it is a bright sunny day. Draperies are always drawn at the Cooper house. To keep the sun from fading the upholstery. The stern admonishment echoes forward from Lily’s childhood, on the rare times she came to visit Hildy here, instead of Hildy coming to Lily’s parents’ house. As it had then, and a few nights before, the overbearing smell of too much furniture polish stuffs her nose.
The memory of last Wednesday evening comes back to her—poor Hildy. So suffocated by both her mother and Merle. No wonder she’d wanted to roam free—even take up with Tom, so different from Merle. So different from Hildy. Maybe that is part of the attraction?
“Please, have a seat, Lily!” Mrs. Cooper hurries over to the love seat, as quickly as her girth and arthritic hip will allow, and pats a stiff embroidered pillow.
Lily lifts an eyebrow. This particular love seat, a Victorian era piece with carved and curved mahogany, is Mrs. Cooper’s pride and joy—a seat that Lily remembers sitting in, giggling, despite Hildy’s horrified protestations about what her mother would do if she came in and found a child in the seat. Sure enough, her attention pricking at the sound of Lily’s giggles, Mrs. Cooper came in and saw Lily and yelled so abruptly that eight-year-old Lily, who almost never cried, started wailing with terror. She’d run from the house, but not before catching a glimpse of Mrs. Cooper’s satisfied grin—as if she’d finally ridden her house of vermin.
A few days later, at school, Hildy had been red-eyed and puffy faced, and Lily had run over to her, worried that she’d gotten her friend whipped. At that, Hildy had started sobbing in relief. She hadn’t been whipped, but she’d been distraught all weekend, certain that Lily would no longer be her friend after her mother had acted so harshly. Lily had hugged Hildy and reassured her—no, no, she would always be her friend, no matter what.
Now Lily’s eyes prick, as she wonders if she’d kept that promise. Why hadn’t Hildy trusted her with the secret of her love for Tom? She hadn’t even hinted at it. Had Lily gotten so lost in her own grief that she was unable to see how sad and lost Hildy was as well? Yes. Just the other day, she’d dismissively told Hildy to listen to Merle.
Mrs. Cooper is still patting the embroidered pillow, as if the gesture will refluff the pillow and the room and the home with sweetness and softness. And she looks at Lily with her usual disdain, but something else. Anxiousness. That’s new.
Lily sits on the edge of the nearest chair. Mrs. Cooper’s eyes narrow at Lily’s unspoken denial of the offer of the prime spot and stops patting the pillow.
“I’m not here on a social call today—any more than I was the other night,” Lily says. “I’m here as sheriff—”
“Oh! Have you come with news about … about Hildy?” For a moment, Mrs. Cooper’s face softens—and another early childhood memory comes back to Lily. She and Hildy must have been only five or so. They were here, playing with a doll Hildy had gotten for her birthday. Mrs. Cooper made them tea and cookies and didn’t fuss over crumbs or spills but laughed with them. Now Lily can’t remember what—but it’s startling, this memory of Mrs. Cooper as happy. Almost carefree.
That would have been before Thea’s visit. Lily realizes with a start that Mrs. Cooper has been sour ever since Thea’s visit all those years ago. Why? What had that visit triggered?
Lily reassures Mrs. Cooper. “Hildy is fine.” The second Lily says it, though, she wonders. Hildy may well be besotted with Tom, but Lily knows her friend well enough that she is sure Hildy is feeling deeply guilty about duping both Merle and her mother. Physically Hildy may be fine, but emotionally and spiritually? Mayhap not.
In the next instant, instead of relief coursing Mrs. Cooper’s brow, her mouth tightens as if she has just bitten into something bitter. “Well, where is she then?”
Lily sighs. Well, that flicker of tenderness in Mrs. Cooper died out quickly. “She is staying for the time being in Rossville. Substituting for the schoolmarm, who is recovering from a severe bout of flu.”
“Well, Hildy should be home, not messing around with the likes of those grubby people,” Mrs. Cooper says. “She has a fiancé to think of, her reputation; what would he say if—”
“I believe that is between Hildy and Merle!” Lily snaps.
As Mrs. Cooper’s face tightens, Lily hears her own mama’s voice, reminding her again, You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. So she forces a smile. “Do you remember the column ‘Callie’s Corner’? I believe you were featured many times. For your county fair wins—”
Pride flushes Mrs. Cooper’s face. “Oh yes. I kept all of those columns in my scrapbook. I believe she referred to the cross-stitch work on those pillows as exquisite”—she gestures at a pillow with peacocks, turquoise and orange feathers on full display—and Lily has to smile at the choice of cross-stitch pattern. Mrs. Cooper hasn’t changed over the years.
It’s time to puncture that pride, catch Mrs. Cooper off guard. “Did you keep the column that mentioned Thea Kincaide’s visit to this house after your father died?”
The air in the already-stuffy room thickens. “I … Surely you are mistaken. I told you all I know of Thea the other night.” Mrs. Cooper pulls a handkerchief from her pocket but doesn’t use it to dab at her nose. She wads it. “I was only vaguely aware of her as a child—”
“Yes, you said that the other day, that Hildy was wrong about Thea visiting here when your father died. That you only saw her a few times as a child. I’ve done some background research. According to a set of ‘Callie’s Corner’ columns, Thea came to your father’s funeral back in June of 1905. And she visited you, and your husband, and Hildy here. The other day you claimed that Hildy was mistaken about Thea’s visit—”
“Callie was known for embellishing, bless her heart—”
“Was she embellishing when she wrote about your exquisite cross-stitched pillows?” Lily gestures at them. “I think she was right about that.”
Mrs. Cooper presses her handkerchief to her nose, after all. “Perhaps Thea”—she snaps the name as if trying to break it in half, like a stick—“did visit. Can anyone blame me for forgetting? I was awash in grief, I am sure, and, and”—she straightens up, tilts up her chin imperiously—“well, dear, you are too young to realize, but grief puts details in a blur, and most likely if she attended or visited, she was not a detail worth noticing—”
“I am all too well acquainted with grief, Mrs. Cooper,” Lily says, “and in my experience the details after time begin to stand out in stark contrast, emboldened by the emotion that surrounds them. Plus Thea’s presence was quite notable and shocking to the community, according to the ‘Callie’s Corner’ columns. She stood out, well, rather like your peacocks there.” Lily gestures toward the pillows, as Mrs. Cooper stares as if seeing them for the first time, with a look of distaste. Lily realizes that she has now ruined the pillows for Mrs. Cooper by comparing them to Thea. Why such strong, bitter hatred toward a cousin, one she so rarely saw?
“What I’m wondering is,” Lily says, “why you denied the other day that Thea came here twenty-one years ago?”
“As I said, I must have forgotten—and what does it matter anyway?”
“Because I do not believe that you have forgotten. I think that visit has rankled all these years, like a thorn digging deeper and deeper in your foot. The memory itself won’t let you forget it. And yet, you wish to deny it. It matters because now Thea is dead and she was on her way somewhere—and I have to wonder if she might have been trying to come here? If she never quite made it here, because she was sidetracked or stopped for some reason.”
“I can’t imagine why she wo
uld visit me. She knew quite well that she wasn’t welcome here—” Mrs. Cooper stops short, her face pinching at the realization of her admission.
“Hildy said a few nights ago that she recollects Thea saying she came to your father’s funeral to make sure he really was dead. As if she found satisfaction, or peace, from that. Why?”
“Our fathers had very different views on … many things. Another reason why she would have had no reason to return here.”
“Your name is listed on the asylum form as her next of kin.”
Mrs. Cooper shrugs. “I must be the only kin that she has.”
“She has a son. What is his name?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him, and wasn’t aware until now she had a child. Poor thing—having a mother like her!”
Lily pinches her lips, holding back a snap about the irony of Mrs. Cooper’s opinion. “You weren’t aware of her presence in this area, of her being at the asylum?”
“I’ve already said no.”
“The asylum didn’t contact you about her?”
“No.”
“You didn’t see her at the WKKK gathering at the old Dyer farm?”
“No, I didn’t see her there—” Mrs. Cooper stops, her face reddening at being caught in Lily’s battery of questions.
“You were at the gathering?”
Mrs. Cooper straightens up primly. “I don’t believe my comings and goings are of your concern. And how do you know that such a group met there—or anywhere?”
“In tracking your cousin,”—Lily emphasizes the word—“our path took us to the old Dyer farm in Moonvale. I found evidence of a large gathering of women, and that it was likely for a chapter of the WKKK.”
Mrs. Cooper sniffs. “The right to free assembly extends to all groups—whether you like them or not.”
Lily suppresses a smile. Mrs. Cooper knows Lily well enough to correctly intuit her opinions. “So long as they gather peaceably. Were you at the gathering, Mrs. Cooper?”
She stares at Lily but says nothing.
Lily sighs. “I can always interrogate Mrs. Dyer about whether she was there. As if she knows your cousin was there, and that she later died, likely by foul play—”
“I didn’t see her there!” The admission bursts out of Mrs. Cooper.
Another question arises—did Hildy know of her mother’s involvement with the WKKK? Could she have even been pulled into it, too?
The fear of such must flash on Lily’s face, for Mrs. Cooper smiles at last. “I’d like to formally report my daughter as missing. When you find her, you can ask her what she knows of the group. I insist you bring her home—or I may have to share among my new friends in the WKKK that you are unfit as sheriff and derelict in your proper duties. You might be surprised how much influence we have in voting in the upcoming election.”
* * *
Two hours later, Lily peers out the window, scanning the tree line, until she finds the opening to the narrow path she’d just walked, an unsanctioned shortcut from the Hollows’ formal gardens, up to the women’s cottages. Even outside, the path was easy to miss, but surely most longtime employees would know of it. Maybe even take a resident to it, for the right bribe. From the formal gardens, it would be a quick jaunt to the road that goes to the cemetery. The spot where Sadie, the tracking hound, had lost Thea’s scent.
After leaving Mrs. Cooper, Lily had gone back to her house and a few minutes later received a delivery of the search warrant for Thea Kincaide’s lodgings at the Hollows—this room and this room only. A blown tire and the tedious process of swapping it for the spare had added to the long drive to Athens. But she made it to the asylum in time to catch Dr. Harkins as he was leaving for the day. He’d reviewed the search warrant, then told her he’d send a nurse to escort her to the women’s cottages and Thea’s room.
Lily waited nearly an hour for the nurse.
When she finally got to it, searching the room hadn’t taken any time at all. She could have been on her way a half hour ago. Something told her—stay.
Now Lily turns from the window and again scans what had been Thea’s room, shared with one other woman. It’s surprisingly large, ornate—delicate plasterwork in the high ceiling, polished oak wainscoting—outfitted with two each of beds, wardrobes, and end tables. Both beds are so neatly made under crème chenille bedspreads that Lily wouldn’t be able to tell which had been Thea’s, except the end table by one bed is clear of everything, and the other holds a small framed daguerreotype—a woman in a bonnet. Lily hasn’t looked too closely at this portrait of the woman’s loved one—daughter? Mother? Sister? It feels too invasive.
On the other bed is a box—Thea’s items, said the nurse who had walked her over here. Boxed up, put in storage, gotten out for Lily a few minutes after arriving at the cottage. Take all the time you need. So cooperative. And yet an hour to find a nurse to escort her over—not to mention the five days since tracking Thea here—was more than all the time the director would need to curate the items in the box, if there was something among Thea’s belongings that might point to something suspicious.
And how can she be sure that the few items in the box—a dressing gown, a few blouses, underclothes, a skirt, a robe—were even Thea’s? There was nothing distinctive about them, other than they were old-fashioned and high quality. And they held a faint but distinctly cinnamon scent.
The only thing interesting about the box is what is not in it. No coat. No shoes, or even house slippers. No jewelry, brooches, or other personal items.
Why hadn’t Thea at least put on the robe?
Lily stares back out at the barely discernible path. While waiting, Lily had ample, restless time to study the few items on the waiting area wall, including a framed and signed copy of the architect’s original plans. The cottages, added later, hadn’t been on those plans. The formal gardens had, and between the plans and Lily’s memory of childhood visits she realizes that down that path would be the gardens.
Lily calculates. This room is at the back of the main floor, near the shared bathing room, which includes a pump sink and flush toilets—nicer bathroom facilities than she has at the sheriff’s house. The bathroom is by the rear exit to the cellar. So easy to slip out. No creaking steps to descend from the second floor. No other rooms to walk past. Just a quick walk down the hallway, as if to the bathroom—and who would question the toiletry needs of an elderly woman in the middle of the night?—then slip out the back.
The back door has a lock on it. Maybe bribe someone to meet her there? Unlock it, then guide her through the shortcut to the garden and, from there, to the back road by the cemetery? Where, for some reason, she started walking in rag-wrapped feet?
A thud startles Lily. She turns, sees a petite young woman in the doorway, who kneels, picks up the dust mop she’d dropped.
“Sorry!” the girl yelps, so nervous that Lily might think she is a resident, except she wears a pink-striped nurse’s aide uniform.
“Wait!” Lily says as the girl turns away. The poor thing jumps—this is not the place for the timid or easily spooked—and Lily gives her a gentle smile, even as she taps her sheriff’s badge. “I have a few questions.”
The girl’s eyes go wide. “I—I don’t know nothing!”
“Of course you do.” Lily keeps her voice soft and gentle. “I’m Lily.” Pointing out the badge had been enough to keep the girl from scampering away. Better to take the honey-over-vinegar approach sanctioned by Mama. “What’s your name?”
“Helen.”
Lily smiles. “Well, Helen, how long have you worked here?”
“Half a year.”
“Have you always been assigned to this cottage?”
“Oh no, ma’am. This is a plum assignment. I’m filling in for the cottage’s resident aide, who left to take care of a family member who is ill.” For a moment, Helen looks honored—even though temporary, this is an assignment to be proud of. “When she’s back, I’ll be back up at the big house.”
&nb
sp; “Resident—so you live here?”
“Yes—for now.” Helen points to the room across the way. “It’s right nice, nicer than where I’m lodging.…” Her voice trails off. She shrugs, as if relinquishing the relative luxury of the room later will not really matter to her.
“You were here when Thea Kincaide arrived? Knew her?”
Helen looks down. “I knew who she was, yes.” A tremulousness to her voice belies the statement. She knew Thea better than she is letting on.
“I can tell you’re a quick study.” Lily flashes another smile as Helen glances up. “So, did Mrs.—” Lily hesitates. What is the proper way to refer to a woman who took an adopted name, then a married name, then divorced—but was listed on her asylum record under her maiden name?
“Miss Thea. That’s what she said to call her.”
Lily considers—the same mode of address Thea had asked Callie of Callie’s corner to use. “Did Miss Thea wear shoes?”
“All the residents must wear shoes. If they don’t have any, then they’re issued a pair. Thea—Miss Thea—had a very nice, comfortable pair.”
“When she was found, she didn’t have on her shoes.”
“Perhaps … perhaps she lost them along the way?”
“Poor woman walked miles in no shoes, in the woods and brush, on the rocky ground,” Lily says. “I’m sure you can imagine what that did to her feet.”
Helen whimpers, and Lily sees in the sorrow on Helen’s face that not only is she empathetic, but also she liked Thea. Lily glances at the box, and then back to Helen. “No shoes in there. I doubt that she lost them,” Lily said.
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