by Liz Turner
Bert frowned, his brows beetling together. “No,” he said. “I’m confident it was her. She’s a woman of dubious character, after all! Imagine living with an unmarried man so shamelessly.”
“But she’s Henry’s aunt, isn’t she?” Hallie asked. “She was his mother Tina’s cousin.”
Bert gave a short, sharp laugh. “Sure, that’s what John told everyone. But I knew Tina all my life, and I never heard a word about this mysterious cousin. Six months after Tina dies, Sheila suddenly shows up and manages to bowl John over.”
“Are you saying that you doubt Sheila is Tina’s cousin?” Hallie asked.
Bert shook his head. “I don’t know. But they look nothing alike, and Tina never mentioned her. It’s suspicious.”
“Did you ever talk to John about your suspicions?” Sergeant Johnson asked.
Bert nodded. “Once. About two months after she’d come into town. At the time, she was living in the hotel, still maintaining her propriety. I was having dinner with John and raised my doubts, but he said she’d showed him a photo of her and Tina as young girls. Now, I know that seemed like proof enough to him, but it didn’t to me. John was simply dotty about Sheila. I think he was just too eager to believe the best about her.”
“This picture,” Sergeant Johnson said. “Did John have it?”
“Why would he? Sheila probably has it,” Bert said. “Ask her to show you.”
Sergeant Johnson scribbled a few notes in his book and nodded. Standing up, he shook hands with Bert and said goodbye.
“Just a minute,” Hallie said. “I have one more question for you, Bert.”
“Yes?” Bert asked, looking pleased with himself.
“Who were you waiting for that night?” Hallie asked, as casually as she could.
Immediately, Bert turned bright red, and stiffened. “What do you mean?” He exclaimed. “I wasn’t waiting for anyone!”
Early in her residency at Johns Hopkins University, Hallie had a professor who had given her some very valuable advice: “There are times a patient will be dodgy with you and refuse to answer your questions, probably because he is ashamed of the answer. When this happens, stay silent. Let the silence stretch. A liar will fall all over himself, trying to fill the empty space with words.”
So Hallie stayed silent now, simply looking at Bert with a little smile on her face.
Bert began talking in a rush. “I may have been expecting Henry—yes, that’s it. I know I was looking at the door once in a while. Perhaps that’s why you think I was expecting someone? Well, I wasn’t. I was just surprised Henry wasn’t there. That’s all.”
Sergeant Johnson looked disinterested. “Alright. I think you’ve helped us enough. Thank you, Mr. Bigelow. Get well soon.”
Hallie groaned internally, wishing Sergeant Johnson had let Bert trip over his own lies. As it was, Bert looked satisfied and had fallen silent. But she could see a drop of sweat escaping down his forehead.
Chapter 7
Unanswered
Questions
A fter the interview with Bert, Sergeant Johnson suddenly seemed less than keen to have Hallie tag along with him. He excused himself, suggesting he didn’t want to waste any more of her time. With not much else to do, Hallie decided to go home and take some rest. As she was leaving the hospital, Dr. Livingstone bumped into her.
“Ah, Hallie.” He smiled. “Did you have—er—fun interviewing the suspects?” He made air quotes as he said the last word and shot her a large grin. Dr. Livingstone was fond of jokes, and not even a murder could put a damper on his spirits. “Well, I’ve arranged a little dinner to welcome you to the hospital. I promise you we won’t serve any stew—nor poison it.”
Another person might have found his joke distasteful, but Hallie didn’t. To her, the human psyche was a mysterious thing. Some people, like Dr. Scranton, when faced with patients dying every day, reacted by becoming more serious and driven. Others, like Dr. Livingstone, develop their own brand of gallows humor, grasping at it as the only way to keep their sanity.
“When is the dinner?” Hallie asked, with as polite a smile as she could manage.
“Tomorrow night, if it suits you,” Dr. Livingstone said. “Purely professional, of course. I’d especially like to introduce you to our senior nurses.”
“Thank you,” Hallie said. “I’d love to come.”
Dr. Livingstone was walking her to her bicycle, and now that she reached it, he paused. “Your father was my mentor, you know,” he said, his face becoming more serious. “A truly great man.”
“A fantastic doctor.” Hallie nodded.
“He spoke about you, once or twice.”
“Oh.” Hallie paused, and tried not to show the emotions that roiled inside her, even now, ten years after her father’s death, at the mention of his name. “I’m surprised. I thought the only thing my father ever cared to speak about was his work.”
“True,” Dr. Livingstone said. “Dr. Malone, if I may be so rude as to ask, why did you accept this job?”
She didn’t reply. The truth was, she didn’t quite know herself.
“I asked around, and I looked into your file,” Dr. Livingstone confessed. “You’re very distinguished. You studied at Johns Hopkins, and you were on track to becoming a professor of medicine there until you gave it up to go to war. During the war, you visited all sorts of places—Egypt, England, Italy, India—and more than once, I believe you worked for Military Intelligence.”
With some effort, Hallie tried to make her face as blank as possible. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“I’ve spoken to Professor Sanders at Johns Hopkins. He told me forensics was your first love. He also told me that you helped develop some intriguing new techniques in fingerprinting criminals,” Dr. Livingstone said. “Yet when your colleague tried to persuade you to join the American Academy of Forensics, you refused. Why? Given your history, I would have thought you’d jump at the chance.”
Hallie closed her eyes, steeling herself. When she opened them, she found Dr. Livingstone’s bright blue eyes boring into her as though he were trying to X-ray her thoughts. She gave Dr. Livingstone the answer John Blackstone had provided her. “I suppose I just thought it was time to come back home.”
“I would believe that,” Dr. Livingstone said. “Of anyone else but you.”
Hallie raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I’m lying, Dr. Livingstone?”
“I’m saying that you aren’t quite telling the truth.” He flashed her an apologetic grin. “You came home for a week when your father passed away and sold your family home. I remember meeting you at the funeral, and thinking, I’ll never see her again. You had the look of a woman who was tying up loose ends as though Warrenton were a chapter in your history you were happy to see finished forever. Yet, here you are. Back home.”
Hallie had enough of this conversation and was about to say so when a tall figure cast his shadow over the two of them.
“Dr. Malone?” It was Henry Blackstone, looking pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. “Could I speak to you please?”
“Yes,” Hallie said. “Dr. Livingstone, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good day.”
“Yes. See you tomorrow.” Dr. Livingstone smiled. “We’ll continue our conversation then.”
He left with a cheery wave, leaving Hallie wondering if his last statement was friendly, or an assurance that was determined to get answers.
Chapter 8
Henry’s Doubts
H enry Blackstone stood tall though not as tall as his father had been. At 6’3”, he dominated most rooms he entered, and heads couldn’t help but turn when he walked down the street. Where John Blackstone had lapped up the attention, Henry seemed to hate it and walked with a deliberate droop and a scowl, as though he wished he could be invisible. Hallie wondered if the loss of his left arm had compounded his natural shyness. Even now, as they stood in the gardens surrounding the hospital, he seemed to be struggling to put his words together.
Hallie was taken aback. “Why Henry—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say that you agree with me. Say that you think she did it,” he said.
“I can’t do that,” Hallie said. “I’m sorry.”
“I talked to Sergeant Johnson,” Henry said. “He refused to tell me whether he plans to arrest her. He refused to tell me anything at all.” He looked frustrated. “Why? Surely it’s obvious what’s to be done!”
“The police can’t act hastily.” Hallie began to wheel her bicycle down the drive, and Henry walked with her. The late summer sun had begun to set in the distance though grey clouds hung heavy over it and blocked Hallie’s view of the sunset. Hallie
“You’ll help me, though, won’t you?” Henry asked, his voice pleading.
“How could I possibly help?”
“There are rumors all over town that you’re some sort of Sherlock Holmes,” Henry said.
Hallie gave him a startled look. “What?”
“They say you were part of military intelligence in the war,” Henry said. “That you invented new techniques for—”
“Look, Henry, I’m back here because I want to be a good doctor,” Hallie said. “I’m assisting the police as medical examiner, but I’m certainly no Sherlock! Why, the very idea is ridiculous. You’ll have better luck talking to Sergeant Johnson than me.”
“I’ve known Leroy all my life,” Henry said. “He’s methodical, and plodding, and dull. He’s a good man, but I don’t think he has half your brains. That’s why I need your help, Dr. Malone. Please consider.” He paused. “I could arrange for funds too, if—”
“Henry!” Hallie shook her head helplessly. “No. I’m sorry, but all that is behind me now.”
“So you admit you were an investigator in the military once!” He exclaimed triumphantly.
“I was nothing of the sort,” Hallie said. “Would you excuse me? I’ve got to get going now.” She got on her bicycle and began cycling away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the road.
“My mother died just last year,” Henry shouted after her. “I thought, after years of distance between us, my father and I would finally get a chance to bond again.”
Hallie stopped, with one foot on the ground and one foot on her pedal. Her back was to him, but Henry could see her shoulders stiffen. He had caught her attention. He walked up to her briskly and put a hand on the handlebar. “Please, Hallie—Dr. Malone—just talk to people. Ask around. If you could find proof that Sheila killed my father and put her behind bars, I’d feel vindicated, at least a little.”
Hallie turned and gave him a curious look. “What’s more important to you, Henry? Seeing Sheila behind bars, or seeing the true killer behind bars?”
Henry took a step back. “What does that mean? Sheila is the killer. Everyone in town thinks so!”
“Not everyone,” Hallie said. “I don’t think so.”
Henry stared at her. “Why not?”
“Quite simply, I don’t see a motive,” Hallie said.
“Why, the motive’s plain as day: she wanted his money,” Henry exclaimed.
“Then why not wait until after they were married, when she could have it?” Hallie asked. “John was deeply in love with her. He was planning to get engaged soon. If she killed him for his money, the timing is all wrong. If she killed him for some other reason, I don’t see what it could be. She might have frustrated all of you with her behavior, but I think she really did love your father, Henry. When she fainted the night he died, there was real distress on her face.”
“She’s a cruel con artist!” Henry said. “She had my father wrapped around her little finger! You want motive? I’ll give you motive: money, pure and simple. I don’t quite know how, but she’s going to benefit from his death, wait and see. Or at least, she’ll try to. She’ll claim that as one of my mother’s last surviving relatives, she deserves a chunk of our family wealth too. Well, she’s in for a hard fight getting it from me!”
“Exactly,” Hallie said. “Everyone knows you weren’t too fond of her. I knew you for all of three seconds, and I could tell you didn’t like her. Do you really think she’d kill John, who was ready to offer her the moon, in order to get into a legal battle for money in which she had no real way to win? There’s no way that’s true.”
“If she didn’t do it, who did?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know,” Hallie said. “I’m new here. Why don’t you tell me what your father was like? Did he have many friends? Any enemies?”
“The entire town was his friend.” Henry sighed. “Unlike me, my father was gregarious and well loved. Why wouldn’t he be? His generosity helped the town plenty after all.”
“You said that you and your father weren’t close,” Hallie said. “Why not?”
“I got sent away to boarding school because I got into trouble for a prank in high school,” Henry said. “After that, when the war broke out, I joined the army against my father’s wishes. He got so angry I’d defied him that he stopped talking to me. There was talk of disowning me, too. My mother was our only link.” Henry had tears in his eyes. “I spent years of my life hating my father, thinking the worst of him. Then, when my mother passed away, I realized how stupid I was being. Life is short, too short to pull away from family. I moved back to Warrenton, hoping to start afresh with my father. For a little while, it seemed that he shared my sentiments.”
“What then?”
“What then?” Henry gave a short, bitter laugh. “Sheila. She appeared out of nowhere, like a whirlwind, and turned my father’s head. He started acting as though he were a love-struck teenager instead of the strong captain of industry that he was. It was unbelievable!” Henry bit his lip. “Suddenly, he was so busy showing Sheila around town that he had no time for me anymore and seemed to have lost interest in repairing our relationship. We lived under the same roof and barely saw each other more than five minutes a day. I was lucky if I got a chance to have coffee with him!”
“I’m sorry,” Hallie said. “I know what that feels like. A busy, distant father whose affection you’re always trying to win. It’s exhausting and demoralizing, to say the least. Especially when one is as young as you are.”
“I’m not young, I’m twenty-two,” Henry protested.
“And I’m fifty-three.” Hallie smiled. “I must be positively ancient to you. But to myself, I still sometimes feel like a child who’s playing in a world too big for her.”
Henry gallantly refused to comment on her age, saying instead, “All I know is that Sheila ruined things between me and my father. I’m convinced she killed him, and I want to see her behind bars.”
“Let’s forget about Sheila for a second,” Hallie said. “Henry, who else could your father have been enemies with?”
Henry shrugged. “Nobody. I mean, he’d had his share of rivalry with the Jackson family, but they were getting along better lately.”
“The Jackson family?” Hallie frowned. “Is that Mayor Seymour Jackson you’re speaking of?”
Henry nodded. “The Jackson’s have been rivals with us Blackstone’s since 1850, when grandfather Blackstone broke his partnership with grandpappy Jackson. They nearly had a duel in the streets, back then.”
“Oh, I heard this story growing up,” Hallie exclaimed. “They used to own a grocery store together, ended up drunk out of their minds one night, and burnt it to the ground. Then they ended up challenging each other to see who would own the town one day.”
Henry laughed. “It sounds so… melodramatic when you put it that way. I always grew up being told that the Jacksons are scoundrels, and when you think about it, Warrenton’s divided into those who are friends with the Blackstone’s and those who are friends with the Jackson’s.”
“So, did your father have a rivalry with any particular Jackson family member?�
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“Seymour, I suppose,” Henry said. “They went to school together, college together, and even competed for my mother’s hand, from what I’ve heard. My father had sharper business sense than Jackson, but Jackson had more charm and ended up gaining a stronghold on the politics of this town.”
“Does Seymour Jackson own a business?”
“His brother Nathan runs the family lumber business,” Henry said. “Before the war, they were trying to start an automobile company, but it failed.”
“An automobile company.” Hallie looked as though she had an idea, but only said, “Alright.”
“I don’t know.” Henry shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to believe that Seymour or Nathan would stoop so low as to kill my father. The family rivalry is a joke at this point. Why should we care about the drama between two old men a hundred years ago?”
“Well, that’s a rather progressive mindset,” Hallie said.
“We need peace in the world, not war, Henry replied. “No more war, not ever.” His face shadowed as he clutched at his empty sleeve, a newly formed habit.
“Did your father have any business dealings with Seymour?” Hallie asked.
“I don’t know,” Henry said. “I wasn’t very interested in the family business. My father was rather domineering and a perfectionist as far as the business went, so I avoided it. I worried it would lead to unnecessary fights.”
“Speaking of fights, what were the two of you talking about that night?” Hallie asked. “You seemed quite upset.”
For the first time, Henry’s open, honest face clouded over with distrust. “Are you accusing me?” He bristled.
“Calm down. I’m just trying to see that night from all angles,” Hallie said. “You’re going to be asked this question by the police anyway, so you might as well have an answer ready.”
“I was asked this question before,” Henry said, and Hallie suddenly realized why he might not have faith in Sergeant Johnson. Perhaps Johnson’s blunt questions had put Henry on the guard and propelled him to find another “investigator” who would see the case from the same angle he did. Well, Henry was bound to be disappointed because Hallie wasn’t that person.