by Liz Turner
“How many years ago was this?” Hallie exclaimed.
“Seven years or so,” Gladys said. “I was always fond of Henry, you know. Both he and Eva were good little students. Both hardworking, social, and kind. If the parents had set aside their differences, they’d have seen that they were a match made in heaven.”
“But that’s not what happened,” Hallie asked. “Is it?”
“No. Unfortunately not. Henry was shipped off to boarding school in the end, and for years, he refused to talk to his father. It was only when his mother passed away that he moved back into town to try to renew their ties.”
“But it didn’t work the way he wanted to,” Hallie said. “Sheila came on the scene.”
Gladys nodded. “Exactly. I think Henry was frustrated with his father, and somewhere deep inside, he was still in love with Eva.”
“Well, what I heard is that the two of them were making plans to elope,” Debby said. “I think John found out, and I’ll bet he told Henry in no uncertain terms that he’d cut him out of his will permanently if the affair continued.”
“So that’s why the police think Henry killed his father?” Hallie asked.
Debby nodded. “It’s a strong motive, isn’t it? He wasn’t willing to lose all that money. So, he killed his father.”
Hallie sighed. “Yes. A very strong motive.” She stood up suddenly. “I’ve got to go.”
“What? Why? Where?” Gladys exclaimed.
“There’s a snake I haven’t met yet, but soon will,” Hallie said as she hurried out.
Chapter 13
Snake Charmer
M ayor Seymour Jackson was built like a lumberjack and had the barrel-chested voice of one, too. Dressed in an expensive grey suit, he watched Hallie through hooded eyes as she sat before him. His fingers tapped on a thick leather-bound book with gold embossing, while his other hand stayed on his chin.
“I’ve been meaning to come meet you,” he said, offering her a cup of coffee. “With your credentials and experience, we all think you’re a valuable new addition to this town and the hospital. Warrenton is glad to welcome you. That said, I know you’ve had a tough time these last few days. I can promise you, these are freakish circumstances. This isn’t what Warrenton is about. You’ll find we’re normally a quiet, laid-back community.”
“I spent a few years here growing up,” Hallie said. “I know it’s a quiet community.”
“You did?” Mayor Jackson squinted at her. “We’re about the same age, aren’t we? I know your father was famous here—he founded the Warrenton Hospital, after all—but I don’t remember you from those days.”
“My mother died when I was four,” Hallie said. “And after that, I lived with my aunt in Arkansas until I was about fifteen. Then I came back here for a few years, but… my father and I never quite got along. He was inclined to believe that a woman’s place is at home, and I wanted more than that out of life. So, I ran away at seventeen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I regret it,” Hallie said. “It took me years to realize that in his own way, my father loved me and was only trying to do his best for me. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn as to completely ignore what I wanted, and if only I hadn’t been young and hotheaded, maybe we could have compromised.”
If her unspoken message about Eva reached Jackson, he didn’t let on. “Hallie Malone.” Jackson frowned. “Yes, I think I do remember you, a little. You once burnt a pie in Home Economics class and ended up nearly burning the school down, isn’t that right?”
Hallie blushed red. “I was… let’s just say I’m not the best cook and was even worse as a child.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve found your other talents,” Jackson said. “At any rate, how can I help you this afternoon?”
“I’m here to talk about your daughter,” Hallie said. “Actually, I’m here to talk about Eva and Henry.”
Jackson’s face was suddenly less than cordial. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “The two of them are not together. Eva’s going to be engaged to an old family friend soon. Henry’s been pursuing her since he was a child, but I really thought he’d come to his senses, especially after being sent away. A pity.”
“So, you believe that he’s murdered John, then?” Hallie asked.
“I believe the law must take its course.” Mayor Jackson’s face was impassive. “If the evidence is stacked against him, he’d better come up with a good explanation if he’s going to defend himself.”
“Yes, he’d better,” Hallie said. “Now, Mayor Jackson, you’d better come up with an explanation too. John Blackstone invited you to his party that night, didn’t he? Only you didn’t show up.”
“Yes. I was busy. I had paperwork at home to tend to,” Mayor Jackson said.
“So, you didn’t leave home at all?” Hallie asked. “You didn’t come see John?”
“Are you interrogating me?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some cheek!”
Hallie gave him her most polite smile. “Well, Bert said—”
Instantly, the Mayor looked furious. “That fool doesn’t—” He cut himself short, paused to collect his words, and said, “Whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie.”
So her suspicions were correct! That day at the hospital, Gladys had told her that Mayor Jackson had been invited to the party too. It wasn’t until later, when she’d learned of their rivalry, that Hallie had begun to wonder why. Then, there was the little matter of Bert acting as though he had been expecting someone and him getting nervous when asked about it. Piecing it all together, only one theory made sense to Hallie: John hadn’t invited Jackson over for the Historical Club. That was only a pretext. He’d invited Jackson to talk about their children. Which meant, he’d been waving a white flag. John wasn’t going to stand in Henry’s way anymore.
So what had happened? Had Jackson been so rude that John changed his mind? Is that why Henry and his father had fought? One man knew the answer, and Hallie was determined to get it out of him.
“You might as well talk,” she told Jackson, hoping her bluff would work. “Share your story before I take Bert’s story to the police.”
Jackson buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”
Hallie stayed silent. The truth would come out, soon. It would bubble out of Jackson the way it had nearly bubbled out of Bert.
“Fine,” Jackson said. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anybody.”
Hallie gave him a noncommittal nod.
“My business is… it isn’t as strong as it once was,” Jackson said. “Labor is costlier now, so are machines. A few customers I depended on didn’t pay me what they owed. I’ve had a run of bad luck during the war, while John—why he had the Midas touch. Everything he invested in, or worked on, gave him twice the profit it normally would.”
“That must have been hard for you to watch.”
“You bet,” Jackson said. “He loved to rub it in my face, too. He pretended he was being friendly by inviting me to dinners and speaking to me in public, and all the while, he was just showing off his wealth. He was always taking subtle jabs at me.”
“That’s why you refused to go over to his house for the Historical Club meeting?”
“That meeting was a sham,” Jackson said scornfully. “I don’t think John ever intended the club to be put into use! Why, I donated a good amount towards it myself, and I don’t think I’ll ever see anything come of it. But that wasn’t why I refused to go. I refused to go because Bert told me the truth of what John was planning. John wanted me to come over so that we could talk about…” Jackson swallowed, his voice getting hoarse. “To talk about a loan.” He spat the last words out as though they were a curse.
“A loan?” This was the last thing Hallie had been expecting. “He wanted to offer you a loan?”
Jackson nodded. “He’d confided to Bert about it, and Bert told me. He said that John was planning to offer me a loan, on
the condition that I give my daughter’s hand to Henry! Can you imagine? I was furious!” Jackson’s big hands curled into fists. One of them pummeled the book with a short but fierce punch. “I told Bert I’d never do it! I’d rather sleep on the street than sell my daughter!”
“I can see that you’re a very proud man,” she said.
“I am,” Jackson said. “I came home and told Eva she was never to see Henry again. I told her exactly what kind of family they were. If I’d agreed to John’s condition, Eva would never have been able to hold her head high in front of that family!”
“Did Eva break up with Henry?”
“She did,” Jackson said. “As soon as she heard my side of the story, she called Henry, and told him she never wanted to speak to him again, that he and his father had conspired together to humiliate me.” There was a thin smile on his face. “She told him she would never be his.”
Hallie nodded. “Of course. And that was when Henry stormed into our dinner to confront his father. That’s why John looked sad not angry, when Henry left. I always thought that the narrative was all wrong. John, cutting Henry off? Not a chance! It was Henry who threatened to never speak to his father again. Poor John, all his meddling only got him his son’s anger. He thought he’d barter peace between the two of you and that his son would finally forgive him for sending him away to boarding school. Instead, it backfired, and Henry stormed out of there, furious at his father.”
Jackson bit back a smile. “Pride comes before the fall. Blackstone was so happy to wave his money in my face, but he couldn’t buy his son’s love. As for me, I love my daughter, and she loves me. I was overjoyed that she stayed loyal to me, instead of siding with Henry.”
Hallie shook her head sadly. “If you loved your daughter, you’d put her happiness before your pride, Jackson. Did it ever occur to you that Eva and Henry truly love each other?”
“Anyone but him!” Jackson exclaimed. “Eva’s a beautiful girl, she could have any man she likes, and she chooses that—that—” He shook his head violently. “That one-handed freak!”
At that moment, Hallie could have slapped him. “That freak sacrificed his hand on the battlefield. He’s nothing short of a hero.”
“Yes, well…” Jackson had the decency to look ashamed. “He’s still a Blackstone.”
But Hallie’s eye was on Jackson’s desk. She frowned. “That book… I’ve seen that book before.”
Jackson looked down at it, still lost in his thought, and back up at Hallie. Hallie was staring at him with wide eyes. “I saw it on the dinner table in John’s house, the night he died,” she said. “He read a quote out loud from it. Something about civilization and stews both needing a stir.”
“What?” Jackson colored and hastily grabbed at the book. “What are you implying?”
“You still aren’t telling me the truth,” Hallie said. “You did go to Blackstone’s house that night, didn’t you? There was a fire in the parlor when I came in at two am. Because you’d been there.”
Jackson shook his head, denying it. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying that long after the party ended, you went over to Blackstone’s house, didn’t you? Why? Did you want to gloat? Did you want to rub in his face that you’d managed to get Eva and Henry to break up?”
“I did nothing of the sort!” Jackson said.
“I’m right!” Hallie exclaimed. “There’s no way the book would be with you otherwise.”
Jackson tossed the book to her, and Hallie caught it deftly.
“There,” Jackson said. “It’s your word against mine now. You have the book, not me. Go find some other evidence proving I was at Blackstone’s house that night. Here’s a hint—you won’t!” His laughter echoed in her ears as he slammed the door behind her.
Chapter 14
A Picture Tells a Story
T he stress of her confrontation with Mayor Jackson made it difficult for caused Hallie to sleep that night. Mayor Jackson’s story was proof that Henry hadn’t committed the crime. John had no intention of disowning Henry, so what motive did he have for killing his father? She suspected that if she confronted Sergeant Johnson about this, he’d simply shrug and point out that perhaps Henry had gotten angry and murdered his father because his father’s actions had caused Eva to break up with him. Hallie didn’t believe that either.
The simple fact was that whoever killed John had meticulously planned it out. It was a cold-blooded murder, not a crime of passion. Had John been found with his head bashed in, she would have been more inclined to believe in Henry’s guilt. She thought that the impulsive young man was capable of a sudden bout of rage. But this? Calculating an excruciating death for his own father? No. She simply could not believe that Henry was capable of something like that.
This act was committed by someone who hated John Blackstone. This murder was the product of a slow, burning hatred—one that had simmered for years, perhaps, before finally coming to a boil.
Hallie tossed in her bed, frustrated. Outside, lightning lit up the sky, followed by a low, growling burst of thunder. She suddenly sat up. She grabbed an old black sweater and threw on a tweed suit. Fluffing her hair, she slipped into her shoes and crept out of the house. It was two am. The hallway was quiet, and all the houses on the street were dark. Hallie supposed that someone who saw her out in the dead of night alone would consider her quite mad. She didn’t care. She had to find out the truth. An idea had occurred to her: If Henry wasn’t the murderer, then she had been wrong to suspect him of planting evidence. That meant that there had been a thief in the Blackstone mansion when she’d visited it the other day. That also meant that with Henry no longer guarding the house, the thief would attempt to strike again.
She cut through Morton’s field on her bicycle and then left it propped against the hedge at the back of the Blackstone house. This time, she planned on making her entrance through the kitchen window.
She crept into the house, padding carefully, making sure she didn’t make any noise. The rain had stopped now, and a full moon was out, meaning she had no need of the flashlight she’d brought with her. She was glad to have it, anyway; the heavy-duty metal flashlight would be a useful weapon, if needed.
Her breath caught as she slowly crept out of the kitchen. Across the hall, she could see a candle’s light flickering in the parlor. Someone was here!
Carefully, very carefully, Hallie tiptoed across the hall. This was her one chance to catch the murderer, and she didn’t want it ruined. It never crossed her mind that it might be dangerous; her anger on Henry’s behalf spurred her on.
She slunk into the room, pausing by the doorway. A window was open. The rain had begun again, more furious than ever, coming down in ropes. There was no fire in the parlor now, nor any of the good cheer that had been there on the night of the party. The coffee table was overturned, and every cupboard in the room stood with its doors open. To the left of the open window, a shadowy figure was rummaging through a chest of drawers. The candle the figure held was blocked by his or her body—to Hallie’s frustration, the shadows conspired to keep the killer a secret—she couldn’t quite make out whether it was man or woman.
Lightning suddenly lit up the room, followed by a huge blast of thunder. Hallie involuntarily jumped backwards. She caught her shoe in the hallway carpet and went sprawling on the floor, making a ruckus as she fell.
When she looked up, the killer had vanished, though the candle still stood on the chest of drawers. Cursing herself for her idiocy, Hallie ran to the window and with a little effort, jumped out. She caught sight of a black figure running around the corner and immediately gave chase, not caring about the rain pouring down on her.
Her legs ached, and her breath felt as though it were burning her lungs. Hallie’s brain angrily called upon her body to move faster, and even though her body gave a valiant try, she could not quite match the killer’s speed. In seconds, she rounded the corner herself and ran straight into another person.
With a gasp, she found herself knocked off her feet and into the mud. Her head was ringing, and her every part of her hurt.
A light shone into her face, and she winced. “Dr. Malone?” There was a gasp. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Dr. Livingstone!” She stared into his confused blue eyes and for a moment, wondered if he were the killer, but no. It could not be. At 6’3”, Dr. Livingstone was much larger than the killer had been. Besides, he was wearing a white button-down shirt and grey pants. The killer had been dressed completely in black. Of course, now, his shirt was rather muddy, as was his face, having fallen and been splattered with mud when Hallie smacked into him. Despite herself, Hallie let out a snort of laughter. Dr. Livingstone stood and followed her eyes, raising his hands to see the full extent of the damage the mud had done. Then he looked at her and quipped, “Yeah? Well you should see the other guy.”
Hallie looked down at herself. Her tweed suit was muddy and torn in one spot. She groaned. “Detective stories never talk about laundry, do they?”
“It would be most unromantic if they did,” Dr. Livingstone said, helping her to her feet. “Now, charming as it is to meet you this way, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I was—” Hallie paused, still uncertain. Was she really sure Dr. Livingstone was not the killer? She told herself she was just being paranoid. He was a skilled and locally beloved doctor. What motive could he possibly have to kill John Blackstone? Unless… John had mentioned something about a theft. What if Dr. Livingstone was stealing from the hospital? It seemed so unlikely. She looked at him closely. He had a jovial face, with crow’s feet around his eyes and a rather angular jawline. His dark hair, thinning now, flopped all over his face, though it was usually carefully swept back. Most of all, his eyes struck her as being those of a kind, honest man. Still, instinct warned her to be careful. What was he doing here? “Why are you here?” she asked.