by Liz Turner
“I was wondering who to kill next,” Dr. Livingstone said, trying to sound sarcastic but coming across a little annoyed instead. “Come on, Hallie. I was with Sergeant Johnson when the killer struck you, remember? You can tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, you could be the killer’s partner,” Hallie said. “You have the medical knowledge on how to use Hemlock.”
“Indeed, I could be the killer’s assistant. In which case, you’re rather silly for standing around with me in the middle of the night, aren’t you?” Dr. Livingstone grinned. “I should just knock you on the head and be done with it.”
Hallie’s eyes widened, and Dr. Livingstone immediately said, “Don’t be a fool, Hallie. I’m actually on my way to see Sheila for a visit. She’s been feeling unwell since John died, and she called me to say she has a fever.”
“Oh,” Hallie said.
“Yes. Oh,” Dr. Livingstone replied. “I was hurrying there, and what do I see? A figure in black running about Blackstone’s backyard like it’s football tryout day at school.”
“Well, I suppose I tackled you well,” Hallie said and stifled another sudden snort of laughter.
“My aching bones would agree.” Dr. Livingstone smiled down at her, the corner of his mouth crinkling up. “Luckily it’s still raining. It’ll wash off by the time we get to Sheila’s.”
“Oh! I forgot all about Sheila,” Hallie said. “We’d better get to her house. If she was as serious as you said—”
“You want to come too?” Dr. Livingstone raised an eyebrow. “Not going to go home to change?”
“A little mud never killed anyone,” Hallie said.
“I used to tell my wife that.” Dr. Livingstone smiled. “She never agreed. The fuss she’d make if my boots touched the carpet!”
“You have a wife?” Hallie asked.
“Had,” Dr. Livingstone said, his face shadowing. “Daisy was a wonderful woman. I wish you could have met her. I think she’d have liked you. She was all for women’s equality. She used to be a suffragette, you know. She marched in New York in 1917.” He sounded proud. “She was the one who pushed my daughter Barbara to be career minded.”
“Where is Barbara now?” Hallie asked.
“She’s working as an editor at the Baltimore Sun,” he said. “Married to a nice man, too. A lawyer. I wish she’d settled a little closer, though. My house feels empty without the two of them around.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Hallie patted his arm.
“Don’t be. I’m proud of her more than I miss her, so it works out. How about you though? You never did answer my question about why you came back to Warrenton,” Dr. Livingstone said. “I actually wanted to apologize to you about it. I may have come off a little forceful. I shouldn’t have pried into your past like that, at any rate.”
“That’s alright,” Hallie said. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to be curious about other people.”
“Oh, yes.” He laughed. “What were you doing in the Blackstone mansion? Weren’t you technically breaking in?”
“Technically I entered the property without permission,” Hallie said. “But I’m sure Henry wouldn’t mind, especially since I almost caught the killer red-handed. This might help get him out of gaol.”
“I don’t know about that.” Dr. Livingstone said. “After all, it’s so easy to assume that the killer can have a partner.” He gave Hallie a pointed look, and she blushed.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I was rattled, and I didn’t know whether you could be trusted.”
“Oh, maybe I can’t.” He grinned mischievously. “It’s actually flattering, in a way. Here I am, the most boring man imaginable, with the steadiest, squarest life one could ever live, and you made me feel like a dashing pirate for a minute.”
“Glad I could help.” She smiled. “Dr. Livingstone, you didn’t happen to see the killer, did you? Could you make out who it was?”
He shook his head. “Just a dark figure lurking about. Sorry.”
Hallie sighed. “Will we ever find out who did it?”
“I’m willing to bet we will, and very soon, too,” Dr. Livingstone said. “The killer is clearly looking for something, and if you interrupted him, perhaps he’ll grow more and more desperate. The first thing we should do when we reach Sheila’s house is phone Sergeant Johnson and ask him to set up a patrol around the house. He should have done it long ago, actually!”
“You don’t sound very fond of Johnson,” Hallie said.
Dr. Livingstone sighed. “I do like the man. He’s honest, and hardworking. He’s just… I think he’s never seen a murder like this and doesn’t quite know what to do. Perhaps we should call in the State Police.”
“Give him a chance,” Hallie said. “He was wrong to arrest Henry, but Sergeant Johnson has his heart in the right place. He’ll come around soon.”
“Well, here we are,” Dr. Livingstone said. They were on Main Street now, in front of Bigelow Inn. Hallie looked at him in some confusion until he clarified. “Since Henry didn’t want Sheila staying at the Blackstone mansion anymore, she’s been forced to take a room at Bert’s hotel. I gather she isn’t too happy, but what else can she do?”
“Oh.” Hallie did a double take. “So this is Bert’s hotel?”
The hotel was beautiful, hemmed in by a cafe on one side and the barber on the other, it was nevertheless charming. Each room had a balcony with a complex wrought iron railing and a host of blooming flowers in little clay pots. The front door was painted a bright blue, contrasting with the pale-yellow walls and the marble pillars. On the very top was a giant sign proclaiming “Bigelow Inn, 1860.”
“Come on then,” Dr. Livingstone said, walking up the stairs. Hallie paused, her eyes catching a sudden movement in the alley beside the hotel. Dr. Livingstone’s head swiveled around, and they both watched as Bert emerged from the alley, his face red, his breath heavy. He was wearing all black.
He stopped as he turned the corner and stared at the two of them in disbelief. His face turned pale and then flushed with color. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked at their muddy clothes incredulously.
“Sheila’s feeling sick,” Dr. Livingstone said. “We are here to help. So, what are you doing here, Bert? Been out for a stroll?”
“Er—yes,” Bert said. “Lovely night.” His words were punctuated by a huge growl of thunder. He sighed, and said, “Well, would you mind taking your boots off outside? I’ll see if I can find the two of you some spare clothes after you’re done seeing Sheila. You can take a shower here at the hotel.”
When they rang her doorbell, Sheila opened the door almost immediately. She didn’t look sick at all, was Hallie’s first thought. Sheila was dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her hair recently washed, and perfume wafting about her. Her mouth fell open in surprise as she saw Hallie and Dr. Livingstone together.
“S-Sheila,” Dr. Livingstone stuttered. “We thought you were ill.”
“Oh—oh, yes.” Sheila moved away and collapsed on the bed. “I am rather sick.”
Hallie touched her forehead. “It’s not a fever. Your temperature’s normal.”
“W—well—I—”
Hallie had to bite her lip to prevent a smile forming. Poor Dr. Livingstone was too innocent to realize that Sheila had been attempting to seduce him. Seeing them both at her door, muddy and wet, must have put a damper in her plans. Her face folded into a scowl as she regarded them.
“Well, I’m feeling better now,” she said. “I suppose all the stress just made me feverish earlier.”
“Perhaps you should take some paracetamol, just in case.” Dr. Livingstone handed her two tablets. She placed them on her nightstand, still looking grumpy.
“Well, if you’re feeling better, you won’t mind if I go on my way, then?” Dr. Livingstone asked. “I’ll send the bill along to you tomorrow.”
“Bill!” Sheila looked outraged. “But you haven’t done a thing!”
“I’ve come
all the way here to see you,” Dr. Livingstone said.
“Yes, but I thought—” She looked even more annoyed, then sighed. “Fine. Goodbye.”
“I’d actually like a word with you, if you don’t mind,” Hallie said to Sheila. “Alone.”
Dr. Livingstone raised an eyebrow. “I’ll wait outside,” he said. “Goodnight, Sheila.”
“I’m not going to get charged for this too, am I?” Sheila grumbled, as Dr. Livingstone shut the door. “You doctors bill everything!”
“You woke the poor man up in the middle of the night,” Hallie said.
“Well, if you hadn’t been tagging along, I’d have made it worth his while,” Sheila replied. She frowned suddenly. “Why were you tagging along? And why are you both covered in mud?”
“I was at the Blackstone mansion,” Hallie said. She watched Sheila’s face carefully. Irritation flashed across it.
“Ah, the mansion,” Sheila grumbled. “Well, I’m not a Blackstone, so I don’t belong there anymore, apparently. Never mind that I’m the only family Henry’s got! He kicked me out like I was nobody.”
“He’s stressed,” Hallie said.
“Oh please,” Sheila said. “He isn’t stressed. He’s suspicious. He thinks I killed his father. Me! As though I’d ever do such a thing! I loved John.”
“Did you?” Hallie said, looking at the door. “You seem to have gotten over him fast.”
Sheila turned red with anger. “What would you know? You’re a spinster! You’re content with being alone. But me? I can’t stand it!” She turned to the nightstand and brought out a faded photo, thrusting it toward Hallie. The photo showed two young girls, standing in the backyard of a house. One had a balloon in her hand and was looking upwards while the other flashed a broken-toothed smile at the camera. “That’s me.” Sheila pointed at the second girl. “With Tina. The last bit of family I thought I had in this world.”
“It is you,” Hallie remarked. There could be no doubt about it. The years in between hadn’t changed the essential structure of Sheila’s face, even though it had added quite a few layers of hardness to it.
“My husband died in the first world war,” Sheila said. “That was devastating enough, but I had enough money to survive and start my own business as a seamstress. I found another man, thought I’d lead a new life. Then the second war came along, and everything I’d worked so hard to build collapsed around me again. Worse yet, my second husband ran away, taking most of my money with him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hallie said, feeling genuinely bad. Sheila had acquired her hardness honestly—she’d boxed with life, and life had clearly landed most of the punches.
“Oh, you’re sorry,” Sheila said. “You’re sorry. But you don’t know me. You don’t understand me. You sit high up on your altar of judgement and wonder how I could be over John so quickly. I’ll tell you how—because when bad luck follows you about, you learn to shrug it off and move on! I didn’t have the foolish schoolgirl’s version of love for John. But he was a good man, and I was loyal to him. I came to Warrenton with nothing, wanting to meet my last remaining relative: Tina. Only what did I find? She was dead. The war took her too. Not directly, but just as surely. The stress of worrying about her son eventually got to her. Made her go before her time.” Sheila wiped a tear away with a fist. “I was devastated. I was ready to kill myself. The last link I had to a proper life was gone.”
“But John helped,” Hallie said.
“Yes. John helped. He was generous, and he never tried to take advantage, even though he could have. Do you think I’d ever harm him after that? I’m not an easy person to love, but he loved me.” More tears streamed down her eyes. “He was devoted to me, and he thought I was beautiful. He made life worth living again. But this town? All it did was label me a gold-digging wench and sneer at me. I hated everyone else but him.”
“Even Henry?” Hallie asked.
Sheila’s face softened. “Henry’s my nephew. I can’t hate him.”
Something clicked together for Hallie for the second time that night. “Debby said she overheard John saying his son had betrayed him,” she said. “He was complaining to you, wasn’t he? Complaining about Eva and Henry?”
Sheila looked startled. “So that bit of gossip is out, eh?”
Hallie nodded. “Were you the one who changed his mind about their relationship? Were you the one who persuaded him to extend the olive branch to Jackson?”
Sheila nodded. “I only told him my opinion,” she said. “I told him it’s not worth losing your son to keep your enemy. Because surely, if he’d continued to hate Jackson and disown Henry, he’d only invite misery into his life. I told him to build a bridge instead, and to welcome Eva into our lives.”
“Good advice,” Hallie said, marveling. “No wonder he loved you. You were good for him too.”
“I tried to be,” Sheila said, her shoulders slumping. “I wish I’d done more. And I wish I knew who killed him.”
“I think I’ve figured out the who,” Hallie said. “It’s the how that’s still confusing me a little.”
Sheila looked startled. “Who!” she demanded. “Who killed him?”
Hallie shook her head. “I don’t want to throw about names when I’m not fully sure. Sheila, were you there that night when Jackson came over?”
Sheila hesitated, then shook her head. “So that was Jackson!” she exclaimed. “I heard someone come to the house late at night, but I wasn’t sure it was him. Why would Jackson come over so late?”
“To gloat at finally getting Eva to severe her relationship with Henry,” Hallie said. “John’s olive branch backfired. Jackson took it as an insult as John trying to buy Eva for Henry. Eva took it as an insult too.”
“Foolish girl,” Sheila said. “Henry’s a great boy. She’ll never find a man who loves her more.”
“But why didn’t you eat the stew that night?” Hallie frowned, falling back to an aspect that puzzled her. “It wasn’t your diet… you ate the cherry pie just fine.”
“It was my diet,” Sheila said. “I mean, it sort of was. I hate Chef Leon’s lamb stew. John loved it, so I didn’t want to badmouth it, but personally, I think it tastes like sludge. The cherry pie, on the other hand… tastes divine. Harder to remember a diet when a cherry pie is in front of you.”
Hallie searched the woman’s face and saw only honesty reflected in it. Sheila was right. Hallie had been so busy judging her that she hadn’t had time to really look at her. No, Sheila hadn’t murdered John. Someone else had. Someone devious, and cunning, and utterly lacking any empathy for John.
She was almost sure who it was if only she could figure out how.
Chapter 15
A Murderer Unveiled
H allie sat in her armchair, looking out the window, wondering whether she’d ever get a decent night’s sleep again. Not until this murder was solved, at any rate. Debby had groaned and grumbled at her muddy suit but cleaned it all the same, and it sat out on the clothesline, waving in the wind. Oswald was running around the backyard too, chasing after toads and trying to gather them.
“Cup of cocoa, dear?” Gladys handed her a mug.
“I’ll never say no to that.” Hallie smiled and took the steaming cup. She sipped it and sighed.
“Somehow, cocoa always tastes better when it’s raining outside,” Gladys said. “Especially if I’ve just come in and am chilled to the bone. A good sunny day like this is not really cocoa drinking weather.”
“Every day and every hour is cocoa drinking time.” Hallie smiled.
“Sandwich?” Debby entered, bringing a tray of heavily buttered jam sandwiches with her. The crusts were all cut off, and the bread was shaped into neat little triangles, just the way Gladys liked them. Gladys helped herself to two and handed one to Hallie. “It’s homemade raspberry jam,” she said. “Absolutely fantastic. Debby’s a genius. Far better than Chef Leon, if I might say so.”
Debby blushed. “Thank you, Gladys.”
“Uh-uh.” Hallie caught him by the collar of his neck and pulled him back. “Wash your hands first, young man.”
“I’m hungry,” he protested.
“You’ve been playing with mud and toads,” Hallie said. “Always wash your hands after doing that.”
“Why?” he asked grumpily.
“Because we say so,” Debby said, pointing an imperious finger to the sink. “Go right now, young man.”
“Because your fingers retain the dirt you’ve been playing in,” Gladys said. “And the germs from the dirt can be transferred to your food when you touch it and enter your body.”
Hallie shot up, spilling cocoa all over the rug. Both Debby and Gladys exclaimed in surprise while Oswald put a hand to his mouth to hide a laugh.
“Of course!” Hallie said. “Gladys, I’ve been such an idiot! A complete and total fool!”
Gladys looked confused. “What?”
“The book!” Hallie said, rooting about the bookshelf. “The book, where is it?”
Debby looked at Gladys, who tapped the side of her head gently.
“Hallie dear,” Gladys said. “I don’t think you’ve quite recovered from the excitement of getting knocked on the head. Now why don’t you sit down again, and I’ll—”
“This book!” Hallie raised the book of quotes she’d gotten from Jackson triumphantly into the air. “This book will solve everything!”
Debby and Gladys exchanged another look. “Of course, dear,” Debby said, her tone conciliatory. “Now why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you another hot cup of—”
“Goodbye!” Hallie said, running out without bothering to put on her jacket.