by Liz Turner
Something was nagging at Hallie. The scene didn’t quite add up. It was snowing this morning! she remembered. The footprints! She dashed back to the front door. Sure enough, there was only one set of footprints, and they were walking away from the house. Whoever had murdered Smith had done it hours ago, but had only left between the last snowfall and now: a time span of about an hour. Hallie shivered again. She had just missed the killer.
Reentering the study, she used the telephone on the desk to ring the police. Who would be so reckless as to leave the front door and gate wide open? And neglect to cover their footprints? Hallie mused as she waited for the police. Judging from the murder weapon, Hallie knew that this was a crime of desperation, not careful calculation. Whoever had done it had been in a great hurry to leave. But then—why kill Smith and then wait around for hours? It just didn’t make any sense.
Hallie took a step and felt the carpet squish under her feet. Smith’s blood. She jerked her leg up with a start and banged it on the open desk drawer. Hallie looked down at the disheveled papers; glancing around, she pulled all the documents out of the drawer and spread them out on the desk. There were legal documents for different clients, tax forms, various sheets with notes scrawled on them in Smith’s telltale loopy writing. As she flipped through them, the sinking feeling in her chest grew heavier. She worried she already knew the answers to her questions.
She opened the other desk drawers and looked for a cabinet or anywhere else Smith might have stored documents to no avail. She was about to check the living room when she heard low voices coming from the front of the house.
“Detectives, thank you for coming,” Hallie said. Two men wearing heavy wool coats over their suits stood at the door. One looked to be about sixty, his hat not quite covering his bald head, and a salt-and-pepper mustache flopped over the sides of his mouth. The other had his hands shoved into his pockets and was looking around curiously—clearly green. He was a good twenty years younger than Hallie.
“Are you the one who called this in?” the older one asked gruffly. He flipped out his badge and waved it in front of her eyes quickly before taking out a small pad and pencil from his coat pocket.
“Yes—I’m sorry, I’m Hallie Malone. Doctor Hallie Malone. I work at Warrenton Hospital, general practitioner. I—”
The detectives nodded curtly and walked past her into the house. “The study?”
“Third door on your left,” Hallie replied. She followed them down the hallway. When they got to the door, she said, whipping out her watch, “By my estimations, he’s been dead for at least four hours. I also noticed some strange foot—”
One of the detectives held up his hand, “If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’ll do our job from here.” Hallie smiled politely. She wanted to check the living room for the copy of that x-ray, anyway. She needed it now more than ever: time was running out.
“Ma’am?” the first detective said abruptly, turning around to face her after he had examined the body. “You never mentioned what you were doing here in the first place.” He had his pad and pencil poised to jot down notes, and his eyes were narrowed at her.
Hallie stopped short—was she a suspect? She decided to tell the truth, leaving out the details about Lewis’ scheme. “Well. Mr. Smith was my business manager for some months last year when I had first moved in. He had been my father’s manager as well, so I knew I could trust him to be… thorough. He kept a lot of records for me, and I came over this morning hoping to get a copy of one that I had lost. A set of x-rays, to be precise.”
The detective stopped writing and looked up incredulously. “Malone! Doctor Malone! Ah-ha! Your father’s Thomas Malone?”
Hallie nodded, used to this sort of reaction. Although she had never had a close relationship with her father, she knew he had played a key role in building the town as it was now. Before her father came along and petitioned to have Warrenton Hospital built, she was told the town had been nothing but a post office and a single road. Of course, now it was no sprawling metropolis, but Warrenton was charming, as were the townspeople themselves. New families were moving to town every year, and since Hallie had arrived, two new roads had been constructed to lead the newly built parts of town.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? That man’s practically a legend around here. You’ve come to fill big shoes,” the detective said, sizing her up anew. “So, a medical record you say?”
“That’s right. For a Mr. Oliver Lewis.”
“Well, Doctor Malone, I’ll let you know if it turns up. For now, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
Hallie sighed. She had already decided against telling the police about Lewis’ scheme, for now. Something about those two didn’t strike her as wholly trustworthy. “Alright then gentlemen, thank you.” She was walking back down the hallway when the younger detective caught up to her. His deep brown eyes looked apologetic.
“Doctor Malone, I—I’m so sorry for your loss. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Detective Harry Jones, and the…grumpy gentleman back there is my partner, Peter Jackson. Please, take of yourself, Doctor Malone. We’re lucky to have any relative of Thomas Malone back in town. And—if you could—stay close by. We might want to ask you some questions later on,” Jones said, offering Hallie his hand.
“Of course, and thank you, I appreciate it,” Hallie said, shaking hands. Hesitating, she added, “And, if you catch a glimpse of a small Jack Russell terrier, that’s Smith’s little pooch. I haven’t seen him since I’ve gotten here and I’m a bit worried about the poor dear in this cold.” Detective Jones agreed and made a quick note. Just then Detective Jackson burst out in the hallway, striding purposefully toward them.
“Jones! I found another batch of documents in a locked box in the living room. Bring some more evidence bags!”
Hallie whirled around. “Could I perhaps get a look at those documents before you put them away? They could be the x-rays and copies of my notes that I need!”
Jackson hesitated, then relented. Hallie followed him into the living room. As she crouched to sift through the documents they had just uncovered, she felt a wave of disappointment. “No, they aren’t here,” she said dejectedly. Could it be a coincidence that the very files Hallie needed were missing on the same day Smith is killed? Hallie doubted it strongly.
Things had just become far more complicated. Not only did she not have the copies of the x-ray she needed to prove Lewis was lying, but now she was certain that her suspicions were correct: Alan Smith’s death had everything to do with her.
Chapter 5
Warrenton Hotel
A small, white and brown form bounced through the snow covering Smith’s lawn.
“Poppy!” Hallie exclaimed. The dog stopped at the sound of his name and trotted over to Hallie’s outstretched hand. “Hi there, little fellow.” He playfully bowed and tapped his front paws on her shins, looking up at her eagerly. She picked him up and stared out at the trees dotting the street. What was she going to do now? This was a far as her plan had gone, and it had turned out tragically. Poppy let out a high-pitched yap, and it suddenly occurred to Hallie that there was one thing that had been bothering her since yesterday and it was about time she asked some questions. Loading Poppy into her car, she started off toward Warrenton Hospital.
“Laura, could you care for little Poppy today while I’m in my office?” Hallie asked as she entered the familiar corridors. She looked at her watch and yawned involuntarily. Ten A.M. The hospital was already bustling with staff, and a throng of patients were seated in the waiting room just outside. This is going to be a long day, Hallie thought reluctantly. She rubbed her face and smoothed her hair back with one hand. Poppy wriggled out of her arms as he spotted Laura, rushing right into her knees.
Laura squat down and gushed as the dog tried to lick her face. “Oh my goodness, Dr. Malone! He is just adorable! Where did you find him?”
Hallie thought for a moment. “I’m watching him for a friend,” she said casua
lly. It didn’t feel right to reveal Alan Smith’s death quite yet. Laura could be emotional about death—Hallie recalled a recent scene of blubbery tears when a patient in the hospital had died—and she did not want to upset her today. She had a few questions to ask. “Laura—”
But her nurse interrupted her, standing up quickly. “Oh! Doctor Malone, your patient from yesterday, the rather angry gentleman—Mr. Lewis—called this morning to schedule an appointment for this afternoon at four pm. I told him you had a full day blocked out with other patients, but he insisted you would be glad to shift your schedule to see him.”
“Of course he did,” Hallie smiled grimly. “Yes, yes, set it up. Thank you, Laura.” Looks like he’s holding fast to his twenty-four-hour offer, she thought. She began to walk down the hallway and called over her shoulder, “Oh, Laura. Can you please keep an eye on little Poppy for me today? I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
***
Hallie rubbed her hands together. Every day seemed to be colder and colder. Winter in Massachusetts is no laughing matter, she thought. Closing her curtains, she spotted her ceramic space heater and plugged it in, looking forward to warming up the small room. Only a few more months until spring. Hallie was settling into her desk chair when she suddenly looked up. Of course! she thought.
In a few months, they would arrive at the anniversary of the storage fire. And what else would be arriving at the same time? Spring. At the time of the storage fire last year, no one would have been using a space heater anywhere in the office. It would have been warm enough to do without. It hadn’t occurred to her until now to question the direct cause of the fire. But if the firemen were to be believed, that meant that someone used a space heater in the storage room—not to keep warm, but to start a fire!
Hallie smiled. A new piece of evidence to prove Lewis was lying. Would it be enough to convince him to drop this whole thing? And then there was the matter of only a few files being burnt. It made perfect sense that Lewis’ files would be burned, but why go to the trouble of monitoring the fire to protect the rest of the files? Why not just let the whole storage room burn? That would have appeared more like an accident. Hallie pursed her lips. She began to have an idea, but she wasn’t sure how to test it.
Buzzzz. Hallie’s office intercom went off, surprising her. Reluctantly, Hallie pushed the button. “Yes, Laura?” she asked. She hoped it wasn’t Lewis, early and eager to confront Hallie and her lack of evidence.
“Mrs. Peterson is here with her daughter Lydia; could you come out here please, Doctor Malone?” With a blast of static, the intercom went silent.
Normally, Laura sent her patients in to see Hallie when they arrived. But checking her schedules appointments, Hallie realized Lydia Peterson was not scheduled to see her. She was a bright girl, eight years old, and had been a patient of hers last year when she had sustained a deep cut in her hand from a pocketknife she had been using. Hallie hoped everything was okay. She headed out to see what the matter was.
Lydia Peterson was crying, her face pressed into his mother’s skirt. Hallie kneeled in front of her and took her hands in hers. She quickly jerked them back and sobbed more loudly. Her face twisted into an expression of pain.
“Lydia? What seems to be the problem?” Hallie asked, keeping her voice professional. She had a penchant for treating children like smaller adults—she knew Lydia would be embarrassed about crying, so she acted as though she weren’t.
The girl was wearing a pair of overalls, smudged here and there with dirt. Hallie grinned; Lydia was proud and independent, and often she could be found roughhousing with her brothers instead of playing dress-up with the other girls her age. Hallie knew her mother was sometimes frustrated by her refusal to wear the dresses she picked out.
Instead of answering Hallie, Lydia shrugged and held out her arm as best she could. It was bruised and seemed to be bent in slightly the wrong place. “May I?” Hallie asked. Lydia nodded somberly and grit her teeth, making a show of how brave she was being. Hallie gently tapped the arm in places with her fingers and then looked up kindly. “Why, Ms. Lydia, I think you’ve broken your arm. Would you follow me into my office, and I’ll see about getting you fixed up?”
Mrs. Peterson interjected, “Come on, Lydia, we’re going to get you a cast on that ole’ arm! Make you feel good as new!” And then, to Hallie, “She fell out of a tree. You know how she’s always trying to climb those big oaks. I told her not to climb when it was wet and snowy outside, but I suppose she didn’t listen.” She good-naturedly squeezed her daughters shoulder. Then, as an aside to Hallie, Mrs. Peterson added, “I thought that when I had a girl, finally, that I would be done with the years of broken bones and stained clothing….”
“I was just the same as a youngster,” Hallie said with a laugh. “Four older brothers? You’ve got to stand up for yourself and prove your worth! I don’t blame little Lydia one bit for being somewhat of a tomboy.” Turning to Lydia, she said, “I’ll bet you give those brothers of yours a run for their money in tree climbing, huh?”
Lydia’s face broke into a wide grin. “I could beat ‘em even with this arm!” The adults let out a laugh, and Mrs. Peterson shook her head fondly.
“Well then! You are a lucky girl that you didn’t get more injured than a broken arm, Lydia. Now, I’m sure you could beat those boys even with the broken arm here, but promise me you won’t go climbing trees with your cast, okay? You want to get better, don’t you?” Hallie asked. Lydia nodded. Her face was still streaked with tear stains, but she was definitely in better spirits. Hallie could tell the little girl would be wearing her cast like a badge of honor in no time. “And how’s that old cut in your hand?” Hallie asked. Lydia held her palm up flat so Hallie could see. “Oh, all healed! Well, how about that? Soon enough, your arm will be good as new, too.”
They entered Hallie’s office, and she got to work securing a cast around Lydia’s arm. She felt a joy spreading through her. This was what she had imagined when she thought about life in Warrenton. Helping her neighbors and friends heal. Looking around, she smiled satisfactorily. Her doubts were lifting, and she felt suddenly more confident about how to prove Lewis was lying.
Shortly, Hallie was leading Lydia and her mother back out to the waiting room. “Alright then, I’ll you back in six weeks. You’ll have a brand-new arm, isn’t that exciting?” Hallie joked.
***
As soon as she was alone again, Hallie put on her coat, grabbed her felted wool hat, and made her way softly down the hallway toward the back entrance. The back entrance led to the ambulance bay and was hardly used. Hallie guessed correctly that she wouldn’t be seen by anyone.
She had an idea. Lewis couldn’t be a permanent resident of Warrenton, despite what his intake form said. A con artist knows he can only keep up his schemes if he never stays too long in any one place. Hallie guessed he didn’t have a house of his own, at least not in Warrenton. And there was only one hotel in town.
The sign for the Warrenton Hotel and Restaurant hung high beside the street. The place was located right on the edge of the center of town. There were only a few cars parked in the lot out front. Eagerly, Hallie looked around for the dark blue car that had tried to run her down earlier, but she didn’t see any that fit the description. Pulling her hat so that it tilted low over her face, Hallie went into the hotel lobby. She hoped she would see Lewis before he spotted her.
The hotel was bright and clean. Modern, sleek wooden furniture filled out the small lobby; large chandeliers hung from the low ceiling. The space immediately felt cozy, with its patterned green carpeting and lamplight, even in the middle of the day. But it was eerily quiet as though the thick sofa cushions and fabric armchairs had absorbed all the sound. A spacious reception desk waited in the back. After assuring that Lewis wasn’t around, Hallie went up to the concierge behind the desk.
“How can I help you, ma’am?” the concierge asked. He was young, couldn’t be more than twenty years old, Hallie guessed, and
he wore a dark suit and thick-rimmed glasses. His hair was coiffed high over his head.
“Hello, Milton,” Hallie said, reading his name tag. “My name is Virginia Lewis, and I’m meeting my husband here. You see, he drove up early, because I had to stay behind to attend to some affairs. He told me he checked in here. Can you tell me which room we’re in?” She kept her hair fluffed around her face, in the event that someone recognized her, but she kept her eyes fixed earnestly on the young concierge. Her years as a doctor had taught her more than medical knowledge, she had learned how to establish trust with her patients very quickly: eye contact, friendly touches if appropriate, and clear, slow speech, spoken with an air of assurance. Such experiences certainly came in handy in her personal life, or say, when she was attempting to convince a concierge she was someone else.
“Ah, I see. I do remember a Mr. Lewis, although he didn’t mention anything about his wife joining him,” the man said, ducking behind the counter to pull out the log book.
Hallie tinkled a laugh and laid her hand lightly on his forearm. “Just like my husband to forget the details!”
The man smiled and ran his finger down the log book. “Ah, here it is. Lewis. Room fifteen. I’ll fetch a porter to—” He frowned. “Hmmm. Well this is odd. We’ve got down here that Mr. Lewis is checking out this afternoon. In just a few hours, in fact. Perhaps you’ve got your plans mixed up, Mrs. Lewis?” The young man pulled at his collar. “The thing is—it’s—well, I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up this week. I don’t know if we’ll be able to accommodate you if there was some mistake.” He didn’t look Hallie in the eye, instead continued talking, his words increasingly coming out faster. “I don’t know—this is a new job, you see. I don’t see how I could have made a mistake like that, perhaps I misheard Mr. Lewis, or perhaps—is it possible that—oh, I don’t know. There aren’t any other hotels in town, but there is a woman here who takes in boarders, let me see if I have her contact information, she really is a lovely old woman, a real Warrentonian, no one better to show you around—”