“I think maybe the teacher left that out,” Tyler said, “although everybody knew it was from the old south before the war. Sophie Roland finally got it taken out of the school library, I think.
“Do you remember hearing anything else about her mother?” Hunter asked. “That would be,” she glanced at her notes, “Lorena Hilliard Sheffield.”
“Only that she died young,” Tyler said, “and she’s the one with the big angel over her grave over in the old cemetery. How did you get interested in all this?”
“I guess I just was surprised that I’ve been here for three years and never once heard a mention of Col. Jimmy Sheffield living here. I know nobody reads the book now, but it was quite well known at one time, right up there with the Uncle Remus stories.
“Anyway, Robin Hilliard was going to lend Miss Mae-Lula’s copy to Bethie to read, and I thought I should read it first,” Hunter explained. “I remembered the title from my college course on children’s literature, as an example of books that have been taken off library shelves for one reason or another. Hill Roland’s latest book is dedicated to ‘Lorena and Sophie.’”
“He probably can tell you all about it, then,” Tyler said. “Might be a good part of the interview you’re going to do with him once this poisoning thing dies down. That’s what I really came out here to find out. Are we going to have anything that the other papers and the television stations haven’t already run?”
“Not much at this point,” Hunter said. “Sam’s really frustrated with the whole thing. There just doesn’t seem to be anywhere to start looking.”
“Too bad,” Tyler said, “And another thing? Could you go to that Chamber of Commerce legislative luncheon today? I was planning to go, but Ellie has made a doctor’s appointment for me in Perry at one, and she’s determined that I’m going to go this time.”
“This time?” Hunter asked.
“Well, the thing is,” Tyler said, “I’ve gotten out of it three times already. Now if you absolutely can’t, I’ll call her and… ”
”I absolutely can,” Hunter said. “Don’t you dare miss that appointment.”
“And keep picking at Sam about that poisoning,” Tyler said, rolling away. “Maybe there’s something he hasn’t told you. Maybe there’ll be a break.”
And then, a story came through the door, in the form of a slim, dark-haired young woman cradling a small baby with one arm, and weighted down with a tote bag on the other shoulder. She looked familiar.
“My name is Victoria Benedict Harper,” she said as both Novena and Hunter both got up to help her.
Novena took the baby, who looked no more than a month or two old, and went into full grandmother mode. Hunter took the heavy tote bag and placed it on her desk.
The girl collapsed into a chair and started talking.
“My sister, Olivia Benedict, died here in this town last week, and I want to put something in the paper about her. I’ll pay for it if I have to.”
Hunter said, “Of course, you won’t have to pay for it. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll be happy to interview you for a story. I’ve just got an hour now, but maybe we can get started and then finish up later today, or by phone if you have to leave.
When she had gotten her composure, Victoria Harper said, “First, I want you to know that I really do understand that it was an accident,” she said. “That investigator from the District Attorney’s office explained the whole thing to me, and I’ve talked with the two men at the Hilliard House, too. They said I should talk to you. I just don’t want people around here thinking she was some kind of celebrity chaser or that she went over there to sleep with him. It wasn’t that at all. I do think that she had admired him – well maybe she had a kind of crush on him — but the thing is that Olivia was a wonderful writer and her book kept being rejected. She couldn’t get an agent. She told me on the phone the night before that she was going to try to get him to read her manuscript.”
The baby, who had the same big brown eyes as his aunt and his mother, began to fret, and Novena brought him back to his mother.
“He wants to be fed,” Victoria Benedict said. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all,” Hunter said, thinking with some amusement that if Tyler Bankston came out of his office and found a breastfeeding mother in his news room, he would probably roll right back in and shut the door.
“I met your sister at the book signing,” Hunter said. “I can see the family resemblance.”
“We’re, I mean we were identical twins,” Victoria said. “Any difference really had to do with her health problems and her personal style, I guess. I always thought maybe if she hadn’t had the heart problem, we might have been more alike, but she was more of an introvert than I am and more high strung, and of course, she was way more talented.”
She went on talking about her sister’s talent and all the health problems she had, and how much she had admired Hill Roland’s work. Hunter explained about meeting Olivia in the book signing line and told Victoria about the pictures she had taken, that were undoubtedly still in her sister’s camera.
Victoria held the baby over her shoulder and patted him on the back.
“I understand Hill Roland’s wife is a literary agent,” she said, “I was thinking that if she understood that Olivia wasn’t really after her husband, maybe she’d take a look at the manuscript.. I was wondering if you could read it, or some of it, and talk to her about that. I mean, since you’re a writer, you’ll see that it’s good. That’s what Robin at the Hilliard House said. I just got this copy back from the detective, and it’s the one Olivia signed for Hill Roland. It could be a collector’s item someday.”
Hunter made a mental note to strangle Robin Hilliard, but kept smiling. After all, there was the potential for a good interview here, and she was on good enough terms now with Megan Roland to explain the situation just as it happened. If Megan wouldn’t have anything to do with it, which seemed more than likely, Hunter thought that at least Olivia Benedict’s twin would have done the best she could.
“I’ll take it over to the house and talk to her about it,” she said. “I promise that, but I can’t promise that she’ll read it. Now why don’t you tell me more about your sister?”
“Well,” Victoria began, “I’d say that reading and writing were her life. She did the magazine work to make a living, but she worked for seven years on this novel, and, well, if you read it, you’ll see how good it is. I just don’t think any of those people she sent it to even read it, but she would be crushed every time it came back. What I admired was how she never gave up. I mean she really believed in her own talent.”
Hunter listened and took notes until it was time for her to leave for the Chamber of Commerce luncheon. They parted just before noon, with an agreement to continue the interview by phone early that evening.
At the same time Hunter was heading to the Chamber luncheon, T.J. Jackson hurried into R&J’s Café. He spotted Sam Bailey in a back booth, and hurried to join him.
“I think I may have a break in this case,” he said in a low voice, “or at least something to check out.”
Sam took the last bite of a fried chicken leg, waiting. Annelle, the one waitress at the downtown café, came up to take T.J.’s order.
“I’ve located William Randall Slattery,” T.J. said as soon as she left. He had a note of triumph in his voice, “and he’s not living in New Jersey any longer. He’s been living in Atlanta for the last six months.
Sam was silent for a while.
“Are you still there?” T.J. asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I was just trying to remember which of them said he lived in New Jersey. It was Hill, not Megan.”
“I’ve got more,” T.J. said. “Megan didn’t fly into Atlanta on Thursday morning. She got there Wednesday.”
“You know this how?”
“From Randy Slattery himself. I just asked him straight out when he had last seen Megan Roland and he said Wednesday night. He met her at the air
port and took her out to dinner. He said they were still good friends.”
Sam thought about that a minute.
“So maybe they are,” he finally said. “Had Slattery heard about the poisoning?”
“Yes, he had and this gets better. Apparently he’s talked to Megan since that happened. She called him. In fact, he started getting annoyed at that point and said ‘Is that why you’re calling me? You think because it came from Atlanta I sent it?’ “
“Doesn’t sound like he’s trying to hide anything, does it?” Sam said.
“He’s a cool one,” T.J. said. “Very confident sounding. They could be in it together. She could have made the rum balls and mailed them to Slattery, and he could have mailed them from Atlanta.”
Sam took a bite of cornbread as he considered this.
“Yeah,” he said “But, of course, if Megan and this Slattery guy wanted to get back together, she could just divorce Hill. She doesn’t seem like the poisoned cookies through the mail type to me.”
“Yeah, I know,” T.J. said with a grin. “She’d probably just hire a hit man. But divorce? Remember there’s a lot of money involved,” T.J. said “She’s Hill’s agent, and he’s the goose that laid the golden egg. If they got a divorce, she’d be out of the loop. He’s worth a few million now, and he’ll be worth a whole lot more if the movie’s a hit. If he died, she’d probably inherit it all.”
“Did you ask Slattery about his threat to kill Hill Roland?” Sam asked.
“No. I thought I’d rather ask him that in person,” T.J. said. “Or save it until we need it.”
He was silent for a while when his hamburger plate arrived, and then said, “That marriage looks a little shaky in any case.”
“I’d agree it’s shaky if she’s lying to him,” Sam said, “but we don’t need to spend any time analyzing their marriage unless she had something to do with the rum balls,” Sam said. “I’m worried that it was just some random crazy that we’ll never catch.”
“Yeah, I know” T.J. said. “But maybe Megan and Slattery were trying to make it look like a crazy person did it. Maybe that’s why she didn’t get here until after the package was due to arrive. If he’d eaten them and she’d been in the house, she would have had to call 911. Maybe her whole idea was to arrive and find him dead. Then she’d have all the money, and she could get back together with Slattery.”
“We need to ask Hill Roland if he remembers ever talking to his wife about not liking rum balls, or even just about not liking rum,” Sam said.
“Well obviously she knows he’s got a drinking problem,” T.J. said “and she might have figured they were the one thing he wouldn’t be able to resist. I looked up the recipe and those things aren’t cooked, so the alcohol content is what it would be straight from the bottle.”
“And I just don’t buy this ‘still friendly’ stuff,” T.J. added. “I want to know where Megan Roland slept Wednesday night.”
And then he brightened up. “I forgot to tell you that my friend with the German Shepherds said Hill had called him and is going out to his place to look at his dogs.”
CHAPTER 8
Late Tuesday morning Randy Slattery sat with Sam Bailey and T.J. Jackson in his Atlanta office. He was being about as friendly as a cornered tomcat.
He looked stocky in his suit, but Sam guessed it was all muscle.
“Bet you played football,” T.J. said.
Slattery wasn’t having any.
“I’ve got appointments to keep,” he said, arms folded across his chest. “If there’s something you want to know from me, let’s get this done, but I can tell you right now, you wasted your time driving all the way up here.”
“You were married to Megan Brooks Roland?” Sam asked, just to get started.
“Yes, I was.”
“Have you married again?” T.J. asked.
“I don’t know what business that is of yours,” Slattery said, “But no, I have not.”
His secretary opened the door and asked, “Would you like coffee?”
“No,” Slattery said. “They won’t be here that long.”
“Now,” he said to Sam and T.J. “Just to get it out of the way, I know Hill Roland told you that I threatened to kill him once. I did. I was mad as hell when I learned that Megan was having an affair with him. I never laid a hand on him, though. In fact, I’ve never even met the man. We don’t move in the same circles.”
“How did you know Hill Roland told us that?” Sam asked.
“Because Megan called and told me about it. She felt bad that Hill had dragged me into what happened down there.”
“You seem to be on friendly terms with Mrs. Roland,” Sam said “I understand that you had dinner with her on Thursday night.”
“Yes, I did, and it was just dinner in case you’re wondering.”
“So you two are in frequent communication?” T.J. asked.
“We’re still good friends,” Slattery said, “We met the first day of college, and we were together for seven years – three of them as man and wife.”
There was a silence in the room.
“Unfortunately,” Slattery said, “She is now married to an alcoholic who just happens to write best-selling books and needs somebody to look after him. I don’t think he cares a thing about her, except that she organizes his life for him, but I didn’t send him poisoned cookies. If I had wanted…”
He stopped before finishing the sentence and the three of them sat silently.
Mentally, Sam compared Slattery to Hill Roland, and decided Hill wouldn’t have a chance in any kind of direct contact.
T.J. asked, “Are you a gun owner?”
“Yes,” Slattery said. “Aren’t you? And what does that have to do with anything? I thought this was about strychnine. Has another girl died in his house?”
“I’m not going to drive down there and shoot the great writer,” he concluded. “And it’s kind of insulting to be dragged into a mess he made for himself. Now are we done?”
T.J. looked at Sam. Sam nodded.
“Thank you for your time,” Sam told Slattery. “You’ve been very straightforward and helpful.”
They were back on the interstate, leaving Atlanta, when T.J. spoke up.
“He’s got a motive, Sam. He’s still in love with Megan.”
“Seems like he is,” Sam said. “But can you really see that guy making up a batch of poisoned rum balls? I think he’s waiting around, hoping she’ll get fed up with Hill, and she’s encouraging him.”
T.J. was silent, watching the traffic as he maneuvered his way into the lane that would take them south.
“He’s all we’ve got,” he finally said. “Him alone or him and Megan. She could have made the rum balls. He could have mailed them. If it’s not him or the two of them, we’ve got nothing.”
“Tell that to the District Attorney,” Sam said, “Even Sanders Beal isn’t going to go after somebody just because an investigation is getting nowhere. Now how about looking for someplace to drive through for lunch?”
Back in Merchantsville, Hunter had just gone into R&J’s Café, planning to pick up a salad for lunch, when she saw Hill Roland sitting at a table near the back. She knew at a glance that the woman with him was Megan Roland. She was the kind of woman who looked dressed up even in jeans, whose dark shiny hair was cut to swing into place with every move.
She went to speak to them. Hill stood up, smiled and made introductions.
“The reporters seem to have gotten bored with us,” Megan said, managing a smile. “So we decided it was time to come out of hiding.”
“And besides,” Hill said. “We were hungry. Sit down and tell us what’s going to be in The Messenger tomorrow.”
Hunter sat down and Annelle hurried over to take her order.
“Where’s that good-looking husband of yours?” she asked after Hunter asked for the chicken salad plate.
“Really busy,” Hunter said, dodging. She knew that Sam and T.J. were in Atlanta or on their way ba
ck, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t want her to share that.
While she waited for her order, she decided it was her best chance to tell the Rolands about Olivia’s sister.
As she told the story of Victoria’s visit to the paper, Hill seemed more interested in his fried chicken than in the grieving twin. Megan, however, was sympathetic.
“Oh, the poor girl,” she said. “Are you going to write something about her sister?”
“Yes, it will be a short profile separate from the news story, and there’s another thing, Megan. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, but she knew you were a literary agent, and she asked me to give you Olivia’s manuscript to look at…”
“No,” Hill said abruptly.
Megan ignored him and appeared ready to hear Hunter out.
“Apparently Olivia sent it off five or six times and didn’t get any response other than a form letter. I didn’t encourage Victoria at all, but I finally did tell her I’d ask, so now that I’ve asked…”
She fully expected to get a negative answer, and to have the task of telling Victoria Harper that she tried, as she had promised she would.
Megan surprised her.
“I can get my assistant to read it and I’ll send a note,” Megan said. “I’ll give you an e-mail address and she can send a chapter and an outline.”
“I don’t even know if there is an outline. What she gave me is on paper,” Hunter said. “It’s the same one she… ”
“Obviously, it’s the same one she left on my desk,” Hill said, looking exasperated. “Megan, I can’t believe you’re going to bother with that…after all the trouble that…”
“Hill,” Megan said with warning smile. “You don’t need to get involved. I want to do this. Hunter, if you’ll get the manuscript to me, and give me the sister’s name and address, I’ll write her a note. I’ve just been thinking about all this as our crisis, and that poor girl lost her sister. “
She looked back at Hill, who was scowling.
“Honey, I know it’s probably not any good, but this way, Hunter is keeping her promise, and the sister will at least feel like she tried. Besides, I’m glad to know that she isn’t blaming you for any of it.”
When I am Dead, My Dearest: A Hunter Jones Mystery Page 9