“As far as I know, the identity of the body hasn’t been determined,” Crawford said. “We’re working on that now.”
“I hope it’s not Lena. They have twin daughters. I think Lena’s the stepmother, but still, it would have to be upsetting.”
“Yes,” Crawford agreed. “It’s always upsetting for the family in any circumstance. Is there anything else you can remember?”
“Maybe something will come to me, but right now, I can’t,” Meg said. She began to get misty-eyed. “I’m sorry, this has been a little overwhelming. I just suddenly realized I’ll be going home to an empty house and …”
“Is there someone we can call for you?” Crawford asked.
“My daughter is at a basketball game. Her husband’s the coach. I think his mother’s in town for the game. It’s a high school rivalry.” Meg realized she was rambling.
“I’ll call Dorie when I’m back to my car.” Meg held her phone up. “My battery’s gone dead. Happens all the time to me. I’d rather call her myself. I don’t want to upset her.”
“I understand, but you will call her?”
“Yes, I will. I’d like to have someone to process this whole ordeal with. We always, well, she’s a good girl, supportive.”
“That’s nice. Do you have grandchildren?” Crawford asked.
“No. She’s been married a couple of years and they both enjoy their jobs. They’re young yet.” Meg stood and held her hand out to Crawford. “Thank you, Detective, you’ve been nice and reassuring. I appreciate that you have a difficult job ahead of you. Can I go now?”
“Yes, you can. Please take this card and don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll probably want to talk to you again when I learn more. I have your number. Do you have a work number?”
“No, I’m retired and available when you need to talk.”
“Thank you, Meg. We’ll be in touch and do call your daughter. Sometimes this takes more out of you then you realize. Take it from me, it’s good to have the support.”
Meg nodded as she looked into Crawford’s eyes. The detective was sincere and she had been gentle in her questioning.
Meg’s black lace-up boots crunched into the snow as she opened the heavy gate to leave Darrow. She walked across the street and looked back to the house, the flames in the gas lanterns danced behind the beveled glass. The lights were on upstairs, but the master suite was at the back of the house, so there was no activity visible. She could see the chandelier that hung over the staircase through the decorative upstairs window. It was disappointing visitors wouldn’t be able to experience the house. Meg supposed a vehicle would arrive to transport the woman in a body bag. It would be parked among the other emergency vehicles cluttered on the street in front of Darrow. There was nothing glamorous going on in Darrow House for the Dickens Victorian event.
As Meg walked toward her car, she noticed attendees and volunteers were being turned away at Second Street. They weren’t being allowed to walk Emory Lane in front of Darrow.
Meg hesitated to look up and make eye contact as she approached the intersection. She didn’t want to see someone she knew and have to answer questions. Calling Dorie was her priority. It wasn’t far to her car, where she could plug in her phone and make the call. When she reached her car, there was a parking ticket stuck under the windshield wiper.
For heaven’s sake. Meg grabbed the ticket and placed it on the dashboard when she was finally seated. Smooshing the cumbersome petticoat down under the steering wheel took some time, then she had to hold fabric from her velvet skirt back to locate the outlet for her phone charger. Meg started the car to defrost the windshield.
She dialed Dorie’s number twice, punching the numbers incorrectly the first time. She was connected to Dorie’s voicemail. She tried to sound calm as she asked Dorie to return the call as soon as she could. The gymnasium was loud and Dorie might not be able to hear her phone.
Opening the envelope and reading the ticket, Meg saw there was a thirty-five dollar fine. She was aware they intended to have the street clear of vehicles for the walking tour of homes. Had she been able to complete her chores at Darrow and leave as she’d planned, her car would have been moved to the rear of the house. Now, she had the vision of a dead body seared in her memory and owed the city thirty-five dollars.
THREE
Dorie arrived, peeking in the back door at Meg standing next to the kitchen table. Pieces of her costume were on the counter, Meg’s boots sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. She couldn’t wait to take off the heavy velvet and put on her warm robe.
“You okay Mom,” Dorie asked, glancing around the room.
Meg held her finger in the air, fighting the tears she felt spring in her eyes. “Fine,” she managed to say. I just need to take a few minutes to decompress.”
“Why don’t you go get out of your costume and I’ll make us some tea,” Dorie said.
“Oh, that’d be great. Thank you.” Meg collected the pieces of her outfit and headed across the short hall to her bedroom. She placed the things at the foot of her bed and continued another pile as she took off the clothing. She slipped into her gown and robe, thankful for the weightless feeling after wearing her bulky Dickens ensemble.
Meg entered the kitchen, tying the sash of her robe. She plugged her phone into the outlet at her kitchen desk. Finally at home, with Dorie making tea, Meg felt more at ease. Her cell phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize, but it was local, so she figured it might be the detective. Her intuition told her to answer.
“Mrs. Miller, this is Detective Crawford. I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”
“My daughter’s here with me” Meg glanced across the room to Dorie and gave her a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, just a little shaken. I just keep seeing that poor woman.”
“That’s why I called. I also wanted to let you know you were correct. The victim was indeed Lena Hillard. Her husband has identified her body. I’d like to visit with you again. I have some questions and need some clarification. Would it be okay for me to come by after eleven tomorrow morning?”
Meg was startled by the news, even though it was what she suspected. She took a seat in the desk chair. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sure, I’ll be here in the morning. I’ve already canceled my participation in this year’s event. I just wouldn’t be up to it anyway.”
“One more thing, Mrs. Miller. What was the nature of Mrs. Hillard’s illness? You mentioned earlier that you were filling in for her because she had been ill.”
“I really don’t know. Brian was so insistent about her needing to back away from her participation to recuperate, but I didn’t know what was wrong.” Meg thought she’d already answered that question.
Crawford hung up, saying she would talk to Meg again in the morning.
The phone rang again as Dorie placed a mug of tea in front of Meg. Seeing it was Tom Richards, she felt a responsibility to answer. He was the executive director of the historical foundation, after all, and she had left her duties with no explanation to him. Meg held her finger in the air to Dorie as she answered the call, taking a deep breath to steel herself for the conversation. Her instinct told her he wasn’t calling about her welfare, but to probe.
“What’s going on, Meg?” Tom began. “I thought you were going to coordinate the docents. We have a couple missing at Spence House.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. You saw me with the detective. She told me someone had spoken with you and assured me you’d handle things.
“I hear Lena’s had a bout with some kind of virus, and now you’re unavailable. And what’s happened at Darrow? They wouldn’t let me upstairs, and the police put up crime tape so we couldn’t continue with tours. Why were you there earlier?”
“They told me not to talk about it, so don’t ask me any more questions. I need to stay home and rest. It’s been a bad day. I’m sure someone from the police department will be in touch with you soon. I really can’t comment,” Meg said.
“The property is fine. I was upstairs and everything was in order. No problems there,” Meg told him. Dorie was standing at the kitchen sink watching her. Meg rolled her eyes.
“I guess I can handle it from here with the docents. What about the gate tomorrow? Will you be there?” Tom continued.
“Since I can’t give you a definite answer now, I’m going to say no, I won’t be there. Thank you for being so understanding and helping out. I really can’t talk any longer, Tom. Thank you for stepping in for me. I appreciate your help.” Meg hung up before he could say more or ask additional questions. He was the one who would need to secure the property and make sure it was okay—she was washing her hands of the responsibility.
Tom was all about taking care of business, but Meg didn’t feel obligated. Her heart wasn’t in her initial commitment, and now she regretted that she had given in and accepted the task in the first place.
Dorie leaned against the counter with her back to the microwave, her arms crossed, staring at her mother. Meg looked up at her, aware her daughter was assessing her. Dorie’s red hair shone under the light over the kitchen sink. The crossed arms meant she was waiting patiently to find out what had happened.
Meg stood picking up the mug of tea and went to the table, taking a seat on the banquette. “I don’t know why Tom called,” Meg said to break the awkward silence. “I think he’s just fishing for information I can’t share.”
Meg wondered if it was weird that she immediately started to think about what ingredients she had on hand to prepare a casserole for the Hillard household. Brian’s daughters and their husbands would probably be gathered. Maybe she could make a lemon pound cake.
She desperately wanted a reason to visit and gauge Brian’s reaction to Lena’s death, especially since she had been instructed by him to go to Darrow in the first place. Had that been manipulation?
And what about that cologne fragrance? She wished she had kept Paul’s collection of bottles. Her late husband’s side of the vanity had stored a variety of empty decanters, but the aroma would still cling to the atomizers. She was sure among them was the same fragrance she noticed in the house. Her mind steadily shifted into investigator mode, piecing together little details she wondered about, especially why Brian Hillard had insisted she go to Darrow House to get the petticoat.
Meg looked up at Dorie again. She was stirring sugar into her mug of tea, the other hand on her hip, her eyes on Meg.
“I’m fine. I’ve never experienced a day like today in all my life, and I can’t make sense of it, but I’m going to be fine,” Meg insisted as Dorie approached and put her own mug on the table.
“There were lights flashing in front of Darrow when I drove by earlier. I was scared to death.” Dorie took the chair opposite Meg, wrapping her hands around the hot mug. “Tell me what happened. What’s been so upsetting to you?”
Meg told Dorie about arriving at Darrow House earlier in the day, beginning with the open front gate. “I’m trying to remember the little details about the house when I entered. I knew there was something odd about it from the temperature, to the odor, and then finding that back door open. All those things should have alerted me to something …”
“What? What is it, Mom?”
Meg could see Dorie was eager to know what she was thinking, but she had to show her. “Wait right here.” Meg went to the clothing she had left in a pile on her bed and rummaged through the crocheted bag.
“Here, here it is,” she said, returning to the kitchen. “Remember when I asked you if you’d seen my locket right after the move? Well, guess where I found it this afternoon?” Meg set the locket on the table between them.
“Mom, what are you saying? This isn’t making any sense.” Dorie leaned forward and touched the locket, then put her hands flat on the table in front of her.
Meg began talking in a rush. “My locket was on the floor in the hall after I closed the back door. I’ve thought about it and I know for sure I haven’t been in Darrow House since early spring. It was August when I searched for the locket in this little house. It’s been missing for a long while. I’m certain the housekeepers would’ve found it if it had been on the floor since spring.”
“Okay, Mom, take a breath. Surely your lost locket wasn’t why all the emergency vehicles were in front of Darrow this evening. I’ve been patient, giving you time to tell me what happened, but you’re not making sense. Did something else happen there? What were you saying about a poor woman and an illness just now on the phone?”
“Yes, something did happen.” Meg put her hand to her mouth. She hadn’t said it aloud to anyone besides the detective, and now she wasn’t sure she could. Her eyes began to mist with tears.
“Mom, what is it? What happened?” Dorie reached across the table and grabbed her hand.
Meg swallowed. “There was a body upstairs in the bedroom where I went to get the petticoat. It was Lena Hillard, naked on the floor.” Meg continued to stare into Dorie’s eyes.
“What?” Dorie released her hand tipped her head back and became still. “Ms. Hillard, dead?” she whispered. “Mom… was there blood? Were there wounds on the body?”
“I couldn’t look. I didn’t see blood, so if there was any, it must’ve been where I couldn’t see it. I tried to feel for a pulse, and then the EMTs came, and I ran to let them in. The body was a gray color, eerie.”
Meg shook her head, picturing the room again. She put her head in her hands not wanting to see the see details, but needing to see them so she could figure out what had happened.
“There was blonde hair across the face. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it, but I was pretty sure it was Lena Hillard, though I’ve never seen her hair down like that. She always wore it up or back, a few tendrils here and there, maybe in a French twist, but never long. I didn’t even know it was that long.”
“So you’re not sure it was Mrs. Hillard? It could’ve been someone else with long blonde hair?”
“Yes it was. It was her. That was Detective Crawford on the phone telling me it was Lena.”
“What was she doing there?” Dorie leaned back in the chair, pulling the mug of tea toward her.
“I have no idea. I’ve had several conversations with Brian over the past week and a half, and he led me to believe she was very ill. It’s possible she could’ve died from the illness, but that doesn’t explain why she was naked or at Darrow. It makes no sense.”
Dorie turned her head toward the window as Meg’s cat, LaRue, jumped onto her spot on the banquette. “I’ve never even heard of a murder occurring in this town, let alone something like this.” She looked back at Meg. “It’s bizarre, and you found the body.”
“It may not have been a murder, Dorie. The detective balked at calling it that, but she did say ‘victim.’ I only assumed from the body being there like that … I didn’t see her clothing anywhere. Everything was spotless in the bedroom, ready for the tour. Except for the rumpled coverlet, I’m sure everything was fine.”
“There are so many things that don’t make sense about this.” Dorie got up and walked toward the kitchen counter, then turned back toward Meg. “For example, I remember you talking about Mr. Hillard calling you several times, asking you to take over his wife’s responsibilities. Why would he do that? Would that have been his responsibility? Wouldn’t someone else on the committee have taken over? Was he an active member along with his wife?”
Meg had only taken a few sips of her tea. She traced the handle of the mug with her finger. “No, he wasn’t involved, but they’re—uh, were an odd couple. I can’t put my finger on it. He’s more than a decade older. He drove her to the committee meetings and waited outside, even in hot weather. He’s self-employed, makes his own schedule, but he made sure he was visible with Lena. I’ve
always considered him overbearing and loud. He’s sucking a cigar most of the time—even when it’s not lit, it’s there in the corner of his mouth staring at you like some nasty growth. He talks around it, chuckling like it’s some big accomplishment, while he jangles the change in his pants pockets.”
“Not a very flattering description.” Dorie put her mug in the sink and ran water in it.
“Well it’s true. I’m sorry, Dorie. Shoot, I need to process and try to remember the things I saw in the house.” Meg stood and stretched her back. “They took my gloves. I think they have to consider me a suspect.”
“Oh, surely not. You’re the last person in the world anyone would suspect of such a thing. You don’t really think so, do you?”
Meg put her cooled tea in the microwave and restarted the cycle. “That’s what you and I think, but I’m the one who found the body. Besides Brian, I think I’d be next on the list. Lena wasn’t my favorite person, and Brian, well, I went to high school with him. Never cared for him, but they certainly don’t deserve this tragedy.
“Wasn’t it a Mr. Hillard who was involved in that law-suit against the county when Dad was the county attorney a few years ago?”
“Yes, one and the same,” Meg said, removing the heated tea from the microwave. “The county won that suit. That was about seven years ago, two years before he married Lena. She’s actually his third wife.”
“I didn’t know he went to school with you. I thought they just moved to town a few years ago.”
“Lena did, but Brian’s been here forever. He was in your father’s class. They played football together. I remember your father saying Brian’s competitive spirit was responsible for the law suit, that he just couldn’t take no for an answer. He’s always been the type of guy who thought the rules didn’t apply to him.”
A Dickens of a Crime Page 2