Meg sighed. “Just the other day, he apologized for not coming to Paul’s funeral. He said he just couldn’t bear to think about his classmates dying. I was pumping gas and he had to walk past me to go in the convenience store. He couldn’t avoid speaking to me.”
“Dad’s been gone a couple of years now. Why would he just now be saying that?” Dorie went back to the table.
“I don’t know, maybe he couldn’t think of anything else to say. With all this commotion, I’m remembering every conversation with him. If Lena was murdered, he’s the primary suspect. Don’t you think?”
“Jeez, I don’t know what to think. I’d steer clear of him for a while if I were you.”
“He has daughters about your age, Dorie, twins.”
“Oh yeah, there were some twins in my class and their last name was Hillard. I didn’t know them very well. They were known to be in trouble, always in detention, and one of them dropped out or something. I didn’t put it together that Mr. Hillard was their father. There was something else about those girls but I can’t recall. I’ll have to get my yearbook out and look them up.”
They talked for a while longer, sitting at the kitchen table, Meg sipping tea. Dorie looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I need to go pick up Michael and his mom from the game. I’ll get some things and come back here and spend the night.”
“I’ll be fine. At first I thought I wouldn’t, but now I’m just exhausted. I think I’ll fall right to sleep. After the initial shock of it all, I really want to figure out what the heck happened. Don’t worry, I’m good. Enjoy your visit with your mother-in-law. I know she came to town for this game and to see both of you.”
“We’ll probably go out to eat tomorrow evening at the festival. You want to go?” Dorie asked.
“No, I’m not interested in attending, especially with all this other stuff going on. The detective is dropping by in the morning. I’m going to make some notes about the things I remember. Tell Jewell I said hello.”
“Okay, I’ll check with you later in the day tomorrow. You’ll probably be feeling like getting out by then.” Dorie held her hand in the air, an attempt to stop further conversation. “I don’t want to argue about it now. I’ll check with you, and you can decide then.” She wrapped her arms around her mother, and they held each other, not talking. Meg closed her eyes, taking in the moment.
After they separated, Meg let Dorie out the back door and locked it. She had no intention of steering clear of Brian Hillard. She would make a casserole and lemon pound cake and be at his door-step in the morning to visit the grieving widower.
She took a baggie full of homemade pastries from the freezer, planning to woo Crawford over a plate of her famous cranberry scones. She hoped it was true, the myth about cops and donuts.
FOUR
Meg’s intention for visiting the bereaved family was to find out if Brian Hillard wore cologne or aftershave. She planned to cling to him in grief, the perfect opportunity to get a sniff. If she could seize the fragrance again, she was sure she could identify it.
Pulling into the wide circle drive, Meg parked behind a white Mercedes, with a personalized license plate reading “HAH.” It was Wayne Landry’s, the preacher at the popular mega-church he inherited from his father. Currently it enjoyed a robust attendance by the elite. The Hillards were among those in the congregation.
As she took the casserole and lemon cake from the back seat, she realized she would have difficulty ringing the doorbell. Luckily Nell Landry, Wayne’s wife, swung the massive door open just as Meg mounted the steps. Nell shook her head, her eyelids lowered in an unnatural way, that Meg thought was an attempt at a pouty sorrow. It reminded her of the faces she made as a child when she stuck her bottom lip out to exaggerate a sadness. Nell took the casserole from her with sure hands, leaving Meg in control of the cake.
“I’ve taped my name to the bottom of this cake plate,” she said, lifting it to show Nell the tape. She realized it was a silly gesture, but Meg wasn’t comfortable chatting with Nell. “I know how hard it is to get everyone’s plates returned.”
Conversation was difficult. The two had never been friendly, simply cordial. Meg’s friends in high school were not as affluent; their families were working class, whereas Nell’s family had money. She was impeccably dressed, as usual, in a straight skirt and tight sweater with a scarf, knotted casually around her neck. Meg felt a little shabby in her weekend uniform of jeans and comfy sweater.
Nell stood back, opening the door wider for Meg to enter. “Brian’s in the den.” Nell pointed beyond the foyer and dining room. She stood straight with her back arched. She had always been flat-chested in high school. In recent years, Meg observed, Nell’s breasts were perkier than those of most women their age, and her posture had improved, thrusting them forward. Meg hurried past Nell while unwinding her own bulky muffler, one she had hand-knitted from leftover yarn. She placed the pound cake and her scarf on the dining room table, as Nell closed the front door and walked toward the kitchen.
Brian stood when Meg entered the den, leaving the preacher sitting on the leather sofa sipping coffee. Reverend Landry made no attempt to stand, nor did he glance up at Meg. She had never thought of him as a person capable of leading a congregation. Wayne Landry had been a troublemaker in his youth, prone to bullying those around him, getting his friends to laugh and tease along with him. Well, I suppose he is a leader of sorts.
Meg recalled Wayne and Paul running for the same school board position after Paul graduated from law school. He had defeated Wayne, later running for county attorney. His office participated in collecting the evidence to charge Wayne’s father with fraud, resulting in a settlement and a crippling of the mega-church the elder Landry founded. Since that time, Wayne had not been cordial with Meg or her late husband.
“Brian, I’m so sorry.” Meg reached around his rotund chest and brought her face level with his shirt pocket, disappointed to find there was no aftershave or cologne scent.
“Thank you for coming by.” Brian’s voice boomed throughout the room. “I understand you found the body.” He stood erect, looking down at Meg, not offering her a chair. “I’ve been questioned extensively about that petticoat.” Brian didn’t smile, as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pressed khaki pants and hunched his shoulders. His oxford shirt had his monogram stitched onto the pocket.
“Yes, though I had no idea it was Lena,” Meg said. “I was in shock, especially since I knew she had been so ill. What in the world was she doing out of bed and at Darrow?” She thought it was odd that Brian referred to “the body” and didn’t name Lena. She was also relieved to hear he had been questioned about the petticoat. Maybe the police thought it was as unusual as she did.
Brian’s mention of the petticoat made Meg flush. She could feel the heat rise from her chest, to her neck and across her face. It was a reminder of the reason she had gone to Darrow and subsequently found Lena’s body. To her ear, it sounded like an accusation.
“I wish I knew the answer to that.” Brian’s voice was gravelly, the words sounding as though they had stuck in his throat. “When I left the house yesterday, Lena was still asleep. I left a note telling her I’d check on her at noon.” Brian stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and began to sway from side to side. Meg felt some compassion for him as she listened. She was aware of Wayne twisting in his seat.
“I got tied up with a meeting and called several times, but she didn’t answer. I thought she might’ve taken some pain medication and fallen asleep.” He pursed his lips and shrugged. “I honestly don’t know when she left the house. Trust me, if she thought anyone might see her with all that bruising on her face, she would never have gone out.”
“Bruising? Her face was bruised?” Meg ran her fingers across her lips, looking up at Brian.
“Oh, I thought you found her. You didn’t notice her face?”
“No, her hair was covering it. I just couldn’t look. I felt her wrist for a pulse.” M
eg looked up at Brian, waiting for an explanation of the bruising.
“I see. Well I just assumed …”
Meg allowed Brian to talk about the police showing up at his office and accompanying him to Darrow House later in the day. She learned Lena's car was missing. Brian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t in the garage, saying he always pulled his car to the porte cochère behind the house, never opening the garage door.
“Was Lena still driving that white Cadillac, Brian?” Meg asked.
“Yes, have you seen it?” His head jerked up to her from staring at his shoes.
Meg leaned on the back of an overstuffed chair, her chin in her hand. “No, I haven’t, but I’ll be on the lookout. This is surreal. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you, and I’ll stay in touch about the arrangements for the funeral.” She headed toward the hall, then turned and asked, “Are your girls here? My daughter was in school with the twins, you know?”
“I called them,” Brian said. “I think they plan to come this evening. Nell’s going to find them a place to stay. They’ve never wanted to stay here. It’s a long story.”
Strange, adult children and this big house, but they’re not going to stay here with their father for the funeral. I would think they’d want to be with him.
It was a strange comment, but Meg decided not to question him. She had taken liberties to make the visit and would learn more about the twins from others. She didn’t want to arouse Brian’s curiosity about her intentions.
“I wondered why Lena wanted me to go to Darrow for the petticoat?”
“That’s where it was. Lena took it there back in the spring, said there were other costume pieces there that docents could borrow. I just told you what she told me.” His voice raised slightly; Meg thought he sounded perturbed. “She purchased a new outfit for this year, one that didn’t need the hoop deal. I don’t know how all that works, but she wanted to donate it for someone else to use.”
“I see.” Meg nodded, trying to seem sympathetic. She looked out the large windows into the Hillards’ spacious yard. If Brian was Lena’s assailant, she couldn’t tell. However, he did get aggravated with Meg a few times, more mad than sad, she thought.
Meg glanced at Landry. “Wayne, are you doing okay? I haven’t seen you in a while.” She stepped closer to where he continued to sit on the sofa, refusing to allow him to ignore her.
“Fine,” Wayne answered, then returned to his coffee. She said goodbye to Brian, promising to return or call to check on the arrangements for Lena’s funeral. She backtracked through the kitchen, stopping to speak to Wayne’s wife. Nell sat at the kitchen table working the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
“Nell, you let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m sure you have the Women’s Circle from the church, but I’ll be happy to help. You don’t suppose I could visit the rest-room before I go, do you?”
Nell pointed down the hall to the bathroom, barely curling her lips into a smile. It was as flimsy as the bereaved eyes she gave Meg at the entrance.
Meg would not normally be as involved with the Hillards or the Landrys, but her interest in Lena’s death motivated her to be cordial and accommodating. She suspected they rolled their eyes when she turned her back. Meg had watched them do that many times in high school, noticing them from a distance. They were the group of “cool kids.”
Meg walked past a half bath to the next open door. The bathroom was Brian’s, Meg noticed as she eased the door closed behind her. It was decorated in masculine colors and had been remodeled with a walk-in shower. She stared at what she thought might be a bidet, then realized it was an upscale urinal, navy blue porcelain with gold fixtures. She was fascinated by the appearance, and when she considered the expense, it repulsed her that Brian Hillard couldn’t take the time to lift a toilet seat. She shook her head at the thought.
Meg took care to open the medicine and linen cabinet doors, searching every storage spot for aftershave or cologne. She even smelled the shower gel, but the only thing she found with scent was a bar of Pears Soap beside the faucet at the sink.
“Nell, before I go, it just dawned on me,” Meg said, when she returned to the kitchen, scratching the back of her head. “You don’t know if Brian’s allergic to anything, do you? I hadn’t considered that when I was preparing the food.”
“Foods are okay. As you can tell, he’s a healthy eater,” Nell whispered. “However, he abhors scented candles and other aromas. I only know that because his eyes water when Pastor wears cologne or if he comes to the parsonage when I have my candles going. As an elder in the church, he made a big deal about keeping artificial scents out of the sanctuary.” Nell took off her reading glasses, folding them, pursing her lips as she looked up at Meg.
“Oh, okay.” Meg smiled. “What does Pastor wear? Does he have a signature fragrance?”
“He’s an Old Spice man.” Nell wiggled her eyebrows up and down. Meg found that a little creepy.
“Old Spice? That’s a blast from the past. My grandfather used to wear that.” Meg thought better of the comment after it escaped her, not wanting Nell to think the scent was reserved for the elderly. She hadn’t felt so awkward making conversation in a long while; she wanted to run from the house. And referring to Wayne Landry as “Pastor” repeatedly was wearing on her nerves.
Meg waved and let herself out. She knew the aroma in the Darrow House couldn’t have been Old Spice.
Her cell phone rang as she sat in the car letting the defroster clear the windshield. The caller notification indicated it was Hal Evans.
Meg wasn’t eager to answer the call, but she also wanted to get it over with. “Hello, Hal.”
“Meg, darling. How are you this fine morning? I hear from our friend Tom that you’re in charge of the Dickens activities this weekend. I wanted to find out if you could get someone to help with the parking situation over at the auditorium.”
Surely he must have heard about Lena’s death. He was a member of the mega-church and close to the Landry, so it was suspicious that he was acting as if everything was fine. Meg decided she wouldn’t be the one to bring it up in their hopefully brief conversation.
“Sorry, I’m no longer the contact person. You’ll have to call Tom, or maybe MaryAnn Thames.” She felt a pang of guilt for referring him to others.
“Oh, I was sure Tom told me last week that you’d be the contact. I should’ve called earlier. The Miss Steampunk Contest is this evening. We’ll have all those lovely girls arriving in their outfits around six, and I don’t want any of them shivering in the cold in those scanty costumes, if you know what I mean?”
He chortled, his signature snigger, and the hair on the back of Meg’s neck stood at the sound. Of all the people capable of coordinating Miss Steampunk, Hal would have been her last choice. In her opinion, young girls should not have to be subjected to his antics.
“There’s been a change of plans. I’m no longer on duty. I’ll just have to leave it at that. Sorry, give Tom a call.”
The pang of guilt had left quickly as she listened to Hal’s droning before hanging up. Hal was offensive with his sexist remarks—calling women “sweetie” and “darling” and referring to their anatomy.
She put the car in Reverse and turned to see Brian approaching her window. She rolled it down when he motioned to her.
“Is there a problem, Meg?” Brian said, bending to speak to her through the window.
“No, I just got a phone call from Hal, and I don’t like to drive while I’m talking.”
“Hal?” Brian’s voice cracked. “Hal Evans?”
“Yes, you know Hal. He was in the class ahead of me.”
“Oh, I know Hal all right. What did he want?” Brian had a stern look on his face, maybe even angry. He didn’t look like the grieving spouse she had seen earlier.
“Well, it’s nothing that would concern you, just festival coordination details. Hal’s in charge of Miss Steampunk. Now that my windshield’s clear, I’ll be on my way. You get so
me rest. I’ll check with you later about the arrangements.”
Meg was taken aback by Brian’s change in attitude, thinking about it as she backed out of the driveway. The Landry’s white Mercedes was parked such that no one could drive around. Of course he knew Hal, and he had to know of Hal’s involvement with the festivities.
She was drawing a triangle on a mind map, connecting Hal, Wayne, and Brian. They were three males from her past, and her recent contact with them confirmed why she no longer sought their company.
The visit wasn’t productive, but it made her think, and she had an idea she planned to pursue.
Something beckoned her to check out a hunch. Remembering she was supposed to be home for the visit from Detective Crawford, Meg checked the clock on her dashboard. She had just enough time to take a detour.
FIVE
Meg drove up to the scrolled gate, draped with purple and pink striped ribbon. Large silver and fuchsia ornament balls hung in a cascade of swags along the iron fence. She waited, jaw clenched, watching the heavy iron arm as the motor strained to pull it toward the lofty brick wall. The decorations on the gate were as superficial as the people she had left behind in Brian’s rambling house. Both the people and the decorations were disconnected from the season, an attention-seeking irony in all of them.
Meg bit her lip, wondering at the emptiness and the farce. Is it me? Am I jealous of their stuff, or do I really want justice?
Meg looked at the clock on the dashboard again. Sheesh, those people have to add two minutes to their schedule to allow time to exit the gate.
She left Brian Hillard’s elite neighborhood, turning right instead of left, heading away from town toward the county fairgrounds. It would be close, but there should be enough time to take a side trip before her appointment with Crawford.
There was a tug she felt while talking with Brian earlier. He had reminded her of high school, old friends—not him—and a place called the Double Gates.
A Dickens of a Crime Page 3