A Dickens of a Crime

by Phyllis H Moore

  Meg had to bend over to speak into her cell phone as it charged—the cord painfully short. Dorie was insisting Meg take their extra ticket and join them for a costume dinner. “It’ll give you an opportunity to wear your outfit again and get out of the house. Besides, Mom, I think you’ll want to hear some of the gossip. The news is out about Lena, and some of your friends have some interesting theories.”

  Anxious to hear what others might know, she accepted the invitation, pleased she would have another opportunity to wear her scarlet ensemble. The shock of finding Lena’s body had subsided—not completely, but some. The invigoration she felt while investigating new leads made her feel a little guilty, but not much.

  She glanced at her watch, noting she had time to do more investigating before getting ready to go out for dinner.

  LaRue watched Meg crawl to the floor to sit closer to the plug. Her eyes followed, but her head didn’t turn, remaining nestled into her front paws.

  After Meg was settled, she watched as LaRue slowly blinked a few times before shutting her eyes. No telling what Rue really thinks about this. I guess she can nap, now that she knows I haven’t reverted to crawling on all fours. One of these days, I’ll learn to plug this thing in before I go to bed each night.

  Meg had no contacts stored on the land-line and had finally become accustomed to using the built-in convenience of her mobile phone. Although it felt awkward to continue sitting on the floor by the plug, she opted for expediency and used the speed dial to call her closest friend, Jean Bender.

  “Jean, do you have a minute? I know this is an odd request, but did you happen to save any of Manny’s cologne?”

  After exclaiming that she was shocked by Lena’s death and couldn’t believe Meg had discovered the body, Jean said she had indeed saved the cologne as a reminder of her deceased husband. Meg explained her interest, telling Jean she couldn’t breathe a word to anyone. “The detective isn’t fond of me trying to piece this thing together. She cautioned me to stick to the facts.” Meg untwisted the thin cord of the charger, allowing more length so she could sit up straighter.

  “You know I did a thorough cleansing when I downsized to this little house. I knew there wouldn’t be room for anything I didn’t use regularly, so Paul’s cologne is gone.”

  Jean invited Meg for brunch the following morning and an opportunity to check out Manny’s colognes afterward. Meg didn’t mention the other things she had discovered, like the car, considering the ownership hadn’t been confirmed.

  “Meg, this has been so troubling, the way the body was at Darrow House and all. I just can’t imagine what that was like. I’ve been thinking about you and called a couple of times this morning, but you must have been out. Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

  “Yes, I was out. I didn’t even think to look at the answering machine when I got back. I appreciate you checking on me, Jean. Last night I would’ve sworn I wouldn’t feel like getting out of bed this morning, but I’m driven to see some justice, so I’ve put the upset behind me. I’m actually going out with Dorie this evening to the Dickens Feast.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’ve released it. I told someone this morning that you weren’t the overdramatic type, and if anyone could deal with this in a practical way, it’d be you.

  “You know, I’m not surprised something like this happened. I never dreamed it would be a murder, but it was just a matter of time before Lena bit off more than she could chew.”

  “What are you talking about?” Surprised to hear Jean make the comment, Meg pulled the legal pad and pen from the arm of the chair onto her lap.

  “It was the talk at bridge club. So many of those women either had a husband involved with Lena or knew someone who did. It was no secret she was stepping out on Brian. That’s why he parked at our Heritage Committee meetings and waited for her.” Jean gave a shallow cough. “Then she had some work done. They said Brian wasn’t happy about it, like maybe she charged it to him and he wasn’t aware she was going to do it. It was a facelift, or at least that’s what everyone’s saying. All the more ridiculous because she didn’t need one. She wasn’t even fifty. Everyone I know considered her beautiful.”

  “See, I wasn’t aware of that until just this morning. Brian led me to believe she was suffering from an illness. Do you know anyone specifically she was involved with?” Meg doodled on the corner of the legal pad.

  Jean shared how her partner at one bridge game had whined about the fact that Lena had called her husband several times, claiming to be working on a fund raiser and needing his assistance.

  Jean couldn’t remember who it was, though, because it was a tournament of people she didn’t see routinely.

  “Well, Lena did do quite a bit of volunteer work in the community. Those could’ve been valid requests,” Meg hedged. “Brian told me repeatedly that she was ill when he called trying to get me to accept her duties as chairman. I kept trying to remember the last time I saw her.”

  Jean recounted the last few times she’d seen Lena, deciding it had been three weeks. “She looked perfectly healthy then.”

  “Now that you mention it, it was the last time I saw her too.” Meg said. “Well, except for the dead body thing. Brian called me several times these past few weeks, and I’d wondered why he made the phone calls and not her. Do you think that’s strange? I just don’t know them as a couple that well to really judge.”

  Jean said she didn’t know their habits either. “That’s interesting. I didn’t know he had called you. I thought you had worked it all out with Lena. And what was the illness? Could she get a facelift while ill?”

  “I don’t know. He claimed it was a relapse of something. Regardless, I’ve always thought they were odd and that maybe he did her bidding. It’s a mystery.” Meg doodled on the legal pad again, putting stars by Lena’s name. Did any of her close friends ever suspect Lena and their own husbands?

  “You’re certainly right about that. It’s possible she asked him to make the calls so she wouldn’t get bogged down in answering questions about not getting out. With Brian it would just be a straightforward conversation,” Jean said.

  Meg thought that was probably true. Women tended to delve into things with other women that they wouldn’t question with a male. That could have been a valid reason. It was certainly one she might consider in the same circumstances.

  “Jean, I can’t imagine how marital affairs impact the spouses. I never had reason to suspect Paul. Do you think that’s naïve?”

  “I always say never say never, but in this case I assure you, I have the utmost trust in both of our husbands. I never suspected Manny either. Dorothy Andrews was one of the women I recall complaining about Lena. Now picture her husband. Denny never had more than three buttons fastened on his shirt, insisting on his gold jewelry being visible along with his tanned chest. That’s the type of man Lena was known to hanker.” Jean laughed. “She was drawn to that exposed sexual availability. Did you ever notice Paul putting out those type of vibes at the Chamber banquets?”

  Meg chuckled. “No, I guess you’re right. It’s just that all this talk of philandering makes you wonder, doesn’t it? I guess I’ve been living under a rock. No one ever mentioned this stuff to me.”

  “People know you’re not inclined to gossip. You have a reputation for being for the underdog and speaking up for people who can’t defend themselves. That’s well-known, Meg. It’s not a bad reputation to have. In fact, it’s probably why you’re so driven to find out who murdered Lena. She’s a victim.”

  “Maybe so. There’s something pushing me forward, though I can’t put my finger on it. You might be right. Lena had her vices, but no one deserves murder. And to be left the way she was? It was so unbelievable, almost purposeful.”

  A thought struck Meg then. “You might know Brian’s girls. Were they in any of your piano groups?”

  “Giselle was one of my students,” Jean said, “but I haven’t seen those girls in years. That was back when I took a break from
working full time. Someone mentioned to me that they come back to town often, but they don’t stay at Brian’s. They had a falling-out with him several years ago.”

  “Hmm, wonder what that was about?”

  “Seems they were against him marrying Lena. They thought she was too young for him, and she was a gold-digger,” Jean recalled.

  “What do you think?”

  “She was younger, but I don’t think it was a vast age difference. I always felt sorry for those girls. They had a rough time in school. Giselle was musically talented. She liked playing the piano and would come to lessons early to sit and listen to the student before her. She would grab my old cat, Goldie, you remember her? Giselle would sit on the floor, stroking Goldie and swaying to the music. Bobby Adams was the student before her—easy to listen to, never had to stop him for corrections.”

  “How old was she?”

  Jean was silent a second. “It had to be seventh or eighth grade, so she was probably twelve or thirteen. I believe her mother might still have been alive. Those girls are probably close to Dorie’s age.”

  “I had thought about that, them being close to Dorie’s age. I appreciate your help. This family fascinates me. I never paid much attention to them before this. Always considered them out of my league.” Meg said. “I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

  “Me too. This weird snowfall may have created a better atmosphere for the festival, but I’ve got cabin fever.”

  Meg laughed. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll be there with bells on.”

  Returning to her easy chair, Meg propped her feet on the ottoman, turned to the second page on the legal pad, and made notes to herself about her conversation with Jean. Meg never wanted to hear gossip, so most of her friends didn’t bother to share it with her, and she didn’t reinforce it because it made her uneasy. Her mother always said, “If they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you.” Now she wished she was in the loop. However, she didn’t really want unsubstantiated gossip—she wanted to hear some factual information about Lena Hillard.

  The problem with what Jean had just revealed about the affairs was there were no names except Denny Andrews, the gossip alluding to Lena’s behavior but never naming her accomplices. Those names would be on Meg’s list of possible suspects. I wonder how long that list could be?

  SEVEN

  MEG SPENT THE afternoon making lists of possible suspects, details of her visit to the Hillard home, memories of the bedroom at Darrow, and a few notes about where her locket might have been. She put the tablet on the arm of the chair and closed her eyes. If she had been Lena, would she want the person discovering her body to be horrified or compelled to take action? As shocking as the scene was, Meg was driven to find out what happened. She hadn’t felt a connection to Lena in life, but there was something about being beside her in that room, a spiritual something.

  LaRue stretched and walked toward the banquette in the kitchen. Meg followed, her charged phone in hand. Jean had mentioned calling the landline earlier, so Meg listened to each message. Two of them were from Jean, one from Dorie. The other two were from Tom, who sounded breathless and asked her to call him on his cell as soon as possible. Meg pushed the auto redial, and Tom’s phone went straight to voice mail.

  “Hello, Tom. Sorry I’m behind returning calls. I’ve been out. I’ll catch up with you later. Maybe I’ll run into you at the Dickens Feast.” Surely he would be there. He had a major role in the organization as the head of the historical foundation.

  Meg made a ritual of preparing for the outing, taking care to notice every detail of a mundane task after an article in a magazine had reminded her to slow down and notice the little things. She took a long hot shower, enjoying the heat of the water pounding her back as the soles of her feet acclimated to the cold enamel on the bottom of the tub. She used her favorite shower gel, scented with rosemary, the tingles lasting long after she had rinsed the foam from her skin.

  When she finished, she wrapped herself in a terrycloth robe and wiped the fog from the vanity mirror. The white-tiled bathroom held the rosemary steam as she twisted her hair into a chignon at the back of her neck and applied minimal makeup.

  She had fond memories of the nurse who had talked with her about focusing on the moment. Remembering to take the time to do it was the problem. The incident the previous evening was a wake-up call, a signal to slow down and take time for herself.

  Meg used a lint brush on the scarlet velvet skirt and jacket, choosing a different silk blouse this time, one with a standup collar. Searching the tray on her dresser for her garnet earrings, Meg ran her fingers across the locket. She held it, feeling the cool metal against her palm, and running her fingernail across the small garnets set in gold, then pinned it in the center of her collar.

  Fluffing the feathers on the velvet fascinator before placing it on her head, Meg glanced at herself in the mirror, just as she heard Dorie at the back door.

  “Coming in, Mom,” her daughter called out.

  “I’m ready” Meg replied as the stepped into the kitchen. They admired each other’s outfits; Dorie wore deep green moiré satin that brought out her eyes and complimented her ginger hair. It was Paul’s hair—his influence. She never quizzed Dorie about grandchildren, but she thought if there were any, they might be redheads. “Well, let’s get going,” Meg said. “It’s chilly outside, and Michael and his mom are waiting.”

  Cheerful decorations greeted guests as they entered the community center auditorium. A Christmas tree stood tall, centered under the ornate domed ceiling in the foyer. Red ribbon accents studded the evergreen garland outlining the entry to the main room. The decorations added color, but also a pleasant piney aroma to the entrance.

  The auditorium held a stage but also served as a banquet hall. Volunteers and staffers, dressed in Victorian garb, manned a counter where guests picked up their table assignments. Meg searched the scene for Tom but didn’t see him.

  They proceeded into the banquet hall, Meg nodding and saying hello to acquaintances as she passed. Stares followed her. She could feel the eyes on her as she moved through the room. It was uncomfortable to be in the public eye, but she had prepared herself. She was taking them in also, the other people dressed in costume. Some of them probably didn’t know she’d discovered Lena’s body.

  Dorie disappeared for a moment, returning with two glasses of red wine. After handing one to Meg, she held the other glass in the air and said, “This is for Jewell. I’m going back for white.”

  Michael spotted his principal, excusing himself from Meg’s side as she saw Sally and Rafe Davis. They were headed toward her, their eyes alight, smiles stifled. “Well? Tell us about all this drama with Lena. It’s all the talk,” Sally said in a conspirator’s whisper. “You were actually there in the house?”

  “I’ve been interviewed by the detectives and cautioned about talking about it.” Meg had thought about how she would respond to questions and prepared the answer, knowing it was bound to happen. She took a long sip of wine to calm herself.

  Rafe raised his brows. “I believe you know much more than you’re letting on, Meg. Can’t you shed any light on this tragedy?”

  “I wish I could, but I’m at a loss. And it is tragic isn’t it?” Meg struggled to keep from showing her irritation with the questioning.

  “That tells us nothing,” Sally hissed. “We heard you were right there in the room with the body. You saw her. What were you doing there? Jill Ann said you were getting dressed over there. What was going on?”

  “I wasn’t getting dressed. I had on what I’m wearing now. You want to touch it? It was in a room with a dead body.” The minute she said it, she wished she could take it back. It wasn’t in her nature to be so sarcastic.

  “That’s uncalled for, Meg,” Rafe scolded, rolling his eyes at her.

  “I expected to be questioned, and while I’m sorry you don’t like my answers, that’s really all I can say.” Meg looked away from them, scanning the room to
see if there might be someone less confrontational to talk to.

  “I have some ideas.” Sally pursed her lips.

  “Do tell, then,” Meg whispered, turning her head back toward Sally, aware the feathers on her fascinator were in Rafe’s face. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, leaning away. “You must know far more than me, because I don’t have a clue.” She shook her head a little, flitting her wispy hat in front of Rafe.

  Sally stared at Meg with wide eyes and moistened her lips. “Lena Hillard was having an affair. Everyone knows that. Brian has motive to be very angry about it. In fact, he had an inkling. Why do you think he was so watchful? His daughters have been telling him for years that marrying her was a mistake.”

  “Who was she having an affair with?” Meg asked in a low voice, though she wasn’t concerned about eaves-droppers. The hall was filled with the din of hundreds of conversations and a string quartet playing classical music.

  “Who knows? There have been many.”

  Meg drew in a breath, disappointed that the response lacked any information she could follow up on, though she’d been expecting as much. “That’s what I thought. The talk is she was having an affair, but she’s the only participant named. That’s impossible for police to check.”

  Rafe sighed. “It’s smart. Men are careful about these things. They’re not going to be open, especially if it’s someone of standing in the community with a reputation to protect.”

  “Is it, Rafe? Is it someone of standing?” Meg asked.