A Dickens of a Crime

by Phyllis H Moore

  She went back to her note pad and jotted down her thoughts about their participation in the funeral. They presented themselves as strong-willed young women. How could anyone convince them to put on the outfits for the procession? It didn’t make sense.

  Now that she’d been to the Hillard home, talked with the twins, attended the funeral, seen the church, looked at Brian’s prescriptions, and been rammed by someone in a car, Meg was convinced Lena’s murder was just one of the mysteries to be solved.

  THIRTEEN

  Like the old days when Dorie was young, Meg found herself in the car, thinking about a difficult conversation. This time she was in the passenger seat and Dorie was driving them to Dallas to meet with Miranda. Meg hoped she would learn more about Lena Hillard or the mega-church, but she was distracted. She wanted to tell her daughter about her past.

  “You’re quiet, Mom. What are you thinking about?”

  “Oh, nothing really.” Meg sipped coffee from a paper cup and wrapped her hands around it for warmth. “Well, since you asked, I’ve been thinking about Lena’s funeral. It was a little offbeat, showy in a way, like a wedding. There were decorations, and the twins walked in behind the casket like bridesmaids or something. It was ridiculous. Have you ever heard anyone say that about a funeral?” Meg stared out the car window at drizzling rain.

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Decorations? What kind of decorations?”

  Meg shrugged. “It could’ve been their normal Christmas greenery, I guess. Excessive, though. The casket was ornate, overly ornate. During the eulogy, it was mentioned that Lena always wanted a second wedding. That’s what the procession looked like, a wedding. The girls even wore outfits picked out by Lena.”

  “That’s bizarre. Who does that?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. The luncheon was over the top as well.” Meg ran her thumb around the lip of the paper cup, trying to find the words to explain the feeling she had about the scene.

  “Here’s the thing about the congregation. I didn’t recognize any of them. They were dressed in furs and jewels, the women oversexualized, cleavage and stiletto heels in the sanctuary. I’m trying to describe the irony, but I can’t do it justice.”

  “I know what you mean, Mom.”

  “You do? I’m having such a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

  “Do you remember that girl who lived down the hall from me in the dorm my freshman year? The one who was always quoting the Bible to us and condemning our choices, trying to drag us to her church on Sundays?”

  “Oh yeah, that cute little dark-headed girl. What was her name?”

  “Naomi. You remember I told you she had been a stripper and did internet dating with older men for gifts and money? She called herself a sugar baby.”

  “Yes, exactly! You’re right. This smacks of that situation.”

  “It does sound like that same kind of bizarre blur of standards. My roommate and I talked about it. We even looked it up. The belief system of people is such that they struggle with their own identity. They know right from wrong, but they struggle with making decisions about their own behavior.”

  Meg had known Dorie would have some practical explanation.

  “Huh, I can see how that applies to your Naomi, but this is a congregation, many people in a group. They’re perfectly at ease with their material possessions and the women seem to be comfortable with themselves. They’re not young. Well the valets were young, but the congregation was middle-aged and above.”

  “Valets?” Dorie cut her eyes at Meg.

  “Oh yeah, that’s a story in itself,” Meg said.

  As the slow drizzle blurred the windows, Dorie increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “I think your observations are important. Maybe Miranda can shed some light on these people. I’m interested to see what this meeting is about.”

  Meg nodded, unsure if she had truly explained how inappropriate she found the experience. She kept going back to the twins, dressed alike and following their stepmother’s casket. “It’s all worn on the outside, a ruse to take your attention away from the purpose, the real value of gathering and sharing a space with like minds. It’s just worrisome, and I don’t know why it occupies so much space in my thoughts.”

  Dorie glanced at Meg. “You may be overthinking. You know what Dad would say about all this? He would probably quote Marx or tell us something about the Protestant work ethic. He never was much for organized religion. I can hear him now telling us it’s the opiate of the people.”

  “This is the time of year I miss him the most. He always enjoyed the trappings of the season: the cool weather, the colors, a roaring fire, decorated trees.” Meg glanced out the window at the drizzly day. “I always called him a Druid, more into the nature of the season.”

  “You should get a small tree, Mom, but don’t worry about putting out all the decorations. You’ll be at our house most of the day, but a little something with lights to brighten the house would probably be good for you.” Dorie reached over and patted Meg’s hand. “It’s almost a welcome distraction to have this investigation, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t wish the circumstances on anyone, but it has been a diversion. I don’t think I would’ve attended that funeral if I hadn’t wanted to do a little snooping. That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. Someone killed Lena in a place where they knew people were going to be gathering, and they left her there nude. Who does that?”

  Their conversation ceased, and Meg turned her head to look out the window again, watching the drizzle form rivulets across the window. Dorie was right. She had good intentions.

  “Did you ever notice that, on a few occasions, I would have to stop and take a few minutes to catch my breath? Maybe it was more than a few minutes.”

  “Yes,” Dorie said without hesitation, reaching over to turn down the radio. “It scared me when I was little, but Dad said you’d be okay and it would pass, and it did. When I got older, he told me what it was.”

  Meg turned her body toward Dorie, surprised to hear Paul had discussed the attacks. “You two talked about it?”

  “Of course we did. I didn’t want to question you because I thought you were dying, but Dad said you’d been dealing with panic attacks since college, and you knew how to handle yourself.” Dorie reached over and patted Meg’s arm. “It’s okay, Mom. I watched you, and he was right. I can count on one hand how many times I saw it happen, and I’m sure there were times I didn’t see.”

  “I wish I had talked with you,” Meg said, exhaling a deep breath. “I had one the other night after the Dickens Feast.”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It passed quickly. I think it was talking to Miranda about the way her staff had been treated, that harassment. It was similar to an incident that I had experienced.”

  Meg swallowed, steeling herself to tell Dorie.

  “When I was a freshman in college, I worked as a server for the campus caterer. Several of the girls in my dorm did. We worked big parties for the administration. There were perks, like being able to take leftover food to the dorm for friends. You know how you looked forward to good food when you lived in the dorm. Anyway, at a particularly fancy event, I was in a room, alone, replenishing a table of finger foods, when three professors walked in. I knew two of them from the political science department. They were dressed in tuxedos, cocktails in their hands.” Meg tilted her head and watched the windshield wipers swish as she recalled the scene.

  “It’s okay, Mom. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, I want to. I’m remembering the room and how I thought it was so beautiful: wood wainscoting, beautiful rugs, massive furnishings. It was a masculine room. That’s what I thought at the time. I told myself powerful men had meetings there.”

  Meg reached for a tissue from her purse, reminded of the innocence she’d lost in that opulent room. She told herself it wasn’t the arrogance of the room. She blamed the men. It had bee
n as incongruent as the HAH sanctuary. Both places polished and primed for their best appearance, but there was a festering inside, a mean spirit filled the space, and it was obvious.

  “Dr. Needham, the younger of the three, said hello to me. The others turned to face me, not noticing I was there before Needham spoke. Dr. Rudolph walked over to the huge wooden pocket doors and slid them shut. No one else had arrived, and I was there early to prepare the trays.” Meg hadn’t understood why he had closed the door, focused on arranging food. She squirmed in her seat, recalling her gullibility. She could still hear the thud created when the doors met.

  “Dr. Needham said something to the other two, something that let me know he was uncomfortable. That’s when I looked up and saw them approaching me. I remember locking eyes with Needham. He was nervous, and it panicked me. Dr. Rudolph grabbed me and a tray of olives fell to the floor, rolling on the Oriental rug. He grabbed my throat with one hand and started kissing me, not allowing me to move my head. Dr. Jenkins walked over and began caressing my breasts. I was backed up against the table, trapped by their bodies. Needham watched, frozen.” Meg’s heart was racing at her words. She’d stopped watching Dorie’s reaction.

  Meg shook her head as if to shake off the experience. She closed her eyes, remembering how they exited the room and she dropped to her knees and began picking up the olives. She huffed. “All I could think about was cleaning up the spill. I tried to erase those men from my mind.”

  “Stupid pricks,” Dorie gasped. “You told Dad?”

  “Yes, and he wanted me to go to the head of the department, the university administration, the campus police.”

  “So, did you?”

  “No, I couldn’t tell anyone else. I was so embarrassed, and those men were popular on campus.”

  “That’s a reaction repeated so many times today,” Dorie said. “You don’t blame yourself, do you?”

  “No, not at all. I might’ve initially questioned how I could’ve done something different, but not anymore.” Meg stretched against the seat, relieved she had finally shared her experience with Dorie.

  “So your panic attacks or whatever are related to that event?” Dorie asked

  “That’s what your dad and I thought. It’s about the time they started, though they gradually decreased over the years. It’s been a long time since I’d had one.”

  “Thanks for telling me. Something like that can trigger such a reaction?” Dorie slowed behind a large truck and increased the speed of the windshield wipers.

  Meg relaxed against the seat. “I’m glad I told you. It wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t know how to go about saying it.”

  “You did just fine,” Dorie said, reaching over and rubbing Meg’s shoulder. “Nothing like that’s ever happened to me, and I have no idea how I’d feel about it if it did. It really pisses me off that it happened to you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it hasn’t happened to you. It seems like a blip in time now, but it still nauseates me to think about.”

  Dorie parked in the hotel garage, saying she could walk the few blocks to the downtown office building for her meeting. She had a little time to kill before leaving for her appointment, so she and Meg found a comfortable seating area and shared a croissant with cappuccinos while they admired the elaborate holiday decorations in the lobby.

  “You’ll be okay here until I get back?” Dorie asked.

  “Oh sure. Don’t give it a thought. I’ll enjoy this. I have a book and my crochet.” Meg patted the bag on her lap. “I’ll probably just sit here and enjoy the décor and watch people. You take your time. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay then.” Dorie stood and swung her portfolio bag over her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so, but I’ll give you a call if it’s any longer than that. Call me if you decide to go out or anything.”

  “I will, but I’m sure I’ll be happy right here. Good luck with your presentation.”

  Dorie had been gone about twenty minutes when Meg looked up from her book to see a red sports car in the reflection of a large mirror that hung on the wall opposite where she was seated. The valet attendant opened the door and greeted a tall, well-dressed man. As the man took a ticket from the valet and walked toward the hotel entry, Meg confirmed it was Tom Richards.

  FOURTEEN

  MEG’S FIRST THOUGHT was to get up and greet Tom after having been worried about his whereabouts for so long. No one had seen him since the night of the Dickens Feast. It would be an awkward conversation, especially if he’s here because of that church. And, what about my locket? Why did he have it on his desk? She stayed seated, blocked from his view by a Christmas tree.

  The book she brought to read, in front of her face, Meg peered over her glasses and watched as Tom talked with the concierge and then handed the young woman what appeared to be folded bills. The attractive blonde slipped the money into her jacket pocket while glancing to her side. Tom laughed and chatted a bit longer, then turned and walked toward the elevators down a short hall. The young woman picked up the desk phone and began talking.

  Meg glanced behind her through the large window toward the front of the hotel and noticed Tom’s car was still there. She reached into her bag and took out her legal pad, writing down the time and date, Tom’s initials and her observations.

  What’s going on? Why would Tom be here? Is it a coincidence?

  She turned her attention back to the book, but kept watch for any movement from the elevator hall. She couldn’t focus on reading because her attention kept going back to why Tom would be in Dallas and in the same hotel lobby. Dorie called to let her know she was on her way.

  “Mom, I’m going to enter the hotel through the service doors in the back. Miranda suggested you meet us upstairs. The concierge has your name. Ask her for the elevator code and go to P14.”

  “Are you sure? This sounds a little clandestine.” Meg giggled.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Trust me. Miranda wouldn’t steer us wrong.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  Meg gathered her belongings and walked across the lobby toward the concierge. The young woman smiled at her as she approached, then pulled something out of her jacket pocket, glanced at it, then looked back up at Meg. She continued to smile. “You must be Mrs. Miller. Welcome.”

  “Why, yes, I am. How did you know?”

  “We’ve been expecting you. Enjoy your luncheon.”

  The woman handed Meg a slip of paper with a brief code and the room number printed in neat black pen. Meg nodded and headed toward the elevators, turning back as the young woman called after her saying she would need to use the third elevator on the right for penthouse access.

  She pressed the button labeled P, confused by the woman’s comment. It had to have been Tom who handed the concierge her information. Her mind was racing, but there was nothing to do but let the situation play out and discover what was happening.

  The elevator moved swiftly upward with the whispering glide of state-of-the art technology. She glanced at her face in the mirror-lined walls of the carriage; her lipstick still intact, but she was disappointed that her hair had drooped. She was second-guessing the department store bag she was carrying with her crochet and book.

  Stop it, Meg. You’re headed to the penthouse by invitation. No need to put on airs.

  The thought of a briefcase reminded her of Paul. What would he think if he knew she was in the city with Dorie, meeting with Miranda to gather more information about a murder? He probably would have cautioned her long ago not to get involved in such things.

  Closing her eyes, she talked with him silently, letting him know she would be careful and rely on common sense to guide her.

  The elevator hesitated and came to a stop, a red light blinking on the panel in front of her. There were two long rows of buttons against shiny black. A blue electronic light flashed on and then went off. A voice came through the small speaker above the buttons. “Please excuse this temporary disruption. Elevator service
will be restored momentarily.”

  Meg spoke back to the speaker. “Hello? Hello? Meg Miller here. Hello?” There was no response. “For heaven’s sake. What in the world? Surely Dorie and Miranda will figure this out and have someone look for me.” After taking a few deep breaths, Meg set her bag down on the elevator floor. “If I had to rely on your common sense this minute, Paul, I would think I should’ve stayed home today in my robe with LaRue. Honestly, what have I gotten myself into?”

  Meg looked at her watch. It had been fifteen minutes since Dorie called. Surely the hotel staff would be aware of the elevator disruption. She hoped the voice in the speaker wasn’t just an automatic response with no human behind it. Meg took off her sweater, feeling restricted. She folded it, and put it in the bag with her book and crochet.

  As she was bending to reach the bag, the elevator jerked and began moving toward the penthouse once more. It made a smooth arrival and the doors slid open silently, revealing a panoramic view of the city from an impressive height.

  Before stepping out towards the window, Meg checked herself in the mirrors again. The interruption had frazzled her, the jolt of the elevator resuming caught her off guard.

  She took a moment to take in the view, experiencing a bit of vertigo, then turned to the right as Dorie instructed and followed a long hall to a door with a brass plate engraved with P14. Meg waited a moment, hearing someone on the other side of the door and wondering if she should knock. Before she could, Miranda opened the door.

  “Hello, Meg. Dorie just arrived. Come in.”

  Meg smiled at Miranda. As the door was opened wider, she saw a round table in front of a massive window with another view of the city. She was aware there were a few people gathered around a buffet laden with food to her left. Dorie caught her attention, and Meg walked toward her.