A Dickens of a Crime

by Phyllis H Moore

  This is the new world order, Meg. Times have changed.

  She glanced through Giselle’s photos, many of which seemed to have been taken in clubs where everyone was dancing and drinking. There were several of people Meg didn’t recognize, and only a few of Giselle herself.

  There was only one photo of Brian and Lena, standing in front of their house. It was spring, the azalea bushes on either side of the porch blooming. Lena’s long blonde hair was pulled back; she frequently wore her hair in that style. There was a long black-and-white scarf tied at her neck, one tail end falling to Lena’s waist in the front. The scarf perfectly accessorized her white shift dress and black patent leather pumps.

  It was probably Easter for Lena to wear those shoes. Lena had always been impeccably dressed and probably had a designer handbag that matched the three-inch heels with the signature red soles. Even with the height of the heels, Lena still looked petite next to Brian’s imposing stature and girth.

  Meg had a sinking feeling looking at them side by side. Neither of them had a clue their marriage would end with Lena’s murder.

  Continuing to look through profiles, including Brian, Lena, and Hal, Meg found photos of gatherings in the Hillards’ backyard. There were shots of Brian at the grill, and various people from Hilltop with cocktails in their hands, smiling at the camera. Meg was reminded how attractive they all were, dressed in their crisp, casual clothing. Photos of the pool parties at the Hillards’ revealed tanned, fit women with exceptionally rounded breasts and slender stomachs and thighs, while the men were mostly notable for the stretched elastic in their trunks.

  Geneva’s profile was much like Giselle’s, though there were tons of photos, so many Meg wondered if she could sift through all of them. She found many of them in poor taste and wondered why anyone would risk posting them. However, there was one she found intriguing. Geneva was posed at an outdoor restaurant with a female friend, both holding up glasses of champagne. Geneva wore a black strapless sundress with a scarf wrapped several times around her neck and tied in the front. It appeared as a thick choker at Geneva’s collarbone, but Meg suspected because of the print, it was the same scarf she had seen on Lena in the previous photo.

  A woman’s ability to tie scarves with such creativity had always impressed Meg. Did the scarf belong to Lena or did she and Geneva have the same scarf? Maybe Lena had given it to Geneva. Meg supposed there could be many explanations of why they might have photos wearing the scarf. Meg and Dorie often shared shoes and accessories, after all, and there were probably photos of them wearing the same items.

  Still, there was the fact that a scarf might’ve been used to strangle Lena. What did that mean? And, according to the twins, they didn’t enjoy a friendly relationship with Lena. Would they share accessories?

  There was the relationship with fate that Meg had considered the previous evening. Her decision to brew coffee and stay awake to sift through social media photos was no accident.

  Meg went back through Giselle’s photos. Compared to Geneva’s profile, Giselle’s was flimsy. She had posted only a few times, and they were all shares of posts about animal cruelty from national organizations, nothing original to her. She gave no infomration about age, place of birth, schooling or other details, whereas Geneva’s profile was informative and more of an essay than data bites.

  In the middle of considering the girls’ social media profiles, she took a long sip of coffee and knew she would be calling Jean for a meeting in the rare books room.

  Meg had an idea that might be the perfect way to get into Lena Hillard’s bedroom.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  RITA MAYFIELD OCCUPIED Meg’s old position at the county library. They had been coworkers for years and remained friends. Though they no longer saw each other daily, they still stayed in touch and up to date on each other’s lives. Meg spoke with Rita while she waited for Jean’s arrival.

  “What did you think of Lena, Rita? I know she spent a lot of time with the board and had some pet projects she worked on here after I retired.”

  Rita moved back from the keyboard. “I thought she could’ve been an elegant woman, and I admired her beauty. You know me, Meg. I’m not a prude and I’m not opposed to occasional cleavage in the evening, but every day just after breakfast with stiletto heels, fuchsia-lined lips, spray-on tan, and big hair? It was just all too Barbie doll to take her seriously sometimes. I thought the board members—and you know they’re mostly male—would’ve considered her ideas more carefully if she didn’t seem so obviously devoted to keeping up that pretense. She had some creative ideas.”

  “Have you ever visited Hilltop out there on the bypass?” Meg wanted to get Rita’s take on the congregation.

  “No, but I’ve heard about it. And I know where you’re going with this. The female members of the congregation seem to be clones of Lena.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly where I was going.” Meg stood upright and took a deep breath. “Lena’s death still stumps me. I can’t get the image of her lifeless body out of my mind.”

  “I was wondering how that would be for you. It’s sure to be with you for a while. I can’t imagine.”

  “I liked Lena, and I agree with everything you said. If you got to know her, she was intelligent and well-spoken. I’m sure her natural beauty was much more appealing than what she portrayed, though sometimes I think that’s more a matter of self-esteem than pretense. Possibly her husband might’ve insisted on that type of dress.” Meg looked over her shoulder to an empty reading area.

  “I’m sure you’re right, but it’s a little sad, isn’t it? A beautiful, intelligent woman like Lena married to an older man like Brian Hillard.” There was no one else in the library. Rita must have felt free to speak her mind. “I thought that was such a mismatch. I knew his second wife. She and I were in the same dance classes when I was in high school and she was maybe a sixth grader. We called her Millie. She was such a cute girl, and talented.”

  Rita told Meg she had many fond memories of Mildred and couldn’t believe it when she saw the announcement in the paper that Mildred would be marrying Brian Hillard. He’d already been married and divorced from a woman who had accused him of numerous affairs. Meg had always thought of Rita as a good judge of character, and now she was confirming many of Meg’s own impressions.

  “Do you remember when they married?” Meg asked.

  “I do. I wouldn’t have said this when Millie was alive. I kept up with her because I was so fond of her as a girl. The marriage was hurried. She left town for a while and then all of a sudden there’s an announcement in the paper that she was marrying Brian. Later I ran into her at the park. I had my boys there playing and I saw Millie walking through with the double stroller.”

  Meg had a feeling she knew what Rita was going to say. She breathed in and became still.

  “Brian and Millie had been married about two months. Those girls were clamoring to get out of the stroller and head to the swings. They had to be well over a year old. At that time, I admired Brian for accepting responsibility for his family, but as time went on, Millie would call me about one thing or another. It was obvious he never intended to be a father to those girls and there was something darker going on. Yes, Mille probably had some depression, but there was something else, an emotional abuse that eventually resulted in her death, in my opinion.”

  “Do you think that left those girls with no one?”

  Rita nodded. “Worse than that. It left them at the mercy of Brian and his church. You didn’t hear this from me, but I made calls to child welfare almost weekly begging someone to look into their situation. The problem was I didn’t have specific information and by that time they’re teenagers. I feel terrible about it and Millie.” Rita had tears in her eyes.

  “You did what you could, Rita. That’s all you could do. You never mentioned this to me before.”

  “I know. I have regrets about that because you probably could have helped me figure out what to do. In hind sight there were ot
her things I could’ve done. Millie’s parents were deceased. I couldn’t think of anyone else. My worst fears came true and now, I think it’s happening again.”

  “You mean Lena’s death?”

  “Yes, and although those girls are grown, I still think of them as helpless teens,” Rita said.

  “Yeah, I know. Me too. Well, here comes Jean. We’ll scoot on back. I know you have things to do. We’re older now and wiser, Rita. It’s a different world.”

  “I know, Meg. Take care of yourself.”

  Rita used to say it to her every day, though she never really heard it because it was such a routine comment. But today, she heard it loud and clear, and it meant something. She would take care of herself. There was something of an awakening happening within her. She was practicing an awareness that she hadn’t paid attention to before.

  Jean grabbed Meg’s arm after waving to Rita, and they walked down the hall together. It was getting to be an almost daily routine. Before they had the doors opened, Meg was telling Jean about the scavenger in her garbage can in the early morning.

  “I’m not so sure you should’ve gone out to the street to confront anyone. You only had a flashlight. He might’ve had a gun.”

  “You’re probably right, but he ran off as soon as I threw the light on him. My first thought was the raccoons or cats would have the trash strewn all over the neighborhood. The worst that happened was my slippers getting soggy.”

  “Wonder what he was looking for.”

  “I have no idea. I’ve thought about it, but I can’t come up with anything. However, I decided it was fate of some kind, because I went right in the house, made some coffee, and got on social media. That was interesting, but it inspired an idea I want to run past you.”

  “I’m game. Shoot.” Jean pushed up the sleeves on her sweater.

  “Okay, so you know I volunteer at the Workforce Commission and they have the resale shop there for business attire. Have you been in there?”

  “No I haven’t, but I think it’s a marvelous way to make use of nice clothing. Are you suggesting we clean out our closets?”

  Meg smiled. “In a way, but not our closets, Lena’s.”

  “Oh. Well that might be fun. How in the world would you approach Brian about allowing such a thing?”

  “You leave that to me. The thing we need to do is find out about the scarf Giselle mentioned.” Meg was hopeful they could find evidence.

  “Don’t you think that scarf might’ve been collected by the police by now?”

  “I’ve never heard the detective mention a scarf, so we’re obligated to run this idea by her. If there was no scarf, this could be a waste as far as evidence, but it could still be a boon for donations to the resale shop,” Meg pointed out.

  “Sounds like a win-win to me.” Jean rubbed her hands together. “I also have some news. Giselle called me late last night. She sounded as if she’d been drinking or had maybe taken something. I’m getting concerned about her. She rambled incoherently, talking about Geneva and how they tried to be good girls, but she couldn’t always convince her sister that she didn’t want to break the law. When I asked her what law, she said it was nothing. She didn’t want to talk about it. Her ability to hold conversation deteriorated from there and she eventually hung up.”

  “Poor girl. Every time I think of those girls, I think about Dorie being in that situation. I can’t help it. Do you think they had motive to kill Lena?”

  “If Brian has a will, I think they did, but don’t you think the detective would’ve considered that by now?”

  “I think we need to pay Crawford a visit and tell her what we’re thinking.”

  An hour later, Jean and Meg were sitting in the reception area of the police station, wrapped packages in their laps from the Main Street Toy Store.

  The receptionist let them know Detective Crawford was in a conference but asked them to wait. She was supposed to be out within fifteen minutes. When they were finally hailed back to the offices, the receptionist accepted the packages to place under the Blue Santa tree.

  Tom Richards stood from his chair in Detective Crawford’s office. “I know you’re surprised to see me, Meg. We have some explaining to do.”

  “Well, I hope you can answer all my questions.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  FINALLY, MEG UNDERSTOOD Tom’s role. He was indeed with the FBI, but he wasn’t a normal agent. He was a special agent, not necessarily assigned to the field office, his position involving travel with the people he was investigating—“embedded,” he said.

  His explanation was cursory and Meg still had questions, too many questions to pose before sharing her own information.

  Tom was visiting the police station to lodge a complaint about someone going through the garbage cans at the historical foundation. Meg explained that she’d had a similar problem the previous evening. “Do you know what they’re looking for, Tom?”

  “Not specifically. However, there are rumors that someone has a photo or note that could be incriminating to a member of the congregation at the HAH. ”

  “A note?” Meg pulled her glasses off and wiped her brow.

  “Our motion-sensitive camera got a grainy video of a young adult male in a hoodie. He wore a baseball cap with the hood pulled up. At this point there’s nothing to identify anyone for sure.”

  “That sounds like who I saw this morning around four forty-five.”

  “He hit the foundation office about three fifty,” Tom said.

  Crawford handed Meg some photos. “We have these still shots, if that’s any help.”

  “That looks like who I saw this morning. It was misty and foggy, but I could make out the hat and hoodie,” Meg said. “I wonder if the note could be the one slipped to Jean at the funeral?”

  The detective looked to Tom. “That’s the note I showed you earlier. It’s possible. We’re not aware of other photos or notes.”

  “Would it be too much to ask, Detective, if I might see the scarf that was used in Lena’s strangulation?” Meg asked.

  Tom and the detective looked to each other and then back to Meg, Crawford the first to begin to speak. “Why do you think a scarf was used? Did you see one in the room?”

  “No, I didn’t. That’s why I was surprised when Jean mentioned it to me. I always assumed Lena was strangled with someone’s bare hands.”

  Their heads turned in unison to Jean. Tom’s face reddened, his jaw rigid, the vein beside his eye bulged. Meg thought he might be getting angry.

  “Tell them, Jean. Tell them why you think there was a scarf,” Meg insisted, replacing her glasses so she could see the details in their faces.

  “Well, Giselle mentioned it in passing.” Jean’s eyes moved quickly between everyone.

  “Giselle?” Detective Crawford said, taking her seat. “Brian Hillard’s daughter? When did she say that?”

  “Yes, she called me one evening. Actually, she’s called me several evenings under the influence of alcohol or something. She rambles and cries—pitiful, really. I listen and sit there with a legal pad, doodling and writing down words that make a little sense. Meg and I talk about it later, trying to piece it together. That’s how the scarf came up.”

  “What did she say about a scarf?”

  “When I questioned it, she dropped it quickly. I could tell it was a little sobering for her to hear it, like she really didn’t mean to say it, but she said Lena was strangled with her own scarf.”

  “She said those exact words ‘with her own scarf’?” Crawford clarified.

  “Yes, just like that.” Jean gave a single nod.

  “Okay, here’s the thing. That information hasn’t been released to anyone and is highly confidential. The only person or people, besides investigators, who should know that would’ve been in the room when Lena was murdered. This is not looking good for Giselle.”

  Tears brimmed in Meg’s eyes. “I thought there might be something there. She’s just too worked up about the death.”

&n
bsp; “So you two came here today to see the scarf?” Crawford asked.

  “Not exactly. We thought there was one used and you might have a photo, or maybe the actual scarf. If you didn’t, we thought we might have a way to get into Lena’s closet.”

  “And how would you do that?” Tom asked as Detective Crawford leaned forward.

  Meg proceeded to explain her volunteer work with the workforce resale shop, suggesting she could approach Brian Hillard about donating Lena’s clothing. Jean sat wide-eyed, nodding along. Meg thought Jean looked like a student in the principal’s office being bailed out by her best friend. Crawford looked at Tom and released a heavy sigh, then tilted her head back and rolled her shoulders.

  “I hate to admit it, but I like this idea.” She rolled her eyes slowly toward Tom, who was sitting motionless with his eyes closed. “If they find something, they can turn it over to us, or we have reason to get a search warrant. It would play better with Brian, and he could be relaxed about it if he thought they were just there to help,” Crawford pointed out.

  Tom sat back and clasped his hands on the top of his head. “I have my reservations, but I can see the advantage to having you two involved. It’s imperative that you not mention the scarf to anyone. The fact that Giselle knows about it is telling. This would be incredible evidence and I can’t emphasize enough the importance.”

  “I understand,” Meg said.

  Tom had a unique position. He was accepted by the HAH group, but he was also seen as a respected member of the community because of his dedication to the historical foundation. He was able to move between the two and provide information to law enforcement, gathering his own evidence at the same time.

  “Jean and I can be discreet. We know how sensitive this information is.” Meg looked to Crawford. “We’ve made several visits to Brian since Lena’s death, taking him food and checking on him. I think he trusts us.”