Everybody Loved Roger Harden

by Cecil Murphey

  Nineteen

  Jason’s body convulsed with tears. “I was wrong. Really wrong. And stupid.”

  I held him until the tears subsided. The rain had definitely passed. Now the aftermath of the storm threw all its energy into wind. The house creaked. Trees banged against the side of the house, but I heard no rain.

  “See, when I came home, I was ready to get The Big Lecture—and I assumed he’d give me another on ethical and moral behavior.”

  Jason lapsed into silence again. When he spoke, he told me what had happened Friday afternoon, before the rest of us arrived.

  “Come into my office, young man,” Roger ordered. “Sit down.” Jason started to say something, and Roger said, “Shut up and listen.”

  Jason had prepared himself for the worst possible consequences. The worst would be if his stepfather told him to leave the house and never come back. He didn’t care if the old man cut off his allowance. He had saved money, and his mother had her own money. He couldn’t think of a really bad thing Roger could do that would hurt him.

  Jason sat stiffly in front of the desk, his head bowed. He listened without response and stared at his watch as the seconds ticked by. He always surreptitiously checked the time whenever Roger lectured. So far, the old man’s record had been twenty-three minutes and eight seconds. He expected to hit thirty minutes today.

  “I’m ashamed of you,” Roger said. “Very ashamed.”

  Jason looked up briefly, made his face look extremely contrite, and bowed his head again. He considered whether to fake a few tears.

  “I’m more ashamed of myself than I am of you,” Roger said. “You are a good boy—an extremely good boy. I have failed you.”

  Jason waited. He knew Roger wouldn’t say, “I’m sorry,” because those words weren’t part of his vocabulary; however, he figured this was as close as it would ever get.

  “I assume this was some kind of payback. I deserved this kind of treatment.”

  Jason’s head jerked up and he stared at his stepfather.

  He wanted to hate the man, wanted to tell him how rotten he had been through the years, how cold and indifferent he had always been. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Roger held up his hand. “Let’s say no more about this, but I’d appreciate it if you would return the checks you haven’t used.” He smiled at Jason. “I’m going to try to be a real father to you. It’s not exactly my strong suit, but I intend to try.”

  “That is a great start,” Jason said, not knowing what else to say. Then he did something he had never done before—he grabbed his stepfather and hugged him. It felt as if he had hugged a marble statue, but Jason didn’t let go.

  Roger finally relaxed—slightly. He didn’t pull away, so Jason held him for a long time. When he finally let go, he whispered to his stepfather, “Thank you.”

  Roger shook his hand, and Jason grinned. “It’s a beginning.”

  “There are things we need to talk about,” Roger said. He held up a folder with a number of sheets of paper tucked inside. “I was going to save this until tonight when everyone is here, but maybe you need to see it first.”

  “What is it?”

  Just then Wayne Holmestead knocked on the door and pushed it open. Without being invited inside—something Jason had never seen anyone else do—Holmestead said, “We need to talk.”

  “I’ll be free in a few minutes,” Roger said.

  “This can’t wait. We need to talk. Now.”

  Roger patted Jason’s shoulder. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  Dismissed and confused, Jason left the room, bounded up the stairs, and went to his own room. This was one turn of events he had never expected.

  As he lay on his bed, he replayed the scene inside his head a dozen times. His stepfather had never acted that way before. He’s never been human. What’s wrong with him? Is he afraid of dying or something? What would make a mean old man like him change like that? he wondered. Maybe it’s an answer to prayer. Maybe God has changed him.

  “I hope so,” he said aloud. “Oh God, I hope so.”

  About twenty minutes later, he went down to Roger’s office. He didn’t hear anything until he was just outside the door.

  “. . . won’t get away with this. You’re a tyrant!” That was Mr. Holmestead’s voice.

  The response was muffled, but he heard the words police and jail.

  Mr. Holmestead swore—and those words were clear. Then his tone softened and he said, “Can’t we talk—”

  Jason turned around and went back to his room. He waited until teatime, but his stepfather walked into the dining room, sat down, and said nothing. Jason could detect no difference in his looks or attitude. He leaned close and whispered, “Uh, Dad, I wonder if we could talk.” It was the first time he had called him Dad.

  Roger shook his head. “Later. We’ll talk later.”

  A disappointed Jason said, “Okay.”

  “Promise,” Roger said.

  Jason smiled. Roger had never used the word with him before. Something was definitely different about the old man. He even smiled when he said that single word.

  As Jason sat next to his stepfather, he stared at him. Roger had a strict rule about teatime. He allowed no important conversation. Jason always thought that was stupid, but that’s what the old man said. “This is the time not to think of serious issues,” he said more than once.

  Roger kept his conversation focused on the weather. Holmestead commented on the impending rain. Paulette said they needed more rain. Beth Wilson commented that the state of Georgia showed a five-inch rain deficit for the year. Jason tired of listening to the small talk and found himself thinking again about the strange experience with his stepfather. He watched Roger and listened whenever he spoke, but he didn’t seem any different than he had been at other times. Maybe the old man was going crazy. Maybe he had started to take drugs. He stared at the man’s eyes—the first giveaway sign—but he couldn’t see any unusual dilation.

  Roger’s gaze met his. The two stared momentarily, and Roger gave him the barest nod and a hint of a smile.

  “I know it sounds weird to you, Mr. Burton, but I felt something happen inside me. Like I said, I’ve been praying and praying for him. When I looked at him, I loved him. Just like that. All my anger evaporated. That’s the only way I know to say it. It was—well, like a miracle or something. He didn’t look any different and he didn’t say anything. But I felt as if I had changed. I wanted to get out of my chair and go over and hug him or something.”

  “What did you do?” Burton asked.

  “Nothing. I just sat there trying to figure out what had happened to me. Maybe it was something that happened to him. I don’t know.”

  “You felt your prayer had finally been answered, huh?”

  “Yes. And you know, I did care. I still do. I wish—I wish we could have talked—even for just a few minutes. I wish I could have told him.”

  “Maybe he knows.”

  “Yeah, maybe . . .”

  Twenty

  “What are you doing in here?” Julie stood in the doorway of the office.

  I sat in the dark. Jason had left minutes earlier, and I sat ruminating over all the things that had transpired since I first reached Palm Island.

  Julie was dressed. Different slacks, different blouse, but the same casual style. I don’t know much about clothes, but she looked good in those muted colors.

  “I might ask you the same question,” I said.

  “You might, but I asked first.”

  “I thought I heard someone in the hallway—or maybe I didn’t. I awakened and came downstairs.” I told her what happened with Jason. “Now it’s your turn. What made you open the office door?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t have any sense of anyone being in here. Maybe I just wanted to assure myself that it was locked.”

  “Okay, so why did you come downstairs?” My watch showed 4:03.

  “I couldn’t sleep. And I got hungry again. I dressed
to come downstairs and eat the rest of the Oreo cookies.” Instead of going to the kitchen, she came into the office and sat down. She kept her eyes averted from Roger’s body.

  I moved the office sofa just enough to hide most of it. She could see only the end of the blanket. Although Simon had covered him, it was still a body. I hoped that by not seeing him, we could push him out of our consciousness.

  “After Jason went back to bed,” I said, “I decided to stay here in case anyone else came to pay a visit.”

  “Good idea,” she said. She locked the door from the inside, turned off the light, and felt her way over to the sofa.

  I got up and opened the blinds. A half-moon had sneaked across the horizon. Only a few scattered clouds drifted above, and the night sky was ablaze with stars.

  “I keep thinking about Paulette and Jason both coming here to the office.” I kept my voice low in case someone else tried to come. I didn’t want my voice to carry.

  “I didn’t even know about Jason, naturally, but I kept thinking about Paulette,” Julie said. “Just suppose Roger had a file that contained the truth about everyone here on the island. Suppose he planned to confront us tonight—”

  “Confront may be the wrong word. He said announce, didn’t he?” I asked.

  “Regardless of the word, wouldn’t that scare some of them?”

  “Did it scare you?”

  Julie thought for a minute. “Not really. You know why? Roger had kept that incident a secret for years. Why would he bring it up now? I had always done whatever he asked.”

  “But what if some of them felt the burden had become intolerable?” I asked. “What if that led them to think he might plan to expose them?”

  “That’s exactly what occurred to me,” Julie said. “We’ve already heard several confessions. Maybe the police can figure out who had the strongest motive. So far, I can’t.”

  “Nothing quite fits into place,” I said. “And what about the attempt to kill Wayne Holmestead? That just doesn’t fit. We can figure out the reason for Roger’s death, and we can assume that Elaine Wright saw someone or heard something.”

  “But where does Wayne fit in?” Julie asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s what doesn’t make sense.”

  We sat in silence, but I knew both our minds were working. Two people had come into the office. Both had searched for some papers. Paulette wanted her confession, and Jason wanted whatever it was his stepfather had held up. Were the searches connected with the murder? That seemed logical.

  Julie said she would curl up on the large chair on the other side of the office. I wanted to act like a gentleman, so I told her to take the sofa. She lay down on the sofa, and I got on the floor and used one of the sofa cushions. She did try to dissuade me, but I assured her I could sleep on the carpeted floor.

  I stretched out, loosened my shoe laces, and tried to relax. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t think of anything except the stories the people had told me. I assumed they were true—at least largely true—but even if they were, things still weren’t making sense.

  I wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but a gentle tap at the office door startled me. I jumped up and stumbled toward the door and opened it.

  “I went to your room and you weren’t there,” Amanda said. “I looked everywhere else downstairs and finally figured you must have come in here.”

  Julie sat up, rubbed her eyes, and smiled.

  I looked at my watch. It was 4:38. I felt the stubble on my chin and thought about whether to opt for more sleep or a shower and shave.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, because I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “Come on in,” Julie said and snapped on the light.

  “I killed Roger. It was an accident, but I did it.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “We had an argument—”

  “About what?”

  “That’s not important—”

  “I think it is. Tell me.”

  “It was about Jason.”

  “What about him? Please, don’t make me pull every word out of you.”

  “Jason did something bad—really bad.”

  “What did he do?” Julie asked.

  “He forged Roger’s signature on eight checks. There may have been more, but that’s all I know about. He had Victoria’s Secret deliver several packages of skimpy clothing. Two parcels came from some horrible place called the Super Sex Shop. Roger was appalled. Roger found out after I left him.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “About three weeks ago.”

  “Three?” Julie said. “Are you sure?”

  “It may have been only nineteen days—but yes, it was close to three weeks. Roger called me in Savannah and told me.”

  “I know about the forgery and the delivery,” I said. “But are you sure it was approximately three weeks ago?”

  “Yes. Why? What difference does it make?”

  “It means Roger knew and didn’t do anything—not until yesterday,” Julie said. “Doesn’t that seem odd?”

  “Nothing Roger did would seem odd,” she said.

  “How did you know about the forgery?”

  “Jason came down here earlier. He told me.”

  “Did he—did he tell you anything else?”

  “Was he supposed to tell me something? Come on, Amanda. I’m tired and I’ve hardly slept.”

  “Roger was furious over what Jason had done. He’s been furious a lot of other times, but this was—it was the worst. He swore at me and called me names—well, terrible names—and accused me of being a bad mother.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I offered to give Roger the money, and he laughed at me. He didn’t need the money, but I was afraid—”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That he would send Jason to jail. That was typical of him. Punish the guilty or punish the innocent. It didn’t matter which. He was good at punishing.”

  “So you were angry?”

  “Of course. Jason didn’t need the money. He has money. I have money.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Let’s get back to Roger’s death. Tell us what happened.”

  “I was furious—the angriest I’ve ever been with him.”

  “Why?”

  “He said he had—had decided to have Jason prosecuted. He would send my son to jail and he would forbid me to have any contact with him.”

  “That would make anyone angry,” I said. I didn’t believe her, but I had to play this out.

  “And the gun? He kept the gun in his desk,” I said. “How did you get it?”

  She hesitated only a second before she said, “I lunged for the desk, pulled the drawer open, and grabbed the gun. I didn’t plan to kill him. I’m not sure what I meant to do—maybe to frighten him. Yes, I only wanted to frighten him—to make him say he wouldn’t send Jason to prison. When you’re a mother, you—”

  “When you’re a mother,” Julie said, “you’ll do anything to protect your child, right?”

  “He wanted Jason to go to prison. I couldn’t allow that. Jason is a good son. He’s never been in trouble before. He was—well, he had been angry and had acted stupidly. Roger didn’t remember his birthday for two years in a row, and I think he just acted out of immaturity and anger and forged the checks.”

  “Hmm, I see.”

  “So tell us—what happened?” Julie asked. Something about her voice told me she didn’t believe the story either.

  “We struggled. The gun went off, and Roger fell to the floor. I—I panicked and ran from the room.”

  “With the gun in your hand?”

  “Oh yes, yes.”

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “I threw it over the cliff. I went out the east door—and no one saw me. I tossed it over the cliff and then raced back inside.”

  “When you threw away the gun, was that after you shot at Wayne Holmestead?”

  “Wayne? I—I didn’t shoo
t at him,” she said. It was obvious she had forgotten to take that into account.

  “I see,” I said.

  “And you killed Elaine as well?” Julie asked.

  “Oh no. I would never hurt Elaine. Neither would Jason. I didn’t like her very much, but I felt she was badly treated by Roger.”

  “So there is another murderer here,” Julie said to Amanda, but she looked at me. Julie and I were operating on the same wavelength. “You killed Roger, and then someone else killed Elaine. Why would anyone kill her?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did Elaine see you leave Roger’s office?” I asked.

  “I’m sure she didn’t. I mean, even if she had, I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “In fact, I don’t think you killed anyone.”

  “You think Jason killed Roger,” Julie said, “and you’re trying to protect him. After all, isn’t that what mothers do?”

  “No, that’s not true. I killed Roger. I’ve confessed. Let’s leave it at that, please.”

  “You have watched too many TV programs,” Julie said and smiled at Amanda. “Jason didn’t kill him either. Why did you think he did?”

  “Jason didn’t?” She dropped into a chair. “You’re positive?”

  “As positive as I can be until we find out who did,” I said.

  “Why did you think Jason killed Roger?” Julie persisted.

  “It was what he said just before he went downstairs to see Roger—in the afternoon, maybe a couple of hours before tea. He said, ‘I hate that man. I’ve tried to love him. I’ve tried to forgive him for making you miserable and for being such a lousy father. I’ll do anything to make him suffer. Anything!’ ”

  “So you naturally thought he killed Roger?”

  She nodded.

  “If Jason is the boy I think he is—and if he had killed Roger—do you think he would have allowed you to take the blame?”

  “He would have stepped in and confessed,” Julie said. “Isn’t that the kind of kid he is?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “I feel like a fool. I love my son, and he hasn’t had an easy life with Roger. I only wanted to protect him. I felt I owed him that much for all he’s had to go through.”