by Libby Howard
I heard Matt suck in a breath in shock. “She was nineteen when she died? Good grief, that’s awful. No wonder Grandmother never mentioned her. She must have been devastated.”
“It gets worse,” I told him. “Your Great -aunt Lucille was kicked out of her home about six months before her death after she was caught in a compromising situation with a married man. She committed suicide the day before your grandmother’s wedding.”
“Wow.” His voice was full of shock. “And you think that this is what Grandmother was talking about, the guilt she carried?”
“I think so.”
“I had no idea,” Matt said. “And I’m sure Mom didn’t, either.”
And now came more awkward questions. It was a wonder Matt even answered the phone when I called anymore. “Matt, I have to ask, did your mother, Eleonore, ever mention anything about her father? About the fact that she was born six months after Mabel and Harlen’s wedding?”
Matt chuckled. “Oh, we all knew that little secret. Seems Grandpa Harlen was a bit impatient to get started on the consummation part of the marriage, no matter what Dad said about him. And it’s not like Mom couldn’t figure that one out. Her whole life she’d celebrated her birthday in March. She said when she went to get her passport, there was a problem with her Pennsylvania birth certificate. Mind you, in the forties there was still a big percentage of unregistered births. But Mom had a birth certificate, it was just fake. Evidently Grandma had paid to have a forged one done, because when Mom finally got around to ordering a new one from Pennsylvania, it had a different birth date on it than the fake one.”
“Did she ever ask her mother?”
“No, are you kidding? Grandma adored my mom, but this was clearly a matter of great embarrassment for her. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have it all brought up. Mom just corrected the information on her license, then started celebrating her birthday in December, and never said a word. Neither did Grandma.” Matt laughed. “I’m positive my grandparents weren’t the only couple that jumped the gun. They were engaged. The wedding plans were in the works. I’m sure it seemed silly to wait.”
“Then why sneak off out of state to have the baby and buy a forged birth certificate?”
“Grandma was a proud woman with a spotless reputation. And I’m sure Harlen Hansen, notable businessman, didn’t want to be known as the guy who couldn’t wait to get in his nineteen-year-old fiancée’s pants.”
I winced. “A man that eager, but Eleonore was his only child? All those years of marriage with a beautiful woman that he desired so much he couldn’t wait for the ring to be on her finger, then after the wedding he barely speaks to her and doesn’t have any other children?”
Matt hesitated a moment before responding. “What are you saying?”
I’d been wrong. This was the moment where he ran screaming and told me to never call him again. The thought made me sad, but I had to know.
“What if your grandmother had been in love with someone else? What if she’d loved someone completely unsuitable, and found herself pregnant?”
“Then she could have married him instead,” Matt insisted. “Are you implying that Grandmother was fooling around with someone while she was engaged to Harlen? Because I’m counting the months, and she would have gotten pregnant in March. I’m pretty sure she was engaged at that point.”
“Just hear me out. Mabel saw what happened to her sister. Her twin had been thrown out of the house, disgraced and homeless with no money, no way to support herself. Suppose the man she loved was unsuitable, someone her father would never approve of, or that couldn’t support her. Or maybe she hadn’t even met this man when she’d gotten engaged to Harlen. Either way, she gets engaged to Harlen, and three months into their engagement, she falls in love and gets pregnant. She makes a terrible mistake, and now doesn’t know what to do.”
“I’m sure Grandmother had her faults, but I can’t imagine her deceiving Harlen like that,” Matt retorted.
“Women back then didn’t have much in the way of career opportunities. Where would she have turned as a young pregnant woman? Her sister was already homeless. Even now young women in that position end up prostitutes. As horrible as it sounds, the only way for her to ensure her child didn’t starve, had a safe place to live, was to marry Harlen.”
“What, and hope he never figured it out? Why didn’t she just run off with her lover?” Matt sighed. “I’ll admit the idea of Harlen Hansen getting it on with Grandma before the wedding isn’t all that believable from the stories Dad tells about him, but it’s hard to think that Grandma could have done such a thing. She wouldn’t have deceived a man about whether the child she was carrying was his.”
“What would you do to make sure your child was safe? And maybe she did tell Harlen. She had to have known that he’d figure it out. Maybe she came straight with him, and that’s why he was so cold to both her and your mother.”
He made a noise of frustration. “Either Grandma deceived her fiancé after cheating on him, or Harlen married a woman who was pregnant with another man’s child. Neither one sounds like the people I knew, or that my father knew. Besides, this is all old history. Grandma is gone. Mom is gone. It doesn’t matter anymore whether Harlen was Mom’s father or not. You’re probably right, given that he didn’t even leave any of his money to his wife or Mom, but it doesn’t matter now.”
I winced. “I’m so sorry. I know I sound like a nosy busybody dragging all this up and possibly slandering your grandmother and grandfather’s memories, but I’m hoping that if I get to the bottom of all this, your grandmother’s ghost will leave.”
“I’d forgotten about the ghost,” Matt admitted. “But I don’t see why Mom’s biological father would have anything to do with a guilt that was so pervasive it made Grandma stick around, haunting that sideboard for decades. Mom was loved, had a wonderful life, was cheerful and happy. There’s no guilt there. And from what I heard about Harlen Hansen, I can’t imagine any guilt for how she treated him would have caused Grandma a moment’s grief.”
“How about your mother’s real father?” I asked. “Assuming this is all correct, then your Mom married Harlen and left this other man.”
Matt thought for a moment. “No. Grandma never seemed the mercenary type. If Mom wasn’t Harlen’s, then whoever her real father was, he was either dead or had run off when he found out Mom was pregnant. Otherwise I’m pretty sure Grandma would have broken things off with Harlen and married him instead.”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I told him. “I’m hope I’m wrong, but I want to keep digging. It’s not just that I’d like your grandmother to stop haunting my dining room furniture, but I’d like her to be at peace. After reading all this stuff about her and her sister, I feel like I owe it to her to find out what happened.” I bit my lip, worried that maybe I’d pushed things too far. This was Matt’s family, after all. It wasn’t my business sticking my nose into all this. Well, it wouldn’t have been my business aside from the fact that his grandmother had taken up residence in my dining room.
“Keep digging,” he told me. “I think you’re off in a wrong direction about Mom and Grandma, but I’m glad you found out about my great-aunt. And I want to know, even if it’s a horrible scandal. I still want to know.”
That was a relief. “So you’re not mad at me? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”
He laughed, and this time the sound was warm and friendly. “No, I’m not mad at you. Let me know if you find anything else out, okay?”
“I will,” I promised. Then I did something completely on impulse. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? I’m having a neighborhood barbeque at my house to introduce everyone to my new roommate. Would you like to come?”
There was no hesitation at all in his response. “Yes, I’d love to. What can I bring?”
“Nothing. There will be enough there to feed a third-world country,” I teased. I told him the time and gave him my address, oddly pleased that he was going to be there.
“Can’t wait. I’ll see you then, Kay,” he said.
I’d no sooner disconnected with Matt then my phone rang. I answered right away because it was Judge Beck. He’d never called me before. I hadn’t even realized he had my number, although I must have given it to him when he first moved in.
“Come meet me for lunch,” he said, in lieu of a greeting.
I eyed the stack of files that I hadn’t even looked at. I shouldn’t. It was Friday and I hated going home to the weekend without having all my work done. But Judge Beck had never asked me to lunch before. He’d never called me before.
“I’ll buy,” he bribed. “And I’ve got something that you really want to see.”
Now I was irresistibly curious to know what he had to show me. “Say no more. Well, tell me when and where, then say no more because I’ll be there.”
“Noon at the courthouse. I’ll tell them I’m expecting you and they’ll escort you to my office.”
Oh, wow, I’d never been inside a judge’s chambers before, which sounded kind of naughty now that I thought about it. Although I was sure nothing untoward ever happened in Judge Beck’s chambers.
“I’ll be there,” I told him, hanging up to grab the stack of files. I’d need to hustle and get as much done as I could this morning, because there was no way I was going to be late for this lunch meeting.
Chapter 16
A man in uniform with a pistol in a holster at his hip escorted me to Judge Beck’s chambers. I was oddly excited about the whole thing. I’d been at the courthouse several times before to pull records for J.T. or to assist him in meeting bail clients, but this was the first time I’d been behind the scenes.
After a quick knock, my chaperone opened the door and I walked past him. Judge Beck’s ‘office’ wasn’t as large or plush as the ones I’d seen on television shows, but it appealed to me the same way my parlor did at home. The walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves. Each shelf held leather bound, gold embossed, thick reference books, held upright by weighty brass bookends. A walnut coatrack stood in the corner, holding a set of dark robes. The judge sat behind an enormous desk, covered with papers as well as his computer equipment.
He smiled when he saw me, rising to his feet. “Thanks, Eric,” he told the guard, or bailiff, or whatever he was.
“No problem, Judge Beck.” The man closed the door behind him as he left.
“So, this is where all the magic happens,” I teased, going to read the titles on one of the bookshelves.
“Actually, the magic happens in the courtroom. This is where I hide away from the drama and the annoying attorneys.”
“Aren’t you one of those annoying attorneys?”
“Absolutely, but when you’re a judge, it’s permissible to be annoying. Expected even.” He loosened his tie and came around the edge of the desk, picking up a folder. “I’ve got autopsy results from Lucille Stevens right here. I was going to just bring them home to you, but I’m far too curious to find out what they say. You’ve got me completely hooked on this family drama, and I don’t think I can wait for tonight to see this. I didn’t feel right sneaking a peek without you here, so I’m glad you were free for lunch.”
I eyed him in surprise. “You pulled autopsy results from ninety years ago? I had no idea they were even available, let alone something you could find in a few hours. Did you spend the morning in some basement dungeon with the microfiche reader?”
“My paralegal spent the morning in the basement dungeon with the microfiche reader. Judges don’t need to stoop to such lowly things as pulling records. Although she didn’t do it alone. She enlisted the help of a few people in the Records Department, so it didn’t take very long to locate.”
And these people in the Records Department all jumped to it, no doubt, wanting to stay on this man’s good side.
“It’s good to be a judge,” I said in the same tone that I would have said “it’s good to be king”.
“Yes, it is.” He put his hand on my back and steered me toward the door. “I’m starving. And there’s a deli across the street that makes an amazing Ruben.”
Sounded good to me. I let the judge herd me toward the elevators, then through the main courthouse lobby where he nodded and smiled to pretty much everyone we passed. It was a bit like being in the presence of royalty.
We crossed the street to a busy deli. I sat, holding a table near the front window while Judge Beck went to order our sandwiches at the counter. Before heading up, he put the folder on the table with strict orders for me not to look at it until he got back.
He was just as excited about this case and interested in these people’s lives as I was. This was fun, sharing this adventure with him. Well, it would have been fun had it concerned anything other than a woman who had been desperate enough to end her life. I looked down at the folder, not expecting it to reveal much. My main interest was whether Lucille had been pregnant or not at the time of her suicide. I supposed so since that would have added to her troubles even more. A single woman might have been able to convince friends to let her stay in a spare room, possibly even recommending her for employment. A single pregnant woman wouldn’t have had even that opportunity.
Judge Beck returned with a tray, placing one plate and a fountain drink in front of me, and another opposite. He slid into the chair and watched me expectantly.
“Sandwich first, or autopsy results first?” I asked.
“Both.” He nodded to the folder. “Go ahead and read it out loud. I swear I didn’t peek at it, so I’m eager to hear what it says.”
He would be a huge help in interpreting the autopsy report. I’d seen enough CSI shows that I thought I’d be able to muddle through the terms and notations, but the judge had far more direct experience than I had.
“You sure?” I looked around the room. “I don’t want to gross anyone out on their lunch hour.”
“Pretty much every customer in this deli works at the courthouse. They’ve heard worse. Heck, they’ve seen worse with some of the crime scene photos that get shown during murder trials. I doubt there’s anything too gory in the report anyway. She drowned.”
True. I took a bite of my sandwich before opening the folder, and almost decided to wait on the autopsy report. The corned beef was amazing, and the rye bread tasted like it had been baked in-house.
Curiosity won over hunger, and in between bites I managed to scan down the first page of the report.
“Name. Date of birth. Ethnicity. Height and weight,” I read. “Physical description says bluish-gray skin tone. Eyes open—that’s creepy. Dark hair wavy and wet about eleven inches at the longest point.”
Judge Beck leaned forward, reading upside down. “Cold. Clothing intact but sodden. Dress. Silver chain around her neck. She was missing a shoe.”
I grimaced, wondering if that shoe was still at the bottom of the Hostenfelder pond. “Lividity fixed in the distal portions of the limbs. No scars, markings, or sign of any recent injuries. Fingernails are short and beds are blue.”
“That rules out her hitting her head on something and accidently drowning,” Judge Beck commented. “The coroner would have noted an open and recent head wound if that had been the case.”
I nodded and continued. “Internal examination of mouth and throat shows no lesions and no injuries to lips, teeth, or gums. No obstruction of airway. Then there’s a whole bunch of medical stuff that I don’t understand, then the weight of the lungs and a note that they had water and debris consistent with inhalation of pond or river water.”
“Heart normal. Gastrointestinal system normal. Urinary system normal,” Judge Beck added.
“Could she swim?” I wondered. “I’d imagine it would be difficult to drown yourself otherwise.”
“It’s not like she weighed herself down with anything, so I’m assuming she couldn’t swim.”
I shook my head. It just seemed like it would have been easier for her to down a bunch of opium that seemed to be readily available back
then. If Lucille was a party girl who smoked and drank, she probably had friends who could supply her with the stuff. Or possibly not. Friends might not have wanted to give her drugs, especially if they thought she was suicidal. And Lucille had been kicked out without much more than the clothing on her back. It wasn’t like she had money to buy anything or had a gun. I still felt like maybe slitting her wrists or jumping off a bridge would have been an easier death than walking into a muddy pond and trying to force yourself to stay underwater long enough to drown.
“It’s not like the Hostenfelder pond is that deep,” Judge Beck added. “It’s pretty shallow except in spring when we have a lot of rain. Henry was pestering me last month to ask Miss Hostenfelder if he could swim in it with his friends, so I asked her.”
“And?” Suzette hadn’t said anything about Henry swimming in her pond, so I assumed either she or the judge had told the boy ‘no’.
“She said her grandfather was always worried about the neighborhood kids drowning in it, and I can see why if he was the one who’d found Lucille’s body, but it’s maybe six feet deep in the center at most. The edges are really muddy and there’s a lot of swampy sections, especially since the dock crumbled. She said she was more worried about the kids stepping on nails from the old dock than drowning. We decided it wasn’t a good idea for them to swim there right now. And when you fixed the hot tub, Henry pretty much forgot about it.”
A clean hot tub beat a muddy, swampy pond any day in my book, but I wasn’t a thirteen-year-old boy.
“Maybe she got really drunk beforehand and just passed out facedown in the water,” I guessed.
The judge pulled the autopsy report over toward him and paged through it. “It doesn’t say that, but I don’t know how thorough autopsies were back in the twenties. They probably didn’t have the toxicology that they do now. And with the body in water, she wouldn’t smell like alcohol.”