LStone 20 - Easter Bunny Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Can you describe for me what life was like at Pine Point, when you were growing up there?”

  Obviously relieved that she was not going to have to face any unpleasant truths, at least not yet, Little Viv smiled. “Oh, it was lovely. Mother was known for her gracious hospitality and her beautiful home. We were only there in the summers when I was young, but I remember the gardens were beautiful. We spent long, lovely days sailing and having picnics. There were always lots of people, lots of guests. It was like a dream, really.”

  “You married your first husband, Andrew Duff, in 1964. Did you spend much time at Pine Point after that?”

  “Oh, yes. We’d go every summer. Well, Andrew had to work, but he came up most weekends. I brought the children, Van and Vicky. They loved it at Pine Point. There was always a lively crowd, plenty of tennis and parties. Their birthdays were in the summer and Mumsy always gave them the most wonderful parties, with pony rides and music.” She sighed. “And she always gave them the most lovely gifts. One year it was a Gypsy wagon to use as a playhouse, another time it was a tiny little Chris-Craft for Van to putter around in.”

  “Did things change after your marriage to Andrew Duff ended?”

  Little Viv pressed her lips together. “Well, Andrew didn’t come anymore, but the kids and I did. It really wasn’t very different for them. I had a generous settlement from Andrew and Mumsy helped out if I needed a bit more. It was important to her that the kids went to good schools. She wanted to make sure that their lifestyle didn’t change.”

  “So your mother helped with tuition, things like that?”

  “She gave me an allowance while the kids were dependents.”

  “Do you remember how much that was?”

  “In dollars?” asked Little Viv, looking a bit affronted. She was of a generation that declined to discuss money.

  “Yes. An approximate figure will do.”

  “I don’t really remember. Mr. Harrison took care of money things for me.”

  “Who is Mr. Harrison?”

  “At the bank. If I needed money, I called him.”

  “Did he ever say you didn’t have enough money, that your funds were low?”

  “No.” She paused. “But I wasn’t extravagant. We lived simply.”

  Aucoin went to the table, where his assistant handed him a couple of sheets of paper. “I have here your income tax statements from 1980, that would be when Vicky was twelve. It shows a gift from your mother of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, is that about right?”

  Vicky blinked a few times. “If it’s on the tax form, it must be.”

  That caused a little laughter from the assembled company, and a few smirks from the jurors.

  “Can you describe your daughter’s lifestyle at this time?”

  “When Vicky was twelve, we lived in Milton, near Boston. She went to Milton Country Day, of course. She had ballet lessons—she was keen on ballet—and she also took riding lessons. She was having a bit of trouble with French, so Madame Robert came to the house for tutoring and conversation.”

  “And much of this was possible because of the funds provided by her grandmother, Vivian Van Vorst?”

  Little Viv looked uncertain. “I guess so. As I mentioned, I didn’t really pay attention to the financial aspect of things. I depended on Mr. Harrison to do that.”

  “So, unlike most of us, who have to pay attention to our finances, perhaps living within a certain budget, you simply had to ask and Mr. Harrison provided whatever amount you needed?”

  Little Viv smiled; at last her interrogator understood. “That’s right.”

  “What if Mr. Harrison discovered you needed more money than you had on hand in your bank account? What would he do then?”

  “He’d ask Mumsy,” replied Little Viv as if the answer were obvious.

  “Did your mother ever turn you down? Did she ever deny such a request?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Thank you,” said Aucoin, indulging in a sharklike smile. “That’s all.”

  Little Viv started to get up, but the judge cautioned her. “The defense may have some questions for you.”

  “No questions at this time,” said Zuzick without expression.

  Visibly relieved, Little Viv practically ran back to her seat, where Juliette embraced her in a quick hug.

  Vicky, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable. She’d seen the handwriting on the wall. She understood that Aucoin had portrayed her as a privileged child who had been pampered by an indulgent grandmother. It was inevitable that VV’s generosity would be compared to her own stinginess when it came time to provide care for her aged grandmother.

  She was also worldly enough to know that most people, including the jurors, did not have the option of calling a Mr. Harrison whenever they needed a quarter million dollars.

  As for Henry, he busied himself taking notes on a yellow legal pad, and Lucy wondered if he was pretending to himself that he had a measure of control over his fate and was not at the mercy of the twelve citizens seated in the jury box.

  Willis was called next, and Lucy saw Vicky visibly sink into her seat as he took the oath.

  “Mr. Willis,” began Aucoin, “you were employed by Mrs. Van Vorst as her butler for over thirty years?”

  “I began working for Mrs. Van Vorst in 1975,” he said.

  “Are you still employed by her?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you have worked this entire period since 1975 without interruption?”

  “No. I was let go by Mr. and Mrs. Allen just after Easter but I was rehired when Mr. Goodman became Mrs. Van Vorst’s guardian.”

  “Why were you let go?”

  “The official reason, as explained to me by Mr. Weatherby, was that Mrs. Van Vorst could no longer afford to pay my salary.”

  “Who is Mr. Weatherby? Can you identify him?”

  “Yes, he’s in the courtroom.”

  “Will you point him out?”

  Willis was apparently unable to do anything as rude as pointing to Weatherby, but he gave a nod in his direction and described him as “the man in the gray suit in the second row, seated under the window.”

  “And what was Mr. Weatherby’s role at Pine Point?”

  “He was an attorney in the employ of Mr. and Mrs. Allen. When the Allens petitioned the court and became Mrs. Van Vorst’s legal guardians, he took over from Mr. Goodman, who was Mrs. Van Vorst’s attorney, and began managing her legal and financial affairs.”

  “How did this change impact Mrs. Van Vorst?”

  “It was very negative. He immediately began dismissing staff members, cutting more than a half-dozen employees. Economies were taken, there were no more fresh flowers, laundry service was cut, even food.”

  “That must have been very difficult for you,” said Aucoin.

  “I did my best to manage within these constraints so that Mrs. Van Vorst was not affected, but it became increasingly difficult. I was also aware that Mr. Weatherby was pressuring Mrs. Van Vorst to sign legal documents. She used to ask me what the papers were for, but I couldn’t tell her. The Allens were also taking things from the house.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Mrs. Allen took some jewelry and furs. She said Mrs. Van Vorst wanted her to have them.”

  “I have here a photo of Mrs. Allen,” said Aucoin, handing it to Willis at the same time it appeared on a video screen. “Can you identify the jewelry she is wearing.”

  “Yes, absolutely. Those are Mrs. Van Vorst’s pearl and diamond earrings. They were her favorites and she wore them almost every day.”

  Another photo of Vicky appeared on the screen. This time, she was wearing a leopardskin coat.

  “That is Mrs. Van Vorst’s coat; again, a garment she wore almost daily in the winter,” said Willis.

  It wasn’t something you could measure, but Lucy sensed an atmosphere of disapproval beginning to develop in the courtroom. People whispered to each other and their expre
ssions were grim.

  “At first, I thought that Mrs. Van Vorst gave the Allens permission to take these things,” said Willis. “That’s what Mrs. Allen said when I questioned her about some paintings that she was carrying out of the house, and I accepted that explanation. It wasn’t until they took Jelly Beans that I began to doubt that Mrs. Van Vorst had given them permission.”

  “What is Jelly Beans and why would Mrs. Van Vorst have been unlikely to have given it to them?”

  “Jelly Beans is a sculpture by Karl Klaus and Mrs. Van Vorst was terribly fond of it. She displayed it with pride on a table in the foyer. It was a gift from the sculptor and her very favorite possession.”

  “What happened to Jelly Beans?”

  “Mr. Allen took it just before Easter this year.”

  “You saw him do this?”

  “Yes. I saw him putting it in a box and I asked him what he was doing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said I should mind my own business, and then he picked up the box and carried it out to his car.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I called Mr. Goodman, but he said he had no legal standing in the matter since he was no longer retained by Mrs. Van Vorst. He advised me to make a memorandum of the date and time, which I did. I also began keeping a record of other things I found questionable.”

  “It was shortly after this that your employment was terminated?”

  Willis nodded. “Van Vorst Duff, Mrs. Van Vorst’s grandson, died the week before Easter. They kept me on through the funeral, but let me go the day after.”

  There was a little buzz in the courtroom; more than a few observers had lost their jobs in the recession and took a dim view of cost-cutting employers.

  “Thank you, no further questions,” said Aucoin.

  The defense attorney, Zuzick, hesitated a moment, but, receiving a pointed glare from Henry Allen, got to his feet.

  “I just have one question,” he began. “Do you not think it possible that you were terminated for cause? That the Allens may have found your attitude to them unpleasant? Perhaps they found you unreasonable and uncooperative?”

  If this was intended to upset Willis, it failed. He thought a moment, considering his answer, then spoke. “That may have been the case, but that is not what I was told. I was told that it was necessary to let me go because Mrs. Van Vorst could no longer afford to pay my salary.”

  “How much was your salary, by the way?”

  “Seventy-eight thousand dollars per year.”

  “Pretty good, hunh?” Zuzick turned to the jury, his expression implying that Willis had been riding the gravy train. “Plus room and board, right?”

  “A studio apartment was provided, as well as meals, because I was on call around the clock.”

  “You got vacations and days off, right?”

  “I took a few days when my mother died. That was in 1993.”

  “No further questions,” snapped Zuzick, hurrying back to his place at the table.

  The last witness called that afternoon was Sylvia Vargas, one of VV’s nurses. Aucoin got right down to business. “Are you a licensed registered nurse?” he asked.

  “Not in the U.S.,” she said, speaking confidently with a slight accent. “I am licensed in the Philippines, where I trained at St. Lucia Medical Center, but I do not have a valid U.S. license. I was hired as a home health aide.”

  “But you were actually performing the duties of a nurse?”

  “I was hired with the approval of Mrs. Van Vorst’s doctor.”

  “Are you a legal immigrant?” asked Aucoin.

  “I have a green card, yes.”

  “When did you start working at Pine Point?”

  “I was hired by Mr. Weatherby, just before Christmas.”

  “What did you find when you came to Pine Point?”

  “Mrs. Van Vorst is very elderly and frail. At first, we used to get her up in the mornings and take her downstairs for breakfast. She enjoyed sitting in the conservatory with the plants and the sunshine. She would have her lunch there, then a nap upstairs, sometimes dinner in bed. She liked watching TV, she especially liked the old movies. The hairdresser used to come twice a week, she had a massage once a week, manicures and pedicures, too.”

  “Did things change over time?”

  “The first big change was when they shut the conservatory and got rid of the plants. We used to change her sheets every day, now it’s once a week and we have to switch the top sheet to the bottom. If the sheets are soiled, we wash them ourselves. Mrs. Allen told us no more up and down stairs, that Mrs. Van Vorst should remain in her room for meals. Then she told us the doctor says no more food, only nutrition drinks. The hairdresser, all that, she said was too draining on Mrs. Van Vorst’s energy.”

  “Did you ask the doctor about this?”

  “Mrs. Allen said we should not bother the doctor with questions, she would communicate with the doctor and tell us what he said.”

  “When Mrs. Allen reported the doctor’s orders, did you find them consistent with good medical practice?”

  “No. I trained for three years at St. Lucia hospital, the best hospital in the Philippines. There I learned that patients should not remain in bed twenty-four-seven. They need a proper diet consistent with their ability to eat, they need pleasant surroundings, and they need emotional support from family.”

  “You believe the standard of care declined between Christmas and Easter?”

  “I would not call it care, I would call it abuse. The worst was the constant harassment, as Mr. Weatherby brought her papers to sign. She used to cry, begging me not to let the man in the suit come into her room. Sometimes she had nightmares about it. She would wake up shaking and frightened by the man in the suit.”

  “This man in the suit was Mr. Weatherby?”

  “Yes, that’s what she called him.”

  “Why was she afraid of him?”

  “I think because he would shout at her and threaten her. I always had to leave the room when he came, but I would listen at the door. One time I heard him tell her she had to sign the paper or she would be homeless, she would have to live out in the street, under a bridge if she was lucky.”

  Hearing this, there was a collective gasp in the courtroom. Lucy studied the jurors’ faces. She saw a few jaws drop, and she saw their eyes flicker toward Vicky and Henry, only to be quickly averted. Vicky and Henry didn’t betray the slightest emotion but they must have been aware, Lucy thought, of the tide of revulsion that was building toward them in the courtroom. It was never a good sign for the defendants when the jurors refused to look at them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Lucy got home that afternoon, she took a glass of white wine into the family room and settled herself on the saggy old sectional, eager to see what the TV networks were reporting about the trial. Libby had already snuggled into position beside her, resting her chin on Lucy’s lap, when Lucy grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on. She was just in time for the five o’clock news from Boston, and the trial was the lead story.

  Veteran reporter Jack Hennessey was standing in front of the gray granite courthouse, mike in hand. “DA Phil Aucoin spent most of today building a foundation for his case against Victoria and Henry Allen, depicting the lifestyle of aged millionaire Vivian Van Vorst before the couple became her legal guardians. He first called Van Vorst’s daughter, also named Vivian, to the stand and she described idyllic days at Pine Point, the Van Vorst summer home in Tinker’s Cove, Maine.”

  A short clip was shown in which Little Viv recounted happy times, a beatific expression on her aged face. Then the camera returned to Jack Hennessey. “Also on the stand were James Willis, Mrs. Van Vorst’s butler, and a trained nurse, Sylvia Vargas. I’ll report on their testimony at five-thirty.”

  The anchor nodded. “Thanks, Jack. And now, Harvey Lyons has the weather. Looks like we’re in for a heat wave.”

  Lucy flipped to NECN, the regional cable channel, ju
st in time to catch Attorney Zuzick giving a brief interview.

  “What’s your reaction to DA Phil Aucoin’s line of questioning today?” the reporter asked. She was a young Asian-American woman with a serious expression.

  “I’m gonna say what I always say on day one. It’s day one. This is just the beginning. A trial is like a story and there’s two sides. Right now you’re hearing from the prosecution, but, believe me, we’ve got a terrific defense.”

  “Why didn’t you cross-examine the witnesses?” asked the reporter.

  “Strategy,” said Zuzick. “The sooner we get through them, the sooner we get to tell our side of the story.”

  “What do you think of the jury? Eight middle-aged women, three retired men, and one child-care worker.”

  “Fabulous, best jury ever. I’m confident they’ll come to a fair and just verdict, completely vindicating my clients.”

  “Well, there you have it, Sandra,” said the reporter, referring to the NECN anchorwoman in her wrap up. “A confident reaction by defense attorney Zuzick on the first day of the Allen trial.”

  “You were there, Ngaio,” said Sandra. “Do you think Zuzick’s confidence is well founded?”

  Ngaio looked straight into the camera. “Based on what I saw in that courtroom today, I’d say Mr. Zuzick has an uphill battle. Watching the jurors, I would have to say they seemed shocked at times by the testimony, at other times they seemed disapproving. By the end of the day they weren’t even looking at the defendants, Victoria and Henry Allen.”

  “What can we expect tomorrow?” asked Sandra.

  “Attorney Weatherby is going to testify tomorrow and that should be very interesting because he has been cooperating with the prosecution against his former clients.”

  “We’ll look forward to that,” said Sandra. “Now, the traffic report.”

  Next morning, traffic in the little town of Gilead was impossibly snarled. The trial was suddenly a big story and the parking lot at the courthouse was filled with satellite trucks from various TV stations, while the nearby streets were filled with cars as drivers looked in vain for parking spaces. Delivery trucks compounded the problem, double-parking as additional provisions were unloaded at the restaurants and coffee shops nearest the courthouse, which were anticipating a rush of business. Lucy joined the line of cars threading through the streets, all marked with NO PARKING signs, until she had a sudden brain wave and remembered the lot at the high school football field. It was already nearly full when she pulled in, but she did find a vacant spot at the very back. She then had to walk nearly a mile to the courthouse, worrying that she wouldn’t be able to get a seat.