Everybody Called Her a Saint

by Cecil Murphey

  “This much I know. You didn’t kill her, because you were her best friend.”

  Despite my resolve, I could feel the tears glistening in my eyes. “She told me that,” I said.

  “She also told me. She gave me quite a lecture after our breakup. She didn’t know the reason—and I’m grateful to you for keeping that our secret—but she lectured me for maybe twenty minutes.”

  “No, please,” I said. He was moving back into dangerous emotional waters again. “Don’t—”

  “You see, I didn’t want to come on the cruise because—because I knew it would be uncomfortable for me. And probably just as uncomfortable for you.”

  “I had the same feeling.”

  “She insisted,” he said.

  “With me as well.”

  “I mentioned this because I have a point. What I’ve said and what you said leads to the other thing I know: I didn’t kill her. There are forty-six passengers on this ship that knew Twila before we sailed. We can probably eliminate the twenty members of the crew. Agree?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t look at him. His words were warming my heart, and I didn’t want to melt in his presence.

  “Why can’t we—you and I—investigate this together? It will be two days before we’re back to Ushuaia.”

  I thought of the same thing—probably about the same time he had, but I wasn’t ready to say yes.

  “On this other thing—this thing about me—”

  I could see he fumbled for words. That was something I’d never seen Burton do before. I wasn’t going to help him by filling in helpful words.

  “You’re correct that I have to make things right. I—I don’t know how—”

  “Sure you do. It’s easy. You just tell the truth. Or to put it in your language, you confess your sins.”

  “But I can’t. I’m not thinking about myself. Please believe me. I can’t hurt them—”

  “I think we’ve been through this dialogue before. Right?” I was in control of my emotions again. I had to stay in control, or I’d rush over and hug him.

  He faced me. He had no tears in his eyes, but it was what I would call the look of the damned. The pain was deeply etched on his face, as if the world was coming to an end, and he had to face God without being ready. I had to look away. I fumbled through the loose papers on the desk.

  “I’m working on this—this issue,” he said softly. “I want to make things right. Please, please be patient with me.”

  “It’s not a matter of patience. It’s a matter of your integrity.” I love it when I can talk like that. I knew I had hit him hard, and it made me feel just a trifle smug.

  “I’ll try it again. Just give me a breather on this.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m your pastor.” That was a good jab, and I felt a moment of triumph. I had stuck in the knife and twisted it. Sure, I was being mean, but my snide comments were the only way I knew to hold back my emotions.

  “Can you—please, can you put our situation on hold until after—”

  “Our situation?” That was the coldest my voice had sounded.

  “Julie, please let me say this one thing and hold off your defensive tactics and smart cracks.”

  I closed my eyes and waited. That’s why I love that man. He sees right through me.

  “You’re totally right. I know that. I’ve known all along. This is a burden I’ve carried for a long, long time. You understand the reason I’ve been quiet all these years, even though what I did was wrong. It was sin. I assure you that I will resolve this. I will make it right.”

  “Convince me.” I didn’t want to open my eyes and look at him, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “I can’t. I mean not yet. But I’m convinced God will help me break through on this. The primary reason I finally agreed to come on the cruise was so I could think all this through. I’ve been tormented, seeking a solution without hurting them with the truth that—”

  “Don’t try to make me part of your problem.”

  He nodded slowly. “You’re right. Forgive me.” He reached for my hand. “It’s just—it’s just that I love you so much, and in the past we’ve been able to talk so freely—”

  “Don’t!” I stood up. “Don’t . . . talk . . . that . . . way!”

  He blushed—he actually blushed in embarrassment. “I apologize. Please accept my apology for that.”

  I turned away. I didn’t want to look at his face. “Apology accepted.”

  “In the meantime, please, can we work on this—this case together?”

  When he inserted the word please, he got to me. What’s worse, he didn’t do that deliberately. Manipulating people is not the way Burton thinks. Those words came from his heart. The rat! I hate it when he touches my tender emotions.

  He stared at me, waiting for me to respond.

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  “I loved her too, you know,” he said. “I wasn’t her best friend like you, but she and I had a warm relationship. It was deeper than a pastor-parishioner relationship.”

  “I know.” I have no idea how I hardened my voice on those two words, but I did. I struggled to stay in control of my feelings. I was afraid I wasn’t going to win.

  “Fine, then,” he said. “Let’s start with what we know, which isn’t much.”

  “We know she left the ship,” I said. “All forty-seven of us left. Zodiac one left with only eleven people. The other three left the ship full—twelve each.”

  “I was in the first one.” He turned his head away as he added, “I wanted to get to Brown Bluff before you so I—so I wouldn’t have to see you.”

  Instead of responding to that statement, I said, “I waited for the third one.” I didn’t tell him that I had watched the people line up and wanted to put space between us. I watched him get into the first Zodiac. I stood out of the way and went in the third one. “That means she was on the fourth Zodiac. We already know that, but I’m not sure that makes any difference, does it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He held a small sheet of paper. “I wrote down the names of the twelve people on the fourth Zodiac, but I don’t think it matters.”

  He read them aloud: Twila, Donny Otis, Pat Borders, Heather Wilson, Thomas Tomlinson, Mickey Brewer, Sue Downs, Jeff Adams, Betty Freeman, and Shirley and Frank Brackett. “Number twelve, Jon Friesen, went over with them but not back. And that’s beyond any question.”

  “I didn’t pay much attention to anyone. The weather had started to turn bad. Jon was in our Zodiac, but I didn’t notice he’d switched.”

  “He said he vomited after the Zodiac started,” Burton said, “and someone—I’ve forgotten who—said that was true.”

  “Could be,” I said. “I had my back to the others. I didn’t look at anyone. I was doing a lot of soul-searching—”

  “About?”

  I wasn’t going to open myself up to him on that one. Instead, I said, “I didn’t pay attention to anyone; I didn’t look at anyone. I was caught up in my own—well, my own thoughts.”

  “I think we can eliminate Friesen,” he said. “He left early.”

  “Unless—unless he, uh, you know, did the deed first and—”

  “Maybe.” He paused and thought about that for a few seconds. “Yes, maybe, but I think we need to focus first on the rest of those in the fourth group.”

  “Someone—one of the ten people who got into the Zodiac—told Ivan that two people had gone back on the other craft.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Ivan didn’t say so,” I said, “but we all assume the person who said that also got into the Zodiac.”

  “What if it was someone else?”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me otherwise. Regardless, we know beyond doubt that Jon Friesen left on the third Zodiac.”

  “Yes, and your Zodiac—the third one—was already gone before the last one loaded.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember. “I’m not sure. I mean—I h
ave a vague sense that we left within a minute or two of each other. The weather—”

  “That’s right,” he said. “The last two Zodiacs cut their time short and—”

  “I think that’s correct.” I remembered then. “Yes, that’s correct. I had just gotten my boots hosed, and I saw the fourth Zodiac approaching. Not that it makes a lot of difference, does it?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “But we definitely don’t want to forget that there were thirteen people in the third Zodiac—including you—that left perhaps one or two minutes before the last Zodiac.”

  I didn’t reply. That’s the problem I have with Burton. We think so much alike. We had gotten so close we could almost finish each other’s sentences.

  Just then the door opened.

  Thirteen

  “What are you two doing in Twila’s cabin?” she asked.

  I stared at Heather.

  “I think we have the same question for you,” Burton said.

  “I don’t know, exactly,” she said. “I thought—oh, I suppose I think I’m Miss Marple, but you know, I thought I might find something—”

  “That’s why we’re here,” I said.

  “Who could have done such a terrible, terrible thing?” Heather asked.

  Neither of us answered. I wanted to learn how distraught she really was. It’s not that I didn’t believe her story, but she had been one of the ten in the fourth Zodiac, so that put her on the suspect list.

  “She was absolutely the sweetest, kindest—”

  I stopped listening to the litany. I never would have called Twila sweet. She wasn’t that kind of person. But there was something about her that drew people to herself. She was also an absolutely no-nonsense person. She rarely used warm, cuddly words like a lot of people. She wasn’t much of a hugger either. Perhaps it was because she was a psychiatrist, but she wouldn’t allow people to justify their bad behavior or wrong thinking. She wasn’t rude, but she had a way of smiling, looking deeply into a person’s eyes, and saying something like, “Is that what you truly believe?”

  As far as I know, it always worked. People instinctively trusted her. Twice I had been standing next to her at church and saw her give that look—that’s what I called it, the Twila look—and both times the other person stopped lying and opened up to her.

  My mind must have wandered, because Heather Wilson was apologizing for trying to play sleuth. As she talked, her eyes darted around the room. I had the impression that she was more interested in seeing if we had discovered anything than she was in finding clues.

  “You’re sure you didn’t notice Twila on Brown Bluff?” Burton asked.

  “No, no I didn’t see her—I mean, I didn’t recognize her—I mean, well you know—”

  “Yes, we all look quite a bit alike,” Burton said.

  As I listened to her stumble around, I knew something wasn’t right. Either Heather was lying, or she was holding something back. I watched the interchange between them and tried to envision Heather Wilson as someone who carried a knife. She didn’t seem to be the kind to stab someone with a literal knife, but I’ll bet her words cut deeply.

  It was difficult for me to be objective about that woman. I didn’t like her; I didn’t trust her. I didn’t—all right, I was jealous. She’s prettier than I am, and men’s gazes follow her whenever she walks across the room. I probably secretly wished she were the killer.

  With a deep sigh, I pushed aside my negative feelings about Heather.

  It seemed obvious that whoever killed Twila had brought the knife—if it was a knife—hidden deeply inside checked luggage. Anything in hand luggage would have been confiscated.

  Of course, there was the possibility that someone had bought a knife at Ushuaia. For two reasons that didn’t feel right to me. First, it would be easy enough to check. The business section of Ushuaia wasn’t that large. Second, it would mean either that the murderer had left that part of the crime to chance or that the plan to murder Twila hadn’t begun until then. I didn’t know, of course, but it made sense to assume that the murderer had decided to kill her before we left Atlanta.

  Planned it? Planned to kill Twila?

  As repugnant as that thought was, I assumed it had been carefully thought out, and the killer waited for the opportunity. Otherwise, it probably would have happened on the first landing.

  Another thought that occurred to me was that if it had been a crime of passion, it probably would have occurred aboard ship. I couldn’t believe it would have started at Brown Bluff. The cold and the horrible weather didn’t allow for a lot of conversation.

  Yet another thought struck me. If Twila had had any kind of confrontation or argument with anyone, I’m sure I would have known. She was a professional, but she was also sensitive and easily hurt by harsh or cruel remarks. She wouldn’t ever tell me who said them or what they said, but twice in the past she had opened up and talked about mean-spirited words hurled at her. She had said absolutely nothing along that line since we left Atlanta.

  That forced me to conclude that someone had planned to kill her before we left Atlanta and had waited for the opportunity to do so.

  I stared again at Heather as she talked to Burton. Her eyes never seemed to focus on one spot. She was nervous about the murder, I’m sure, but there was something more.

  “Did you have anything in mind when you came here?” I asked her.

  “Why, no—I mean, uh, what would I look for?”

  “Then how would you know if you found it?”

  Heather’s laugh had a forced tone to it. “Yes, yes, it does seem a little silly, doesn’t it?”

  “A little,” I said. I tried to give her the Twila look to see if it made a difference.

  “I mean, what would I look for?”

  “Yes, exactly,” I said in my most sarcastic tone. “What would you look for?”

  “I mean, even if I found it, I wouldn’t know what I found, now, would I?”

  “I don’t know. Would you?” I stayed with the Twila look.

  “Uh, well, uh, I suppose I ought to go back to my cabin,” she said, but she didn’t move.

  She wasn’t going to tell me, and I don’t think she wanted me to stay around. And that fact had nothing to do with the death of Twila. So I said, “Burton and I have a couple of things to talk about.”

  “You mean you’ve found something?”

  “Nothing,” Burton said.

  I tried once more. “Unless you have something specific you want to—”

  “No, no—”

  “We’ll join the others shortly.” I turned to Burton. I hoped that showed some kind of dismissal.

  She still didn’t move.

  I stared directly at her, and dim lights seemed to turn on inside her head. I think she assumed that Burton and I were talking romance or reconciliation.

  “Oh, oh yes, I understand,” she said as if she had just caught on. She gave me what I assume she considered a sincere smile. It was as phony as the color of her dyed hair.

  “I’m so glad,” I said in a soft voice as sweetly as I knew how.

  Heather glared at me, turned, and left the cabin. She didn’t close the door, and I wouldn’t have put it past her to stand outside and listen.

  I closed the door behind her and stood there for a minute with my back against it. I then explained to Burton my thought processes about the killer.

  He listened, nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

  “But to think someone planned—”

  “Would it really matter whether it was out of sudden, uncontrollable anger or planned out of long-held anger?”

  “I suppose not.”

  I hadn’t heard any noise in the hallway, so I assumed Heather had gone. I walked over to the desk and sat on the chair. My gaze slowly swept every part of the room. I stared momentarily at the mattress. I got up to look under it, but Burton beat me to it. He lifted the mattress and found nothing.

  “Let’s think about this,” I said. “Twila obviously had som
ething the murderer wanted.”

  “Agreed.”

  “That person may have searched this room after killing her.”

  Burton pondered that one. “Agreed.”

  “We can also assume that whatever it is must be incriminating enough or important enough for someone to kill her to get it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But Twila?” I asked. “I thought everyone trusted her. Even if she knew something—”

  “As a professional—”

  “She wouldn’t tell.”

  “But what if—” Burton said and paused before adding, “the murderer either didn’t know that or was afraid that Twila would tell?”

  “Agreed,” I said and tried to emulate his voice.

  He gave me a faint smile. “I love it when you mock me.”

  I chose to ignore that. “Then it would have to be something illegal. We’re therapists, but the law doesn’t require us to report confessions—”

  “But you know Twila. If someone confessed a crime to her—especially a serious crime—she would have pushed that person to confess.”

  “Agreed,” I said. This time I don’t think he heard me.

  He paced the small room several times, and all the while he seemed to scrutinize each section of the cabin.

  “She once told me that one of her clients had embezzled almost a million dollars,” I said, “and he confessed because he couldn’t live with his crime.”

  “Did she report it?”

  “Better than that—she convinced him to confess.”

  “That sounds like Twila.”

  “Oh, but here’s the good part. His corporation—a large one, I understand—rehired him. They put him in security. He had been so good at what he did, no one ever discovered it.”

  “So I suppose his new job was to catch others—”

  “That’s what Twila told me,” I said.

  He smiled at me, and I looked away. When he does that, I can hardly resist him. He has those movie-star teeth and a smile that’s so genuine I had to do something to keep my resolve.