It didn’t, given the fare, take us long to eat.
I refilled our coffee cups.
“It’s all so crazy,” he blurted out. “I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe what happened to …”
I looked sympathetic. I wondered if I was serving as a practice session.
“I was at the store.”
“Store?”
“Patty Kay’s bookstore.”
Hmm. Not our bookstore. Patty Kay’s bookstore.
“Where?”
He looked at me blankly.
“What town?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. We live”—He paused, I knew, because Patty Kay no longer lived—“in Fair Haven.”
I was familiar with it. Fair Haven is some twenty miles south of Nashville on Hillsboro Pike. It is not only one of Tennessee’s loveliest old towns, it is one of its wealthiest. There is a great deal of old money in Fair Haven, and lots of new.
I glanced again at his slacks. Stained or not, they were expensive and well cut.
“Is that how you earn your living? Running the bookstore?”
It shouldn’t have been a difficult question.
“Well … I mean, I run it for Patty Kay. I used to teach but … Actually, she has—had lots of investments.”
“So the bookstore doesn’t have to make money.” I know those kinds of booksellers, wealthy people who love books.
“Oh, no. Patty Kay wants”—another sober pause—“always wanted to make money.”
Certainly. No one appreciates money more than the rich. But they can afford to indulge hobbies until they become profitable.
“So you were at the bookstore. When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. It was a regular Saturday. Busy. I answered the phone a dozen times. Then somebody hung up when I answered. I didn’t think anything about it. A wrong number. Happens sometimes. It rang again. Another hangup. Then I was waiting on a customer. One of the clerks—Amy—answered the next ring. After I made the sale, Amy came over. She said Patty Kay wanted me to pick up a basket of fruit at a shop in Green Hills, then hurry home. So I drove to the shop—”
“Just like that? No, ‘Will you please’ or ‘Could you …’ Did Patty Kay order you around all the time?”
He didn’t like that. His voice became defensive. “She didn’t order me around. But, sure, she asked me to do things.”
“And you did them.”
“Sure. I mean, why not?”
That wasn’t for me to say. But, despite all the lip service to androgynous work roles in today’s liberated marriages, from my observations most women still handle the domestic chores, and, when they don’t, there is a good deal of charm exercised in shifting them. I didn’t hear any echoes of charm here.
So what kind of marriage did Craig and Patty Kay Matthews have?
The police would want to know.
I was beginning to have some ideas.
“All right. You went to pick up the fruit.”
Puzzlement puckered his face. That, or some artful Method acting. “They didn’t have an order. I thought there was maybe a mixup. So I called home—”
Ah, what a dutiful errand boy—
“—and the machine came on.” His eyes brightened. “Listen, they’ll remember that at the deli, won’t they? Patty Kay must have already—” He broke off.
Because he didn’t want to remember? Or did he remember only too well?
“So you started home?”
“Well, I had them fix up a fruit basket. Just in case.”
This fellow didn’t want to face his wife without a basket of fruit. Not if she wanted a basket of fruit.
It was further proof of the power Patty Kay exercised over him. I could imagine the cold, jaundiced eyes of a cop listening to this. Margaret’s nephew would come off as henpecked at best. Resentful at worst?
Margaret.
“Craig, before you leave, you should phone your aunt. It certainly won’t do for her to hear about Patty Kay’s death on the morning news. And it will reassure her to speak—”
He abruptly plunked down his cup. Coffee sloshed out. “Yeah, I know. That would be best.” He shoved back his chair. “But there isn’t time. I told Desmond I’d get to his office by eight. I’ve got to leave right now, right now, to make it. Why don’t you call? Tell her everything’s going to be okay.”
And he was grabbing up his soiled shirt and heading for the door.
I followed him.
He yanked open the door of a new metallic green Porsche that glittered like emeralds in the early morning sun slanting through the branches of a hackberry. I pegged the cost of the car at around $75,000.
Funny, how some people spend their money.
Pots and kettles. After all, how many people does a stained glass window feed? Moral judgments appear easy. Quicksand looks solid. Try walking on it.
The motor growled to life. “Yeah, I’ve got to drive like hell. But I want to thank you—”
“No problem.”
“Uh—”
I could have finished it for him, but I didn’t.
“Uh—if the police want to talk to you. I mean, I told Desmond you were my aunt.”
Yes, indeed he had.
A quick little lie. But wasn’t it simply human nature to try to put a good face on running away? However, it wasn’t Craig’s only lie.
The trouble with lies is how easily they can be exposed and the mass of detail that must be remembered to deceive successfully. Last night, distraught over his wife’s murder, embroiled in telling me what had happened, caught up in talking to the lawyer who made it clear that his flight had made him a suspect, Craig had repeated the lawyer’s query, … in the morning at your office? Yeah, I can be there by nine.
How easily, how quickly this morning Craig changed the time so that he would not have to call his aunt.
Was he afraid that somehow, some way, he would reveal himself to Margaret? Was he fearful of an emotional outburst on her part? Or on his?
I could guess all morning. All I knew with certainty was this young man’s penchant for untruths.
And he was asking me for help, asking me in effect to join in a lie.
Why should I?
He looked young and vulnerable. His rosebud mouth drooped. His woeful eyes pleaded.
Margaret’s nephew, her only living kin.
Oh, hell. “Honorary aunts aren’t unusual. I suppose I could be your Aunt Henrie O.”
He shifted the gleaming auto into reverse, (lashed me his winsome, charming smile.
As the Porsche’s smooth roar faded in the distance, I shook my head. I had a strong sense that Craig Matthews’s accomplished smile wasn’t going to be enough to help him this time.
And he’d left me the task of calling Margaret. I wondered how often he fobbed off unpleasant tasks on those around him.
Margaret’s voice sounded stronger.
I handled it as well as I could, making it clear at the outset that Craig was en route to see the authorities.
“Murdered … Henrie O, how dreadful.” A thoughtful, somber pause. “He’ll be a suspect.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” Margaret and I know the world too well for sugarcoating.
“I met her only twice,” Margaret told me, because she knew I needed her help. “A vibrant personality. Forceful. Direct. Quite wealthy. The kind of woman you’d love or hate. No halfway measures. Of course, she married someone like Craig…. Nice, but weak. That’s the truth about him, Henrie O. Craig isn’t strong enough to kill anyone.”
Sometimes crimes are committed because the perpetrator is weak. I didn’t say so.
But Margaret knows me well. “Henrie O, please. Look out for him. I’ll get a lawyer—” Her voice rose.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Margaret. Craig’s on his way to see a lawyer right now. Perhaps the crime will be quickly solved. Don’t worry, I’ll keep on top of it.”
After I hung up, I didn’t take the leisurely ramble in the woods I’d anti
cipated with such pleasure. Instead, I drove to a gas station/convenience store on the highway. I picked up the Sunday newspaper.
Back at the cabin, I poured another cup of coffee and opened the paper. I looked first at the two-column photograph of Craig Matthews and a strikingly attractive woman in her late thirties. She was slender and athletic, dark-haired with a vivacious smile and a bright, challenging look. Behind her was a pavilion and a lake.
The cutline read: IN HAPPIER DAYS—Craig Matthews and his wife, Patty Kay, are pictured at the annual Walden School fall picnic last September. Mrs. Matthews, 38, was found slain in their exclusive Fair Haven home on Saturday.
This story was circumspect:
SOCIALITE DEAD
IN POSH MANSION;
HUSBAND MISSING
Mrs. Craig Matthews, the former Patty Kay Prentiss, was found dead at shortly after 5 p.m. Saturday in her Tudor mansion in Fair Haven.
Alerted by an anonymous phone call, Fair Haven police found the body of the thirty-eight-year-old socialite in a pool of blood in the estate playhouse, well known as the scene of many charitable functions.
Police Chief J. T. Walsh declined to describe the cause of death. An autopsy is scheduled Monday by the state medical examiner.
Police said repeated efforts to contact Mrs. Matthews’s husband were unsuccessful. A clerk at Books, Books, Books, the bookstore owned by Mrs. Matthews, said that Mr. Matthews left the store Saturday afternoon, reportedly to pick up a fruit basket to take to the Matthews home. The couple apparently had planned to host a dinner party at their home that evening. Police said the dining room table was set and preparations for the dinner were under way by Mrs. Matthews when she was slain. Some guests arrived to be greeted by the police.
Mrs. Matthews was the eldest daughter of a well-respected and long-established Tennessee family. The first Prentiss arrived in Fair Haven in 1843. Family members have included judges, lawyers, physicians, and legislators. Her father, the late Merriwether Prentiss, served as mayor of Fair Haven for three terms in the 1970s.
Mrs. Matthews’s first marriage, to Stuart Pierce, ended in divorce. In addition to her husband, Craig Matthews, she is survived by her daughter, Brigit Pierce, and her sister, Mrs. Willis Guthrie, both of Fair Haven.
Hmm. Craig hadn’t mentioned his stepdaughter, Brigit. Where was Patty Kay’s daughter on a Saturday afternoon? Had Craig run away, perhaps leaving the girl to discover her mother’s corpse? But no, an anonymous phone call summoned the police. Why hadn’t Craig mentioned Brigit?
It would be interesting to know what the anonymous caller said to the police.
The Monday-morning update showed a change in tone:
MATTHEWS TELLS POLICE
WIFE WAS ALREADY DEAD
Craig Matthews admitted to police in a Sunday interview that he discovered the body of his wife, Patty Kay Matthews, in their Fair Haven home Saturday afternoon but made no effort to contact authorities.
Desmond Marino, Matthews’s attorney, said his client was distraught by the gruesome discovery and he left the home in a daze and went directly to the vacation residence of an aunt, seeking family support. “His aunt urged him to call me and he did so at once. Mr. Matthews was completely shaken and unable to cope with the tragedy. It came as a complete surprise to him that he was being sought by the police. As soon as he realized the situation, he agreed at once to return for an interview and did so Sunday morning. I have here a brief statement from him for the press.”
Statement to the press by Craig Matthews: “I came home Saturday afternoon with a fruit basket I thought my wife had ordered. I entered the house. Patty Kay didn’t answer my call. I looked upstairs, then downstairs. When I went into the kitchen, I knew something bad had happened. Our kitchen had been vandalized. I ran outside. The playhouse door was open. I found my wife’s body there, on the floor. I knelt and tried to lift her and then I knew she was dead. There was blood everywhere. I didn’t see a weapon.
“It was such a shock, I ran outside. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I wanted to go for help. I got in my car and drove to my aunt’s vacation cabin. I have tried to be helpful to the police. I know of no reason why anyone would murder my wife. I ask anyone who has any information to please report to the police or to my lawyer, Desmond Marino.”
Marino declined to answer further questions, saying his client was doing everything possible to help the authorities.
Police Captain J. T. Walsh said the investigation was continuing.
Funeral arrangements for Mrs. Matthews are pending.
I put down the paper and dug my Sony Walkman out of my gym bag. I turned it on, found a Nashville news station. It came as no surprise a few minutes later when the announcer said that Fair Haven police had arrested Craig Matthews late Sunday evening. They had charged him with murder in the death of his wife.
I reached for my cellular phone, then paused. I had a decision to make.
What was I going to tell Margaret?
More important than that, what—if any—action was I prepared to take?
I was not surprised at the arrest.
But an arrest didn’t mean Craig Matthews was guilty.
I found it intriguing, to say the least, that Craig received two phone calls at the bookstore where the caller promptly hung up.
Aaah, so what, the pro-police view would demand. Who said those phone calls occurred?
Craig Matthews.
But when the clerk answered, there was a message for Craig to pick up the fruit basket and bring it home.
Sure, the police could respond. Mrs. Matthews called. The lack of a basket could simply have been a mistake at the deli. Or perhaps Patty Kay thought she’d ordered the basket and hadn’t. There could be lots of explanations. The fact that the store had no record of an order was no proof that the phone call to the bookstore was part of an elaborate plan to frame Matthews.
Because either Craig Matthews was guilty of his wife’s murder or he’d been cleverly lured to the death scene.
To me, the strongest argument for Craig’s innocence was the Johnny-on-the-spot phone call that brought the authorities to the site just after Craig arrived home.
It wouldn’t impress the police.
Police everywhere receive a lot of phone tips. The calls can be accurate as hell, but the callers are not necessarily involved in the crimes they report. Many anonymous tipsters are semi-good citizens. They want to see justice done, but they definitely don’t want to get involved.
A simple scenario could account for that phone tip: A neighbor observed Craig’s arrival at the house, perhaps heard a noisy quarrel, and called.
A variation on that theme could account for the call even if Craig’s story was true: A neighbor came to the house before Craig arrived, found Patty Kay’s body, then scurried off to call the police but avoid involvement.
So the phone tip could have occurred whether Craig was guilty or innocent.
But clearly the phone tip could have been part of a clever plan to frame Craig.
I made my decision.
When I called Margaret, I didn’t tell her not to worry. She wasn’t a fool. But I promised to help Craig.
I changed from my holiday slacks and cotton top to a crimson linen suit with a jewel-necked jacket and a pleated skirt, a crisp white blouse, and matching red pumps. As a fashion writer I once knew would have trilled, “Faux pearl earrings and necklace completed the ensemble.” If I do say so myself, I looked elegant and absolutely trustworthy. It took me five more minutes to pack, then I was on the road to Fair Haven and traveling fast.
At the outskirts of Fair Haven, I stopped at a convenience store and bought the afternoon paper.
This headline was crisp:
POLICE ACCUSE
CRAIG MATTHEWS
OF WIFE’S MURDER
Police arrested Fair Haven businessman Craig Matthews, 29, late Sunday evening for the murder of his 38-year-old wife, Patty Kay, after teenage hunters found a pistol linked to her sla
ying in the brush several hundred yards from Highway 94 near Snell.
Fair Haven Police Chief J. T. Walsh revealed that Mrs. Matthews was shot three times.
Sheriff Coby Trent said Snell residents Michael Bettis, 15, and Jimmy Graham, 17, were shooting squirrels late Saturday afternoon when they saw Matthews discard an object after he stopped on a country road near Highway 94. Sheriff Trent said, “The boys saw the suspect, whom they later identified as Mr. Matthews, get out of a green Porsche carrying a bundle. He unwrapped the bundle, looked around to see if he was observed, then threw a gun into the brush. Mr. Matthews then got into his car and drove off. The boys found the gun and brought it to us.”
Chief Walsh said the weapon had been wiped, but the laboratory found a partial print on the bottom of the trigger guard that matched Matthews’s right index finger. The bullets which killed Mrs. Matthews were shot from this weapon, the chief said.
Fair Haven attorney Desmond Marino said his client is innocent of the crime.
The murder of the well-known socialite on Saturday shocked residents of the historic community twenty miles south of Nashville. Next-door neighbor Carl Jessop said, “I don’t believe he did it. Craig’s a really nice, mild-mannered guy. He and Patty Kay got along real well. This has got everybody nuts. Nobody around here even locks their doors in the daytime. But now my wife’s scared. Who’d want to shoot Patty Kay?”
Several neighborhood residents declined to be quoted, but their reports tallied with that of Jessop. All appeared shocked and surprised at Matthews’s arrest.
Services for Mrs. Matthews will be at 10 a.m. Wednesday in St. John’s Episcopal Church. The family requests no flowers. Memorials may be made to Walden School.
Craig had said: There was blood everywhere. I didn’t see a weapon.
Now eyewitnesses claimed they saw him toss away the gun that killed his wife.
Obviously, another lie by Craig.
So what else was new?
In Craig’s recital to me there was no mention of a gun or that surreptitious stop.
I didn’t feel quite that I had been played for a fool. But I certainly had to accept the fact that Craig Matthews had been less than candid.
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