“It sounds like you no longer believe Sophie did it.”
She stared out the window. Outside, multicolored finches flitted around a hanging bird feeder while a squirrel scavenged fallen seeds in the grass beneath it. “I was never entirely convinced, mind you, I simply thought it was an avenue that needed pursuing.” She looked at me. “I didn’t dislike Sophie, despite my allegations. If I’d disliked her, I never would have offered her remuneration to stay with Ernest.” She assumed, correctly, that I knew about the three million. “On the contrary, she struck me as a bright, personable young woman. Full of life. And obviously she cared for Ernest.”
“You were hoping she’d turn him into a heterosexual,” I said.
Her mouth quirked in a half smile. “That goal sounds ludicrous in these socially progressive times, but back then it was mere common sense to most people of my generation. Do you have children, Jane?” When I shook my head, she continued, “Most parents will go to great lengths to see their children happy. Fulfilled. Do you have any idea how difficult life was for an avowed homosexual thirty-five, forty years ago?”
“I think I do,” I said. “It’s not always a bed of roses nowadays either.”
“Who would wish that sort of misery on a child? So yes, I was beyond ecstatic when Ernest and Sophie decided to marry.” Her expression turned sober. “I thought she knew about his inclinations and loved him despite them. I thought she and I were, well, on the same page.”
“But you never discussed it with her?” I asked.
“No.” She sighed again. “Later I wished I had.”
“When Sophie decided to leave him, you mean.”
Teddy nodded. “She was... terribly disappointed to discover this had been kept from her. She was determined to divorce him.”
“So that’s when you offered her three million dollars,” I said.
“And sensible girl that she was, she took it.”
“It didn’t bother you that she was staying with him just for the money?”
“I knew she loved Ernest. I believed that, given time, he would come to love her in the same way.” Teddy saw my dubious expression. “Yes, yes, the consensus now seems to be that such transformations are a pipe dream. That one is born that way.”
“Whereas in your day,” I said, “it was thought to be an acquired trait. Usually the mother’s fault, of course.”
“For your information, it is still my day.” Teddy’s imperious expression took me down a peg. “I’m not in the ground yet, dear.”
I smiled. “Noted.” What do you know? I was actually beginning to like “the Wicked Witch of Crystal Harbor.”
“Ernest’s father died when the boy was only two and a half,” she said. “I did my best to fill the roles of both father and mother. When I started noticing that Ernest was more interested in boys than girls, naturally I did think it was my fault. I tried to be tougher with him, enroll him in sports and so forth. Well, he did enjoy sports and did quite well in them, but that, I learned, had little to do with sexual orientation.”
“You were a product of your times,” I said. “It must have been very difficult raising a gay son alone in that prejudiced atmosphere.”
“I thought if I had unintentionally turned him into a homosexual, I could turn him back.” Her smile was as close to self-deprecatory as I’d seen. “I’m still not one hundred percent convinced the effort would have failed if his life had not been cut short.”
“Speaking of that, Mrs. Waterfield,” I said, “there’s been a development, well, a couple of developments, I don’t think you’re aware of. They haven’t hit the news yet.” And Teddy wasn’t plugged in to the Crystal Harbor gossip circuit.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, dear.”
I hoped this octogenarian had a strong heart. “It turns out Ernie— I mean Ernest was not responsible for Tim Holbrook’s death. He was never on the boat that night.”
She leaned back, frowning. “That can’t be. He never denied it. He... What do you base this statement on?”
“Porter Vargas confessed his role. He borrowed Ernest’s boat, got drunk on it with Tim, and left him in the ocean as a prank. The next morning Ernest agreed to take the blame because they both knew you would, you know, make it right.”
“By spreading money around.” Her faded hazel eyes looked suddenly tired. “Oh, Ernest, how could you have been so foolish?”
“Love makes people do foolish things,” I said.
She didn’t ask who the object of Ernie’s affections had been. She didn’t need to. “He and Porter had been good friends since grade school. When I began to realize Ernest was a homosexual, I suspected, naturally enough, that the two of them were involved.”
“Except Porter isn’t gay,” I said.
“A fact that became clear by the time he was twelve or so. That boy had an eye for the girls, and they for him. That’s when I began to think their friendship might do Ernest good, that the example the other boy set might... I don’t know, rub off on him.”
“Instead, Ernest fell in love with Porter,” I said.
Teddy’s mouth thinned. “That smooth-talking young man took advantage of my son’s feelings for him. I’m sorry to say, Ernest made it all too easy for him. For example, he had an on-campus job at the coffeehouse in the student union. Lord knows he didn’t need the money. He took the job only so he could spend more time with Porter, who also worked there.”
“Porter claims he didn’t know Ernest was gay,” I said. “Not for sure.”
“Well, that’s utter nonsense. How could he not have known, as close as they were? He manipulated Ernest into taking the blame for what happened to that poor Holbrook boy. I should have seen it at the time. I should have at least suspected.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said. “You couldn’t have known.”
She looked me in the eye. “I believe in being hard on oneself. In analyzing one’s mistakes, holding oneself accountable. If more people did so, our society wouldn’t have half the problems it does.”
Hard to argue with logic like that.
“I taught Ernest to take responsibility for his own actions,” she continued, “not others’. Certainly not Porter Vargas’s.”
“There’s more.” I took a deep breath. “Porter’s wife, Lacey, has accused him of murdering Ernest.”
Teddy stared wide-eyed at me. “Is this true?” she whispered.
“It’s true that she accused him. He didn’t confess. Well, he might have confessed to Detective Hernandez by now. She brought him in for questioning last night.”
“Tell me what Lacey said.” Her hands trembled. “You were there?”
“Yes, Dom and I—Dom is my ex-husband—we went to Porter’s house to confront him about the incident with Tim.”
“How on earth did you figure out it was Porter on that boat?” she asked. “After so many years?”
I smiled. “It’s a little complicated. Anyway, Lacey overheard him own up to it and she, uh, she didn’t take it well. Lacey was Tim’s—”
“Yes, I know. His girlfriend. She’s one of those who accepted remuneration to keep silent about the Tim business.”
“Didn’t it bother you, paying off those people, donating that new library to Peconic U?” I asked. “You used wealth to keep your son from, well, quite frankly, from taking responsibility for his actions.”
I’d hit my mark. Trapped by her own words, Teddy gave a grudging smile of acknowledgement. “With the potential repercussions that serious, I felt obligated to step in.”
“As Ernest had known you would. And Porter too. He says his parents would never have bailed him out like that.”
“How very true,” she said. “Porter Vargas Senior is without a doubt spinning in his grave.”
“Anyway,” I continued, “Lacey claims she witnessed Porter putting, um, putting Ernest’s body in the trunk of his, Ernest’s, car, and then driving off.”
Teddy was eerily still for a moment. “I see.”
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“She could have concocted the story,” I added, “to pay him back for accidentally killing Tim and then failing to come clean all these years.”
She nodded. “I suppose it’s possible.”
The doorbell rang and Teddy excused herself. I immediately jumped up and poured most of my lemonade down the drain. I was seated once more when Teddy reentered carrying two medium-sized cartons and one small one. They were from Amazon, an online drugstore, and a gardening-supply store. I jumped up again.
“I would have helped you with these.” I tried in vain to take them from her.
“I’m not an invalid yet, dear.” She set the boxes on the counter.
“I see you like to shop online,” I said.
“Oh, good heavens, yes. What a convenience! With a few clicks I can order practically everything I need. And with weekly grocery deliveries, I’m set.”
“No need to leave the house.”
She refilled her glass, tried to offer me more—“I’m good, thanks!”—and leaned against the counter. “You should cultivate a healthy skepticism where gossip is concerned, Jane.”
“Gossip? Oh, you mean what people say about you, um, keeping to yourself?”
“I know the words ‘hermit’ and ‘recluse’ have been bandied about.”
“That doesn’t appear to bother you,” I said.
She gave a dismissive wave. “The fact is, I welcome it. People are less likely to bother one when they envision a crusty old eccentric shut up with her... cats? Am I not supposed to have cats?”
I grinned. “At least two dozen of them, living and breeding among your mountains of hoarded possessions.”
“The gossips would be shocked to learn I have a handful of close friends and that I actually do leave the house to visit, travel, and so forth,” Teddy said. “I’ve maintained a subscription to the Metropolitan Opera for more than forty years. It is true that I do not shop in town or take part in local activities. Very simply, I have not the slightest desire to interact with ninety-nine percent of the residents of Crystal Harbor. Too many nouveau riche showoffs for my taste.”
I wish I could defend the local citizenry, but the sad truth was, she’d nailed it.
“Present company excepted,” she added, and I felt ridiculously honored.
“You know,” I said, “Sophie is not at all like that. Well, I can’t argue with the nouveau riche part. She is that, thanks to you. But she’s also a good person of high character. Aside from you, no one loved Ernest more. She still speaks fondly of him.”
“Yes. Well.”
The subject made Teddy uncomfortable, but I had to speak my mind. “The discovery of his remains hit Sophie hard,” I said. “Think about it, Mrs. Waterfield. I’d be happy to get the two of you together. At my place maybe? Or here, or anywhere you’d like. Just say the word.”
Teddy was silent a moment. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either, which I took as a minor victory. “Come, dear. I’d like to show you something.”
She led me through a rabbit warren of rooms, finally stopping in a small, wood-paneled study. The scent of lemon oil failed to totally eradicate a slight mustiness. She pulled a book off a shelf. On second glance I saw it was an old photo album.
“Sit with me,” she said, and we took seats on a venerable old sofa that had probably been reupholstered a dozen times. She opened the album’s cover and I was greeted with the image of a youthful Teddy cradling a newborn infant. I watched Ernie grow up as her knobby fingers turned page after page. Taking his first steps. Up to bat in Little League. Playing guitar in his high-school rock band. Graduating college.
My breath caught in my throat when the wedding picture came up. There was Sophie in her white wedding gown, young and slim, looking heartbreakingly beautiful and thrilled to be marrying her soul mate. Ernie looked just as happy.
Teddy touched the picture. “She always had a special quality about her. I thought, if anyone can make this marriage work, she can.” She sighed.
“Do you happen to know how Sophie met her second husband?” I asked. “Dean Phillips?”
Her expression hardened. “She met him in this very house. That man worked for the company that sanded and refinished my oak floors. He and another fellow spent several days here. It was right before Easter.”
“He would have been around Ernest’s age, I suppose. Mid-twenties.”
“Insolent young man,” she said. “He had his eye on my daughter-in-law from the moment he met her. I knew nothing good could come of it, but Ernest wouldn’t listen.”
“And you were right. Dean went after her.” Again I felt the need to defend Sophie’s character. “But it was one-sided. Sophie told me there was nothing going on between her and Dean while Ernest was alive.”
Teddy chose not to comment on that. “Porter was here too that first day. He and Ernest and Sophie were on their way somewhere—to a concert in Manhattan, I believe—and they stopped by the house for some reason. At one point I passed the door to the basement and smelled marijuana smoke.”
I didn’t ask how she recognized the scent. “Who was down there?”
“Porter and Dean, as it turned out. The other man from the flooring company was hard at work. Ernest and Sophie were in the kitchen having a snack. Later I overheard Porter ask Dean if he could supply him with more marijuana.”
“What did Dean say?”
“What do you think?” Teddy sneered. “He said he’d have it for him later in the week and took Porter’s phone number.”
“So much for Porter being a good influence on Ernest,” I said.
“I’d long ago abandoned that hope. In fact, Dean used Porter to insinuate himself into their little clique—to get close to Sophie, no doubt.”
“He was that smitten?”
“With her or with the money I’d given her or both,” Teddy said.
“This clique,” I said. “It didn’t include Porter’s wife, Lacey, I take it.”
“Oh, goodness, no. She had no idea her husband and Ernest were still friends. Apparently she’d made Porter promise, when they’d married, that he would cut off contact with the man responsible for Timothy Holbrook’s death.”
“Or so she thought at the time,” I said. “Obviously Porter broke his promise.”
“I’m sure he thought she’d never find out,” she said.
“But she did?”
“Oh, yes indeed. She was positively hysterical, and I don’t use that term lightly.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Well, because she came here and demanded I intervene to end my son’s friendship with her husband,” she said.
“Wow. She really did that?”
“Why do people persist in asking for confirmation of a statement they have just heard?” And then, as if to drive home her point, she added, “Yes. She really did that.”
Another inanity. I was really racking them up. “What did you say?”
“When I could calm her down enough to listen, I informed her that both my son and her husband were grown men and more than capable of choosing whom they associated with, and that even if I were inclined to destroy a lifelong friendship, Ernest might have something to say about it.”
“I don’t suppose you mentioned that Ernest was in love with Porter,” I said.
“You suppose correctly. Lacey responded that if I wanted to keep them apart, I could make it happen. Apparently she saw me as some all-powerful being who can accomplish her wishes simply by snapping her fingers.”
I chose not to remind Teddy that she’d essentially done just that when she’d paid off Lacey and her family to keep mum about how Tim had died. “I can understand Lacey’s point of view,” I said. “It must have been a shock to learn that her husband was still friendly with the man responsible— the man she thought was responsible for Tim’s death.”
“Well, yes, of course,” she said, “and I did take that into consideration, but the young woman was simply out of control. Sobbing, screami
ng. I was tempted to try what they used to do in those old movies—slap her face to bring her out of it.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, imagining Lacey Vargas’s response to being slapped. “I’m sure that would have made the whole situation much better.”
I couldn’t help wondering if Lacey had made another stop before returning home. After getting nowhere with Ernie’s mom, had she then taken her sobbing, screaming “hysteria” to Ernie himself? On the very day of his death? It would have been the first meeting between Lacey Vargas and the man she believed killed the father of her child. I could imagine various ways such a meeting might have turned out. None of them ended with a hug and a vow to do lunch soon.
Teddy was no dummy. The possibility had to have occurred to her. She’d probably mentioned it to the lovely detective. I didn’t think there was anything to be gained by my bringing it up at this point.
I was beginning to like Teddy, but I didn’t like what she’d done back then, throwing around her money to swab up her son’s mess, and playing god with people’s lives in the process. Lacey Borelli would never have wed Porter Vargas if she’d known that he’d been at the helm of Ernie’s boat that fateful night.
And what about Ernie? If Porter had indeed killed him to keep him from spilling the beans about his own involvement in Tim’s death, as Lacey claimed, then Teddy’s act of maternal protection had been the springboard for her son’s eventual murder. It was too ugly to contemplate.
I glanced around the cozy room, with its overstuffed furniture and shelves of books. An antique walnut desk was positioned near the window. A neat stack of papers lay on top, as well as a pen cup and a loudly ticking clock. One corner of the desktop appeared conspicuously empty.
She noticed me noticing. “That’s where Ernest’s typewriter usually sits. Actually it was his father’s before him, a large, black Royal from the fifties. I enjoy seeing it there. It makes me feel close to both of them.”
“Didn’t Sophie inherit it along with his other things?”
Teddy nodded. “Sophie gave it to me after Ernest died. She thought I should have it, along with his grandmother’s diamond engagement ring.” After a moment she added, “That’s the last time I saw her.”
Uprooting Ernie (Jane Delaney Mysteries Book 2) Page 13