I then turned to the officer at the desk. “Excuse me detective, I’m Holly Scott from the prosecutor’s office. Could you give me an update, please?” He arose and followed me as I moved towards the body. I had not intended to see the body alone, but I was proud of myself for summoning the grit to engage in the business at hand.
“We estimate the victim received over a hundred stab wounds to the upper torso, face, arms and legs.”
“What about the lower torso?”
“Yes, there too, penetrating wounds, slashes, excuse me ma’am, to her private parts.” I prayed my analytical training would take over as I viewed the once lovely female body as an object of study. A corpse. She’s a corpse. She feels nothing. It’s not appropriate for me to feel anything now either. I observed the deep, red stripes that serrated the once ample breasts from every angle. I tried to study the similar gouging around the eyes. I had to look away. I swallowed hard, tasting the sticky breakfast granola, so sweet then, so bitter now. I knew that I must leave immediately to avoid contributing my own body fluids to comingle with those present in the room and to contaminate the crime scene. I had absorbed enough for now. I would look at the photographs, the video, later. I had done what I came to do and all I could do. I turned away, thanked the officer quickly, and moved through the door to the hallway where the chief detective was talking to Aunt Elizabeth.
Swallowing deeply, I managed a “Hello officer,” to the handsome black man and introduced myself. “Do you know how the killer entered?”
“No, we don’t. No forced signs. We have to assume she knew him.”
“How long has she been dead? Can you estimate?” I continued, probing like a real, TV detective, I imagined, and willing myself not to faint, flee, or throw up on my shoes.
“It’s strictly a guesstimate until the pathologist does his report. We know it happened sometime last night, of course. But you can see the victim’s in an advanced state of rigor mortis. She left the hospital at 10:00 last night, according to official records. We don’t know yet if she came directly home or if she talked to anyone on the phone once she got here. All of that’s being checked now. I’ve been here all morning. I don’t know what leads have come in at the station. Her murder won’t hit the paper until tomorrow.”
I thanked the officer and Aunt Elizabeth and I moved silently toward the front door as Michael entered. “Sorry I’m late. I was waiting to verify a report that Avon Wallace was seen at the Highline Club around 11:00 P.M. having a drink with Sam Oliver, one of the doctors at the hospital.”
“Was she?” I asked, secretly glad that I had had my initiation into the dark side of prosecution without his hand to hold or throw up in. I preferred to forget that I had briefly held Aunt Elizabeth’s. After all, I had entered this crypt alone.
“Yes, but she supposedly left by herself after some altercation. People sitting at the next table overheard loud voices and saw her storm out about 11:30. Sam stayed a few minutes then left. The police haven’t located him yet. He didn’t go home last night,” Michael completed his report. “Can I take you two to lunch? It’s almost noon.”
How can he think about lunch at a time and place like this? I wondered. From the look on Aunt Elizabeth’s face, that thought had also occurred to her.
11 Dining Out
SUNDAY MORNING THE Carter family arrived at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church for a special service in Uncle Garland’s memory. After church we all returned to the Hall for lunch where Michael and young Robert joined us. Seated next to Robert and Victoria, I overheard their conversation about the farm.
“Robert, have you ever ridden a horse?” Victoria asked.
“No.”
“Do you think you’d like to ride sometime?”
“How big is the horse?”
“Well, we have a grown mare and two colts. Actually, they belong to Holly but she hasn’t ridden them in quite a while.”
“Do they buck?”
“That’s a good question, Robert. The last time they were ridden, they were quite gentle, but, as I said, it’s been a while. Maybe sometime your dad might want to buy you a pony. You could keep it at the farm,” Victoria scrambled.
This is too much, I thought. She sends me a dog, and now Victoria is suggesting that Michael buy Robert a pony. I looked for his reaction. I noticed that Michael, seated down at the opposite end of the table across from Ham, was engaged in conversation with Aunt Elizabeth. Ham was talking to Felicia to his right and Uncle Wylie to his left. Charlotte, seated by Felicia, was listening to their conversation, just as I was listening to the one Victoria was attempting to hold with Robert, who sat between them. I was interested in Robert’s welfare. He was such a small adult, and Mother’s attempts to draw him out were touching. I sympathized, remembered the difficulty from my own experience with him on Thursday night.
I could not recall seeing Mother spend time with a child nor could I determine her motive, but I was sure she had one. Thursday night at the Hall, Victoria had suggested the Monopoly game, and today at lunch she had requested that Robert sit beside her. Her conceivable motives went through my mind. Victoria, having spent years with adults and animals and antiques, might be seeking a new diversion. Then again she might have decided to try her hand at matchmaking since her only daughter had turned thirty with no prospects of husband or child. At an age where many of her friends had grandchildren, Victoria might have decided being a grandmother was a role she would relish. A ready-made grandson was a bird in the hand after all. Then again, I might be being unfair, but I doubted it.
“Perhaps you could visit us at the farm sometime,” I overheard Victoria say.
“Oh, that reminds me, I have an announcement: Charlotte and Victoria are going home today,” Ham interrupted all other conversation.
Ham is amazing. I knew his hearing was not what it once was, yet he had overheard Victoria’s conversation with Robert at the same time he had been talking to Uncle Wylie and the two women about getting the best of Saul Steinberg.
“I thought Lee and I would drive them to the farm this afternoon, maybe spend the night, and come back in the morning.” Ham waited for the group’s reaction.
I had totally forgotten that Binky, who returned to the lake Monday night, had brought my mother and grandmother down in his car. I had been so busy and so absorbed with the Wallace murder.
No one had yet spoken. Finally, Uncle Wylie, who, when he could hear them, disliked uncomfortable silences, spoke. “Ham, take as long as you like. Michael and Holly and I can handle the work in the office.”
“Don’t forget Sara Lee,” I spoke before I thought.
“Oh, yes, of course, Sara Lee. She’s my right arm. Since we’ve had Sara Lee, the civil practice has increased twenty-five percent,” Uncle Wylie affirmed. “Before she came, we couldn’t take on everything that came through the door. She really has a way with clients, too.”
Ham looked pleased at his unsolicited report on the health of the law firm and Sara Lee’s performance, but he was waiting for a response to his own announcement. Evidently thinking that response would be forthcoming from Victoria, he waited another moment, turned toward her as she was leaning over to whisper in Robert’s ear, and said, “Sister, is that all right with you?”
Another moment passed before Victoria realized she was the “sister” being addressed. “I’m sorry Ham, is what all right with me?”
“That I escort you ladies back to the farm this afternoon, Victoria,” he hesitated, “and stay the night.”
Victoria laughed. “I suggest you ask Mother. It’s her farm.”
This is a game and Victoria is enjoying it, I thought. I could see it wasn’t going to be as easy as Ham thought to steamroll his invitation to the farm he hadn’t visited since Charlotte divorced him fourteen years ago.
I looked at my grandmother, who judging from the half smile on a face you could seldom read, was enjoying her advantage. “Well, we have to get home,” was all she said.
Ham looked puzzled, as if he did
n’t know whether to ask Lee to pack his pajamas.
“Felicia has to work this afternoon,” Aunt Elizabeth announced. “We need to get home, too.”
“Yes, let’s leave them to settle it,” I said aloud before I thought. I quickly rose from the table to kiss Victoria and grandmother. We Carters are all pretty good at hasty exits, but it’s always better if no one blocks the door. I did stop to say goodbye to Robert and to Michael.
“Holly, I need to ask you a question.” Michael followed me out into the hallway.
“Certainly.” I was so proud of the professional, familiar but distant manner I had assumed with Michael during the past two weeks. I had truly faked him out. He no longer feared my possible transformation into screaming banshee.
“Elizabeth and I were discussing Robert. I told her how fond he is of your family and your dog. He enjoyed Thursday night so much he even talked to me about it. Elizabeth suggested that he walk from school to your house to stay with Queen Esther and Jigger until I can pick him up after I leave the office. I believe Robert told me Jigger is your dog’s name. Before I mention her suggestion to Robert, I wanted your approval.”
“Of course, Michael. I’ll call Queen Esther this afternoon, but I’m sure she’ll be happy for the company. I know Jigger will. Might I make a further suggestion? Queen Esther usually works from ten to six at our house. She always prepares dinner before she goes home. Why don’t you let Robert stay for dinner? Queen Esther always cooks more than enough. That way you won’t have to worry. Especially with all the work we have before us.”
“That would be a help, Holly. I appreciate it. I worry that Robert doesn’t get a proper dinner. Sitting down with a family to eat a regular meal is so much better than my monotonous menus on TV trays. His spirits have been much improved since Thursday. He’s like his dad. He likes to be with nice women.” Michael smiled as he helped me slip into my coat.
“I have to go to work,” Felicia called from the open door.
I hadn’t realized how long I had been talking to Michael. “Whenever you can, drop by and eat dinner with us before you pick up Robert,” I smiled as he walked me out to Aunt Elizabeth’s car.
“That would be an imposition,” he hesitated.
“No, I’ll ask Queen Esther to prepare a little extra. Not that it’s necessary. We usually have leftovers.”
“I don’t know,” he replied reluctantly without making a commitment.
“It would be nice for you to have dinner with Robert too.” I realized that I knew how to argue. Maybe I can be a prosecutor after all. “Pay Queen Esther something extra if you’d like. I know she could use the money.”
“Now that’s a good idea.” He opened her car door. “I’m grateful. I’ll see you Monday.”
I sat dreaming in the back seat all the way to the club. “Like his dad, he likes to be with nice women,” was the closest Michael had come to a flirtatious remark with me in well over a year. Win over the young and their elders will follow. No, that had not been my motive with Robert. I liked him. In the last year or so, I’ve thought more and more about a child of my own. Tick tock, biological clock.
“When shall I pick you up, Felicia?” Aunt Elizabeth asked as she stopped at the country club entrance. I realized I had caused her an inconvenience because my talking to Michael had not left Felicia time to go home for her own car.
“I’ll finish about 7:00. Why don’t the two of you come out about 6:30 for a drink, and I’ll join you for dinner?”
“How about it, Holly? Can you get away from your work?” Aunt Elizabeth seemed game.
“I’d love to,” I said as I moved to the front passenger seat to sit beside Aunt Elizabeth. “We haven’t been out to eat since I got home--except at the Hall.”
“We’ll see you then, Felicia,” Aunt Elizabeth waved to her daughter.
“I might even wear my new dress tonight,” I said to my aunt, feeling celebratory.
I WORKED AT the desk in the library for the remainder of Sunday afternoon, but stopped at 5:00 to rest and dress for dinner. I felt more feminine than I had since I arrived in Delta Ridge two weeks before. Only one remark from Michael is all it took. How simple I am, and how easily seduced. I removed the tissue from the sleeves of the new dress of heavy habotai silk. I loved its fine feel. In the light of the vanity table, my auburn hair with its crisp new cut and the lingering effects of the vegetable pack shine complimented the shimmering russet of the dress. I added extra blush and deeper lipstick, so my face could compete with the hair and the dress. Pulling a pair of bronze high heeled pumps from the closet, I slipped them on my feet and studied my reflection in the full-length mirror. They didn’t make me look as tall as the other women in my family, but I did look thinner. How that could be with the amount of Southern cooking I had consumed since I arrived in Delta Ridge, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps the stress of almost daily death and constant work knocks off the pounds. I suspected they were hiding somewhere. I had been too busy even for lovesickness.
But I was starting to feel guilty. How could I be prissing around in a new dress with everybody dead? Poor Uncle Garland. And Dr. Wallace and the Tices. I’m lucky to be alive myself in this town. Continuing to stare into the mirror, I felt guilty again. I had dreaded coming home, living in this house because of memories of Daddy, but I’ve hardly thought of him at all. But how could I with a disaster a day?
Yet I was so happy to be home, to be living so intensely, to feel so necessary, and to be so much a part of this bizarre, loving, extended family. “I got my height from Charlotte. I wonder if Ham will spend the night?” I asked the face in the mirror as I picked up the white cashmere coat that had returned to life after its recent dry cleaning, and turned off the bedroom light.
The night was clear and cold and the star’s streaks of sharp silver as Aunt Elizabeth and I walked into the foyer of the Delta Ridge Country Club. The building itself, an antebellum mansion, renovated and modernized several times in its long history was surrounded by gardens from the old estate. Its acreage had become an eighteen-hole golf course bordered by dogwoods and azaleas, which would burst forth in vibrant purples and plums and raspberries in the spring. Today all the color was captured inside the club house. The large wide foyer’s walls, draped in burgundy damask, and accented by the dark cherry floors and wine oriental rugs mingled with subtle touches of cobalt, bronze and gold and complemented the eighteenth century mahogany furniture.
As we walked past the Pier mirror down the wide hall to the paneled bar, I couldn’t help but glance up at my shiny red hair. In the center of the room between large diamond paned windows, looking out onto the golf course, a cozy fire was burning in the open brick hearth. The heavy oak tables and chairs and the dark floors were traditional English pub duplications, the favorite décor of every country club bar in the American South.
“Gin and tonic with extra lime,” Aunt Elizabeth said to the bartender who arrived before we were seated at the table.
“Me too,” I announced, thinking that I usually drank only wine and feeling slightly guilty because I would need to be at work early in the morning. Aunt Elizabeth turned to speak to two couples at opposite ends of the room and a group of three seated at a small sofa and chair grouping in front of the fire. The Sunday night crowd was small and casual, and I realized I was overdressed as I glanced around at the women in corduroys, turtlenecks, and heavy cable sweaters. You’re not in Paris, kid. The world had turned informal, even in Delta Ridge. I remembered how my father always wore a coat and tie for dinner at the club on Sunday night. Obviously, the custom had changed. I stared at the fire and unwittingly caught the eye of a somewhat familiar fact that arose from the sofa and walked to the table.
“Hello, Elizabeth. Is this Tom and Victoria’s daughter Holly?”
“Yes, Marshall. Holly, you remember Marshall and Donna Brooks?”
Donna had followed her husband to the table and was now standing eagerly at Marshall’s side.
“Yes, good to see you,” I
smiled, remembering our breakfast table discussion about the Brooks’.
“Won’t you come join us by the fire?” Donna asked. “We have a visitor with us tonight—a new radiologist at the hospital. I want you to meet him.”
Aunt Elizabeth looked at me quizzically.
“Well, okay, sure.” We arose from the table as the bartender brought us our drinks.
“Elizabeth, Holly, I want you to meet Jack Walker, our new radiologist at Carter County General Hospital,” Marshall turned to the tall, dark, short-bearded man who rose from his chair.
“This is Dr. Elizabeth Carter,” Marshall hesitated, “and Dr. Holly Scott.”
“I believe I’ve seen Dr. Scott before, although we haven’t been formally introduced. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you both at the hospital?” Dr. Walker studied my face.
I laughed nervously. “We’re not real doctors, at least I’m not,” I added, remembering the embarrassing encounter in Flower’s Fashion Footwear when I had mistaken him for a shoe salesman. Well, at least he’s not an ax murderer, I thought, very uncomfortable in the dazzle of his eighteen-carat smile.
“Ph.D.’s?” he asked, not letting the subject drop.
“Elizabeth is. I’m a lawyer,” I responded weakly.
“Oh, I see, a J.D., Juris Doctor.”
“Yes,” I said uneasily.
Seeming to sense my embarrassment, Elizabeth intervened. “I’m sure you’ve seen the old New Yorker cartoon. It shows a waiter on the telephone in an exclusive restaurant who says ‘You want a table for two at 7:30, Dr. Rogers? Let’s see, are you a real doctor or a Ph.D.?”
The group laughed.
“M.D.’s can be an arrogant lot,” Dr. Walker responded, breaking the ice by uttering my own thoughts.
“Holly, you’re a prosecutor, aren’t you?” Donna inquired. “Marshall pointed you out at Garland’s funeral. We were sorry about Garland. Such a tragedy. I don’t know if I would have recognized you. You’re so grown up. We visited with your mother at lunch after the funeral. It was so good to see her back in Delta Ridge and so good to see Binky. You know he’s my first cousin. We’re both Stewarts from Helena.”
Delta Ridge Page 11