A Quiet Death

by Marcia Talley

Sirens began to wail in the distance. With half my brain I willed them to hurry, with the other half, I prayed. Please God, please, I’m not ready to go!

  It didn’t seem to occur to anybody that if Hoffner wanted to weasel out of the mess he’d created, he’d have to dispose of three witnesses, not just one.

  ‘What’s that man talking about, Nicholas?’

  Nick faced his mother. ‘Hoffner believes your letters will be worth a lot of money to a certain party who will pay anything to keep his dirty little secret.’

  Lilith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. I could almost see the wheels going around, taking it all in. The ‘dirty little secret’ was Lilith herself.

  ‘Tell him where the letters are, Mother. Nothing’s worth getting shot over.’

  Lilith stiffened. ‘I put them in a safety deposit box where they can’t do anybody harm.’

  Suddenly the gun wasn’t pointing at me, but at Lilith. ‘I don’t believe you! Let’s go. Get them!’

  Lilith folded her arms across her chest, set her jaw. ‘No.’

  Hoffner took a step in Lilith’s direction. ‘You’re coming with me. Now.’

  Without warning, Nick’s cane shot out, knocking the gun out of Hoffner’s hand. The gun landed on the grass at my feet. I snatched it up, cocked my arm and threw the gun as hard as I could, watching with pleasure as it spiraled into the flaming house.

  ‘God dammit!’ Hoffner bolted for his truck, gunned the engine and fishtailed down the drive. Before he had driven more than one hundred yards, the brake lights flashed red, the truck skewed sideways, and he leapt out of the cab. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I asked aloud.

  Lilith held up a box cutter, shrugged. ‘When he wasn’t looking, I messed with his tires.’

  ‘Lilith, how . . . ?’ I indicated the box cutter.

  ‘I picked it up when we were in the living room.’

  I could have hugged her.

  Hoffner bobbed like an apple, hesitating, caught between an oncoming fire truck on the one hand and an angry mob of three on the other, one armed with a box cutter, a second with a cane, and me with a rage so hot and intense that if I tore Hoffner to shreds with my teeth and bare hands, no court in the world would have held me responsible. Hoffner sprinted toward the woods, heading in the direction of Fishing Creek.

  The pumper unit from the Church Creek Fire Company screeched to a halt at the foot of the drive, inches from Hoffner’s front bumper. His truck was blocking their way.

  A radio crackled. Permission apparently asked and granted, because seconds later the fire truck advanced, made contact with Hoffner’s vehicle and shoved it, grinding and lurching, into a stand of trees where it sat, slewed sideways between two giant tulip poplars.

  Hoffner’s yellow jacket disappeared into the trees. If he continued in that direction, I worried, no way he’d miss Lilith’s studio.

  ‘Is everyone out of the house?’ a fireman asked as he hopped out of the truck.

  ‘Yes. We’re all here.’ I said.

  ‘Good,’ he said as his colleagues busily unrolled their hoses. The pumper roared to life and water began to play against what remained of the roof of Lilith’s cottage, sizzling, changing the smoke from black to white as clouds of steam arose from the ashes.

  ‘Injuries?’

  Nobody spoke. Nick leaned on his cane, Lilith against a tree, leg bent, stork-like, at the knee. With the exception of the firemen who clearly had other priorities, I was the only able-bodied person in the neighborhood. If anybody was going to stop Hoffner, it had to be me.

  ‘Nick, I need to borrow your cane.’ With Hoffner’s gun gone, I hoped the weapon would give me some tactical advantage.

  Nick looked confused.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ his mother said. She uncurled her fingers revealing the box cutter cradled in her palm.

  ‘My God,’ I whispered, considering the implications. Slashing tires was one thing, but a living human being? I shivered. Yet Hoffner had just proved how dangerous he could be. I took the box cutter from Lilith, opened and closed it experimentally a few times, admiring the way the razor moved smoothly in and out of its casing. ‘Just in case,’ I told her, securing the blade and slipping the cutter into my pocket.

  Then I sprinted into the woods after James Hoffner.

  As I suspected, Hoffner had found Lilith’s studio hideaway. When I charged through the door, his back was to me and he appeared to be studying ‘Sailboat 23,’ still clamped to Lilith’s easel.

  ‘The police are on the way, Hoffner. I’d blow this joint if I were you.’

  He turned to face me, slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He grinned malevolently. ‘It’s just you and me, then, Mrs Ives? Mano-a-mano?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you have to be so melodramatic? There’s nothing here, as you can see. Lilith told you. She’s put her letters into a bank vault. What don’t you understand about that, Hoffner? No point in discussing it with me. Why don’t you go away now and discuss it with the bank officers at BB&T?

  ‘What do you expect to gain from the letters, anyway?’ I pressed on. ‘Chandler’s not going to give in to blackmail. He’ll simply acknowledge the affair and move on. Every public figure is having affairs these days. It’s quite the thing. Lynx News isn’t going to fire him because of a simple affair.’

  Hoffner smiled dangerously. ‘It isn’t Chandler.’

  ‘Dorothea? Don’t make me laugh. She’s known about her husband’s affair with Lilith for years.’

  ‘That’s not what she told me.’ With a swipe of his arm, he swept ‘Sailboat 23’ off the easel. Without taking his eyes off me, he stepped on the painting. When the canvas only sagged, he stamped on it repeatedly. ‘Marriage! Reputation! Social standing! That’s what motivates Doro Dearest.’ A savage kick sent the ruined painting flying into the wall where it knocked over two others, like dominoes.

  Several hundred yards away, Lilith’s house was turning into a pile of ash. What remained in this studio was all she had, and I wasn’t going to let Hoffner ruin that, too.

  Hoffner’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, to threaten me, probably, but before he could utter a word, I heard sirens, supplemental fire trucks, I supposed, ambulances maybe, police. ‘Hear that, Hoffner? I told you, we called the cops. They’re coming for you.’

  While Hoffner had been taking out his hostility on ‘Sailboat 23,’ I’d worked my way closer to the window and to the door that led out to the patio.

  ‘You!’ Hoffner snarled, turning away from the easel, backing me up against the chaise lounge. He reeked of gasoline. I hadn’t smoked for decades, but I wished I still carried matches so I could strike one, set his jeans on fire.

  The box cutter bulged reassuringly in my pocket, yet I hesitated to use it. Slashing another person’s flesh, feeling their blood sluice over me, warm and red and smelling of copper . . . my stomach heaved.

  I felt around for the afghan, found it where Lilith had draped it over the arm of the chaise, and tossed it over Hoffner’s head.

  ‘Goddammit!’ It took Hoffner only a moment to shrug his way out from under the afghan, but it was time enough for me to wrench open the back door and escape through it, running hell-bent for leather in the direction of the main house.

  Hoffner, mad as a bull, charged after me.

  About fifty yards down the path I collided, literally, with one of two firemen dragging fire hoses toward the creek. ‘Help! He’s after me!’ I panted.

  The fireman looked puzzled. ‘Who, ma’am?’

  I turned, equally puzzled, in time to see Hoffner crouching at the end of the pier, untying one of the lines that held Lilith’s motorboat to the dock. As the firemen and I watched, Hoffner stepped into the boat, tilted the outboard motor into the down position, stooped and squeezed the gas line bulb. His elbow shot out once, twice, three times as he yanked on the starter rope in an attempt to get the little engine going.

  ‘Is there a problem, ma’am?’ one of the firemen aske
d.

  The distinctive roar of the outboard motor being revved up cut the breeze. With Hoffner’s hand on the throttle, the little boat backed, turned and shot into the creek, leaving a rooster tail in its wake.

  Hoffner had gotten away.

  ‘No problem at all,’ I told the fireman, mentally turning Hoffner over to the vicissitudes of the wind and the tide. ‘I think my problem just solved itself.’

  When I got back to what remained of Lilith’s cottage, I was pleased to see that the Madison Volunteers had powered up their pumper and water from the creek was now reaching the blaze. A third truck screamed up the drive. The volunteers from the Neck District did their best, too, but by then it was mostly too late. The roof of Lilith’s historic cottage had fallen into the shell of the building, leaving nothing but charred beams, blackened stone walls and an ancient chimney, standing erect and proud like a monument over the smoking ruins. Still the firemen remained, playing water on the house, chasing sparks and dousing flare-ups to keep the fire from spreading to the nearby woods.

  Nicholas limped off to check on the damage Hoffner had done to his mother’s paintings, while I remained sitting under a tree, watching the firemen and comforting Lilith, my arm around her shoulders. Quite suddenly, she shivered and all the color drained from her face. ‘Lilith, are you OK?’ I thought about the chaise in her studio. ‘Do you need to lie down?’

  Lilith shook her head, and slipped out from under my sheltering arm. ‘Zan!’

  I turned to see John Chandler, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, striding in our direction. Eyes on the prize, he weaved up the drive, deftly navigating a path between fire trucks and fire hoses, seemingly oblivious to the chaos going on around him.

  Next to me, Lilith struggled to rise, but before she could get to her feet, Chandler had broken into a loping run, closing the distance between them in seconds. He seized Lilith by the hands and pulled her up, catapulting her straight into his arms.

  ‘You . . .’ Zan breathed, crushing Lilith to his chest. ‘I always . . .’

  ‘Zan, why are you here?’ Lilith asked when she came up for air.

  ‘My wife received a disturbing phone call this morning. I had to make sure you were all right.’ He stepped back, holding Lilith at arm’s length, eyes on scan as if checking her for damage. Seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t broken, he turned, noticing the firemen and the ruined house for the first time. ‘I see I’m too late.’

  Before Lilith could comment, I stepped out of the shadows and into a patch of sun. ‘Her ankle’s sprained, but otherwise—’

  ‘You!’ Chandler interrupted. ‘Hannah Ives, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s me. Quite obvious now that you didn’t tell me the truth when I visited you at your office.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I thought I was doing the right thing.’ He paused. ‘For my family.’

  ‘At least you’re here now,’ I said. ‘That’s a step in the right direction. You mentioned a disturbing call.’

  Chandler cleared his throat. ‘Guy named Hoffner. He’d been pestering Dorothea. This morning my wife and I had a showdown. I found out that she’d actually agreed to pay him money in exchange for the letters I wrote to Lilith.’

  ‘Hoffner doesn’t have the letters, Mr Chandler. Lilith does. There were some photocopies once, but Nicholas destroyed them. Hoffner doesn’t have anything to bargain with.’

  ‘Is that why . . . ?’ Lilith began.

  Chandler’s hands slid down Lilith’s arms, found her hands and grasped them tightly. ‘Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself, darling. A couple of months ago, a young man shows up at Lynx, asks to see me. I was out of town on assignment – US troops were leaving Iraq – so my PA put him off. She told him to make an appointment, come back in a couple of days. Later, after Meredith disappeared, we were reviewing the Lynx security tapes, and the minute I saw him waiting at reception, I knew. I had my research people check him out, just to be sure. Nicholas Aupry, born September 27, 1987. He’s mine, isn’t he Lilith? He has to be.’

  Lilith caught her lower lip between her teeth. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘Darling, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What good would it have done, Zan, except to feed your Catholic guilt?’

  ‘God, Lilith. All these years.’ He embraced her again, clinging to his former lover with quiet desperation, like a life preserver. ‘You haunt my dreams, so, even in sleep, there is no refuge.’ Looking at her again, drawing her in like a saving breath, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Remember Budapest? Eglise Matthias, Buda Castle, the view at night from Gellért Hill?’

  Still weeping, Lilith nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s a pretty picture!’ Nicholas had returned, his face flushed, whether from exertion or pent-up rage, it was impossible to tell.

  Lilith started.

  Keeping his arm firmly around his lover, Chandler turned. ‘Son . . .’

  ‘You haven’t earned the right to call me that, Chandler!’

  ‘Nicholas, it’s true!’

  ‘Shut up, Mother. I’m not talking to you.’

  Nicholas advanced, paused, screwed his cane into the grass and leaned on it heavily. ‘Where were you, Mr Chandler, when I lost my first tooth? Hit a home run? Graduated from college? Where were you when I nearly died?’

  Chandler blanched. ‘I didn’t know, I swear.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’ve seen the photographs. I’ve read the letters. You and my mother didn’t keep secrets from one another. There must be another box of letters somewhere. Hell, a trunk full of letters for all I know. An affair like that. You don’t just cut it off cold turkey.’

  ‘Zan didn’t know about you, Nicholas. I never told him.’

  Nicholas scowled. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It’s too late now,’ his mother said.

  ‘I’ll say.’ Nicholas turned away from his mother, sneered. ‘What will it do to your reputation, Chandler, if the world finds out that Mr Family Values has a bastard son?’

  ‘Nicholas . . .’ Lilith lurched toward her son.

  Chandler grasped her arm, holding her back. ‘No, Lilith. Let me handle this.’

  The look Nicholas gave his father was pure venom. ‘Bastard! That’s what they used to call me at school. But you are the bastard, Chandler, not me!’

  Nicholas swung his cane in a wide arc, striking Chandler on the temple. Chandler stumbled, his knees buckled, blood began to stain his white hair crimson.

  ‘Zan!’ Lilith screamed.

  Nick staggered back, looking bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

  Incredibly, Chandler smiled. He whipped a handkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it to his head. ‘Don’t worry. It’s only a flesh wound.’ He caught Nick in a steel-blue gaze and held him there, saying nothing, until Nick slumped and averted his eyes. ‘I understand, Nick. Completely. If I’d been you, I might have done the same thing.’

  I wasn’t inclined to similar understanding. I glowered at Nick. ‘I think it’s time everybody told the truth, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Nick seemed genuinely puzzled.

  ‘I didn’t think much of that maniac you sent to my house, Nicholas.’ I waved, indicating the patch of woods into which Hoffner had so recently disappeared.

  ‘Hoffner?’

  ‘Yes, Hoffner. He tore my house apart, looking for your mother’s letters.’

  ‘Christ! I didn’t ask him to do that. How was I supposed to know he’d come unhinged like that? After the train crash, Hoffner tracked me down. Said he’d take my case, help me sue Metro and its board of directors. I was mostly out of it, drugged up and trussed up, so it was almost a week before I noticed that the bag with Mother’s letters in it was missing. Hoffner showed up at Kernan with some documents for me to sign, so I sent him to the trauma center to see if he could locate the Garfinkel’s bag. They gave
him the note from you.

  ‘I couldn’t very well come and get them myself, could I?’ Nick rapped the cane against his bum leg where it rang hollowly in contact with the metal brace. ‘Can’t say I approve of his tactics, though. Never pick a lawyer off the Internet.’

  ‘We have attorneys, Nicholas,’ his mother said.

  ‘Listen to your mother, Nick. You’re going to need an attorney, aren’t you? Do you remember what you told me?’

  Nick gaped at me in confusion. ‘Told you?’

  ‘On the train. You said, “I think I killed somebody.”’

  Nick squinted, deepening the lines between his brows. ‘I did?’

  ‘You did. Just before you asked for your rosary.’

  Nick sucked air in through his teeth. ‘God, no. Not me. I must have meant Hoffner. Ever since he returned Mother’s letters, I’ve had my suspicions. It’s been eating me up, thinking that it’s my fault he did it.’

  ‘Who did Hoffner kill, Nicholas?’ I asked, although I was certain I already knew the answer.

  And so did Chandler. He’d done his homework, too. Before Nick could reply, Chandler said, ‘Hoffner killed Meredith Logan, my production assistant. When Nicholas showed up that Friday armed with one of my letters to Lilith, Meredith had to have recognized the handwriting.’ Chandler shot a glance at me. ‘So when Hoffner telephoned on Tuesday intending to make a deal, the stupid girl arranged an off-site meeting.’ Chandler cleared his throat. ‘Meredith was in love with me.’ He stole a glance at Lilith. ‘One of those surrogate father things, I assure you. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have done to protect my reputation.

  ‘Unless Hoffner talks, we’ll never know exactly what happened at that meeting, but I think it’s fair to say it went badly, and Meredith ended up dead.’

  Chandler turned to me. ‘I have good news. Capitol police caught Hoffner on a security camera, leaving Lower Senate Park via the parallel parking area on New Jersey Avenue not far from the Taft Carillon. There’s a warrant out for his arrest.’

  Balanced on her good leg, the other hooked up daintily behind her like a ballerina, Lilith reached up and touched Chandler’s face. ‘Zan, I’m so sorry. I’m sure she was a very special young woman.’