A Truth for a Truth (12 page)

She smiled a little, because despite the adolescent jabs, Deena still has a warm spot in her heart for her mother.

I was pleased I could easily segue into the real reason for our afternoon snack. “I know you think we interfere too much, and I know you think we ought to trust you at all times.”

“I goofed up last summer, and ever since, I feel like you’re looking over my shoulder.”

Last summer Deena had gone to a party without our permission and unknowingly imbibed several cups of strongly spiked punch. She had spent a lot of the summer doing chores as penance.

“That was one episode, Deena. And we know you were sorry.”

“Then stop hovering.”

I took more bread and tore off a hunk. “You’re my first child, so there’s some practice involved here, but I honestly want you to live your own life and do things your way, unless I see you making a mistake you might have to pay for big-time.” I hesitated. “Or if I think something’s going on that’s just too big for you to handle on your own.”

“You don’t think I’ll come to you if that’s true?”

“I think sometimes you might not know you can’t handle it, until it’s too late.”

“Nothing’s going on. This is all because I quit the debate team, isn’t it?”

“I just wonder . . .” I really didn’t want to ask her outright. I was almost sure if I did, she would close up completely. Right now, at least, I felt there was still a little wiggle room.

“I just wonder,” I started again, “if something happened that upset you or humiliated you, would you be embarrassed to tell me, or maybe worried I might think it was your fault?”

“Nothing happened.”

I wished I had more training in this. I needed a graduate degree in mothering. Instinct was telling me not to push harder, but I wondered about my reasons. Maybe I just didn’t want to hear the worst.

Or maybe my instincts were right and I had to sit back and trust my daughter to come to me when she was ready. I could still keep my eyes open and my ear to the ground. If Stephen Collins was acting inappropriately with students, I needed to blow the whistle, and loudly.

“Okay,” I said, although it wasn’t. “I just worry. I’m sorry.”

“You have a problem leaving things alone. You always have to have answers. You need to know everything.”

“It’s not easy being me.” I smiled. “Is it easy being you?”

“It is when nobody’s looking over my shoulder all the time.”

I was in no mood to cook, so I was glad I’d bought the precooked falafel and added taboulleh and a bag of pita bread before we left Ahmed’s Deli. I was particularly glad when I drove up and saw Jack McAllister, tie loosened and shirt collar unbuttoned, knocking on the parsonage door.

Deena got out of the car and went inside through our side door, and I walked around front to greet him. The afternoon was almost warm enough to sit on our porch, but I had a feeling we weren’t simply going to pass the time. I led him into the kitchen for a warmer chat. Ed wasn’t home, and Deena had disappeared upstairs.

I put dinner in the refrigerator and offered Jack tea. All this took seconds. He refused the tea and launched into his reason for being there.

“You know Hildy Dorchester better than I do. I need advice on breaking bad news.”

“It might be easier if you tell me what it is.”

He ripped off his suit jacket and slung it over a chair, like somebody who does this first thing, the moment he’s out of the office. “It’s not confidential, so I can. Everybody will know soon enough.”

I made my best guess. “Win
was
murdered.”

“Poisoned with his own medication.”

“Medication?”

“He was taking digoxin to regulate his heartbeat. They found large amounts in his fluids and tissue, but since the autopsy was performed so late, and the drug becomes concentrated after the blood stops circulating, it wasn’t conclusive. Anyway, that and some other factors make it hard to tell if an overdose really occurred. So they had to do more extensive testing.”

“They’re sure now?”

“The amount was
so
high.” As I sat down at the table he looked straight at me. “And the lethal dose present in the shrimp dip in Hildy’s garbage was something of a clue.”

“What?” I slapped my hand on the table. “You have to be kidding me!”

“I wish I were. I’ve done some research in the past hour, and if Hildy goes to jail and this goes to court, I can argue the autopsy results. Win was on varying amounts of the drug for several years, and patients develop something of a tolerance. So what looks like a lethal amount after death might have been tolerated well during life, and not be the cause of death at all. But the shrimp dip kind of renders that point moot.”

“Shrimp dip? Did other people eat it? Why didn’t they die?”

“That’s the other thing. According to the police, plenty of people sampled the dip with no bad results. So the digoxin probably went into the dip after the guests left. And guess who was the most likely person to add it?”

I sat back in my chair. I had been suspicious when I saw the police carrying boxes from the house, but at no point had I expected this.

“How could they prove that?” I asked. “Maybe some maniac at the party slipped it in close to the end, and it was just good luck nobody else ate more, or enough for symptoms.”

“We can come up with other possibilities, but of course, the police suspect Hildy. She had means, motive, and opportunity.”

“Everybody at the party had opportunity. Probably means, as well, if Win’s medication was anywhere it could easily be seen.”

“He kept it beside his bed, but Hildy had one heck of a motive, Aggie.”

“Maybe somebody else had a better one.”

Jack glanced at his watch. “She wasn’t home when I called a little while ago. Would you happen to know where she is?”

“They’re burying Win Thursday morning. She might be at the florist or the funeral home making the final arrangements. I’m sure she’ll call when she gets your message. Tell her what you know so far, but be sure to tell her you know she’s not guilty, and talking to the police will help clear this up. If she goes in thinking everybody’s sure she murdered Win, she’ll be a basket case.”

“I left my cell number. I told the police I’d bring her to the station for an interview as soon as I get hold of her.” He got to his feet. “She might need a friend afterwards.”

Hildy and Win came back to Emerald Springs because this was where they felt most at home. But for somebody who claimed to feel at home here, Hildy seemed to have nobody to share trouble with. The families of ministers have a special burden. We have so much tied up in being helpers, that asking for help ourselves is almost impossible. We can’t be seen as weak or needy, so most of the time we can’t confess problems to members of our congregations. I understood this, and understood that for Hildy, whose self- image was tied so closely to Win’s job, asking old friends to support her, to listen and advise, wouldn’t even occur to her.

Enter one Aggie Sloan-Wilcox, who by circumstance, if nothing else, understood her plight. Hildy and I were like in-laws. We hadn’t chosen each other, but our husbands’ jobs at Tri-C had bound us together, whether we wanted it that way or not.

“I’ll make sure she’s all right,” I promised Jack. “Call me when you’re finished?”

“Will do.” He gave a wan smile. “This was the part of the job nobody warned me about. I never thought I’d be defending the woman who used to read us Bible stories in Sunday School. I’ve never forgotten our discussion about inheritance laws in the Old Testament. The whole story about Ruth and Naomi and Boaz? That’s what got me interested in the law in the first place.”

Jack had only been gone for a few minutes when I realized we didn’t have enough food for dinner after all. Okay, we had plenty, but buying some stuffed grape leaves to add to our Middle Eastern feast seemed like a convenient excuse to get in my minivan. And if I stopped by the police station first, what was the problem?

I knew I had little chance of discovering anything new. Jack had probably told me more than I was supposed to know. But Jack knew my history, and he was hoping I could help Hildy. Hildy had towed me along to his office and revealed Win’s affair in front of me, so he knew I was in that loop.

Detective Roussos wouldn’t know that, of course. But I could tell him, then he could tell me to go home and make dinner. Roussos and I have a system.

I drove out to the Emerald Springs Service Center, which houses the new police station. I’ll confess I sometimes miss the old one downtown. So much personality. So many memories. I pulled into a neatly sectioned lot. I had an abundance of legal choices for parking. No more scrounging for quarters to feed meters. No more parking tickets. I was getting misty-eyed.

Inside I tried to look businesslike, since “friendly” quickly raises suspicions. The haggard-looking woman behind the Plexiglas partition scrutinized me as if completing a mental assessment. I asked for Roussos, and she asked why.

I wanted to tell her I had come to make a murder confession. I
wanted
to tell her Roussos and I had been brother and sister a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. The temptation to shoot those overly plucked eyebrows right through her hairline was enormous. But my better self won out, and I told her I wanted to talk to him about one of his cases.

She got up and disappeared into the back. I figured just picking up the phone and giving my name wasn’t nearly good enough. She wanted to outline all my identifying characteristics and her opinion about the risks inherent in speaking with me.

I checked the pamphlet rack for reading material, but nobody had refreshed them since flu season, and I am already pretty good at covering my mouth when I cough.

Roussos came out before I could dig into my purse and balance my checkbook. I’ve never been more grateful.

“I wondered how long it would take you,” he said.

Kirkor Roussos is by all feminine standards gorgeous, dark-haired, olive-skinned, with a smile that, though rare, is enough to throw any woman, even the happily married, into first gear. “Kirk” seems immune to his effect. He’s prone to faded jeans worn, in a pinch, with a casual sportcoat. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him in a tie. Roussos is the only man I could fall in love with, if I wasn’t already in love with the man I married. Still, there’s a tingle that zips back and forth when we’re together. I felt it now. Harmless but enticing.

I wondered how I was going to feel if Roussos and Lucy were serious about their relationship—if there is a relationship. It was an interesting question.

“I guess you know which case I’m here about,” I said.

“Let’s take a walk.”

Walks were Roussos’s favorite excuse for keeping me away from the station. If he invited me back to his cubbyhole, he would have to explain me. Explaining me couldn’t possibly be easy.

“I’m in trouble if I ever want to talk to you in February, aren’t I? I’ll need snowshoes.”

“You need a jacket?”

“I’m okay.” I figured I could turn up the heater in my van on the way home to thaw.

He lifted a brow, left me standing there, and came back a minute later with a navy sweater, handing it to me without a word.

“Are we going steady?” I asked as I slipped it on.

“Would I invite that kind of trouble? Even if you weren’t married?”

“I guess we’ll just have to remain the top two detectives in Emerald Springs history.”

“Dream on.”

We were outside, strolling toward one of the short paths that wind through the service center property, before I spoke. “Hildy Dorchester didn’t kill her husband.”

“You were there? Nobody told me.”

I ignored that. “I know you found digoxin in the shrimp dip.”

“You are a woman with mysterious resources.”

I ignored that, too. “Kirk, why would anybody keep shrimp dip around that long if they’d loaded it with a lethal drug? Hildy’s not stupid.”