A Truth for a Truth (15 page)

I hung up and told Hildy.

“Oh . . .” She sounded genuinely saddened. “I won’t have time to find their house and tell them in person. And they were both so fond of Win.”

“So they were big supporters?” It seemed obvious, but I was in investigation mode, and the Booths
had
been at the party.

“Oh yes, especially at first. They helped us settle in, find doctors and a bank, a veterinarian for our cat. All the things that are so hard when you move to a new community.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself. “Samuel was the board president for part of Win’s ministry here. That puts a different spin on things, you know, and it’s harder to be friends.”

That sounded to me like a qualification, as if perhaps Win’s relationship with the Booths had worsened further into his ministry. That was common enough when a church leader and minister don’t see eye to eye, and usually not permanent, but I made a mental note. Then I heard myself volunteering to drive to the Booths that evening to deliver the news. I couldn’t believe it.

“Would you?” she crowed. “That would be so wonderful. I would hate to bury Win without them. And they’ll want to be at the reception.”

Of course my offer hadn’t been completely selfless. If I was going to find out who killed Win Dorchester, then I needed to talk to everybody who had been at the party. An idea had been simmering since Hildy and I sat down at the table. I had the perfect cover. I could interview everyone who had been there, not as potential suspects, but as members who knew Win for the 150th anniversary history. It was perfectly legitimate. I’d saved Win’s section for the end, since I’d expected him to be right here, ready and willing to be interviewed himself. Now that this was impossible, I needed to interview his friends.

The friends who had been present when one of them had succeeded in murdering him.

I surfed Hildy’s wave of gratitude right into the subject I needed to broach. “Hildy, I know this is difficult to consider, but mentioning the Booths reminded me. Did anybody at your party”—I had no need to explain which party—“have a private quarrel with Win? Something that might make them angry enough to, you know . . .”

“Certainly not the Booths. We may not have been quite as close at the end, church politics, you know, but they were always supporters.”

“Anyone else?”

Her nostrils flared. “Marie Grandower. Even if that affair continued, which I don’t believe, Win wasn’t about to leave me for her. If he’d wanted to, he would have done it a long time ago.”

I had thought of that, of course, as had the police, most likely. But there was one flaw in the theory. A big one.

“Marie was the person who alerted the police that Win might not have died of natural causes,” I said. “If she killed him, why would she point it out?”

“Because she was hoping I’d go to jail for it! Or death row. Maybe she killed Win to get even with me.”

I winced at the mental picture of Hildy on death row. I could almost hear her asking her jailers how they were feeling, if they’d considered taking vitamins or maybe getting more sleep, as she took her final walk.

“That seems pretty extreme,” I said. “Kill a man you claim you love, just to get even with his wife?”

“Not so extreme if he rejected her that night.”

I supposed that was possible, but the logistics seemed impossible. “Didn’t you chase her away right after Win and she had their private talk in the yard? When would she have had time to get the pills and add them to the shrimp dip? Unless she did it earlier hoping
you
ate it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, but that’s doubtful. I never eat shrimp. I’m allergic to it. I only asked the caterer to make it because that recipe was Win’s favorite. People teased me about it that night, because I nearly died at a party in the parish house years ago, before I knew I had an allergy.”

So Marie would have known,
everybody
would have known, that Hildy wasn’t going to eat the dip. It really was likely that Win, whose favorite it was, had been the target.

“How about anybody else?” I asked. “Any possible grudges?”

“Why would we invite people who carried grudges to a party?”

“Just think back, Hildy. Fifteen years ago. Do you remember anybody who might have had a score they wanted to settle with Win?”

“These people were our church leaders. They worked hand in hand with Win, and they were his cheering section. They were devastated when he said he was moving on.”

I could see I wasn’t going to get any help from her on this. St. Win again, everybody’s favorite guy.

“And can you remember anybody at all going near the kitchen that night at the party’s end?”

“I wasn’t paying attention, Aggie. I was saying good-bye to guests. Then I saw Marie and Win . . .”

“One more question,” I said, changing the subject, to quickly move beyond that. “Let’s assume the shrimp dip was doctored late in the evening, after people finished eating. Why would the murderer think it wasn’t just going to be tossed in the garbage? It had been sitting out all night, after all. Seems reasonable the caterers would just throw out the leftovers for the sake of safety.”

Hildy chewed the inside of her cheek. She really was trying to help, but thinking like a murderer was just so far out of her realm, this wasn’t easy.

“Win wouldn’t let them,” she said after a moment. “I remember now. On her way out the caterer told me she tried to throw out the leftovers, but he said he wanted to keep them. She told him she wouldn’t recommend it, that if the dip especially went into the refrigerator, bacteria would breed. And he said . . .” Hildy swallowed. “He said, fine, just leave it out, he’d pack it away himself, so she wouldn’t feel responsible.”

“Oh.” I was sorry I’d asked, but the story certainly seemed to absolve the catering staff, more people I needed to check out.

“Everybody knew how much he loved that recipe,” she said sadly. “Somebody knew he would eat it that night or the next day. And what if the dip was thrown away? The murderer would probably have had plenty of other opportunities to kill him. Because these were our friends!” She ended on a wail.

“I’m sorry.” I patted her hand ineffectually. “Talking about this is hard. But we have to figure out all the possibilities.”

“Maybe somebody will confess.” She looked at me. “Most people are good. Maybe whoever did this will realize they can’t live with the guilt.”

“I don’t think we’re going to count on that,” I said. “Okay?”

For once, Hildy didn’t correct or lecture me. She just looked glum.

With everything else going on in our lives, I’d hardly seen Ed for a real conversation since the memorial service. So I was delighted when he walked in right between Hildy’s departure and the girls’ return from school.

“Quick,” I said, grabbing him and hauling him into the living room. “Sit. Speak.”

“Do I get a doggie treat if I obey your commands?” He settled himself on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. I snuggled close, and he put his arm around me.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen you for a conversation in such a long time,” I said. “It’s crazy around here.”

“And that’s different how?”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You have to admit, things haven’t been remotely serene since Win died. First the death, then the funeral, and now the investigation.”

“That’s a pattern that’s gotten to be pretty familiar.”

“But never with one of your predecessors, Ed.”

“Let’s make this one an exception and not the rule, okay?”

“You say that like I have control over who dies. I don’t have anything to do with that part.”

“Just the sleuthing.”

“Want me to stay out of this one?”

“If I said yes, would it do any good?”

“Try me.”

He was silent a moment, as if he was considering. Then he squeezed my arm. “I’m a fair judge of people, but it doesn’t take an ounce of insight to figure out Hildy didn’t murder Win. Almost anybody can be provoked to murder in the heat of anger, but whoever killed him planned and executed their part with care. Hildy’s incapable.”

This was as much of a blessing as I was likely to get, and a lot more than I’d usually gotten in the past.

“But stay out of trouble,” he added, before I could ask for confirmation. “And stay out of the sanctuary, okay? Figure out what you can and turn it over to Roussos the minute you’re really on to something.”

“Good idea. He listens so well, and he’s so impressed with my conclusions.”

“Build a good case. He’ll listen.”

I know when to let a subject drop. I told him about my afternoon with Hildy, and all the calls we’d made. “It looks like there’ll be a good turnout for the graveside service and reception,” I finished. “It’s nice of Geoff Adler to do the reception at his house.”

“He called me to suggest it. He said Win needed to be sent off with dignity, plus he wanted to show his support for Hildy. He wants her to know she still has friends and supporters. He said rumors are circulating.”

“I imagine Marie Grandower is making sure of that.”

“Marie won’t be at the service or reception. Geoff said he’ll make sure of
that
.”

“I guess Win’s affair with Marie is going to be common knowledge.” I remembered my conversation with Flo and related that now, along with the details of Ellen’s death and her relationship to Win. “Do you suppose Win was involved with Ellen Hardiger or her daughter, too?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? Once you step over a line, everything else you’ve done is suspect.”

“Hildy stood by Win all those years, even knowing what he was capable of.”

“She loved him, and love’s complicated. Sex, power, control. For some people it’s all tangled together. There’s never a good excuse to cheat on a spouse, but we’ve both known other men like Win, powerful men who change the world for the better by their actions and courage, and still have serious problems with fidelity.”

“You’re not defending him, are you?”

“Of course not. Not at all. But I am saying that along with the bad about Godwin Dorchester, there was good we can’t lose sight of. I wouldn’t have any trouble believing his relationship with the Hardiger women was completely innocent.”

“Or believing it wasn’t?”

“That, too, unfortunately.”

The front door opened, and Teddy came in. Most children are delighted to come home after a long day at school. Not Teddy. As much as she loves us, she’s always a little sorry classes are finished for the day. Today, though, she looked happy. Before she could tell us why, Deena came in, too.

“I’m going to speak at a rally for the pedestrian mall,” Teddy announced as Deena closed the door behind her. She was beaming, the way most children might if somebody had just announced a plate of chocolate chip cookies was sitting on the kitchen counter.

I held out my arms, too comfortable to go to her for a hug. “How did that happen?”

She joined us on the sofa, throwing herself across both our laps. “Mrs. Bere asked me. It’s okay, isn’t it?”

I tried to think of a reason it wasn’t okay, and couldn’t, although I did wish Ida Bere had asked us before she presented the idea to Teddy.

“We’ll have to speak to Mrs. Bere first,” Ed told her. He settled Teddy’s bottom on his lap and I got the length of her legs. I patted the sofa next to me for Deena, but she raised one eyebrow, as if to question my sanity.

“Why do you have to ask?” Teddy asked.

“Because we have to know what’s expected.”

“I already told her I would do it. She was waiting for me in front of school. She wants me to represent all the children of Emerald Springs.”

“Speaking is a big yawn.” Deena deposited her books on the stairs and started into the kitchen. “You do all that work, and in a minute it’s over with and nobody remembers a thing you said.”

“They’ll remember me,” Teddy said. She wasn’t arguing. She sounded convinced. “I’ll make sure they do.”

“Whatever,” Deena called.

“People are all different,” Ed told Teddy. “That’s what makes this an interesting world.”

Teddy helped me make four-cheese macaroni for dinner, and Deena put together a salad. Since Ed didn’t have any meetings tonight, he volunteered to do the cleanup, which left me without any excuses. I had all the time I needed to drive to Fern and Samuel Booth’s house to tell them about tomorrow’s graveside service and reception.

“Nobody needs help with homework?” I asked after the table had been cleared.

“If they do, I’ll help,” Ed said. “Quit stalling.”

“Easy for you to say.” But I went upstairs to get ready, and a few minutes later I was in my van on the way to Emerald Estates.

The Booths’ house resembles somebody’s fantasy of a French chateau. Blond brick, mansard roof, multipaned windows. The landscaping consists of tortured evergreens and in summer, regimented rows of annuals for color. Every blade of grass stands tall at exactly the same height. A walkway of the same brick leads up to the front door, and I am convinced if I ever stray off it, an alarm will sound.