A Truth for a Truth (8 page)

I wondered at all the interactions I’d had with Hildy since Win’s death. She’d been so focused on the memorial and graveside services, the reception afterwards, the flowers, the music, the photographs. I’d been surprised that she’d been so serene through it all, and I’d waited for her to crash, as people sometimes do days, or even weeks after a death, when the reality of the loss finally penetrates.

But maybe the loss had been welcome.

I shuddered.

“Now I do have to get home.” Sally stood, thanking me for the pizza and pressing papers from her purse in my hand on the way to the door.

“I’ll keep this to myself,” I told her. “Of course I’ll have to tell Ed, but he’ll be discreet.”

“I know.” She patted my hand and left. I stood at the door and watched as she walked to her car, but the entire time, Sally’s story was taking on a life of its own. Why would a wife be shouting another woman’s name in anger after a party for old friends? Especially after a fight with that woman just moments before? A fight that had ended with the other woman fleeing?

Just how angry had Hildy been at her husband?

I was afraid it was a question that other people might be asking very soon.

People in uniform.

Ed finally woke up at one and found me sleeping peacefully on the sofa downstairs.
I
woke up when he banged his shin on our coffee table and said a few unministerial words. We had scrambled eggs and toast at the kitchen table, and I recapped the entire day, since even the parts when his eyes had seemed open were hazy to him.

I finished with advice. “And Geoff Adler says you’re never to take two antihistamines at the same time, even if you have to do a memorial service in a lily field.”

“I had that part figured out. Thanks.” Ed rested his head in his hands. “How will I get through Sunday?”

“Not to worry.”

He looked up. “Do I want to know what you’ve done?”

“Just start planning where to put a dozen potted hydrangeas when Easter services are over. And how we’ll pay for them.”

He smiled, which is all he ever has to do to make my nerve endings jitterbug.

I watched the smile fade as the events of the day began to make more sense, and I nodded. “I know. It’s a pretty terrible thing to wonder if a colleague was murdered. I hope the autopsy doesn’t turn up anything more than a heart that got tired of beating.”

“Who would want to kill Win Dorchester?”

I told him about Sally’s visit, since he seemed able to comprehend almost anything now. He looked more and more unhappy as I spoke.

“Do you know much about Marie Grandower?” I finished. “She’s not in town very often, is she?”

“Almost never. She’s one of our wealthier members, but her pledge to the church is minimal.”

I’d hoped for more than a financial report, but I sensed there
was
no more. Apparently Marie had been present and active during Win’s ministry, though. How active and in what ways? I hated to speculate.

We finished our meal and stacked dishes in the sink. Ed promised he wouldn’t snore, and like a fool, I believed him.

The next morning I slept in. Ed was up at first light, and promised he would get the girls off to school while I tried to make up sleep after his chain-saw nocturne. The next thing I knew, Hildy’s voice was bellowing up our stairwell.

“Aggie! Aggie, it’s Hildy.”

There was no point in pulling a pillow over my head and ignoring her. Hildy would be up the stairs tugging me out of bed before I could get back to sleep. I pictured a brisk round of jumping jacks and a jog around the block as she instructed me on the proper way to fold napkins for church potlucks. I sat up, pulled on a robe, and went to the head of the stairs, peering down through slitted eyes.

“What . . . time’s it?”

“It’s late. It’s almost eight. I just thought you’d be awake by now—”

“Why?”

She looked puzzled. “In case somebody needs you.”

I pondered this. Who would need me badly enough to come knocking before breakfast? And even so, was it my duty to be up and dressed, just in case? I wondered if I’d missed that course in seminary.

Oh, wait!
I
didn’t go to seminary.
Ed
went to seminary. I just married him, in spite of it.

“Be back,” I said, with a vague wave of my hand. “I bet there’s coffee . . . in the kitchen.” I turned and felt my way back down the hall to our room.

One quick shower plus jeans and a sweatshirt later, I made my way downstairs. Hildy had not only found the coffeemaker and brewed a fresh pot, she’d found the dirty dishes from our late-night breakfast, washed them, cleaned my counters, and sliced bread for my breakfast.

Hildy’s husband had just died, and she was taking care of
me
.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, glancing out the window at heavy rain. I hoped that meant the aerobics were on hold. “I just had a rough night, and I was catching some extra sleep. I guess Ed drove the girls to school.”

“When we lived here, people were always dropping by, at all hours. I used to tell Win it was Grand Central Station, but I never minded. It was part of my job.”

I knew better than to correct her. Hildy felt a calling to this life. She had embraced it with enthusiasm, even, for the most part, excelled. My own take was different. I tried to view myself as another member of our congregation. I was even putting together a book on Tri-C’s history, using a scrapbook I’d done a few years ago for the Women’s Society and material from our archives to celebrate the church’s 150th anniversary. But the moment I began to feel obligated, to rise early in case I might be needed by some commuting congregant, to micromanage every social event and reception, to view my marriage as a “job,” I planned to resign from the church and take long walks on Sunday mornings. Ed needed a wife. The church could live without one.

“We don’t have a lot of droppers by,” I said. “I hope you’re making some toast for yourself, too.”

“I’m too upset to eat.”

I examined her more thoroughly. Hildy did look frazzled. Her hair wasn’t as neatly pinned as usual. Her white blouse was rumpled, as if she’d pulled it out of the laundry hamper this morning. And she wasn’t bustling pleasantly. She was bustling like somebody who was afraid to stop.

Of course why wouldn’t she be upset? Yesterday her husband’s body had been spirited away to the morgue instead of our local cemetery. Win Dorchester had not received the dignified burial he’d deserved.

“I’m so sorry about yesterday,” I started. “I hate that I was the one who—”

She waved me to silence. “What choice did you have? I just didn’t understand. I didn’t know! I thought . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know what I thought. If I’d thought, I’d have known you would never cause a problem in church, if you didn’t have to. You would know how badly it might reflect on Ed.”

I didn’t wince, but that took a great deal of self-control. “I was more worried about you than Ed, Hildy. I knew my announcement would be a shock.”

“The police called this morning. They want me to come down to the station. They were asking so many questions. Whether Win and I were happy together. Who might have wanted him dead. Why I didn’t call an ambulance sooner.”

That last part was new to me. “I just assumed you called the ambulance right away.”

“I called them the moment I found him! But I didn’t follow him outside, so that took a while. Who follows somebody outside while they’re emptying the garbage? Do they think I checked up on everything he did?”

Her voice was rising, and I tried to soothe her. “I’m sure they’re just making certain everything’s okay, Hildy. If this is a mur—” I changed course. “A suspicious death, they’ll be asking lots of other people questions. See if they don’t.”

“They want a full accounting of any problems in my marriage! They want to know if I killed Win. That’s what they want to know.”

“Did they ask you that?”

“Not in so many words. I think they’ll wait until I get to the station.”

“Hildy, if they really were suspicious of you, they would have sent an officer to get you.”

“They offered.”

I was sorry to hear that, but it might mean nothing. The authorities knew Hildy’s husband had just died—who would know better? Quite possibly they figured she wasn’t up to driving herself. Cops are always thoughtful, right?

“Um, I know more about this kind of thing than I should,” I said. “I can tell you it’s way too early to worry. The, um, autopsy will probably show he died of natural causes. He had a heart condition. His doctor even certified the death without an examination. Another heart attack wasn’t unexpected.”

“I don’t know if it was a heart attack. His heartbeat was irregular, and in Westbury, where we were living, they’d had problems getting his medications adjusted. Win had always trusted our family doctor here, Dr. Jake Gordon, do you know him?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Jake was part of the reason we moved back. At least that’s what Win said . . .”

That last part was so loaded, I was afraid to touch it now, while Hildy was obviously upset. “So what happened with Dr. Gordon?”

“We thought he’d worked wonders in the month we’d been here. Win wasn’t a well man, I’ll grant you. But he trusted Jake, and for once he listened and did what he was told. I thought . . . I thought he was going to get better. I was trying to keep our life on an even plane. I was trying to help him avoid stress. Then that night—”

She stopped abruptly and shook her head.

I wished I knew what to say and do. I wasn’t about to interrogate Hildy. But I wondered if she wanted me to ask leading questions, if she had things she needed to say to somebody. Hildy viewed me as Ed’s appendage. Could that be why I was the chosen one? Or was it because I had a certain reputation for sticking my nose where it wasn’t wanted?

“I need a lawyer,” she said, before I could decide.

“You do?”

“I do. I’m not going to the station without one. The man on the phone, Detective Rousseau?”

“Roussos. He’s blunt but fair.” I didn’t add that I counted Kirkor Roussos as a friend, even though we’d never discussed anything as intimate as friendship.

“I can’t believe anybody would think I might do something as horrible as murder my husband!”

I crossed the room and grabbed her hand. “You don’t know anybody does, Hildy. Don’t blow this out of proportion.”

“Do you know a good lawyer?”

“I know exactly the right man for the job. You sit. Drink some of that coffee you made. Eat my toast so you’ll have something in your stomach. I’ll call him.”

Hildy was used to giving orders, but she sniffed and nodded. I figured she had to be upset to give in so gracefully. She sat, and I poured coffee and brought her the toast. She cut off the crusts before she ate it. But what’s a crust or two when murder’s on the menu?

Yvonne’s son Jack was an attorney in his late twenties at one of our town’s better law firms, but Jack McAllister was still young enough to enjoy his job and greet the day with enthusiasm. He’d been lured back to Emerald Springs after law school with the promise he could work in criminal law when cases appeared. Of course, despite the number of bodies I’d personally witnessed, our fair city was not a teeming hotbed of murder and mayhem, which was why Hildy was able to get an immediate appointment. I was afraid Jack was planning to wander elsewhere before long, somewhere darker and grittier. Possibly somewhere closer to my sister Sid, who lived in Atlanta and admitted that she and Jack had a hot e-mail correspondence.

Hildy, of course, remembered Jack as a gap-toothed towhead who’d played the part of Joseph in our religious education department’s nativity pageant. She had to tell him so, but without her usual enthusiasm.

I noted Jack’s office had been upgraded. He now had a window of sorts looking over the Oval. He was working his way up the lawyerly chain. I calculated and decided he must be a fourth-year associate, probably still working under the careful eye of a partner but able to proceed a certain distance on his own.

He gestured to chairs and asked if we wanted coffee.

I turned to Hildy. “I wasn’t expecting to stay. I’m sure you need some privacy—”

Her outstretched hand implored me to stay. “Please, don’t go. You might as well hear this straight from me and know what’s up.”

I gratefully accepted the coffee to help steel myself, but I was glad to be present. Sadly, I’m always glad to be anywhere when secrets are told. Jack went to get the coffee himself, which said a lot, I supposed, about his status.

“He was probably thirteen when we left town,” she said, after Jack disappeared.

“He’s all grown up now,” I assured her. Wide-shouldered, athletic, handsome enough to turn heads. I imagined someday, like Hildy, I’d be awed by the changes the passage of time had made in children I knew.