by Leslie Meier
“That would be a big relief. That cash box just weighs on me every time I see it,” said Rosie, letting out a huge sigh. “When do you want to meet?”
“I’ll check with Pam and get back to you.”
The three women met a few days later, choosing the morgue in the newspaper office as the most practical spot. There they had plenty of room to spread out all the various invoices and checks on the big conference table, and the locked door made it a secure place to count up the cash. Lucy was amused to see that Rosie and Pam hit it off immediately; it turned out that they both had been high school cheerleaders. When they were finally done, Pam gave a quick rah-rah cheer and announced that they’d made a tidy profit, thanks to some unexpected donations from Hollywood movie people, including a few celebrities.
“Well, at least something good came out of that nightmare,” said Rosie, grabbing the museum tote bag she used as a purse and standing up, ready to leave.
“Before you go, I want to ask about something,” said Pam. “This is quite a bit of money. I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should set it aside in a separate fund; we could name it after Heather and use it for a special scholarship.”
Rosie sat back down, dropping the bag on her lap. “That’s such a nice idea,” she said. “Could you do that?”
“The committee would have to vote, but I think they’d support it,” said Pam. “What do you think, Lucy?”
“I think it’s a great idea, and I don’t think there’d be any problem getting it approved. It would be nice to have some recognition of Heather’s contribution. After all, the party was her idea, wasn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” declared Rosie, excited about Pam’s proposal. “Ty wasn’t for it at first, you know. She had to convince him it would be good for his career, which had actually kind of fizzled out. He wasn’t getting work, and she thought it would be a way to get his name out there. It’s the new thing, you know. Get yourself associated with a good cause, like Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.”
“I don’t think they donated,” said Pam, with a naughty grin.
“I don’t think they were asked,” said Rosie. “Heather stuck to people she and Ty had worked with, or friends of friends, that sort of thing.”
Lucy was trying to process this new information; she remembered Bill saying that Ty had landed a big contract that enabled him to renovate their house. “But you say Ty wasn’t getting work? How were they going to pay for the renovations?”
“This is completely off the record, Lucy,” began Rosie, giving Lucy a stern warning, “but the haunted house was a last-ditch effort by Heather to save her marriage. Ty was jealous of all the attention she received because she was sick, and then she got that inheritance, and he somehow got the idea that she didn’t need him anymore, that she thought he wasn’t pulling his weight.”
“So she came up with the haunted house to show her support for his career?” asked Pam.
“More than that. It was all to prove to him that she loved him,” said Rosie.
“I guess that didn’t work,” observed Pam, “since he killed her.”
“You said it,” said Rosie, lowering her voice and leaning forward, making eye contact with Pam and Lucy. “I heard, from one of his best friends, that he suspected she was having an affair.”
“Was she?” asked Lucy, finding this hard to believe. First it was drugs, now infidelity.
Rosie shrugged. “Not that I knew about. If she was fooling around, she was being very discreet.”
“But Ty was suspicious?” asked Lucy.
“More than that, he was determined to find out. And word is, from this friend, that Ty said he could forgive her if she ended the affair, but he’d never let her leave him. He said he’d rather see her dead.”
Lucy wasn’t convinced that Rosie was telling the truth; she suspected that this so-called friend had concocted the story, but she also couldn’t imagine why. She also wondered why Rosie believed it and would pass along such damaging gossip about her friends. On the other hand, Ty’s alleged sense of failure and his suspicions about his wife were typical behaviors of abusers. “Do you think that’s what happened? Do you really think Ty killed her?”
Rosie nodded and stood up, pausing at the door to put on her jacket. Then she twisted the button that unlocked the door. “That’s what it looks like, and if he’s guilty, I never want to see Ty again. I hope he goes to jail forever,” she said, opening the door and marching through the newsroom.
The little bell on the outer door was still jangling when Lucy turned to Pam and asked, “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Pam’s eyes were large with amazement. “I dunno. That was, well, pretty weird.”
“Quite a performance, I’d say,” said Lucy, remembering that Rosie was a puppeteer, skilled at manipulating an audience’s emotions. “I worked side by side with Ty, and I got no bad vibes at all. He was a hard worker, and I really got to like him.”
“I don’t know, Lucy.” Pam spoke slowly. “I’ve done some volunteer work on the domestic abuse hotline, and I know that it’s often the people you least suspect who are actually abusers.”
“I know,” said Lucy, who’d covered terrible stories of abuse, one of which involved a very popular local pediatrician. She gave a wry smile. “Actually, I don’t know. I’m really confused.”
“Well, the one thing I believe is the need to really listen to victims of abuse, especially women. For too long, their stories have been disbelieved, or mocked, or turned against them. We’ve all heard ‘she asked for it,’ right? Or accusations that she was lying because of some ulterior motive, like getting a decent, hardworking fellow into trouble.” She paused to stuff the money into a blue leatherette bank wallet for deposit, then zipped it shut. “I’m not saying we have to believe every word, but I do think we have to listen and take these stories seriously.”
Lucy nodded in agreement, but she was determined to keep an open mind about Rosie’s accusations. The more she thought about it, the more she thought Rosie, or more probably the mysterious “friend,” was simply trying to muddy the waters. On one hand, Heather was portrayed as a loving wife trying to save her marriage, while on the other, she was the unfaithful wife of an abuser. Was it possible that Heather was both?
After Pam left the office, Lucy settled herself at her desk, preparing to write up a story about new recycling regulations at the town’s disposal area. It wasn’t exactly riveting material, and her mind kept returning to the moment she’d discovered Heather lying unconscious in the tub. In the end, she decided, all she knew for certain was that Heather’s death seemed monstrously unfair. She was young, she’d successfully battled cancer to regain her health, and she should have been looking forward to a nice, long life.
She had finally finished up summarizing the new regulations, including the fact that pizza boxes would absolutely not be accepted henceforward, when her phone rang. It was Bob, inviting her to interview Ty Moon, who was now eager to share his side of the story. “He’s at your disposal, Lucy, any time you want.”
“The sooner, the better,” replied Lucy, who was ready to drop everything in order to talk to Ty. Maybe now she’d finally get the answers she was looking for.
* * *
As arranged, Lucy went to Bob’s law office that evening to interview Ty, bringing with her a list of questions. Bob himself greeted her at the doorway, explaining that since his secretary had left at five, they’d have plenty of privacy. “It’s not that I don’t trust her, but Ty is understandably nervous these days. There have been threats and nasty phone calls, and he feels as if he has a target on his back.”
Lucy wasn’t sure how to take this bit of information. Was Bob expecting her to write a flattering puff piece? If so, she decided, he’d chosen the wrong girl for the job. “I’ve been a reporter for a long time, but people never cease to amaze me,” she said. “Just when you think they couldn’t go any lower, down they go.”
“So true,” agreed Bob, helping
her take off her jacket and hanging it in the closet. “Come on into my office.”
Ty was sitting in one of the two captain’s chairs arranged in front of Bob’s desk, and he stood up when Lucy came in. “Thanks for coming,” he said, looking very serious. It seemed to Lucy that he had shrunken a bit in the last few days, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Always interested in a good story,” said Lucy, taking the other chair.
Bob settled himself in his usual spot behind the desk, but tilted his chair back and propped his feet on an open drawer, signaling that he was merely an onlooker. Lucy wasn’t fooled; she knew it was a pose and that he wouldn’t hesitate to jump in and intervene if he felt they were getting into dangerous territory.
“Well, I’m very grateful for the opportunity to clear things up,” said Ty. “Thanks for coming, Lucy.”
“Let’s get started then,” began Lucy. “How have you been?”
Ty seemed a bit surprised by the question. “What do you mean? My wife’s dead, and I’m accused of killing her. How do you think I am?”
“I don’t know; you have to tell me,” prompted Lucy.
He let out a huge sigh and slumped forward. “I’m sad; I miss Heather terribly. And I’m angry. I’m angry that somebody took her from me, and I’m angry that I’ve actually been accused of killing her, and mostly I just want things to go back the way they were, but I know that can never happen.” He stared at Bob’s framed diplomas from Colby College and the University of Maine School of Law that hung on the wall behind his desk. “Nothing can bring Heather back.”
“Did you know she was using drugs?” asked Lucy.
“Yeah. Because of the chemo. She said marijuana really helped her; she had a prescription for medical marijuana.”
“But that didn’t kill her,” said Lucy. “What else was she using?”
“Recreational stuff, nothing serious. A little cocaine now and then. To perk her up, she said.”
“Where did she get it?” asked Lucy.
Ty shrugged. “Friends. There’s plenty of stuff around.”
“You didn’t know about any other drugs? Like opioids?”
“Looking back, I should’ve been more suspicious, I guess. She was tired and depressed a lot, and I figured it was from the chemo and everything. I should’ve paid closer attention, but I was busy, working. You know how it is.”
“I heard you weren’t getting much work,” said Lucy. “Is that true? Was the haunted house fundraiser designed to promote your career?”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” said Ty. “I’ve been busier than ever, actually turning away work.” He looked down at his hands. “Well, until this happened. I’ve been open with my clients, letting them know that I’m finishing up my current projects, but I’m not taking on anything new, pending the trial.”
“And how are they reacting?”
Ty sat up a bit straighter. “I’ve been surprised. Really quite supportive. They all say they don’t believe a word of it, and they’re sure I’m innocent.” He gave her a half grin and shrugged. “That’s what they say; I don’t know if it’s what they really believe. It’s Hollywood, after all.”
“There’s also a rumor that your marriage was in trouble,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware that she was venturing onto thin ice.
Bob took his feet off the open drawer and sat up, ready to protest, but Ty waved his hand.
“It’s okay. There are always rumors, and the DA thinks I was trying to get my hands on Heather’s inheritance. It’s stupid; we were married. My stuff was hers, and hers was mine; it was always like that with us. We were going to use part of that money to renovate the house. We were happy; we had plans.” His voice broke. “We were going to start a family.”
Bob gave Lucy an I hope you’re happy now look, and she felt a bit ashamed of herself, but only a bit. Ty had requested the interview, and if he wasn’t ready to answer the tough questions, well, that was just too bad.
“I think we should wrap this up,” said Bob, standing up.
“Before I go, is there anything you’d like to add?”
Ty glanced at Bob, then began. “I just want to say that I’m innocent; they’ve got the wrong guy. I would never do anything to harm Heather, never. And the thing that really bothers me is the fact that while I’m waiting for trial, a dangerous killer is at large and may be ready to strike again.”
Bob cleared his throat. “I’d like to add something. I want to make it very clear that Ty is looking forward to the trial, and we are planning a strong defense that will prove beyond any question that he is entirely innocent.” He paused. “Did you get that, Lucy?”
“Every word,” said Lucy, turning off the cell phone she’d been using to record the interview. There were smiles and thanks all around, but when she left the office and walked to her car, she had mixed feelings. Who should she believe? Was Ty telling the truth? Or was Rosie?
Chapter Seven
Lucy checked her phone for messages when she left Bob’s office and noticed a text announcing that Andi Nardone, one of Bob’s opponents in the state rep race, was holding a press conference the next morning. Andi hadn’t been getting much traction in the campaign so far; her platform was similar to Bob’s, but she wasn’t as well known, so Lucy was intrigued. Did Andi have some sort of trick up her sleeve?
She was sitting front and center next morning at the Gilead Senior Center, where Andi was scheduled to speak at ten o’clock, but there was no sign of Andi. “Par for the course,” said Luke Halloran from the Portland Press Herald. He was a veteran reporter who’d pretty much seen it all and wasn’t shy about sharing it. “All these candidates run late because they want to look as if they’re in great demand and campaigning hard, when what they’re mostly doing is deciding what to wear and checking that nothing is stuck in their freshly whitened teeth.”
Lucy couldn’t help laughing, and he continued. “Andi, for instance, has got to do something about that frizzy hair of hers, and she’s got that New York accent, which doesn’t fly in Maine. Of course, her biggest handicap is that she’s got two X chromosomes; don’t ask me why, but voters don’t seem to like women much.”
Lucy knew there was some truth in Luke’s observations but, as a feminist, felt she had to stick up for her gender. “We’re making progress, especially in state and local races. There are quite a few women governors these days and growing numbers of women reps in Washington, along with a handful of senators.”
“True enough,” he admitted, “but, by and large, politics is a man’s game.”
Lucy was about to challenge that assertion when Andi arrived, accompanied by her campaign manager and sister, Haley Glass. They were both smiling broadly, greeting individual reporters by name as they made their way to the mics in the front of the room. Haley did a quick sound check and then handed the mic over to Andi.
She hadn’t straightened her hair, observed Lucy, but she had adopted a blue blazer and red-and-white-striped shirt as her campaign outfit, along with a tight blue skirt and red high heels. It was quite a change from the jeans and duck boots Andi usually wore for her work as owner of Green Thumb Landscaping.
“Thank you all for coming,” she began. “As you know, I’m a candidate for state rep, eager to bring some fresh air into that stale old state house.”
A good beginning, thought Lucy, and it earned some chuckles from the assembled reporters.
“It’s definitely time to weed out some of those non-producers,” she continued, getting a few more chuckles. “I think many voters will agree that the incumbent, George Armistead, began to wilt a long time ago.”
By now, the media audience was definitely with her, appreciating the quotable material she was serving up for them, and Andi was ready to dish. “While George is stuck back in the nineteen-fifties, I have to say my other opponent isn’t much better. Bob Goodman claims to be a progressive, but the fact that he has chosen to defend Ty Moon, an alleged domestic abuser accused of murderin
g his wife, reveals that his so-called progressive agenda is nothing of the sort. Bob Goodman is a walking, talking example of male privilege, and I challenge him to prove otherwise.”
That accusation didn’t go over very well, and when Andi paused for breath, hands shot up all over the room. Andi chose Lucy to ask the first question.
“Aren’t you forgetting that defendants have the right to a lawyer, and that they are considered innocent until proven guilty?” she asked.
“I have no quarrel with the American system of justice, when it’s applied equally and fairly, which we all know it is not. Just ask any African-American or Hispanic citizen who’s been forced into a plea deal,” declared Andi. “But every attorney also has the right to decide who he or she is going to defend. I submit that by choosing to defend Ty Moon, Bob Goodman has revealed himself to be a misogynist committed to perpetuating male dominance.”
“Don’t you think you’re oversimplifying the situation?” asked Bob Mayes, who was a stringer for the Boston Globe. “We don’t know what really happened to Heather Moon.”
Andi bristled at this challenge. “Don’t know! Heather Moon is dead! What more do we need to know? This young woman was victimized by a society that encourages and permits men to abuse and mistreat women. A society that refuses to take women seriously when they find the courage to speak up and accuse a man of sexual misconduct. Even today, if a woman accuses a man of abusing her, she often finds the tables are turned, and she becomes the defendant.”
Catching a warning glance from her sister, Andi realized her voice had risen and she was beginning to sound shrill. She took a moment to catch her breath, then pivoted to a safer topic.
“It’s simply true,” she continued, in a lower-pitched conversational tone, “that this society discriminates against women across the board, whether it’s career advancement, health care, or education. Do you know that women pay double what men do for a haircut? Check out the prices at the dry cleaner for women’s and men’s clothing; you’ll find that women are charged more. And what about drugs? If a menopausal woman needs a little hormone lift, she has to pay ten times more than a man pays for his Viagra! All this at the same time that women earn only eighty cents compared to the dollar that men take home.”
