by Liz Turner
“What was your answer?” Hallie asked.
“I told them that my father and I fought all the time, and that it wasn’t important!” Henry exclaimed. “It was a stupid fight.”
“But what was it about?” Hallie asked.
“I…I wanted him to spend less time with Sheila and more time with me,” Henry said. His eyes shifted away from Hallie as he spoke, fixing on an elm tree in the distance. His voice was mechanical. “I told him that she had to leave the house soon, because I couldn’t stand her. He said that would not happen. He told me they were planning to get engaged. That angered me, and I stormed out of the house.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, Hallie thought. No doubt, at some point, Henry had had this exact argument with his father. But something told her that this wasn’t what they’d spoken of last night. Right now, Henry was covering something up. But what?
“Maybe you think I killed my father,” Henry said, looking at her through mournful brown eyes. “But I promise you, I didn’t. I could never harm him. I couldn’t harm anybody.”
But did she believe him? He looked earnest, and his voice was full of emotion as he spoke. Yet, Hallie still didn’t think he’d told her the full truth. Whatever he was hiding, it could be key to discovering the true killer. She was about to tell him so, when Henry said, “Look, I know you’re a forensic expert, and I’ve put the house under lock and key for now. Would you come along with me and have a look? Perhaps you’ll find some clue that the police missed.”
Hallie nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”
She wheeled her bicycle next to Henry as they walked up Washington Street, then took the same shortcut through Morton’s field as she had last night. The field was more of a public park and at this time of day, full of locals. Old men with canes walked slowly along the jogger’s path, occasionally overtaken by serious young men in shorts and loose white t-shirts. Dog walkers hailed each other as their furry friends sniffed around. On one side, a group of children were playing baseball with sticks instead of bats, yelling passionately about whether the last batter had been struck out.
Hallie felt a twinge of emotion. All of it was so peaceful, so routine. After years of traveling through the world and treating the terrible wounds of soldiers—just boys, who’d been forced to grow up too early— part of her rejoiced at the sheer normalcy of it all. There was certainly evil out there—they’d fought a war against it. But now, on returning to Warrenton, she could breathe easy. The people surrounding her, for all their quirks, were, at heart, good, decent folk.
Not all of them, she reminded herself. Somebody here in town was a cold-blooded murderer.
Chapter 9
Ransacked
F or the third time in twenty-four hours, Hallie found herself in front of John Blackstone’s mansion. This time, she was better able to admire it. The driveway leading up to the house had an abandoned marble fountain beside it, depicting Atlas holding up the world. She left her bicycle leaning against it and walked on, up the stairs, through the arched entrance with its magnificent chestnut doors. There, she suddenly paused.
“Could you lead me around to the back entrance, instead?” she asked Henry.
“Of course, but why?” he looked puzzled.
“There’s something I want to see for myself,” she said.
They walked around to the back of the house, and Henry opened a tiny wooden gate to lead her through the overgrown garden.
“Your mother loved gardening, did she?” Hallie asked.
“How did you guess?”
“I can tell. It’s overgrown now, but you can still see that the foundation is beautifully laid out. With just a little effort, this could be grand again. Your father probably had no time to care for it after she was gone.”
“It’s not that he didn’t have the time,” Henry said. “He and Mother loved to sit out in the garden every evening. They had so many parties here too. After she died—I don’t think he ever stepped in it again.”
Hallie sighed. “That’s true love.”
“Have you any experience with it?” Henry gave her a twisted smile. “I mean, a husband, or—”
“I had a husband,” Hallie nodded. “Unfortunately, with the war, we never had the time to settle down. Then, right as the war ended, when I finally thought we’d see peace, James caught tuberculosis.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said.
She felt it easier to speak to him about it than anyone else although she’d been reluctant to talk when asked the same question last night. Young though Henry was, he was sincere, and he had seen war too. He understood. “James was everything to me. When he died, my world crumbled. I didn’t know what to do. And so I came back here, to Warrenton.”
“Why?” Henry asked. “It’s not as though you have family here.”
“I don’t have family anywhere,” Hallie said, her voice heavy. “I ran after adventure when I was young—chose to see the world and my career over family—and it seemed like a brilliant idea. But then the wars came, and the more I experienced of the world, the more I realized that huge and beautiful as it is, there’s only one place where you can walk down a street and feel like you belong. Home. Suddenly, I didn’t have James, I didn’t have my father, but I thought maybe, in Warrenton, as I met those who had known my family, I’d feel a little less alone.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose you understand that.”
“I do,” Henry said. “The more I saw of the world, the more I wanted to come back home to a place where everything was cozy and made sense, where people genuinely cared about me. But then when I came back to Warrenton, I realized that the place I’d been imagining was just that. Imaginary.” Henry paused. “I guess, Dr. Malone, that we make our own home with the little scraps life gives to us. I’m an orphan now, but maybe one day, I’ll carve out a place of my own: a few friends, a companion… a world that’s all mine.”
Hallie gave him a fond smile. “You’ve still got family, Henry. I hereby declare you my honorary nephew.”
He gave her an absurdly pleased smile. “Thanks. I know you don’t think she’s a murderer, but I’d much rather have you as an aunt than Sheila.” He paused. “Here’s the back entrance, by the way. Goes straight to the kitchen.”
Hallie paused, looking around her. They’d opened another small wooden gate, and now they stood on a concrete path that led on one side to an iron gate adjoining Morton’s field, and on the other side, to the kitchen. She walked up to the kitchen and peered into the window. As Gladys had said, the stove stood right next to it. With no effort at all, she managed to slide open the window and reach inside.
“Huh,” Henry said.
Hallie nodded. “Easy to poison. The stew just sat there from five pm onwards.”
“Do you really think that—” Henry’s words were cut off by the sound of a thud. He and Hallie shared a startled look.
“Someone’s in there!” Henry exclaimed. He unlocked the kitchen door and ran in. Hallie noted with surprise that he moved much faster than she’d expected. He was halfway up the stairs by the time she took her first step, and in seconds, he had burst through the door to his father’s bedroom.
“Be careful!” Hallie exclaimed, but Henry came back out of the room, looking disappointed. “Whoever it was, they’ve gone already,” he said. “The window was wide open.”
“Aren’t you going to give chase?”
“I had more important things to do,” Henry said, holding up a scrap of paper. “The thief grabbed some papers from my father’s desk and must have incinerated them in the fireplace, but this got left behind.”
Hallie took the scrap of paper from him and looked down at the neat cursive writing:
nothing but a thief.
Sincerely,
-J Blackstone.
Hallie wondered who John had been talking about. Part of her, rather cynically, also wondered if all this wasn’t terribly convenient. Just a way for Henry to dangle “evidence” in front of her that pointed somewhere else. It wa
s rather a coincidence that the thief should have made a loud noise just as they were outside after all. Then again… perhaps she was being too hard on him. The killer was probably still out there, satisfied with their work and feeling certain they had not been caught.
Chapter 10
A Cup of Cocoa
“Y ou look exhausted,” Debby remarked, as Hallie took off her coat in the hallway.
“I feel exhausted,” Hallie said with a smile. “The older I get, the more I need my beauty sleep, so it seems.”
“Worked the other way with my father,” Debby said, as she finished dusting the large vase that stood over the mantelpiece. “The older he got, the less he’d sleep. Became a proper night-owl. Why, he’d end up making pots and pots of food for himself at two am and forget to clean up after. Ah, but I loved him dearly. His recipes were crazy too—he’d make himself cocoa and add salted crackers into it.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Hallie said.
“But the crackers had cheese on them!” Debby exclaimed.
Hallie laughed and headed to her favorite armchair by the parlor window, grabbing a book from the bookshelf near it. She sat down and then jumped up immediately with a yelp, clutching her backside.
“What is it?” Debby asked, wide-eyed.
Hallie stared down. The sofa seat had a transparent, slimy ooze on it. She wondered with horror if this were some new kind of poison before coming to her senses. She heard a barely contained chuckle from behind the curtain.
She peeled apart the curtain, and Oswald, Debby’s young son, stood with his hands pressed against his mouth, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
“Oswald Edmond Norris!” Debby exclaimed angrily. “I’ll have your head for this! What do you mean by—”
To her surprise, instead of looking annoyed, Hallie had her hands to her own mouth and was stifling back giggles herself. Debby paused, confused, and gave an uncertain smile. Hallie burst out laughing.
“My goodness!” Hallie said. “The boy’s a proper genius. How did you make the ooze, Oswald?”
“Cornstarch, water, and lemon juice,” he said, sounding proud. “Read it in a book.”
“If you’ve left a stain on my sofa, I’ll hang you by your toes!” Debby said, poking at the ooze with a finger.
Oswald looked crestfallen. “It was just an experiment, Mom. I wanted to see if it camouflaged perfectly with the sofa.”
“It did a good job,” Hallie said. “Or perhaps I was too distracted by my book.” She shook Oswald’s hand, then pulled him closer and touched her nose to his. “But you, young man, have made a big mistake.”
Oswald’s eyes grew wide.
“You’ve started a prank war with me,” Hallie said. “Watch your back carefully… you’ll never know when I’ll strike!” She did her best to imitate evil laughter and twirled an imaginary moustache. Oswald turned red and ran out of the room.
“Oh, don’t encourage him, he’s terrible,” Debby said. “Everyone at school complains about his behavior. He can’t sit still in class, and he keeps taking apart every clock he can get his hands on. One time, I caught him on the roof trying to use a broom and a blanket to make a flying machine.”
“I was like that as a child,” Hallie said with a smile. “Some relative gave me a book called 100 Experiments for Young Scientists, and I nearly burned down the house a week later with some chemical reaction. I couldn’t sit for a day or two after the paddling my father gave me.” She smiled. “Curiosity is a good thing.”
“Sure, and what about poor old me, having to clean up all his messes after?” Debby asked. She groaned and stretched. “Would you like a cup of cocoa, Dr. Malone? I reckon we could both do with some.”
“I would,” Hallie nodded. “Will Gladys be back soon, Debby? Have you heard from her?”
“First thing tomorrow,” Debby said. “I’m glad, too. She’s the only one who can keep Oswald disciplined. Comes from being a teacher for years and years. I expect she dealt with little terrors like him all the time.”
Hallie disposed of the ooze, washed her hands, and plopped back down on the armchair. With a satisfied sigh, she looked out the window at the rose bushes and the steadily dripping rain.
“That’s going to increase to a proper storm soon,” Debby said, handing her a warm mug. “Want some cheese and crackers with your cocoa?” she joked.
Hallie shook her head playfully. “No thank you. This is just what I needed.”
“I heard there’s a special party being thrown for you tomorrow,” Debby said. “My friend Edith works at the hospital. She’s a nurse in the maternity department. Seems everyone is excited to meet you.”
“So it seems,” Hallie said. “Did she also tell you that I’m some kind of Sherlock Holmes?”
Debby turned red. “Well, I didn’t gossip with her or anything. She just mentioned it in passing.”
“Dr. Livingstone is a wretch,” Hallie grumbled. “It’s one thing to go through my files, but why tell the entire town about it?”
“Oh, it wasn’t Dr. Livingstone who—” Debby bit her lip.
“Ah,” Hallie said. “One of his assistants peeked at my file when it was on his desk, perhaps?”
“Well, if I told you that, the assistant would get into big trouble,” Debby said. “So, I won’t tell you.”
“Hmm.” Hallie took a big sniff of the cocoa and then a tiny sip. She let it sit on her tongue, melting into every taste bud, until she was in heaven. “Ahh. I can forgive you all the gossiping in the world, Debby, if you just keep bribing me with cocoa.”
“Such a pleasure to have sugar back on the market again.” Debby smiled. “I’ve lived too many years scraping by without it.”
“Speaking of sugar, Debby, what did you think of John and Sheila’s relationship?”
“I think she better leave town soon, before they arrest her,” Debby said. “Everyone’s saying she did it.”
“Do you think she did?”
“I never liked her one bit,” Debby said. “I clean Mr. Blackstone’s house twice a week. She’s as tough as nails beneath her Hollywood charm. Never had a kind word, always looking down her nose at me.”
“But do you think she killed him?”
“No,” Debby sighed. “I can’t see how it makes any sense. Why not wait until after they were married if she wanted his money?”
“Exactly!” Hallie said. “I can’t understand why other people don’t see it that way too.”
“Well, other people all have their reasons to point fingers at her,” Debby said. “Mostly so none are pointed back at them.”
Hallie sat up and looked at her with interest. Debby’s face, while round and cheerful, had an innate sharpness to it, and she had intelligent eyes. She was the kind of woman who’d walk unnoticed in John Blackstone’s house—and possibly hear more than she should.
“Do you know anybody John disliked?” Hallie asked. “Or anybody who disliked him?”
“Well, I know that when I went to clean his house a week ago, Mr. Blackstone was in the study, and in a terrible mood,” Debby said.
“What was he saying?”
“‘I already knew I was surrounded by thieves, but I can’t believe my own blood would betray me this way!’” Debby recited. “I couldn’t see who he was talking to, but he sounded vicious.”
Hallie paused. “His own blood? Henry?”
Debby took a sip from her mug and nodded.
“Did you hear anything else?”
Debby shook her head. “No. He saw me outside his study and banged the door shut in my face.”
“Ouch.” Hallie winced. “Not a nice thing to do.”
“My fault for snooping, I suppose.” Debby shrugged. “It didn’t surprise me that he and Henry had a row the night of the party. I suppose it’s been a long time coming.”
“But that’s all wrong.” Hallie frowned. “It’s wrong…” She lapsed into silence, staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts.
“Hallie?
” Debby nudged her gently.
“Never mind,” Hallie said. “Everyone’s so sure it’s Sheila. Gladys, Bert…”
“Oh Bert,” Debby snorted. “Now if the murder had occurred just one year ago, everyone would have locked Bert up without a second thought. Time changes everything!”
“Bert had a motive to murder John?”
“Used to. He was in love with Tina,” Debby said. “Always has been. It’s almost pathetic, really. Bert grew up with Tina, and for a little while when they were all teenagers, it seemed like the two of them would get married. Then Tina grew up and transformed into a beauty, and both Jackson and Blackstone started competing for her attentions. Bert had no chance. Tina chose Blackstone, and that was the end of any childhood notions of romance—for her. But Bert? He was still a puppy dog following her about. Funny, too, considering how he can be such a smooth Casanova with all other women.”
“So, Bert was in love with Tina,” Hallie said thoughtfully. “Did Tina ever encourage him?”
“Tina was loyal to John, and quite devoted to her son,” Debby said. “She still saw Bert often, because you can’t really avoid people here in Warrenton—but I think she was careful not to give him the wrong ideas. He got them anyway. I know for a fact that he would have jumped at the chance to be with her.”
“But would he have gone to the extent of killing John?”
“I would have said yes,” Debby said. “But what’s the point in speculating like this? Tina died a year ago, and Bert is innocent. There’s no reason for him to kill John now.”
“Jealousy that transformed into hate, a dangerous force,” Hallie mused. “What if Bert was heartbroken by Tina’s death and somehow wanted to punish John for it?”
“Oh, but that’s not possible,” Debby said, looking horrified. “I can’t believe—”
