Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “No. I want to stay with Phil. He needs me.”

  Her pathetic voice ripped Phil’s heart. Was it worth it? Was this truly going to help anyone?

  Adam left the kitchen to call the family attorney. In the home office, he closed the door, sat at the desk, and stared sadly at a framed family photo taken last Christmas. After several minutes, he opened the address book and looked up Dave Holloway’s number. He was an estate attorney, but unless you were a member of the mob, what ordinary middle-class family had a criminal lawyer? Over the years, Dave had taken care of the Hobarts’ estate planning and had become a trusted friend and golf buddy.

  After a short, difficult conversation, Dave suggested a criminal attorney in his building. Adam asked if he would call for him.

  Holloway put Adam on hold while he rang Jeri Slater’s line and gave her a brief run-down, then came back on the line with Adam. “I gave her your number and she’ll call in the next few minutes. Phil will be in good hands, Adam.”

  At 1:10, Jeri Slater held open the Santa Lucia Police Headquarters main door and ushered the Hobart family in. She told the desk clerk that Angela Yaeger was expecting them. A few moments later she came out to greet them.

  Slater stepped forward. “Angela, I’m Phil’s attorney and will be representing him in this conversation.”

  “It’s nice to see you, Jeri,” said Angela with a frown, mystified as to why Phil needed an attorney. She noted Penny’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes and Adam’s stony demeanor. “Why don’t we go into one of the conference rooms where we won’t be disturbed.”

  In the room, the group clustered in a corner until Angela closed the door and told them to be seated at the long, rectangle table. A moment later, Officer Yee entered and took a seat.

  Angela activated the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table. “Phil, I gather what you have to say is of a serious nature, so I will be recording our conversation. Is that all right?”

  He glanced at Slater for approval. She nodded and placed her own recorder on the table.

  “Yes, ma’am.

  Angela switched the recorder on and clasped her hands on the table. “I am Detective Angela Yaeger of the Santa Lucia Police Department. Today is Tuesday, May 21, 1996. The time is 1:27 p.m. I am speaking with Phillip Hobart. Phil, please state your full name, age, address, and today’s date.”

  Phil spoke softly, “Phillip Adam Hobart.”

  “Please speak louder,” Angela directed.

  “Phillip Adam Hobart.”

  Within the first sixty seconds of his narration, Angela realized he was confessing to Lindsay Moore’s rape and murder.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Killer Scarf

  By Katy McKenna on Friday, April 19

  I woke at dawn with Christy Hobart on my mind. It was too early to get up, so I tried various positions to fall back to sleep, but just as I’d start to float off, she’d drift into my thoughts and snap me awake again.

  Mrs. Watkins, the school secretary, had told me how Christy had been shunned by her friends, as though her brother’s crimes were her fault. Guilt by association. The poor kid had even tried to commit suicide. Somehow she’d survived that rough time and now was married and having a baby. That and an extreme need to pee got me out of bed. Daisy and Tabitha were not having sleep issues and took no notice of my exit.

  As soon as I had a few swallows of caffeine under my belt, I sat at the kitchen table and called Samantha. It was 5:55 a.m. She’d be up savoring some moments of quiet and a cup of tea before the pandemonium of getting the kids off to school commenced. She answered on the second ring.

  “You’re up early,” she said. “What gives?”

  “I woke up thinking about Christy. Did she have her baby?”

  “Not on my watch. She was at five centimeters when I left at five-thirty last night.”

  Knowing next to nothing about the birthing process, I asked, “How many centimeters do you need to deliver a baby?”

  “Ten. So she had a ways to go. These things can drag on and on, or they can suddenly shift into high gear and it’s baby time. That’s how I was with Casey. Went from three centimeters to ten in about thirty minutes. Hopefully by now she’s cuddling her little newbie.”

  “How was her mother when you left? Had she calmed down about the petition?”

  “Seething but keeping it under control. The doctor made it abundantly clear that if she wanted to remain with her daughter during labor, she was not to upset her.” I heard Sam sip her tea, so I did the same. “I went in to say goodbye to them before leaving, and Mrs. Hobart walked out into the hallway with me and asked if I knew who’d started the petition.”

  Without thinking, I blurted, “Oh, no. You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “Are you kidding?” She was dumbfounded and rightly so. “Do you honestly think I’d do that to you?”

  “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

  “Yes, it was, but you’re up way early, so I’ll give you a pass. Hold on.” She took another swallow. “I told her I had no idea who’d made the petition.”

  “Yesterday you said you thought she might be a little crazy.”

  “How do I put this?” Samantha paused. “I understand that she was stressed out with her daughter being in labor and all, and it had to be very upsetting to see the petition, but I think most people would’ve chosen not to call attention to themselves considering what he was convicted for. But I definitely think there’s a screw loose. There was a look in her eyes that was really off. She gave me the willies.”

  “Are you working today?” I asked, hoping it was her day off.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I hope no one on staff told her I was the one who brought in the petition.”

  “What will you do if she confronts you?”

  “Well, it’s pointless to lie if she already knows, so I guess I would tell her that most people feel her son hasn’t paid his debt, and that’s why I brought the petition in. With any luck, it won’t come to that. Hold on.” She put me on hold for a few seconds. “Spencer’s on the other line. He’s in Albuquerque. Talk to you later, okay?”

  I dumped my coffee in the sink, no longer able to stomach it, and showered and dressed in my daily ensemble, topped off with my favorite pink floral scarf.

  It was 6:20. I curled up in the chair by the French doors and thought about Mrs. Hobart. Had I put my best friend in danger? A shiver ran down my spine and I chided myself about watching too many of those “women in peril” movies on the Lifetime channel. Mrs. Hobart had to realize the community was not going to welcome her son back with open arms. My thoughts started to drift, so I pulled a throw over me and snuggled into the cushions and closed my eyes for a quick power nap.

  Daisy nudged me awake, begging for brunch since breakfast time was long past. It was almost 11:00 so I fed my girls and rummaged in the fridge for something to satisfy my rumbling tummy, but nothing was inspiring me. I decided to go by the hospital and see if Samantha could take a break for an early lunch with me in the cafeteria. Yes, I know. Hospital food? Really?

  Truth be told, my curiosity was getting the better of me. I wanted to know what was going on with Christy and her mother. I thought I might quit worrying once I saw them—from afar. I couldn’t think of any good reason for Penny Hobart to know who I was.

  The maternity ward is on the second floor. I went to the nurse’s station and asked the nurse staffing the desk to tell Samantha I was there and then sat in the waiting area. I thumbed through a Parents magazine and felt my heart tugging at the smiling babies looking adoringly at their mommas.

  I want one of those. I chewed a nail that was threatening to grow, dreaming of my own perfect someday-baby. My musings slid to Chad and Heather’s impending triplets, and an intense spike of jealousy slammed me in the gut. It should have been me—but with only one baby, not triplets—no way could I handle that. And certainly not with Chad-the-cad. I tossed the magazine on the table just as Samantha buzzed through the locked door.


  “I saw that,” she said, standing with hands on hips. “Your time will come, and you are so lucky you didn’t have any babies with Chad. The marriage wouldn’t have lasted, and you would’ve been tethered to that loser for years to come. Birthdays, holidays, weddings. Look at Spencer and me. Chelsea’s mother couldn’t care less what her daughter is doing, but even though Spencer has full custody, there she is, constantly stirring up trouble and confusing Chelsea. It just drives me up the wall.” She stopped abruptly and sat down next to me. “Claudia is such a bitch.”

  An elderly woman sitting in a corner chair knitting something pink cleared her throat and cocked a reproachful eyebrow at us.

  Sam saw her disapproval and apologized, then turned back to me. “She called and told me she’s breaking her promise to take Chelsea to Disneyland when school lets out, and I get to be the one to tell her. So not fair.”

  I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder. “Maybe we can move this to the cafeteria and get something to eat. Sounds like you could use something sweet.”

  “I could use some cake. Preferably chocolate.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she stood up to join me. “What’s going on with your nose?”

  I touched the bandage covering it. “It’s actually a funny story and I’ll share it with you over cake.”

  We walked down the hallway to the elevator. The doors opened and we stepped aside to allow the passengers to exit.

  “You!” screamed a gray frazzle-haired woman in the elevator, pointing at Samantha. “You bitch! You lied to me. You’re the one who brought that vile petition into this hospital. How dare you?”

  “Oh God,” muttered Sam. “It’s Penny Hobart. Guess she hasn’t calmed down.”

  The other passengers quickly distanced themselves from the angry woman, although curiosity forced a few to stop and observe the scene from down the hall.

  Mrs. Hobart rushed at Samantha swinging a humongous, red patent-leather purse. Sam ducked and deflected the blow with her forearm.

  I yanked the heavy purse away from the wacko and flung it across the floor shouting, “I did it. Not her.”

  Hobart turned to me. “Who the hell are you?”

  That was where I lost all reason as I dredged up my righteous, stupid indignation and declared, “Katy McKenna. Someone who wants to make sure your son pays his debt in full. Someone who knew Lindsay Moore—a sweet kid who died because of your son. Someone who doesn’t think fifteen years in prison can even begin to right that wrong. Some—”

  Her eyes bulged, her lips curled back revealing ugly brown, smoker’s teeth, and she lunged at me shrieking, “Shut up! Shut up!”

  She shut me up by grabbing the pink silk scarf looped around my neck and yanking it into a lethal hangman’s noose. I tried to dig my fingers under the cloth, but she had a death-grip on it and jerked harder. At that point, everything was in blurry slow motion, but in my surreal fog I heard Sam screaming for help, while Hobart kept shrieking, “Shut up! Shut up!”

  Sam punched Mrs. Hobart in the chin just as a burly security guard ran up and grabbed Hobart from behind. The tenacious crazy woman still gripped my scarf, jerking me toward her like a dog on a choke chain. White sparkles twinkled around me as I sank to my knees. Sam finally pried the scarf from Hobart’s locked fingers and I crumpled to the floor, sucking in delicious oxygen as she removed the killer scarf from my neck.

  I peeped up from my sprawled position on the cold terrazzo floor, afraid to make eye contact with the lunatic lady. I was relieved to see the security guard had her restrained. Samantha was right. Penny Hobart was nuts.

  Sam helped me sit up, and with the assistance of another nurse, they got me on my feet and to a bench on the wall.

  “Mom?” A beautiful, ivory-skinned, raven-haired woman wearing a blue satin robe approached the group. “What’s going on?”

  “Christy! She’s the one who brought the petition here,” Mrs. Hobart hissed, glaring at me. “It’s all her fault.”

  Samantha was sitting next to me checking my pulse, but she corrected Hobart. “No. I’m the one who brought it here, not her.”

  “But she said she did it,” said Hobart, jutting her scraped, swelling chin at me.

  “I…” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat and squeaked, “I made the petition.”

  “And I brought it here because I agree with her,” said Samantha. “Fifteen years is not enough punishment for killing Lindsay. Not by a long shot.”

  Christy was a little wobbly and sat on the bench next to me.

  Hobart screamed at her daughter, “Get away from that bitch-liar.”

  I tried to speak to Christy, but my voice was raspy. “I’m sorry for all this. I read the news article about your brother’s parole and remembered Lindsay and—”

  “I can barely understand you.” She put her hand over mine. “But I know what you’re trying to say and it’s okay. I get it. But my mother never will.”

  “Do you want to press charges?” the security guard asked me.

  Hell, yes! “No,” I croaked. How could I do that to Christy? “I don’t think she really meant to hurt me.”

  “Like hell I didn’t!” Hobart snarled as the guard released her. “You and your lies are the reason my son’s in prison!”

  “Mother!” shouted Christy. “The reason Phil’s in prison is because of the crimes he committed.” She dropped her voice. “Please, Mother. Just let it be.”

  Mrs. Hobart stepped closer. I involuntarily cowered behind her daughter and pulled my cardigan up over my nearly-garroted throat. Sam stood, shielding me with her body as the guard moved towards Hobart, ready to grab her if she went berserk again.

  She leaned into her daughter’s face. “You have never understood what my poor baby went through. You and your father. Both the same. Have you ever, ever given one thought to what it has been like for your brother? Ever?”

  Christy didn’t flinch under her mother’s icy glare. “Dad’s dead. Remember? He died from the stress of the trial.” She narrowed her eyes and returned the glare. “Have you ever thought about what it was like for me? Your daughter? Ever?”

  Hobart straightened up and adjusted her sweater. “You were fine.”

  Christy laughed as she teared up. “That must be why I tried to kill myself when I was sixteen. Because I was so fine.”

  Samantha whispered to the security guard, “She needs to leave now, but before you escort her out of the building…” She turned to me. “Are you certain you don’t want to press charges? She assaulted you.” Sam bent and whispered in my ear, “Katy, she’s certifiable.”

  “How long can they hold her?”

  “Seventy-two hours, I think.”

  “Then she’ll really be pissed off,” I said. “Take a look at your arm. She assaulted you, too.”

  There was a nasty red welt on the underside of her forearm caused by the gold buckle on Mrs. Hobart’s tacky purse. Samantha twisted her arm around and inspected it, and then flexed the sore, grazed knuckles that had connected with Hobart’s chin. “Against my better judgment, I’ll let this go.” She moved close to Hobart, locking eyes with her. “You need to understand how lucky you are that we’re letting you go. But understand this—you are barred from this hospital. If I see you in here again, I will have you arrested.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’ll sue you for hitting me. And the hospital, too.” Hobart swiveled her deranged eyes over to me. “And you most of all. This is all your fault.”

  Sam pointed down the hall. “You leave now, or I’m calling the cops.”

  The guard took Mrs. Hobart’s arm and she tried to jerk away. “Let go of me.”

  “Please, Mother,” said Christy. “You’ve done enough damage, please just go.”

  “All right, Christy, I’m going. But don’t think for one minute you can keep me away from my grandson. I have grandparental rights, you know. You’ll probably be a lousy mother and I’ll sue you for custody of Baby Phil.”

  Sam follo
wed the guard and Mrs. Hobart down the hall. I watched until they were out of sight, then croaked to Christy, “I don’t know what to say. If I’d known this could happen, I never would have done the petition.”

  “Your poor throat.” She swiped at the tears dribbling down her cheeks. “As far as my mother goes, there’s nothing left to say. Phil was the light of her life, and his imprisonment broke her. The trial, losing all her friends,” she shook her head, “My father had a heart attack during the trial and died. And then I tried to kill myself with aspirin—so stupid…” Her voice faltered, and she paused to collect herself. “Phil tried to make her understand that he deserved to go to prison. That he wanted to go to prison, but in her mind, it was everyone else’s fault. Not his.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “This is supposed to be a happy day.” A shy smile lit her face and she whispered, “I have a baby boy.”

  “Oh. This is a happy day,” I said, suddenly hit with a rush of pure delight for a woman I’d just met but already felt close to, in spite of the odd circumstance. “What’s his name?” I knew it couldn’t be Baby Phil.

  “Neo,” she said, beaming. “Neo Adam Sutherland. It means ‘gift’ or ‘the one.’”

  Her eyes shifted to the hall and her smile widened. I looked to the source of her smile and saw a cute, nerdy guy wearing horn rims and a goofy grin approaching, lugging an enormous teddy bear. Samantha followed behind him with a wheelchair.

  “Hey, little mama. He kissed her cheek, and then backed away and scrutinized her face. “You been crying?”

  “I’m fine now. Devin, this is Katy and…” She looked at Samantha who was pushing down the footrests on the wheel chair. “You remember Samantha from last night?”

  “Hi, Samantha. Didn’t see you behind me. Have you met Neo yet?”

  “Not formally. Why don’t we wheel Christy back to the room and you can introduce us.”

  Christy climbed into the chair and said to me, “If you’re feeling okay, I’d love it if you came, too.”