“Back off.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hollis lifted the Post-it off her computer screen. She had worked a full day yesterday, so the message must have been left late last night.
Let’s meet at 3:30, after you’ve finished reading the letters.
—George.
Hollis crushed the note and threw it into the trash can.
Grabbing her mug and a tea bag, she went into the lunch room for boiling water. On her way back she stopped to refill the water cooler, and when she could think of no further reason to delay, she returned to her desk.
She took out the box. Only three letters were left and two were stamped “Return to Sender.”
Hollis opened the earliest “return to sender” letter. It was written in 1955.
Lisbeth,
I’m glad you’ve befriended Eric. From what I’ve heard, he needs a friend. I dislike putting this in a letter, but you refuse to take my calls. Even though we are cousins, I could also use a friend.
Lisbeth, I did not kill Charles.
Despite what Eric may have told you, he killed Charles. There, it’s out. I saw him that night standing on the ridge after he had left Charles’ body in the ravine. I think he knew I saw him but we silently agreed never to talk about it. Even when the police came and took him away, and he professed his innocence, I never said a word.
I may not have kept in touch with you over the months, but you didn’t reach out to me, either. I could have used a family member’s shoulder, or a friend’s hug to carry me through those dark days. I couldn’t face Eric after he went to prison; I knew my disappointment and regret would show in my face. I didn’t want to see him. Your judgment of me reached across the miles. Yes, I turned to Michael Koch; he gave me kindness when no one else would. He accepted me for all my faults and pettiness. He saw the good in me, dear cousin, even when I couldn’t find it in myself.
We are moving to California in a few weeks. Michael wants to join his brother in a new business venture. It would be so good to see you before I left. I could come to Rowan, or even Chicago, and we could have lunch or dinner. I am not sure when we will have the chance again. I don’t think I will be back.
We used to be close. I would like us to be close again. You were always like a sister to me. We are the only family we have left. I look forward to hearing from you.
From the heart,
Margaret
Lisbeth never opened the letter so she never knew Margaret’s side of the story. Hollis frowned. Lisbeth had passed judgment on her cousin, as had she. Hollis felt chagrined; she didn’t like finding that out about herself. After all, she had been falsely accused only a few years ago.
Still, Margaret had held on to Lisbeth’s returned letter of rebuff. Curious ….
She picked up Pierson’s report and turned to the biographical page, which indicated that Margaret had died of natural causes at eighty-eight.
The next letter, dated 1954, had been opened and stamped in the upper left corner with a government seal.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Koch,
I want to thank you for your generous donation to Congressman Guber’s re-election campaign. The Congressman is always glad to serve constituents who are as enthusiastic as he is about this wonderful country. Also, thank you for offering to sponsor a fundraiser in your lovely home.
Congressman Guber received your note of gratitude. He wanted to let you know that if he was somehow helpful in obtaining the release of Eric Ferris, then he was glad to assist. He knew once the governor was aware of Mr. Ferris’ circumstances, he would agree that a commutation was appropriate.
We look forward to seeing you in October. If we may be of further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact us.
Sincerely,
Kevin Werthy
Congressional Aide, 10th District
Hollis read the letter three times. Margaret had used her resources to get Eric out of prison. She wondered how her husband felt about that. Or maybe it was the price he paid to have the beautiful Margaret on his arm.
Picking up the last letter, dated 1957, a feeling of finality came over her. It had been stamped RETURNED. She opened it with resignation.
Dear Eric,
I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am because there are no words. I wasn’t the woman for you. I wasn’t the woman for anyone. I couldn’t bear seeing you in prison. I wanted to remember you the way you were before Charles died. I did you a favor getting the divorce.
I understand you were able to get a release. Hopefully, you went back to living a good life. Hopefully you didn’t let our relationship keep you from finding true happiness. Now it’s water under the bridge. The events that pushed us apart carried us away in a current of consequences that we never sought or deserved.
I know you’re wondering why after all this time I’ve gotten in touch with you. I’ve lived a full life, and although I never had any children, I have found peace. But I can’t find complete peace until I express my guilt and sorrow at the way things turned out between us. I’m not sure if this letter will ever find you, but I had to write the words.
I am so sorry Eric, for causing you any pain.
I understand you went back to Rowan and then moved to California. I hope you found peace as well.
Respectfully,
Margaret
Hollis took a sip of tea. She gently put the page back into its envelope. Well, George would be glad to hear that their client didn’t have any children. Margaret had written to Eric, but his heavy “return to sender” scrawl—and she had no doubt it was his—across the front of the envelope indicated he had had no interest in reading what she had to say. Margaret knew that Eric Ferris had returned to Rowan but chose to settle in California.
Near Margaret?
She had come to the end of Margaret’s story. There were no more letters. She wrapped the bundle together with the silver ribbon and headed down the hall.
In his office, George was deep in a volume of appellate cases.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said, putting the book down. “Why the glum look? You look like you lost your first case.”
Hollis shrugged and sat. “I’m finished with the letters.”
“Well?”
“It looks like there are no heirs. Margaret only had one cousin and she passed away many years before Margaret. She was her only family.”
George slapped his hand on the desk. “Great. Let’s finish filing the paperwork and get a court hearing date.”
“Don’t forget, I’m meeting with Kelly Schaefer next Tuesday. She says she has another letter.”
George shook his head. “Considering the timing of these letters, it’s unlikely that Margaret could have squeezed a child in.” He noticed the muted response from Hollis. “What?”
Hollis avoided his eyes.
“I’ve read the letters, and I guess I had a picture in my mind about who Margaret was. She was self-centered, vain, insensitive, and shallow. I didn’t think I liked her very much.”
“Hollis, you don’t have to like—”
“I know that.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Anyway, I fell into making assumptions. But the letters got to me. It’s different once you know a person’s background. Life is so … fragile.”
“I don’t know what surprises me more, the fact that your caring has caught you off guard, or that you let someone get under your skin, even though that person is dead.”
“George.” She took a large swallow. “You make me sound … sound cold and indifferent.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I think you just keep things tightly wrapped inside. Look, you’re probably just tired. I know I am. Go home and have a good weekend. We’ll aim for Wednesday to file the court documents.”
Hollis straightened in her chair and brushed imaginary lint off her sweater. “No, I’m okay. I can have the forms ready to go in an hour. If you look over my draft order, I can work over the weekend to finalize it.”
He ben
t down and gathered his briefcase and sunglasses. “No need to hurry. I’m going home. I have a life to get back to.”
Hollis flinched.
George steered her into the hallway. “Go home, Hollis, have some fun. I’ll see you on Monday.”
She gave him her fake peppy smile.
“I know, I’ll practice getting a life.”
At home, Hollis thought back to the conversation with George. She had to admit that her life was becoming a bit one-dimensional. But things were looking up. She had a date to get ready for on Saturday and a chance to break out of her protective shell. As she had for the past three days, she replayed the conversation with Brad in her mind—what she should have said, what she could have said, what she shouldn’t have said. By the time she replayed and replayed their conversation in her head, she was a mental wreck—a mental wreck with nothing to wear on her first date in six months. She’d have to improvise.
“Stephanie, do you think my black sheath is too formal for a Yo-Yo Ma concert?” Hollis asked, holding the phone to her ear and riffling through her closet with the other hand.
Whatever Stephanie was chewing sounded delicious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your black sheath.”
“You know, the one I wore to your Christmas party. You said I looked nice.”
“I was being polite; it was Christmas.” Stephanie stopped chewing. “Besides, you wouldn’t wear a dress to the Pavilion. You’re going to be sitting on grass.”
Hollis smiled to herself. “No, we’re going to be having dinner there, so we’ll have seats.”
“Hmm, nice, but it doesn’t matter, you still need to wear pants and a sexy top.”
Hollis was silent.
Stephanie started chewing again. “I get it. Even if you knew what a sexy top looked like, you don’t own one.” She wiped her mouth. “Don’t worry. You were good enough to help me with my evidence report last week. I’ve got to drop something off at the post office this evening. I can bring by a couple of potential candidates.”
“That’s okay; I can be at your house in a short while.”
It was Stephanie’s turn to be silent.
Then, “Why am I not surprised?”
Hollis ignored her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew her aversion to having people come to her home bordered on neurosis. She had taken a few psychology classes and knew it related to her trust issues—as in lack of. At any rate, Stephanie might be right for the wrong reasons.
Brad arrived exactly on time. By then Hollis was very pleased with her appearance. She and Stephanie had settled on an electric blue peasant blouse with colorful embroidery along an open V-neck—sexy without being obvious. With her black slacks and matching espadrilles, she felt confident he wouldn’t be disappointed.
And judging by the appreciative look he gave her, he wasn’t.
“Why, Miss Morgan, you look fantastic tonight.” He opened the car door as she came down the walkway. “Are you ready for a great concert?”
“More than ready. I’ve been studying for the bar and haven’t been out just for a good time in months.” She smiled. “Thanks for inviting me.”
He drove well—not too fast and with confidence.
“Have you known George long?” Hollis asked, to fill in the silence that had fallen between them.
Brad kept his eyes on the road. “I worked an assignment with a mutual friend. When George needed help with the Koch case, he contacted me.” He turned and smiled at her. “It looks like it may have been my lucky day.”
Their seats were stage front, about ten rows up a slight slope. Dinner was not the best she’d ever tasted, but an evening under the stars made it delicious.
Their conversation lagged until Yo-Yo Ma’s breathtaking performance silenced them, and there was no need for conversation at all. During intermission Hollis was ready with her prepared topics.
“So, I’ve been reading up on Margaret Koch. It wasn’t in your file, but I discovered that Margaret was married three times.” She didn’t want to sound smug, but she still heard it in her voice.
Brad stiffened.
“Really? Did you discover any heirs?”
From his tone, Hollis knew she was on thin ice. “No, you had that covered. I was reading old letters that she left behind—”
“My report stands. She didn’t have any heirs. My assignment wasn’t to chase out gossip—”
“Excuse me, but I wasn’t reading for titillation.” Hollis caught herself and took a breath. “Let’s start over. Isn’t Yo-Yo Ma fantastic?”
She felt his body shift. He laughed.
“Yes, he is. Are you enjoying yourself?” He turned and picked up her hand. “I didn’t mean to fly off like that.”
Hollis shook her head. “No, I’m the one who brought up work. And, yes, I’m enjoying myself very much.” She squeezed his hand then slipped hers free.
She racked her brain to come up with appropriate small talk. She had used up her limited repertoire, and the only topic left was the weather.
“You’re a beautiful woman.”
“What?” She came back from her own thoughts.
He laughed again. “Tell me, what would you rather be doing right now?”
Oh, oh, a trick question.
“Ah, you answer first.”
“I’m right where I want to be, with the woman I want to be with.” His blue eyes sought hers.
Hollis fought down panic. “I’m doing what I want to be doing, too.” She smiled, and then her smile faded. “Brad ….”
He raised his hand. “No pressure. Let’s just enjoy Yo-Yo Ma.”
“I agree.” She bit her lip. “Would it be really tacky to ask you a question about Margaret Koch, now?”
“Yes, it would.” He turned to the stage and shook his head. “But how about on the drive home?”
Hollis grinned and ran an invisible zipper across her lips.
The lights brightened and then faded to dim.
Intermission over, Yo-Yo Ma took the stage again. Hollis let herself sink into the mellow notes of the cello master. Her eyes closed, but from time to time she could still feel Brad’s gaze on her.
Afterward, they walked to the car at a leisurely pace, commenting on the memorable performance. Surprisingly they were out of the lot in record time.
“Want to go for a drink at Crowley’s?” Brad offered.
Crowley’s was a neighborhood bar and restaurant in Walnut Creek. Its view of the hills and themed Italian décor made for a classy, quiet and friendly atmosphere. It was Hollis’ ex-husband’s favorite hangout, but she didn’t hold it against the owner. She and Brad settled into a booth toward the back. Hollis ordered Pinot Grigio, and Brad a screwdriver. The drinks came quickly, and after making sure they wanted nothing else, the waitress left them alone.
“All right, you’ve kept your word. What do you want to know about Margaret Koch?”
Hollis had been fiddling with her cocktail napkin, waiting for him to bring up the subject. “I’ve been reading these letters sent to Margaret. They leave an image of a cold, selfish but attractive woman—but also someone with loyal friends who helped to get her ex-husband out of prison.” Hollis rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “What’s, or what was, your impression of her?”
“Well, obviously I never met the lady. She’d been married to Koch for over forty years, so I didn’t know about her ex-husbands. I pored over the public records. There were no living relatives and no heirs.” He waved the waitress over and pointed to his glass. She acknowledged him with a little wave and headed for the bar. “You’re right; I didn’t follow up on the first two marriages. But if she had any children I would have picked it up under Koch.”
“Brad, I’m not talking about what’s in your report, I’m talking about what did you think of—her?”
He cocked his head.
“She was a beautiful woman—smart, too. Her signature was on all the business documents and income tax forms. I got the sense Koch catered to her. He
was nineteen years older.” His drink came. “I don’t know, I guess I would say she’d be a catch.”
Hollis gave him a quick smile in understanding.
“A catch, huh.” She played with her napkin. She noticed he was looking around the restaurant. “Tell me, Mr. Pierson, what do you do in your spare time? Any hobbies?”
“Football. Can’t live without it.”
Hollis grinned. “Do you play?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Nah, I just watch.”
“And when football season is over?”
“I go over game tapes on my TIVO.”
Of course.
She leaned forward. “Tell me, how did a football junkie like you ever hear about Yo-Yo Ma?”
Now he looked sheepish.
“My mother has season tickets. She suggested the concert.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, what about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?”
Hollis shrugged. “I read. I love good music. I love good wine.”
“Hey, I love wine too.”
Hollis looked pointedly at his glass.
Brad smiled. “Well, not all the time, but I enjoy a good cabernet. Maybe we can go to the wine country sometime?”
Hollis’ eyes locked with his. She felt a shiver. “I’d like that.”
He touched her fingers lightly to his. “Do you think we could do it before pre-season football?”
The glint in his eyes didn’t escape Hollis’ notice. She laughed, throwing the cardboard coaster at his head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hollis could tell by Detective Cavanaugh’s furtive glances at his desk clock that he had mentally moved on to his next meeting. She reached across and turned it to face outward.
“Ms. Morgan I have other app—”
“I’m sorry if I’m holding you up, but I’m telling you: Cathy was murdered for her article. Everything points to someone who wanted her dead. Someone who doesn’t want the Fields’ story to come out.” Hollis sat on the edge of the chair and pounded the top of the desk with her fist.
Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) Page 11
