Deadly Descent

by Charlotte Hinger

  “Three times is three times. Old word, duty. Like I said, not many even know what it means.” He walked away then paused in the doorway. “You had a call. From the Hadleys. Said you’d probably call back. If you ever showed back up, that is.”

  Josie, sometimes. My mother, often. William, always. The only people who could turn me into a snarling wolverine. But William was the only one who did it on purpose, and he had to work at it, as I prided myself on self-control. Surely, he studied ways to get me. Stayed up nights dreaming up the right words.

  “I can help, Lottie,” Judy said eagerly. “Let me be here. Why not? You’re going to be…”

  “Gallavanting around sheriffing?”

  “Whatever.” She blinked rapidly. “There will be things here I can do, and it would help me. Right now, I’m just a receptionist. Think what it would mean to me to be able to show a few research skills on my resumé. Like it would move me clear up to a whole new level. Please?”

  She was wearing me down. I had to have reliable help at the historical society whenever I worked for Sam. But would Judy be the right person?

  “I’ll be out of your hair and back at my real job in a couple of weeks. With me helping, you could really concentrate on finding Mom’s murderer. Please?”

  I recalled her insistence on seeing the original story her mother had written, her noticing the shadow of a rose on back of the page. She paid attention to detail.

  “Okay. I can’t ask William or Margaret or any of the other volunteers to be here every day. But there are going to be ground rules, Judy. You break a single one, and you’re outta here. Got that?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  “First off, just because you see it, just because you know it, doesn’t mean you have to say it. In fact, I could tell people things about their families they don’t know and don’t need to know.”

  “You think I don’t understand that?” Her eyes clouded. “You don’t think I wouldn’t have given my left breast if this town had shown me a little compassion when I needed it? Do you know what I would have given not to be torn down, gossiped about. Ripped to shreds?”

  I knew then how good she would be. Hard times can work both ways.

  “Deal.” I stuck out my hand, changing her from pest to employee. “I want you here every day. On time.”

  “No problem,” she said, her face transformed with joy.

  “You know the importance of keeping your mouth shut. The old Swenson murder is a good example. It’s all over town now that I’m working on it for Sam Abbott. The walls have ears in this courthouse. This is the last time that people will know about anything connected with the Sheriff’s office through the historical society office, unless it really overlaps. I’ve got to keep the two jobs separate.”

  “You can trust me, I swear.”

  “Can you type?”

  “Sure.”

  “Use a computer? Do you know Microsoft Office?”

  “You bet.”

  “Okay. Then you can enter information on Access. Mainly you’ll answer the phone. As to the mail, just sort it. Don’t open it. I’ll take care of that when I’m in. Don’t retrieve phone messages either. Once in a while there’s things intended for only my eyes and ears.” I glanced at my watch. “Eleven o’clock, and I haven’t even started on my column for the county paper yet. If you don’t mind a tight fit I’ll set my laptop on a card table and you can enter old school records.”

  For the next few minutes we were busy arranging the room.

  “This is going to be a good deal for both of us, Judy.” Perfect, in fact. What better way to keep her under control than having her right beside me every day? “Now, I’d better return the Hadleys’ call.”

  “Brian? I didn’t know you were home. I was expecting Fiona or Edgar to answer. I thought you were back in Wichita.”

  “We have a favor to ask, Lottie. Mom has a story, a submission, ready for your book and we wondered if you could come to the house and pick it up?”

  “Well…” I stammered.

  “My fault, Lottie. Not Mom’s. I just don’t want to be seen in town. I can’t stand the thought of one more reporter asking me a question. There’s got to be somewhere, somewhere on this planet, where I can have a moment’s peace.”

  “Of course, Brian. I do understand.” As long as Fiona isn’t planning an attack.

  “Can you come over today?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  I looked wistfully at my microfilm machine. Now that I had all the copies of the Swenson/Champlin birth announcements, marriage licenses, and death certificates I wanted to research from 1920 forward. I sighed. It would wait.

  I looked gratefully at my new assistant. “In fact, I can come right away.”

  ***

  On the drive over, I tried to zero in on a topic for my column. I loved doing it. Kept short and peppy, with short quiz’s about Carlton County history, the column informed people about the book’s progress and coaxed them to write stories. My readers didn’t hesitate to set me straight from time to time.

  Once I had a column entitled “Tiny Babies,” challenging the notion of premature babies born in dug-outs or soddies who lived before the days of incubators. I was flooded with accounts of babies kept in shoe boxes on top of the stove or strapped next to their mother’s bodies. After I received proof of a baby born in a soddy whose arm could be slipped through her mother’s wedding ring, I changed my mind. In fact, I was preparing a journal article based on just this subject.

  I caught sight of the Hadley’s massive Tudor house. Edgar owned seven sections of land, which was a God’s plenty by anyone’s standards.

  A white, three-board fence ran along the road on either side of the lane leading to the house. In Western Kansas this is a strikingly silly arrangement if you don’t have horses. Unless, of course, you are trying to impress folks, which the Hadleys usually were. Such fences weren’t nearly as good as barbed wire for containing cattle, and electrical fences did a better job of keeping out people.

  When Brian got serious about politics, the barbed wire came down and the white boards went up.

  No amount of finagling on Fiona’s part, however, could concoct a tree in proportion to their house, although she had given it her best shot. The massive balled oaks trucked in and planted by the most skilled nursery people in Denver, died, defeated by our unpredictable weather. Mostly, they froze out before they took root.

  Our house is bordered on three sides by our cedar windbreak, and our trees are cottonwoods, which can’t be fooled by Mother Nature. Uncannily wise, they lay dormant through false springs. They bloom heartily and late and shed leaves early in the fall. They break easily and grow at crazy angles. Landscape artists hate them. I like them because they live.

  I turned up the lane. The Hadley house sprawled. Ideal for Fiona’s elaborate parties, with broken, steeply sloped roof lines and an array of dormers, it fit in quite well with the larger farm houses in the area. The foyer was set in a round, two-story brick turret.

  I was now close enough to see Brian’s wife in the backyard playing catch with their two sons. Jenny Hadley was miserably unhappy with political life. We decided early on to keep her in the background.

  Fiona had ruined Jenny’s chances of being an asset to her husband at the beginning of his career. Because Fiona didn’t think the real Jenny was good enough, she had “helped” the poor woman come up with a public image and settled on Jackie O. Inspired, no doubt, by Jenny’s wide-set eyes and dark hair. The press jeered at her fake whisper and avowed love of fine arts. Fiona backed off. The only part of Jacqueline Kennedy’s persona that actually modeled Jenny was her daughter-in-law’s genuine love of home and children.

  She waved when she saw me but stayed outside with little Troy and Eric. Brian answered the door at the first ring.

  “Lottie, good to see you. Mom, Lottie’s here.”

  She ushered me in with a dazzling smile. “Good to see you, Lottie. Let’s go into the living room where we ca
n be comfortable.”

  No one would be very comfortable in Fiona’s living room, but I went along with the charade.

  “Tea? Coffee?” she asked, the epitome of Miss Manners.

  “Coffee. Black, please.”

  She returned with a handsome silver Georgian tea set and placed it on the coffee table. Although everyone knew her living room had been “done” by a decorator from Denver, Fiona could have done as well on her own. She had that kind of eye. The room was formal, lovely in elegant brocades and velvet, accented with fine antiques. Hard to imagine kicking back with a good book in that room.

  I waited. Something was coming.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I must confess, Lottie. I asked Brian to lure you out here on a pretext.” With a winning smile, she leaned forward, her hands earnestly clasped on her lap.

  “I want to apologize for my disgraceful conduct this last couple of weeks. I’m ashamed of the things I’ve said and done.”

  “Of course, I accept your apology.”

  “In fact, when I was trying to put my thoughts down on paper I realized how hard it is to relate memories properly. But I’m done now.” She reached for a folder on the end table and handed it to me.

  “Here. I do hope you approve.”

  “I’m sure whatever you’ve written will be just fine.”

  I opened it, scanned the first page, and knew at once it had been pulled together by Brian’s main speech writer. “I’ll read it thoroughly when I get back to the office and let you know if I have any questions.”

  “Now that Brian has had this little chat with me, I just wish you still had Zelda’s story for your archives.”

  My stomach soured immediately. The whole town knew about the missing documents. Persons I barely knew stopped me on the street to ask about their disappearance.

  “Of course, I hold more enlightened views, but I could just weep when I think there’s not a trace of the last thing my darling Zelda ever wrote.”

  I looked at her steadily, but she didn’t blink. She had the unflappable calmness of the practiced liar. There was a copy of Zelda’s story, of course. The one Josie had taken for the hand-writing analysis.

  I glanced at my watch. “Nearly noon. I should be getting back.”

  “Won’t you stay for lunch, Lottie? Such a beautiful day. We could eat on the patio. I’ve got a nice chef’s salad and good bread. Edgar should be getting in soon. You usually close over lunch, anyway, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I usually do. I’ll call Judy and tell her to lock up so she can go eat. But she doesn’t have a key to the padlock, so I need to be back at one to open again.”

  “Judy?”

  “Your niece. Judy St. John. She’s my new assistant.”

  “Oh, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Fiona’s voice dropped a full octave, taking on a strange, harsh tone. “Not because of the things, the terrible things, she’s accused me of with Zelda’s death. That’s over now, though the shock of it nearly killed me. But because she’s not well, Lottie. She’s half crazy most of the time. I can’t imagine what you could possibly be thinking of.”

  Brian rose from his chair and moved toward Fiona.

  “She didn’t see Zelda’s story did she? She’s a vicious little snoop, just like her mother. Her mother, who dared to sneak into my house while I was gone and go through my things, my precious things.”

  “That’s enough, Fiona.”

  We all turned. Edgar carried the authority of a hen-pecked man who finally speaks out. It is always startling. “Zelda didn’t sneak. I let her in myself. She wanted to check some facts for Lottie’s book and look at the old miniature of your grandmother. I told her the stuff was probably in a trunk in the attic. Couldn’t see no harm in it. She’s a Rubidoux, too. She had a right to see it.”

  “So that’s how she got in,” Fiona gasped. “She just walked right in the front door, bigger than life. No sneak to it. And you were probably so busy pecking away at your blasted computer the whole Russian Army could have marched right past your door. So it was you, Edgar. You who started this whole thing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You fool, you stupid fool.” The skin around Fiona’s lips was tight and white, her lips the color of old liver. “Why don’t you think? Why don’t you ever think? I keep everything that’s sacred in that trunk. Why do I always have to do the thinking for us both?”

  He glared, jutted his jaw, then started, as though a deeper meaning had just struck him. His face contorted, and he clenched his fists.

  “It’s gone far enough. Far enough, I tell you.”

  He slammed out the back door. We heard his junky old pickup start, the steady unmuffled pop of the ancient engine, and minutes later, he roared out of the driveway.

  Brian and I looked at one another helplessly. There is no formula for redeeming this kind of situation. No way to make people feel comfortable. I did know it would be a good idea to make a hasty retreat.

  “I’m so sorry. We all have times we wish we could keep strictly within our family. Let’s have lunch another time, Fiona, when conditions are a bit different.” I couldn’t have sounded grander.

  “I want her gone,” said Fiona.

  She was looking far off, and the hair rose on my arms. Her eyes were blank, and she didn’t seem to see me. Didn’t seem to have heard my exquisitely tactful speech.

  “You have no business bringing a jailbird in where she can see some of the most sensitive records in this county.”

  “Judy will be just fine, Mother,” Brian said. “I think she cares a lot about people’s privacy. I don’t know what’s behind this crazy vendetta. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Judy’s lost her mother, and she needs a little kindness.”

  The words were strong, and what Fiona would not have taken from me she took quite well from her son. She shook her head as though she were coming out of a trance, her mouth quivering with humiliation.

  “Lottie, I don’t mean to sound like a shrew. It’s just that it’s been such a shock, such an incredible shock. I’ve lost Zelda. Then Judy turning on me like she did. I just can’t believe it all happened.”

  “I think it will be good for Judy to be back in this county a while,” I said. “Max needs her.”

  “She’s a very fragile person, Lottie. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Very fragile and very unstable. I think you’re making a big mistake. A very big mistake.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said easily. “Now that I’m trying to cover two jobs, I need someone at the office who really wants to be there.”

  They both looked at me blankly.

  “Now don’t tell me you two are the only ones in town who haven’t heard about my new job?”

  “Another one?” Brian laughed. “Trying to set a record for the number of hats you can wear?”

  I laughed. “I’m Sam Abbott’s newest deputy.”

  “Why would a smart woman like you want to do a stupid goddamn thing like that?” All traces of the Southern belle had vanished from Fiona’s voice.

  “Mom!” Brian reached for her arm, but Fiona twisted away angrily. “That’s enough.”

  “I didn’t come here to be insulted, Fiona.” Deciding quickly I didn’t owe her or anyone else in town an explanation for hiring Judy St. John or working with Sam Abbott, I turned and started toward the door.

  She followed. “I’ll not have a rank amateur, an outsider who never should have come to this town to begin with, investigating my only sister’s murder and agitating my darling niece.”

  Suddenly, I lost all trace of anger. I think it was the “darling niece” that did it. Profoundly aware that Fiona had been through three, maybe four, complete mood swings in fifteen minutes, I knew something was very wrong.

  “Mother.” Brian’s voice was as sharp as a slap. I turned to face them both, my mind racing. “I want to talk to Lottie in private. Will you come into the den with me?”

  I nodded. Fiona left.
I heard her click through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brian led me through the house to a combination den-library dominated by an enormous mahogany desk.

  “Drink, Lottie?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Mind if I do?” He went to a hinged panel in a bookcase that opened to a fine collection of liquors in cut glass bottles. His hands trembled as he reached for a decanter of bourbon. He poured a stiff shot, tossed it back.

  “I’ve got to decide what to do about my mother.”

  I nodded, and glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to call Judy.” I reached for my cell, then remembered it was on the car charger. “Whoops. Do you mind?” I gestured toward the phone on his desk.

  “Go right ahead.” He paced back and forth like a jungle cat in a zoo.

  I asked Judy to stay in the office until I got back and said I would bring her a sandwich from Bertha’s Deli. I watched Brian as I talked. He looked terrible, incredibly weary with dull eyes and that still sallow skin.

  “She’s crazy,” he said, the moment I hung up.

  I sat down in one of the leather arm chairs. “The problem with your mother is that she’s not crazy enough, or there would be plenty of things we could do.”

  He smiled ruefully. “She’s about to do me in.”

  “After seeing her, hearing her today, I’m seeing Fiona in a different light.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her. Most of what’s good about me, most of what’s put me ahead of the pack, has come from my mother. Not that I don’t love and admire my father. But he’s a…”

  “Plodder?” I suggested gently.

  “Yes, a plodder. Feet on the ground. It’s Mom’s side of the family, the Rubidoux, who have meant everything to me. I’ve always loved those people. The stories, the sacrifices. I’m prouder to be a Rubidoux than words can express. They’re my blood, and to have Mom show all their worst traits is about to kill me. Not that there’s not plenty of skeletons in our family closet. But we’re heroic people. There’s been a Rubidoux in every single war this country has ever fought.”