Everybody Loved Roger Harden

by Cecil Murphey

  “Liar! You knew!” Jason said.

  “Do you realize what it’s like?” Amanda said, as if she had not been interrupted. “At the end of each month, I had to account for every cent I spent—and I mean to the penny—or he would give me no allowance for the next month.”

  “I had no idea.” Wayne knelt in front of her and patted her hand.

  Hmm, I thought, I wonder if that idiot is trying to nuzzle up to the widow.

  She pushed him away. “You may have been Roger’s best friend—I don’t know about that—but you are not mine. I don’t want your false display of sympathy.”

  I wanted to shout hurrah for Amanda.

  She stood up, turned her back to everyone for perhaps a full minute, and then spun around and faced us. “The rest of you may have loved Roger Harden, but I didn’t. Perhaps at one time, in the beginning, I loved him. I’m not even sure now, because there have been so many miserable years since then. I married Roger, as most of you know, after my first husband died and left me with a two-year-old son. Roger’s first wife divorced him. Do you know why she left him? She left him because of his constant attempt to control her life.”

  “He was a bit demanding,” Paulette said. “I’ll admit that, but—”

  “A bit?” Tears raced rapidly down Amanda’s cheeks. “I’ll say it better then. Roger Harden was a power-hungry, totally controlling monster, and I detested him.”

  “I’m sorry your life has been that bad, Amanda, but that’s the most honest thing anyone has said this evening,” I added.

  “Then why did you come, Amanda?” Burton asked.

  I hadn’t thought to ask that question. I was so caught up in genuine sympathy for Amanda. I walked over and draped my arms around her. She was about five inches shorter than I was, and she laid her head against my shoulder and cried.

  Burton held up his hand for silence, and no one said anything until Amanda stopped crying. She used Jason’s handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

  “Why did you come back to the island?” Burton softly asked again.

  “He called me. Yesterday.”

  “True,” Simon said. “I heard. Phone.”

  “He did call, and it was rather strange. He asked me to come. It wasn’t a summons. He said, ‘Will you come? Please.’ In eighteen years, Roger had never asked me for anything, and I didn’t know the word please was in his vocabulary. I’m not sure what was going on with him, but I knew it was something significant.”

  “Did he say why he wanted you here?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “I asked—twice—but he was evasive. He said at least three times, ‘I have something significant—something I have to tell you and the others. I want to make my announcement once and to all of you at the same time.’ That was the most I could get out of him.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” I asked. “Are you holding back? I don’t know why, but I sense that there’s something you’re not telling us. Is there?”

  “Tell them, Mom,” Jason said.

  “It’s not something I can readily explain. It was—it was as if he was different. His voice was softer . . . kinder perhaps. That may not mean anything to the rest of you, but I had lived with him for eighteen years. Just before we hung up, I asked, ‘What has happened to you?’ ”

  “And what did he say?”

  “ ‘I’ve made an important decision, and I want a special group of people here. It affects them.’ I asked him about the decision, but he refused to say.”

  “But you admit you hated him?” Paulette asked.

  “Yes. But I came anyway because—well, because I hoped—I truly hoped he had changed for the better. I have prayed for him every day, and on the phone he begged—”

  “And, of course, you didn’t want him to cut you off financially,” Paulette said. “He would have, you know. Roger was capable of such acts.”

  “You are despicable,” Amanda lashed out.

  Paulette smiled as if she had won a victory in the courtroom.

  “Money? That had nothing to do with Mom’s decision,” Jason said. “I won’t have you talk that way to her.”

  Amanda held up her hand to silence her son. “That’s sweet of you, darling.” She faced Paulette and said, “I didn’t need Roger’s money. I have enough—more than enough without him.”

  “I doubt that,” Lenny said. “No woman ever has enough.” He laughed loudly, and everyone ignored him.

  “I have money. When my first husband died, I received a large insurance settlement. My parents were well off. They left me enough money that I could have lived comfortably for the rest of my life. So you see, I didn’t need Roger’s money.”

  “That’s true,” Wayne said. “I can vouch for that.”

  “So what about you, dear Paulette,” Beth purred. “Maybe your motive wasn’t so pure.”

  “I can tell all of you this much,” Paulette said, “I resented Roger at times, but I didn’t hate him.”

  “Not true,” Simon said. “Lie.”

  We stared at Simon, but he would say nothing more.

  “If you know something, please tell us,” I pleaded.

  “Truth will come,” he said. He took his plate of half-eaten food and returned to the kitchen.

  I got up and started to go after him, but Burton shook his head. I gave him a splendid Simon shrug and sat down.

  “Is there a gun in the house?” Burton asked. “I don’t know why I didn’t ask earlier.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harden kept a gun in his office. It’s in the bottom drawer of his desk, and he keeps the drawer unlocked.” Elaine Wright said to Burton, “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

  “I think the rest of us should stay here,” I said.

  Wayne Holmestead immediately attacked his food again as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Tonya stared into space and sipped whatever was in her cup.

  Within a minute, Burton and Mrs. Wright returned. Before he spoke, I could tell from the expression on his face what he was going to say.

  “The gun is gone.”

  Six

  “Whoever shot poor Roger must have stolen the gun,” Reginald said and then blushed. “I suppose that’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  Lenny opened his mouth, but this time he had enough sense to close it in silence.

  For several minutes, we discussed the possibility of searching every room to find the missing gun—which we assumed was the weapon that had killed Roger—but it was a large house, and the hiding-place possibilities were endless.

  Mrs. Wright went to try the telephone. She came back to say it was still out. “Perhaps by morning we shall have service again,” she said.

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I intend to go to my room,” Jeffery said. “I have several important lectures that I plan to give as a guest speaker next month, and I need to prepare.” He turned and left us.

  I had to place my hand over my mouth not to burst out laughing. He taught the basic biology course and three other basic science courses. Everyone at the university knew he hadn’t changed a word in his lectures in years—whether in the classroom or as a guest at an outside venue. I had no idea what he needed to do, but it wasn’t to prepare lectures.

  “I am too upset to serve anyone or to wash the dishes,” Mrs. Wright said. “The kitchen is open. Do what you want.” She started for the door, paused, and looked back. “I did not hate Mr. Harden, and I cannot stand to listen to the rest of you lie about how you feel.”

  “Did you love him?” Burton asked.

  “I did not. Furthermore, he did not treat me well, but I—I owed him a debt. He promised me that I would have the debt paid by the end of this year.”

  “What kind of debt?” Burton asked.

  “That, sir, is none of your business. I did not hate him. I did not and would not kill him. There are people in this room who had reasons to kill him, but I am not one of them.”

  “Please explain, would you?” Burton said.

  Her gaze shifted acr
oss the room, and then she stared at her feet. “Those who have things to hide know who they are. I have nothing to hide. I know what I have seen with my own eyes.” She left the drawing room.

  I didn’t understand what was going on. I heard her words, but I sensed she was giving someone some kind of message. A warning perhaps?

  Burton looked my way. It was uncanny, but I knew he had picked up the same vibration.

  One by one the others left the room. Jason and Amanda sat in a corner and whispered to one another for several minutes. At one point, Jason put his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he led his mother from the room.

  Soon everyone was gone except Burton and me.

  If Burton’s eyes said what I thought they did, he had caught everything. In fact, he may have been ahead of me.

  “What do you think?” he asked me.

  I started to do the Simon shrug and stopped. “What do you think?”

  “Two things. First, Mrs. Wright was intentionally being cryptic, and I have no idea why. I knew it would do no good to push.”

  “I agree. And the second?”

  “Rather obvious, I suppose, but Amanda isn’t the only person who didn’t love Roger. In fact, no one at the table tonight even liked him. Jason used to hate him—I can safely tell you that much. I have no idea what’s accounted for the change, but his hatred is gone.”

  “What about Simon? We know he didn’t kill Roger. At least if he did, he had to do it before he made his final trip to pick us up. Is that possible?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Burton said.

  Just then Simon walked into the dining room. He quietly picked up the dirty dishes.

  “I have a question for you,” Burton said to him. “You were on the dock to meet us, but you didn’t arrive until ten minutes after seven and—”

  “Good logic, but not kill.”

  “Did anyone see you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Four trips first.” He held up his fingers. “Put on different pants. Served tea. Never alone. Talked to Mr. Goss five minutes before seven. Follow me to dock.” He shook his head. “That man. Many words. I wait mainland from 7:04.”

  “You’re amazing, Simon,” I said. “You use the minimum number of words, but I always figure out what you mean.”

  As I expected, he shrugged. But he did something else. Before he turned to leave, he winked at me. This time I didn’t know what he meant.

  “That eliminates him,” Burton said. “Agreed?”

  Burton hadn’t seen the wink, and I didn’t think that was the time to discuss it. Besides, I had something else I wanted to ask. “Why did you get an invitation?” I asked. “You don’t seem to fit with these people.”

  “I assume it was because of Jason. At least that’s the primary reason I came. He was quite a troubled teen when we met. He was a student at Clayton U. He and some of his classmates played basketball in our church gym, and we got to know each other. After a few weeks, he asked to talk to me. We met regularly, and he got better.”

  “He was troubled? In what way?”

  He gave me that handsome-hunk grin, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Okay,” I said. “It was worth a try to ask. It was a good test to see if you ministers talked about your parishioners.”

  “I can’t speak for all ministers. I can, however, speak for myself.”

  “You just did. You’re good. You know that?”

  He shrugged. “See, I can imitate Simon too.” Then he turned on that fabulous smile before he asked, “So why did you get an invitation?”

  “As you probably know, Roger lived in Clayton Country for a number of years. He was a kind of benefactor to me.”

  “Kind of?”

  “I’m a therapist. At the time, I hadn’t finished my doctoral program and did only private counseling. Roger intervened, and I became the head of Clayton County Special Services.”

  “Intervened? How did he do that?”

  “The way he influences most people in the state.” I laughed, but Burton didn’t get it. “Okay, his influence is called money. He gives money, lots and lots of money, to the right causes and at the right time—”

  “The causes where he can be in control?”

  “Something like that. But I honestly thought my record and my work had gained me the position. It might have anyway. As Roger put it, he was my insurance.”

  A peal of thunder punctuated my last few words. It reverberated in the window glass. The rainstorm was on the way.

  “This is unusual—the weather I mean,” I said. “This is June. It’s too early for this kind of storm.”

  Blasts of thunder rolled like great broken wheels of stone across the sky. A strong, gusty wind pummeled the roof.

  Burton seemed hardly aware of the weather or my comment. He stared into space for a long time before he said, “I’m not sure where to go next, and you obviously don’t want to go down the path we’ve started. One thing bothers me about those last words of Mrs. Wright. I have a niggling feeling—”

  “That she knows more than she’s willing to tell? Or that maybe she meant her words as a message to someone?”

  “Exactly that. You sensed it too? I felt as if she answered me but was talking to someone else.”

  “Let’s go find her,” I said.

  We walked into the dining room, which was empty, and into the kitchen, but she wasn’t there either. Simon sat at the kitchen table with his back to us. In front of him was a steaming cup of tea with the string of the bag hanging over the side.

  When I asked Simon which room was hers, he used his chin to point toward the kitchen door, “Number one.”

  That seemed like an odd response, or it would have if it had come from someone else. We went through the door and walked down the hall. The first room had the number one on it. Burton and I looked at each other and smiled, and I said, “Elementary, my dear Dr. Watson.”

  Burton knocked, but no one answered. He knocked a second time and leaned close to the door to detect movement inside. He shook his head and turned to walk away.

  “Let me knock,” I said. I knocked with one hand, and with the other I turned the knob. Her door opened. I walked inside and turned on the light, and it was obvious she wasn’t there. I had assumed Number one meant a tiny room, but it was a small apartment. I stood in what resembled a den, complete with a sofa and an easy chair. The furniture certainly didn’t match the rest of the house. This looked as if it had come from Sears—sturdy, usable, but not expensive.

  She had her own kitchen—which I could see from the doorway. I took a few steps inside. The bathroom was on my left. I gave it a cursory look and turned to her bedroom on my right. I saw nothing special about the furniture there either. Then it hit me. “This could be anyone’s room. It looks more like a hotel suite.”

  “I thought the same thing.” He pointed out that there were no pictures on the walls. “It’s more like a place where she lives temporarily.”

  “No books. No magazines,” I said. “Not even a newspaper.”

  “Nothing out of place, either,” he said.

  “She’s not in her room,” I said and realized how stupid the words sounded.

  “So where would she be?” he asked.

  When we returned to the kitchen, Simon seemed not to have moved.

  We returned to the dining room, which was still empty. We assumed she hadn’t gone upstairs, so that meant she must have gone outside. Just then Simon came in from the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Wright isn’t in her room,” I said. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  He turned his face toward the back door and lifted his chin with his pointing gesture.

  Tonya Borders strolled into the dining room just then. “She sometimes walks along the cliff,” she said. She turned to Simon. “Is there more coffee?”

  The shrug.

  “Because she never leaves the island, the walk along the cliff is her only way to get aw
ay from the house,” Tonya said without accent. “There is a nice little trail around the backside of the house. Have you been out there?”

  After both of us said no, she said, “It’s a circle of exactly three-tenths of a mile of paving stones.” The Slavic accent miraculously reappeared. “When I was here in March, she told me that every morning, and again in the evening, she completes the circle three times.”

  Tonya went on to describe the area. Roger had a variety of azaleas—the kind that bloom in the spring and again in the fall. She rambled on about plants such as coreopsis (whatever they were), varieties of lobelia whose colors varied from white to carmine. She raved about the hybrid camellias and the highly improved impatiens. She described the poisonous Jerusalem cherry, nine varieties of ajuga, and at least a dozen types of hosta.

  I tried not to yawn. I buy trays of flowers from Home Depot, and they live about three weeks before they die of thirst or starvation. I always forget about them.

  “Roger wants to make sure something blooms all year long.” I thought the flora lecture had reached the near torturous, but I was wrong. She had progressed to the fourteen varieties of trees on the island. Although I didn’t pay much attention to what she said, it fascinated me to listen to her. I loved the accent that came and went.

  “You have an interesting accent,” I said. “Slavic?”

  “Very good. Polish. I was born in what is now Gdansk.”

  “That’s near the German border, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Germany borders Poland on the west, of course. Gdansk is on the Baltic Sea and at the mouth of the River Wilsa. Do you have more test questions, or must I sing to you in Polish? I came to America when I was sixteen. I have worked very, very hard to get rid of my accent, but sometimes it pops out. Is that what bothers you? I shall be glad to answer any serious questions if you doubt me.”

  “Yes, and I apologize,” I said.

  “You enjoy nature and working in the garden, do you?” Burton asked and rescued me so I could silently castigate myself.

  “As a matter of fact, Roger asked me to supervise this when he had the area landscaped.”

  “He used you in all kinds of ways, didn’t he?” I asked.