Everybody Loved Roger Harden

by Cecil Murphey

  We could eliminate Simon. He accounted for his time before he left the island to meet us, and he was with us when Roger died. Also, I’m sure he didn’t leave the house while we were gone, so he couldn’t have killed Mrs. Wright. I couldn’t prove that, but I just couldn’t believe Simon was the bad guy. I kept thinking about that wink from him. I wondered what that meant.

  I pulled my thoughts back to the guests in the house. We had nine suspects. The phone wouldn’t work. The storm was approaching, and it wouldn’t be safe to leave the island before morning. Would there be yet another murder?

  I became aware that the temperature had dropped and I felt chilled. The wind had also increased. Hard spikes of cold rain struck with such sharpness that I felt as though they would nail me to the tree. I didn’t care. I’d been wet before. Nearby rosebushes that had been twined around support stakes drooped, soggy and heavy with the rain.

  I stayed by the tree with my thoughts until Simon returned with the tarp. I don’t think he saw me; at least he didn’t acknowledge me. I had the flashlight turned off. I’m not positive, but I think he was crying. He wiped his eyes just before he started down. He might have wiped away the rain, but my intuition said it was tears.

  Why would Simon cry for Mrs. Wright? Or was he crying for Roger? Or both? Simon crying? That seemed odd.

  I had finally had enough of the torrential downpour, so I raced toward the house. I heard footsteps behind me, looked around, and Burton was about ten feet behind me, running faster than I had.

  I hurried inside and held the door open for him. “Where’s Simon?” I asked.

  “He’ll be along.”

  We both stared at our wet clothes. “We need to change,” Burton said.

  I turned and headed toward the front of the house.

  The first people we saw were Paulette White and Wayne Holmestead standing outside the drawing room. “Would you call the others into the drawing room?” Burton asked Paulette. “This is quite important.”

  “Are you ordering me?” Paulette asked.

  “I apologize. I didn’t realize I had ordered you,” Burton said. “It’s just that—that we have a new development, and everyone needs to know.”

  “Oh, that’s different then.” Her voice softened, and I assumed that was as close to an apology as Paulette would give anyone.

  “We’re both going to change clothes,” I added as if that wasn’t obvious. My hair felt plastered against my face, but it would dry. I have enough curl in it that I don’t have to worry about doing anything with it after it’s wet.

  “We can use the room intercom from the kitchen,” Wayne Holmestead stepped forward and said. “I’ll do it.”

  “What is going on?” Beth Wilson asked. She had just reached the foot of the stairs. “You have no right to take over and order us around. That is the job for the police, is it not?”

  “He wants us all here so you can give us a weather report and tell us that it’s raining,” Paulette said.

  Burton and I rushed up the stairs. He gallantly grabbed my hand, smiled, and said, “I don’t want you to trip.” He laughed.

  I giggled and said, “How can I when such a strong man guides me?”

  His room was across the hall from mine. We hadn’t been up there, but we knew our rooms because Simon had left our luggage outside our doors. That made it simple.

  I hurriedly changed and was back down in less than five minutes and went into the drawing room. Even though Wayne wanted to know what was going on, I said, “Burton will tell you.”

  Just then Burton came into the room. He looked around and said, “Let’s wait until we’re all here.”

  Amanda and Jason hurried into the room. Lenny hadn’t gone anywhere. Paulette and Reginald stood together, speaking in whispers. With a lot of hip swinging, Beth vamped into the room. She carried a cup of tea. I suspected that Professor Dunn had waited in the dark someplace until everyone had entered. He walked inside, looked around, and slammed the door behind him.

  Beth, startled, spilled her tea, but no one paid any attention. The rest of us turned and stared at Jeffery. He breathed faster than I’d ever noticed before, so that was probably meant to be a dramatic entrance.

  Burton held up his hand and motioned to indicate he wanted everyone to sit down. Simon came into the room through the doorway from the dining room. He had changed his shirt, but his shorts were soaked and he was barefooted. He must have wiped his feet, because I saw no prints on the hardwood floor.

  I looked around. All twelve of us were present. Then I thought, that means if we eliminate Simon, Burton, and me, any of the remaining nine people could be the killer.

  “Somebody murdered Roger Harden nearly three hours ago,” Burton said, and his gaze seemed to take in everyone. “Now someone has killed Elaine Wright.”

  “Oh no, no,” Amanda cried out. “Why? Why would anyone want to hurt her?”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt Roger?” Burton asked.

  “For Roger there was plenty of motive,” Simon said. “All of them hated him. For Mrs. Wright, there is no motive that we know of.”

  “You—you spoke in full sentences!” I shrieked.

  Nine

  I stared at Simon. Was no one on the island what they seemed?

  “Simon, I didn’t know you knew enough English to—”

  “That was part of Roger Harden’s strategy. People assumed I didn’t know much English, so they spoke freely. Sometimes too freely.”

  “Is there something you want to tell us?” Burton asked.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. But if the others don’t speak up and tell the truth about themselves, I may have to do some accusing.”

  “Would you check the phone line again?” Burton asked.

  “Still dead,” he said. “I checked on my way in here.”

  Burton nodded his thanks to Simon. “Each of you, please, tell me again about Roger and your relationship with him. Yes, this is a matter for the police, but all of you are suspects. Only Simon, Julie, and I were on our way when Roger’s death occurred. We’ve now had a second death. We can only assume they are connected.”

  For several seconds, no one said anything and no one looked around. It was a strange atmosphere, almost as if no one wanted to speak, and yet everyone had something to say.

  Even though we were in the windowless drawing room, we heard rain pounding against the dining room windows with increased fury. Torrents cascaded through the confines of the aluminum downspouts.

  “I’ll go first,” Wayne Holmestead said. He attempted to look pleasant as he pulled his vest down over his stomach. “Jason and Simon haven’t been kind in what they’ve said about me.”

  “Let’s hear your version,” Burton said.

  “I agree Roger was, uh, well, controlling at times, but he was a good man. He was certainly an honest man. He was the best friend I ever had, and I loved him.”

  “I can say exactly the same things,” Paulette White said. “Dear Roger was like a father to me. I’m only thirty-five—which is quite young to be one of four vice presidents—”

  “Or perhaps not so unusual for a woman of your, uh, abilities,” Amanda said.

  “If you imply there was anything between Roger and me—other than business—I assure you and everyone else that is not true. I had absolutely no romantic interest in Roger. It would be like—like having an affair with my father. That is what he was like. He was my mentor and my father figure. I owed him so much. So very, very much. And I truly loved him.”

  “Roger planned to help me move out of weather reporting into hard news,” Beth said. “He assured me that within three years, I would become an anchor in one of the major cities.” She paused and looked around at us. “That certainly ought to eliminate me as a suspect.”

  “Unless he told you he had changed his mind,” I said.

  Before she could respond, Tonya Borders stood up and surveyed all of us. “I do not speak easily of emotions, but if in my heart there is any love,
it was for Roger Harden.”

  Oh no, I groaned. This performance has to be something straight from the early talkies. Or maybe it was just a bad imitation of Greta Garbo from around 1930.

  “We met—that is Roger and I—after my husband died, which was followed by the loss of my lovely daughter a few days later. Both because of an automobile accident. I did not want to live. I wanted to take my own life, but Roger came to me. He helped me want to live. He was my friend. He was my only friend.”

  The entire time she spoke, she never looked directly at any of us. For the first time I realized that she didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I needed to watch that one. Something wasn’t stacked right on her shelves.

  “I suppose it is my turn,” Dr. Jeffery Dunn said. “I teach biology classes at Clayton State University. I am tenured and have taught there for thirty years.” He rambled on about his achievements and told us all about the articles he had written and the two books he had authored and that both of them had sold nearly fifty thousand copies, which was considerable for a textbook. I was half afraid he was going to pull out one of his mind-numbing articles and read it to us.

  I snickered when he called himself an author. I knew the woman who had ghostwritten both of them. She told me that he handed her his lecture notes and she did an immense amount of research, updated his material, and wrote both of his four-hundred-page books. He paid her well and, in fact, more than she normally would have received. The extra money was to make certain she told no one. She told me only because I was her therapist. Naturally, her work under his name became the required texts for his classes.

  He rambled on and on about his achievements and finally mentioned that Roger Harden had admired his intellect and had invited him several times to visit him in his large Clayton County estates. “Five times since he moved to the island I have been privileged to have been his guest. I can only assume he respected me highly in a professional capacity, as well as regarded me as an adviser and perhaps even a close friend—”

  “Uh, excuse me,” Burton said. “Thank you for all the background, but tell us about your relationship with Roger—especially when he invited you to the island.”

  “I was almost to that point—”

  “Get directly to the point,” I said, “before we all fall asleep.” That was rude of me, but he didn’t seem to take offense.

  “As you like.” He took a deep breath. “Intimate friend may be too strong a word, but I was certainly his confidant in many matters—matters which I cannot divulge here. I don’t easily employ the word love, and I daresay it’s not quite accurate, but it is as close as any other word for the affection I felt toward him.”

  He started to elaborate on his emotions, but Burton thanked him and turned away from him. He faced Lenny Goss. “Why don’t you tell us about your relationship.”

  “Moi? Moi?” He grinned. “I think he liked me because of my jokes.”

  “Doubtless,” Reginald said with such venom in his voice that even Lenny couldn’t have missed his meaning.

  “I want you to do something, Reggie,” he said and grinned. “When we break up here and you go to your room, I have a small task for you. Just before you hop into your bed, I’d like you to get on your knees, close your eyes, and ponder how little your opinion means to me.” He laughed and slapped his thigh. “Hey, wasn’t that a good one?”

  Reginald shook his head, rolled his eyes, and looked away.

  “Please tell us, Lenny,” Burton said. “But save the jokes, will you? We’re talking about two murders.”

  The smile evaporated. “Yes, of course. All right, here’s my story, and I’ll keep it short.”

  “Excellent,” Tonya said and smiled as if to deflect the sharpness of her tone.

  “I was a literary agent when I first met Roger Harden. One of his cronies, state senator William Rice, became a client, and I represented his book. Unfortunately, I was unable to sell the book, although I sent it to fourteen publishers.” He listed them by name, which impressed me that he had bothered to memorize them. “Through the Honorable Mr. Rice is how we became acquainted.”

  “This is the short version?” Reginald asked.

  “I could go into more detail, but I’ll spare you.” By now it was obvious that the big jokester wasn’t always a bundle of laughs.

  “And your relationship with Roger?”

  “Oh, it was excellent. I did all right as a literary agent, you understand, but Roger gave me one of those offers I couldn’t refuse.”

  “What kind of offer was that? Not to turn you over to the police?” Simon said.

  He glared at Simon and said, “He invited me to give up my agency and to work for him. He liked me, and I liked him very, very much. He felt I was—in his words—a born salesman. I’m now regional sales manager for Harden Homes in the states of Georgia, Florida, and the Carolinas. And I might add,” he said and stared at Simon, “my sales have been impressive and the commissions extremely impressive.”

  “Even negative figures are impressive,” Reginald said.

  “Okay, Reginald,” Burton said, “suppose you tell us about your relationship with Roger.”

  “Quite simple. I own a construction company. We are, uh, one of the largest in the Southeast. We build upper-scale homes—nothing less than ten thousand square feet.” He smiled and said, “Much higher quality, of course, than those pedaled by Lenny.”

  “Okay, boys,” I said. “You two don’t like each other very much, but let’s stay on the subject of Roger.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Roger befriended me—as he did many others. He helped me out when I was, well, in a rough spot—that was years ago. I’ve been absolutely grateful. To show my appreciation, I have made several trips to other states on his behalf—you know, as a favor.”

  “A favor? Yeah, I’ll bet,” Jason said. “I’ll bet you resented those trips.”

  “You seem to guess so much,” Reginald said, “but you know so little.”

  “Jason, how about you?” Burton asked.

  The boy shrugged—a gesture quite different from Simon’s. He held out his hands, palms upward. “It was no secret the way I felt about Dad—my stepfather really—but that began to change almost a week ago. I don’t want to talk about the details, but we had a reconciliation of sorts. I can tell you this: I used to hate him; now I love him.”

  “That’s quite an abrupt change,” Wayne said. “Perhaps too abrupt to be believable—especially when we’re trying to figure out who killed my dear friend.”

  “Dear friend?” Jason snorted.

  “Amanda, is there anything else you wish to add?”

  She shook her head.

  “What do you think, Simon?” I asked. Although I tried to observe everyone in the room, my gaze continued to return to him. His eyes were alert, as if he had just awakened. Brightness glowed in those soft brown eyes—as if he had just decided to join the party.

  “Lies. All of you are lying.” Simon stood up and shook his head. One at a time, he pointed his finger at Wayne, Paulette, Tonya, Lenny, Reginald, Beth, and Jeffery. “Why do you keep saying such things? You did not love him. You detested him. But I think I know why you insist that you loved him. You feel you should have loved him and—”

  “How dare you speak such words to me,” Tonya snapped. “That is most insulting.”

  “I told you the truth,” Paulette said.

  “I am deeply and personally offended. Furthermore, I resent such a blatant, repulsive, and—”

  “Be quite, Dr. Dunn,” Simon said. “I know things. I can speak up if I must.”

  “You—you—you—” Jeffery sputtered.

  I smiled. He could raise his voice a full octave. I didn’t know he was capable of that much inflection.

  “You detested him. Every one of you hated him. At least Jason admitted it. The rest of you are first-class hypocrites.”

  “How dare you!” Paulette said. “You weasel, you. You think that because you acted like a dunce around
here that excludes you from suspicion? How dare you say I lie?”

  “Yes, I agree,” Wayne said.

  “You are, after all, only a servant,” Reginald said. “And your whole demeanor has been a fabrication. So why should we believe you?”

  “For myself, I have spoken only the truth,” Tonya said as she crossed her arms in front of her and turned her gaze downward. That was the strongest accent so far.

  “Hey, knock me all you want, guy,” Lenny said and gave him the benefit of the defenseless grin. “I was his friend. He was mine. It’s that simple.”

  “I certainly had no reason not to like him,” Jeffery said. “He did marvelous things for my career. He helped me gain tenure a year earlier than normal and opened publication doors and—”

  “Will you shut up?” Wayne said. “I can’t decide if I want to fall asleep or vomit when you go into one of your long, boring speeches.”

  Simon shook his head but said nothing.

  “Simon, you said with certainty in your voice that they hated Roger,” Burton said. “You wouldn’t make outlandish charges like that unless you knew something.”

  “That’s totally correct.”

  “Tell us then. Tell us anything you can that you think will help.”

  “You ask them. I tell you they have been lying. For now I will not say anything more.” He turned and started toward the door.

  “Simon, please—”

  The handyman stopped and turned around. “Very well. I will tell you this much. You think Elaine Wright loved Roger? Here is the truth—she hated him.” He stared at Amanda. “You thought he was kind to her?”

  “I never saw him treat her badly,” Amanda said. “I lived in this house, too.”

  “Yes, when you were around, he seemed kind, but when you were not, he was despicable. He raged over little things. He screamed one day that the clock was one minute slow as if she had slowed it down herself. Another time he went into a rampage because she served him filet of flounder when he wanted sole. He called her stupid, incompetent, and slow-witted.”