by Hazel Holt
‘Oh, Linda,’ I repeated. I couldn’t find anything else to say.
She got up from the table and said, ‘I’m having another of these. How about you?’
We sat for a while in silence staring at our drinks and then Linda said, ‘He went away. I didn’t see him again and that should have been that—except for the knowledge of what I’d done, and that would be with me always.’
‘Should have been?’ I asked.
‘Yes. But it wasn’t. The fool, the damned fool, wrote me a letter from Tennessee. He still wanted us to see each other, he hated to let anyone go. I guess it would have hurt his ego to feel he’d been rejected. Anyway, he wrote a letter. It was quite a letter, too, saying what wonderful times we’d had together, how much he thought we cared for each other, and—oh God—thanking me again, for condoning that false statement in his thesis!’
‘Oh dear,’ I said inadequately, ‘That must have been awful, it must have brought back all those memories!’ Linda gave me a wry smile. ‘It brought more than that,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I must have had the letter in a folder or someplace like that because I lost it. In the department.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘that was awkward.’
‘And who do you think found it?’
‘Not Loring!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Loring. The letter was in its envelope, but I knew there was no way he wouldn’t have read it. Reading other people’s mail would have come quite naturally to a creep like him. Especially when he saw it was from Doug. You can imagine the sort of gossip and speculation there’d been about us in the department!’
‘So what happened?’ I asked.
‘He gave the letter back to me with that vile sneer of his. “I think this belongs to you”, or some such phrase, looking at me under those eyelashes to see how I was taking it, you can imagine.’
‘I can’t believe that was all,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘Right,’ Linda laughed. ‘He knew he had me where he wanted me. All of this happened just before the summer vacation so I knew this semester he’d use the information he had from that letter to make my life hell.’
‘Why didn’t he just go to Rob Huron?’ I asked. ‘And tell him what he’d found out?’
‘That would have been too simple,’ Linda said bitterly. ‘He really wanted to make me suffer, slow, long drawn out misery, never quite knowing when he might strike. That was Loring’s way.’
‘And I suppose,’ I said, ‘he couldn’t quite admit that he’d read your letter.’
‘Oh, I don’t think he’d have found that a problem,’ Linda said. ‘He’d have said it was by accident, some crap like that.’
‘Did he ever say anything directly about it?’ I asked.
‘Nothing overt, just snide remarks and dark hints, usually in committee, so that I couldn’t oppose him. And then he’d smile and say how great it was to have my cooperation. Sara and Ted Stern must have thought I’ve become really flaky this semester! And the really vile thing,’ she continued, ‘is that it’s somehow brought me down to his level of morality. I find—I found that almost the hardest thing of all.’
Tiger, annoyed that we were absorbed in other things, jumped up on my lap and began to knead my skirt with his claws. I stroked his head until he settled more comfortably and asked, ‘Dave knew all about it?’
She nodded. ‘Just before you came. I was in my room, crying—I seem to have been doing a lot of crying lately—and he asked what was the matter. Normally I wouldn’t have told him, but I’d just had a run-in with Loring on the policy committee and was feeling, oh, despairing—I just couldn’t bear it any longer, I had to tell someone.’
‘Hadn’t you told Anna?’ I asked curiously.
‘No, I knew it would upset and worry her. I couldn’t do that.’
‘She told me how concerned she was about you,’ I said, ‘but she thought you were just overworking.’
‘Yes, well, Anna’s always looked after me, been the big sister, especially since Dan died, I somehow couldn’t add to all that. So I told Dave.’
She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. ‘It was a mean thing to do, I guess, to put such a responsibility on to him, but you know Dave, he seems like a rock. How could I imagine he’d try to throw suspicion on to himself to divert it from me!’
‘You know how he feels about you,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘and that makes it much worse.’
‘He knows how you feel,’ I said, ‘and that you’ll never be more than good friends, though that is no small thing.’
‘I suppose I’d better go to your lieutenant and tell him I was in the commons room at ten thirty,’ Linda said.
‘No, don’t do that,’ I said quickly. ‘I really don’t think Mike seriously considers Dave as a murderer, so, honestly, there’s no need. Anyway there’s another thing to be taken into account.’
I told her about the unlocked door into the furnace room.
‘So the murderer could have been and gone while you were in the commons room,’ I said. ‘Did you hear any sound in the kitchen?’
‘No, nothing.’ She was positive. ‘Anyhow, I was only in there for a few minutes, looking for Gina.’
I stroked Tiger mechanically and he began to purr and dribble slightly. ‘It all happened in such a brief space of time,’ I said. ‘So it must have been premeditated, I mean, there was hardly time for a row to blow up and then a murder ... Still,’ I went on, ‘the fact remains that Loring is dead and your secret is safe. I mean, he wouldn’t have told anyone else, would he?’
‘Oh no,’ she replied, ‘not Loring. He would always hug any tiny little secret to himself, it gave him a feeling of power, I guess. And this was something really big!’
‘Well then,’ I said, with a brightness I was far from feeling, ‘you’re in the clear. You can get on with your life, all of you, free at last from that incubus!’
But I knew that even with the threat from Loring removed, Linda would never be at ease with herself again.
‘Shall I put the shepherd’s pie in the microwave?’ I asked. ‘Are you ready to eat?’
‘Great! That’ll be a real treat.’ Linda echoed my false cheerfulness, but we neither of us had much appetite and Tiger was the only one who really cleared his plate.
Chapter Twelve
After that evening I had the feeling that Linda was avoiding me. I suppose it was only natural that she should. What had happened with Doug Chapman had obviously been really traumatic for her. As I said, Linda has this fantastically high academic standard, that’s why she had clashed with Loring so often. To have had to admit that she, of all people, had done something she would regard as thoroughly shameful must have been incredibly hard for her. I respected her feelings and tried to go out as much as possible.
I had a pleasant evening with the Sterns, an incredible dinner beginning with Susan Stem’s clam chowder (‘My mother came from New England, I’ll give you her recipe’) and followed by a delicious chicken dish, accompanied by seven vegetables (‘Do you like beet tops? They’re full of iron’) and Ted’s special chili sauce (‘He makes it every year, and every year it gets hotter’).
I went to dinner with Dave and his children (impeccably behaved—I remembered with dismay how tiresome Michael had been at a similar age) and was the recipient of his mother’s hopes for his remarriage to ‘a nice girl who’d be a real mother to the children’. It was clear that she didn’t feel that Linda fulfilled this particular job description. I paid a visit to Sara and Charles and admired again the skill and ingenuity that had gone into transforming the mill.
‘Oh sure, it’s great now,’ Sara said, ‘but I can remember lying in bed one morning and seeing a saw coming up through the wooden floor where Charles had suddenly decided to put in a new circular staircase!’ I even spent an extraordinary day with Sam and Hal (and the cats, dogs, horses and goats) on their fa
rm, which was certainly unlike anything we would call a farm in the West Country, being more like a vast estate with Sam (wearing diamonds with her jeans and sneakers) apparently taking for granted the amazing luxury with which she was surrounded. And then there was Mike. He telephoned quite often, with offers of dinner or the movies and I usually managed to find some excuse to refuse. He was a nice man, easy to talk to, comfortable to be with, but I had a twofold reason for avoiding him. It was obvious from his conversation that he still hoped for a closer relationship than I wanted, and now, with Linda’s story and Dave’s false evidence whirling round and round in my head, I felt I couldn’t really face him. Not that I had any doubts of Linda’s innocence—or Dave’s either, for that matter—but I was uncomfortable in the knowledge that I was withholding evidence, something I’d been brought up by my lawyer husband to regard as sacred!
I was standing one morning regarding with interest the statue to General Gibbon that stood in the main square of Allenbrook. It was a fine figure in Union uniform, sword in hand. I craned my head to read the lettering:
GENERAL JOHN GIBBON
1827-1896
Erected by his men of the Iron Brigade
Pennsylvania remembers her sons
‘There are some,’ a voice behind me said, ‘who’ll tell you he was born in Holmesburg and not Allenbrook, but we always claimed him as a native son.’
I turned round and saw Mike.
‘I didn’t know that you were a Civil War enthusiast,’ he said, smiling.
‘Goodness! You startled me,’ I said in some confusion.
‘Or are you regarding it simply as an example of local art?’ he enquired.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘as a matter of fact, I felt I ought to find out something about local battles and local heroes for Michael, who’s very keen on that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, well,’ Mike said, gesturing towards the general, ‘you couldn’t do better than Gibbon. He was at Manassas and Antietam and commanded a division at Fredericksburg, where he was wounded. He was wounded at Gettysburg, too and fought at the Wilderness and Spotsylvania. All in all, he had quite a war.’
‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘you are an expert! You must tell me what books I should take back for Michael.’
‘Sure, I’ll make you a list, but look—why don’t I take you to one of the battlefields, you could take pictures?’
‘Well,’ I said reluctantly, ‘I don’t know ...’
He looked at me quizzically. ‘Do I get the feeling that you’re avoiding me?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not!’ I replied quickly.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘You’ll come then?’
He smiled again and I suddenly felt foolish, as if I’d been making a fuss about nothing.
‘That would be lovely,’ I replied.
‘I suppose I should take you to Gettysburg, but, no—if you don’t mind a really early start, it’s a long drive, way into Maryland?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t mind. Where are we going?’
‘I’m going to take you to Antietam, that’s the place that sort of sums the whole thing up for me. How about next Sunday? I’ll call you about the time.’
‘Thank you, Mike,’ I said, ‘that’s very kind of you, I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said as I turned to go, ‘you might be interested to know—it looks like Carl Loring could have killed his brother.’
‘Good Heavens!’ I exclaimed. ‘Has something new come up?’
‘Yes—something new and rather surprising, though I haven’t all the details yet. I’ll let you know on Sunday.’
‘So, if that’s what happened,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘then you’re looking for two murderers?’
‘Could be,’ he replied. ‘Like I said, it depends on this new information.’
I went on my way pondering what he had said. If Carl Loring had murdered his brother and the two deaths weren’t connected, then it was most likely that his murderer was someone at Wilmot.
And another thing, this scenario seemed to let out Sam. After all, it was the letter from Max that had cast suspicion on her. Her motive for killing Carl was nowhere near as strong. Well, that was a relief anyway. I liked Sam and I didn’t want to think of her as a killer. But if not Sam, then who? Dave? Linda? Impossible to consider either of them in such a role. Perhaps I needed to step right back and see who else might have needed Carl Loring out of the way. He was such a loathsome creature he must have had a hold over other people besides Linda.
Suddenly it all seemed too complicated and exhausting and I just wanted to give up and go home. I thought of my house at Taviscombe and the garden, of Michael and the animals and all my comfortable and familiar friends and I wished passionately that I was back there with them, away from all this unpleasantness and confusion. Away, too, from Mike and the possible embarrassment of that situation. For a moment I really wallowed in homesickness so that it was almost a physical pain.
You are an absolute fool, I told myself sternly. Why do you have to get yourself into situations like this! But then I thought of Linda and Anna and all the new friends I’d made in Allenbrook (yes, Mike as well) and how they’d enriched my life, as all experience, however tiresome or indeed disagreeable it might seem at the time, does enrich it. And I acknowledged, too, my curiosity, that so often seemed to involve me in strange and often awkward situations, would drive me on until I had found some sort of solution. I began to wonder what new information Mike had and was impatient for Sunday to hear what it was.
I had a conference with Sam that day. Now that I felt she was no longer a suspect I was able to relax and enjoy the splendid eccentricities of her personality.
‘I did so enjoy the day I spent with you and Hal,’ I said.
‘It was great having you over,’ she replied. ‘I wanted for you to see the animals because I know just how caring you are about them.’
‘Oh, they were gorgeous!’ I said enthusiastically. ‘And the farm! It’s so enormous!’
‘It’s a good size,’ Sam conceded, ‘though nothing like the ranch that Hal has in Wyoming. I guess that’s where we’ll finally end up when I’ve finished at Wilmot. I’m going to make Hal wind things up here and settle right down and breed horses.’
‘Is everything all right between you two?’ I asked tentatively. ‘There was no problem about the letter from Max Loring?’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘the lieutenant was very understanding, didn’t want to make trouble for me and Hal. I saw him that day at Wilmot, right after you suggested it, and he said that unless anything else turned up there was no reason why Hal should ever know about that letter. And now that Carl’s dead I don’t think anyone else knows about it. Except you, of course, and’—she turned her brilliant smile upon me—‘I’m sure you wouldn’t say anything to Hal!’
‘As if!’ I laughed. ‘I’m so glad, Sam, that it’s all worked out OK.’
‘That lieutenant,’ she said, ‘he’s nice. I thought, the first time I saw him, he was just a cop, you know, but there’s a lot there. That lazy sort of way he has with him hides a good mind, if you ask me.’
I wondered if Mike had quoted Shakespeare to her—certainly her looks might well inspire poetic flights! But I was interested that Sam, a connoisseur of men if ever there was one, had found something in Mike to impress her.
I turned my mind to my work and the conference continued. As she was leaving I asked if she had heard anything from Gina.
‘That virus seems to be taking its time,’ I said. ‘Do you think she’s all right?’
‘I haven’t heard from her,’ Sam said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I guess I ought to call her.’
‘It’s been a while,’ I said, ‘I haven’t seen her since the day before Carl Loring died. How about you?’
‘No,’ Sam said, ‘I haven’t seen her either.’
I looked at her.
‘It’s a very good job you haven’t had to lie to Hal,’ I said. ‘You’
re a very bad liar.’
She turned her head away from me as if to hide her face.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘I had a feeling,’ I went on, ‘the day of the murder when I asked you about Gina, that you weren’t telling me the truth, and now I’m convinced of it. Come along, Sam, surely you can trust me?’
She was silent and I wondered if I’d been too abrupt with her, and then she said, ‘No, you’re right. I did see Gina that morning.’
‘How was she?’ I asked. ‘Was she ill?’
‘No,’ Sam said reluctantly, ‘at least not with a virus.’ ‘What do you mean?’
She got up and began to walk about the room, as if by doing so she could somehow dissipate the distress she obviously felt. She came to a halt in front of one of the bookcases and with her back to me said, ‘I guess if you had to sum up the way she was in one word, you’d say she was distraught.’
‘Distraught!’ I cried. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
Sam turned to face me. Her expression was troubled.
‘She looked terrible,’ she said. ‘Ghastly pale, and those dark eyes, they were huge, big as saucers. She looked as if she hadn’t slept. She’d been crying and her face was a mess—it was awful to see her.’
‘What did she say?’ I asked.
‘She didn’t make a lot of sense,’ Sam said evasively. ‘But she said something,’ I persisted.
‘Yes, well—oh, what the hell!’ She sat down suddenly in the chair opposite mine. ‘She was asking me if I’d seen Loring, said she’d got to find him and he wasn’t in his room. She was kind of wild, sobbing and breathless. I tried to calm her down, asked her what was the matter. I took her into one of the classrooms that was empty—I didn’t want anyone to see her looking like that.’
