by Raven Snow
“No,” Rowen said quickly. She got in the car and waited for Rose to do the same before continuing. “But he’s not stupid. He knows that something is up. I told him now wasn’t really the time to work through something like that, but I think it’s bothering him. I can understand that, I guess. And, I mean, it’s a good sign that he’s concerned about your relationship. It obviously means a lot to him.”
“I guess,” said Rose, looking out the window as they drove.
Rowen couldn’t help but give a laugh at that. That seemed awfully cold for Rose. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Come on. I won’t say anything to him.”
Rose shrugged. She looked like she wasn’t going to say anything, but then she launched right into it. “It feels like he really wants his family to like me. I get that. I do. I’m not sure what I would do if our family hated him. It’s just that his family—well, just his mother, I guess--has been really mean to me.”
“You want him to defend you,” Rowen suggested. They had talked about this before.
“Not even that,” said Rose. “Honestly, I’d take him just not caring as much about what they thought. I feel like his mother would be happier if he was dating Julia Martinez. And she turned the whole town against them!”
Rowen raised her eyebrows. “Oh boy. Okay.” She wasn’t used to outbursts like that from Rose.
“I’m sorry,” said Rose, deflating in the passenger seat a bit.
“Don’t be sorry,” Rowen said quickly. “It’s good that you’re speaking your mind.”
“I don’t have a problem speaking my mind. I mean, I try not to be a jerk about it. I’m not someone who just suffers in silence. I know I do a lot of work at the paper, but that’s because I enjoy it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t work there, you know?”
“I know,” Rowen said, not quite sure how to respond to these mood swings. “I didn’t mean to imply you were a demure little pushover or anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said again. “I’m just stressed, I think. It’s not like I can say any of this to Ben.”
“You should say something. He’s waiting for you to say something.”
Rose nodded. “I guess I’ll have to. Let’s get this out of the way first though, huh? What in the world are we going to ask this woman?”
On the drive to Mrs. Williamson’s house, they reviewed questions they could safely ask her. Most of it was pretty run of the mill. They would ask her about the night of the murder. They would do a piece that covered that night in a lot of dramatic detail and write it all from Anita’s perspective. It would contain a lot of facts and a personal edge that would make readers a bit more sympathetic to her.
“It’s going to be biased,” Rose pointed out as they parked.
Rowen shrugged. “The readers probably won’t notice,” she said. She had never been much for journalistic integrity. She owned the paper. She could write what she wanted—and what she wanted right now was to keep the town from turning on Ben. He was the best police chief they had had in ages.
It took several knocks and a couple rings of the doorbell to get Mrs. Williamson to come to the door. She looked out the window for a good thirty seconds before letting them in. They could see her standing there, just frowning like she was considering maybe not letting them in after all.
“If she doesn’t open that door, I’m gonna bust that window with a rock,” Rose muttered, taking care not to move her lips too much.
Rowen almost hoped Mrs. Williamson didn’t open the door. Rose busting the window was something she might like to see. It was probably for the best that Mrs. Williamson let them in though. “Watch your shoes,” she warned, looking down at their feet with audible disdain. “They look muddy.”
Rowen and Rose both wiped their feet. They were led inside and to the den, but neither of them sat down. “Which sofa can we sit on?” asked Rowen, looking at all the plastic covered furniture.
“Whichever you like, I suppose,” said Mrs. Williamson, giving them a look like they were crazy for asking such a question—like they didn’t have every reason to after the last time they had been here. “Do you want anything to drink?” she asked once they had sat together on a love seat. The question didn’t carry much hospitality. It sounded more like a formality than anything else.
“No, thank you,” said Rose, a sentiment that Rowen echoed. She didn’t trust this woman not to poison them. Which was probably a bad thing to worry about considering the circumstances that had brought them here.
“I hear you’re having trouble with the townsfolk,” said Rowen, trying to find a common talking point. When Mrs. Williamson only shrugged, she continued, “We know what that’s like. Let’s see if we can’t do something to defuse this before they show up with torches and pitchforks, okay?”
“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Mrs. Williamson said firmly.
Well, trying to make things slightly less tense had backfired. “Of course,” she said. “But, either way, we need to do something about this, right?”
“You just want a story.”
“Of course we do.” Rowen wasn’t going to try and appeal to the woman. She couldn’t get on her good side. She might as well cut the crap and just be perfectly blunt with her. “But I also like your son. Ben likes Rose, and I happen to like Rose too. I want to help if I can. If you’d let me, that might be a good start.”
Mrs. Williamson scowled at them but she didn’t argue. “What is it you want to know?”
“We need a run-down of that night,” Rowen told her. “We’re going to write an article about that. It’ll be from your point of view, full of emotion.”
“I already told all of this to the police,” she said. “What? Are you trying to interrogate me now? I heard you’d taken to running around, solving mysteries. Leave that to the police, why don’t you?”
“Mrs. Williamson, did you murder your brother?” asked Rose.
The question didn’t just take Mrs. Williamson by surprise. Rowen was startled as well. “What?” asked Mrs. Williamson, sounding scandalized.
“Did you murder your brother?” Rose repeated.
“Of course not!” snapped Mrs. Williamson.
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” Rose leaned back on the sofa, sounding and looking weary of the whole thing already. “We’re only going on what you tell us today. Your word is gospel here.”
Mrs. Williamson continued looking at them like she had a bad taste in her mouth. After a few moments of that, she relaxed a bit. “Ask what you want,” she said. It seemed like she was responding well to bluntness.
“Well, let’s start from the top,” Rowen said. “Why did you invite your brother? I understand that the two of you were estranged.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Mrs. Williamson stated immediately. “My brother and I—”
“It’s what the town thinks,” Rose said, interrupting but keeping her cool about it. “And it’s what Ben told me, so I’m guessing it’s true. It’s fine. Everyone has family they aren’t on good terms with. Addressing it is the best thing you can do right now.”
“She’s right,” Rowen agreed, deciding she liked this version of Rose that had had enough of Mrs. Williamson’s nonsense.
“Fine,” said Mrs. Williamson. “I invited him over because, well, it just seemed like a good time. Ben was bringing Rose home, and he wanted the family to meet her.”
“Ben barely knew his uncle,” said Rowen. “Look, ma’am, we don’t have to publish the truth, but it might help if you were a bit more honest with us. If we know everything, we can decide what story to tell in the article. I’m not going to publish anything that’s too personal, I promise.”
Mrs. Williamson still looked hesitant. She didn’t trust the Greensmiths. That much went without saying. It was obvious that she didn’t much care for the idea of opening up to them like this.
“I love your son,” said Rose, assuming a very serious tone. “I’m not going to do anything to up
set him. I know you might not like me very much, but I’m sure you love your son as much as he loves you. I hope you can believe that we’re really trying to do what’s best for you here.”
Rose was really selling the article. The article might help, but it wasn’t going to solve all of Mrs. Williamson’s problems. It made Rowen wonder if Rose was also trying to solve the underlying mystery here. Some honest answers from Mrs. Williamson would certainly help in that.
Mrs. Williamson watched them both with narrowed eyes. After several long moments, she sighed. “Fine,” she said. “He had me over a barrel with some legal nonsense. I invited him over to get on his good side.”
“What kind of legal nonsense?” asked Rowen, wondering if this had something to do with him leaving her the house.
“Now, I know that doesn’t matter to the article,” said Mrs. Williamson.
She was right, unfortunately. Even so, Rowen resolved to come back to that particular question. “Why did Trish come along?” she asked instead.
Mrs. Williamson rolled her eyes at the name alone. “That’s just how she is,” she said. “It’s like those two are…were joined at the hip. Where one goes, the other one follows.”
“So she wasn’t invited?” asked Rowen.
“I had no problem with her coming,” said Mrs. Williamson. “I expected her to show up, honestly. Like I said, she always did follow him around.”
“When was the last time you saw them?” asked Rowen.
Mrs. Williamson was silent for a moment. She had to think about it. “Well, I last saw Willard when I drove down and met him for lunch one day. We were talking about…that business I mentioned earlier. Before that, I don’t know. A Christmas party when the kids were still in elementary school, I think.”
Rowen nodded and took some notes. Rose had the voice recorder running, but she liked to have notes to refer back to. They could work with something like that. They probably wouldn’t mention the meeting out of town. “I should explain why things are tense between the two of you,” said Rowen, realizing there was probably no way around that.
“I’d rather that stay out of papers,” said Mrs. Williamson.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you tell us everything,” said Rowen. “We aren’t going to publish any of this if it puts you in a bad light.” She had a feeling whatever had happened between them went back to the night that their parents had died. This probably wasn’t easy to talk about, even for someone as cold as Mrs. Williamson. “I know it’s probably a tough subject. We can come back to it, if—”
“No,” said Mrs. Williamson, interrupting her. “I have nothing to hide.” She shot Rose a pointed look before continuing. “I suppose it started when I was still a teenager. The three of us had never been very close. Willard and Trish were born only a year apart, so they were inseparable. I was much older than they were at the time. It doesn’t seem like such a big age gap now, but back then they were just children to me. I was a typical teenager, and I was social. I spent a lot of time with friends.”
“How did your parents feel about that?” asked Rowen.
“They disapproved, of course, like any good parents do,” said Mrs. Williamson, shrugging like it was no big deal. “It was a freak accident what happened. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What happened?” asked Rose.
“We were visiting my aunt and uncle in Terricville. I had driven Willard and Trish up. Our parents were back at home, enjoying some time alone.” Mrs. Williamson fidgeted a bit in her seat. “I had some friends who lived up that way at the time. I went out with them, and…We ran into some trouble with the local police.”
“What were you doing?” asked Rowen.
“It doesn’t matter.” Mrs. Williamson waved a hand. “It was normal teenager stuff. Alcohol and the like. Not very much, of course. Our uncle worked for the police department, so they just brought me to him.”
Rowen frowned at that but didn’t say anything. She could tell that Mrs. Williamson was trying to downplay her role in the events. If Rowen had to guess, she would say that the woman still felt guilty about what happened. There was no point in interrupting her. Either way, Rowen imagined she was going to hear enough of the truth in a moment.
“My parents were upset,” Mrs. Williamson continued. “They decided they wanted me home that night, but they didn’t want me driving the kids. They wanted to keep an eye on me themselves, so they came down. I had sobered up by the time they got there, so they made me drive ahead of them. They were a car behind with Trish and Willard.”
Rowen thought she had a good idea of where this was going. When Mrs. Williamson stopped speaking, she spoke for her. “Was there a car accident?” she asked.
Mrs. Williamson nodded. “It was a pile-up,” she said. “I swear the car in front of me had its tail lights out. It was raining. It was just impossible to see.”
“Was the car in front of you all right?” asked Rowen.
Again, Mrs. Williamson nodded. “They had fairly minor injuries. I broke my collarbone and had some scrapes, bruises—a concussion, too, I think. Trish and Willard were just fine. It was my parents who…” Mrs. Williamson trailed off. She reached to the end table and grabbed a tissue, dabbing her eyes with it. “You can’t imagine how hard it’s been.”
She was playing the victim, but Rowen had to give it to her. She really couldn’t imagine what living through something like that must have been like. She couldn’t imagine the guilt of knowing you were directly responsible for the deaths of your own parents. “I’m sorry,” said Rowen.
“Me, too,” said Rose, sounding like she meant it. “I’m sorry you had to go through something like that.”
“Trish and Willard had to go live with their uncle after that,” said Mrs. Williamson, ignoring their pity. “That didn’t last too long. Our uncle wasn’t really meant to be a parent. He actually died in a drunk driving accident not long after. He drove right off a bridge.” She sighed, shaking her head sadly at the memory. “Willard and Trish went into the system after that. It was hard on them. I don’t doubt it was hard, but I believe they blame me which seems terribly unfair. Sure, I could have become their guardian, but I was still just a kid myself! What was I supposed to do? Throw away all my dreams? Put my life on hold while I raised a couple of kids I never asked for?”
Rowen couldn’t really offer an opinion on that. Again, she wasn’t sure what she would do in that situation. At the same time, she could absolutely see where Trish’s anger was coming from. “Did you want to repair your relationship after that?”
“I did,” said Mrs. Williamson, but it seemed like a gut response. Rowen couldn’t be sure she actually meant it. “They held grudges. I’m not sure what I could have done to make it up to them…If anything.”
Rowen decided to move on. “So walk me through the night,” she said. “I know you’ve probably been over the details a million times, but go over them one more time for us, please.” She tapped the recorder, indicating that was what she should be speaking toward.
Mrs. Williamson was cooperative enough. She reviewed the events of the night. It was all rather mundane. Everyone had been enjoying themselves. The night was going just fine until the unthinkable had happened. She glossed over the parts with Rose, but that was fine. She also made it a point to assure them that she couldn’t imagine how anyone could have slipped away to poison him. She still wasn’t convinced he had been poisoned. “He was always a delicate boy,” she said. “I’m still not sure it wasn’t a food allergy.”
Rowen doubted the toxicology report had lied to them. She nodded along and let Mrs. Williamson tell them what she wanted to. They already had enough to work with. That part didn’t need to go in the article. “Do you mind if we have a look around?” she asked, once Mrs. Williamson was done speaking. She motioned to a bag at her side. “I’ve got a camera here. I wouldn’t mind getting some pictures for the article.”
Mrs. Williamson looked uncertain. “I suppose,” she said, at last. “Do
n’t take too long. Caitlin is coming over for dinner.”
Rowen wasn’t sure what Caitlin coming over for dinner had to do with anything. Caitlin didn’t seem like the sort who was going to be horribly put out by them being there. All the same, Rowen worked with the time they had. She roamed the house, looking for good shots. She envisioned some domestic scenes. Mrs. Williamson had a very cozy little home. It would photograph well.
There were lots of family pictures on the walls. With Mrs. Williamson’s permission, she got some shots of those. She photographed the kitchen and the sitting room. Mrs. Williamson was always at hand to tell them how to work. “Draw the curtains back. That would look better…No! That’s too much light. Are you sure you don’t have someone more professional to take care of this?”
Rowen didn’t complain. They were guests, after all. Besides, the story was going to be a good one. She and Rose toughed it out. They were almost finished when Rowen felt something strange. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was a sort of energy, a bad energy.
