The Advice Column Murders

by Leslie Nagel

Judith came barreling up the front walk. Charley opened the door, stepping back to allow her neighbor to push inside.

  “Where are my boys?” she demanded before Charley could speak. “Hank? Pippo? Mommy’s here!”

  “They’re fine, Mrs. Sharpe.” Charley closed the door, adding drily, “Won’t you come in?”

  “Mommy!” Two bundles of energy burst out of the kitchen and hurled themselves at Judith. Afiya followed at a more sedate pace, with Lawrence and Bobby bringing up the rear.

  “My babies!” Judith wrapped her children in a tight embrace. “Mommy missed you both. How have—” She stopped abruptly as she noticed their neatly combed hair and clean clothing. Her eyes widened in fear.

  Afiya calmly extended a plastic bag. “Here’s their dirty laundry. We went to the park and got good and dirty, didn’t we, little ones?” Her deep brown gaze remained fixed on Judith. “So I gave them a bath.”

  The silence was deafening. Judith just stood there—staring first at the bag, then at Afiya, then at Pippo—with a stricken expression. When she made no move to take the bag, Afiya placed it on the hall table.

  “Hank and Pippo? Would you like to finish your lunch? Let’s let the grown-ups have a visit.”

  Judith’s arms tightened around the children, and Charley sensed she was about to make a break for it. She glanced at Bobby, who immediately said, “I think we may have some ice cream around here. Who wants ice cream?”

  “Me!” Hank shouted. “Pippo wants some, too!” Both twins twisted away from Judith and clattered back down the hall toward the kitchen.

  “All right, then.” Bobby turned his chair without another word and followed. With a solemn nod, Afiya fell in behind. Lawrence remained, arms folded across his massive chest as he scowled wordlessly at Judith.

  Charley gestured toward the living room. “Please, have a seat. Before you run off, I’ve got a few questions about your daughter.”

  Judith’s initial shock had begun to fade, replaced by a mulish expression. “My daughter is dead.”

  Lawrence harrumphed. “She means that little girl in there, and you know it. Now, you can either take a seat and have a civil discussion with this young lady, or I will contact your husband right this minute and tell him what’s going on.” He seemed to swell even larger as he stared down at her. “Your call, ma’am.”

  Judith quailed slightly but held her ground. “I’m not discussing anything with you. How I choose to raise my children is no one’s business but my own.”

  “Mrs. Sharpe.” Charley kept her voice even. “Judith. Your daughter Sarah was murdered in your home. And this situation is, well, it’s extremely odd, to say the least. In a homicide investigation, everything is relevant. I’ve got no choice but to tell Sergeant Drummond about Pippo.” She sat on the sofa and patted the spot next to her. “Unless you can explain why I shouldn’t.”

  Judith stared at her defiantly for about ten seconds. Then her shoulders slumped. She walked over to an armchair and sat down heavily, seemingly exhausted. “It’s…complicated.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  She did look exhausted, Charley thought as she studied the woman before her. Judith wore no makeup, and her plain, square face was pale and lined with fatigue. Stress and grief over Sarah’s death had both taken their toll. Her smallish brown eyes seemed sunk into her skull. Frizzy brown hair threaded with gray had been combed straight back and twisted into a tight bun. Judith habitually stiffened her lips when speaking, almost muttering her words, in what Charley suspected was an attempt to hide crooked and discolored teeth. She recalled what Rachel Howard had told her about Judith’s origins. She imagined a rural childhood in poverty, with a poor diet and little money for things like dental visits. Judith’s thick, work-roughened hands twisted in her lap. They looked powerful, the short fingers tipped with nails bitten to the quick.

  Charley kept her voice low, aware of the children down the hall. “I’d like you to tell me why you’ve been passing off your daughter as a son. This goes beyond unisex clothing and haircuts, Judith. Why would you perpetrate such a lie?”

  Judith hesitated. “This isn’t easy for me. I’ll try to explain, but—” She glanced miserably toward Lawrence, who still stood sentinel in the doorway, his posture radiating disapproval.

  Charley nodded once, and with a final grunt, he turned and headed down the hall.

  “Thank you.” Judith stared at the floor. After a moment she cleared her throat. “I was born and raised in the West Virginia hill country. It wasn’t even a town, just six or seven falling- down houses at the end of a road without a name.” As she spoke, a flat Appalachian twang, not uncommon in this part of Ohio, became more pronounced. “We lived totally off the grid. No running water, no telephones, electricity bootlegged off power lines that were almost a mile away. The slightest bad weather and the lights went out. I’d never known anything different, so I didn’t mind not having things.

  “But now I realize how incredibly poor we were. The men hunted and fished. The women had gardens, raised chickens and goats, and preserved everything. My grandpa led the community and called all the shots. The other families were all his children or close kin. Twice a month my grandpa and uncle Shad drove into town to sell eggs, jam, and a few handicrafts. They’d buy basics like coffee, sugar, needles, tools, boots—whatever we couldn’t grow or make ourselves.”

  When she fell silent, Charley prompted, “Were there other children? Did you go to school?”

  “No other children. And I didn’t ‘go’ anywhere.” Judith’s mouth twisted. “I asked once if I could go with the men into town. My pa saw that as defiance and, an even worse sin, vanity. Such thoughts must be the devil’s work. He whipped me so bad, I couldn’t sit for three days.” Charley gasped softly, but Judith just shrugged. “Everything revolved around my grandpa’s strict Christian Fundamentalism. My ma taught me to read the Bible. That and a couple of pattern books were the only written material permitted. When I…”

  Judith paused again, swallowing hard. “When I was fourteen, one of my uncles started abusing me. When my other uncle caught him at it, his solution was to rape me, too. It wasn’t long before I got pregnant. I was so damned ignorant, I didn’t even realize. My ma did, though. She dragged me by the hair straight to my grandpa. That whipping made all the others seem like a love pat.”

  “Judith.” Charley couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.

  “Everyone shamed me, day after day, telling me it was my fault for placing temptation in the path of a righteous man. When my uncle tried to touch me again, I clubbed him with a tree branch. That got me locked in the shed for two days without food or water. Finally I’d had enough. I stole thirty dollars from the shoe box my pa kept hidden under the floorboards. I waited for the next full moon, then I ran and ran and I never looked back.”

  “What did you do then?” Charley realized she was leaning forward in horrified anticipation.

  “My ma told me once about my pa’s cousin, a terrible sinner named Richard.” Judith smiled faintly. “He left the mountains when he was seventeen. He had a little farm in Ohio, a godless den of iniquity called Mercer County. He married a local girl who my mother assured me was a painted harlot. Together they had a daughter called Rachel.” Charley gave a start as she recognized the name, but Judith was too wrapped up in her story to notice.

  “I bought a bus ticket to Celina. When I arrived, I started asking around. A nice woman at the IGA store knew the Wellers, and she called Richard to come get me. He and Mary took me in without question. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the child in my belly. Rachel was about eight years old, but she was already so much smarter than me. She knew about books and music and places I’d never heard of. I’d never had a friend before. She helped me with my reading, and after the baby came, we read to her together. Mary is a midwife, so my Sarah was born at home, like all the Well
er children.” Her eyes sheened with tears. “That family showed me the first love I ever knew. They loved my baby, too. Oh, my darling Sarah!”

  At Judith’s cry of anguish, Charley crossed the room and knelt beside the chair. She placed a hand on Judith’s shoulder. “I am truly sorry for your loss, and for the terrible ordeal you faced. Frankly, it’s amazing you survived.” After a moment, she continued. “But you haven’t answered my original question. Why are you lying about Pippo’s gender?”

  Judith wiped her eyes. “I’m getting to that. Please, let me tell it in my own way.” Charley returned to her seat. “I was waitressing at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop near Wright-Pat. Paxton was a regular there, completing his residency at the base hospital and working all sorts of crazy hours. We started dating, and when he was offered a permanent posting with their surgical training program, he proposed. I couldn’t believe my luck. He never adopted Sarah, but he was a decent enough stepfather. Until she left.”

  Judith let out a shaky breath. “When the twins were born, Pax was overseas for the second time. It all came rushing back. The pain, the fear, enduring childbirth without a partner to lean on.” Her voice quavered. “When I held my precious little girl, I just…It was partly because of what happened to me. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over the shame of that awful time. It nearly destroyed me. And Sarah—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Little girls are just so defenseless. I couldn’t protect myself. I couldn’t protect my Sarah. I just wanted to protect my little Pippo. Was that so wrong?”

  Charley came to attention. “Sarah? Tell me about Sarah.” When Judith hesitated, Charley said firmly, “The autopsy showed she had a baby. The police will ask you about it.” She took a calculated risk. “She got pregnant in high school, didn’t she? It’s why she left home.”

  Fortunately, Judith didn’t question how Charley knew about Sarah’s autopsy. She merely nodded. “I sent her to Richard and Mary, to live on their farm until the baby came.”

  “She didn’t run away?” Charley blurted, then bit her lip. Letting on that she’d already heard a different version of this story from Rachel Howard wouldn’t be a smart move right now.

  “No, I arranged it. Sarah begged me not to tell anyone, not even Rachel. She has a preschool down here, and she’d lost her husband and was wrapped up in her own troubles. Richard and Mary were just as loving and giving as ever. Sarah had a home birth like me, with Mary as midwife. Then we—” Judith halted abruptly, face turning red as she stared at the floor.

  “ ‘Then we’ what?” Charley snapped her fingers, forcing Judith to meet her gaze. “What did you do? What happened to Sarah’s baby?”

  “I did what I had to do,” Judith said truculently. “She was only sixteen. I couldn’t believe she’d been such an idiot. I was furious, but I wanted to give my daughter a better chance at happiness than I had. So we—” She swallowed hard, her eyes skittering away again. “Mary took the baby to Catholic Social Services to be adopted out, but we told Sarah her little girl died. A few weeks later Sarah stole some money and ran away.”

  Charley flopped back against the sofa cushions, flabbergasted. “You cannot be serious. You lied to your own daughter about her child? Judith, how could you do such a terrible thing?”

  “It was for her own good!” Judith almost shouted the words, but with a glance toward the kitchen she lowered her voice. “I was so ashamed. Stealing was so unlike her. Richard and Mary were crushed, but they didn’t want to involve the police. So we let her go.”

  Charley could hardly believe her ears. “That’s what you’re ashamed about? That she stole money and ran away? She was heartbroken, thanks to you. And I’ll bet you let her know how angry you were. No wonder she didn’t want to come home.” At Judith’s hunted look, an earlier suspicion resurfaced. “Judith, did Sarah have some other reason to run away?”

  “What do you mean?” Judith’s flush deepened.

  Charley stood and started pacing before Judith’s chair. “You admitted that you hid Pippo’s gender from Paxton because you were afraid. Did he father Sarah’s baby? It would explain why you got rid of it.”

  Judith’s eyes bulged. “No! Never! It wasn’t Paxton. I swear.”

  “Were you afraid he’d try to touch Pippo? Is that why you’ve been lying about her gender?”

  “No! I’m telling you, Paxton would never do such a thing. No, I just…” Judith hunched over, the picture of misery. “I wanted to protect her,” she whispered. “Not from Pax,” she added hurriedly. “I know it was wrong, and I will fix it, I swear.”

  It suddenly struck Charley that Judith had been in the hospital since the discovery of Sarah’s body. She might not have any idea that her husband was the prime suspect in her daughter’s murder. Charley pinned Judith with her scariest interrogation stare. “And do you also swear that Sarah didn’t have anything to fear from Paxton? Not now?” She narrowed her eyes. “And not in the past?”

  As comprehension dawned, Judith’s nostrils flared in anger. “You’re implying he killed Sarah, aren’t you? That he abused her when she was a girl, so he stabbed her to keep her from telling anyone? Well, you are wrong, missy. Pax is a healer. He would never kill anyone. He worked late that night, preparing for some international medical conference. If he’d come home, I’d have known it; I’m a very light sleeper. And he never touched my Sarah. He wouldn’t. I would’ve known that, too. No, it must’ve been that boy she was seeing. Oliver, I think his name was.”

  Once again, Charley hid her jolt of recognition. “Tell me about Oliver. Where is he? What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know.” Judith twisted her hands in her lap. She was avoiding Charley’s gaze again, a sure sign she was lying.

  “Okay, so you made no attempt to learn the identity of the father of your grandchild.” Charley didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. “Let’s say I believe you. Did Sarah say whether this Oliver knew she was pregnant?”

  “Sarah refused to say who the father was, so I don’t know if he knew or not.” Some of Judith’s defiance returned. “Maybe that’s why she wouldn’t come home. She was afraid of the baby’s father, what he’d do if he found out she’d hidden the pregnancy from him.”

  “Maybe.” Somehow Charley doubted this was the case. What a soap opera, she thought tiredly. Only one thing was certain. Judith was a big, fat liar. She’d lied to Sarah about her baby. She was lying to everyone about Pippo. What were the odds she was lying about her husband, too?

  Sensing their time was short, she decided to change tacks. Perhaps she could get this woman to give her a straight answer about her younger daughter. “Why did Sarah come back, do you think? Was it because of Pippo?”

  “She came for a visit when the babies were two. She saw them in the bath. She tried to convince me to tell then.” Judith’s lips thinned. “I refused. We quarreled, and she left. Last week she showed up out of the blue, waving a copy of the local paper. It had a notice about kindergarten prescreening. All of a sudden,” she muttered, “she was telling me how to be a parent to my children. I told her I’d think about it, and she agreed not to say anything to Paxton, at least not right then.”

  “Did you know about her letter to ‘Ask Jackie’?”

  Judith’s eyes darted away. “What letter?” Another lie?

  “Did Sarah bring any artist’s supplies with her? Brushes, easel, palette knives, paints?”

  “No.” Judith stood abruptly. “I need to take the boys—the children. Oh, my Lord.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Will you tell the police?”

  Charley sighed. “You know this cannot go on. I have to inform Sergeant Drummond. But”—she held up a hand to stave off Judith’s protest—“I will give you time to tell your husband. He deserves to know the truth about his own child. Whether he hears it from you or the police is entirely up to you.” As Judith turned away, Charley threw out one final quest
ion. “If Paxton didn’t kill Sarah, who do you think did?”

  Judith glared. “It was a stranger, a random home invasion. What else could it have been?”

  “Actually,” Charley replied, “the police seem convinced it was a member of your household. Do you think it could have been Brandon?”

  Judith’s bark of derisive laughter wasn’t exactly the reaction Charley had expected. “That idiot? He’d probably have ended up stabbing himself. If she’d been killed with a joystick, I might believe it. Now, where are my babies?”

  As Judith gathered the twins and left, Charley texted Marc to assure him she was perfectly fine.

  Marc: LEARN ANYTHING?

  Charley: BESIDES THE FACT JUDITH IS A LIAR? ONE MAJOR REVEAL: SARAH HAD A BABY IN HIGH SCHOOL.

  Marc: FATHER?

  Charley: UNKNOWN, POSSIBLY PAXTON BUT J SAYS NO WAY. J CLAIMS CHILDHOOD ABUSE AND OWN TEEN BIRTH COUPLED W SARAH’S IS REASON FOR LYING ABOUT PIPPO. LIKE SHE HAS PTSD OR SOMETHING.

  Marc: WEAK.

  Charley: AGREED. GET THIS—SHE TOLD SARAH BABY DIED, BUT IN TRUTH GAVE HER UP FOR ADOPTION.

  Marc: WHOA. CD SARAH HAVE FOUND OUT?

  Charley: HMMM. NO INDICATION, BUT SURE TELLS U WHAT KIND OF MOTHER J IS. TOLD HER I’D GIVE HER TONIGHT TO TELL PAX ALL. I WILL CALL SGT. DRUMSTICK TMRW, KEEP U OUT OF IT.

  Marc: DRUMSTICK. LMAO, LOVE IT. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE U TONIGHT. CHIEF Z STILL TORTURING ME W CRAP WORK. READY TO BREAK SOMETHING.

  Charley: DECIDED WHAT WE’RE DOING?

  Marc: DON’T NEED TO DECIDE. SEE U THEN.

  Charley pocketed her phone with a little shiver of anticipation. A week had definitely been much too long. She wandered into the family room, where Bobby, Lawrence, and Afiya were sitting, apparently waiting for her.

  “Well?” Bobby asked impatiently. “Who killed Sarah?”

  “Heck if I know. Probably Paxton, although…” Charley dropped onto the love seat, feeling deflated. “The point of that conversation was to get Judith to come clean about Pippo. She did promise to tell her husband tonight, so that’s good. Still, I’d hoped to get something solid on a motive for Paxton, something the police could use. According to his loving spouse, he’s pure as the driven snow.”