by J A Whiting
“I know,” Brad said softly. “But what if you could solve it? What good would it do? It was so long ago. What does it matter anymore?”
Olivia leaned closer to her laptop screen and sighed. “It doesn’t matter if it was four years ago, or forty years, or four hundred years. It matters that their lives were taken from them. It matters that someone went unpunished. They matter.”
Chapter 12
Emily Bradford’s mother, Isabel, phoned Olivia and told her she would be willing to meet and discuss the “unfortunate events of the past” which is how she put it. Her older daughter Angela would be coming for afternoon tea and Olivia was invited to join them.
Olivia found the house easily. It was a huge red brick mansion at the end of a long driveway hidden from view from the main street of the Magnolia Hill neighborhood. Olivia rang the bell and the door was answered by a trim older woman with blonde chin length hair. She was well-dressed in cream colored linen slacks and a crisp white shirt.
“Hello. Olivia? I’m Angela Kildare. Emily’s older sister.” They shook hands. “My friend, Lydia Andrews, said you would be interested in speaking with my mother. I’m glad you could join us. Please come in. Mother is in the family room.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Angela. Lydia spoke highly of you. I appreciate that your mom is willing to talk with me.”
Angela led Olivia through the foyer and down a long central hallway to the back of the house. They entered an enormous family room that had a cathedral ceiling and a full wall of glass looking out over a stone terrace and a beautifully landscaped in-ground pool. Several panels of the glass wall slid back to open the room to the outside.
A petite woman with snow white hair was sitting in an ivory straight-backed chair sipping tea from a china cup. She was dressed in a linen skirt and pale blue blouse. She turned to Olivia and Angela as they entered the room.
“Hello, Olivia. I’m Isabel Bradford. Please excuse me for not rising to greet you. My arthritis is kicking up.” She indicated a white sofa positioned directly across from her, a glass coffee table in between. “Please sit. Angela, would you pour our guest some tea?” There was a heavy, blue and white vase in the center of the table and on either side of it was a three-tiered plate holder laden with various squares and miniature cookies. “Help yourself to some treats, Olivia.”
Angela and Olivia sat side by side on the white sofa.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Bradford.”
“I’m glad to help if I can. What can I tell you?”
“Well, I’m interested in finding out about the murders of my cousins. I’m talking with people who lived in town at the time.”
“Your cousin was a lovely woman. An active member of our church.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “It is still unimaginable, even after all these years. The brutality of it. Killing a mother and child. It shook our community to its core.” She spoke of it as if the very words were foul-tasting.
“Are you sure it’s not too troubling for you to recall?” Olivia asked.
“It’s terribly troubling. However, I do wish to assist you if I can. I’m an old woman, Olivia. There are exceedingly limited ways for me to be useful. What can I tell you that might be helpful?”
“I appreciate it,” Olivia told her. “I wonder about the suspects. And, of course, why no one was brought to justice. I understand that you knew Kenny Overman.”
“I knew him.” Her words dripped with disgust. “I cringed every time he set foot in this house. Which my late husband and I tried to keep to a minimum. I gather you’ve spoken to Emily?”
Olivia nodded. “I met with her at a coffee shop in Brookline.”
“How nice. She probably said more to you in your short visit than she has to me in the past few years.”
“Mother…” Angela started.
“Never mind.” Isabel raised her hand. “I’m sure Emily informed you that we are estranged.”
“You’re not estranged,” Angela said.
“Angela,” Isabel said sharply. “I do not need to be corrected. Call it what you will. Emily and I have very little to do with one another. We don’t get along. It’s been like this since my husband and I asked her to leave the house a few months after the murders. We withdrew financial support shortly after that.”
“Was that because of her relationship with Kenny?”
“It was due to her behavior and attitude towards us. But our family issues aren’t what you’re interested in. It’s Kenny you want to know about. Yes?”
Olivia nodded.
“There isn’t much to say about him. If I may be blunt, he was not of our social status. Emily should not have been dating him. He was uneducated. No prospects. He had a drinking problem, inherited from that louse of a father. He was ill-mannered, rough. Emily defied our wishes. It was constant fighting. It was like living in hell with the tension and stress that girl caused us. Thankfully, Angela was married and living in her own place and didn’t have to suffer what we went through.”
“It sounds very difficult,” Olivia said. “Mrs. Bradford, do you remember if Kenny came to your house on the evening of the murders?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes he did. I would not let him in the house. Emily had to speak to him at the front portico.”
“Did you usually let him in?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“What was the difference this time?”
Mrs. Bradford fiddled with the napkin on her lap.
“Mother…” Angela said.
Mrs. Bradford flashed Angela a warning look.
“Tell Olivia what happened that night,” Angela said. “It’s long in the past. It doesn’t matter now.”
Mrs. Bradford sighed and adjusted herself in her chair. “Emily and I had an altercation earlier that evening.”
“About Kenny?”
“Amazingly, no. I had gone to Boston to meet a friend for shopping and dinner. The friend took ill and we had to cancel our dinner plans and I returned home earlier than expected. When I came into the house, I could smell smoke coming from the living room. I ran in and Emily was standing at the fireplace. A fire was blazing and smoke was filling the room. I yelled at her, ‘What are you doing? Did you open the damper?’ I rushed over to her. She wheeled on me…she had such a look of hate on her face. She had the fireplace poker in her hands and as I approached her, she lifted the poker with both her hands, horizontally to the floor, and she smashed it into my chest. She yelled, ‘Don’t come over here, leave me alone.’ I was completely caught off guard. The force she hit me with sent me reeling backwards and I hit the floor. I smashed my head into the coffee table. I knew there was animosity between us, but that day I clearly understood her hatred of us.”
“Why did she have a fire going?” Olivia asked. “It was June.”
“That’s what I asked her. I pulled myself up off the floor. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she injured me. I stood there seething. I asked, ‘Why the hell do you have a fire going in June?’ She glared at me and told me she just felt like it. I stormed over to the fireplace to put the screen across it…Emily had it wide open with the roaring fire going full blast…sparks could have ignited the rug. I told her if she touched me again, I would call the police and have her arrested. She threw the poker on the floor and told me to go ahead and call them. She stormed out of the room. It was a terrible, terrible day. My own daughter striking me like that. Can you imagine?”
“I’m sorry to hear how difficult it was,” Olivia said. “Did you send her away immediately?”
“No. My husband and I thought it best if we stayed quiet until the end of the summer. We thought if we kicked Emily out right away it would just drive her into Kenny’s arms. Once Overman was suspected, we were hoping that he would be taken into custody before the end of the summer. That didn’t happen. When September came, we told Emily that we would pay for that year’s college expenses and that would be it. She would have to take loan
s for the final two years of school or find a job and pay for it that way. We told her it was time she got her own place and started her life as an adult.”
“Did you notice if she was burning something in the fireplace?” Olivia asked.
“I assumed it was wood,” Mrs. Bradford said with an edge to her voice.
Angela asked Olivia, “What do you mean?”
Olivia turned to Angela. “Is it possible that she might have been trying to destroy something? Burn it to get rid of it.”
“You didn’t notice anything mixed in with the wood? Or in the ashes later on?” Olivia asked Mrs. Bradford.
Mrs. Bradford sipped her tea. “I don’t recall looking into the fireplace. What could she have been burning? Since you asked, you must have something in mind.”
“I wondered if she might have been helping Kenny by burning something related to the case. His shirt. Something he took from the victims. To get rid of evidence,” Olivia said.
Mrs. Bradford looked over her porcelain cup at Olivia with a steely gaze. “My daughter went to New York City that day. I don’t believe she would have had time to be an accomplice to that ne’er-do-well.”
“Oh. No,” Olivia said. “I didn’t mean to imply that Emily was an accomplice. I just wondered if Kenny may have asked her to get rid of something for him without telling her what was going on. Maybe she burned something for him because he asked her to.”
“I doubt it. She was fooling around with the fireplace before Overman showed up here.” Mrs. Bradford placed her cup on the table. “To be honest, I can’t tell you much about Kenny. I didn’t care to know the young man. I tried to avoid him whenever he dropped by. I admit he had a difficult life, but that wasn’t something we wanted seeping into our lives. That’s really all I can help you with, Olivia. I’m sorry I can’t provide more information.”
“You’ve been very helpful. Thank you for seeing me,” Olivia said. “I appreciate it.”
“Angela will see you out,” Mrs. Bradford said looking off into the yard.
At the front door, Angela said, “Mother can come off as a very stern person. She is kind, but she sees things in black and white. There are no shades of gray with her. She’s a product of a strict upbringing from a wealthy family. She expected certain standards of behavior from us and she could be cold and harsh if we didn’t toe the line.”
“Emily sounds to have had a tough time with it,” Olivia said. “Two clashing personalities. Are you and your sister close?”
“We keep in touch, but we aren’t close. There was the ten year age difference separating us…we were always at different stages in life. Emily thought I was the favored one, but I just knew how to keep my mouth closed and go along with things. She and I are opposites in just about every way. She was at the top of her class, a great athlete. She thinks I wasted my life taking care of my husband and children and not having a career. Our father did very well with investments that he made over the course of his working life. When he died, he left my mother, Emily, and me very wealthy women. Emily didn’t have to work a day in her life but career has been her focus. She’s very driven. Her business is everything to her. She owns some strip malls and office buildings. We don’t have much in common. She works out every day. Runs marathons, goes rock climbing, does triathlons. I enjoy cooking and gardening and quilting. Emily turns her nose up at those things. She thinks I’ve squandered my life. And let’s me know it. ”
“Different choices,” Olivia said. “Emily never wanted to marry?”
“I suppose she did early on, but things happened that turned her away from relationships.”
“Kenny?” Olivia asked.
“Well, Kenny, yes. That must have been frightening to be dating someone who is suspected of murder.” Angela paused. “There was something else though. Emily was in a serious relationship with a young man from town. It started shortly after Overman left Howland. The young man had been in her high school class. He came from a good family. The Martins attended our church. Mother was pleased. James was in youth group with Emily. He had a crush on her. After Overman took off, Emily started dating James. They went out for about a year.”
“They broke up?” Olivia asked.
Angela sighed. “James died.” She cleared her throat. “He drowned in his family’s backyard pool.”
“How awful,” Olivia said. “The poor family. Poor Emily.”
Angela nodded. “Emily was there when it happened.”
Olivia’s eyes widened.
“James’ parents were out. Emily and James had spent the evening barbecuing and swimming. They were drinking. It got late. Emily went inside to use the restroom and when she came back out, James was at the bottom of the pool. Emily was frantic. She tried to pull him out of the water. She called the police but he was dead by the time they arrived.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I think Emily really loved him,” Angela said. “She never seemed the same towards relationships after that. She became very driven and focused on becoming successful.”
Olivia had a faraway look in her eyes. “So sad,” she whispered.
“A couple of years later, Emily was engaged briefly to a man from town but she broke it off. He was in Emily’s classes all through school. They knew each other from the time they were little.”
“Do you know why she broke off the engagement?”
“She just said he wasn’t for her,” Angela reported.
“Her former fiancé went to high school with her?”
Angela nodded.
“Is he still around? I wonder if he would talk to me about Kenny. It might be helpful to talk to a classmate. He might have some insight.”
“His office is in Chestnut Hill. Name’s Don Chandler. He’s an attorney. It must be easy to find his number.”
“I might look him up,” Olivia said.
“It couldn’t hurt. Let me give you my cell number in case there’s anything more we can answer for you.”
Olivia added Angela to her contacts.
“Thank you for your time, Angela. I appreciate your help.”
Chapter 13
During their chat earlier in the week, Olivia learned from Lydia Andrews that Pastor Mike Sullivan had been at St. Catherine’s Church since before the murders and that maybe he could shed some light on the crime.
Olivia knocked on St. Catherine’s parish house door. She hoped to have a talk with the priest. After a few minutes, an older woman opened the door and peered out at Olivia. The woman was small and stooped with silver gray hair. She was wiping her hands on her apron.
“Yes?” she asked politely but seemed slightly put out that she had been interrupted from her work.
“I’m Olivia Miller. Is the pastor available?”
“Father Mike is in back tending the garden. You can go around to see him if you like.” She indicted the back of the house with a wave of her hand.
“I’ll do that, thanks. Sorry to bother.”
“No bother, hon.”
Olivia found Father Mike bent over a row of soil. He was placing seedlings in small holes that had been neatly dug down the row. He was sitting on an overturned bucket.
“Father Mike?”
He stood just as Olivia spoke and he turned to her voice, his floppy straw hat shading his face. “Hello.” His voice was deep and kind. His face was lined and craggy and beads of sweat covered his brow. He took an unsteady step towards Olivia, his legs stiff from sitting on the bucket.
“I’m Olivia Miller. Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”
“Of course. Why don’t we sit on the bench.” He indicated a wooden bench placed in the shade of an apple tree. “I’d be glad for a break,” he smiled. He tottered a bit towards the seat, and Olivia reached over and took his arm.
“Not as spry as I once was but I keep active. It just takes time to get these old legs going once I’ve been sitting.”
When they were settled side by side on the bench, Fa
ther Mike wiped his face with a handkerchief and commented, “We haven’t met.”
“No,” Olivia confirmed. “I’m staying at my cousin John’s house for a couple of weeks. John Miller. He isn’t a church member so maybe you don’t know him.”
“I know who John is. We’ve served together on the town Recreation Committee for several years. Good man,” Father Mike said.
“He’s away right now,” Olivia said. “He’s having some work done on his house which happened to coincide with an unexpected business trip. So I’m keeping an eye on things for him and taking care of his dog.”
“I see.” His kind eyes met Olivia’s. “What brings you to see me, dear? What’s on your mind?” Father Mike asked.
“When we were cleaning out the attic at John’s house, we came across some old newspapers. Some of them have articles about the murders that happened here in town a number of years ago. A young mother and her daughter. They were our cousins.”
Father Mike winced. His shoulders seemed to slump and he looked down at the ground. “A terrible thing. That was a terrible day. I was the priest who said their funeral mass.”
“I didn’t know that. How long have you been a priest, Father?”
He straightened a bit. “Just over sixty years. The last forty-five years right here in Howland. Things have changed a good deal. Not so many men entering the priesthood today.”
“You’re the only priest here at the parish?”
“Yes. Time was, back in the day, there might be three priests at one parish. Not anymore. Some priests are even traveling between churches now. That’s hard. That makes it very difficult to get to know the people.”
“I imagine it does.”
“I’m lucky though. We have a strong group here, many active participants which makes for a nice community of people.”
“There was another priest here when my cousin Mary went to church here?”
“Yes. There were two of us, and then just before the murders, a third priest arrived to join us.”
“What were their names?”
“Father Paul Carlson was new. Father Anthony Foley had been with me here for maybe three years. Both were young men just starting out. The murders were trying for all of us.”
