by Edie Claire
Frances sighed again. It was one of her best—the particularly long, woeful sigh that mourned her fate at having a daughter bent on self-annihilation. "You need your lawyer," she insisted.
Leigh counted to seven. "Mom, Katharine Bower was my lawyer. She's not anymore. It's not like I keep a defense attorney on retainer."
Frances didn't miss a beat. "That might not—"
Leigh pulled the phone away from her head and sat on it. After a count of ten and two deep cleansing breaths, she tuned back in.
"—And he said he was going to question you too, so I told him if it would be more convenient for him, you would be happy to come over here—"
"Mom!" Leigh interrupted. "What are you talking about?"
"The detective, dear. He should be here any minute, so you'd better start off now. What are you wearing? You should put on something nice. What about that blue pantsuit that I bought you for—"
Leigh didn't hear any more. She mumbled a goodbye, hung up, grabbed her wallet and keys, and headed out the door.
In jeans.
***
Detective George Hollandsworth of the Allegheny County Detectives Division had to be pretty close to retirement, and he wasn't wearing a ring. Consequently it came as no surprise that Leigh found her aunt sitting comfortably next to him on the couch, wearing a fresh, low-cut, lime green suit.
"I just don't know how you do it, Detective," she cooed. "But we're all so glad you do!"
Frances popped out of the kitchen with a cup of tea and a scowl. The tea was for the detective. The scowl was for family members only. "Now that Leigh's here, I think we should let the detective begin," she said with authority. "I'm sure he'd like to get home at a reasonable hour." And to his significant other, which he probably already has, her tone implied as she looked sharply at her sister.
Bess, whom Leigh suspected would be acting considerably more sober if Frances weren't around to bait, fluffed the back of her beehive and flashed the detective a smile. "I'm sure we'll do whatever we can to help him. Won't we, Leigh?"
Leigh nodded. Hollandsworth was one of the two detectives who had questioned them that morning, then shown up later at the church. Maura had said they were good—and Maura was usually right about such things.
"I know you ladies told us all about the circumstances under which Reginald Humphrey's body appeared at the animal shelter," the detective began. He had a fabulous voice, deep and melodic. Bess seemed almost to sway with the flow of it, her eyes shamelessly adoring.
Frances cleared her throat.
"But we now have reason to believe that Humphrey died elsewhere. Most likely, the First Church of the New Millenium."
"Really?" Bess asked lightly. If she was trying to act surprised, it was a poor effort. Especially for an accomplished amateur actress.
"Since you're a member of the executive board of that church, I'd like to ask you a few more questions," the detective continued.
"Certainly," Bess purred.
"First off, could you give me the names of the other board members?"
Bess complied. Counting Humphrey himself, there were ten. Her, Ted Hugh, the Ed that belonged to Barbara, Betty Ivey, Sam Schafer (the youth leader), and four others whose names Leigh didn't recognize.
"In general," the detective continued, after he had taken down all the names, "how would you characterize the relationship between Reverend Humphrey and the rest of the board?"
Bess's coy demeanor slipped into recession as she used her brain to think about it. "The board had its disagreements from time to time," she answered. "But they were mostly between the lay members. They all respected Humphrey."
Leigh wondered if the detective had caught Bess's transparent use of "they" instead of "we." From the slight flicker in his eyes, it looked like he had. But he wasn't letting on just yet.
"So you would not say that animosity existed between Humphrey and the board at large?" he asked.
"Absolutely not," Bess answered.
"What about between Humphrey and other members of the board individually?"
There was a moment of silence as Bess hesitated. Leigh felt her own blood pressure rising. They both knew that Ted Hugh not only disliked Humphrey, but was particularly angry with him the evening of the wedding rehearsal. Yet unbeknownst to Bess, saying so could very well be putting nails in the man's coffin. Leigh felt a pang of regret. Why hadn't she warned Bess about Ted Hugh's predicament earlier?
"I really can't answer that, detective," Bess said sincerely. "I've heard people express negative things about Humphrey now and then, but that doesn't mean any of them hated him enough to kill him. They're all good people, and I won't spread hearsay."
Leigh exhaled. Good answer.
The detective tried again. "Let me be a bit more direct. Do you personally know of any reason anyone might have had to end Reginald Humphrey's life?"
Bess breathed a little easier. "No, sir, I don't. I've been wondering that myself."
The detective paused a moment, then changed topics. "Was the First Church of the New Millenium in good shape financially?"
"Very good shape, for a young church," Bess answered proudly. "The members are all quite generous."
"Any volatile issues happening right now? Building improvements? Staff problems?"
Bess shook her head. "It's been smooth sailing—at least since I got on the board a few months ago. And I've been on a boatload of church boards, so I ought to know."
The detective nodded and switched gears again. "Had you ever met Noel Humphrey before yesterday afternoon?"
Bess shook her head. "I'd seen pictures of her. That's all."
"Any idea where she might have gone after she left the church yesterday?"
Bess shook her head again, and Leigh's eyebrows rose. So—the missionary of convenience had still not returned—and the police were looking for her. And why not? She'd be a suspect herself, of course. Leigh brightened at the thought.
The detective leaned forward and took a sip of the tea Frances had brought, then nodded at her gratefully. Bess watched him with thinly veiled lust, then slipped back into flirt mode.
"Is there anything else we can help you with detective?" she asked with a smile.
"Actually, there is," he answered, smiling back. "I need to ask both you and Miss Koslow some questions about what you saw Monday night—but I'll need to talk with each of you alone."
Leigh and Bess exchanged nervous glances, but Frances rose immediately. "Of course, detective. You can use the study. It's right through there. Let me get your tea."
Bess looked at Leigh. "You go on first, kiddo. I'm sure you'd like to get back home." The last statement was punctuated with a wink.
Frances parked the detective and his tea in the tiny front room that housed Bess's second husband's pride and joy—his extensive antique book collection. With Hollandsworth planted in the comfortable leather recliner, there was no place for Leigh to sit but on the cushionless windowseat. She hoped the inquisition would be short.
"I understand you attended the wedding rehearsal that was held at the First Church of the New Millenium this last Monday night?" he began.
Leigh nodded. "My aunt had just had surgery on her ankle that morning, so I was there to help out." She told him what time they had arrived and left, how many people were there, and how many had still been there when she left. Those questions were easy.
"Did you talk to Reverend Humphrey yourself that night?" he asked pleasantly.
It took her a moment to remember that she had. She had tested him out about his boot camp buddies, and she had almost decided he wasn't the man in Bess's photograph after all. "Yes, I did," she answered. "Briefly. He asked me if I belonged to another church, and I said yes. He was very cordial."
"Did he seem upset to you? Nervous? Edgy? Depressed?"
Leigh shook her head and answered truthfully. "Not at all. He seemed quite relaxed." Considering how tense everyone else was.
"What about the mood of the o
thers?" the detective continued on cue. "Did you notice anyone that night that seemed upset, angry, or anxious?"
She took as deep a breath as she thought she could take without being too obvious. "I didn't know most of the people very well," she answered truthfully. "So I don't know what was normal for them. But there seemed to be some general tension in the air, yes."
She exhaled, feeling immediately guilty. She wasn't going to lie, but she hated the prospect of making things worse for Warren's family. Surely there was a way out of this. "I mean, wedding rehearsals are always a little tense, because everyone's nervous. And the bride and groom chose family members for the wedding party, which is never smart."
She was babbling now, but she decided to go with it. "The bride's father wanted everything to be perfect—like most proud fathers, I suppose. And it was a little confusing, having the host pastor and the guest pastor splitting up the ceremony. But in the end it went well. One of the groomsmen—he's an old friend of mine—gave the bride's father a pep talk, and then everything seemed fine."
She stopped, a little breathless. That had all sounded harmless enough, hadn’t it?
The detective scribbled for a moment, then looked up into Leigh's eyes. "Your friend who talked to Ted Hugh—who might that be?"
"Warren Harmon," she gulped, a pit forming immediately in her stomach. She knew that Warren would have to be questioned like everyone else at the rehearsal, but she still felt like a fink.
"A member of the groom's family?"
"No—he's the bride's cousin. Ted Hugh is his uncle by marriage."
"All right," the detective answered pleasantly. He finished scribbling and put away his notebook. "That'll be all for now. Thank you for your cooperation."
Leigh stood up from the hard windowseat, her legs feeling like lead as she took a step towards the door. She hated the thought of the detectives grilling Warren about his uncle. He would tell the truth, of course, but it was a horrible position for him to be in. She wheeled around. "Warren Harmon is the Register of Wills, you know," she burst out. "He's a very honest person."
The corners of the detective's mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. "Thank you, Miss Koslow."
Leigh turned back around. She was such an idiot.
***
"You told the truth, didn't you?" Frances demanded as soon as the study door had closed behind Bess. Leigh would have liked a word with her aunt before the detective began, but he hadn't just fallen off the turnip truck. He had brought Bess in the moment Leigh went out, keeping within his line of sight any meaningful glance they might have exchanged.
"Well, didn't you?" Frances repeated, her skepticism increasing.
"Of course I did, Mom," Leigh mumbled. "I just wish I hadn't turned into a babbling nitwit when he asked about Warren."
Frances paused a moment. "Warren Harmon?" her voice wavered with distress. Frances had been Warren's number-one fan since Leigh had first brought him to a family picnic in their college days. He had been a smart, respectful, stable, and suitably unattractive young man, and Frances had begun the nuptial nudging immediately, much to Leigh's annoyance.
She hadn't ever stopped, either. "How have you involved Warren?" Frances asked accusingly.
"I didn’t involve anybody!" Leigh protested, then remembered that her mother had no idea who had belonged to the wedding party in question, much less the First Church of the New Millenium in general. She took a deep breath and explained everything—including both the condemning nature of Ted Hugh's erratic behavior Monday night, and Warren's certainty that his uncle wasn't a murderer.
When had she finished, Frances seemed relieved. "If Warren Harmon says his uncle is innocent, he's innocent," she announced. "As for your babbling, you were just being a little overprotective." She smiled condescendingly and patted her daughter's shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that."
Leigh winced, but couldn't help being slightly appreciative. Her mother's unwavering belief that Warren walked on water used to bug the hell out of her. Now it was coming in handy.
"But you'd better get back to your apartment building," Frances added firmly. "You should at least warn Warren that he might be questioned soon."
Leigh got up and headed for the door. She should go see Warren. Definitely. Her mother was right.
It was scary.
Chapter 14
When Leigh turned the corner towards Warren Harmon's apartment, her spirits fell. She recognized the man walking away from it immediately. It was the second homicide detective.
"Hello, Miss Koslow," he said cheerfully, then followed her line of sight to Warren's door. "I was just talking with your friend, Mr. Harmon. Has Hollandsworth caught up with you yet?"
"Yes," she said with as much pleasantness as she could muster. "Just now."
"Fine, then. Thanks for your time." The detective nodded to her and walked on past. As soon as he was out of sight, she knocked anxiously on Warren's door. He opened it immediately—perhaps assuming the detective was back. "Leigh, it's you," he said, sounding somewhat relieved. "Come on in."
She hadn't gotten far before she was treated to the sight of Katharine Bower pouring herself a drink in his kitchen—and looking quite at home. Katharine nodded a neutral greeting, which Leigh returned.
"I got your message," Warren explained, "but when I called you weren't home. What's up?"
"I was over at Bess's," Leigh explained, sinking down into an armchair. "Looks like the detectives split up—she and I got Hollandsworth."
Warren sat down on the couch, and Katharine sat down close beside him. Leigh tensed. "I hope you didn't try to hide anything," he asked her seriously. "It won't do any good in the long run, and I don't want you or Bess to get in trouble."
Leigh shook her head. "We were truthful, but not effusive." She remembered the babbling incident, and her face reddened. "Did it go okay with you?" she asked quickly.
"Warren did splendidly," Katharine praised, moving still closer on the couch. "I may convince the firm to take him on as a witness coach."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Warren said with a smile. "I'll stick to county government for now."
"State government next week," Katharine teased.
The lawyer was in fine form tonight, Leigh thought ruefully. Ribbing Warren about his political ambitions was supposed to be her job. "Do you think they suspect your uncle?" she asked, breaking the mood. The smile he'd had on his face faded, and she regretted the question.
"I'm certain of it," he said sadly. "All I could do was lend my assurances that Ted Hugh isn't a violent man."
Leigh felt awful. She wanted desperately to help, but all she had managed to do for Warren so far was clue Hollandsworth in on the fact that she was trying to protect him—and remind him of his uncle's plight the second he had gotten pleasantly distracted. She turned to Katharine. The lawyer was doing Warren a heck of a lot more good than Leigh was, after all. "Did you get the real story out of Ted yesterday?" she asked hopefully.
Katharine and Warren exchanged glances. "Yes, I did," Katharine answered. "And it's a doozie. But it's confidential, I'm afraid."
"Oh, I know that," Leigh said quickly, embarrassed.
"It's all right," Warren interjected. He turned to Leigh. "As for the story my uncle told Katharine in confidence, I don't know either. But after talking with her, he was willing to tell Shannon and I at least most of the truth. The bottom line is, he wants everyone to understand that no matter how bad it looks, he didn't kill Reginald Humphrey."
Leigh sat quietly, waiting.
"The first part of what he told us at the church earlier was true. He and Humphrey had some sort of disagreement recently—and he was afraid Humphrey would try to sabotage the wedding somehow."
Leigh raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you really think that's true? I mean, why would Humphrey risk doing something that could ruin his public image?"
Warren shook his head. "I can’t imagine that he would—but my uncle isn't above irrational paranoia, so f
rom his point of view, I can see it. Anyway, he says he wanted to talk to Humphrey after the rehearsal to clear the air. He wanted to end the animosity."
"Didn't he say before that he blew his top and yelled? And that Humphrey took off scared?"
Warren nodded. "That was a lie. He made it up to explain why Humphrey's car left first. He really did want to clear the air—after we talked at the rehearsal, he said that's what he was going to do—and I believed him."
"So, what happened?" Leigh prompted. "What did they say to each other?"
"Nothing," Warren answered. "Ted hung around the church until everyone else had left, then went to Humphrey's office, as they had agreed on earlier. When he got there, Humphrey was already dead."
Leigh swallowed. If Ted Hugh was to be believed, it would mean that Humphrey had been killed earlier in the evening—while any number of church members were still milling about.
"My uncle's first thought was that Humphrey had been strangled," Warren continued. "He was laying on the floor, curled up, with his hands at his throat. Then Ted noticed that the insulin kit was out."
Leigh's eyes widened. "The insulin kit? As in, he'd just given himself a shot?"
Warren nodded. "A bottle of insulin was sitting next to the kit on his desk, and there was a syringe on the floor right beside him."
"But—," she stammered, thinking quickly. "That could mean he killed himself! Or that it was some kind of accident. Could he have overdosed?"
"That was my uncle's second thought," Warren confirmed. He paused a minute, and sighed. "It's the next part that's hard to follow, but if you knew Ted, it would make sense, believe me.
"He figured that either Humphrey had overdosed accidentally, or that someone had slipped something into his insulin. Ted didn't particularly care how it happened. All he could think about was the fact that when the body was discovered, Joy's wedding would be ruined."
