Part 8 (1/2)
Walking again, she thought that if Hilde Franz had had a lover, he probably had a key to her house, no need to break and enter and leave traces. But why? To keep her from disclosing their affair? That seemed improbable. Public officials, even the president, had affairs and were not strung up in the village green. She considered the scenario she had outlined to Frank: Hilde had gone through the forest to the Marchand house.... Maybe not, she thought then. Maybe she had seen someone else go there. Maybe she had seen her lover or glimpsed his car.
Then she wondered how much Hilde had told Frank. Her own clients had told all, she felt reasonably certain; had Hilde? Or perhaps more to the point, what would her secret lover a.s.sume or fear she had told Frank?
Stop this, she told herself sharply. Hilde had had a serious disease. And that was all she knew about her death and all she might ever know unless she could get a copy of the autopsy report when it came in.
The next morning she made a grocery list. She had no bread for toast, no eggs, no cereal. And the juice had a peculiar odor. Later, in the supermarket, she found herself gazing at two girls with heavy-handed Goth makeup, black and white faces, black clothes, purple hair.... ”Oh,” she breathed. Rachel. As soon as she had paid for her groceries, she went to a pay phone outside and called Will's number. ”Be there,” she muttered, and he was.
”Will, it occurred to me that we will need pictures of Rachel Marchand before she turns up in court dressed in ankle socks and a pinafore, with her hair in pigtails. Can the Doughboy handle something like that?”
”If he can't, he has people around who can. You think the girl's cutting loose?”
”I don't know. But she was running around with a boy in a red Camaro, no name for him.”
”Okay. You might want to pick up a copy of the Springfield newspaper. The pressure's starting.”
Well, they had known it would, she thought. Then she called Bailey's number. His wife, Hannah, answered.
”Just ask him to give me a call, will you? I'll be home in a few minutes and stay there for the next several hours at least.”
She felt as guilty as a child sneaking out of the kitchen with warm cookies in both hands.
She had not been home more than half an hour when Bailey called.
”I have to see you,” she said. ”You can call it close surveillance or something.”
”Jeez, Barbara, give me a break. You know I can't come up there.”
”You have to. Do you think I'd call if it wasn't important? Name the time. I'll wait for you.”
He muttered something unintelligible, then said, ”Half an hour.”
He was prompt, and she was waiting to admit him. He looked as guilty as she had felt earlier, and he looked suspicious.
”No questions,” he said. ”Don't ask me anything.”
”Right. You just listen. Coffee?”
He shook his head, pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down. ”Shoot.”
”First,” she said, ”Hilde Franz had a secret affair. Now she's dead, and Dad thinks her death is suspicious. Let's a.s.sume that someone did her in and that whoever it was knew she had an attorney, but he couldn't know how much she had confided in him. She might not have told her lawyer who the lover was, but can he count on that? Worst-case scenario, she might have seen him out at Opal Creek the day Marchand was killed.”
Barbara had been watching Bailey closely; she saw when his look of uneasiness changed, replaced by a new intentness.
”Dad and I both know different things about this case, or the same things with different interpretations. But if Hilde Franz's death turns out to be another murder, I have to know. He'll get the autopsy report, and I want a copy, too. I want you to get it for me.”
He looked incredulous and began to shake his head.
”And I want you to have someone keep an eye on Dad until we know about her death. I'll pay the freight on that one.”
”Jeez, Barbara. How about the moon while you're doing your wish list? I can't work both sides of the street. Go have a talk with him. He doesn't have a client anymore.”
”I can't do that. He still has Hilde Franz to protect and he will do whatever it takes to protect her name. He'd just think I'm trying to pull a fast one, muddy the waters even more.”
”Aren't you? Isn't that what this is all about? With me in the middle.”
She shook her head. ”Do I look like I'm finagling? I know some things that make me frightened for his safety. It's that simple. If it turns out that Hilde Franz's death was natural, I'll call it off, pay up, and that's that. That's why I need the autopsy report. Meanwhile, you could do some routine maintenance on his security system, maybe even suggest that he be careful. You know. He listens to you.”
”Right. And if he finds out I've been scheming with the enemy, he'll really listen, won't he?”
”So don't let him find out.”
He stood up. ”Thanks, Barbara, just thanks a million. He pays me to keep an eye on you, you pay me to keep an eye on him. It's to laugh, isn't it? See you around.”
At the door she said, ”Oh, to make your job a little easier, Will Thaxton is an old high-school friend. We were on the debating team together. He got divorced recently, for the second time, and gave me a call. We may start debating again.”
His look was not friendly.
And he had not said a word about the autopsy report, she thought glumly when Bailey was gone. No promises. She knew he would keep an eye on Frank, that was a given; but how far he would go for her was uncertain.
12.
On Friday afternoon Frank had a meeting with Geneva Price and Ron Franz, Hilde's sister and brother. They and their mother were the beneficiaries of Hilde's will.
”We don't know what to do,” Geneva Price said after Frank went over the terms of the will with them. ”We can't even get inside the house, or remove her body, or anything.”
”It's customary,” Frank said. ”Until there's a decision about the cause of death, everything will remain sealed.”
”How long will it take?” Ron asked.
”A few days, or possibly a week or longer, depending on what they find.”
The brother and sister looked at each other helplessly. Geneva was sixty, the eldest of the three children, and she looked very much like Hilde, the same chestnut hair, much grayer than Hilde's, the same trim body and wonderful complexion. Ron, fifty-five years old, must have taken after the other side of the family; he was a thin, long-limbed man with very little sandy-gray hair, bony features, a large nose, ears like flags at half-mast. He owned and operated an auto-parts store in Medford, he said, and he couldn't walk away from it for an indefinite period.
”And I can't just leave Mother. She's eighty-five years old! This has devastated her.” Geneva looked near tears.
”What I suggest,” Frank said, ”is that you both return home and let my office handle the details. Mr. Franz, you are the executor of her estate, so nothing can be done without your approval, but there are things that can be started now. We can take care of them. I will make certain that nothing is removed from her house without a receipt and an accounting. I can be on hand when they go into her safe-deposit box, things of that sort. Where will you want the funeral to take place? I can make whatever arrangements must be made.”
Geneva did weep then. ”Back home in Medford,” she said, choking on the words. ”Near Father. Mother has a plot there.”
Her brother patted her shoulder awkwardly and nodded to Frank. ”We'd be grateful if you just took care of things.”
Frank went out to tell Patsy to draw up an agreement that he was to represent the interests of the family members, but he really wanted to give Geneva a little time to compose herself again. He wanted them to talk about Hilde.
When he returned, he said, ”My secretary will draw up an official agreement. I'll need to show it to the investigators, you understand, and while we're waiting, she'll bring in some coffee. You say your mother is eighty-five. Is her health generally good?”
That was all it took. He had told Patsy to give him an hour, and during that hour he learned a great deal about Hilde. ”She'd get tickets to the Ashland theater, Shakespeare or something, and gather up all five kids, Ron's and mine, and off they'd go. Now and then she would pack up a box of books, novels, poetry, whatever, and bring them down for Mother and me. She was so good to Mother. Little presents now and then, not just her birthdays or holidays. A silk scarf, or new gloves, thoughtful things like that. She loved her family so much.”