Social time over, Mary Lisa thought, as a blanket of silence fell over the table. She tried to think of something innocent and light to say, but her mother leaned forward slightly and said to Jack, “Before we came in to dinner, Chief Wolf, you mentioned that you wished to speak to me about Olivia Hildebrand.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand you are best friends. I hadn’t realized how very close you were to her.”
“Yes, well, I would like to speak to you about her as well. I’ve told you once already that she’s been through quite enough. She’s sedated at home, as you know, under a doctor’s care, with two of your deputies hanging around her house. And she’s a wreck. Please have the decency to leave her alone. She did not kill Milo.”
George said slowly, his eyes on his wife’s face, “You don’t know that, Kathy. I’ve been thinking about telling you this all week, Jack. The fact is, Milo beat her their entire married life as best I can tell. I think she might have snapped. Maybe Milo’s killing Jason and hurting Marci drove her over the edge.”
There was silence at the table. Only Kelly continued to eat, stabbing a small baked potato off the edge of the beautifully arranged oval platter with the pot roast at its center.
Jack carefully set down his fork. “Milo beat his wife? I noticed when I was with them right after Jason’s murder that he appeared rather controlling with her, but-you’re certain? He beat her? I didn’t know this, Mr. Beverly. No one’s said a single word to me about that.”
Kathleen said, “That doesn’t matter. You don’t understand. Olivia isn’t a murderess, she isn’t!”
“Perhaps,” George said, eyeing his wife from the other end of the dining table, “we’d best leave this for a while.”
“No!” Kathleen nearly came up out of her chair. “You’re the one who started it, telling Chief Wolf that Milo hit her sometimes, giving her a motive in his mind to suppose my best friend killed her husband. Well, she didn’t.”
“Why not, Mrs. Beverly?” Jack asked calmly.
“You want the truth, Chief? All right, here it is. She’s a wuss, no spine at all. She couldn’t even discipline that loose daughter of hers.”
All the ugliness splatted in the open by the beautiful pot roast. Jack saw Mary Lisa open her mouth, then close it. He squeezed her hand beneath the table.
George Beverly said, “Kathy’s right about Olivia being weak. Once, a long time ago, Olivia came here, all bent over like an old woman, clutching her ribs, crying and moaning. She said Milo had kicked her when she was crawling away from him. I was so mad, I went to see Milo.” He stopped, and stared around at the people at his dining room table. “Now isn’t the time,” he said. “It really isn’t.”
“Yes, Dad, Jack needs to hear this, please,” Mary Lisa said.
“Please, sir, she’s right,” Jack said.
“All right. As I said, I went over there, confronted Milo. He was swaggering around, told me to mind my own business. Then he lost control and actually hit me. I hit him back, in the ribs, and he went down. Turns out Olivia followed me there. She came running in, screaming at me to leave him alone. When I managed to get her off me, I stood there, so shocked and appalled I couldn’t think straight, watched her crouch over him, cooing and rubbing him where I’d hit him. Old Milo moaned and she looked up at me and threatened to have the police throw me in jail.”
“You never told us that, Dad,” Kelly said.
He shrugged. “Why should I? It had nothing to do with you girls. Besides, after that night, Olivia never dragged herself over here again to your mother after he’d beaten her. Maybe she didn’t because she was afraid of what I’d do. I don’t know.” He looked down the table at his wife. “What did she do from then on, Kathy? Call you? Beg you to meet her somewhere?”
“That’s cruel, George. But it makes my point. Olivia would never have hurt Milo. She adored him, even though he was a monster. She would have done anything he told her to, anything.”
Jack said, “You and Olivia Hildebrand seem like very different people, Mrs. Beverly. How is it you’re such good friends?”
She looked at Jack, locked her eyes on his face. “When we first arrived in Goddard Bay nearly twenty-five years ago, Olivia went out of her way to make me feel welcome.” The words seemed to catch in her throat. She downed some wine, swallowed. “No one else did. But Olivia came over to see me and we talked and talked. She became my best friend. That’s all.” And even you need a friend, don’t you, Mom? Mary Lisa thought.
Good enough, Jack thought. “Thank you, Mrs. Beverly, Mr. Beverly, for telling me about this.”
“You still think she’s guilty, don’t you?”
Jack looked at the beautiful woman who seemed better suited to a life in Manhattan, with doormen and limos and charity balls, than to a small town like Goddard Bay. He said, “It’s my job to find out, Mrs. Beverly. This has got to come to an end somehow. Thank you for helping me.”
Kelly said suddenly, “I remember hearing Marci yelling at her mother once, called her a boring old rug. It was something about her father not letting her go somewhere and her mother not doing anything about it.” Kelly shrugged. “All the usual teenage angst, I suppose. But the rug bit fits, doesn’t it?”
George Beverly cleared his throat. “I suppose we’ve let this dinner take a very unorthodox path. For that I apologize.”
Lou Lou smiled, raised her glass. “I would like to thank Mrs. Beverly for having us all over with almost no advance notice at all.” Lou Lou clicked her glass to Kathleen’s, and glasses were raised all around.
Kelly, bless her heart, began speaking about Monica’s run for state office. Then she eyed Mary Lisa and remarked, “Monica’s husband nearly married Mary Lisa. But that didn’t work out.”
“No,” Mary Lisa said, grinning hugely, “it didn’t. Thank you, God.”
Jack’s cell phone vibrated. He looked at Kathleen as he pulled his cell out of his jacket. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He nodded to Mrs. Beverly and walked out of the dining room.
He heard Mary Lisa say, “Kelly, what are you up to?”
He went outside. It was chilly tonight, and damp, the clouds covering the stars and the sickle moon. “Chief Wolf.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Mary Lisa yawned as she walked back toward the elevators, Lou Lou’s morning paper in her hand.
From the corner of her eye she saw a tired-looking businessman follow the bellboy out the front doors. Nearly there, she thought, and reached her hand out to press the elevator button when the old scratchy voice nailed her to the spot.
“Will you be checking out today, Mary Lisa?”
She turned to see Mrs. Willis, her old bird eyes bright with interest and cunning, standing beside the reception counter, her arms crossed over her bright-pink-wool-sweatered chest. There was a strong smell of lavender wafting off her. “Good morning, Mrs. Willis.”
“What have you got there, Mary Lisa?”
“One of my friends wanted her morning paper. I guess you don’t provide them on Saturday mornings?”
“Nope, costs too much to throw in Saturday too,” said Mrs. Willis. “You sure that’s all you’ve got there?”
“Yes, ma’am. We won’t be checking out today, perhaps tomorrow.”
“That’ll be fine, Mary Lisa. I hope you and your girlfriends will stay for a while, maybe help us find this person who poisoned our food. You know, I was thinking Mr. Rogers has sure gotten crotchety over the years-do you know he chews nearly two packs of tobacco every day even though he can’t keep his blood pressure down? I’m thinking maybe he’s our man.”
“I suppose anything’s possible, Mrs. Willis. But my problem is I don’t see a motive for him to kill anyone.”
The old woman cackled. “You’re not looking hard enough. It’s morning and here you are wide awake. Where were you and your girlfriends last night, young lady?”