Kate Wilhelm - Barbara Holloway 11 Read online

  “Are you out of your fucking mind!” Robert shouted.

  He threw the book across the room, his face livid. “Jesus Christ! Call Mildred back and tell her she has to find someplace else.”

  “Look at it this way,” Chloe said. “It proves you’re living up to the ideals you express. Free speech and all that.

  Open-minded, everyone has a right to have his own ideas.

  Besides, we don’t have to announce it. If they demonstrate, it will be at the university, not here. Who’s going to know?” She had already used the argument that he wanted to keep the university faculty on his side, part of the base 18

  he was building as a conservative with liberal inclina-tions. Oregon liked its conservatives to be able to admit to at least a few liberal underpinnings.

  Robert stormed out of the living room, heading for the family room and the bar. He was certain Chloe knew nothing of the encounter he and David had had that night so long ago. No one knew except David and him. He had not seen David again after that night. A lot of years had passed, he thought bitterly, and if it weren’t for that goddamn book they likely would never have met again, and could even pretend that night had never happened.

  But an avowed atheist in his house! Chloe was right, they couldn’t back out of it, not with Ochs involved. It wouldn’t do to piss off the university provost. He was too ready to be pissed off, and getting him out of a spot like this meant Robert was scoring points. He would need support from the university.

  Robert poured Scotch and downed it, then poured another and this time added water. He would think of a way to undo whatever damage that harebrained woman had done.

  He would think of something. He knew it would come out—that he had housed David Etheridge—and that it would be used against him in time. Everything came out eventually and he had kept his own record impeccable, without a blemish, anticipating full disclosure down the line. Prosecutor, then state senator, regular churchgoer, a faithful wife, good marriage, son in West Point. Perfect.

  Now this. He would have to think of something to undo it.

  On Sundays Chloe and Robert joined a few others for a large brunch after church, and had a light supper early in the evening. They had just finished such a supper when 19

  Mildred Ochs called to say that David would be along in an hour or so. They would have dinner first and he would drive over afterward. He knew the way.

  Robert glanced at his watch—six-thirty. Around seven-thirty he would wander over to Henry Elders’s house, see how the old guy was doing, he said. He got no response from Chloe. It was hard to say who the aggrieved party was, he thought. By rights, it should be him, but she was acting put-upon. He shrugged, not really caring one way or the other.

  An hour later, he walked around the hedge separating the two properties, then to the rear of Henry’s house, along the walkway close to the hedge, the way he had gone as a kid when his mother had him carry over something or other. Strawberries, a pie or cake, something. He had hated doing that, dreading Mrs. Elders each and every time.

  When Amy got old enough to be the bearer of gifts, he had been relieved. It no longer presented a problem. The poor woman had finally died years earlier.

  That evening he found Henry holding a sprayer, scowl-ing at a rosebush. A harsh chemical odor hung in the air.

  They greeted each other, then Henry asked, “Are you satisfied with those Yard Guard people?” Robert shook his head. “Who?”

  “The landscaping company,” Henry said impatiently.

  “Are they taking good care of your garden?” Robert had no idea. As long as the lawn looked good, he paid no further attention.

  “Never mind,” Henry said. “I’ll wander over next day or two and have a look. My roses have black spots. It’s their job to take care of things like that, damn slackers.” He motioned toward the house. “Come on in and make yourself a drink. I’m having gin and tonic. I’ll wash my hands.” 20

  Then, sitting at a small table not far from the hedge, with drinks at hand, Robert told him about his predica-ment. “He’s a radical, anti-everything apparently, and he’ll live in my house for the next four weeks.” Henry thought a moment, then said, “Not in your house.

  In an apartment you own. He’s just renting an apartment, that’s all. Don’t entertain him or mix socially, you’re no more than a landlord. Period. No problem.”

  “Lord, I hope you’re right. Did you read his book?” Henry nodded. “He’s a crackpot, as you said, a radical.

  Rebelling against everything this country stands for. No historian takes him seriously. No doubt he and his publisher thought they had a shocker of a blockbuster, but it didn’t work out like that. The masses didn’t take to it, either.” He made a waving gesture, dismissing the book.

  They were both silent for a few minutes. Robert was listening for a car in the driveway next door. He would give David an hour or so to get there, settle in at the apartment, for Chloe to leave him and lock the door on their side.

  “I always wondered,” Henry said, breaking the silence,

  “how David got off without a real investigation after the death of that young student.”

  “Jill Storey,” Robert said. “They said one of the vagrant dopers did it. They were thick around the campus in those days. Why wonder now?”

  “They still are,” Henry said. “No reason, really. Just wondered. He was romantically involved, and she was said to have been promiscuous. Was she two-timing him?

  Of course, she had a key to his apartment, and that alone made me wonder. I hadn’t thought of that unfortunate incident for years.” He lifted his glass and took a long drink.

  21

  “Anyway, he got off with no more than cursory questions, I guess. Most of you young people did. Yet, they never accused a particular vagrant that I recall.” The driveway to the McCrutchen house made a sweep-ing curve from the street past the attached garage and front of the building, past a pull-off space for the apartment on the far side, then completed the arc back to the street. That evening, Chloe was standing at the open door to the apartment when David’s car turned in. She waved him forward, motioning toward the pull-off parking space.

  She was startled at how little David had changed. He still had a hungry look, still lean with hard, chiseled features, a lot of dark hair rather carelessly cut, now windblown. His picture on the book had prepared her for that, but there was something else, something harder to define. He looked a little distant, his expression seemed almost to be of amused contempt, or coolly judgmental.

  She remembered that his expression had made him strangely untouchable, unreachable in the past, and he had retained it from college days.

  They shook hands and he said, “Mrs. Ochs explained the situation, and I saw the apartment she had intended for me. It seems it had unexpected company. A tree dropped in. It’s good of you and Robert to open your door like this.

  Thank you.”

  Chloe had rather expected at least a touch of awkwardness on his part but he appeared completely at ease, amused even. He looked around the two rooms approv-ingly, then stood at the glass door to the rear deck for a moment. “Mrs. McCrutchen always had a lovely garden, as I recall. It’s still lovely.”

  22

  And it still belonged to Lucy McCrutchen, who still paid for its maintenance, Chloe thought bitterly. She and Robert were house sitters. No more, no less. She turned away and said, “That door is to the rest of the house. We keep it locked, but you’re free to roam the garden, of course, and please make use of the deck. Robert’s gone most of the week, but I’ll be around if you need anything.”

  “I’m sure I won’t,” he said. “Thank you, Chloe.” She left by way of the deck, and if he thought it was a joke to keep the interior door to the house locked, while the deck was wide-open with sliding doors to other rooms, he did not mention it, or laugh out loud. But the glint of amusement had lit his eyes as he nodded.

  3

  Barbara was sitting on Frank’s por
ch, watching the guys install an automatic watering system in his garden. Frank was not doing much more than observing and trying to keep out of the way, while Darren and Todd were doing the heavy lifting, or in this case, deep stooping and a lot of kneeling. Their gift for a belated Father’s Day, Darren had said, surprising Frank with miles of coiled soaker hoses and a bag of fittings.

  Frank left the garden to join her on the porch. “Fifth wheel,” he said.

  “I’m thinking of starting a new business installing watering systems,” Barbara said. “I’d advertise heavily, stressing the experience of the crew. They did Darren’s garden last week. Todd’s idea.”

  “I’ll provide a reference,” Frank said. “Several.”

  “Can’t have too many,” Barbara said, laughing.

  Darren and Todd both stood, and Barbara was struck again by how Todd had grown over the past year. He was 24

  as tall as his father, but only half as wide. He still had a lot of catch-up in store.

  “Have you decided about going with them on their trip?” Frank asked.

  “I’m not going. It’s their thing. I don’t think Todd will be going off on those jaunts much longer. This could be the last one, in fact. He’s looking into an internship for next summer. You have to be sixteen to apply. He’s into anything to do with climatology.” Todd was in advanced placement math and science classes and, after seeing the Al Gore film and reading his book on global warming, he had decided on climatology as a career. Darren had mused that he was Todd’s age when he discovered he had a knack for physical therapy, and had focused on it afterward. Todd was just as focused now. They were going to spend two weeks and two days inspecting glaciers. They were allowing three weeks for the entire expedition.

  Frank left her a few minutes later in order to start dinner, and she thought about the three weeks she would have alone. She was looking forward to it, she had come to realize. Sometimes she missed her privacy, and she missed her long river walks. It simply was no longer convenient; there seemed never to be a good time to get them in. She knew that Darren would never object to her going off alone for a walk, not by word, look, body language, anything, yet it didn’t happen.

  When she had agreed to move in with him, she’d insisted that they had to have a housekeeper, which was new for them both. Explaining that, if Darren did the cleaning, she would feel guilty, and if she had to wield a broom, she’d be as mean as a witch, she had made her case. No argument, they hired a housekeeper. Darren did 25

  most of the cooking, and Todd helped with that more often than she did, but she did a lot of the kitchen cleanup.

  No one complained. When she had to get off to be alone, there was the apartment over the garage, converted to an office suite for her use. Yet she was looking forward to three weeks of being alone.

  For two weeks Robert McCrutchen had been accumu-lating every word printed about David Etheridge’s appearances in Eugene. He was attracting large audiences, and an attendant unruly bunch of protesters outside Buell Hall whenever he spoke. He had given two lectures so far, two to go and then he’d be gone again. Robert was not certain he could bear to wait. The protesters might follow David home, demonstrate outside the house, have a sit-in or something, break windows… Robert brooded, hating his own reaction the times he had walked out onto his own deck at his own house, only to see David at the table at the far end. Each time, Robert had turned and retreated, with no more than a nod when David glanced his way.

  He kept thinking of what Henry Elders had said, that David had gotten off easily following Jill’s murder.

  Robert had a clear memory of seeing David join the party that night and head straight for Jill. He had passed her the key, and she had kissed his cheek. He had seen it, but he didn’t think anyone else had. He asked Henry how he knew about the key and he said it had been in the newspaper accounts.

  Robert had left Salem early on the second week of David’s stay. He stopped to buy a box of Euphoria truffles, then went to city hall, and the police-records desk, where Bette Adkins was still working. He had known her in his prosecutor’s days, and she did not question his right to 26

  copy the old file of the murder of Jill Storey. She was delighted with the truffles.

  When he got home, Robert read the police reports carefully. They did not include the name of the tipster concerning the key. Probably it had been an anonymous call. When David was asked about the key, he readily admitted that he had given it to Jill. He said she and her roommate intended to rent his apartment until September. David’s roommate didn’t want to let it go altogether, since good affordable apartments within walking distance of the university were scarce. The roommate would pay half the rent to hold it, but he would be in Forest Grove all summer working with his father, and planned to return to school in the fall and the women would move out. He and Jill’s roommate confirmed David’s story. The entire arrangement had been made late in the afternoon of the day of the party, and David had had the extra key made the same afternoon.

  But, dammit, Robert thought, closing the file, someone had known about the key and tipped off the police. The newspaper accounts had been sketchy, as they always were, and he’d had no idea back then about the deal that had been made. He had believed Jill was moving in with David, as apparently others had believed from what little information had been released to the media.

  Chloe appeared at his study door to say that she intended to serve a Greek salad and bread in ten minutes out on the deck and she had invited Henry to join them.

  Robert started to object, and she said caustically, “It’s safe. David’s gone out.”

  Robert reflected that he had been a good prosecutor, thorough and dogged in his approach, and he had followed up on hunches until he found answers, or decided that 27

  none were to be found. He took a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and jotted down the word Key, then under-lined it.

  It nagged at him all through the light dinner on the deck, something about the damn key.

  “I’m going to the Hult Center tonight, remember,” Chloe said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Robert nodded absently, and Henry said, “You look like a man with a thorny problem. Like perhaps a couple of really bad bills are coming that you have to vote up or down, and you’re caught in the middle.” Robert laughed. “That would be simpler. No. It’s Jill Storey’s murder. You brought it back to mind, and it doesn’t want to leave again.”

  “Any new thoughts on that old business?” Henry asked.

  Robert shook his head. “No. And the way I see it right now there isn’t going to be a way to learn anything new.

  Unless—” He stopped and his eyes narrowed in thought.

  “For God’s sake!” Chloe said, jumping up. “What are you up to? Why do you have that police file anyway? It was a nightmare twenty-two years ago. Leave it alone.”

  “Go on to your show,” Robert said dismissively. “I’ll clear this stuff when we’re done.” She drained her wineglass, then left without another word.

  “Unless?” Henry reminded him.

  “Just thought of something. Or nothing. Are you finished here?” Robert stood, suddenly impatient to return to the police file.

  Chloe drove straight to Nick Aaronson’s apartment.

  She had not called first, but he’d better be home, she thought as she jabbed the bell.

  28

  He opened the door and stepped aside, then put his arms around her when the door was closed again. “Doll, we said not when Robert was in town. Remember?” She pushed him away. “Well, he’s in town, and there’s something you should know. David Etheridge is in our apartment, on our property, and Robert is poking into Jill Storey’s murder case.”

  Nick shook his head. “Whoa. Let’s start back a step or two. Come on in.”

  He was her age, forty-three, six feet two, strongly built and muscular. He was a successful business-management consultant whose clientele included half-a-dozen dot coms, a few Realtors, a medical g
roup, some developers.

  Privately, he consulted with a political-action group that never acknowledged his involvement. And he was Robert’s chief advisor.

  He led Chloe into his living room and nodded toward a gold-colored leather sofa. She sat and crossed her arms over her breasts, as if to say this was business.

  “Okay,” he said, sitting close by, “start back a little.

  Etheridge is in your apartment. Why?” After explaining the situation, Chloe said, “But the important thing now is that old case. Jill Storey’s murder. I saw the police file on Robert’s desk. He’s poking into it.

  Probably to try and hang something on David, but if it’s opened, he’ll be dragged in, too, even if he thinks it’s a bonus if he comes on as a prosecutor and finds the killer, and it just happens to be David.”

  “What about that old case?” Nick said. His voice had become cold and remote. “It’s history.” He went to a bar across the room and poured bourbon for two, added water and ice and returned to hand her a glass as she recounted what she knew about the night of the party.

  29

  “Talk to him,” she said finally. “I know they fought over her, and others might know it, too.”

  “Someone would have mentioned it if they’d known,” Nick said.

  “Tell him to leave it alone, to forget it. No one ever connected him and, as you said, it’s history, unless he does something stupid.”

  “Robert wasn’t under suspicion then. What’s changed?

  Why would it be trouble for him now?”

  “Then,” she said, “we had just become engaged. You know, head over heels, all that. I had Travis six months later, and it could cause someone to ask now if the wedding was under the influence of a shotgun. I don’t think it would be a secret very long that he’s never stopped chasing women. He was known to have been a chaser then and had added Jill to his list. I told everyone that we went to his room together, but we didn’t. After the fight on the deck, he disappeared, and Jill left in a hurry. Then, he was just the son of a loved surgeon and a well-regarded family, soon to be married, above reproach.