“Because he never liked Tiffany, not for a minute. And, he didn’t understand what his son saw in her. I resented that. I resented him. And I let Tad know how I felt, too.”
“Did his father try to stop Tad from marrying Tiffany?”
“Not overtly,” Myrtle said, “but he made little comments all the time. Tossed them off like jokes, only they weren’t funny. They were barbs, against my beautiful daughter. And they hurt Tad and Tiffany, too.”
“How do you know?”
“Tad’s a good boy, he tells me things. He and I are very close. What he said made me hate his father, though.”
The intensity of Myrtle’s hatred was palpable. Cindy felt waves of it go through her as well.
“What did Tad tell you about him?”
“His father let him know how he felt in plenty of ways, said he didn’t think the marriage would last. Whatever Tad did, his father made him feel lousy about it. I built him up though, told him what a fantastic guy he was. He liked talking to me. I was kind to him and warm. Much warmer than his stiff mother, who went along with whatever the father said.”
“Why did you want Tiffany to marry into that kind of family?” Cindy asked, appalled.
“Tiffany was marrying Tad, not his family,” Myrtle spit out. “He loved our family. I knew he’d end up spending more and more time with us. His crazy mother and father wouldn’t have such a hold on him.”
Cindy shook her head. That was exactly what Tad had believed, that he’d get Tiffany away from them. She had no intention of saying that to Myrtle, though.
“Your husband liked Tad very much, too?” Cindy was double checking.
“Yes, of course, he did. Tad belonged with us, there was no question about it.”
Cindy suddenly felt nervous for all of them.
“And what does Frances have to do with all of this?” Cindy went on.
Myrtle looked confused. “Absolutely nothing, it’s a complete foil. There’s no way he could have been sleeping with Tiffany. She was a good girl.”
“You’re sure of that?” asked Cindy.
Myrtle looked outraged.
“Are you turning it around, blaming the victim? Are you ascribing disgusting qualities to my daughter, slandering her even in death?”
“That is not my wish,” said Cindy.
“But that’s what you’re doing,” Myrtle bit her lip. “If you ever dare believe that Tiffany was sleeping with Frances, I’ll have to fire you on the spot.”
“I am just reporting to you what people are saying,” Cindy spoke in the most professional tone she could muster.
“What people say on this island is meaningless,” Myrtle threw her head back. “I keep away from all of it. When we’re down here, I stay on the boat alone. My husband is the one who mixes it up, goes to parties, talks at events, makes a name for himself. I couldn’t care less. All I ever cared about was Tiffany. She was the one who really mattered to me.”
“How about Wynn?” Cindy asked, horrified.
“Wynn’s okay,” Myrtle went on, haughtily. “She’s close to everyone, though. Tiffany belonged to me!”
“I heard Tiffany had many people she was close to,” Cindy wanted to bring some reality in.
“Of course Tiffany had many friends,” Myrtle leaned over, “but the one who mattered to her was me. At the end of the evening, she’d come home and tell me every little thing that happened. She didn’t hide a thing. And she never said a word about Frances. Nothing. He was just a casual friend.”
Tad hadn’t been so far off track. Tiffany’s mother had her clutches into her, big time. Cindy felt the need to take this further, shock Myrtle and get more information.
“There is a question,” Cindy continued, “that Tiffany might have been pregnant at the time of her death. Frances claims it was his baby. The medical examiner is trying to find out.”
Myrtle’s mouth hung open. “Pregnant?” It was more than she could absorb. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a chance that Tiffany was with child,” Cindy spoke evenly. She felt that sooner or later Myrtle would hear this anyhow. “It’s a definite possibility.”
Myrtle scratched her hands on the table desperately.
“Frances insists he’s the father,” Cindy continued. “We thought it could be either him or Tad. Tad said it’s impossible that Tad could be the father.”
Myrtle face grew pale.
“Why would it be impossible for Tad to be the father?” Cindy asked.
Myrtle’s face began to twitch.
“My precious daughter was pregnant?” she moaned. “A grandchild was on the way?”
“Do you think Tad was the father?” Cindy persisted.
“No, he’s right. He couldn’t have been, he told you the truth.” Myrtle could barely get the words out.
“Why couldn’t he?” Cindy knew they were zoning in on something crucial.
“Tad didn’t do well sexually,” Myrtle said softly.
Cindy’s brain raced with possibilities. “Impotent?” she asked.
“Most of the time,” Myrtle said, matter of factly. “It’s not such an uncommon problem these days.”