“Don’t worry about it. It’s natural for you to be concerned.”
“I appreciate your understanding.”
I realized I could probably go on like this with her for the rest of the afternoon. I’d comfort, reassure, and inform. She’d be grateful and thank me again. That way I could postpone having to pry into her personal business. “I’m interested in Sloan’s biological father.”
Margaret, unexpressive to begin with, seemed to turn to stone.
I leaned forward. “Margaret, listen to me. Just listen. What possible difference could it make after all these years? She’s gone. She won’t suffer any shame or embarrassment. I understand you feel protective, but I don’t see how it could matter.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because it all connects. It has to,” I said, though the idea hadn’t occurred to me until I opened my mouth and said so.
“How?”
“I don’t know how. Look at it this way: the players have been the same all these years. Bayard, Fritz, Troy, Austin, Poppy, and Sloan. Sloan dies. Austin disappears. Troy and Fritz go to prison, and when Fritz gets out, he ends up dead within weeks. These events are not random.”
I could see her considering the claim. I saw something flicker in her eyes and I wondered what piece of the puzzle she held. “Who is the guy?”
She shook her head once, like a horse shooing off a black fly.
I leaned forward and took her hands. “Just tell me.”
“Tigg Montgomery,” she whispered.
I sat back. The answer was unexpected and I considered the obvious implications. “You’re telling me Bayard and Sloan were siblings? He’s her half-brother?”
“Yes.”
I waited while she clasped and unclasped her hands and then she went on.
“I worked for him. This was before Joan divorced him, so the pregnancy would have put him in jeopardy financially. Santa Teresa was unsophisticated in those days. He was highly regarded, a pillar of the community, and I was his employee.”
“It must have been difficult.”
“It was hard. He was the love of my life and I couldn’t fault him for wanting to conceal the situation. I’d have done anything for him.”
“Thus the years of silence,” I said.
“I promised I’d keep quiet. In return, he promised to provide for her. Near the end, when he realized how sick he was, he came to me and said he’d make good. He intended to divide his estate between the two.”
“Did Bayard know this?”
“Tigg told him, but I have no idea what his reaction was. It must have come as a shock.”
“What about Sloan? Did she know?”
Margaret shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell her until I was certain Tigg would come through for her. Why get her hopes up when it might not come to pass? Why open the door if she couldn’t walk through? He put it off. He delayed. Maybe he got so sick, he wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he was ambivalent or changed his mind. How would I know? I didn’t want her hopes dashed, which they would have been. I believe he was sincere. I think he meant well, but he didn’t act quickly enough. The new will was drawn up, but he died without signing it.”
“What was the age difference between Bayard and Sloan?”
“Two years.”
“I thought they were in the same class at Climp.”
“They were. Bayard was held back a year because of behavioral issues.”
“And when Sloan died?”
“Bayard blamed himself. He knew he should have stepped in. There were many opportunities to intervene and he did nothing.”
“But when Sloan died, all the money was his again, right?”
“It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that he let her die when he could have prevented it.”
“Why were you so bitter about Fritz?”
“He was Austin’s instrument. Austin wanted her dead because, in his mind, she’d wounded him. She hadn’t actually done anything but he didn’t see it that way. Fritz was a puppet. There was no reason for him to do what he did, except to please Austin. Bayard hated Austin, which is why he testified at the trial.”
“But that was to get himself off the hook, wasn’t it?”
“Both were true. He settled a score and he protected himself. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“And now that Fritz is dead, where does that put you?”
“If he’d taken responsibility, things might have come out differently.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Where it puts me is I’m glad he’s dead. I wished it on him. I may go to hell for it, but I don’t care.”
“Did you have a hand in his death?”
“No, but I wish I had.”
“You have a hard heart.”
“You may discover you do as well,” she said. “Meanwhile, do you want to know how I know there’s a god? Because he answered my prayers.”
? ? ?
Well, that was a depressing conversation. I drove home, pondering the meaning of it all without understanding any of it. Sloan’s death seemed to be the sorry culmination of random elements—paranoia, miscues, rage, passivity, herd mentality, and poor judgment among them. Fritz’s death had a different feel to it. I believed he was killed for a reason, while she was killed for no reason at all. Bad luck as much as anything. I didn’t think his killing was predicated on hers, but there had to be a link between the two. At least that was my current working theory and one I needed to test. I’d have to talk to someone who was present back then and perhaps understood the larger picture. Lauren McCabe came to mind.
I drove into town and left my car near the Axminster Theater, then walked through the covered passage that led from the parking lot. The McCabes’ condominium appeared at my immediate left as I emerged onto the street. Lauren and Hollis had learned about their son’s death less than a day ago and I imagined their apartment filled with friends, offering support, sympathy, and casseroles. When I reached the top of the stairs, however, there were no signs of life. The front door was ajar and there was a stillness pouring out of the place like smoke. I pushed the door open, saying, “Lauren?”
There were no lights on. The interior, which had seemed simple and uncluttered, now seemed diminished. The absence of artificial lighting lent the living room an air of coldness and abandonment. No fresh flowers. No cooking smells. No voices.
“Lauren?”
It felt intrusive to be present without someone greeting me. I knew from my first visit where the library was located and I knew that Fritz’s bedroom was the first door on the left. I thought about going as far as his room, but I was reluctant to infringe on their privacy. I didn’t hear anyone approach, but I sensed movement in the corridor and Lauren appeared. She was barefoot and the clothes she wore looked like she’d selected them from a pile on the floor.