A Little Yuletide Murder (16 page)

“I understand how sensitive this is, Tom. But I also hope you see the necessity of knowing what actually happened. It could have an important bearing upon this case.”

His response was to nod and flip through pages in the file, asking as he did, “Are you involved in this, Jessica, because of a professional interest? As a writer of crime novels?”

“Goodness, no,” I said. “My publisher did ask me to consider writing a nonfiction book about the case, but I’ve declined. On the other hand—”

He glanced up. “On the other hand?”

I smiled. “On the other hand, I must admit to a certain genetic curiosity that has held me in good stead when writing my novels, but that sometimes gets me in trouble.”

He returned my smile. “Curiosity killing the cat?”

“Fortunately, not yet. I just want to make you aware that I’m cognizant of the difficult position this puts you in, just as it put Dr. Hazlitt in an awkward posture.”

“No need to further explain. If I wasn’t going to open these files to you, I would have said so right from the beginning. I’ve known Seth Hazlitt for years. He’s one of the most honorable and ethical physicians I’ve ever met, and I come in contact with a lot of them because of what we do here. No, I’m willing to share this with you and answer your questions, provided we keep it between us, in this room. In other words, you can use what you learn, but can’t tell anyone where you learned it. Fair enough?”

“It will have to be.”

“Okay, here’s what happened. Jill Walther was referred to this agency by Dr. Hazlitt a year ago. She was a senior in high school, and I understand was a very good student. I’m also led to believe that she was not the sort of young woman who might be termed ‘promiscuous.’ ”

“I certainly would concur with that. I got to know Jill pretty well because of her writing talent. I arranged for a scholarship for her to New York University.”

“I didn’t realize that. A nice thing you did for her.”

“I did only what I thought was justified.”

“Does Jill know everything going on with her father regarding the murder?”

“Yes. She came home on Christmas break a few days early once she heard about it. She’s with her mother at the farm.”

“You say you got close to her. She never mentioned any of this?”

I shook my head. “Not a word.”

“I suppose I’m not surprised,” he said. “The reason she was sent here, after all, was to get her out of your county. I was reluctant when Seth Hazlitt first called about her. My experience has been that when a young person messes up, it’s better to face things right where they are, with the people they know. But there seemed to be some additional pressure involved, and I certainly wasn’t about to say no. We seldom do when a young person is referred to us.”

“I know that Dr. Hazlitt referred her to you,” I said. “I also know the reason she went to him.”

“A sad thing when a high school girl becomes pregnant. It’s a national epidemic. For some reason, these young women think having a baby will give their lives something worthwhile, something to love and to love them back. They never stop to realize that they’ve put their entire lives on hold, never consider the tremendous financial responsibility having a child entails.”

“I certainly agree with that,” I said. “Tragic when a young woman forfeits her future by becoming pregnant before she’s ready emotionally and financially to raise a child in the proper way. But my understanding from Seth Hazlitt is that this was not the result of a deliberate act on her part. There was the question of whether she was raped, and became pregnant by virtue of that.”

“That’s right. Frankly, I honestly don’t know the circumstances that led to her pregnancy. She told me she’d been raped, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that from a girl suffering guilt, and trying to lay the blame off on something, or someone else. Did Dr. Hazlitt indicate what he felt had actually happened?”

“No. He told me she claimed when she went to him that she’d been raped. She wanted him to arrange for an abortion, even do it himself. Of course, he refused and urged her to go to the police. She said she couldn’t do that.”

“Exactly the same thing she told me when she was here. Does Dr. Hazlitt have any idea who the alleged rapist was?”

“Not that he told me. Did she give a name to you?”

He shook his large, shaggy head. “I urged her to bring charges, too, but she was adamant about not doing it. I have the feeling she was afraid that if she named the person, there might be serious repercussions. I didn’t press; it’s not my job to press.”

I thought for a moment, then asked, “Did she come here seeking an abortion?”

“Yes.”

“And you refused as well, I assume.”

“We’re not in the abortion business. I wanted her to stay in our group home for a few days and receive some counseling before making up her mind about what to do. She refused that as well. I gave her the names of two respected abortion clinics. That’s protocol with Here-to-Help. I pointed out other options—delivering and keeping the child, or putting it up for adoption. All I could do.”

“Did she come here alone, Tom? I mean, was she accompanied by anyone?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I asked her whether someone had brought her, and she said no. I felt very sad seeing her walk out of this office after the brief conversation we had. She seemed like an extremely intelligent and decent girl. I think I could have helped her if she’d stayed.”

“Do you know if she went on to get an abortion?” I asked. “I mean, I suppose I have to assume she did since I’m not aware she had a child. If she did have a child—no, that’s impossible. I spent a great deal of time with her throughout her senior year. She must have aborted the baby.”

“I’d say your assessment is correct.”

“Do you have any idea
where
she had the procedure performed?”

“Not a clue.”

“Did she pay for your services?”

“No, nor was she asked to. We’re funded by the state, some federal funds, and charitable donations. We don’t take money from the young people we serve, although there are times when a family member will insist upon making a donation to the agency. We never turn them down.” He laughed.

“Did anyone offer such a contribution on her behalf?”

He grunted as he searched for an answer. “Not that I can recall, although sometimes such contributions are made long after the young person has been helped by us, and made anonymously.”

“Do you keep records of contributions made according to their source? I mean, would you have a list of contributors to this agency from, say, Cabot Cove?”

“Mrs. Witherspoon is a fanatical record keeper. She makes a note of everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has the height and weight of every contributor in her files, along with eye and hair color. Want me to ask her?”

“If you would.”

He left the office, leaving me with some time to consider what he’d said. That Jill Walther had become pregnant in her senior year of high school was certainly a shock, not because I’m unaware that such things happen, but that it happened to her. Of course, her claim that she’d been raped cast a very different light on her situation—if that claim was true.

I was still digesting what he’d told me when he poked his head in the door and asked, “How far back do you want me to go?”

“Not too far,” I replied. “Maybe the period immediately following her visit to you.”

When he returned, he carried with him a computer printout. He sat behind his desk and scrutinized it while I waited. “Yeah, there were a couple of donations from Cabot Cove during the three months following the date of my meeting with Jill. A couple of small contributions, but one impressively large.” He laughed again. “We could use more people like this. Interesting donor, based upon what you’ve told me.”

“May I see the list?”

“Sure.”

He positioned the printout on his desk so I could peruse it. The name came off the page with physical force. Rory Brent had made a contribution of five thousand dollars shortly after Jill Walther sought the counsel of Here-to-Help.

I had to wait two hours for a bus back to Cabot Cove, and spent the time browsing quaint shops and enjoying a tuna salad sandwich in a pub that seemed to be a popular gathering spot for Salem’s business community.

I was virtually alone on the bus, for which I was grateful. I’ve always found traveling, whether on a plane, an ocean liner, or even a bus, to be good thinking time. The problem was the bus ride was so short that I’d barely began to codify what I’d learned from Tom Skaggs when we pulled up to the small, two-bay bus station in Cabot Cove.

It was four-thirty. Although the sun continued to shine, albeit with less intensity as it neared the horizon, the weather had turned colder, the sort of bone-chilling, dry cold that seems to occur only on clear winter days in Maine.

Dimitri’s cousin, Nick, was parked at the curb. I got in the back of his taxi and he drove me home.

“How are things working out?” I asked as I signed the small chit that would become part of my monthly bill for cab services.

“Very good, ma’am,” he said. “I like it here. This is a good place.”

“Cabot Cove? Yes, it certainly is,” I said, getting out of the taxi as he stood holding open the door. I’d reset the timers on my outdoor lights to go on earlier, and the one in front did as we stood in my driveway, illuminating the pretty wreath on my door.

“Are you getting ready for Christmas?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, but there is so much to do. America is a busy place, especially when a holiday comes.”

“It certainly is,” I said. “Thank you for the ride. Say hello to Dimitri.”

I brought in the mail, turned up the heat, which my frugal New England heritage has me turning down to the lowest possible level whenever I’m not there, and made a fire in the fireplace.

I sat at the kitchen table and started going through my mail. Most of it consisted of bills, although there was an envelope with only my handwritten name on it. I opened it and read:

She included Morton’s phone number.

I put the note aside; I was in no mood to talk to Ms. Brannason, or any other member of the press for that matter.

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Jessica. Seth here.”

“Hello, Seth. I just came back from Salem.”

“Yes, I know. Tom Skaggs called. You’ll have to fill me in on what transpired between you.”

“Well, he basically confirmed that—”

“Not on the phone, Jessica. Free for dinner?”

“Yes, although I’d prefer to have a quiet dinner alone right here at the house.”

“As you wish. Heard from the reporters?”

“Only Ms. Brannason, the reporter from Fox News. I take it more have arrived.”

“Ayuh,
they certainly have. You’d think the president of the United States was holdin’ a summit meeting in Cabot Cove. Got to hand it to Priscilla Hoye. She seems to have them all pretty much in hand. Knows how to deal with them, somethin’ I wouldn’t want to do.”

I laughed. “They can be an aggressive lot, that’s for certain.”

“By the way, Jessica, seems to me we ought to start pickin’ the stories we’ll be readin’ to the children at the festival.”

“You’re right, although I thought we should confer with Cynthia before making any decisions.”

“My thinking exactly. Well, if I can’t get you to agree to let me buy you dinner, I’ll wish you a good evening.”

“And the same to you, Seth. Please understand. I’d love to, but not tonight.”

“Of course. But I do think we should hook up tomorrow, say at my office at ten? I don’t have patients till one.”

“Fine. Put me in your appointment book.”

Although I wanted to settle down for the evening, content myself with some snacks for dinner, and get back to writing Christmas cards and answering correspondence, I was too restless to accomplish any of that. I found myself pacing the house, the events of the past few days flooding my brain. So I did what I often do when faced with such mental confusion. I took out a yellow legal pad and pen, sat at my desk, and listed everything I’d learned to date: