Husband and Wives (11 page)

‘Mrs Whitman?’ I said, once Milt and I had the two combatants settled down. ‘Would it be possible for me to test your daughters? See if there is a problem? It would be pro bono.’ At her puzzled look, I said, ‘Free. Because I find it such an interesting case.’

‘What kind of testing?’ Sarie asked.

Hedging, I said, ‘Just some general IQ testing and such.’

‘We don’t believe in that,’ said Jane Marie.

‘In what?’ I inquired.

‘Testing intelligence! That’s something you people do. We don’t.’

‘Sarie?’ I said, turning to the mother.

She nodded her head. Turning to Jane Marie, she said, with venom, ‘You tell Thomas and I’ll smother you while you sleep!’

Surprisingly, there was sudden fear on Jane Marie’s face, and I couldn’t help thinking, Sarie, you go, girl.

I headed for the door. ‘I’ll see you at my office at the hospital this afternoon, Sarie. Say around three?’ She nodded. To my husband, I said, ‘Milt, I think it’s time we left.’

‘Huh?’ he said from the couch. ‘Oh, OK.’

Milt stood and joined me. ‘Thank you, ladies, for your time.’

And we left. We’d barely gotten in the car before Milt turned on me. ‘What was that all about? I barely got a chance to ask ’em anything about Mary Hudson!’

‘You wouldn’t get any answers with both women in the same room, Milt,’ I told him as we pulled back down the long driveway. ‘I think when Sarie and her daughters come to my office this afternoon, it might be wise if you sat with her in the waiting room while I talk to the girls.’

Heading to the hospital, I spied Milt’s notebook with the addresses of the church members he wanted to interview. I noted that the last one, David Bollinger, lived within blocks of the hospital.

‘You want to drop by? We’ve got an hour before my next patient,’ I said.

‘Lead on, pretty lady,’ my husband said. So I did.

Milt Kovak – Thursday

Bollinger had a neat little ranch in an older subdivision half a mile from the hospital complex. There was a minivan in the driveway, and crowding around it were three women, one man, and a bunch of kids. It was a crowd.

I got out of the car and me and Jean headed into the fray. ‘Mr Bollinger?’ I called out.

The man turned and headed toward me. He was all smiles. ‘Hey, you must be Sheriff Kovak. I hear you’re talking to everybody who knew the Hudsons. Hey, girls, come on over,’ he said and the three women obliged.

This family appeared to be a little different. For instance, one lady was wearing jeans, another a knee-length skirt, and the third a pair of khakis. One had a short bob kinda haircut, one had shoulder-length hair, and the other had her hair up in a ponytail, but I doubted it would reach anywhere near her waist if it were down. The kids, even the girls, were wearing pants, the boys in jerseys and tees, the girls in varying kinds of tops. In other words, this family looked like the typical family next door. Except for the number of wives, of course.

‘Just trying to get any information I can about Mary Hudson – if anyone has any idea who could have done this, or why. If anyone saw anything hinky concerning Mrs Hudson. That sorta thing,’ I said.

‘Hey, I like Jerry Hudson a lot,’ David Bollinger said, shaking my hand. He was a seriously middle-class-looking guy. Medium-brown hair in a businessman’s haircut, wearing madras shorts and a blue Izod shirt. He was a little less than six foot, maybe 150–160 pounds, had a cleft chin, as did several of the kids, and a firm handshake. ‘He seems like a stand-up guy. Some of our boys play on the same soccer team. And I can tell you this, man, Jerry is dedicated to his family. Seriously. He and Mary are – were – like, solid, you know?’ he said, looking at the older of the three women standing by him.

‘Mary was a saint,’ this woman said. ‘But not obnoxiously so. She was just a good woman who happened to have a heck of a sense of humor—’

‘Oh, yeah!’ said what appeared to be the middle of the three. ‘She was hilarious. Remember that time she said that thing—’

‘Yeah,’ said the older woman, ‘about the boy’s bathroom—’

‘No,’ said the middle one, ‘the thing about that thing that Jerry found—’

‘Oh my gosh,’ said the oldest, ‘that was hysterical!’

‘I know!’ said the middle one and all three laughed.

‘Did any of you see anything out of the way? Like Mary in an argument with anyone? Or anyone paying more attention to her than they should?’

The oldest wife said, ‘Not that I can think of, Sheriff. The family always stayed together, and I know Mary and Carol Anne were like best friends. Poor little Rene was always like a little puppy dog trying to catch up with the other two, but they certainly weren’t unkind to her. More like forgetful. I can’t say Mary was ever unkind to anyone. As far as seeing her arguing with anyone, I can’t recall. I know I saw her and Jerry having words occasionally, but’ – and at this point she whacked her husband in the gut – ‘what wife doesn’t have words with her husband every once in a while?’

‘Tell me about it,’ said the middle wife.

And, ‘You’ve got that straight,’ said the youngest.

The husband put up his hands in a defensive gesture, while a big smile played on his face. ‘Guilty as charged!’ he said. ‘They gotta keep me in my place any way they can.’

The youngest wife looked serious for a moment, but hung her head. Finally, I said, ‘Ma’am, something on your mind?’

She looked up, surprised I was talking directly to her. ‘Ah.’ She looked at her husband.

‘Go on, Naomi Ruth, tell him what’s on your mind.’

‘Well, I did see someone kinda spying on Mary once,’ she said, her voice soft.

‘Who was that?’ I asked.

She lowered her head and I could barely make out the words. ‘I don’t really want to say.’

David Bollinger put his arm around her and pulled her to him. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. She nodded her head and looked up. And sighed. ‘I saw someone peeking in the window of the kindergarten class Mary taught on Sundays. I thought at first he was just checking out the kids, but then I saw them all marching out the door to the sanctuary, and they were with Yancy Lark, Mary’s helper. Mary must have still been in the room.’ She lifted her head all the way up and said, ‘But I’m not even sure Mary was in the room. He mighta just been looking for something, you know? It doesn’t mean he was stalking her or anything!’

‘Who are we talking about, Mrs Bollinger?’ I asked.

She turned to look at her husband. He nodded his head. Again, her head went down. ‘My brother,’ she said softly.

‘How old is he, ma’am?’ I asked.

‘Twenty-two,’ she said.

‘And what’s his name?’ I asked.

‘Buddy,’ she said.

David Bollinger spoke up. ‘Earl Mayhew Jr, Sheriff.’

My head popped up from my notebook where I’d been writing this down. ‘The preacher’s son?’

Naomi Ruth Mayhew Bollinger burst into tears and turned into the arms of her third of a husband.

FIVE

Jean Mcdonnell – Thursday

S
arie Whitman showed up at my office at ten minutes to three, a good sign by all accounts. Not so early that she appeared anxious, and not late enough to be challenging. The two little girls with her were adorable. The eldest, who appeared to be about six, had long hair the color of her mother’s, but curly. The youngest, about three years old, had blonde hair just as curly as her sister’s. I took the eldest, Margaret, into my office.

She was a quiet child, but well-behaved. It took about a quarter of an hour before she would begin to answer the test questions. She didn’t appear to be retarded in the least, but her learning skills and general knowledge were nowhere near age-appropriate. I went to the outer room to talk to Sarie and found Milt sitting there with her. I asked to see the second child, Melinda, as well, and was allowed to take both girls into my office, leaving Milt alone with Sarie, which had been the general plan.

Margaret played with the toys in the play area while I chatted with Melinda. She, too, did not appear to be retarded, but was quiet and somewhat withdrawn. I could only wonder if the animosity between the two women in the household might be causing problems for these two little girls. And the father’s refusal to let them attend church seemed totally wrong. Was Margaret home-schooled? I wondered. I had a lot of questions to ask Sarie, but Milt figured the murder came first. I disagreed.

Milt Kovak – Thursday

When I got to Jean’s office, Sarie Whitman was already there, sitting in one of Jean’s waiting-room chairs with the youngest of her two girls. I said hey and sat down across from her.

‘Glad you got a chance to bring your daughters in to see Dr McDonnell,’ I said. ‘She’s really good.’

‘Y’all don’t have to pretend, Sheriff. I know Dr McDonnell is your wife.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t see how y’all do it. You must not have children.’

‘Well, yes, ma’am, we do,’ I said. ‘A boy, six. He’s in the first grade at Longbranch Elementary.’

She cocked her head, sorta like a bird. ‘So your wife only works in the afternoons?’

I was beginning to get her drift. ‘No, ma’am. She works a full day, just like me. Johnny Mac stays in the daycare they have here at the hospital. That way Jean’s real close if he needs something.’

She slowly shook her head and made a ‘tsk, tsk’ sound, just like my grandma used to do when me and my best friend Lyn played rock and roll music on the hi-fi. So I knew right off the bat we were being judged. And here I was the one who was supposed to be doing the judging. I was getting pissed. But I’m professional enough to keep it in check.

After Jean took both little girls into her office, I asked Sarie, ‘So, I had some questions I wanted to ask you this morning, but you and your – hum, would she be your stepdaughter?’

‘She’s my daughter,’ Sarie said. ‘In a plural family, all the children are my children, and all the children are the children of the other wife. When Marie died, nothing changed. Jane Marie stayed on as my daughter.’

‘Hum,’ I said, ‘by looking at her, I’d say she’s a mite older than you.’

Sarie sighed and stiffened her shoulders. ‘She’s thirty-five – ten years older than me.’

‘Now that’s a bunch.’

‘You may think so, but it makes me no never mind. She’s my daughter.’

‘Yet she treats
you
like a red-headed stepchild,’ I countered.

Sarie pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders.

‘One of my questions, Mrs Whitman, is about Sister Mary Hudson, of course. When I asked how well you knew her, seemed about the only time you and Jane Marie agreed on anything. But somehow, not knowing the Hudsons well seemed like, well, let’s call it a falsehood.’

‘Lying is a sin,’ she said.

I ran through the Ten Commandments quick in my head and couldn’t come up with anything on lying. How about the seven deadlies? We Baptists don’t harp much on those, so I wasn’t real sure.

Deciding on the stern approach, I said, ‘Ma’am, how well did you know Mary Hudson?’

She shrugged but didn’t say anything.

I sighed big and loud. ‘Ma’am, if you don’t answer me here, I’m gonna have to take you back to the station to question you. Which means I’ll have to call your husband, or your older daughter to come get the little ones. What’s it gonna be?’

I felt kinda bad using her kids like that, but I had a murder to solve, and these people were cramping my style.

Sarie sighed and hung her head. ‘Mary was upset about Margaret, my oldest daughter. She wanted her to be in her class at Sunday school, but Thomas wouldn’t have it. He said she was a disgrace to him, being retarded.’ Tears stung her eyes. Looking up at me, she said pleadingly, ‘Margaret’s not retarded, Sheriff. Neither is Melinda! They’re good girls!’

‘Did Sister Mary pester your husband about this?’ I asked.

‘Oh, she never spoke directly to Thomas. It wouldn’t be proper to talk to another woman’s husband. She spoke to me about it. I told her how Thomas felt, and she said she’d try to get her husband to talk to Thomas.’

‘Did Jerry Hudson ever talk to your husband?’ I asked.

Again, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. If he did, Thomas never told me.’

‘You said your family and the Hudson family didn’t have a lot in common. What did you mean by that?’ I asked.

‘Well, they have so many children, and the three wives, and three houses and all that. We’re a small family.’

‘But Mary wanted to help you do what was best for your daughters, right?’ I asked.

She lowered her head. ‘I guess she did.’

Jean came out of the room with the two little girls. ‘You’ve got two bright little girls here, Mrs Whitman,’ she said.

Both girls ran up to their mother and hugged her. Sarie kissed the tops of their heads and beamed at Jean. ‘They’re my angels,’ she said.

‘Would you mind letting Milt watch them for just a moment while you and I speak?’ Jean said.

My head popped up, my eyes wide, looking at my wife. A great big ‘no’ stuck right inside my mouth.

‘It wouldn’t be proper,’ Sarie said, hands folded in her lap.

Jean looked at me, and I thought, Well, shit. I sighed real deep, and said, ‘Mrs Whitman, it would be my pleasure to watch your little girls, and since I have a child of my own, I know what I’m doing. Y’all can keep the door open so you can keep an eye on ’em.’

‘Men don’t take care of children,’ Sarie said, looking at me with a confused look. And all the while I’m thinking, has this girl ever watched TV? A movie? Looked at a magazine? Jeez.

‘In many families outside your church men do,’ Jean said. ‘And I agree with the sheriff. We’ll leave the door open.’

‘OK,’ Sarie said tentatively as she stood. ‘Girls, you mind the sheriff. I’ll be right in here. The door will be open, OK?’

Both girls were knee-deep in Jean’s waiting-room toy box and just nodded their heads. Sarie looked at me and then followed Jean into the office.

I looked at both little girls in their long dresses and pretty hair and thought, Sweet Jesus, don’t make me have to
do
anything!

Jean Mcdonnell – Thursday

I maneuvered our chairs so that Sarie could look out the door at her daughters. After we sat down, I told her, ‘Mrs Whitman . . . May I call you Sarie?’