Murder Under the Tree Page 11

  We made a few toasts, finished our dinner which was delicious, and before we left, Phil looked over the stage area. We would come up with some form of dessert at home.

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday, December 30

  This morning, Deirdre called to invite me to join her and Elizabeth at Marissa’s. She didn't get through to Elizabeth yesterday and was dying to hear about Elizabeth’s date with the new neighbor. So was I, so I agreed to join them. Knowing I wouldn't be able to say anything in front of Elizabeth, I told Deirdre about meeting Celine Winterberg at Hawthorne Hills. We both wondered about her relationship to Robert Peterson.

  As Elizabeth drove us to the patisserie, she talked nonstop about a movie she and John had seen last night, knowing full well we were dying to hear about her lunch with Robert.

  “Okay. Let's get down to business,” Deirdre said as soon as we sat down.

  “Yes, how was your lunch date with Robert?” I asked.

  “You mean hot date?” She laughed. “He picked me up at the library. He had a lunch prepared for us at his home.”

  “His home? What did he make?” I asked.

  “Who cares what he made?” Deirdre said, looking straight ahead at Elizabeth. “Sorry, Kay. What did you talk about?”

  Where was the usual laid-back Deirdre? Was she having feelings about this that she wasn't letting on? A bad aura? Something sinister in the tea leaves? There was something about this situation with Robert that she was taking too personally. I had my concerns also, but this was Elizabeth...the Elizabeth who dates three men at one time. Robert seemed a bit too infatuated for my liking, but regarding Elizabeth, lots of men were...even at her age.

  “He wanted to know about my childhood, my first marriage, my son. Asked if I was happy with John.”

  Deirdre looked over at me. I knew she was thinking...strange to talk about your boyfriend when on a date with someone else. Was she happy with John? She would be, if Robert would let her alone.

  “He gave me this necklace.” She looped her finger through an emerald necklace. “Said it was his mother's.”

  “Uh. It's beautiful,” Deirdre said, looking over at me again. “It matches your eyes. But his mother's! That's a bit much?”

  “I don't think so.”

  It was a stunning piece, deep emerald green, generous with rhinestones, and looked expensive. “His mother had good taste,” I said, trying to find something positive about this situation. I also thought it too much. He just met Elizabeth. But I'm sure that she found the gesture touching, since she had never had anything from her own mother.

  Marissa came over with our favorite teas, she knew what they were, and took our orders. “Lovely necklace, Elizabeth. Must be from someone special,” she said in a sing-song voice, then winked at Deirdre and myself. “Tell John he has great taste.” She left.

  How could Elizabeth feel anything but awkward after Marissa's statement? She shifted in her chair.

  “Did Robert mention anything about himself? Did he talk about being president of—” Deirdre stopped in mid-sentence.

  “Of what, Deirdre? You've been looking into his background?” Elizabeth looked stern.

  Deirdre's complexion turned bright red all of a sudden. “You're almost engaged, remember? Christmas dinner? What you told Kay? Forgive me if I'm worried about my friend.”

  “Well, don't worry.” Elizabeth turned to me. I must have looked guilty; I had been looking up Robert's past along with Deirdre. “I suppose you have something to add, Kay.”

  I glanced at Elizabeth's throat. “Your necklace sparkles so...so beautifully.” I took a sip of my tea. Then smiled.

  “Did Robert kiss you?” Deirdre demanded.

  “Deirdre!” I said.

  Deirdre looked expectantly at Elizabeth, ignoring me.

  “Only a peck on the cheek when he gave me the necklace just—”

  Marissa came over with our orders. “Here you go, ladies.”

  “Thanks, Marissa,” I said.

  “You're welcome.” She picked up dishes from a nearby table and, sparing a glance for Elizabeth, started for the door.

  “Just before I had to leave to go back to work. I had already taken a two hour lunch,” Elizabeth reached for her chocolate croissant, took a bite, and said in a low voice, almost to herself, “before he asked me out for New Year's Eve.”

  “New Year's Eve!” Deirdre and I both said at the same time in a loud manner. Marissa turned around in the doorway.

  I looked at Marissa and mouthed...sorry. She put her hand up and left. “I hope you said, 'no.’ You know that's Phil and Mike's debut at Gatsby's. You and John are sitting at our table.”

  “And...my cocktail party, before hand,” Deirdre added. “Come on, Elizabeth. You don't know anything about this guy.”

  “I didn't say yes, although...” Her lips turned up into a small smile, but she said nothing.

  I gave Elizabeth a concerned look. Deirdre's was more of disgust. Elizabeth didn't say anymore.

  Searching for something to break the awkward silence, I brought them up to date on the happenings surrounding Les' death. “I'm meeting with Viktor this afternoon at his apartment.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Deirdre asked.

  “No. I think he'll talk more freely if I'm alone. Besides, he's still getting used to me.”

  We finished eating and left.

  * * * *

  Early afternoon I drove over to the clinic. The medical records room was accessed through a door inside the Admitting section of the clinic. Dennis, a quiet, tall, lanky man was busy collecting charts from a long row of files. He was the nicest guy, but not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. He would probably let me take a look at the records.

  He looked up when I rang the bell.

  “Hello, Kay. How can I help you?”

  “Last time I worked the free clinic, I didn't have time to finish the charting. It needs to be done before the free clinic opens tonight.”

  “Okay, give me their names and I'll get the charts.”

  “There are several. I can't remember one of the names, but I know I would recognize it if I saw it. It's in the B's. Can I get them myself?”

  “Well, no one is supposed to be back there.” He hesitated.

  “Come on, Denny. I've seen other nurses from the free clinic there. Plus I've been back there a bunch of times. It's always been okay before. I'll be on my way before you know it.”

  Dennis shrugged and opened the half door. I entered the records room but, to my slight dismay, he followed behind me. That would be an obstacle, but I decided I would work around it.

  “Thank you. I've always been curious about how you keep everything straight. Looks like you have a great system?”

  “I must say, I am proud of it.”

  “As you should be. I see everything is color coded. What is this area?”

  “Physical therapy.”

  “And over there?”

  “The Cardiac Unit.”

  “Everything's right at your fingertips. I'm impressed. Each in its own department. I heard there's a new department, Anger Management. I bet there aren't many charts in that area. Do the counselors even keep their records in here?”

  “Of course. We have quite a few. More angry people in Sudbury Falls that you would imagine.” He laughed. “They're over in the corner with the lime green tags. Bright red was already taken.”

  The phone rang. “Just a minute, Kay. The free clinic charts have the navy blue tags.” He pointed to the area close to where the lime green tags were. “There's a desk in the corner you can use.”

  Dennis answered the phone on the third ring. I went over to the free clinic area and picked out three charts and sat at the desk.

  Dennis came over and took a few charts out of the yellow area. “That was Radiology. They need these charts STAT. I'll be back in a jiffy.”

  I smiled at him. “I'll stand guard for you.”

  As soon as he left, I went over to the
lime green area and looked under C for Lola Castillo. I took her chart, looked through it, removing the pages dealing with her counseling and went over to the xerox machine and copied them. I returned the chart to its proper place and sat down while putting the pages in my purse. Dennis came back into the room just after I'd finished.

  “All done,” I said. “Just had to sign my name in a few places. Thanks for letting me do this. We must have been busy the last time I worked to have forgotten.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure. Please don't make this a habit. Are you working tonight?”

  “No, I'm not scheduled until after the holidays.”

  I went out to the car, drove two blocks, parked, and took Lola's pages out of my purse. Reading through the papers, I realized that Chelsey didn't know exactly what she was talking about. The anger management counseling wasn't court ordered, it was self-referred. I hadn't realized that this program could be self-referred. No wonder she was able to keep her job. The Home probably didn't even know about her issues. I suppose crashing into a grocery store would be a good enough clue for self-diagnosis. I read on about another incident. Previous to the grocery store, Lola had crashed her car into an ex-boyfriend's car when she saw him in it with another woman. He didn't press charges. So she had a history of rage. Maybe she realized that she needed help because it was starting to get too expensive. Or was it getting bad enough to commit murder?

  I started up the engine and drove home to relax before I met with Viktor.

  * * * *

  At five-thirty sharp I was outside of Viktor's apartment. I rang his doorbell, and he buzzed me in. I walked through the long hallway, redolent with the subtle smell of families making supper, to the last apartment on the right, hoping this would be a fruitful visit.

  Viktor answered the door wearing a burgundy sweater over a blue button down dress shirt, a pair of khakis, and loafers. A big contrast from his dull, gray uniform at the Home.

  He took my coat and smiled. Until that smile appeared, I had never thought of Viktor as handsome. The hallway light accentuated his high cheekbones and strong chin. He looked comfortable in his own skin.

  “I appreciate you seeing me here.”

  “Whatever I can do to help. I'm going to have a beer, if you'd like to join me. Also have white wine.”

  After choosing the wine, he went into the kitchen and I entered his living room.

  A floral tapestry in muted colors hung from the main wall in the living room. On a table in front of the picture window stood a Christmas tree amply decorated with garland, glass ornaments, and colored lights. A religious icon hung on the wall in the corner of the room. The table below held several candles, and a couple of much used books. I walked over and picked one up. A prayer book. Bright red and gold pillows covered the back of an ivory colored sofa. I picked up a photograph on the table next to the armchair where I sat, and saw a younger Viktor with two older people, perhaps his parents or grandparents. There was one of Viktor and Les sitting at a table with two others, smiling large. Poor Les...poor Viktor. The others looked like old family photos.

  Viktor came back into the room with our drinks, and put my drink on the table off to the side with the photographs. He sat down across from me on the sofa. “Look. This is all hard for me to talk about. You know, I want to help.”

  “I know you do.”

  He poured part of his bottle of beer into a glass and continued, “I want to help as much as I...” His eyes filled with tears, then he looked away towards the Christmas tree. He reached for his beer and took a drink.

  Looking at his profile, which again made me realize he had handsome features, I said, “The more I can learn about Les...I need to get a clearer picture of Les Hollings from someone who was close to him. Who he was, people he associated with, anything you might know about his past. I'm trying to find out what motivated the crime.”

  Viktor put his glass down on the coffee table and refilled it.

  “Viktor, I understand your hesitancy to talk, to accuse Nancy of certain actions. I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about Les being a crazy, foolish kid.”

  Again, that same hesitation. I could see it in his eyes.

  “I'm trying to help,” he assured me.

  “I know. Anything you might say could be what I need.”

  “Well...” he started and then paused for a moment before continuing. “Les was convicted of a DUI, involuntary manslaughter.” He looked away again. “About ten years ago. He killed a boy...about twelve years old.”

  Now I was the quiet one, trying to refrain from showing what I was feeling. Repulsion.

  “He went to prison for two years.”

  What? Two years for a child's life? I thought of the young boy whose life was senselessly taken. And the consequences of Les' actions. “Do you know the boy's name?”

  “Bobby Harris. He mentioned him from time to time.”

  I tried to get a hold of myself. “You said Les lived in a small town in Wisconsin. Was that where it happened?”

  “Yes. Some little town in northeastern Wisconsin. I can't remember the name. Some number in its name.”

  “Two Rivers?” I had just told the city's name yesterday to Deirdre.

  “That's it! How did you know?”

  “I'm from eastern Wisconsin.” True, but not why I knew.

  He paused again. “Les didn't drink after that. Said he still had nightmares.”

  Two Rivers. Nancy was from Two Rivers. “Did Nancy know about his felony?”

  He shrugged. “He started work at Hawthorne Hills five years ago, about six months before she did.”

  Viktor flinched when he said the word “she.” Every time any of the workers talked about Nancy or mentioned her name, they did so in a disdainful manner. “You said the police looked over his apartment.” Viktor had mentioned he had Les' keys. “I wish I could go through his place.”

  He glanced at his watch. Did he want me to leave already? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything about wanting to see Les' apartment.

  He looked at me. Then picked up the empty beer bottle, and looked at the label. “I suppose we could go over now. Sure, let's go.”

  I hadn't touched my wine.

  We drove over to Les' about a half mile away. Viktor took me through his small apartment, which was sparse in furniture and lacked any character or style, unlike Viktor's cozy apartment with its warm colors and family photos. There were open boxes lying on the floor with a few things in them.

  He saw me looking at the boxes. “I told you his sister is coming in a couple of days to pick up his things. Thought I would help out and start packing some of his stuff.”

  “Mind if I look around?”

  “Be my guest.” He turned on the stereo, then sat down on the sofa and leaned his head back.

  I walked into Les' bedroom, not having any idea what I was looking for, but hoping I'd know if I saw it. There wasn't much in the room. A full size bed, a chest of drawers, an uncomfortable-looking chair over by the window. I glanced through the drawers and shelves of his closet.

  Coming back into the living room, I saw that Viktor had closed his eyes. Blues music filled the room. I went into the kitchen and saw Les' mail lying on the table. Fingering through the stack, hoping to find some hint of a reason for Les' death, I came upon a phone bill addressed to Leslee Hollingsworth. “Leslee Hollingsworth?” I said out loud, taken back by the name.

  I went back into the living room. Viktor's eyes were open. He must have heard me. I handed the envelope to him. “What's this, Leslee Hollingsworth?”

  “Don't know. Must be some kind of mistake.”

  Viktor handed the envelope back to me. I turned it over in my hands a few times. This phone bill could give me some clues. “I suppose opening this is illegal,” I said, dizzy with temptation.

  “Lady, I'm not going to tell anyone if you don't.”

  He handed me a knife he took out of his pocket and I slit open the envelope. I looked through the couple pages
of calls made and received. There weren't many. One of the numbers listed appeared six times, the last time being a day before Les' death. “Viktor, do you recognize this phone number?”

  He took the page from me. “I have no idea. I wonder who it is.”

  “One way to find out.” I went into the kitchen and reached for the phone on the wall and dialed the number.

  The phone rang three times before it was picked up. “Business Office.” A rough, stern man's voice was on the other end.

  “I'm calling for Les Hollings.”

  “Hollingsworth? Did he get my message?”

  I covered the receiver with my hand and whispered, “Does Les have an answering machine?”

  Viktor whispered, “I packed it up last week.”.

  I spoke into the phone. “Didn't quite understand it.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Melissa Hollingsworth.” I looked over at Viktor. “Les' sister. Nice to make your acquaintance.” I was surprised to hear my voice go up an octave and take on a slight upper crust British accent...too many detective movies. Seemed the accent would fit with the name Hollingsworth.

  “Les' sister, eh? Well, Melissa, sweetie, you tell your brother to call me back if he wants what I dug up.”

  He hung up. I put the phone down and looked at Viktor.

  “Well that was pretty sad. The accent, that is,” Viktor said in his heavy accent. “Did you find out who he was?”

  “No, but I have an idea how to. I need a computer.”

  We drove back to Viktor's. I sat down on the overstuffed chair and took a sip of my warm white wine. I looked up a cell phone directory website and then entered the number. A window popped up saying it was a Minneapolis number and provided a place where I put in my credit card number. In a matter of minutes, I found out that Les was in contact with the John DeMire Agency Investigations LLC.

  I keyed the agency into Viktor's laptop. It was a background investigative service, providing surveillance, information gathering, and research in the Twin Cities area. His slogan was, “If you have a hunch, we will find out the truth.” I raised my eyebrows.