I felt much better after that.
eighteen
WE'D learned a lot more about the professor during our strange talk with his widow, but I wasn't sure that what we'd learned would be of much help in narrowing the search for his murderer. Not that I cared a whole lot about who'd killed Nunley—but I did care who'd killed Tabitha.
There was a basketball game I wanted to watch in Texas. I wanted to be free to go to it. I wanted to look for a house in Texas, a house that wasn't too far from where my sisters lived. So I wanted to be free of this situation, both for the sake of the Morgensterns and for my own reasons.
Tolliver was outside tipping the valet as I walked through the Cleveland lobby. I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice Fred Hart until he called my name.
'Miss Connelly! Miss Connelly!' His heavily southern voice pulled me back into the here and now, though I wasn't happy about it. Maybe the look I gave him wasn't very friendly, because he stopped in his tracks.
'Did you need to see me?' I asked, which was a stupid question, but I had to say something.
'Yes, I'm sorry to disturb you,' he said. 'Joel and Diane asked me to deliver something to you on behalf of the Find Tabitha Fund.'
It took me a few seconds to understand what he was saying, and by that time Tolliver had caught up me and shaken Mr. Hart's hand. Standing in the middle of the lobby didn't seem to be a good place for such a conversation. I suggested Mr. Hart some up to our room with us. He wasn't very enthusiastic about accepting, but he trailed along after us into the elevator.
The close quarters made me aware that Mr. Hart had been lubricating himself with bourbon. I tried not to make a face as the all-too-familiar smell caught at my throat, and I saw Tolliver's face tighten. Tolliver's father had been very fond of bourbon. We both had a great distaste for bourbon.
'I understand that you two met my daughter before,' Mr. Hart said. In the mirrored surface of the elevator wall, I stared at a man who seemed to be aging by the minute. Fred Hart was grim and gray.
'Yes,' I said. 'Tolliver dated her for a while.'
I don't know what demon prompted me to add that, but I think I was feeling needled by Fred Hart, by his reluctance to come to our room. I decided that was because he thought there was something distasteful and shoddy about us, and I wanted to get back at him. That was a stupid thing to do.
'Did he now? Felicia is so focused on work…' his voice trailed off. He should have finished the sentence by saying 'that I'm glad she found time to go out,' or 'that she seldom seems to date.' Those were the words that would have made sense of the thought. But it was like his heart gave out before he could complete the idea. We both tried hard not to look too startled.
When we finally got into the room, I, for one, was thinking we should maybe call the older man a cab, not let him drive home. I was really concerned. He'd seemed such a nice guy at the Morgensterns' awful luncheon; very serious and sad, true, but also caring and thoughtful. What had happened to Fred Hart?
'Mr. Lang, Miss Connelly,' he said ceremoniously, standing in the middle of our little temporary living room, 'Joel asked me to give you this.' He took an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and handed it over to me.
I stared at the white envelope for a moment before I opened it. There was no way to do this that wasn't awkward. The envelope contained a check for forty thousand dollars. It was the reward money for finding Tabitha's body. With this money added to what we had in savings, we'd be able to buy a house. My eyes filled with tears. I hadn't wanted to earn it this particular way, but I was glad to have it.
'You're shaken, I can see,' Mr. Hart said, sounding pretty shaken himself. 'You may not want to accept this, Miss Connelly, but you did the work and you deserve it.'
I did want to accept it, and I had every intention of accepting it. I did deserve it. But somehow his words shamed me, and I felt abruptly sick.
To my horror, I saw a tear trail down Fred Hart's cheek.
'Mr. Hart?' I said, in a very small voice. I was not qualified to deal with a weeping man, especially since I didn't know the trigger for his tears.
He sat down heavily in the closest chair, which happened to be one of the wing chairs. Tolliver settled in the other, his face unreadable, and I perched on the edge of the love seat across from them. We had just had a very strange talk with Anne Nunley; now it looked as though we were going to have one with Fred Hart.
Of course, alcohol was playing a major role in opening Fred Hart's emotional conduits.
'How are Joel and Diane?' I asked, another stupid thing to say. I was trying to divert him, since I had no idea what to do.
'Bless them, they're fine,' he said. 'Diane is such a good girl. It was hard to see him marry again, see someone take Whitney's place. Diane should never have married him. I never should have let Whitney marry him. Out of her league, and I knew it.'
'What do you mean? Was he mean to Whitney?'
'Oh, no, he loved her! He was good to her, and he adores Victor, though he doesn't understand him at all. That happens a lot with fathers and sons, though… and fathers and daughters, too.'
'You mean Joel didn't understand Tabitha?'
He looked at me with a face that was still wet, but now impatient, too. 'No, of course not. No one 'understands' a girl that age, especially the girl herself. No, what I mean is… it doesn't make any difference what I mean.'
My heart was pounding fast with anxiety. I felt we were close, so close, to understanding what had happened at the Morgenstern house that spring morning.
'Are you saying Joel molested Tabitha?'
