Ice Cold Murder Page 6

  He closed his newspaper and folded it over. “Hilda Bixby liked to drink. She liked it so much in fact, that she preferred it to being a mother. I think it’s probably more accurate to say that Hilda didn’t lose custody of her daughter but gave it up voluntarily.”

  My mouth dropped open. What mother would do such a thing? I looked at Lucy. She stared back at me, wide-eyed.

  “Are you sure?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “I remember because my brother-in-law had a fling with her about that time. She lived a wild life that one did. She also told him she wished Iris had never been born. The girl slowed her down.”

  “She wished Iris had never been born? What a horrible thing to say about your own child,” I said.

  “Did she ever get her back?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes, she gave up the drinking and running around and convinced a judge to give her back when Iris was fourteen. Iris hated to go back to her. She had been living with her grandmother and was happy as could be. It was her first year of high school and she had to change schools when her mother brought her back to Sandy Harbor,” Mr. Winters said, nodding.

  “I’d be unhappy too if my mother had given me up and then wanted me back,” I said.

  “Why did she want her back if she said she wished Iris had never been born?” Lucy asked. “It doesn’t seem like she would have such a complete turnaround like that.”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe once she was sober, the guilt set in. It’s hard to say.”

  It was a lot to absorb. It flew in the face of everything I believed as a mother and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I wasn’t so naïve as to think it didn’t happen all the time in this world. It just wasn’t something I could do.

  I took a sip of my cooling latte and considered whether I was wrong about my assessment of Hilda Bixby. Maybe she was capable of murdering her only daughter. Maybe she still resented her daughter slowing her down and when she couldn’t control Iris like she wanted, she killed her. Richard Rose said she had rage issues. Maybe when she went down to the school to help Iris, she had lost her temper. I might have been grasping at straws, but it seemed more apparent that Hilda might have killed Iris.

  I signaled to Lucy and we stood up.

  “Thank you, Mr. Winters. If you think of anything else, will you call me?” I asked.

  “Well, I would if I had your phone number,” he said, cocking his head as if to say I was a dummy.

  “Of course,” I said and dug through my purse. I found a business card for my grief blog and handed it to him. I was going to have to make some up for my soon to be baking blog. “It’s on there.”

  He looked the card over. “A grief blog?” he asked questioningly.

  I nodded. “Soon to be a baking blog,” I said and left him looking befuddled.

  “Let’s go, we have work to do,” I whispered to Lucy as we headed for the door.

  --11--

  “So where are we headed?” Lucy asked when we got into the car.

  I turned toward her. “I think we should pay Hilda Bixby a visit. Maybe take her a pie as a token of our sympathies. I just think there has to be more there, somewhere.”

  “Do you think she killed Iris? And then, what? Took her out to the woods?” she asked.

  “Maybe. But Hilda isn’t a large woman. I’m not sure she could have carried her from a murder site and then dragged her out into the woods and buried her. That’s a lot of physical work. Maybe she took her out into the woods and killed her there. That would be easier.”

  “Were there footprints in the snow where Iris was found?” she asked. “Maybe she had someone help her?”

  I shook my head. “No. It had snowed the night before we found her. The snow would have covered any prints.”

  “Right,” she said, thinking. “It’s possible she had help. Oh, I know, maybe Iris’s mother and her husband plotted together and killed her and took her out there.”

  “Not likely,” I said. “Richard Rose and Hilda hate each other. Even if it benefited the two of them, I highly doubt they could have cooperated with one another long enough to kill her and get her buried. And I can’t imagine how they both would benefit.”

  “Maybe they were in love with each other?” she said starting to get excited.

  “Lucy. I just said that they hated each other,” I said.

  “Maybe there was insurance money?” she suggested.

  “That’s something Alec needs to check into,” I said.

  “Well, let’s go see Hilda and see what she has to say,” she said, buckling her seat belt.

  ***

  We climbed the steps up to Hilda’s apartment over the garage, looking over our shoulders to make sure Richard wasn’t watching. I didn’t see a car in the driveway, so I thought he must be gone somewhere. I had read in the newspaper that Iris’s funeral was the next day. I didn’t think Alec and I could show up to it, since we hadn’t really known her well.

  “Wow, Hilda must be in good shape to climb these every day,” Lucy panted. Her foot slipped and she grabbed tighter to the railing. “Whoa.”

  “Be careful,” I said, looking over my shoulder. “The snow doesn’t help. I’d have taken a tumble down them by now.”

  I stood with my hand poised to knock on the door and it flew open. “Oh!” I nearly squealed. “Hello, Hilda, I-we were in the neighborhood and we thought we’d stop by.”

  Hilda squinted her eyes and leaned past me to get a look at Lucy.

  “This is my friend Lucy Gray. We uh, brought you a pie,” I said indicating the shopping bag I had on my arm. I had one hand on the landing railing and suddenly felt a little queasy at the stair height. I wasn’t good with heights and this garage apartment suddenly seemed terribly high.

  “Hi,” Lucy said, still clutching the railing. “Oh say, don’t I know you? You worked at the library for a while, didn’t you? And the bank?”

  Lucy was an avid reader and user of the public library, but I had no idea Hilda had ever worked there.

  Hilda took a step back. “I’ve worked both places. You like John Grisham, don’t you?”

  “Wow, you have quite the memory,” Lucy said. “It’s been years since you’ve worked there, hasn’t it?”

  “It has,” Hilda agreed. She still had a very somber look on her face and I wasn’t sure she would let us in. Then she suddenly took another step back and held the door open. “Why don’t you come in?”

  We followed her into the apartment. “I love what you’ve done with this place,” Lucy said, following me in. “And I’m so sorry about your daughter. What a terrible tragedy.”

  “Thank you,” Hilda said. “I still can’t believe it’s true. I suppose I won’t until I actually see her. The viewing is this evening.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. My heart really went out to her, regardless of whether what Mr. Winter’s said was true or not. “I was baking yesterday and I made you a blueberry sour cream pie, Hilda. Would you like me to cut a piece for you?”

  She looked at me, surprised, and then her eyes went to the shopping bag I held.

  “Well, I suppose a little wouldn’t hurt. I do love blueberries,” she said.

  “I’m so glad,” I said and headed to her little kitchenette. “If you don’t mind, I’ll help myself with finding the dishes?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said absently. “Have you read Grisham’s latest?” she said to Lucy, motioning toward one of the loveseats.

  “I haven’t. The library hasn’t gotten it in yet. But I placed a request for it to come from the Bangor library. Is it good?” Lucy asked enthusiastically.

  “I don’t think it’s one of his best,” she said. “But it’s not his worst, either.”

  I opened a cupboard and found her dishes. The plates were a plain white Corelle. I took out three dessert plates and three coffee cups. Pie and coffee was the way to anyone’s heart and thoughts. It was easier for people to open up over good food. A small four-cup coffee maker sat in the corner of the countertop
beside a white ceramic canister of coffee. It was the perfect size for such a small kitchen. I quickly got a pot of coffee brewing, and then turned to the pie.

  It smelled wonderful. I had made a crumb topping and blueberry juice had bubbled up around the edges during baking. I made a mental note to use blueberries more often. They were a super food and tasted great in pie.

  Lucy and Hilda discussed books as the coffee brewed. I could have gotten in on the discussion, since I loved books too, but Lucy was doing an excellent job of getting Hilda to loosen up.

  I found a serving tray and poured three cups of coffee and put them on the tray along with sugar and the cream I found in the refrigerator. I put three pieces of pie on the tray and headed to the living room.

  “Here we are,” I said, setting the tray on the coffee table and taking a seat next to Lucy.

  “Oh, that pie looks lovely,” Hilda said, reaching for a cup of coffee and fixing it to her liking.

  “Thank you, I think it’s one of my better pies,” I said, trying to sound humble. Where my pies are concerned, humble is a hard one for me.

  “I’ve tried a piece of your cherry pie before,” she said, reaching for a piece of pie.

  “Oh? When did you try that?” I asked, stirring my coffee.

  “At the Halloween bazaar. I have to say, it was one of the best pieces of cherry pie I’ve ever eaten,” she said.

  “Oh, thank you. That’s sweet of you to say,” I said. It always made me feel good when someone complimented my baking, and it seemed like Hilda was not one to give idle compliments.

  “Allie is going to sell her pies and desserts at Henry’s Home Cooking Restaurant,” Lucy said, tasting a piece of the pie. “Mmm, Allie this is so good.”

  “How wonderful. I guess I know where to go whenever I need something sweet,” Hilda said.

  “Thank you, ladies,” I said. “It’s good to hear when someone enjoys my cooking. Hilda, how are you doing? This has got to be so hard on you.”

  She sighed heavily and her eyes welled up with tears. “It is. As a mother, you go over all the things you did or didn’t do and the things you wish you could change.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. It was unthinkable that a child would die before a parent. “I have a blog on grief. I’m no longer updating it, but there are eight years worth of articles on there. You might find it helpful.” I handed her a card with the web address on it.

  She looked at it. “I’m not big on the Internet, but I’ll try and take a look,” she said.

  “I know some people aren’t really into the Internet, but I think it’s good to have help getting through this sort of thing. Have you considered counseling?”

  She sighed. “You know what would help me get through this?” she asked.

  “What would that be?” I asked, feeling like I wouldn’t like the answer.

  “It would be to see the murderer downstairs thrown in jail for the rest of his life,” she said pointing at Richard’s house.

  “Oh, well, I know they’re working on figuring out who the murderer is,” I stammered.

  “I already know who it is,” she said. Anger was creeping into her voice and I wondered if we were going to see the rage Richard had spoken of.

  I nodded my head. “I’m sure the police will find the guilty person and--”

  “I know who the guilty person is!” she said, cutting me off. Things were going from nice and friendly to not so friendly.

  “I think what Allie is trying to say is, the police need to follow certain procedures so they can make the arrest and make it stick,” Lucy interjected.

  Hilda took a deep breath. “I suppose that’s necessary. But I do know who did it.”

  “What makes you know this?” Lucy asked gently.

  “I told her already,” she said nodding toward me. “That worthless husband of Iris’s had an affair on her with a much younger woman. He wanted Iris gone so he could be with her. He didn’t want a messy divorce. No, that would have been too easy. He’s heartless.”

  Lucy nodded. “You spoke about regrets. What would you have changed?” she asked gently. She was trying to change the subject, but it felt like too fast of a switch and I hoped it didn’t backfire on her.

  Hilda sat up straight. “I would have been a better mother. I-I would have spent more time with her when she was a child. I loved her. I don’t care what anyone says.”

  I nodded. “Its hard, raising a child,” I encouraged. “All parents have regrets.”

  “I put her into foster care,” she suddenly said. “I did it, it’s true. But I was a different person back then. And my mother got custody, so it’s not like it was a stranger that I had given her over to.” Her voice cracked on the last part.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. There didn’t seem to be anything else I could say at that point.

  “I hated her,” she spat out, looking at me. “There were days I absolutely hated my daughter. I don’t know why. She was so nice and sweet and spineless and weak and it irritated me. There. There it is. Is that what you came for?” Bitterness laced each word as she spoke it.

  I stared at her, wide-eyed. I had no idea what to say to this. I looked at Lucy for help.

  “Hilda, no one knows what a person has walked through in their life. They can judge and think they know it all, but the truth is, the rest of us are looking in through a small window in another person’s life. We don’t know. No one does. But you tried to do better and that’s all you could do,” Lucy said quietly.

  Hilda turned to Lucy, and her face softened a little. “I think I need to be alone now.”

  --12--

  “I’m tired. I need more sleep,” I said as Alec put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. “But thanks for making breakfast.”

  “You need to run more. That will do give you more energy,” he replied, sitting across from me.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you serious? I’m running fifty miles a week.”

  “Ah. Well, I guess it’s something else,” he said. A small smile played on his lips.

  “You know, you’re not as serious as I thought you were when we first met,” I said, and took a drink of my coffee.

  He chuckled. “I’ve changed? Well, I’d be boring if I were as serious as you first thought.”

  “Have you heard anything new about Iris’s murder?” I asked.

  “Her neck was broken,” he said, taking a bite of eggs.

  “Really? So it could have been an accident?” I asked, and then realized that was probably dumb.

  “Well, it could be except that she didn’t bury herself,” he said.

  “What if she slipped and fell out there and broke her neck and the snow covered her body?” I asked. I just wanted to cover all the angles.

  “Possible, but not probable. It was too cold to be out there on foot,” he answered.

  “She could have been out there, going for a walk,” I pointed out. “Maybe she spent a lot of time out in the woods, and was used to the cold. Therefore, she wouldn’t need heavier shoes and clothes.”

  “But neither her husband nor her mother mentioned it, therefore you’re just being silly.”

  “And there wasn’t a car,” I said.

  “Right.”

  I sighed. “I’m too tired this morning to figure out what happened to her. My brain isn’t working.”

  “I’m not going to touch that one,” he said wisely.

  “Well,” I began, not looking at him. “I did learn something.”

  “Uh oh. What might that be?” he asked suspiciously.

  I looked him in the eye. “I’m helping you, whether you like it or not, so you may as well be happy about it.”

  He chuckled again. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re helping me whether I like it or not.”

  I decided to ignore that comment. “It seems Hilda had a drinking problem in her younger years and she is never going to be voted mother of the year.”

  “Well, that would apply to many mothe
rs, and fathers as well. But I’m assuming, since she was living in the apartment over Iris’s garage, that they mended their past.”

  “That’s what Hilda says. But Mr. Winters said that Hilda said she wished Iris was never born and that she voluntarily gave up custody, only to take it back about five years later,” I said.

  “Wait, that’s what Hilda said? You went to talk to Hilda after we talked to her the first time?” he asked, fork poised mid-air.

  I had hoped he would miss that part, but he was, after all, an ace detective. “I brought her a pie. Food always makes the hurt easier to bear.”

  “Listen, Allie, I appreciate the help. Sometimes. But I really don’t think you should go to a possible suspect’s house and interview them by yourself. I’ve told you this before. You never know when you might push them too far,” he said. He gave me a hard look, and put his fork down on his plate.

  “I wasn’t alone. I brought Lucy,” I said and filled my mouth with egg and toast to keep from saying anything else.

  He sighed. “I wonder why that doesn’t make me feel better?”

  I chewed and swallowed quickly. “Look, I know it’s not the ideal situation, but Richard is right. She does have anger issues--”

  “And I know how you have issues with people with anger issues, but it doesn’t mean a thing,” he said, cutting me off.

  I sighed. “Will you let me finish? She admitted to making mistakes. Giving up custody was a big one for her and she admits it. And why are you skipping over the fact that she said she wished Iris was never born?”

  “So?” he said, shrugging her shoulders. “It doesn’t seem unusual that a parent would regret giving up custody. It wouldn’t surprise me if a desperate parent would admit to wishing they’d never had their child. It would have made things easier if they hadn’t, and Hilda knew she made a mistake and tried to make it right by taking her daughter back.”

  “Giving up custody is something most people wouldn’t do in the first place,” I said. “It was weird though. It seemed like she knew why we were there, and she told us anyway. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think there’s something there.”