Hollis Grant Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Joan Boswell
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and fumbled in her pocket for a tissue.
“It’s okay. Cry as much as you want.” Marguerite patted her as if she were a colicky baby.
Hollis pulled away and blew her nose. “If I start, I’ll never stop. It’s . . .” She couldn’t find the words. Instead she pulled in a deep shaky breath. “I need to talk more than I need to cry.” In the hours since Marguerite’s call, she’d worked out the questions she wanted answered.
Marguerite smiled, “I’ll listen until you’ve said everything you want to say.”
They stopped in the tiny, functional kitchen where Marguerite poured two drinks—a gin and tonic for Hollis, a gin and orange juice for herself. She loaded the glasses, a large glass bowl of popcorn, a salt shaker, a pottery bowl of salted almonds and paper napkins on a red metal tray. They moved out to a slatted wooden deck sitting atop a flat-roofed addition to the lower floor. Furnished with five sling-back canvas chairs, each covered with different, crayon-bright canvas, planters newly stocked with geraniums and dusty miller, and a round, weathered coffee table, the deck promised to be a sunny summer refuge.
They sipped and munched in silence for a minute or two.
“I’m having trouble believing Paul was murdered,” Hollis said. “My mind circles around and around, desperate to deny or to confirm that everything was a bad dream.”
“I know the feeling. Except when they’re killed in southern states like Georgia or Alabama, you don’t think of ministers as targets.”
“I need to talk about Paul.”
Marguerite waited.
“You must have guessed, or maybe Paul told you, he didn’t want me involved in church activities?”
Marguerite nodded. “I wondered why, but Paul wasn’t one to explain himself, and I didn’t know you well enough to bring up the subject.”
“It was an agreement we made when we married. Paul said we both had established ourselves professionally and should maintain our separate public lives. He said we were too old to interweave our careers—I should continue my teaching and research and leave his work to him. I regret being a party to that decision.” She twisted her fingers together. “How could we ever have hoped to have any kind of a marriage when these were the terms?” Hollis stopped and stared at her hands as if they might help her reveal her secrets. “This is hard. I haven’t talked to anyone about Paul. It’s too late for our marriage, but for my peace of mind and because I’m a suspect and could be a target, I must find out more about the parts of Paul’s life he didn’t share with me, starting with the church. How did the two of you get along? How did you divide the responsibilities? To understand him, I’d like to familiarize myself with the details of his daily life.”
“I don’t understand the connection. Are those the only reasons? “
“And because I feel guilty. Even though Paul said he didn’t want me to play a role in the church, I shouldn’t have agreed.” Hollis gazed out over the rooftops. “But, to be honest, the setup suited me too. Because I didn’t want him interfering in my profession, I allowed him to dictate the terms. And not only from his ministry. Paul excluded me from other parts of his life.” She unlocked her fingers and traced the blue zigzag pattern on the glass. “It’s probably irrational, but humour me.”
Marguerite scooped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “I can’t imagine how it’ll help, but here goes. Paul and I belonged to a team, an equal team.” She emphasized ‘equal’. “Paul didn’t like it, and I don’t blame him. I’m younger, a woman, and I have a masters of theology compared to his doctor of divinity. Nevertheless, our contracts spelled out the equality of the team. Fortunately, St. Mark’s hired me six months before Paul, and the intervening time gave me a chance to establish my constituency in the congregation before he arrived. Because we both considered preaching a strength, our contract allocated equal pulpit time.” She smiled wryly. “Paul preached more intellectual sermons, but he didn’t reach people’s emotion the way I do.”
She considered. “After our initial power plays, we sorted our roles. Paul did counselling, theologically based study groups, work in the larger church, half the visiting and attended half of the committee meetings. I did the other half, supervised the Sunday morning development program, made hospital calls and participated in ‘Roots and Wings’, a study group of Christian feminists working to achieve inclusive language. Incidentally, when I inquired if Paul thought you’d like to join us, he said no. I was sorry because I figured you’d add a lot to our work on the revision of hymns and the prayers to eliminate the endless references to ‘men’, to ‘sons’, to exclusively masculine terms, and the substitution of nonspecific terms like ‘people’ or the addition of ‘daughters’, ‘wives’, ‘women’.”
“He never said a word to me.” Hollis piled popcorn on a paper napkin.
“You’re kidding.” With her legs outstretched, Marguerite regarded her intricately beaded moccasins. “Paul and I spoke to each other at the Friday morning meeting with Zena, Barbara and Lewis, or whoever our current custodian was. Paul and I didn’t dislike one another, at least I didn’t dislike Paul, but we staked out our territories.”
“Can you think of anything different about him or about his routine in the last few weeks?”
“Because my office is upstairs, and his was downstairs, we didn’t run into each other. People come and go and, although you say hello, you don’t keep track. One thing I can tell you—Paul recorded things. He was detail-oriented, fussy about appointments and punctuality. Paul used his desk calendar . . .” She twinkled at Hollis, “religiously,” and then grimaced. “Sorry, this is no time for levity.” She explained “I guess I joke because I’m sensitive—promptness and strict adherence to schedules definitely are not virtues of mine. Paul never tired of pointing out how a disorganized person wasted her own and other people’s time.”
This was exactly what Hollis wanted to know. “If he kept good records, they may give me more clues about him. I want to see his office and his daily calendar.” She straightened and added, “Tonight.”
Marguerite’s eyebrows rose.
Hollis ignored Marguerite’s surprise. “I expect the church is locked on Sunday night. Do you have keys?”
“It is. I can lend you mine.” Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t think they’ve secured his office as a crime scene, but if the police are interested in his papers, they may seal it. Never mind, it hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t suppose allowing you to make a quick visit and examine his calendar will make any difference.”
“I won’t touch anything else or remove the calendar. If I see anything I think is important, I’ll copy it.” Hollis plunked her empty glass on the table.
“Another one?”
“No thanks. But tell me more about Paul. His counseling meant a lot to him, didn’t it?” She placed the napkin she’d absentmindedly folded into a tiny rectangle beside her glass. “Of course, you know we met in Halifax when he was giving a course on ministerial counselling at the Nova Scotia School of Theology?”
“You could have knocked me over when Paul phoned from Halifax and told me you’d been married. For a confirmed bachelor, and especially for a man like Paul, to be swept off his feet and marry within three weeks blew me away.”
“You knew about our upcoming divorce?”
Marguerite’s eye widened. “No. I had no idea. Since when?”
“Christmas. It was Paul’s idea. Things hadn’t been great, but I thought we could work out our problems.”
Marguerite started to speak and stopped.
“What were you going to say?”
“This is absolutely none of my business, but why did you marry Paul?”
Talking about Paul helped, but how much should she