Loyal to the End
by Elizabeth Dearl
"Could you repeat the
question, Detective?" Howard struggled to keep his voice steady
as beads of sweat crawled like ants beneath his toupee. He combed the
false hair with his fingers, hoping it wasn't lopsided or disheveled.
Detective Reese leaned back in her chair, crossing legs that would,
under other circumstances, have commanded Howard's full concentration.
"Certainly, Mr. Weston. I asked where you were between 10:00 P.M.
and midnight. We know that's when your wife was murdered. Your maid
turned down the bed for her at ten, and found her dead at twelve when
she delivered Mrs. Weston's usual glass of warm milk."
"But I don't understand why you're questioning me. Gloria's bedroom
window is broken, and her belongings are scattered all over the room.
I assumed it was a burglar."
"Burglars are not generally killers."
"Maybe she tried to stop him. Gloria would have defended a diamond
necklace with the ferocity of a mother lion guarding her cub."
Reese sighed. "Where were you, Mr. Weston?"
"I can answer that."
Howard jumped at the sound of another voice. Reese merely glanced up
in mild surprise.
"Miss Boyd, I thought we asked you to remain in the kitchen."
"You did, but I was so upset before that I didn't tell you everything."
"You'll have the chance later --"
"This is important, ma'am." Nora's lip quivered. "There's
no need to bother Mr. Weston at a time like this. The poor man just
lost his wife."
"It's my job, Miss Boyd." Reese spoke gently, which didn't
surprise Howard. Nora's sad, brown eyes brought out the protective instinct
in most people. Even Gloria had been nice to her.
"Seems to me it's your job to know the truth. Mr. Weston was with
me."
Reese's eyebrows lifted. "With you?"
Nora blushed furiously at the implication. "We were playing gin
rummy."
Howard was grateful that Reese's attention was focused on the maid because
his jaw dropped before he could control it. By the time her gaze swung
in his direction, he had snapped his mouth shut.
"That's right, Detective. Penny a point."
"Why didn't you tell me this to begin with, Mr. Weston?"
"I was just about to."
Reese looked from the man to the maid. "I see. And did Mr. Weston
ever leave the room, Miss Boyd?"
"No, ma'am. Neither did I until near midnight, when . . ."
She staggered, groping for the edge of a table to steady herself. A
vase toppled, shattering on the oak floor.
Nora shrieked. She fell to her knees and began gathering fragments of
china. "Oh, not Mrs. Weston's favorite vase! I'll repair it, sir,
don't worry."
Howard hurried to help the trembling maid to her feet. "Hush, now,
it's all right. Go back to the kitchen and fix us both a cup of tea,
Nora.
And not that herbal stuff."
Nora fled the room and Howard turned to Reese. "Is that all, Detective?
It's two in the morning, I'd like to get some rest."
Reese studied his face for a moment, then closed her notebook and stood
up. "Please let me know when you've made the funeral arrangements."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "I plan to attend."
"Don't tell me the murderer really shows up for the last rites."
Howard couldn't hide a smirk. "I thought that was TV. cop show
nonsense."
"I learned it from watching Kojak," she said without a trace
of a smile.
Gloria's body had been removed, along with the pillow used to smother
her. Howard joined Nora at the kitchen table as the front door closed
behind the last member of the forensic team.
"Here's your tea, Mr. Weston." Nora's hand was steady as she
added cream to his cup.
Howard took a sip. "Why did you lie, Nora?"
"We've played gin rummy on many an evening, sir. It wasn't a lie."
"But not this evening, and you know it."
Nora didn't answer.
"Do you think I'm guilty? Is that it?"
"Of course not!" She seemed genuinely horrified at the thought.
"I just didn't want that woman harassing you, you've been through
enough." Her eyes grew moist. "Did I do wrong?"
Howard took her hand. "Nora, you are the most loyal person I've
ever known. No wonder Gloria kept you on all these years."
Later that morning, Nora took charge of the necessary phone calls to
relatives and friends, and arranged for an immediate funeral. Howard
napped.
Exquisite sunshine and a cool breeze the following day made Howard wish
he was on his way to a golf course instead of a church. Dressed in a
dark gray suit, he practiced mournful expressions in the mirror as he
trimmed his mustache.
When the time came to put on his toupee, he could not locate the special
glue. Without it, especially on such a windy day, the hair would be
sure to slip. Irritated, he donned a hat to cover his bald pate, and
hurried down to the rented limo.
True to her word, Detective Reese waited on the church steps. Howard
nodded briefly as he approached the double doors, Nora clinging to his
arm.
"Your hat, sir," the maid whispered.
"Oh." Howard remembered vaguely that women were allowed hats
in church, while men were not.
As he whisked it off, he heard a gasp behind him and turned around.
Detective Reese was staring at his head. "Where's your hair?"
Howard's eyes widened. "What a rude question."
"You wear a wig? You? What an idiot I've been, it never even occurred
to me."
"It's called a toupee," he informed her stiffly. "And
good ones are rarely obvious."
Reese grinned. "Howard Weston, you are under arrest for the murder
of your wife. You have the right to remain silent . . ."
"Are you crazy?"
"We found strands of hair clutched in the victim's hands,"
Reese said.
"The lab results came back this morning. Manmade fibers. We'll
compare them to your toupee, naturally, but I'm sure they'll match."
Howard's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I imagine they will."
"I don't get it, Weston. With all your money, I'd have expected
you to buy a wig made of human hair."
"My wife was rich, not me. She barely gave me enough for pocket
money, much less expensive hairpieces." He sighed. "I thought
that was all about to change."
"What was?"
"Maybe you really are an idiot," Howard said sourly. "My
financial situation, of course. I stood to inherit a couple of million."
Reese shook her head. "If that had been the case, we would have
pursued you harder as a suspect. We located your wife's will in her
wall safe, Mr. Weston, and you weren't named as her heir. Miss Boyd
was."
"You're lying!"
"Not at all. I believe it read: 'For years of loyal service.' And
Miss Boyd is certainly loyal, isn't she?"
Nora, who had watched the entire process without a word, raised a hand
to her mouth. A crowd of somberly clad mourners gathered around her.
"Looks like you picked the wrong day to leave your wig at home,"
Reese said as she handcuffed him.
"I couldn't find my hair glue," Howard mumbled.
Nora stepped forward. "Was it in a blue tube?" When he nodded,
she burst out laughing. "I used it to repair Mrs. Weston's vase."
© Copyright 1996
S.E. Jeffrey
About the writer. . .
Elizabeth Dearl was born
and raised in West Texas
and now lives in the rapidly growing city of Sugar Land, Texas, located
southwest of Houston. She has worked as a security guard, a reserve
deputy (the first female reserve deputy in the history of Ft. Bend
County, Texas), a police dispatcher, and a commissioned police officer.
She also owned and operated a small bookstore for several years. Her
lifelong passion, however, has been writing.
When she sold the bookstore, Elizabeth's husband (a police detective)
encouraged her to pursue her interest in writing. Dearl has completed
a mystery novel, set in West Texas, and is now working on a suspense
novel set in Corpus Christi, Texas. Her short fiction has recently
been published in Plot Magazine and The Blues.
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