Parlor Tricks

Chapter 8

Hank found himself in the passenger seat of the Consul, letting his father's words echo in his mind; look at all the angles. He started by recounting what he knew; his father was dead, and the last car they worked on was a cream, 1962 Consul. He looked at what he suspected; Josie somehow ended up with the car, and she knew too much to be in town by accident. His next stop was to dig where he had always avoided the secrets of his father. He took a few last glances around the car before heaving himself out.

Rosie welcomed him with the same warmth of a Nor'easter.

"Pardon the intrusion," Hank held his voice quiet as he gave a nod. "Is Mr. Dillard home?"

"I'll see if he is taking guests so close to dinner." Rosie twisted her heel and left Hank standing in the foyer, twirling his hat anxiously. His eyes twitched around the room without settling on anything in the brief solitude. "He'll see you in the study."

With another curt twirl on her heel, she led him to Peter. It was a grand room, warm with oak bookcases filled to the brim with law books and novels. Behind the desk sat Peter in an equally elegant leather chair that made him look small. It's funny how life starts and ends with a small stature.

"Hank, pleasant surprise." Peter rose slowly to clap a hand on Hank's shoulder. "Rosie has informed me that dinner is already prepared for two, but I'm sure we can add a third. Elise hasn't eaten a full meal since Regan."

"No, sir, I couldn't. I have to get home to my mother." Hank was grateful that Rosie hadn't snatched his hat from him this time as he could busy his hands with it, but he suspected it was a nod to his lack of invitation.

Peter eyed him suspiciously before adding, "something I can help you with?" There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, as though he was eager to be of use.

"Well, sir..."

"Hank, my boy, you're the closest thing I have to friends and family nowadays; call me Peter."

Hank gave a nod but continued without addressing him as Peter. "I was hoping you could tell me about my father."

"Of course, of course," he paced back to his desk and settled into his chair as Hank sunk into a less elaborate chair opposite him; the smell of pipe tobacco washed over him as the chair let out a breath from his weight. "Sometimes, I forget you weren't much more than a boy when he passed," Peter let out a heavy sigh. "What can I help with?"

"Well, and I know this is asking a lot, but I was hoping you could tell me how he passed?" Hank purposefully kept eye contact as he asked, unsurprised by Peter's shifting as the topic's expected discomfort filled the room. Hank was prepared and added, "I know this is unorthodox, but if we could move past the decorum. Death is not a topic of gentility, nevertheless, I'd like to know."

Peter's face grew pale. "I knew it would come up one day. I suppose the hope for tomorrow being the day was bound to run out soon." He stood and moved around the desk to sit on the corner nearest Hank. "What can I tell you?"

"Well, honestly, I know very little about his death and the scandal." Hank didn't break his gaze.

"Well, it happened here in this room. Your father was a good man, and I honestly believe he thought it was the best path for you and Clara." Peter's eyes drifted, breaking the contact Hank was hoping to control.

"Were you here?" Hank felt his voice creak with agitation.

"I was. Elise was at her sister's in the city, but I was here. We were looking at the options. He was so convinced, but I thought it was just the bourbon talking."

"Bourbon? I never knew dad to drink."

Peter's eyes twitched to the corner of the room for a moment. "Trying times will make the strongest of men drink." Hank nodded in acceptance. "I had gone to fix him a cup of coffee. Try to redirect the conversation. I still remember the sound, the gurgling of the blasted machine punctured by the shot." There was a mournful shake to his head as he spoke.

"Would the scandal have been that bad?" Hank couldn't imagine anything being worse than the current reality.

"I suppose we'll never know, but your father was always so concerned about Clara's fragility. It was always on his mind. He knew she wouldn't be able to cope with a trial."

"But a death..." Hank's voice was even, but anger was searing through him.

"He had much faith in you, in your ability to carry on. I was less convinced, but here we are." He gave a weak smile before dropping his gaze again.

"The scandal..." Hank was plodding along, trying to pull Peter from the obligatory melancholy.

"That woman." Peter shook his head more vigorously as the words dripped with too much contempt. "She was going to take him down, no matter what."

"All because of an affair?" It felt extreme to Hank, particularly as his mind flickered to Wendy for the briefest of moments.

"She certainly had a vendetta, it seemed. Didn't care whom she took down as long as," Peter paused for a moment. "As long as your father paid."

"What was her name?" Hank knew the name should be etched into his brain. He had been old enough that he could have followed every detail, but he and his mother detached. None of the points were going to change the outcome, at least not back then.

Something flashed in Peter's eyes, raw hate. But then, as though another softer memory possessed him, he answered "Margaret Teller." her name clung to Peter's tongue with an odd tone.

"She was strangled," Hank recalled that part. It always struck him as odd. His father, who wouldn't even kill pests around the grounds, would snuff out a life in such an intimate way. The hatred required seemed unfathomable. But Peter confirmed it all with a simple nod. The silence hung heavy in the room, like an early morning fog. "I should get home. We have a guest tonight."

"A guest?" Peter's eyes suddenly met Hank's again.

"Yes, I'm fixing a car that's taking longer than expected. She became fast friends with my mother and is staying with us for a few days while a part comes in."

"Seems beyond the call of duty." There was an odd tic to his smile.

"Well, Clara and Josie became fast friends." The fondness that surrounded her name in his voice surprised Hank.

"Josie," there was a stutter to Peter's tone. "Well, if this Josie is here for a few nights, perhaps we could impose on an evening as well. The Webbs will be joining us tomorrow. Come."

Reluctantly, Hank accepted the invitation for himself but reserved Josie's acceptance as her own. Peter clapped Hank on his shoulder with a smile that felt oddly out of place and expressed his confidence that Josie would not refuse the invitation. Hank couldn't help but think how little Peter knew of a mind like Josie King's.