The lobby of the Hotel Criterion was a faux Southwestern style I placed as early 1980s. Large, dusty foliage plants softened the institutional atmosphere, but it still had the feel of a private hospital or sanatorium.
The place was empty except for a chubby desk clerk sorting mail and William Peacock, sitting near a small table set up with complimentary coffee and tea.
He was wearing the same tweed jacket and denim shirt he had had on the night before. In his face, I could see traces of the heartbreaker the thrift- shop ladies remembered. It was craggy and lined now, probably from too many years in the sun, and certainly from smoking. The ashtray in front of him was already full, and we weren’t late.
“William, thank you for seeing me. Well, us.” Gerald Fraser introduced me as the new caretaker of the garden, and, for simplicity’s sake, I didn’t correct him.
“I hope you don’t mind if Ms. Holliday joins us. This is just a chat, not a police matter. As you know, I’m retired, and officially there’s no case and no charges regarding the body found on your sisters’ property. But there have been some strange goings- on lately. We thought you might enlighten us on a few things.”
William had no problem talking to Gerald, or with my being there when he did. Once again, Richard Sta-pley had been my advance man and had been singing my praises about the good job I’d been doing at Halcyon.
“Not at all. Richard’s firm usually handled my sisters’ affairs, but he’s recused himself in light of her bequest to the Historical Society. Brennan, Douglas and Marshall is handling the will. They just needed me to sign a few papers, and I thought I’d come back and take one last look around. I’ve got no quarrel with any of Dorothy’s decisions.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “I guess you’re the gal that found the body?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which most people in town seem to think belonged to one of my sisters.” He patted his pockets looking for his cigarettes. When he found them, he offered the pack to us. We both passed.
“I understand my sisters were very fond of you, Gerald, so I think I can trust you. ‘Course, you may already know.”
“That Renata wasn’t really your sister?” Gerald said gently.
William nodded. “I was just a kid when I found out. I was pretty torn up. I wanted to get as far away from Springfield as I could. My plan was to hitchhike to California-I thought that’d be more adventurous than taking the train. I got stuck, though, in Texas. Spent the early years there, ranching, moving around quite a bit. Eventually, like most folks, I wanted to settle down, get a place of my own.
“I came back once, in 1959, to borrow money from my sisters. They thought I’d fallen off the face of the earth. I’m not a big letter writer,” he explained unnecessarily. “You should have seen them fussing over me.” He smiled to himself at the memory. “They wanted me to stay, of course, but I had other plans.
“Anyway, I got a little lucky with the piece of property I bought. We struck oil.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Once that happened, everything else happened so fast, the time just went by. Got a family there. Three sons, eight grandchildren, and”-he paused, counting on his fingers-”twelve great- grandchildren.”
He fumbled in his wallet and produced an informal family portrait taken on the sprawling veranda of an enormous house, framed by rambling roses.
I passed the picture to Gerald. “Beautiful family.”
“The little gal in the middle is my wife, Lupe. She looks like she could be my daughter, but Lupe and I have been together for over fifty years.”
As he put the picture back in his wallet, he asked, “Do you all know about the other stuff? About the garden?” he added.
Gerald looked perplexed.
“I think I do,” I said. “Dorothy and Renata were herbalists. They… offered herbal remedies to some of the women in the community.”
William smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Holliday. They would have appreciated your putting it that way.”
“Abortions?” Gerald asked, putting two and two together quickly.
“They were granny healers. Women’s problems and contraceptives, primarily. But I couldn’t swear there weren’t induced miscarriages. My own mother had eight. I don’t think they were intentional, but I suppose I’ll never know. In any event, she must have figured out what was causing them, ‘cause here I am. That’s why there was such an age difference between me and my sisters.”
I liked that he still kept referring to them as his sisters.
“Dorothy and Renata loved children,” he continued. “That may be the only thing they regretted about choosing each other-not being able to have their own. But they also understood most women at the time couldn’t make their own choices. My sisters tried to help.”
“That’s what the unlocked door was for?” I asked.
William nodded again. “Any hour of the night or day, if a gal needed help, Dorothy or Renata would be there for her with teas, oils, or just a shoulder and some good advice.
“I was only here for two days that time I came back. Had to go back to Texas and close on that property. One of those nights, I was in the back, having a smoke, and I hear this little gal whimpering in the garden, crying her eyes out.”
“Can you describe her?” Gerald asked.
William shook his head. “It was too dark. And she was hiding behind those little shrubs near the path. Made me promise to stay on the terrace. Poor little thing, she sounded like a kid herself. Wouldn’t let me help her or take her inside or anything. I didn’t know what the heck to do for her, so I just tossed her a little medal Lupe had given me for the trip and suggested she pray.”