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"It's okay, it's okay," he said, his heart thumping against his rib cage, his mouth dry as sand.
Her words were likely jumbled by the drugs the nurses had given her to make her passing more comfortable. His mother's emaciated, cancer-ridden body was already reminiscent of a corpse, awaiting relief. Her dark eyes reflected madness.
"I didn't do it. Fi-fin-" She opened her mouth as if tasting the air before refocusing on him. "I didn't say goodbye. Can't you see? I didn't tell him I loved him."
"Who? Who are you talking about? My father?"
"I'm afraid, Leif. I should have told him. He needed to know about you. Will you tell him for me?" she whispered before closing her eyes, her breath falling away.
"Wait, is he still alive? Where is he, Mother?"
"Mag... Magnolia. Ben..." she managed to say before squeezing his hand as she faded into unconsciousness, rather dramatically. Like something on a soap opera.
She never woke. He left the room not knowing what she meant about murder, his father, or her past. He'd gone home, done some research and hit upon Magnolia Bend. He'd made plans to land in town some way and, just like that, the job at St. George's had landed in his lap.
For the past five months he'd imagined his father in every man in the town, but he hadn't made much progress. He told himself it was because he needed the townspeople to trust him before he started asking questions, but something else held him back- the fear of rejection, the idea that the truth of who his father was might be worse than not knowing.
So even though he could use Hilda's help, he wasn't ready to tell her what he truly sought.
"Oh, a tease to boot," Hilda said, jarring him into the present and the meeting that would take place in ten minutes.
"So tell me about the festival. Why resurrect it?" he asked, picking up a piece of celery from the silver platter holding snacks.
"Well, the festival never should have been canceled, but when the town council decided to do away with it, I was living in New Orleans. I've been here for a few years now and I petitioned for its revival. And voila!"
"Hilda gets what she wants," he said, chewing the celery, which did little to complement the whiskey.
''Of course," she said.
"When did the festival first begin?"
"Back in the early seventies. Simeon Harvey was the driving force behind it. His father owned Tri-State Drilling, which meant the Harvey family had as much money as Louisiana has mosquitoes. Simeon was the last of the Harveys and the boy was an odd duck. He wore the strangest clothes and- "
Leif looked at his fair-trade hoodie, drawstring pants, and rope sandals.
Hilda paused, assessing Leif. "Not like you, dear boy. Simeon liked frothy clothing, carried a pocket watch, and collected butterflies. He even wore a monocle. Perfectly nice man, but odd. You understand?"
"I like odd."
Hilda fanned herself, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Simeon came to live at Laurel Woods shortly after he graduated from a prep school on the East Coast. His parents left him the estate and we rarely saw him around town. But one day he showed up at the city council meeting wearing a pair of silk slippers, a long trench coat, and a bad toupee."
Leif lifted his eyebrows.
"I know. Why on earth would a man with so much money buy a bad toupee? But anyhow, he submitted a proposal calling for a springtime art festival to celebrate local artists. Since Simeon volunteered to fund the first festival on his own, even offering a top prize of one thousand dollars for the winner of an art competition, the council chaired by my late husband couldn't think of a good reason why we shouldn't give the festival the green light. All Simeon asked was that we name it after his historic home, so the Laurel Woods Art Festival was born in 1973. The top prize in each artistic category was named the Golden Magnolia."
"So this guy loved art."
Hilda made a face. "Well, of course. His mother had piddled in ceramics and collected paintings. For a while, the Harveys owned a Monet, a Rembrandt, and a sculpture by Degas, all of it sold when oil took a downturn. The family recovered financially, but Simeon got hooked on art. At one point he even tried to create a commune on the grounds of Laurel Woods."
Leif already knew most of this from his internet search, but feigned interest anyway. ''A commune, huh?"
"He converted the old cabins on his land into studios where artists could live and work. He even brought in artists from Europe. Made Magnolia Bend a more interesting place, I'll tell you. Artists are- " she paused, her gaze lifting to meet his as she searched for the right word "- a colorful bunch."
Leif chuckled. "Nice save."
''Oh, pish, I forget myself sometimes. That's what happens when you get old."
"How would you know? You're not old."
