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"So I suppose one of the reasons you're here in our little town is to clear your mother's name?"
Leif answered with a slight lift of his eyebrows.
"Well, I can give you no help there. I stand by what I saw."
"You saw my mother push Simeon down the stairs?"
Bart averted his gaze again, and at that point, Leif knew the man wasn't telling the full truth.
"You're lying about it," Leif said.
"Not lying. Look, I saw my uncle at the bottom of the stairs. Your mother stood over him and I asked her what she'd done. She said, 'This wasn't supposed to happen.’ Honestly, she scared me- it was as if she was capable of anything. Perhaps she was on drugs. Acid makes people see and do crazy things. That particular drug was popular among her crowd."
"My mother never dropped acid."
"That you know of. Kids don't know what their parents did because Mommy and Daddy don't want their reputations sullied, right? Besides if your mother hadn't killed my uncle, why would she run?" Bart had a good point-one Leif couldn't answer.
Calliope had never spoken about Magnolia Bend, Simeon Harvey, or Leif’s father, so in this quest for the truth, he was crawling around on the floor, blind and groping his way. "My mother didn't have a motive."
"Why don't you just ask your mother what happened?"
"My mother died last summer. She never told me about Magnolia Bend. Or Simeon.”
Bart picked up his empty glass and shook it, the ice cubes tinkling against the crystal. "I'm sorry about your mother, but perhaps since she's gone, you shouldn't bother with unearthing that whole mess. Sometimes the past should stay in the past for good reason. It's like picking up a log in the woods only to find crawly things beneath."
"Maybe so, but with her last breath Calliope begged me to set things right. Obviously she'd been haunted by what happened here, and I can't ignore her final wish."
A myriad of emotions crossed the older man's face- guilt, anger, and resolution. Leif would get nothing more from Bart regarding Simeon's death, but perhaps he could get a clue as to his father's identity. ''One more thing, please.”
Bart didn't look excited but said, "Sure."
"Was my mother close to anyone besides your uncle?"
"I'm not the right person to ask. I didn't live here and only met your mother twice, the final time being the night of my uncle's death. I didn't know much about her, other than she was a sculptor and her work was very sensual. There was a rather evocative sculpture of Diana the Huntress sitting in my uncle's room the night he died."
Total strikeout.
Bart stood. "Well, if you don't mind..."
Leif rose and extended his hand. "No hard feelings, Mr. Harvey. I haven’t been ready to tell people who my mother was.”
Bart took his hand and gave it a brief shake. "I wish I could give you better news."
"Thank you for your time," Leif said, moving toward the open doors of the patio, where Bonita stood smiling like a good hostess. Leif spun before exiting. "Oh, and I hope you'll keep this in confidence."
Bart nodded. "I'm many things, Mr. Lively, but a busybody is not one of them. Your business is your own." He turned to stare out over the golf course at the sun sinking low in the sky, casting fingers of light over the newly greening lawn, looking much like Jay Gatsby.
And, perhaps, like the infamous hero ofThe Great Gatsby,Bartholomew Harvey held his dirty little secrets close to his vest.
Or perhaps his guilty expression throughout their discourse was over something entirely different. Either way, it didn't matter. Leif had gained nothing from his visit with Simeon's nephew.
He struck Bart off his mental list, leaving only one name-Everett Orgeron.
And something told him that was the name he should have started with.
LEIF WALKEDUP the drive to Hilda's with mixed emotions. He wasn't the kind of guy who marched to another man's drum, but he pulled his weight. He should have attended the meeting earlier but after enduring Abigail in art class earlier this week, going to Bart's sounded like an escape hatch being tossed in front of him. He’d opened that bad boy.
In art class, Abigail had been more autobot than human, never asking questions, refusing to make eye contact, and seeming to exist in her own bubble. Her coldness froze any heat he'd tried to generate by smiling her way or teasing her about her lopsided vase of flowers.
