Conspiracy of Silence Read Free

the list again.
    â€œSo Frank was engaged to be married?” I said.
    For some reason Lizbeth colored a deep scarlet. “Well, I suppose. I’m not sure. . . . We all thought they would marry, but, as I just mentioned, Frank was a bit of a playboy . . . I guess he wasn’t certain whether he wanted to be tied down so soon. I think”—her voice descended to a whisper—“I think he had some other . . . involvements also. I’m not sure whether Eva knew about them. Frank invited her, just to round out the party to make it an even eight.”
    â€œAnd what about this doctor guy? Is it customary to invite the family physician over for dinner?”
    Lizbeth shrugged. “I don’t know. He was a friend of the family—he’d been with us for years. He treated my grandfather in his final illness, a decade or so earlier.”
    It was my turn to let out a sigh.
    â€œSo you think one of these people—not your father, I mean—did the deed? Seems a bit risky to have done it with all these people about. Do you know any details of the . . . the death?”
    She shrugged again—it was almost a shiver. “Not many. Remember, I was there too—even though I was only about five and a half. I just remember some commotion in the downstairs study, and Dad coming out of the room with this strange, frozen look on his face and saying that he’d just killed his brother. Said his brother had been making advances toward . . . toward my mother.” She looked down at her lap.
    Gently I said: “Is that true?”
    She looked up quickly, eyes blazing. “How do I know? I was five! They won’t tell me anything . . .” Suddenly she seemed like a little girl, resentful of being excluded from adult affairs that didn’t concern her.
    â€œWhat does your mother say?”
    â€œWell, of course she denies it—says it was all in my father’s head . . .”
    â€œDon’t you believe her?” This too was spoken gently.
    In a small voice Lizbeth said: “I don’t know what to believe . . . anymore.”
    I leaned back in my chair. There were a few glints of light, and perhaps a few avenues of exploration, but I was still fumbling largely in the dark.
    â€œSo, Lizbeth, what do you want me to do? Would it do any good to talk to your father?”
    She gave me an exasperated frown. “I doubt it. He just sticks to his story. ‘I killed Frank, I killed Frank.’ He’s just been stuck in that prison for twelve years, and he looks terrible now . . . doesn’t even seem to be my father anymore.” Her eyes were glistening. “I’m the only one who ever visits him. My mother and grandmother never go— never. And even I am finding it a bit hard . . . he’s so unhappy, and he’s hiding something . . . carrying some horrible weight on his shoulders.” The tears were falling now. “If we can just find out what it is, maybe he can get better.”
    â€œMaybe.” I patted her hand gently. Then:
    â€œWhat about this Eva Dailey? Maybe I could talk to her. She must know something.”
    Lizbeth’s face froze, and she turned away from me.
    â€œWell, that might be difficult. . . . You see, Eva killed herself about three months after Uncle Frank died.”

Chapter Three
    Now I had something to go on.
    If what Lizbeth had told me was even roughly accurate, then one obvious scenario became immediately evident: Eva had killed Frank Crawford (somehow), perhaps out of jealousy (maybe Frank had in fact been fooling around with his own sister-in-law), perhaps merely out of his apparent disinclination to commit himself to her; then, out of remorse, she had taken her own life.
    Problems with this scenario still abounded. It seemed incredibly risky to have done the deed at a time when so many other people were at Thornleigh. In any case, if James Crawford had actually set up the party and Eva was just a