Love Lies Bleeding (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

Ithaca, New York
July 1916

I
thaca’s First Episcopal Church was full of parishioners the next morning for Sunday services. A tall white stone building near downtown, it had been built in nineteen-hundred to replace the original wooden structure that had burned in a huge fire in late eighteen ninety-eight. The church boasted multiple leaded stained glass windows in long rows on either side of the aisle. They shone in jewel-like colors that glinted and reflected off various surfaces inside the sanctuary. Carved oak pews formed orderly rows, bisected down the middle by a deep red carpet down the aisle. Several tapestry wall hangings depicting the lives of the apostles hung closer to the back vestibule near the entrance. When the girls were little, Harriett had taken them around the sanctuary after mass, showed them the embroidered stories, and explained all about Christ’s ambassadors to mankind, their travels in the ancient world, and their epistles.

“Peace be with you, everyone,” the reverend said as he concluded the initial prayers of their Sunday services. He fluttered his hands at his sides to indicate that the parish could sit.

The congregation relaxed and took to the pews. The women cooled themselves with their small decorative fans and the men with whatever was available.

The Morgans sat together near the front and toward the right, their usual spot. Knowing her family as she did, Libbie knew what each of them was thinking as they went through the motions for the community. DeWitt did his best not to appear bored, running cases through his head as the reverend recited the standard prayers. As a pillar of the community, he was expected to appear at services, but never paid much attention. Everlasting life was not half as important to him as the one he was trying to live at the moment and the lives of his clients. As devout a woman as any in town, Harriett bowed her head in a pious gesture and concentrated on her silent prayers. Going through the motions, Maude inclined her head but wished she could be home reading. Libbie knew she would go straight to hell if anyone was able to read her mind. All she could think about was Tom. The welcome ache between her legs was a constant reminder of how they had challenged the Lord last night.

Tom sat alone on the left side near the back with the working class. If he stretched a bit, he could see Libbie’s tall graceful neck over some of the shorter parishioners.

“In keeping with the theme of the seven deadly sins I have been discussing for the last few weeks, today, I will speak on one of the worst, and that is lust.” Reverend Savercool said. “This sermon is mostly for our younger parishioners,” he said, looking directly at Libbie, as if reading her mind.

She lowered her head so he would not see her eyes. It made her feel less transparent.

She was still queasy, though. The remainder of the sermon would be spent pretending that everything was normal when it was anything but.

In the back, Tom’s mouth curved into a subtle smile. He hadn’t been to church since he had moved to Ithaca, but knowing he could see Libbie, not matter how distantly, had brought him back today. He had known lust in his heart last night. And as much as he wanted to regret it, he couldn’t. Every man in town wanted Libbie Morgan, and now, she was his. Soon, he would be free to make love to her anytime he wanted. Despite the difference in their stations, he was determined to marry her and have a beautiful life together.

“First Thessalonians 4:3-5 tells us, ‘For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control your own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God.’”

Libbie blushed as she remembered last night. No control had been practiced near the falls then, not that it mattered. She had never been so happy. She was now a real woman, and the reverend was at fault. He had introduced them, for goodness’ sake. She dared not glance behind her at the spot where she knew Tom would be sitting. But she so wanted to glimpse his handsome face. Realizing she’d lost track of the reverend’s lecture, she looked up, pretending to be intent on his words.

“We must keep ourselves clean and moral, or we may not enter the kingdom of heaven!” Reverend Savercool thundered.

It always amazed Libbie to see the good-natured reverend transform from a doughy milquetoast to a fire-and-brimstone-raging crusader a few words into his sermon.

“Marriage is one of the most sacred covenants between man and God. To defile marriage with a cheap imitation is a sin in God’s eyes! True love…real love…is one of God’s most beautiful creations.” He clenched a fist in indignation. “Do not abase yourselves by indulging with a partner before being blessed with the sacrament! You must thirst for the love of God more than you thirst for the physical satisfaction given to you by lust. You must practice self-control and let nothing lead you from that path!”

Libbie couldn’t help herself. She let out a stifled giggle and felt the furious glares of her mother and sister on her. Feigning contrition, she lowered her head in false prayer once again as the reverend continued.

“In James 1:14, we are told, ‘Each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death’!” he shouted to the rafters. “God is the way and the life, and all it takes is one misstep for the devil to distract us from living a Christian existence. The marriage bed is the truest consummation of God’s love that exists. By making the act about physical sensations and animal need, we lose the special qualities of the sacrament that make marriage the blessed union that it is. I implore you all to keep your eyes to the true path of the Lord and keep him alone in your hearts. If you lust for anyone, lust for God. Lust for his benediction and his good favor. It will come back to you one-hundredfold when St. Peter greets you at the Pearly Gates. The true Christian path is available to you all if you will take it and avoid the sins of the flesh. Lust for everlasting life!”

Libbie’s mind wandered once again and she shifted in her seat. All this talk about sex was not leading her closer to God. All it was doing was causing the vivid thought of nights at the falls to preoccupy her even more. Last night, Tom had taken her for what seemed like hours. And she had craved every minute of it. If that made her a bad Christian, she supposed she could live with that. It felt too good to stop.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ithaca, New York
July 1986

A
fter a few phone calls, Frank managed to find Stephen LaBarr’s number in Buffalo. His name was still listed, and Frank was surprised the old man and his wife Mabel were both still alive. Speaking to their daughter Charlotte, he explained the investigation into Libbie Morgan’s disappearance and death. She warned him that they were frail and might not be very helpful, but he’d gone ahead and booked a commuter flight from Ithaca to Buffalo. Although he was leery about going, he knew the information that could be revealed was important. Diana promised to call him at the slightest change in their mother’s condition.

Linda gave him a ride to the airport, and they shared kisses tinged with Earl Grey tea at the snack bar. She had introduced him to it, and it had become his new favorite beverage. The heady scent of bergamot that emanated from a fresh teabag could never replace the effects of bourbon, but it had helped him develop an appreciation for something besides booze. Especially when Linda joined him in a relaxing cup of the stuff. Even with all the drama and sadness he was experiencing right now, she provided a calming presence. He promised to call her when he arrived home, still pinching himself that someone who seemed to have herself so together could be interested in him.

Buffalo, New York
July 1986

After grabbing a rental car at the airport, he checked in at an Economy Inn in the suburb of Amherst so he could avoid as much of the local Buffalo traffic as possible. Then he found a restaurant nearby for some beef-on-weck.

The next morning, he headed for the local greasy spoon for a breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast. After Mavis, his helpful waitress, gave him directions to the neighborhood he needed, he headed into town. He knew he could find the house from there. He hadn’t been to Buffalo since he and Allison had visited her relatives in Cheektowaga years before.

Shannon now kept him informed on the state of the ex-in-laws. He hadn’t minded them one bit. It was the being married to their daughter that was the hard part. Not even that. Being married to their daughter had been great. Being married to her as a screwed-up drunk was another matter. He consulted his map as often as he deemed safe in the traffic and aimed for Delaware Avenue, the Millionaire’s Row of Buffalo. On Barker Street, half a block away, he pulled up in front of one of the most impressive Tudors he’d ever seen. A lush lawn out front was the unnatural bright green of pool table felt, and every piece of shrubbery looked like it had been trimmed with manicure scissors. Closer to the front door, elegant, sculpted flowerbeds exploded in a riot of bright colors. A lawn guy in olive green work clothes zipped by him on a riding mower and waved.

Every square inch of the place oozed money and class. Of course it did. The guy had been a senator for decades. Always cynical of politicians, Frank wondered how many greased palms it had taken to secure this little crib. If LaBarr or any of his brood could give him some clues, he’d be willing to overlook the crooked part for his mother’s sake. He’d always imagined what these places looked like on the inside. Now he’d get a glimpse at last.

A stunning blonde of about thirty with beautiful hazel eyes answered the door. Her scoop-neck white T-shirt, pressed khaki slacks, and sandals made her look like a model in a Gap ad. Frank wondered if he had the right house.

“You must be Investigator Conley,” she said. “I’m Mr. LaBarr’s granddaughter, Cassie. You spoke to my mother, Charlotte, on the phone. Won’t you come in?” She shook his hand, then led him into the front hall.

“Very nice to meet you,” Frank said, trying not to gape at the luxury.

A hall table held a flower arrangement full of calla lilies, bird of paradise, and other exotic flowers that must have cost a fortune. The marble floors echoed every sound. He felt like he was in a church. The entire front vestibule was open to the second floor, and a balcony overlooked the entry. The foyer led to a dramatic stairway with an elaborate curved balustrade.

On the landing one level up hung a massive oil portrait of whom Frank assumed were the LaBarrs as a younger couple. He estimated from the clothes that it must have been during Stephen’s senate days around the late 1930s. The man wore a double-breasted gray suit, tie, and spats. The woman wore an elegant bias-cut gown in emerald green, and her hair was bobbed and marcelled. The man sat in an upholstered green velvet chair, and the woman stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Class and old money shoring up Buffalo’s social structure.

Frank followed Cassie through the cold, sterile living room, crammed full of antiques, and then into a warm, welcoming sunroom. A golden glow entered through one whole wall of wide picture windows. Cheerful paintings by French masters hung around the room. Frank was too intimidated to ask if they were real.

“Grandfather likes this room quite a bit. He never wants us to move him anymore, it seems. Investigator Frank Conley, this is my mother, Charlotte Seagrove.”

Cassie presented a petite, elegant woman with frosted hair, small diamonds in her ears, and a salmon-colored pantsuit that must have cost a fortune. Raw silk, Frank thought his ex-wife had called it. Her green eyes glowed with guarded warmth, and she clutched a Virginia Slim. He couldn’t help but notice the fingers trembling.

“Pleased to meet you, Investigator Conley,” Mrs. Seagrove said, standing and shaking his hand.

Although it wasn’t even noon yet, he saw she was already working on a lowball of what looked to be whiskey. He wondered what that was about. And then she told him.

“Now, we’ve agreed to meet with you, although I’m not sure how much help we might be. My parents are a bit frail, as I told you. Father is eighty-eight, and mother is eighty-four. She’s still very sharp, but his mind wanders a lot. And many times, he’s not all there. We’re fortunate that we can keep a nurse here so they can stay in their own home. I live just a few blocks away, and Cassie is also close. I just want to prepare you for his condition.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Seagrove.”

“Please, call me Charlotte. Mrs. Seagrove is my mother-in-law,” she said with a chuckle.

“Can I pour you some tea, Investigator Conley?” Cassie asked. A sterling silver tea set sat on a nearby antique cabinet surrounded by delicate china cups.

“I’d love some, thank you,” Frank said.

Cassie brought him the cup of tea with cream and sugar as he requested, and also several delicate wafer cookies.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you help Darlene bring Mom and Dad down now,” Charlotte said, nudging her daughter.

Cassie nodded and pressed a button in the nearby wall. A wide elevator door, camouflaged to match the expensive wood paneling, slid open. The door slid closed, and she disappeared for a moment. Charlotte and Frank waited, while Frank marveled at the fact that they had their own elevator.

“We had this place retrofitted a few years ago so they could still move around the house as much as they wanted,” she said. “But Lord how the Historical Preservation people gave us a hassle! We had to agree to do it
just so
to avoid any desecration of the home itself. All the mechanics had to be hidden very well. This whole district is historical landmarks, you see.”

“Yeah, that must have been hell,” he said, without emotion. It really must be true what they said about the rich being different.

After a few moments, a small chime sounded, and the elevator leveled off. Cassie pushed her grandmother, Mabel, and the nurse pushed Stephen LaBarr into the room. Mrs. LaBarr observed him from her wheelchair. Her eyes were the most noticeable thing about her—an intense pale green in a desiccated face that looked as delicate as tissue paper. Age had faded her until she no longer resembled the beautiful debutante in the oil painting on the stairs. But the eyes were the same intensity they had always been. The nurse had dressed her in a green sweater and cream-colored slacks, but the clothes seemed to be wearing her. Her tiny body was so insubstantial as to be almost nonexistent. Frank returned her tentative smile.

Stephen LaBarr was as distinguished in appearance as any eighty-eight-year-old man could be. His longish white hair was swept back from a receding hairline, and an aristocratic Roman nose dominated a face coated in liver spots. He was dressed in a maroon smoking jacket over dark trousers, but for all the effect of his aristocratic wardrobe, his eyes wandered the room as if he did not know where he was.

“Mother, Father,” Charlotte said, her voice almost a shout. The old man turned at the sound. “This is a state policeman—Investigator Conley from Ithaca. Could you speak to him, do you think?”

“What does he want?!” Mr. LaBarr bellowed.

“He wants to speak to you about a lady you once knew!” she replied, voice still at high volume for his benefit.

Pointing his finger at Cassie, LaBarr relived an old case in his fractured mind. “Lady? This lady is not guilty!! Gentlemen of the jury, she did not murder her husband, and we, the defense, are going to prove it!” he thundered.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “As I mentioned, he does this sometimes.”

“I think I know who it is,” Mabel said in a small reedy voice. “You mean the girl who disappeared, right?”

Frank sat down directly across from her so he could hear her soft voice more clearly. Then he pulled out his notebook.

“Yes, ma’am, I do. Can you remember your husband saying anything about her?”

“I remember he was very bitter when we met. I didn’t know right away, of course, but I found out later. I was a debutante but very naïve about things like that.”

Frank took a sip as he listened. “Things like what, ma’am?”

“Why, sex, Investigator Conley.”

Frank almost choked on his tea, so unprepared was he for the frank statement from this little old lady. He smiled and recovered in a fraction of a second. “Um….in what context do you mean, Mrs. LaBarr?”

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Stephen LaBarr!” the old man announced. He glanced around, looking for approval.

Charlotte patted his hand and took a deep swig of her drink as her father broke into a joyful smile. This wasn’t going well at all.

Returning his attention to Mabel LaBarr, Frank put pen to paper, ready to take more notes.

“He caught them together, you know,” she said.

Frank, Charlotte, and Cassie all looked at each other in shock.

“Oh, he didn’t tell anyone, of course,” she continued. “But he found them going at it in the back of a car somewhere. She and whomever else she was seeing. Seeing isn’t really the correct word, but you get my meaning. I think he said it was out near Buttermilk Falls somewhere. He had to come up with a fake reason not to marry her. It’s how he wound up in Manhattan courting me, you see. He was nursing a grudge when I met him.” She splayed the fingers of her left hand and looked down at the pear-cut diamond on the third finger. “I daresay this was intended for her before he gave it to me. As I understood it, she was very beautiful. But quite a…what do you call it nowadays? Slut. Or to be more polite…easy. That’s it.”

“Gentlemen, it will be very
easy
to balance the state budget this year! It will require a tightening of our belts and a good deal of assiduous work at managing tax revenue versus expenditures!” Stephen proclaimed.

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Conley. I had hoped he might be a bit more lucid for your visit. I’m afraid it’s not one of his better days. But Mother has given you a bit of information on Libbie Morgan. I hope that helped somewhat.”

Suddenly, the old man reared back in his wheelchair like an out-of-control stallion being confined with lead ropes. His face contorted, and he snapped to perfect consciousness in an instant. For now, he knew just what he was talking about.

“
Libbie Morgan
? Did you say ‘Libbie Morgan?’
Libbie Morgan was a
whore
! A
common whore
! A trollop! Faithless
strumpet
!”

Daughter, granddaughter, and nurse jumped into action at calming him, and Frank backed out of the room quietly. His eyes met Charlotte’s.

“I’m so sorry
,” he mouthed. He’d unleashed a tornado of spite and poison from the splinters still populating the old man’s brain. It would probably be days before Charlotte and Cassie and the nurse would get him lucid again. Even headed down the front walkway toward the rent car, Frank could hear him inside the house. He tried to imagine what Stephen LaBarr must have seen seventy years ago to provoke such a reaction, even now. But one impression stayed with him. His last glance into the sunroom before he left had told him Charlotte’s glass was now empty.