Savich said abruptly, “Did you know your father was sleeping with Erin Bushnell?”
She was shocked and clearly appalled. She was either a remarkable actress or this really was news to her. “That’s a stupid lie.” She jumped to her feet, her palms flat on the table. “Why would you say such a thing? It’s ridiculous. Sure he slept with Helen, but she was closer to his age. A student? Erin Bushnell? No way.”
Savich said, “It’s true, Marian. Ginger Stanford knew about it, and so did Helen Rafferty.”
“Helen told you that? Are you sure, Dix? Erin was much younger than I am, for goodness sake. She’s Sam’s age. No, I can’t accept that, I simply can’t.”
“You’re going to have to accept it,” Dix said. “Helen told us everything. What I find interesting is that you knew all about your father’s affair with Helen Rafferty, but you didn’t know about Erin Bushnell.”
Marian slowly shook her head. “Not a clue. On the other hand, I doubt my dad knows about Sam Moraga. But for heaven’s sake, he’s my father!”
Dix said, “Sam Moraga was really upset about Helen’s murder, more so than I thought a student would be about the death of an administrative assistant. Why?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he thought of her as his mother, too, I don’t know. We never spoke about her. Actually, it was Helen who introduced Sam to me. He was in one of my music theory classes, but I hadn’t really paid much attention to him. Then at one of those interminable professor and student get-togethers my father insists on throwing every couple of months, she introduced us.”
“Does anyone know about Sam?”
She shook her head at Dix, worried at a fingernail. “We’re discreet.” She finished her tea. “If Sam hadn’t been at my house, you wouldn’t have known I was anything but the celibate everyone believes me to be. There were a couple of others before Sam, both of them out in the world now. My father called me a shriveled-up prude last year. I remember I’d gotten only two hours’ sleep the night before, so I simply laughed at him. He couldn’t understand that laugh and I didn’t enlighten him.” Her voice turned bitter and low. “Maybe I should have told him. It looks like we could have compared notes. We make quite a pair, don’t we?”
Dix saw the tears in her eyes, and waited for her to recover. He’d known her since he and Christie got married, and yet . . . He shook his head. Who ever really knew what another person was about?
Marian looked at the rest of them, her lips twisted at their carefully expressionless faces. “Were there others? Others besides Erin Bushnell?”
Dix said, “You need to talk to your father about that, Marian. We’re going over to see him now. If you think of anything else, give me a call right away. I’ve got the same cell number.”
“Is there some sort of serial killer on the loose here, Dix?”
“What we’re thinking is that whoever tried to kill Ruth probably killed Erin Bushnell, and that opened Pandora’s box. He may be trying to do damage control.”
“But why Helen? Does that make any sense to you?”
Dix said, “Tying it together will be the key to all of this.”
Marian walked to the window, turned, and looked back at them. “So much pain to bear now. I suppose I’ll have to deal with Sam’s pain, too. How can he possibly have loved her as much as I did? I wonder, Dix. Do you think my father cared at all?”
“Yes, Marian. I think he did.”
CHAPTER 24
DIX CALLED THE deputy assigned to follow Gordon Holcombe when he left Tara.
“Where is he, B.B.?”
“Weirdest thing, Sheriff. When Dr. Holcombe left Tara, I thought he was going to Stanislaus, then he seemed to change his mind. He drove straight out to the Coon Hollow Bar. He’s been in there nearly two hours. You told me I shouldn’t try to keep out of sight and I didn’t. He knew I was following him, and it didn’t seem to bother him. Right now I’m tucked in a mess of pine trees across the street.”
Dix told him to stay put, they’d be there shortly. He punched off his cell. “Gordon calls this place his sanctuary. It’s a pre-World War Two relic, all weathered wood, dark glass in the windows, and a rutted parking lot in front.”
Coon Hollow Bar was only a mile or so out of Maestro.
“It looks like a treat,” Sherlock said, admiring the old dark charm of the place. “A good number of customers,” she added, waving at four other cars in the parking lot.