Page 35 of June's First Murder
Relief flickered across his face. He sank back into his chair, some of the formal stiffness leaving his shoulders. "That was a very long time ago."
"It was. But some memories stay fresh." June folded her hands in her lap. "I remember your mother bringing you boys to the library. You were both so sweet and so polite.”
"Back then, we got along great. Played together. Had fun. Both loved coming to the library. You picked out the best books, Ms. June.”
She smiled indulgently. “I remember you always wanted the history books, even as a child.”
His lips curved slightly at the memory, and some ofthe tension seemed to ease. “I loved history. I loved learning about the world, our country, and our little town through the eyes of those who’d lived before us.”
“And pirates?”
Horace chuckled. “Yes, yes. I used to love checking out every pirate story I could.” He looked at her. “You have an exceptional memory, Ms. June. How, after years of children coming through the library, you can remember that…”
She nodded slowly, admitting, “Some things stick to my mind easier nowadays. Especially things from the past.”
They were silent for a moment, then she pressed, “Raymond preferred adventure stories.”
"He preferred anything that took him away from reality. I suppose that at one time, we both loved the pirate books. We would even play pirates at home.” He sighed heavily. “But slowly, our differences began to show. We were so opposite. I could never figure out why." His voice now carried decades of frustration.
"All children are unique. But if I may be so bold, do you think his anger grew from being compared to you?"
The judge's jaw tightened. "I never asked for that. I never wanted to be thegoldenchild everyone measured him against. And honestly, I don’t remember our parents comparing us… at least not in front of me. But what was I supposed to do? Fail deliberately to make him feel better?"
"Of course not." June's voice stayed gentle. "I'm not here to assign blame, Horace. I'm here because I want to understand more about Raymond."
"Then you're assuming someone here is responsible for his death." It wasn't quite a question but neither was it a declaration.
She held his gaze steadily as she lifted her hands to the side. "I have no assumptions."
He studied her for a long moment, his judge's eyes assessing. Then, surprisingly, he laughed a short, bitter sound. "You know what's funny? Some people in town think I killed him for the inheritance money. But the truth is, June, I was already in the process of settling the final Trust our mother created. I wanted to give him his share earlier than required in the trust. He’d asked, and I didn’t want to fight him on it.”
"And did he know that?"
"Yes. He also knew there were complications. He’d asked our attorney for an earlier distribution, but George said no. So, since I’m the executor, I ran it by Ted to see if he could figure out a way to break the Trust dissolution date earlier. It was Mother's wishes, set up in her Trust. She thought... she hoped that Raymond would finally grow up if there was money waiting for him. That he'd turn his life around." His hand moved to a photograph on his desk. It was an old family portrait, probably from the 1970s. "She loved him. Despite everything, she loved him and wanted to believe he could change."
"And you?" June asked quietly. "What did you believe?"
Silent for a moment, his gaze stayed on the photograph. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "I believe he was an alcoholic, and that coloredmost of his thoughts and many of his choices.” He sighed and shook his head. “I wanted him gone from our lives. Whether I could give him the money early or make us both wait a little longer, I didn’t care. I just wanted him gone. But I didn't kill him."
The raw honesty of it hung in the air between them. June waited, knowing there was more.
"He called me," he continued, his voice steadier now. "Two weeks before the festival. Said that he needed the money now and couldn’t wait for the Trust time to be up. I told him that I wanted to give it to him, but the attorney said I couldn’t until the end date set up in the Trust. He lost his mind over that. Didn’t believe the attorney. Claimed he’d come here and make my life miserable until I gave it to him."
"What did you think about that?"
Horace rubbed his face tiredly. "The same as always… here’s Raymond. Again. Going to make everyone’s life a hell. I went to George, the attorney. I begged him. I told him that I’d give Raymond the money equal to his share and then at the end of the time period, I’d just keep his half since I would have already given it to him."
"That sounds like a good plan," June observed.
"Well, sounds like and making it happen are two different things. George said his hands were tied. The Trust would be divided between Raymond and me on the day set forth in the trust.” He sighed again. "I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to speak ill of the dead. Raymond was my brother, and I loved him, despite all the animosity and turmoil. He wasted hiswhole life preferring, as our daddy used to say, ‘to stir the manure, not caring how it stunk in the end’. And it finally got him killed."
June considered this carefully. "Did you speak to him again before the festival?"
"Once more. The night before he came to town." His expression darkened. "He was drunk. Or maybe he'd never been sober at all, and the call weeks before had just been during one of his brief moments of sobriety. He said... he said things about Petunia."
"What kind of things?"
"The kind of cruel, vindictive things Raymond always said when he wanted to hurt me." His hand clenched into a fist on his desk. "He threatened to tell everyone what Petunia did. Those were his exact words: 'I'll tell everyone what Petunia did, and then we'll see how high and mighty you feel.'"
