Hodges deposited her coat on the waiting room chair in front of Heather Granahan’s desk. Then she walked straight to the powder room at the end of the hall, locked the door, set her purse on the sink, and reached inside for the small bottle she’d purchased yesterday evening. She broke the seal and drank. How was she any worse than Merchant downing his two bourbons an hour ago? They both needed shoring up right now. They would cooperate, and they would get through this. He would call off the Eldercare dogs, and she would attest to his loyalty. Codella would find out who had killed his wife and Baiba. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t possibly be him.
She dropped the empty miniature into her purse, combed her hair, and poured mouthwash from a large bottle into one of the small white cups kept on a tray for that purpose. She swished the mouth-stinging liquid around and spit it into the sink. Then she wiped her lips, applied fresh lipstick, and smiled at herself. Anxiety almost immediately loosened its grip on her mind and muscles. But then, out of nowhere, a chilling question entered her mind: What if Thomas had done it? What if she had just made a deal with a murderer?
She stepped out of the powder room and into her office, shut the door, and sat on her couch. What if he had used Baiba to murder his wife, and then killed Baiba to keep her from talking? But why? It always came down to that. Why would he kill his wife? She was harmless to him. And by keeping her here, he looked like the devoted spouse. It was in his best interests for so many reasons to keep Lucy alive and well cared for—unless Baiba had threatened to tell his dirty little secrets if he didn’t marry her. Had she coerced him into a violent act? Had he, in a moment of desperation, conspired with Baiba to kill his wife and then murdered Baiba, too?
Don’t think about it, Hodges told herself. All that mattered was Park Manor—not the place, but her place in it. If she lost her position, where could she possibly go? No other institution would have her after a scandal like this. She was fifty-four years old, she had no husband, and without Park Manor, she would have no role or status in this status-conscious city. People would cease to ask her to cocktail parties or invite her to sit at their fundraiser tables. The older men of Park Manor would no longer wink at her. She had even entertained the idea of marrying one of them. Why not? It was a better retirement plan than her 401(k).
If she left Park Manor, she would soon be forgotten. That was the painful reality of life on this island. You were what you had and what you did, and if you had or did nothing, you didn’t belong anymore. You didn’t really exist. And Constance couldn’t handle that. She had to shield Thomas so that he would protect her.
She called Michael Berger. “It’s time for us to address the press.”