Vulgar Favors by Maureen Orth

Author:Maureen Orth [Orth, Maureen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-76661-8
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

ON Saturday afternoon, May 3, 1997, a few hours after David Madson’s body had been discovered at East Rush Lake in Minnesota, Stephen and Barbara Byer were pulling out of their designated parking spot in the alley behind the Miglins’ Gold Coast house at precisely 2:15 P.M. The Byers were art dealers who rented an elegant duplex town house from the Miglins just one street over on East Division. The rear of their house—the focus of Lou Richardson’s lawsuit—faced the rear of the Miglins’ across the alley, so they were used to seeing the Miglins in their kitchen, where the blinds were never drawn. The day was cloudy and rainy. After first noticing that the Miglins’ garage across the alley was open, they checked to see if anyone was inside, and saw Lee Miglin. “He was at the very rear of the garage, wearing a tan suede jacket with his back to us, and it appeared he was puttering with some plants,” says Stephen Byer. Since Lee was hard of hearing and wore hearing aids, Stephen Byer didn’t bother to call out, and they went on. When Stephen Byer returned to his parking spot at precisely 5:30—he checked his watch because he was running late—he noticed the kitchen blinds were drawn. He thought it odd but he really didn’t pay attention. By then the Miglins’ garage was closed. There was no sound from their aging retriever, Honey.

The Byers liked Lee Miglin. He had come over to their house two nights earlier to renegotiate their lease and wound up telling stories about his early days as a door-to-door salesman. Even for such an informal meeting, he hadn’t changed, but wore a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and silk tie. He was a dandy with white hair and there was never a hair out of place—everything had its order. But that usual tranquillity was shattered on Sunday morning, May 4, at around 8:15. The Byers, on their way out to breakfast, came face to face with Marilyn Miglin at their backyard gate.

“Steve, Steve, come over quickly. Something’s wrong!”

“Marilyn, what do you mean?”

“I just got back from Canada and something’s wrong,” she repeated. “Lee isn’t home. Lee is missing. He was supposed to meet me at the airport and he didn’t, and I took a cab and somebody else has been at the house.”

Byer sought to reassure her. “Marilyn, try to calm down. I’m sure Lee is fine.” But as soon as the Byers rushed across the alley, through the garden, and into the kitchen with her, “I sensed she was right—something very bad had occurred. First, there in the kitchen was a pint of Häagen-Dazs ice cream with a spoon stuck in it. Half eaten and half coagulated. And secondly, there was an empty Coke can on its side in the sink. Lee was a serious, fastidious, compulsive kind of man,” Byer explained. Lee Miglin would never leave anything out like that. He began to query Marilyn. “Was Lee going to pick you up?”

“Yes,” she responded.

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