Broken Heart Attack

by James J Cudney

  “No one cares what you think, Jennifer. You're one to talk. If anyone had it out for Mother, it's you. She's the one who pushed…”

  “Why would you say that, Mrs. Taft?” I interrupted hoping to learn something of importance. It wasn't exactly my place to insert myself, but there were clearly problems in the Paddington family.

  “Jennifer only visited Mother to get money out of her. She's kept herself distant from the rest of us except when she needed something or Mother forced her to attend a family function,” Ophelia chastised while pouring herself a glass of sherry from the antique bar cart in the corner of the room.

  Eustacia remained silent. I assumed she wanted me to witness the various antics and nasty behavior of her nieces. It was certainly an over-acted show reminiscent of a Kardashian family reunion.

  “That's simply not true. You've been trying to get money out of her for years ever since that husband of yours disappeared,” Jennifer reminded her sister while slapping her hand against the table.

  “He hasn't disappeared. He goes out of town to do work for Paddington Enterprises. Besides, I have three children to take care of. You don't have anyone else!” Ophelia replied swiftly.

  Jennifer looked away without any response. A bucket of rage flooded her face before she buried her focus on a family portrait behind the desk. It had been painted at least twenty years ago when Ophelia and Jennifer were in their late twenties or early thirties. I saw their brother standing between them prompting me to ask a question. “What about Timothy? I noticed him at the show last weekend. I guess he was sitting elsewhere? How's he handling your mother's death?”

  Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. “I haven't heard from him.”

  “Neither have I,” Ophelia added. “I doubt he attended the actual performance.”

  Eustacia cleared her throat. “The last I saw him was during the intermission. Has no one spoken to him? Surely he's aware what happened to Gwennie.”

  The room was silent when Millard entered. “I'm glad you started without me. I've been detained talking to Brad upstairs about a few things.”

  “Mr. Paddington, it's good to see you. Your family was just saying that no one's heard from Timothy since Gwendolyn passed away on Sunday. Were you able to get in touch with him?” I asked finding it odd that no one knew anything. I also knew minimal information about the man and would need to ask more questions privately when I had a chance.

  “No, I thought you did, Eustacia. I left him a voice mail to be here at noon today. Is he not around?” Millard walked toward Ophelia and handed her an envelope. I couldn't see what was written on it, but it looked like something you'd get from a bank.

  “No one's heard from him in three days?” Eustacia shouted in exasperation. As she stood from the table, her cane fell to the floor. I jumped up to help her re-gain her balance and be able to walk without falling. I looked around discovering no one else seemed to pay attention. This was not a family with an abundance of love. Gwendolyn's son was missing. Both her daughters were fighting about money. Millard was acting strangely given he'd agreed to setup the meeting today but showed up late and hadn't invited the whole family. What did he hand Ophelia?

  “Where are Dana, Sam, and Lilly?” I asked.

  Millard offered an apologetic look. “I should've mentioned it to you before. I didn't invite them today. I thought it best for you to meet Gwennie's children first, then we can follow up with the others.”

  I would have preferred to know that in advance, but it wouldn't help me to admonish him. I was certain no one reprimanded a Paddington. Ophelia announced she had to leave. Millard followed her out the door intent on discussing something before she left. Jennifer stood and thanked me for stopping by, then left. Eustacia and I looked at one another and laughed.

  “How do you deal with them? I don't mean it offensively, but your family is more disruptive and bitter than mine,” I said half-heartedly.

  “It's always been like that, Kellan. My brother was the one person who kept everyone in line. When Charles passed away last year, Gwennie lost interest in controlling her children. Ophelia's husband is constantly in and out of the picture, I never know what's going on between them.”

  “They're still married?”

  Eustacia nodded. “Ophelia claims Richard left her penniless, so she'd constantly ask her mother for money to cover expenses. Although, given she lives here and all the bills are paid for by the household budget, I'm not certain how much she needs to survive.”

  “Jennifer seemed shaken when Ophelia dismissed her needs because she didn't have any children to support.”

  “Jennifer's had a hard life. She's been engaged twice, both men broke it off. The first practically left her at the altar, poor thing. And the last time, well, that wasn't fair to her,” Eustacia said wistfully while closing her eyes. “My dear niece had two miscarriages while they were engaged, and the louse walked away from her when he thought she couldn't give him any children.”

  “That's terrible,” I said thinking about my sister. Though Eleanor had never been pregnant, wanting a child of her own had been a driving force in her life the last few years. “Is Jennifer still hoping to have a child?”

  “I'm not the one to ask. We were close years ago but after the last broken engagement, she moved out of the house and keeps to herself,” Eustacia noted while walking toward the door. “Did you learn anything of importance today?”

  I shook my head. “Perhaps a little. I think we need to track down Timothy. I find it concerning he had a public disagreement with his mother moments before she died. He might have had access to put cocaine in her pills at any point before Brad brought them to the theater.

  “As did Ophelia and Jennifer, as well as any of her grandchildren or anyone who had access to her medication closet,” Eustacia explained looking back at the portrait above the desk with discerning focus. “We need to find out what was written in the will. Either someone killed Gwennie for the inheritance, or they were angry with her over something else. I can't think of another motive, can you?”

  I told her I couldn't. When Eustacia left, Bertha stepped inside to escort me to the front door. As we walked the hallway, I asked, “Have you seen anything odd with Gwendolyn's behavior during the last few weeks?” I knew Nana D was going to talk with the staff, but since I was already there, I took advantage of the opportunity.

  “Mrs. Paddington was distressed more than usual. She rarely said anything to me about them, mostly complained in general over their lack of consideration for her. But she did say something one afternoon,” Bertha noted as we reached the front door. When I asked what she'd said, Bertha's face blanched. “That girl needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “Gwendolyn said that about whom?” I asked not understanding the comment.

  “I think it was Jennifer. Gwendolyn had just hung up the phone with her when I announced lunch. Mrs. Paddington kept repeating the line, then told me call her attorney,” Bertha explained before saying goodbye.

  As I stepped down, I pressed accept on my ringing phone and said, “How'd the inspection go?”

  Eleanor grunted. “I failed. He told me the electrical work didn't meet code and that I couldn't open next week. I need help, Kellan.”

  This wasn't good news. “Did he give you a write-up of what needs to be corrected?”

  “Yes, and it's way more than I can afford based on what the inspector suggested should be done. Apparently once I started construction by opening up walls and installing new appliances, I was responsible for bringing the kitchen up to current electrical code. I can't get this done without any money or time.” Eleanor sounded infuriated. I couldn't blame her, I'd also be disheartened and worried if I'd sunk all my money into a new business that wasn't starting off in a good position.

  “What does the contractor say?”

  “He's gone already. He packed up yesterday when the work was done and told me to call him if I needed anything. When I tried just now, his phone was no longer in service
.”

  I inquired how she'd located the contractor to begin with, but Eleanor mumbled something about the previous owners recommending him. Given the short time frame, she didn't bother with any additional quotes or references and foolishly trusted their judgment. Eleanor gave me the contractor's name, and I told her I'd find out what I could.

  On the drive to Braxton to visit my mother, I thought through all the people who might be able to help Eleanor. I called the Play House to see if Arthur Terry was available. As the person responsible for running the King Lear production, he likely had an available carpenter or electrician who might be able to spare an hour and provide a quote and options for Eleanor. He didn't pick up the phone, but Yuri, the girl working on the stage design, promised to deliver my urgent message as soon as Arthur returned. My day was getting entirely too busy for what was supposed to be Spring Break.

  I parked the SUV in the North Campus lot and briskly walked to the admissions building to visit my mother. Her assistant mentioned my mother was almost done updating a family who was about to take a tour of the campus. I waited in the lobby outside her door admiring the fancy new nameplate—Violet Ayrwick, Admissions Director. When she was done, my mother led me into her office, then closed the door. “Is there something you're keeping from your father and me, Kellan?”

  I guess that meant my father had told my mother about the letter. “Not at all, why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just wondering… your father mentioned finding something. You've been hanging out with the Paddingtons lately. Nana D said you were running her campaign. Do you think that's a wise thing to do? She's almost seventy-five years old, honey. Nana D needs to rest,” my mother reproached.

  “Nana D's a lot sprier than you give her credit for, Mom.”

  “That's not what I'm worried about. I'm sure she can handle it, but do you think Wharton County will support her? She's not qualified to run for mayor. Marcus Stanton is going to destroy her reputation.” My mother took a giant swig of water, then sighed heavily. “I wish my brother was home to help talk her out of it. He's been very quiet ever since he left on that month-long African safari.”

  “I understand, but when have you ever known Nana D to back down from a challenge? She's determined to fix Braxton while she still has enough energy and time.” I'd already tried to convince Nana D not to take on the job, encouraging her to become a councilwoman when Marcus vacated his role to run for mayor. She wouldn't listen and had told me she had to slap his bottom silly. That was her frequent method for teaching people lessons—she comes from a different era.

  “Just watch her closely please. She listens to you,” my mother begged. We laughed for a minute knowing Nana D listened to no one but herself.

  My mother brewed coffee while we talked. I asked her what she knew about the Paddington family. I remembered her telling me she'd gone to high school with Ophelia nearly thirty years ago.

  “Ophelia's ruthless and mean, a bad combination. Many people say she's just like her mother, but there's a subtle difference. Where Gwendolyn was ornery and stubborn, Ophelia brandishes much more than a mean streak. That woman likes to get revenge on anyone who hurts her.”

  “It sounds like you speak from experience, Mom.” I pictured an epic battle between my mother and Ophelia, not knowing who'd win. While my mother was sweet and gentle, she had a competitive side and could be stealthy.

  My mother appeared to ponder the past before responding. “Not really. We were never friends or enemies. We didn't hang out in the same crowd. I had to help run things on the farm at Danby Landing after school. Ophelia went to a variety of social clubs and had a nanny who looked out for her.”

  “Do you know her husband?” I realized I still needed to find a way to meet him.

  “Richard Taft used to be friendly with your father, and occasionally we'd see them at charity or sporting events around campus. He took an out of town job over a year ago last Christmas. I heard he and Ophelia may be considering separating which makes sense since I haven't seen him around at all.”

  “Has Dad not heard from him either?”

  “No, he tried a few times, but after a couple of months, your father assumed Richard didn't want to talk anymore. There were a few unfortunate, public arguments between him and Ophelia.”

  “Do you think Ophelia is capable of killing her mother? From what I understand, she had little money left and was recently pressuring Gwendolyn to lend her some.” I didn't like the way the woman had treated me or her family earlier that day, but there's a fine line between being a menace and killing someone. I didn't have enough information to hazard a guess if she was dangerous or just cruel.

  “Oh, goodness. I don't know her that well now. I suppose under the right circumstances she could be vindictive enough. But surely someone wouldn't kill their own mother over money, Kellan.” My mother looked at me with both judgment and concern.

  “Don't worry, Mom. I'm not thinking about sending you to an early grave,” I joked, then looked in the other direction while tapping my fingers together in a devilish way. “Besides, how else would I deal with Nana D if you weren't there to help me?”

  My mother laughed and warned me to be careful. “I don't trust that family. I've never had any issues with them, but something's not right. Everyone seems out to hurt each other, even those older ones.”

  My mother told me that when their parents passed away, Charles, Millard, and Eustacia had a huge falling out over the distribution of assets. At the time and given the way things ran in the Paddington family, the eldest male inherited the bulk of the estate. For some reason, Millard was skipped over and everything had been given to Charles. Eustacia had pitched such a fit, her siblings stopped speaking to her for a year. My mother had no idea about the source of the blow-up.

  “What happened when Charles died?” I asked.

  “His son, Timothy, had been running the company for the last decade after Charles retired, but shortly before Charles passed away, he convinced the Board of Directors to place his son on temporary leave. Timothy had a substance abuse problem he'd been struggling with and was making some horrendous business decisions. I believe Gwendolyn kept the house because she was still alive, but I'm not certain of the other details or the current state of the family business,” my mother indicated before telling me she had to prepare for a meeting.

  Chapter 10

  After I left the admissions building, the current state of Paddington Enterprises became my focus. Was Timothy still running the organization, or did he never come back from the forced leave of absence? I needed his help to fill in the missing pieces, but before I could do that, it was time to help Nana D prepare for her first debate with Marcus Stanton. I sent her a text indicating I'd be by for dinner after finishing up a few afternoon errands.

  Nana D: I want tacos. I'm feeling the need to have Mexican tonight.

  Me: Are we cooking them ourselves, or am I bringing take out?

  Nana D: Can't you make any decisions yourself, brilliant one?

  Me: If I brought takeout, you'd tell me it was full of chemicals. If I bought all the ingredients, you'd tell me we had no time to cook since we're supposed to practice for your debate.

  Nana D: Are you saying I never let you win? Margaritas, too.

  Me: I think staying sober would be better for tomorrow.

  Nana D: I wasn't asking your opinion. Don't be cheap. Get the good liquor. I'm out.

  I decided to compromise by picking up tortilla chips, tacos, and burritos at our favorite Mexican restaurant, but I'd also buy all the ingredients to make our own guacamole. I had a secret recipe with shallots, cumin, and bacon that couldn't be topped. As for the drinks, I knew I had no chance to stop her, so why bother? I'd make them as weak as possible or spill half of hers out when she wasn't looking.

  * * *

  I woke up Thursday morning with a hangover so painful my head had put out a foreclosure sign. My eyelids blinked several times in a row trying to read the clock on the far wall. W
here was I? Nana D's couch. I then heard someone speaking and tried to understand the conversation.

  “He doesn't look so well, Nana D,” Emma noted and poked my cheek.

  “That's what happens when you try to pull the wool over Nana D's eyes, baby girl. Don't ever forget that lesson,” Nana D teased.

  “Is he gonna throw up again? That was yucky,” Emma shuddered.

  “It's the only way to teach your Daddy who knows better. He likes to learn things the hard way. Always has, even at your age. Such a stubborn little boy,” Nana D said with a sigh.

  “I can hear you both.” My left foot dropped to the ground with a thud. “Please explain to me what happened last night?”

  Emma told me that we were all having a good time eating dinner, but she didn't understand why I kept switching out Nana D's glass with a different one. When she asked Nana D about it, my grandmother told Emma that the rules needed to change. It was time to swap out her daddy's glass with a different one Nana D had poured. It seemed at the end of the night, my nana had two margaritas and I had eight of them. Now I knew why I had the hangover from that place I told Emma never to speak of.

  Emma went to the kitchen to get me a glass of water. “I'm the only person in the world whose nana purposely tried to get him drunk. Hardly seems fair, nor something you should be teaching Emma, Nana D,” I said feeling a dry pastiness in my mouth I hadn't felt in years.

  “Oh, pish! All Emma knows is that you drank so much you almost wet the couch. I explained that she should never drink that much liquid before bed, so honestly, it was a useful thing for her to learn, Kellan. I hope you've also realized something from last night.” Nana D handed me two aspirin and a cold rag, followed by a glass of something that smelled like rotten tomatoes and looked like the salsa we'd eaten the night before.

  “What's this?” I asked feeling the contents of my stomach rising over the smell in the glass.