Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Oh, yes, hi, Schuyler,’ she endeavored to answer casually.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I was just fixing a sandwich and accidentally knocked the bowl off the counter.’

  ‘No, I mean, are you OK? I was gardening all day and only just heard the news about Doctor Livermore. Someone told me he was shot right next door to your café.’ Schuyler’s voice was urgent.

  ‘Yes, just outside the church this morning. It was quite a way to start the day, but I’m fine. A bit shaken at first, but fine.’ And hungry, she nearly added as her stomach growled again.

  ‘Do you need anything? Anything at all?’

  A sandwich. Soup. Salad. A bag of chips. ‘Um, no. Nothing that I can think of, but I appreciate your asking.’

  ‘Are you sure? I could put a stronger lock on your door, if you’d like. Not to say you can’t take care of yourself, of course – you’re a grown woman – but, well, all the insanity of the past forty-eight hours has me concerned. For all of us.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, but I’m absolutely certain I’ll be OK. Besides, it’s not like I’m alone. Jules and Mary Jo have been here so often that I may need to report them to you as additional tenants.’

  Schuyler laughed. ‘Sounds as if you’re in good hands. Um, but, that’s not the main reason for calling. I wanted to talk to you.’

  For the moment, Tish forgot about her hunger. ‘Yes, I wanted to speak to you, too.’

  ‘Really? Well, you go first,’ Schuyler invited.

  ‘Um, no. I, um, well, I wanted to speak to you in person.’

  ‘What a coincidence. I was calling to see if you’d like to meet up and chat, seeing as we missed our chance at the fundraiser. I know you’ve been working hard this weekend and, most likely, feeding everyone but yourself. I was wondering if you’d like to meet me for an early dinner. The local grill has some specials this week. It doesn’t quite measure up to what you served at the fundraiser, but it’s good and basic.’

  Tish would normally have speculated what Schuyler might have wanted to discuss before agreeing to dinner, but she was famished and the prospect of eating something other than leftover catering food was overwhelmingly attractive. ‘Yes, I’d love to. What time?’

  Even Schuyler seemed startled by her hasty and positive response. ‘Um, I don’t know. What time is it now?’

  ‘Just going on two.’

  ‘Um, is six o’clock OK with you? I know it’s rather last minute and I don’t want you to feel rushed—’

  ‘Six o’clock is fine.’ Tish didn’t need much time to get ready. However, she desperately needed a sandwich.

  ‘Shall I come and pick you up?’

  Tish thought about the questions she needed to ask Schuyler. Taking the trip home together afterward might be awkward. ‘No, I’ll meet you there. Where is the restaurant?’

  ‘It’s just down the road from you, at the other end of town. It used to be the old coffee shop.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Celestine told me about that place. Said they had horrible coffee.’

  ‘That’s the one. You can’t miss it. Not much is open on a Sunday evening in a sleepy town like this.’

  ‘OK. I’ll meet you there at six, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Schuyler replied with genuine excitement in his voice. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  Tish didn’t reply in kind. Not only was she less than thrilled to interview her landlord about a murder and an attempted murder, but she was even less excited to hear his answers. Instead, she disconnected the call with a brief farewell and went back to making her sandwich. Six p.m., after all, was still four hours away.

  Tish flaked the remaining fish into a clean bowl and was just about to chop the chives when she was interrupted by a knock on the screen door of the café. Exasperated, Tish placed her knife on the counter with a deliberate clank. If the universe was sending her a message, clearly it was that she needed to diet.

  With a heavy sigh, she answered the knock by opening the main door. Augusta May Wilson stood on the other side of the screen. ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Wilson. What brings you here?’ Tish opened the latch to allow Augusta admittance.

  ‘I came by to apologize for yesterday,’ she explained as she swung the screen door outward and stepped into the café. ‘I was so wrapped up in my own little world that I didn’t even say goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, no, I should apologize. I shouldn’t have left the way I did, but I thought you and Edwin could use some time alone. Speaking of Edwin, he came by yesterday afternoon to return the cake container and to apologize.’

  ‘Edwin was here?’

  ‘Yes. I gather you didn’t know?’

  Augusta frowned and shook her head. ‘No, I told him to return your container, but I had no idea he’d do it so quickly. Then again, communication hasn’t been our strong suit of late.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Tish gestured to Augusta to take a seat at one of four café tables she had purchased for future customers. ‘May I get you something to drink? Some tea? Lemonade?’

  ‘Lemonade would be lovely,’ Augusta accepted. ‘I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.’

  Tish eyed the bowl of sea bream on the counter. There was not enough to share and nothing else to offer Augusta apart from a slab of cold beef. ‘No, I just came back from Wisteria Knolls for a cold drink and bit of quiet.’

  ‘After the shooting this morning, I’m sure you could use some peace. I think we all could.’

  Tish brought two glasses of lemonade to the table. ‘Especially Cordelia.’

  ‘Yes, how is she?’ a concerned Augusta inquired.

  ‘About as well as you’d expect.’ Tish sat in the chair opposite Augusta. ‘It’s obvious she and her mother were quite close.’

  ‘Too close at times. It did no good for Cordelia to live with her mother all these years.’

  ‘But Binnie wouldn’t let her leave,’ Tish guessed.

  ‘I’m not sure about that. Were there times when it seemed Binnie held Cordelia on a short leash? Sure. But there were just as many times when Cordelia seemed overly protective of her mother. I can’t count the number of times each of them threatened to move away or evict the other from Wisteria Knolls, only to stay put and renew their bond.’

  Tish frowned at what sounded like a complicated and possibly codependent relationship. ‘And you? I know you haven’t been feeling well. How are you faring after this morning’s events?’

  ‘Numb. I think that’s the best word to describe it.’

  ‘There’s a lot to process, isn’t there?’

  Augusta gave a slow, sad nod of the head. ‘Ms Tarragon, may I have a word with you, woman to woman?’

  Tish was uncertain what to expect from the conversation, yet she remained welcoming. ‘First, call me Tish. Second, yes, of course you may.’

  ‘I’m not sure why I’m even about to tell you all of this. It’s so silly of me …’ Augusta gave a self-deprecating laugh.

  ‘If it’s something that’s been weighing on your mind, then it isn’t silly. If it makes you feel better to talk to someone about it, then you should.’

  ‘Yes, but I barely know you.’

  Tish shrugged. ‘People confide to bartenders all the time. What is a caterer or restaurateur besides a bartender who serves more food than alcohol? However, if it makes you feel better, I can spike your lemonade,’ she teased.

  ‘Oh, no! After my emergency room visit, my doctor and Edwin would never forgive me if I were to drink before my next check-up,’ Augusta chuckled. Then her face grew tense. ‘I’m not sure if Edwin will ever forgive me as it is.’

  ‘Why do you need his forgiveness?’

  ‘Because I had a very good reason to want Binnie Broderick dead’ – Augusta’s voice grew weak – ‘and it wasn’t because of the library. It was because she was out to ruin my life.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned yesterday that you were fearful Mrs Broderick might bad-mouth you to the board. Edwin thought the
idea was ridiculous, and I must say I agree with him. The board must know by now that Binnie had a vindictive streak.’

  ‘That’s because you and Edwin don’t know what Binnie knew. I … I had a child years ago.’ Tears streamed down Augusta’s cheeks.

  Tish rose from her chair and retrieved a stack of white paper napkins from behind the counter. If she was ever going to stay on in this town, she was going to have to invest in several boxes of facial tissues.

  Augusta took a napkin from the top of the stack and dabbed her eyes as Tish returned to her seat. ‘The child wasn’t Edwin’s. I hadn’t even met him. I … I was an undergrad at UVA, in my sophomore year. He was a senior, on the Dean’s list, the football team, from a good family, and nice-looking. Very nice-looking. He and I had met for coffee on campus before he asked me out on a date. I was excited and more than a little nervous since I hadn’t dated much. Maybe a couple of boys in high school and some group-dating scenarios, but nothing one-on-one.’

  Tish could already see where the story was headed. She reflected briefly upon the assault that had led to her life-changing decision to give up banking, her home, and her life in Richmond to follow her dreams in Hobson Glen. Tish had been lucky – a few bruises and cuts before her attacker ran off into the night – but she sensed Augusta’s story didn’t end quite as well.

  ‘We were supposed to go to the movies. The Last Picture Show – remember that one with Cybil Shepherd? – was playing, only we never made it to the theater. Instead, he took the long way into town, saying he wanted to talk and get to know me. Then he parked in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t so naïve that I didn’t know what was on his mind. I gave him a few kisses and then insisted that we either go to the movies as planned or he could take me back to campus.’ Augusta, her hands shaking, took several sips of lemonade and wiped the tears from her eyes before continuing.

  ‘He refused to do either. He just kept kissing me and pawing at me and unbuttoning my blouse. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I screamed, but there was no one there to hear me. I tried to let myself out of the car, but he grabbed both my arms and pinned me down on the front seat. That’s when …’ Augusta’s voice erupted into a squall of sobs.

  Tish leaned across the table and put her hand on Augusta’s in a sign of solidarity and compassion. She was tempted to excuse Augusta from sharing any more of the gory details, but she realized that, after so many years, this was a story that probably needed to be told.

  ‘Afterwards, he left me on the side of the road. I had been discarded. I walked to the nearest town and called my roommate. She and her sister came and got me.’

  ‘Did you report the incident?’

  Augusta shook her head. ‘I felt ashamed. As if it were my fault. I wondered if I had sent the wrong signals, if I didn’t make my “no” clear enough, strong enough, assertive enough. I thought maybe I didn’t fight back hard enough. Even if I had reported what happened, the campus officials would have done nothing. He was white, wealthy, and on the fast track to success. I was working class and one of only a handful of black students on campus.’

  Augusta went on, ‘A few weeks after the attack, I discovered I was pregnant. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to him. He looked at me with smug disdain every time I saw him, as if I had been a conquest and nothing more. I had told my roommate and she insisted that I tell my parents. They were, as you could imagine, horrified. My father wanted to hunt down the boy responsible for my “condition” and beat him to death. My mother simply cried, and prayed, and cried. Whether or not she believed I had been raped, I never knew. All I know is that she was bitterly disappointed. She was a devout Baptist, so abortion wasn’t an option. I was to carry the baby to full term and then give it up for adoption.’

  Augusta wiped the tears from her eyes, but her voice grew stronger. ‘It was March, so I went back to school and finished off the semester. I wore baggy clothing, so no one was the wiser. When the semester was done, I went to stay with an aunt outside of Memphis. Once I gave birth in November, I’d go back to Richmond to spend the holiday with the family and return to school in January for the winter semester. Only I didn’t give birth in November. I went into labor in October and gave birth to a baby boy. He was beautiful. Perfect. I wanted to hold him so badly, but that wasn’t permitted by the adoption agency, nor was it possible physically, for within seconds of birth he went into cardiac arrest. The pediatricians revived him, but he had suffered irreparable brain damage. He also had a congenital birth defect that not only required regular medication and monitoring, but shortened his lifespan considerably.’

  Augusta paused briefly, then continued, ‘As I’d mentioned earlier, my parents weren’t wealthy. They couldn’t afford to care for a child with his kind of needs. And I, as a student, was barely prepared to care for a healthy child on my own, let alone one requiring special care. However, we also knew that no one would ever want to adopt him. It was a heartbreaking decision, but we allowed the child to become a ward of the state. Mercifully, he didn’t suffer long. He died in an institution three years later as a result of a pulmonary embolism.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Tish expressed in a near whisper. The sound of her voice and any words she might have uttered with it felt grossly inadequate in providing comfort in the face of Augusta’s revelations.

  ‘Thank you. And thank you for listening. I … I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, sharing that the way I did,’ Augusta sniffed.

  ‘Not at all. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to confide in me.’

  ‘I don’t know why, but it just seemed easier to broach the subject with you, a relative stranger, than to open up to those I’ve known for years.’

  ‘There’s less risk that way. Less risk of feeling judged. Less risk of possibly losing someone you care about,’ Tish remarked. ‘But now that you have opened up, what about Edwin? I think he deserves to know.’

  ‘I’m so scared of how he’s going to take it.’ Augusta burst into tears again.

  ‘I don’t know your husband, but he seems to love you a great deal. He certainly worries about you.’

  ‘Too much,’ Augusta laughed betwixt the tears.

  ‘I think he’ll be angry that you didn’t talk to him sooner, but I also think that if you explain your sense of shame, he’d understand. Maybe not at once, maybe not in a day or a week, but eventually. This all happened before you’d ever even met him. Before the term “date rape” had even entered our country’s vocabulary,’ Tish explained. ‘I can’t see him holding this against you for the rest of your life.’

  Augusta nodded. ‘You’re probably right. Edwin flies off the handle if he thinks someone is out to harm me, but apart from that, he’s a kind and reasonable man.’

  ‘It’s also probably best that he hears this news from you instead of the police.’

  ‘The police? How would they find out?’ Augusta leaned forward in her seat, her grief having turned, quite rapidly, into anxiety.

  ‘They’re investigating Binnie Broderick’s murder, Augusta. If she knew about your attack and the subsequent pregnancy and threatened to tell the board and the police find out, you’re a prime suspect.’ A thought occurred to Tish. ‘Was Doctor Livermore aware of your pregnancy all those years ago?’

  ‘No. He wasn’t even here in town when it happened. And now – well, not to cast the man in a bad light, especially when he’s down, but I don’t think he’s ever treated anyone like me,’ Augusta recounted. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  Tish nodded. She understood the tacit meaning of Augusta’s statement, but she was still unclear about some things. ‘What I don’t get is, if you didn’t report your attack to the police, Doctor Livermore didn’t know about the subsequent pregnancy, and you stayed out of Hobson Glen until you were ready to deliver, then how did Binnie Broderick know about the existence of your son?’

  ‘Because my son’s father, the boy who raped me, was Ashton Broderick. Binnie’s husband.’

 
; SIXTEEN

  ‘Binnie Broderick’s husband raped Augusta Wilson?’ Mary Jo repeated, her expression a mix of both horror and astonishment.

  ‘Yes, but that’s to stay just between us and Augusta,’ Tish replied, still seated in the chair she had occupied when Augusta visited an hour earlier.

  ‘And then Binnie used that knowledge to blackmail Augusta into resigning?’ Jules, who had, since morning, slipped into a pink T-shirt and beige linen trousers, was incredulous.

  ‘Yes,’ Tish answered again, this time her voice reflecting the weariness she felt.

  ‘So Augusta Wilson was a double victim. The first time of rape and the second of blackmail,’ Mary Jo inferred as she pulled up the hem of her blue floral-printed maxi-dress and sat across from Tish.

  ‘Thus giving her one hell of a motive for wanting Binnie Broderick dead,’ Jules concluded while he rummaged through the refrigerator.

  ‘Or Edwin,’ Tish offered.

  ‘But Edwin didn’t know about either the rape or the blackmail,’ Mary Jo corrected.

  ‘That’s what Augusta tells us,’ Tish asserted. ‘But how do we know that’s true? Perhaps Binnie had spilled the beans to dear old Edwin without Augusta knowing about it. But then, if that’s the case, what about Doctor Livermore?’

  ‘What about Doctor Livermore?’ Jules repeated as he shut the refrigerator door with a frown.

  ‘Augusta told me that she was never Doctor Livermore’s patient. Therefore, he had no knowledge of Augusta’s rape and subsequent pregnancy. If that’s true, then neither Augusta nor Edwin had reason to shoot him.’

  ‘Easy,’ Mary Jo pronounced. ‘Augusta was lying and the good doctor had, in fact, treated her. Augusta has no other children, but it would be clear from a physical exam that she had, at some point in the past, given birth.’

  Tish refused to believe this was the case. ‘I don’t think so, MJ. Augusta isn’t stupid. She knows the police could easily prove if she and Edwin were patients of Doctor Livermore. There’s also the fact that everyone I’ve spoken to made a point of describing Doctor Livermore as being expensive and rather elitist. Augusta and Edwin may be reasonably well-off financially, but they’re not part of Binnie Broderick’s country club crowd. Oh, I also checked Doctor Livermore’s website. He’s affiliated with Virginia Commonwealth Hospital.’