Murder in the Pachysandra

by Linda A. Lavid

  “So, they discharged you?”

  “Hell, no. Had to go AWOL. Apparently, there’s not a doctor around on a Sunday. Like that’s my problem. Anyway, I got dressed, called a cab and walked out while everyone was in the rec room watching those brutes with their precious pigskin.”

  “But you’re feeling alright?”

  “Yeppers. Once the insulin was regulated and the old brain got an extra shot of glucose, I was living la vida loca.”

  Hattie unraveled the strings of two tea bags. “But you were found unconscious. What happened?”

  “It was the silliest mistake. I just took the wrong type of insulin. The kind I was supposed to take at breakfast, I took at night. That’s all.”

  “Yes, but could it happen again?”

  “Horseballs, no. I’ve changed where I’m putting everything. I’ll be just fine.”

  “Of course, you will,” Hattie said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. But she had her doubts. Muriel was a woman living alone with no family with only Hattie and Ralph to count on. And Ralph was more a paid pair of hands than a friend even though, over the years, Muriel had tried to make their relationship more, much more. God love her resilience.

  The teakettle whistled. Hattie reached to the cupboard and consciously thought of each step to make a proper cup of tea. Due to the day’s events, she hadn’t been feeling quite herself. After Howie had left, she had an odd sensation of time skipping. First, she’d be on the couch, then she’d find herself in the bathroom with absolutely no recollection of how, when, or why she had resurfaced in another spot.

  Placing two of her best cups and saucers down, Hattie looked fondly at her friend. While Howie often referred to Muriel as a train wreck, Muriel was the only one who treated her as a person instead of some throwaway hag. There were never any half-hearted how-you-doing-todays or condescending distant smiles that belied true interest. And now during this difficult time perhaps Muriel’s company could anchor her fragmented sense of time and put things back on track.

  “Before I forget. Brought us a little something.” Muriel fished through the tote and pulled out a brown, long-necked bottle. “Irish whiskey. The only elixir to clear the mind and comfort the soul, especially at a time like this.” After a quick twist of the cap, Muriel poured a generous shot into each bone china cup.

  Hattie reared back. “I don’t think—”

  “Sweetie,” Muriel interrupted. “No offense, but you look a little green around the gills. Now I don’t want you to think we are just drinking. Having a shot in a bar is drinking, but having a toast is sacred.”

  “Sacred?”

  “I’ll say a prayer. Please join me. We’ll add the tea later.”

  Hattie slipped onto the chair and followed Muriel’s lead. Muriel clinked her cup to Hattie’s and said, “Dear Lord in heaven, now that our child is with you and at peace, please bless us all in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

  “Amen,” Hattie added softly.

  With a quick swig, Muriel emptied the contents. She looked at Hattie. “Your turn.”

  Hattie lifted the drink to her lips and took a sip. The bitterness was familiar.

  “Bottoms up,” Muriel said.

  Hattie had drunk straight whiskey once before in a motel room not far from the Carlsbad Caverns. Orin was on leave back then and she had traveled on a two-day train trip to see him. Hattie braced herself––Orin, this one’s for you––and gulped it down in three quick swallows. Her eyes watered as the liquid burned its way down.

  Muriel splashed more whiskey into each cup, then loosened her arms from the coat sleeves. “So, what the hell happened?”

  Muriel’s eyes widened as Hattie reviewed what it was like finding Jason. Once finished, Hattie added, “Have you ever seen a dead body outdoors? In all my years, I haven’t. Sure, the occasional bird or squirrel but a human being left out in the open, discarded like a pile of rubbish.” Hattie shivered. “He was soaked and so very pale; spread out on the ground. The rain fell over him and streamed down his cheeks. For a moment, I had hoped that he had been crying. Of course, that was foolish. After all he was lying on his back with his head in such an odd position. And his eyes...” Chilled, Hattie paused. “Muriel, no one should look into a child’s dead, hollow eyes. There’s such emptiness, hopelessness.”

  Muriel patted Hattie’s arm.

  Hattie’s voice strained. “Why couldn’t it have been me?”

  “Don’t say that,” Muriel said. “Don’t even think it, Hattie Moon. Besides, God doesn’t bargain. Why should he? He’s got all the damn cards.”

  Hattie nodded absentmindedly. Life, of course, was never fair, but she could never stop believing that it should be.

  Muriel sighed heavily. “God, that boy saved my life and now he’s gone. Who would have expected such a turn of events?”

  Hattie had no recollection of Jason saving her life. “What do you mean?”

  “It was Jason who found me the other day.”

  “Jason? I thought Scott found you when he delivered the mail.”

  “Oh no. I was told in the hospital that it was the paperboy who called 911. I phoned him that very day and thanked him. I also spoke with his mother about getting him something special. We had talked about a savings bond. She was going to give me his social security number once I got back home. Why in the world did you think it was Scott?”

  Hattie thought for a moment. Perhaps it had been Ralph who told her or possibly Howie, or maybe Scott himself. “I must have gotten confused.”

  Muriel rolled her eyes. “Hattie you’re sliver sharp. I’m sure someone was taking credit for something he didn’t do, like he always does. That mailman burns me. Walking around here with his nose in everyone’s business, throwing in his two cents.”

  Muriel never thought much of Scott Richards. Hattie assumed it was distaste by association, all because of Ralph. Muriel followed suit when it came to Ralph and his particular brand of likes and dislikes. Hattie supposed it was one of Muriel’s faults––being so influenced by Ralph and his narrow-mindedness.

  “Was there any blood?” Muriel asked.

  “I didn’t see any.”

  “Then he must have died of natural causes. Sudden death can happen at any age. A fuse blows and Bingo, the heart stops cold.”

  “Yes. That’s what I first thought....” Suddenly, Hattie felt weary.

  “Hattie, what’s wrong?”

  “Muriel, I can’t even repeat it. I’m so upset. It’s wrong and untrue and a terrible assumption.”

  “What’s untrue?”

  “And that’s not the worst of it. Can you imagine how Jason’s mother must feel? Not only is her child gone, but his memory will be trampled on.” Hattie reached for the cup.

  “Sweetie, I’m a little confused.”

  “What kind of legacy will be left of that poor boy? Tongues wagging, his name dragged through the mud—” Hattie’s breath caught as she saw the room through a well of tears.

  Muriel reached across the table. “Maybe that’s enough drinking for now. I’ll finish making the tea.”

  Hattie wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I can’t let this nonsense go on.”

  “Yes, I agree. But well, I’m not sure what the problem is.”

  Hattie took a breath, then blurted out. “The detective said Jason was a drug dealer.”

  “A WHAT?”

  “And that he died of an overdose.”

  Muriel slumped back. “Our Jason?”

  “Oh Muriel, you don’t believe it, do you?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s ridiculous but why would they—”

  “He had some money on him.”

  “Hells bells.”

  “My thoughts precisely. Clearly they are mistaken.”

  “To say the least. Lordy, he probably had money on him because someone paid him for the papers.”

  “Yes. That makes sense. Anyway, I didn’t speak to the detective. Howie told me. He and Detective Blansky w
ent to school together.”

  Muriel’s face scrunched up. “But Hattie, if Jason didn’t die of natural causes or a drug overdose, what the fudge happened?”

  Hattie took a deep sigh. She didn’t want to say it aloud, but the truth had to be faced. “Muriel. That poor child was murdered.”

  Her friend reared back. “Murdered?”

  “That’s the only explanation. Why was his coat unbuttoned and sneakers untied on a morning like today? The weather was fierce. Bitterly cold. Nothing was normal about the way he looked, spread out the way he was. And how did he end up in my yard so far back? That wasn’t his normal route.”

  “He never cut through to deliver the papers?”

  Hattie shook her head. “Never, ever.”

  “Maybe he was robbed,” Muriel said.

  “Perhaps. A child alone. It’s quite dark in the mornings. And with all that rain.” Hattie bit the inside of her cheek. “Except he was found with money.”

  “Maybe he put up a fight.” Muriel shivered. “This is freakin’ me out. A psychotic thief right in our neighborhood? That detective needs to get off his butt. Let’s call him. Dial 911.”

  “Yes. You may be right.” Hattie reached for the phone and punched in the number. After several transfers, his voice came through.

  “Mrs. Moon, what can I do for you?”

  “Ted, thanks for speaking with me. I wanted to talk with you about Jason. I had some—”

  “Did Howie come over?”

  “Yes, earlier. We spoke about—”

  “Great guy that Howie.” In the background, Hattie heard another phone ring. The detective’s voice became muted. “Angie, I’m busy here, get the GD phone.”

  Hattie put her hand over the receiver. “He’s talking to someone in his office.”

  Muriel nodded.

  Ted Blansky’s voice returned. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you could stop over. There are a few things I’d like to—”

  “Not possible. Tell me now.”

  “Okay. Where shall I start?”

  “How about toward the end? Mrs. Moon, I don’t a have a lot of time.”

  “Yes, you must be busy, but I do think this is important, critical actually.”

  Muriel’s brow furrowed.

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

  Hattie had to get the detective’s attention. Her words tumbled out. “Howie told me that Jason died of a drug overdose.”

  “Mrs. Moon, Howie shouldn’t have said anything. The case is under investigation.”

  “Yes, of course. But Ted you have to be aware of certain things.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Jason didn’t do drugs.”

  “Right.”

  “He wasn’t that kind of boy. He was a good boy, a nice boy.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Now I know what you found. He had money on him. But he probably had collected it from his—”

  “Hold up, Mrs. Moon.”

  Hattie stopped talking.

  Muriel leaned closer. “What’s happening?”

  Hattie angled the phone so Muriel could hear.

  The detective continued. “I know it’s hard to accept certain things. I’m sure the kid was likeable. But...” The detective stopped and sighed. “Listen just between us, we found more than money. There were track marks on his arm.”

  “Track marks?”

  “Places on his arm where he shot up.”

  “Ted, Jason didn’t take drugs. He wasn’t that kind of boy.”

  “Mrs. Moon, I’ve been in this business for thirty years. Are you telling me I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  Hattie’s eyes flashed. “Ted Blansky, add fifty-three years to your thirty, and that’s how long I’ve been around. Now please listen.”

  Muriel raised her thumb in the air.

  “Shoot,” he said flatly.

  Hattie steadied her voice. She had to make sure he wouldn’t hang up. “I’m sorry for my outburst, but you saw the body. He was hardly dressed for the weather and—”

  “Mrs. Moon, the fact that he wasn’t dressed for the weather and found in your yard isn’t surprising. The kid was in the stratosphere with the truckload of drugs he had pumped into his system. Have to hand it to him though, come rain or shine, he did his best.”

  “So, you’re certain about the drugs?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Moon.”

  “No need to be sorry Detective. With all this evidence it seems clear to me what happened.”

  “Yes. It’s tragic.”

  “Ted, that poor child was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Blansky laughed. “Mrs. Moon, pay attention because I’m not gonna repeat myself. The boy was stoned, gone, zonko. The kid didn’t know where he was, what he was doing. The physical evidence can’t be denied. And there’s one other thing...Mrs. Moon, was Jason a good kid?”

  “Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying. The best.”

  “Well liked by everyone? Helpful? Smart? Never in trouble?”

  Hattie sighed with relief. Finally, she was getting somewhere. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Answer me one question.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where’s the motive?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why would someone kill him?”

  Hattie exchanged a glance with Muriel. “I don’t know,” she answered quietly.

  “Mrs. Moon, the death was accidental. Not suicide, not murder. No one’s fault, no one to blame. It happens. Kids buy this stuff and play Russian Roulette each time they shoot up.”

  Deflated, Hattie slumped. Ted Blansky had it all figured out. What more could she say?

  Suddenly the phone was jerked from her hand.

  “Detective, this is Muriel Manning, Hattie’s friend. You’ve upset her terribly. Are you happy about that? Now, because of your pig-headedness, no pun intended, you’re putting her in the position of having to do your job . . . No, I’m not going to shut up . . . Excuse me? What did you call me? . . . Put me through to your supervisor or I’ll call Internal Affairs . . . Hello? Hello?”

  Muriel pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it in disbelief. “That jerk hung up on me.”

  Hattie stared blankly. The conversation had not gone well. How was she supposed to help the police if their minds were already made up?

  Muriel sloshed more whiskey into each teacup. “Hattie, you’re looking pale.”

  “I’m going back there.”

  “Back where?”

  “To the yard,” Hattie said. “Where I found Jason.”

  Chapter Five

  Arm in arm with Muriel and carrying a flashlight, Hattie guided her friend farther into the yard. It was dry but colder than earlier, and with dusk, an eerie haze was settling in.

  “Where we headed?”

  Hattie jutted her chin. “Toward the back.”

  Muriel stalled. “That’s quite a distance. I never realized your yard went so deep.” Her voice was choppy as if she were trying to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Capital.”

  But Hattie wasn’t so sure. “Would you like to wait in the house? I won’t be long. Just need a quick look-see.”

  Muriel’s grasp tightened. “Together we stand, divided we kaput. Onward Christian soldiers.”

  And onward they went.

  Since Orin’s passing, the yard had been neglected. Long gone were the flower beds, vegetable garden, and finicky, green grass he had painstakingly weeded, fed and observed, ever-vigilant for diabolical invasion. Crabgrass, grubs, fungus to name a few. The yard now was a mishmash of creeping ivies, spreading weeds, spouted, spindly trees and a ton of fallen leaves. She must remind Ralph to come over and clean up. It would make Orin happy. In case he was watching.

  Hattie pulled up short. Just hours ago, Jason had walked these same steps. She disengaged from Muriel and turned slowly. What had the poor boy seen, heard?

>   Her home appeared small, inconsequential. A dim light from the kitchen window silhouetted Lucy on the sill. The Spencers’ upstairs lights were on. Julia, unaware of prying eyes, stood and folded laundry. A chill of a different kind ran through Hattie. How easily someone could be spied upon.

  She reached for Muriel. “This way.”

  As they walked, Muriel slowed then pulled up short. “Hattie. Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Hattie wasn’t sure what she believed in. Perhaps more in spirits than ghosts. After all, she spoke to Orin daily and often.

  Muriel continued. “What if Jason hasn’t seen the light. What if he’s, you know…hovering. I mean I don’t think he’d want to hurt us or scare us but—”

  “Muriel, if he’s a talking ghost, he could tell us what happened.”

  “Great point. We should ask. No harm in that. Where did you find him?”

  Hattie flipped on the flashlight and motioned over to the patch of pachysandra twenty feet away. A slight depression in the ground cover made her mind flash to earlier in the day. Except for crushed stalks, Hattie could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I need to see what I hadn’t seen.”

  “Huh?”

  “It came to me earlier today. What one doesn’t see could be just as important as what one does see.”

  Muriel’s face screwed up. “No offense. And while it may be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, you may have had too much moonshine. It happens.”

  “Stay with me. He was lying here. On his back. His coat was open, unbuttoned. It wasn’t so much the coat that caught my attention but his white T-shirt.”

  “Naturally,” Muriel agreed.

  Hattie took a deep breath. “He was face up. His head toward the house and feet over here.” Hattie stepped deeper into the yard. “How do you suppose he ended up on his back?

  “He must have fallen.”

  “Forward or backward?”

  Muriel bit the inside of her lip. “Either way I suppose.”

  “How so? He’s walking from my house where he delivered the paper, then fell. But why are his feet ahead of him. If he tripped he’d be face down with his feet closer to the house.”

  Muriel thought hard. “I think I got this. Yes. He was walking from your house but he didn’t fall. Not right away. He slipped, his feet flew out in front of him, then he fell backward.”