by Cathy Tully
Susannah nodded. She remembered getting to know Anita in the early days of the restaurant but had no idea she was spending so much time commuting back to Atlanta.
“Other times, she crept into the house in the middle of the night and didn’t wake for breakfast. I got Dolores off to school.”
“That must have been hard for you.”
Pilar’s expression darkened. “That girl is my blood. She is my heart.”
“Of course, I meant—”
Pilar raised an eyebrow, and Susannah went silent. She buried her face in the tiny cup and gulped the last of the espresso, listening for the sounds of Dolores returning home. All she heard was the tick of a clock on the kitchen wall. She looked at the picture again, imaging Anita in happier times, learning her craft, making friends with whom she would share her new life. There were five faces in the picture: three men and two women. Susannah’s gaze stopped on one man. He looked familiar. Had she met him at the restaurant? She couldn’t be sure.
“Managing the restaurant was hard on Anita,” Pilar continued. “Early mornings and long nights took their toll. Sometimes I found her staring at this photo, lost in thought.”
Susannah sipped her coffee and pored over the photo. Was there a clue there in the fresh, youthful faces, so eager to take on the world? Could one of these people be a key to the puzzle? “Did Anita keep in touch with her classmates?”
“No,” Pilar replied, returning the picture to its place. Susannah tried to store the faces in her memory. Perhaps she should get in touch with the culinary school. Before she could ask any further questions, she heard the squeak of the front door opening.
Pilar gazed pensively out the window into Anita’s yard; she inhaled and drew her shoulders back, as if she had come to a decision. She took Susannah’s arm and whispered, “Anita had big dreams to cook in a five-star kitchen, but once she had Dolores, she gave up those dreams.” Her words tumbled out in a long, deep exhale, spoken in a staccato volley as her gaze fell on the kitchen door. “This place cast a spell over her. I believe it was more than just the restaurant. I believe there must be a man here in this town.” Her black eyes flashed, boring into Susannah’s soul. “Find that man, and you will find who did this to Anita.”
She released her arm, and the kitchen door opened. Dolores entered, a tentative smile on her face. Her eyes were dull and red, but they brightened as she inhaled the scents of espresso and cinnamon. She gave Pilar a peck on the cheek. “Abuela, are you tempting Dr. Shine with your café con leche? Did you make her guess the secret ingredient?” Her gaze darted between her grandmother and Susannah and then landed on the plate on the table. A grin transformed her face, twin dimples accentuating the mischievous expression.
“No, mija,” Pilar answered, pulling the girl in for a hug, “and don’t you tell her.”
Dolores reached out while still ensconced in her grandmother’s embrace and grabbed a cookie off the plate. Susannah was fascinated by how her dimples twinkled as she chewed. Then she stepped back and placed a hand on Susannah’s arm, her face once again tinged by grief.
“I want to show you something and ask you what you think I should do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Dolores retrieved her black book bag and unzipped the top as she walked. She pulled out an envelope, which had been slit open at the top, and handed it to Susannah
“This came yesterday.” She bowed her head as if caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry, Abuela, you weren’t home when I found it, and I didn’t want to turn it over to the police yet.”
Pilar frowned, moving so close Susannah could smell the coffee on her breath. “What is it?” she asked, reading the return address of a local insurance plan.
Susannah glanced up at Dolores.
“Go ahead.” Dolores gestured at the envelope. “Open it.”
Inside the envelope was a form letter with Anita’s name and address at the top. Susannah scanned the letter and recognized it as an explanation of insurance benefits form. It listed a medical group, which Susannah didn’t recognize, and gave the date of the visit as two days before Anita died. Susannah handed the paper to Pilar, who stared at it for a few moments.
“What does this mean?” Pilar asked.
“It means that Mamá did go to the doctor right before she died.” Dolores pointed at the appointment date. “But it wasn’t for her heart.”
Susannah flipped the page over and scrutinized it. “How do you know it wasn’t for her heart? This doesn’t give a diagnosis.”
“No, but her online account does.”
Pilar pursed her lips. “What is an online account?”
“Mamá registered for an account with her insurance company through their website. They have all their documents online now, Abuela. You can see everything: what doctor you went to, how much your insurance company paid, and other things too.” She paused and flashed a shy smile at Susannah. “Like what prescriptions you’re taking.”
“How did you get into her account?” Susannah asked, thinking of all the privacy laws that prevent unauthorized persons from gaining access to medical information.
Dolores addressed her grandmother. “Remember when I went through Mamá’s desk looking for her checkbook? Well, I found all her important papers, including her insurance card, and a list of usernames and passwords. I didn’t think of looking up her insurance company website until this letter came.” She nodded at the paper Susannah held in her hand, which had a logo for the website in large green letters.
“What did you find online?”
“There are two doctor’s visits and a prescription. I Googled the prescription, and it’s a migraine medication.” Dolores placed her book bag on the table and reached in, pulling out a slim notebook computer. “There are some other things I thought you could help me figure out before I tell the detective what I found.”
A loud bam filled the room. Pilar, her palm on the table, glared at Dolores. “No!” Pilar shouted, her eyes hard. Clearly, loud outbursts ran in the family. “Don’t give the police any personal information about mi Anita. They have no respect, they want to dig through her private life like she did something wrong, and I won’t have it.”
“I understand.” Dolores touched her grandmother’s sleeve and then glanced at Susannah. “That lady detective was so rude to us, to Abuela. She treated us like we were lying to her, like we wanted to keep things from her, but we both knew that Mamá didn’t have a heart condition. We told her she never had that kind of problem, and she wasn’t taking any medication for her heart. We knew she had complained about headaches.”
“That detective said, ‘Maybe she hid the medicine,’” Pilar continued, her face flushed. “She asked me, ‘How would we know if she kept a bottle of pills hidden in her room?’” She removed her hand from the table and lowered herself into one of the wooden chairs. “I told her Anita had all the privacy she needed, but we are a family. She told me about the headaches. I knew she made an appointment to see the doctor, but she was busy right before...” Her words trailed off. She paused, then went on. “We are a family. We support each other. Why would she hide such a condition from her family? That is not how families work.”
Susannah wondered if Detective Withers knew this about families.
Dolores placed her computer on the table. “She’s right. Why would Mamá hide something like that? Besides, after the detective left, I looked in her room and bathroom for any pills.” She blushed, and Susannah knew she had done more than merely look. “There were none.”
Susannah said, “Why don’t we figure out what this all means and then we can decide about showing the police?”
Pilar nodded, and Dolores placed her computer on the table. A few minutes later, she had Anita’s insurance account open, and Susannah read over her shoulder.
“I understand this.” Dolores pointed to the first line, which listed a doctor’s name. “That’s the doctor we used to see in Atlanta.”
Susannah read the docto
r’s name and address. The office was in Atlanta, approximately thirty miles from Peach Grove. If Anita’s health was as good as her family believed, it made sense that she had returned to a doctor who she knew and trusted. If she didn’t have a condition that needed regular monitoring, there was no need for someone local, although most people used a primary care doctor who was near their home. Apparently, the drive had been worth it for her. Some of Susannah’s patients drove long distances to see her. This might also explain why the detective didn’t have accurate information about Anita’s prescriptions. The small-town grapevine didn’t extend into Atlanta.
She resumed reading. A description of the service and the date Anita had been in the office came next. Running her hand through her hair, she continued reading. The web page displayed an electronic explanation of benefits similar to the document that Dolores had found in the mail, but with more detail. Not only did the screen list her insurance benefit and copayment for the doctor visit, but it listed other pending charges. This page gave an account of the medical treatment Anita had sought in the days before she died.
Dolores pointed. “Here’s what I don’t understand. What does this mean? Laboratory? Why would Mamá need a laboratory?”
“It means the doctor’s office sent something to a lab for analysis,” Susannah answered, reading the name of the lab. “Most likely a blood test. Click on the line and see if there are more details.”
Dolores tapped, and a drop-down screen opened, showing the date that the doctor had ordered a complete blood count.
“That’s a typical screening blood test that any doctor might do as part of a checkup.”
Dolores nodded, and Pilar exhaled, crossing to the sink with her cup and saucer.
“So, she went to her primary care doctor, and they drew blood and sent it to a lab. Nothing unusual there,” Susannah commented, talking more to herself than to Dolores. “This is the same doctor, same date as in the letter. This is the lab where her blood was analyzed. The lab would send the results directly to the doctor. I don’t think they would post the results here.” She scanned the page, taking in all she could. Randy might think she was a half-assed investigator, but she wasn’t about to act like one. “Where did you see the prescription?”
Dolores scrolled up and followed a link called Your Prescriptions to another page, which displayed Imitrex as the one entry on her drug list.
“See?” Dolores said. “The only thing on the list is the migraine medication, but I didn’t find it in the house.”
“Click here.” Susannah pointed to the words Your Pharmacy, and Dolores tapped the screen. A window opened showing the name and address of the pharmacy that had filled the prescription.
“If you didn’t find the bottle, she might not have had time to pick it up. You would have to talk to the pharmacy to be sure.”
Dolores looked doubtful. “Would they tell me?”
“Not without some kind of proof that your mom has passed and you are her next of kin. The privacy laws are strict. I could research it for you. Or...” She glanced over to Pilar. “You could tell the police.”
Pilar’s eyes became stony, and Dolores stroked her grandmother’s arm. “Calma,” she said firmly. “We have to tell them sometime, Abuelita. This proves that the detective is wrong. Mamá didn’t die because she overdosed on a medication, and they have to know it.”
Susannah left the house feeling as if she had been granted a reprieve. Once Detective Withers had all Anita’s medical information, she surely would have to change her beliefs about the manner of death. There was no way any of the herbs Susannah sold could have put the digitalis in her system. If she had been taking a digitalis-containing drug, the adrenal tonic Susannah sold her might have affected her potassium levels, making the drug more potent. Even this rare outcome would have taken a while to happen. But Anita had never bought the tonic.
Susannah knew now that Anita had never taken a heart medication.
She was murdered.
The question became how to convince the detective. Even Iris had known immediately that poisoning was a realistic possibility. Susannah hoped that Varina Withers lived in the realm of realistic possibilities.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Susannah arrived at the Peach Grove Independence Day Festival in the chill of the early morning. Several large white cumulus clouds speckled the deep blue of the eastern horizon. She unloaded her Jeep and was pleased to see Larraine maneuver her Grand Marquis over the pitted strip of grass used as parking for vendors’ vehicles. Susannah hefted two folded camp chairs and threw the straps over her shoulder, then grabbed the pop-up tent and wheeled it toward the fairground. Larraine followed, and despite her energetic stride, Susannah could see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Is Tina any better?”
“She is.” Larraine frowned and stopped walking.
“But that’s great news!”
“Well,” she began, looking up to meet Susannah’s curious gaze, “it’s good for Tina, but not so much for you.”
Susannah swallowed. “Why?”
“The detective finally checked Tina for digitalis, and the levels were high.” A breeze rustled her well-sprayed coif, but she ignored it and placed a hand on Susannah’s arm. Her light blue eyes brimmed with tears, and her words came fast and choppy. “The doctors changed her treatment and, praise the Lord, it worked. She’s stronger, and her kidney function is back to normal. She still has the arrhythmia and the doctors fear she may have to live with it, but it’s treatable.”
“That’s all wonderful news.”
Larraine’s hand shook. She bobbed her head. “For Tina, yes. But the detective insisted you confessed to poisoning her.”
“That’s absurd.”
Larraine moved to the side to allow a vendor pushing a cart to pass. She sighed and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Keith and Iris have been bugging the doctors about this for days. They told us it was already done and nothing had showed up, and now they are backpedaling about false negatives because of her pregnancy.”
Susannah tried to make sense of it all. “False negative?”
“That’s what they said.” Larraine pulled a Kleenex from her bag and blotted at her nose. “I’m just worried about you, is all.”
Susannah hugged Larraine, squeezing her firmly as if she were her own mother. “I’ll be fine.” She took Larraine’s hand and led her to their designated space. In a few minutes, they were sitting under the shade of a pop-up tent with the name of Peach Grove Chiropractic lettered on its side.
Susannah surveyed the fairground. There was no sign of the detective, and she took comfort in knowing that her blunder could not provide the hard evidence needed for an arrest. She bit her lip, pulled herself up in her chair, and vowed to use her time at the festival to monitor both suspects and the police. She pledged that if Dolores and Pilar did not contact the detective with Anita’s insurance information today, she would do it herself. However, there was no guarantee that she would be believed.
Her stomach flip-flopped, but it was useless to worry. If the detective wanted to arrest her, she knew where to find her. She calmed herself by observing the rows of tents and tables laden with wares. It was a craft festival at heart, with local businesses’ and churches’ booths scattered amidst crafters who sold all manner of homemade goods. She noted trays of jellies and jams, embroidered clothing, and beeswax candles. PGBA members claimed prime real estate. Fiona would offer pony rides, Tomás hawked té tamarindo and fried churros, and Colin and Stevie handed out coupons for $10 off an oil change. And of course, Bitsy did double duty today; she had already arranged the Peachy Things signature peach-colored tent, hung heavy with fringe-covered shawls, and Susannah spied her across the fairground, organizing the pie-eating contest.
Then there was Marcie. Standing next to the children’s inflatable toys that dangled from the sides of a brightly colored tent, a red-faced Marcie set up tables under a long Wing Shack banner. Susannah knew Marcie never mis
sed a year, and the whole family, plus Zach, were there at her command. An aisle over, she saw the red tent with the logo of Colin Rogers’s OK Automotive, but no sign of him. Susannah was certain that he would take the opportunity to get some new business. She strode down the aisle and noticed Tomás working with Nolan to put up a tent.
Adjacent to the municipal building, Bitsy grappled with an upended table. Her punishment for volunteering was to stage the peach pie-eating contest in a cracked and broken asphalt parking lot. Susannah made her way over the cool grass, dew gathering on her boots. Bitsy rushed to her side and seized her arm. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, panting.
Susannah had never seen Bitsy so perturbed. Her face was scrunched into a painful expression, and she tugged on her ear as if she were in pain. She grimaced maniacally, and Susannah took a step back.
“Gettin’ all this together is a lot tougher than I thought it would be,” she moaned. “Roman was supposed to be back from his trip, but I haven’t heard from him. I set up my booth for Peachy Things right quick and left Andrea in charge. I been here ever since, workin’ like a dog. I’ve been lugging tables back and forth.” She shot a glance down the main aisle, where Marcie and Billy were unfolding portable chairs, and then lowered her voice. “The mayor got all bossy about proper table placement, but I don’t want Marcie to know that. I’m on top of it.”
Susannah nodded. “Can I help?
“I thought you’d never ask. I need to put the finishing touches on these tables, then organize the sign-up sheets and get the pies from the refrigerator—”
“What can I do?”
“Move my truck to the parking lot.” She motioned to her Explorer, which sat alone behind the tables, all four doors open, a cardboard box filled with supplies on its hood.