by Cathy Tully
“I asked you if you wanted to sit,” he said, as he watched her crumble.
“What did you give me?”
“It’s my own personal stash of té tamarindo.” He lifted his untouched cup and poured the liquid back into the container and resealed it. “I never touch the stuff, myself, but Anita really enjoyed it the last time we met.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Up we go,” Billy said, using a tone of voice that one would use to soothe a sick child.
Susannah’s breath came with difficulty, and she knew without a doubt that she had been poisoned with digitalis.
Billy tugged on her arms, attempting to pull her to a standing position. “Come on now,” he said impatiently. “You’re much stronger than she was, and that was a small dose.”
Another wave of nausea tore through her; she heaved, but nothing came up. She stuck her finger down her throat, hoping to disgorge some of the liquid and slow the poison. All the speculation she and Bitsy had done about opportunity and method, and it turned out that the vector of the poison was a simple one. Billy had poisoned Anita’s tea. Betrayed her with her own creation. A sharp pain tore through her ribs. It took a moment to comprehend that Billy had kicked her.
“Don’t hurl,” he ordered, as if she could control the serpent that slithered upward from her gut. He yanked her again, and she resisted, hoping to rest for another moment and gather her strength. She needed to ignore the sensations of pain and the prickly fingers of vertigo that played at the edges of her mind. She had to form a plan. She had to fight back.
Inhaling with difficulty, she recalled that the effects of digitalis were primarily cardiovascular. Her heart could be skipping to any one of a number of irregular beats, which would cause shortness of breath. The strength in her muscles should not be affected. She steeled herself; she needed to coordinate her body and mind. Her eyes darted around the room. Her best chance was to get to the back door and outside.
She willed her legs to move, but they trembled so furiously she could not take a step. The page in the Compendium of Plants came back to her clearly. Along with nausea, vomiting, and cardiac arrhythmias, digitalis toxicity caused tremors, but it didn’t cause weakness or loss of muscle tone. She should be able to muster the strength to stand and run. Unless of course, she had ingested enough poison to kill her. She pushed that thought away. She had to concentrate on getting away from Billy.
He kicked her again. “Don’t try anything.” The expression on his face told her that he expected cooperation. She got to her feet, the shaking in her legs subsided, and she felt steady.
“The flowers on her desk were from you.”
His grin became a grimace. “Anita loved flowers. I was more than pleased to give them to her. It was one of our little rituals, and she ate it up.” He laughed. “Ate it up, get it?”
His face was red with exertion, and he twisted her arm fiercely and spun her around, pushing her belly into the counter, frisking her roughly. He yanked her phone from her shorts so violently he ripped the pocket.
“You won’t be needing this.” He threw her phone on the countertop, where it skidded to a stop next to the coffee maker, and snatched the baker’s twine from the shelf.
She bit back a groan as he pulled her wrists behind her back. Remembering the games she used to play with her brothers, she quickly placed her palms together as he bound her wrists.
“I saw you hiding behind the dumpster the day of her memorial.” She could feel his hot breath on her neck. “You might be smart, Doc, but you are clumsy.”
Susannah’s thoughts flashed back to the alley. Squatting behind the dumpster, she remembered how the smell of the garbage had assaulted her nostrils. He had been one step behind her all along. Her heart sank. “The blue sedan.” She twisted, determined to see his face.
He shoved her forward, her face now inches from the counter. “Bingo. Once I saw you out there cowering in the trash, I knew you had been prowling around the restaurant and probably had stuck your nose in the kitchen and Anita’s office. Ignoring the crime scene tape like you’re above the law. Just like Anita, always justifying her actions, no matter who she hurt.”
“A man doesn’t look behind the dumpster unless he has hidden there himself,” Susannah said, paraphrasing an old French saying. She was babbling now, trying to keep him occupied, hoping there was some way she could retrieve her phone without him noticing.
“I made sure I dumped the vase she kept on her desk.” His breath was on her neck, and she reflexively shrank away. He pushed her down harder, and she found herself staring at her phone. She could not discern if the pain in her gut came from the digitalis or from the desperation of knowing her phone was in arm’s reach, but she could not get to it. She struggled against him but couldn’t move. “She thought she was so smart. She used to gloat about how much more money her Cantina Caliente made than the Wing Shack. She thought it meant she was some kind of business genius. But she never figured out why I gave her flowers every week,” he said. “No one else did, either. I knew that detective would never suspect me on her own. She’s a two-dimensional thinker. You, on the other hand, understand that medicines can grow in your backyard. But one man’s medicine is another man’s poison.”
The pain in her gut was hard to ignore, but she had to keep him talking. The more he talked about Anita, the more agitated his voice became. Could she distract his attention and get him off balance? He outweighed her by over a hundred pounds, but there were ways to use an opponent’s weight against them. She moved her foot back, trying to find his. If she could trip him, she might have a chance.
“It wasn’t just the flowers.” She took a breath, wincing in pain. “I know the herbs I sell are safe. If she was poisoned, it didn’t come from my office. I had my suspicions about Anita ingesting digitalis from foxglove. When I saw flowers in the dumpster, I knew I was correct. But they fell apart before I could get them out. Even then, I couldn’t figure out how someone could slip her poison without her noticing.”
“Enter té tamarindo, that disgusting substitute for sweet tea,” he sneered. “She’d swill that crud any time of day. She wasn’t picky about what she put in her body.” He worked the twine around her wrists, and she took the opportunity to strike with her foot, a spark of hope igniting and then going out, as she connected with a stiff leather boot which didn’t budge. He responded by bashing the back of her knee with his, forcing her foot back into line.
Instead of tripping him, she had caused him to get even closer to her, his leg now on hers. He shoved his heavy boot between her feet, and she lost her footing and flopped forward, her cheek now flush with the countertop. Her breath fogged the metallic surface. Her phone was only inches away.
He continued, “Not like those crunchy assholes who want me out of business so they can eat only organic, free-range puffs of kale.”
Susannah grunted as he pulled her up and spun her to face him. She let the momentum carry her to the side, her body blocking his view of her phone. Salvation in the form of a mobile phone lay on the stainless steel behind her, and she had to keep his attention off it. She forced herself to glare at him, not daring to move her hands, which had landed palm up on the counter. There was rage in his eyes, and she hoped that it worked in her favor.
“Present company not excluded.” Spittle gathered at the edges of his mouth, a few drops landing on her face. “Don’t think for a second that just because you helped my back, I respect your ridiculous, self-absorbed ways. You’re what’s wrong with this country. People like you are the reason why I have to work six days a week to make a living. Used to be, a man knew what to expect when he got up in the morning.”
“Not everyone eats wings,” she offered.
Billy’s face flushed. “And not everyone convinces people to buy high-priced supplements to take instead of eating real food.” He leaned in. His face was now contorted from anger, inches from hers. “But you do.”
She leaned away from him, using the opportun
ity to move her hands closer to her phone. She had to keep him talking. He and Anita had engaged in a romantic relationship, but everything he said spoke of professional jealousy. He was angry because the Cantina served a much larger clientele than the Wing Shack, and Anita made more money. His anger even spilled over into resentfulness that Susannah counseled her patients on nutrition and sold supplements to them—as if she were stealing his business. If it weren’t so frightening, it would be preposterous.
Susannah said, “Trust me, more people in this town come here for wings than buy vitamins from me.”
“I don’t trust you. You tell your patients to stop eating wheat. Bread is the staff of life.” He swung his arm wide, palm open, indicating the dining room, and looked away. Susannah felt for the phone and grabbed it, her wrists bent awkwardly on the counter. He knit his brow and stabbed his finger in her direction. “Bread is the working man’s food. Only overeducated morons like you don’t understand that.”
He raged past her, ripped open the door to the oven and pulled out a biscuit. With his back momentarily to her, she quickly dumped the phone into the cargo pocket of her shorts. He winged a biscuit at her, and it hit the side of her face and crumbled. He threw another so wildly that it sailed over her head. He removed one more, slamming the oven door so hard it bounced open again. He heaved his body against it, and it closed with a sucking sound. He reached out and jerked her away from the counter, smashing the biscuit into her face.
“How did you like that? I should force-feed you those crumbs, kinda like a last meal. But we’re outta here.” He squeezed both her wrists in one huge hand, the bulk of his pendulous gut leaning on her, his scent making her dizzy. Could the vertigo be returning when she needed it least?
She knew that digoxins could cause hallucinations along with nausea, but she wasn’t prepared for the clumsiness and sluggish thoughts. She was grateful she’d had the coordination to stow her phone. Only a minute or two could have passed since she had snatched the device and slipped it into her pocket, but suddenly her feet felt disconnected and she stumbled, earning another yank from Billy, which sent a searing pain into her shoulder. At least the pain dulled the nausea.
“You were jealous of Anita,” she blurted, her tongue thick. Her words slurred, and she felt his body stiffen.
He spun her around, sneering. His fingers dug into her so tight his knuckles blanched, tiny brown freckles standing out like specks of cinnamon on his hand. “You have no idea, nobody does,” he exclaimed, his voice softer, choking back a sob. His eyes darted around the kitchen, and Susannah recognized a glimmer of satisfaction and pride that immediately disappeared, replaced by fury. “She was bleeding me dry. She was ripping handfuls of profit out of my business.” He slid his tongue over his lower lip, pausing, and Susannah seized the opportunity and ripped her arms from his grip.
She threw herself at the back door, twisting to reach the handle, but she was unable. The effort taxed her heart, which started fluttering wildly in her breast. It was all for nothing. Her legs shook and wobbled, and the last thing she saw was Billy peering at her. Then all was black.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Susannah’s thoughts were hazy as a rattle woke her. She lay on her side in the darkness of a moving vehicle—the trunk of a car. Her heart tapped, adding a glitch to its beat that made her chest feel hollow and weak. She recalled Larraine’s admonition, “It wouldn’t hurt you to pray.” Prayer and faith came so easily to Larraine; Susannah had always made her own miracles.
She had faith that Bitsy would soon miss her. How long had she been in the Wing Shack? The confrontation with Billy seemed to have taken an eternity, but it could have been ten minutes. Sweat slicked her body, and she sent out a silent prayer that someone would notice she had not returned.
“Well, Miss Larraine,” she said, crinkling her nose at the rank air in the stuffy trunk, “some divine intervention would be welcome about now.”
A faint sound of music filtered in and she focused on it, pushing away the panic. Billy was playing the radio as he drove. She forced herself to take a long, slow breath, fighting the poison that made her heart ram against her rib cage. Tears welled. He was taking her somewhere to die.
Her arms behind her back, she squirmed, assessing the space she had around her. Her maker had graced her with long arms, and as a child she could readily step through her interlaced fingers, a characteristic that came in handy during cops-and-robbers games with her brothers. In this cramped space, she had to contort herself to attempt this trick. Her shoulders ached, and she banged her head as she stepped through her bound hands and forced her arms forward. The volume of the music increased.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she sawed the thin baker’s twine between her teeth and soon her hands were free. She placed her palms against the lid of the trunk, formulating a plan. Taking stock of herself in the cramped space, she wiggled her fingers to shake off the tingling sensation, but they were thick with numbness. Unable to stretch her legs, she wiggled her toes and flexed her feet, determined to get the blood flowing Something sharp jabbed her right leg, and she shifted her weight, pawing at it, but it didn’t move. It was solid and rectangular.
Idiot! Her spirit soared with hope. It was her phone, tucked into her right cargo pants pocket. In all his rage, Billy had missed it.
The car turned, and the road took on a rougher aspect. She pitched to and fro as the car bounded out of a pothole. They were on a dirt road, she was sure of it. Panic enveloped her. Was he going to dump her somewhere and leave her for dead? She pawed her pocket with her numb hand. She had to get to the phone.
The car slowed, and she grunted, forcing her hand under the flap of the pocket where the snap was now engaged. In any other place this would be an easy procedure, but the numbness in her fingers made it agonizingly slow. The vehicle came to a shuddering halt. She heard Billy’s footsteps nearing. Even if she removed it, how could she hide it from him?
With uncoordinated fingers, she flipped the snap and grasped the phone, forcing her hand beneath her blouse, shoving the phone deep into her bra. This was her lifeline now. She wouldn’t give it up without a fight. Rolling flat on her back, her knees pulled in, she was ready to spring as soon as the latch released.
Rap, rap, rap. Billy banged on the trunk. “You hear this?” he demanded.
Susannah recoiled but didn’t answer.
“I know you can hear me.” He rapped again, this time harder. “That’s the sound of my Glock. You give me trouble, and it’ll take a nice bite outta you.”
The lid popped open, and Billy’s fleshy hand maneuvered the barrel of the semiautomatic Glock 19 toward her nose. “Get up.”
Susannah moved, but her sluggish muscles were too slow for him, and he wrenched her upright. She squinted, the subdued lighting blinding after her after her time in the dark. She had to find something that could help her escape. Billy had brought her to a wooded area. She glimpsed trees and pine straw and dead leaves. The view was similar pines and paper birch that surrounded her home and office, thin-trunked trees, too slight to hide behind. She couldn’t be far from Peach Grove.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, moving the barrel of the gun even closer, groping her face with his other hand and forcing something hard into her mouth. It was the plastic bottle of té tamarindo. She writhed away. Wetness dribbled over her lips. Sputtering, she slapped the bottle away in an uncoordinated, spastic motion.
“Stay still, or I’ll shoot,” Billy snarled.
But Susannah had no intention of staying still. If she was going to die, she would go down fighting. She twisted to get her legs free and kicked Billy in the gut.
Unperturbed, he rammed the gun into the soft spot under her collarbone, and she backed further into the trunk. “No!” she cried. He had pushed her in the wrong direction. She had to keep balled up with her muscles taut if she were to lash out with all her might.
But her might was failing.
She glared at him, noti
cing the droplets of sweat dotting his brow.
Good, she thought, I’m making him sweat. I can wear him down.
He fought more liquid into her mouth. The sweetness flowed over her tongue, but she refused to swallow, instead spitting it into his face. He shook his head like a dog coming in from the rain. She saw her chance and kicked again, feebly. It was as hard as she could manage, and by some miracle, her foot found purchase in his groin and he gasped, dropping the bottle.
“Nooo,” he howled, lunging for her as she tipped herself out of the vehicle.
Panting, she reached the bottle but it slipped out of her grasp, the tips of her fingers grazing the bottom. Tea leaked slowly from the opening. With a thrust of the shoulder, she propelled the bottle under the car where Billy couldn’t reach it.
He fell on her, shoving her legs into the rock-hard soil with such force it brought tears to her eyes. He shook her furiously, and her head hit the underside of the car. Her ears reverberated with a high-pitched sound, her vision blurred, but she felt satisfaction as the last bit of iced tea spilled onto the dry earth.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Susannah did not know how long it had been since she’d been poisoned, but the stabbing pain in her abdomen reminded her she was still alive. Digitalis could kill quickly, or its effects could linger if the dosage was not high enough to kill. She credited her mother’s daily rosary that she was still alive. But for how long?
She had barely felt anything as Billy dragged her from under the car, his grip on her ankle only now transforming into a gnawing pain. The drug had given her a kind of distance, and she watched through a halo of yellowish light as he hauled her up, huffing with effort. Sweat beaded across the large pores of his forehead, and when he shoved her through the door of an old shed, her five-foot-ten frame collapsed upon itself like an oversized rag doll. A clap of metal on wood sealed the shed, and a lock snapped into place. “I’ll be back,” he growled. Minutes later, the hum of his car faded into the distance.