Lethal Lineage

by Charlotte Hinger

  “And I think I know someone who needs cheering up. Someone who needs a little bit of sunshine. Yes we do!”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Someone is being a little bit stubborn about rehabilitation. Yes we are.” Inez folded her arms across her chest and looked resentfully down at her charge. “Someone doesn’t appreciate the lovely thoughtful ladies who come over with food every day. No, we don’t.”

  “Inez. I’ll be here for several hours. I know you have other people to see. Why don’t you go on?” I’m used to being pleasant to people. Used to resisting the impulse to pound the hell out of them.

  She brightened. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. I don’t mind.”

  She walked over to the table and grabbed her purse. “I have two ladies lined up to stay here.” She raised her voice, making sure Edna heard. “Perhaps you can convince someone to make caretakers’ jobs a little easier by smiling a little. Being mindful of blessings.”

  She left. Tears stung my eyes. I could see the red light glowing on a percolator in the kitchen. I walked over and poured a cup of coffee and sat at Edna’s dining room table opposite her chair for a couple of minutes before I approached her. She sat staring straight ahead.

  “Would you like tea? Can I get you anything?

  She slowly moved her head to look at me. Tears streamed down her withered cheeks.

  I went to her and knelt beside her. I didn’t speak, but simply held her hand. Then I reached for tissues and dabbed at her eyes.

  “He was here,” she said finally. Her voice was weak, but clear. “He was here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Who, Edna? Who?” My throat tightened. The man? The mysterious man?

  “My son. Stuart. He was here.”

  Relieved that a stranger hadn’t come into her house, I was nevertheless puzzled by her distress. “Yes, he stayed here overnight when you were in the hospital.”

  She continued to weep.

  I stood and walked back over to the table. There was a sheet of dismissal instructions. I picked them up and waved them at her. “Would you mind if I read these?”

  She stared straight ahead and didn’t answer.

  I skimmed the information. “You need to walk a little. Would you like me to help you over to the table? Can you use your walker as well as you did before?”

  She did not reply. I studied her tear-lined face, then pulled a straight backed chair over to her and sat down.

  “What’s wrong, Edna? Why are you upset that Stuart was here.” I knew her son and daughter-in-law visited several times a year and her grandchildren showed up once in a while. Just five years ago, she’d had Christmas at her house.

  “He went through my things,” she said. “My papers.”

  “I’m sure he felt he had to, Edna. He wants to give you the very best of care and it’s important that he have an accurate picture of your finances.”

  It wasn’t my place and it might not have been the right time to discuss moving on to a different life, but I refused to treat this woman like an child incapable of making intelligent decisions. Her body might have deteriorated, but not her mind. So I slogged on.

  “Have you given any thought to where you might like to go if you can’t stay here?”

  “He went through my papers. He found everything. Everything.”

  I knew at once she was referring to papers relating to the mental institution.

  “He thinks I was crazy now. Crazy.”

  “He doesn’t, Edna.” Deciding immediately—now that secrets had been broached—I told her how I knew of Stuart’s discovery.

  “When your son told me about it, we both scoffed at any such diagnosis. Not that it’s a disgrace, but in our present society, you would have been given an antidepressant or some other medication if that was the problem.”

  “There wasn’t a problem,” she said fiercely. “There never was. Henry did it to me. He just decided. He got meaner and meaner. It didn’t happen all at once.”

  Shocked. I sat there with my hands pressed between my knees.

  “It was my fault to begin with. We didn’t have kids and didn’t have kids and it like to drove Henry crazy. I didn’t bring up adopting. Didn’t have to ask how he felt about it. I knew. He put great stock in breeding. Pure lines. He wouldn’t have married me if he didn’t think I’d make a good breeder.”

  I quivered in the presence of her torn soul, sensing she had never told all this to another person.

  “It was terrible. Terrible times. He kept track. Mounted me like…” She shuddered. “We never had no babies, but I had my little chicks. My flowers. Not saying that was enough. Just saying I had them, that’s all.”

  “Could you have gone back to your folks, Edna?” She managed a weak smile and shook her head.

  “Why? What would I say? That Henry was disappointed that I couldn’t have kids? That he was mean to me? Lots of men was mean to their wives. He wasn’t a drunk. He didn’t hit me.”

  “But,” I protested.

  “No but. There was no good reason to leave that man.”

  “Then one day it happened. I was able to tell Henry I was expecting. Things changed. I was an older mother. I was in my late thirties by then. We was both worried that something would be wrong with the baby. When little Oliver was born, a dandy little boy. Well, I can tell you, things changed.”

  She smiled a little half-smile with the memory, no longer as agitated as she was when she began.

  It would be good for her to cling to pleasant memories for a little while. I rose. “Be back in second. I’m going to warm up my coffee.”

  I sat across from her again, hoping she wouldn’t stop before she explained being in an institution.

  “When my little Mary Claire came along I had everything and Henry didn’t seem so bad. A lot of women had it worse. Much, much worse. Now I had babies and little chicks and flowers, and it was plenty. Plenty good enough. He was a good provider. We was never hungry.”

  Plenty good enough. A phrase I heard all the time from older persons. Perhaps it was. But women didn’t have to settle for “plenty good enough” any more. Our standards had changed.

  “Oh we was a caution me and the kids.” Her eyes misted. Her mouth quivered. “We had fun. I taught them how to fish, and we hunted for mushrooms, and we chased butterflies and fireflies. There were Monarchs then and…”

  Alarmed by the sudden cascade of tears, I rose and went to her and pressed her head against my chest. “Let’s quit for today, Edna. I’ll be back.”

  Sobs shook her frail body.

  “I noticed on your sheet that Mrs. Hargraves will be here in twenty minutes. Do you know her?”

  She nodded. “She lives over in the next block.”

  “Do you like her?”

  She nodded again.

  “Fine. She’ll be here overnight. And she’ll be fixing your supper.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  “Not now, perhaps, but try to eat something later. Let me tidy up a bit and I’m going to get a damp washcloth for your face.” Appearances mattered to the frail little woman. She had spent most of her marriage keeping up a front. “Then we’ll comb your hair. You’ll look just fine by the time she gets here.”

  ***

  I went straight home and called Agent Dimon and didn’t mince words.

  “I understand it’s essential to interview Edna Mavery. But as undersheriff of this county, I insist on being present. So will her son and an attorney.”

  “We are not your adversary, Miss Albright. After talking with you yesterday, we’d already planned to send a woman trained in elder interrogation techniques.”

  ***

  After we hung up, I called Stuart and explained the situation. “Something goes wrong when I ask about that man. She’s frightened. I’m sure I caused her TIA by pressing her too hard.”

  “Nonsense, you didn’t cause anything
. But I sure don’t want to take any chances, especially after learning she’s had mental health issues in the past.”

  Miserable with the weight of the day, I didn’t know how I should respond. I yearned to simply get everything out in the open.

  “I need to be there,” he said. “I’ll leave Wichita early tomorrow morning. And I agree about her needing an attorney. Who do you recommend?”

  “Curtis Matthews hasn’t been in town long, so he’s just now building a practice. I’ve heard good things about him. Try him first. I’ll bet he’s looking for business.”

  ***

  When we all gathered at Edna’s the next day, Mrs. Hargraves had her charge looking her best. Her hair was freshly shampooed and coaxed into sweet sausage curls. Her soft pink, bias trimmed, starched housedress was spotless. Her walker and the table beside her chair were the most visible signs of her declining health.

  Stuart stood in back of his mother’s chair with one hand on her shoulder. Edna reached for it, tilted her head and kissed his palm. Then she released it, squared her little shoulders and tried to rearrange herself in the chair. We all instinctively sprang forward to help, laughed, then stepped back to let Stuart hoist his mother into a more comfortable position.

  I winced. A mere two weeks ago this woman had managed to walk down an aisle, kneel—although with excruciating difficulty—then attend a picnic.

  The KBI agent, Nancy Brooks, looked at me, attorney Curtis Matthews, Stuart, Mrs. Hargraves, hesitated, then took a deep breath. She was a small blond-headed woman with neat short hair. She wore a navy blue pantsuit and carried a brown leather shoulder bag. Dressed normal. That would set well with Edna.

  Brooks located a wall socket and plugged in a cassette recorder. She noticed my surprised look.

  “Backup, Miss Albright. We don’t take chances.” She pulled a tiny digital recorder out of her briefcase and smiled as she waved it at me. “In fact, we’re just a couple of months away from adding video capability for situations just like this.”

  She recorded her own preliminary remarks and identification, then asked Edna her name and address.

  Edna spoke clearly, but with hesitation. As though recalling even these details made her uncomfortable.

  “Were you present on Sunday, March 14, 2010, at the new church known as St. Helena?”

  “Yes,” Edna said. “And I kneeled too. I managed to kneel. Like I should. Just want everyone to know I was in better shape back then. A lot better shape.”

  Agent Brooks smiled. I liked this lady a lot. As Agent Dimon had said, we were all on the same side. I was starting to relax. We all were. Then Brooks asked Edna to describe the man kneeling next to her.

  “I can’t remember,” she said. “I just can’t. He was normal. Just normal. Average.”

  Brooks pressed. “What do you mean by normal, Mrs. Mavery? Explain average? Do you mean he knew what to do during the service.”

  “I can’t remember. He just wasn’t special. I didn’t pay any attention. If he wasn’t normal, I’d of remembered that. But I don’t. All I cared about was that we was having communion with a real priest in a real church and I wanted to get down that aisle without falling over. And I wanted to kneel like a proper Episcopalian.”

  Alarmed by Edna’s flushed face, Brooks reached to stop the tape.

  “No, leave it on,” Curtis Matthews said sharply. Brooks drew back her hand. “Finish this up right now,” Matthews continued, “ask those questions you feel you must ask, then please leave Mrs. Mavery alone.”

  “All right,” she said. “Do you think you would recognize this man if you saw him again?”

  “No.”

  “For the record Mrs. Mavery, you’ve told the Carlton County authorities that the man said something to Reverend Mary Farnsworth. Do you recall those words?”

  “Yes,” Edna whispered. “Oh yes. They caused a heart attack.”

  Brooks looked at me. I gave my head a miniscule shake, indicating we had simply decided not to tell Edna Reverend Mary had been murdered.

  Brooks drew a pen from her pocket and made a quick note on a legal pad and passed it to me. However, she did not turn off the tape.

  “It might not matter,” she’d written. I looked up at her and nodded, hoping my eyes reflected my appreciation. Brooks was here to gather Edna’s testimony. That was all. What Edna Mavery saw and heard that day would not change one whit by knowing it was murder, not a heart attack. In fact, her knowing that might complicate matters.

  “Mrs. Mavery, would you please repeat those words?”

  Edna trembled and closed her eyes. Then she opened them and pressed her handkerchief over her mouth. Then she put it on the tray and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “They was ‘I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done.’”

  She began sobbing.

  “That is all, Mrs. Mavery. Thank you very much. This concludes the interview,” Brooks said hastily before she turned off both recorders. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

  Silently she gathered up the equipment and stuffed it into her briefcase. We went into the kitchen.

  “Thank you. You did a good job.”

  “Some days I hate my work,” she said. “I didn’t sign up to give little old ladies a hard time.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s a long drive back. May I beg a cup of coffee before I go?”

  “Of course. And really, it went better than I thought it would. Are you making any progress finding this man?”

  “No. This is the most screwed up investigation I’ve ever been involved with.” Professional, crisp, she was clearly troubled, the kind who wouldn’t tolerate incompetence. “Too many bumbles.”

  She raised the palm of her hand to cut me off when I started to defend our procedures. “Please,” she said, “don’t take this personally. We’re not saying there’s something your people should have done differently. We’re just saying everything has been screwed up from the start.”

  “I know that.”

  “The team has pored over all the details. If any one of us had been in your shoes, we’d have assumed this was a natural death from the beginning too.”

  “And the coroner had no basis for thinking otherwise,” I added. “Or he would have had a KBI agent there to observe.”

  “We understand that. We do. Lottie? It’s Lottie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And you are Nancy?” She’d given me her card when she walked in the door.

  “Yes.” She inclined her head toward the living room. “I need to get back in there and say my goodbyes before I head toward Topeka.”

  “It’s that locked anteroom that threw us.”

  “It’s the stranger that’s throwing me. I can’t believe someone didn’t bring a guest book that day.”

  She smiled. “If someone had murder on his mind, I can’t imagine that he would have stopped to sign a guest book.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Stuart called early the next morning. I was still at the house. Sam was on duty. Keith was out checking on cattle and I had arranged for help at the historical society so I could spend the morning at Edna’s.

  “Hi, Stuart. I hope your mother is still doing all right.”

  “That’s what I’m calling about. Yesterday wasn’t a great day for her, but she did all right, everything considered.”

  “I thought so too. But they couldn’t have picked anyone better than Agent Brooks.”

  He cleared his throat. “What would you think of me leaving Mom right here in Gateway City for a while?” he asked. “If we can keep the right help coming in, I think she’ll be better off. She just loves her little house.”

  “Stuart, I think that’s a wonderful idea. Good for you. The longer she can stay in her own place, the better.”

  “Whew. I was afraid you’d think I was trying to duck my responsibilities.”

  “Not at all. What made you change your mind?”

  “After everyone left
last night, I helped her outside to the porch. And I kept looking at her flowers. I’ve never known anyone who loves flowers more.”

  “She can’t keep them up, you know.”

  “I know that. But she loves children. And I’m going to find youngsters who don’t mind being bossed around. She can tell them what to do. It won’t be the same as kneeling in the dirt, but it’s the next best thing.”

  “But it will be plenty good enough,” I said softly. “Plenty good enough.”

  “Lord, Lottie. I’ve heard my mother say that a million times.”

  “Did she talk to you any about other things?”

  “No. And it wouldn’t have been good for her. We kept it simple last night.”

  “I’ll be over there this morning,” I said. “Please tell her I’m coming and tell Mrs. Hargraves she needn’t come back until after lunch. And Stuart, this won’t last forever. There are more changes coming.”

  “I can’t give up my accounting practice,” he said wistfully. “You know that. But I can come back here once a month. At least.”

  “Do not neglect your business. You’ll need all the money you can make if she has to go to Assisted Living. And as to moving her, don’t give that another thought.” I thought of all she had endured. “She’ll understand when the time comes. Your mother is a realist. A survivor.”

  ***

  Edna smiled when I came through the door.

  “Well, look at you,” I said. “And we were worried that yesterday would be too much for you.”

  “That was a real nice lady. I kind of felt sorry for her. She was trying to do a job.”

  “You were just fine.” I bustled around and looked for chores I might help with, but the place was spotless. “I’ve brought a seed catalog.”

  Her smile faded.

  “I know you can’t plant,” I said immediately. “But Stuart and I are going to round up some youngsters who will be glad to earn extra money and you can tell them what to do.”

  She looked pleased. Then she trembled. “It will have to be annuals. Not sure I’m going to live long enough for perennials.”