Watkins - 05 - Poison Heart

by Mary Logue

  Margaret walked over to the table and sank down into a chair. “I think she had this all planned out from the moment she met my parents. She saw my mom was getting sick with Alzheimer’s and figured she wouldn’t be long in the picture, and then she married my dad, who she knew wasn’t in good health either. She knew he was a wealthy farmer. She wanted it all for herself. And she got it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t know how you fight evil like that. All I can think is that you live your own life the best you can. Who would want Patty Jo’s life? Who would want to be her? Isn’t that it’s own best punishment?”

  “It might be, but since she doesn’t have a conscience, she never feels guilty about what she’s done.”

  “No, but she’s mired in her own yuck.”

  “Who’s mired?” Mark walked in.

  Claire didn’t think Mark looked good: bloodshot eyes, hair overgrown, dark look on his face.

  “Patty Jo. We’re talking about how evil she is,” Margaret explained as Mark walked over to the stove and sniffed the bubbling apples.

  He spoke so loudly he nearly growled. “Evil? I don’t know about that. She thinks none of the laws we live by apply to her. She should be wiped off the face of the earth.”

  The baby goat lifted its head up at the sound of the raised voice. Claire stroked the coarse hair on its nose.

  “Mark,” Margaret said, disapproval in her voice.

  Mark wiped his face. “I’m sorry. But she’s a menace. Someone needs to do something about her.”

  When Claire walked into Lakeview Manor she found Beatrice sitting on a bench by the front door.

  “Good to see you up and about,” Claire said.

  Beatrice turned her head slowly and looked up at Claire with a bit of disdain. “Don’t do that to me, Claire. Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

  Claire was amazed how much Beatrice’s verbal abilities had improved since she’d come to the nursing home. The sharp tongue she was known for had returned.

  She sat on the bench beside Beatrice. Might as well get on her level. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk to you like a child. I am glad you are up and about.”

  “They make me.”

  “Don’t you want to get up?”

  “Not always. You know, when I lived on my own, sometimes I stayed in bed for part of the morning, just thinking and reading. I enjoyed it.”

  Claire had moments when she really liked the old woman. She wished those moments would last longer. “That does sound nice.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Well, I wanted to see if you had given the invitation to go to Edwin and Ella’s wedding some thought.”

  “I don’t know these people.”

  Claire bit her tongue for a moment. Beatrice had lived in Fort St. Antoine for over forty years before moving to Rochester ten years ago. “You do know them. You knew them from when you lived here.”

  “But not very well. Just to say hi.”

  “Meg would love it if you came. We would all love it.”

  Claire watched Beatrice think about it. Finally the older woman raised her head and said, “But I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Before the wedding you and I can drive over to your apartment and get you some more clothes.”

  Beatrice nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Claire spent half an hour with Beatrice, walking the halls, since it was cold outside, and then going back to her room and trying to fit a few more puzzle pieces together from the thousand-piece puzzle that Meg had brought her. It was a picture of horses, one of Meg’s many favorite animals.

  As they were sitting close together, working the puzzle, Patty Jo Tilde walked by. She stopped and said hello to Beatrice.

  Beatrice said, “Hello, Patty Jo. Are you feeling lucky today?”

  Patty Jo glanced at Claire, then said, “I’m on a roll,” and walked away.

  Claire stiffened. “How do you know her?”

  “Oh, she plays bingo with us. A good woman. Her husband just died here recently. She took such good care of him. Visited him every day.”

  Claire didn’t want to tell Beatrice all she knew of this “good woman,” but she felt she should warn her. “I would watch her, Beatrice.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The thermometer attached to the oak tree in the backyard read forty-five degrees. With no wind, leaves fell down like a soft golden rain in the bright sunlight. Rich suggested they walk to the bakery rather than drive. He thought some exercise would do Claire good. She hadn’t slept well last night. Also, it would give them time to talk, just the two of them. They didn’t get as much alone time now that they were all living together.

  “I’m worried about you,” he said when they were down the driveway and walking toward town.

  “Is that an eagle?” Claire pointed at a large bird floating low over the road.

  “No, it’s a vulture,” Rich said, then patiently pointed out the differences. “See the wings? They’re held in a V shape, while a bald eagle’s are usually out flat. The rumpled edges on the wings you see only on the vultures. And then there’s the absence of a white head, although the immature eagles don’t have white heads.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m still worried about you.”

  “I’m worried about me. This woman has got me going. She’s pushed all my buttons.”

  “Patty Jo won’t try anything now. She knows you all are watching her.”

  “Rich, you don’t know what people like her can do. Sociopaths. They are able to rationalize any behavior. Patty Jo’s worse than you can imagine. Unfortunately, I’ve met more than my share like her. They don’t believe the rules apply to them. They don’t feel remorse or guilt. She would do something to your mother just to get back at me.”

  Rich had felt so good when they were able to get his mother into Lakeview Manor, to have her so close to him and not have to worry about her from a distance. Even after Claire told him what had happened yesterday, he didn’t think there was anything to worry about. She was being watched by all the nursing staff. Probably the safest place for her to be.

  “Not with everyone around.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I just hated seeing Patty Jo talking in a friendly way with your mom. It’s probably an overreaction. Plus, I don’t think it would do your mother any good to have to get used to a new place. She obviously can’t go home yet. I just have a bad feeling. With any luck Patty Jo will be found guilty of arson and put away for a while.”

  They turned up the main street and saw Edwin’s old pickup truck already in front of the bakery. “Let’s see how the about-to-be-weds are today.”

  Ella and Edwin were holding court at their usual table with most of the kaffeeklatsch gathered around. Rich was glad to see Claire’s spirits rise as they joined the crowd. Ella talked about the arrangements for the wedding and the barn dance that would follow.

  Claire announced, “Beatrice said she would come. She just wants to be sure she has the right outfit.”

  Lucas, the bookstore owner, straightened his shirt collar. “I’ve been spending a great deal of time thinking about what I’m going to wear too. I’m so relieved to hear black is now in style for weddings.”

  Ella laughed. “I expect all you men to be in full tuxedos. With cummerbunds.”

  Rich confessed, “I not only don’t have a cummerbund, I don’t know what they are.”

  Claire poked him. “Yes, you do. Those pleated, sashlike things that go around men’s waists when they wear tuxedos.”

  “Oh, I thought those were corsets.”

  Edwin turned to Claire and said, “Hey, I hear Patty Jo tried to set your old house on fire. What’s she up to?”

  Rich watched as Claire set her lips. She didn’t like to talk publicly about a pending case. He could tell she was struggling to find the appropriate comment. “Yes, she was caught near the scene of a crime. Another fire.”

  Edwin continued. “At your house? Where your sister is living? I ho
pe you threw the book at her.”

  “We tried, but it didn’t stick. She’s a free woman at the moment. I saw her at the nursing home yesterday. It makes me nervous for Rich’s mom.”

  “I don’t like that woman,” Edwin announced to the table. He asked Claire, “You think she might try something?”

  “You never know.”

  Rich hated to see Edwin egg Claire on. She was already so worked up about Patty Jo. He decided to jump into the conversation. “But what could Patty Jo really do? How could she hurt my mother in the nursing home?”

  Claire countered, “Well, women work differently than men. They tend to be more underhanded in how they kill people.”

  Ella leaned forward. “Like how?”

  “Actually, there have been many instances of women as serial killers—nurses who euthanize their patients. They often go undetected.”

  “Yikes,” Edwin said. “How do you know that if they’re undetected?”

  “Some finally trip up and their other victims are discovered. Also, women tend to use poison to kill people.”

  “Like Snow White and the witch with the apple.”

  Claire stood up as if she had just remembered something. She looked at Rich, and he could tell she was not going to be able to relax this morning and linger over coffee. “She visited Margaret’s mom while she was in the nursing home too.”

  Rich stayed sitting. “So?”

  “I think we need to go. I want to check on some things.”

  There would be no persuading her to wait. Rather than make a scene with her at the bakery, Rich stood up as well. “Lucas, when you figure out what you’re going to wear, call me.”

  Lucas tipped his head. “Sure thing.”

  Once outside, Claire looked ready to break into a run.

  Rich grabbed her arm to prevent her from dashing away. “What’s up?”

  “I need to find out how Margaret’s mother died.”

  Waiting for the medical examiner to call her back, Claire remembered something from when she had been working in Minneapolis—a natural death that had turned out to be something else.

  She and her partner had answered a 911 call involving a death. When they arrived at the house in Bryn Mawr, the man was dead in bed, his wife grieving beside him. She was so distraught she wasn’t able to make any decisions or even call the rest of the family. The wife explained that the man had a bad heart and they had known it was only a matter of time before he died. Claire called their family doctor, and he was going to sign the death certificiate. Then the son arrived and raised a stink. Over his mother’s objections, he demanded an autopsy and got it.

  A day later, the medical examiner told Claire the man had been consuming arsenic on a fairly regular basis and that the poison, rather than a heart attack, was what had finished him off.

  Claire remembered the doctor handing her the findings and saying, “I can’t believe he lived as long as he did. But you do develop a tolerance to arsenic.”

  The wife had been turned over to homicide, but Claire heard later that she pleaded guilty and was sentenced to ten years for negligent homicide. Negligent, indeed.

  The phone rang and pulled her away from her memories. Dr. Lord was on the line. “Yes, Claire?”

  “I know it’s Saturday. . . .”

  “This sounds bad already.”

  “Could you check on a death certificate for a Florence Tilde?”

  “I remember her.”

  “Did you sign her death certificate?”

  “Nope. Her regular doctor did. Dr. Greenvald. Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Geriatrics. Works out of the hospital. Probably out on the golf course today. What’s the problem? She died last winter, didn’t she?”

  “Did she have an autopsy?”

  “No need. Nursing home. Alzheimer’s. She had been going downhill for several years.”

  “Could she have been killed?”

  Dr. Lord cleared his throat. “Well, it’s always a possibility. But I wouldn’t suspect she was. Why bother?”

  That stopped Claire. Why bother indeed?

  “How long can someone live with Alzheimer’s?”

  “That depends on the individual. A few people go quickly, within a year of diagnosis, but most can last for five to ten years.”

  “So Florence could have lived another few years?”

  “I really couldn’t say, Claire. What’s up?”

  “I just have a suspicion. Might be all it is, but I want to check it out.”

  “Talk to Greenvald. He was her doctor. He could tell you more.”

  Two hours later, after Claire had left messages at several numbers, Greenvald finally called her back.

  After she introduced herself, he asked, puzzled, “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking into the cause of Florence Tilde’s death.”

  He grunted. “Why?”

  “Something has come up that has put it in question.”

  “No question in my mind. She had Alzheimer’s and she died from it.”

  “How do people die from Alzheimer’s?”

  “That depends. Often just old age, something like pneumonia. With Florence, I think it was failure to thrive. She forgot to eat. She wasted away. When she died she weighed under ninety pounds. She went to sleep and didn’t wake up. Probably heart failure brought on by her lungs filling up with fluid. Doesn’t matter. Cause of death was Alzheimer’s.”

  “But you couldn’t say for sure.”

  “Ninety-nine percent.”

  “She could have died from suffocation or poisoning.”

  “Someone could have dropped her on her head too, I suppose. But that’s not what happened. She was in a nursing home, for God’s sake. She died. There was nothing mysterious or devious about it. And no one was unhappy. She was no longer really living.”

  Claire knew she wouldn’t get much more from him. “Thanks for your time.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Beatrice is playing bingo,” the young nurse, Bonnie, told Claire.

  Bingo? Claire thought. The poor woman must be getting desperate. Beatrice called bingo the stupid person’s checkers, and she didn’t think that much of checkers.

  “I won’t disturb her until it’s over. If she knows I’m here, she might not finish the game.”

  Bonnie nodded.

  Claire asked, “How do you think Beatrice is doing here?”

  “Well, she knows what she wants. That actually helps a lot. She can get snippy, but she’s never too mean. Not like some of them. She lets us know she’d rather be home, but that’s understandable. I’ve seen a lot of progress in her. She’s walking better.”

  “It must be nice to have someone who gets better.”

  “Oh, yes. So many people come here to die. They’re sick when they arrive and then just go downhill. It can be discouraging to watch.”

  “Do you get many people with Alzheimer’s here?”

  “A few. They’re the worst. Sometimes their behavior can get so bizarre and mean. And dangerous.”

  “Did you know Florence Tilde?”

  “Sure. She wasn’t any trouble. She was actually quite sweet. She wasn’t here that long. I think she came before Christmas and was dead before Easter. I’d thought she might hang on for a while.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She was fully functioning. She didn’t weigh much, but she walked the halls constantly. She was in remarkably good shape. Probably from all that walking. She didn’t eat much, but we usually managed to get something down her every day. She liked sweets.”

  “I heard Patty Jo came to see her a lot.”

  “Yes, that was the nicest thing. They were old friends. Sometimes when people get Alzheimer’s, no one comes to see them. All their old friends are too afraid, like they might get it themselves, and so they don’t want to see what it’s like.”

  “Do you know, by any chance, if Patty Jo was here the
day she died?”

  Bonnie shifted her weight and rolled her eyes back in her head, thinking. “I don’t know. I came in the next morning. As I recall, she died on a Tuesday, and I have Tuesdays off.”

  “Who would have been working?”

  “Well, Jolene always works Tuesdays, and she had Florence most days.”

  “Is she around today?”

  “Yeah, I think she’s calling out the bingo numbers.”

  Claire thanked Bonnie and walked down to the community room. She stood by the door and watched the small group of older people play bingo. She was glad to note that Patty Jo was not to be seen. Beatrice had three cards in front of her. That was one way of making the game more interesting. She also appeared to be helping the white-haired woman sitting next to her. It was a quarter to three. Claire figured she had fifteen minutes to wait. Jolene reached into the box and pulled out another number-and-letter combination. An older gentleman, one of the two men in the room, raised his long arm and waved it.

  Jolene said, “Harry? What do you say?”

  The old man stood up and said, “Betcha I got bingo.”

  Everyone clapped. Beatrice swept her three cards away. Jolene handed him a deck of cards. “Harry gets a nice deck of cards, donated by the Ellsworth Bank. They have their logo on it.”

  “That’s my bank too,” Harry said.

  They started another round, the last. Beatrice won with a new card and was given a tissue-box cover. She didn’t say much. Claire was relieved. Claire skirted the tables and approached Jolene as she was putting away the game.

  “Jolene, I’m Claire Watkins.”

  “I’ve seen you here. You’re related to Beatrice, aren’t you?”

  “Sort of. I’m actually here today for a different reason. I’m a deputy sheriff.”

  “I guessed that—you’re in uniform.”

  “Right. Well, were you on duty the day that Florence Tilde died?”

  “Yes, I was. I remember it well, because she got out of the Manor that day. She went for a little walk. But not far. I found her heading toward the lake.”