They ended up sleeping in a circle of lanterns with the utter silence that comes with no power. It was even more magical than playing games in candlelight.
Chapter 12
The lights were on again by morning and Claire made breakfast while they discussed what they were going to do that day. They decided to drop by Helen Nathans’ home and Claire hoped the cookies didn’t taste too dried out. They left Roscoe at Scott’s place and made their way through the town.
Helen lived close to the Dogwood Café. Her house was a historic Victorian near the downtown area, and her Facebook posts made her seem happy enough. Everyone knew, of course, you couldn’t tell what was real on Facebook. There were a lot of pictures of her with her friends at a book club or taking selfies at wine and painting nights. She seemed to really enjoy gardening and given the pictures of the holidays, her house was incredibly nice. It was one of those over-sized Victorian type homes with both a parlor and a living room, a wide porch, and claw-foot bathtubs.
Claire wondered if Helen were as happy as the pictures looked. What Claire didn’t get, though, was why Helen would put up with her mother for money. Mrs. Park sounded…well…she sounded awful. Why had Helen let her mother back in when she’d made her own life? Claire didn’t want to speak or think ill of the dead, but she was having a hard time keeping her feelings in check for Gertrude Park. Reading the comments that Mrs. Park left on the Facebook posts of her children made Claire sick.
There was one where Helen had posted a picture of her house at Christmas. The picture included the Christmas tree and there was a stack of gifts under it. Claire didn’t think the amount seemed excessive but Mrs. Park’s comment had mentioned dire financial straits. It didn’t look like Helen was hurting financially. If she wasn’t maybe she’d just rolled her eyes and ignored Helen. It certainly didn’t seem she was hurting based off of her home and cars. She only had the one child—Michaela—and they seemed to be pretty close.
When they knocked on Helen’s door, Claire was honestly surprised to see the dark circles under Helen’s eyes and the bright red spots on her cheeks.
Helen tried closing the door in their faces, but Scott said gently, “Helen. We are sorry about your Mom.”
Helen’s gaze flicked between Scott and Claire and then Helen sighed, opening the door.
“I suppose the entire town will find me guilty of killing my mom if I don’t let you in.” She sounded bitter. Her mouth twisted sourly, and Claire could see a resemblance to Mrs. Park which she very much doubted that Helen Nathans would be okay with.
Claire handed the cookies to her. “I think you might need these.”
Helen looked like she needed a large meal, about seventeen hours of sleep, and possibly a massage. Maybe with a Valium chaser.
The front room was perfectly clean, dusted, and beautiful. Helen walked right past that into the large kitchen.
It was a mess. The sort of dirty chaos that only happened when someone was beyond caring about their surroundings and themselves.
Helen dropped into a seat and lifted her coffee to them as if she were toasting them, then took a sip. She didn’t offer them a seat or really do anything other than drink her coffee. Given the mostly empty pot on the table, Claire guessed that Helen may have only sat at the table, drinking coffee since her mom died.
She glanced around the kitchen again, noticing dishes everywhere, boots with wet mud on them, and a trash can that needed to be emptied.
“I suppose I should care if you see us like this, but I don’t. I need my coffee. I need…” Helen didn’t finish the last thought. Just trailed off and stared into her coffee cup.
Scott sat down across from her, opened the chocolate chip cookie box and pushed it towards Helen, but she didn’t move.
Finally, Claire lifted one out and handed it to Helen saying, “Dip them into the coffee. They’re good that way. You look like you need some…sugar.”
She needs food, Claire thought. Rest. A new life.
Rather than asking Helen questions, Claire left the frazzled woman to drink her coffee and started cleaning up the kitchen. It was mostly dishes, so Claire made a sink of soapy water, scrubbed down the plates with their cemented-on leftovers and then loaded the dishwasher, with Scott silently helping. As soon as the dirty dishes were cleared away it was an immediate improvement. After that, it only took a few minutes to sweep and wipe down the counters. When they were finished, Scott sat down next to Helen as Claire opened the fridge and started making Helen food.
It was something you did for a good friend. Claire and Helen were not that type of friends, but Helen was too pale, and she looked as though she’d survived off of only coffee and possibly wine since her mother had died.
Claire made toast, spread it with butter, and served it up with two eggs over medium. She placed the food in front of Helen and said, “Things won’t seem so dark after you have some food in you.”
“You don’t make any sense,” Helen scoffed. She stared at the plate of eggs as if it were the poison, as though Claire had some motive other than putting color back into Helen’s cheeks. “Why are you taking care of me? You’re here to see if I killed my mom! I should have! I should have!” Helen cursed, sobbed a little, and then said, “I wish I had.”
The last statement was said so vehemently Claire shivered. Instead, she disregarded it entirely and gently said, “Why wouldn’t I take care of you? I imagine you feel like you’re all alone given that your mother died the way she did, but Helen…do you think people don’t know how hard she was? Do you think that we’re not worried about you? That we don’t care?”
Helen thought exactly that. Claire didn’t need Helen to confirm it to know it was true, and Claire could see why. She had seen, however, Lucy’s worry over the Park boys with their parents splitting. She’d seen the way Scott was watching Helen and wanting to help. She’d seen Darryl sick with worry over who the killer was. How all of them wanted it to be anyone other than one of the people whose lives they’d fallen into as they researched this case.
“I think you wonder if I’m a killer and want me and my family to go away.” Helen’s voice was stark and Claire wanted—again—to wrap Helen up in a hug.
“No,” Scott said evenly. “I think we all feel pretty bad that your life has been as hard as it has been given the nature of your mother. To be honest, Helen…I’m amazed by you. Your daughter seems brilliant and talented. You have a nice house. You have a good job. You took the kick in your life that your mom gave you by disowning you when you had a baby and made yourself a success.’
Helen snorted, her face as bitter as ever and snarled, “Yeah…well, mistakes were made.”
“Plus,” Claire said gently, “--you didn’t murder your mom when she disowned you the last time. Why would you now? By the time she put you back in her will, you’d already made a good life.”
A tear rolled down Helen’s face and she suddenly looked sick. “I hate her. My mom. I hate her so much. I don’t care if she’s dead. I don’t think you should lie about what kind of people dead people were when they were alive. It’s too late for them to change, or to change the truth. I don’t care for the lies we tell ourselves about our dead.” She wiped the lone tear away with the back of her hand, her eyes locked sightlessly on some vague spot on the table. “My mom never cared about me. She didn’t care about Mary. All she cared about was her precious boy, Ethan. What did he do so well that I didn’t? His girlfriend got pregnant in high school. Mom didn’t care. She has another grandchild out there, and she just…didn’t care. Ethan’s marriage is shaky. Mom didn’t care. His kids are terrible. Mom didn’t care. Henry—Ethan’s oldest—set John Murphy’s shed on fire last summer. We’d had a dry spell, so it spread through the yard to the house. He lost almost everything. Henry did that and my mom said, ‘Boys will be boys.’”
Claire gasped. Her gaze met Scott’s and she saw the surprise there too. It was horrifying to think of Mrs. Park being so willing to excuse the terrible behavior
of one family member while being unforgiving of any offense, even if imaginary, from others, like poor Michaela. It wasn’t her fault her parents weren’t married, but Gertrude Park held it against the kid.
“My mother paid off the Murphys. She paid them off, and she laughed it off. She harassed Michaela about her grades, and Michaela was valedictorian. Mom called Michaela a by-blow to her face. My mom was evil and the world is well rid of her.”
Claire took Helen’s hand, squeezing it. Pushing the salt and pepper shakers a little closer to Helen, Claire lifted the toast and put it in Helen’s hand. She ate automatically. There was no more thought in her eating than there was in the venting. Maybe Helen wouldn’t have said so much if she had slept at all since her mother died, but Claire didn’t think Helen had. Maybe she wouldn’t have raged quite so much if Claire hadn’t cleaned up quite so many wine bottles. And maybe Helen would have thought a little bit if she’d had any fuel in her before she went off, but that wasn’t the case.
Claire felt bad that they had found Helen when she was vulnerable, but it didn’t matter really. The killer had to be found. Even if it was poor Helen. Somehow, Claire doubted it was. But…maybe it was simply because she didn’t want it to be any of them.
“I don’t think you killed your mom,” Scott told Helen. “I don’t think you would, even though you had a lot of reason to be angry. I wouldn’t have been surprised at any point then, but I can’t see you doing it now. You already learned to survive without her. You already learned to fight your own battles and make your own way. She forced you to do that a long time ago.”
Tears started rolling down Helen’s face. “You don’t know me,” she said. “You…you’re giving me more credit than I deserve. I am a failure.”
Claire wanted to tell Helen that she was wrong, but she couldn’t do it. There was no counteracting that conviction. Some well-meaning stranger wasn’t going to be able to change that bone-deep certainty.
Claire wrapped Helen up in a hug and whispered, “I am sorry she did this to you.”
Helen cried into Claire’s shoulder, clutching her back, clinging to her, and the tears were real and jagged as they poured out of the poor woman.
“Why can you see it so clearly? Why can you see how awful she was? Do you know how many people tell me how much they love her? As though she weren’t awful to me? To me and to Michaela? I had a woman tell me once I was lucky to have such a mom.”
Claire rubbed her hand down Helen’s back and said, “All right, all right, all right.”
It didn’t mean anything. Those quiet assurances, but it meant something to Helen just to have a gentle touch, to have someone hold her and give her caring without the expectation of anything else.
Claire wanted to ask more questions. Tell me about Mary and her daughters. Tell me about Ethan and his marriage. Tell me about your mom and who was going to be disinherited. Was it you? What did you do? What is the secret that Mary said you have?
Claire didn’t say a word though. She rubbed Helen’s back until Bryan Nathans, Mary’s husband, walked into the kitchen.
“Here, now,” he said gruffly, his gaze fixed on his wife before it traveled to Scott and Claire with terrible coldness. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You know what they’re doing, Bryan,” Helen snapped. “Have a cookie. Tell them our secrets.”
Bryan’s jaw tightened and he grunted before he crossed to his wife and said, “You need to go lie down.”
She looked helplessly up at him and then laughed. It wasn’t an amused laugh but something broken. “I hate my mother.”
Bryan’s jaw flexed again and he said, “Enough of that now.”
“I thought I couldn’t hate her more when she disowned me after Michaela, but I was so wrong. Last...” But Helen cut off that last statement.
Bryan took hold of Helen’s arm and he said, “Helen’s not herself. She feels bad losing her mother. She’s mourning someone who never existed.”
Claire took a deep breath and said gently, “I’m sure she is.”
“This doesn’t mean anything. Her being so out of hand…it doesn’t mean anything.”
“We aren’t assuming it does. Helen did what the other children never did. She broke free once. She already knows she’s strong. She never needed whatever Mrs. Park wanted to hold over her. She’s the true winner. She broke free and made her own life.”
Helen heard that statement and laughed into her husband’s chest hysterically.
“The winner,” Helen sounded as if the mere idea made her ill.
“You need to leave,” Mr. Nathans told them. He took his wife’s arm, more gently this time and pulled her behind him. “I have some sleeping pills for her. I’ll be pushing those down her throat if I have to. She needs to sleep this off.”
Helen was still laughing even if she didn’t sound the least amused. Finally, Mr. Nathans said, “Hush now. Hush.” His words weren’t gentle, but Claire noticed his hands were.
“Of course,” Claire said gently. “Of course.”
“Thanks for getting her to eat. Now get out.”
So they went.
Chapter 13
The storm was rolling out of town, but the skies were still grey. The difference was that they weren’t being pounded by rain so much as nuzzled by it. There were tree branches and deep puddles on the road. The last few days made it feel like the town’s weather had been possessed but it wasn’t that uncommon for it to be rainy for weeks on end, have a few days of sun and then rain again. Weather rolled in off the ocean and provided the West coast of Washington State a carpet of lush greenery. Claire was sure that the Pacific Northwest was one of the most beautiful pieces of the world because of that rain. She didn’t mind it one bit even though she’d had to invest in a few rain jackets, rain boots, and err towards leather shoes over canvas.
They didn’t bother too much about the drizzle as they parked and walked into the Dogwood Café to meet Darryl for lunch.
“How’s it going?” Scott asked. Claire dropped onto the bench across from Darryl and waited for his answer.
Darryl shrugged and then said, “Busy with the storm. A few people who needed help. Some drinking that got out of control after the lights went out and people had to entertain themselves. I haven’t been able to think about the murder much. But I did learn something interesting…”
They looked at him expectantly as he said, “The rat poison isn’t where the cyanide came from.”
Claire gasped and then said, “Well…shoot. How do you know?”
“Well we assumed, but one of the guys interviewed the maid. The box was unopened. It took me too long to realize that. The previous rat poison on premises had been over the summer. The maid Jenny recycled it herself a while ago.”
Claire nibbled at her bottom lip before she asked, “It has to be a controlled substance, right? How would you even get some?”
“That’s the interesting thing,” Darryl admitted. “It’s not controlled actually. You can buy it from chemical suppliers. It’s no more illegal than buying bullets.”
Claire rubbed her face when she processed what Daryl had said and then she turned to Scott, “It’s the cake. That’s the key.”
He blinked and then took the water that Lucy brought over taking a long drink.
“It was an almond cake. Cyanide scent or taste or whatever is associated with almond cake. Someone had to know that. Even if it wasn’t real, they thought it was. As much as I hate to admit it, this murder is built around that cake.”
Scott and Darryl both looked at Claire and then nodded. They were following her train of thought.
“But the order for that cake was only put in a week before it was scheduled to be picked up by Mrs. Park, so someone either manipulated Mrs. Park into ordering a cake with almond in it, or they were just waiting for her to finally order something that would mask their poison.”
“Which means--” Darryl sighed, “--it wasn’t a crime of passion. It was very pre-meditate
d. This wasn’t Mrs. Park enraging someone and driving them to something they wouldn’t have done if they weren’t furious.”
Lucy offered them lunch but Claire decided to skip it. She kept remembering the broken looks on Ethan Park’s children’s faces. She remembered Mary crying over the baby she never got to have. Claire remembered Helen sobbing into Claire’s arms swearing she hated her mother. Why did Mrs. Park have to be so horrible? Why did it have to come to this?
“It doesn't make sense to me,” Claire said. “Ethan Park…man, I think I want him to be the killer because I haven’t talked to him yet and heard his horrible story. He probably has something that will make me want to bake him some brownies and walk his horse for him.”
“His horse?” Darryl laughed as he ordered a cheeseburger with extra fries and extra cheese.
“I don't know if he has a dog,” Claire said. “I’m assuming he doesn’t because I like dogs, and I don’t want to be heartbroken if its master is a killer.”
Claire turned to Scott and said, “I want to go for a walk.”
He stepped out of the booth and put his coat back on as Claire said to Lucy, “I’m sorry. I just need to think.”
Lucy smiled in understanding and watched Scott and Claire walk out, their hands automatically holding each other’s.
“When you get your appetite back,” Scott said to Claire, “They’re having the pot roast special again.”
There was the edge of humor in his voice which told her that he was teasing. She loved him for it. She walked with Scott, arm-in-arm but silent. She watched the town as she did. She saw a teenager helping an elderly woman load up her car. She watched a young girl race down the road with her dog. He was an unremarkable mutt with large paws, floppy ears, and bright eyes. Claire would have taken the chance to scratch his ears any other day. They passed a garbage can outside of a little shop that had blown over in the wind and the two of them picked up the trash before it blew down the street.
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide Page 8