The Poisoned Pen

by E. Joan Sims

  “Sure,” she smiled, wiping away the tears.

  “Bad memories, Cassie?” I asked, unsure as to how far I should go.

  “Yeah. You know—Daddy and everything.” She looked out the big bay window, watching the fireflies dance in the deepening twilight before she continued. “I was always so afraid that you would vanish the same way he did,” she said in a voice hoarse with more unshed tears.

  “Looks like each of us was afraid of the same thing. We should have had this little talk long before now. It might have saved us both a lot of sleepless nights.” I squeezed her hand as I made a promise. “I love you, kitten, and I’ll never, ever, go anywhere without leaving you a forwarding address.” I started to hug her, but Aggie gave another deep, throaty, warning growl so I settled for a big, noisy, kiss in the air instead. “Ready to go play Clara Barton?”

  “Clara Barton…now, don’t tell me. She’s the femme fatale with the famous lips who starred in the early silent films. Right?”

  “Cassie, Clara Barton was….”

  “No! Let me guess. You’re always pulling these old movie stars out of a hat. You have to give me time to think. Westerns? Was she in that western with Harry Cooper?”

  Chapter Three

  With some difficulty Cassie and I carried a large cooler filled to the brim with ice and several jugs of sweet tea and lemonade to my Jeep. We chucked it inside and carefully loaded the two large tins of homemade cookies in the front seat.

  “Come back for more tea if you run out, dear. I’m afraid I don’t have any more cookies, but I can come up with something else if need be.”

  “Thanks, Mother, but I’m sure the kid’s already been found by now. How far could she go, anyway?”

  “Not very far on her own, dear; but that doesn’t seem to be the concern.”

  “Oh.”

  My thoughts returned to dark and gloomy as Cassie and I bounced down the lane that led to the backfield. The brown eyes that stared back at me from Watson’s rear view mirror were cloudy with concern, and my face was so pale even the freckles had disappeared. “Do you really think there is anyone in Lakeland County who’s mean enough to kidnap a little girl?”

  “Give me a break, Mom! I love living here. Who wouldn’t? But you have to admit we have out share of weirdoes.”

  “Yeah, but eccentric weirdoes—like Mr. Budd, or Dora Nick, or even Horatio Raleigh”

  “Horatio? Why, Horatio? Because he’s been in love with Gran for the last five decades?”

  “That, too; but I was thinking it was because he’s the only ex-member of a clandestine government intelligence operation who’s managed to turn funerals into an art form.”

  “Very funny, Mom.”

  “Well, I’m trying.”

  Horatio Raleigh had been a friend of my family for years. He and Mother had gone to school together, and he had always had a crush on her. When my father came to live in Rowan Springs after the war—and stole my mother’s heart, Horatio had graciously stepped aside. He remained at a loyal and respectful distance until two years after John Sterling passed away, then resumed his courtship.

  I was fairly certain that my mother would never marry again, but Horatio refused to give up hope. He turned the funeral home over to his nephew and spent his days cheerfully doing Mother’s bidding. Only the passing of a dear friend, or the offer of an exorbitant fee for his “special consultation” could draw him out of retirement. I was glad for his constant attentions to my mother because he made her happy; but I also loved the old man, and I prized his expert opinion on many things.

  Watson burst out of the shadowy tunnel of the lane and into the open field beyond. The going was a lot rougher as we bounced over furrows—tall grass slapping at the windscreen and showering us with seeds. And it was getting darker with every passing minute.

  “Mom! For Pete’s sake! You’re shaking my fillings loose.”

  “Oh, sorry, honey. I’ll slow down.”

  “You don’t fool me at all! This is exactly why you wanted to buy Watson in the first place. You’re having the time of your life!”

  Andy Joiner had parked his cruiser with the headlights shining towards the tangled thicket at the end of the soccer field. Dad had built us a tree house in that woodsy glen when Velvet and I were children—when it wasn’t so overgrown. Later, he insisted that the forest remain in its natural state so that the animals—deer, rabbits, and foxes would have a place to forage and raise their young. I still remembered every inch of the place we called “the jungle.” If Nell Jane were lost in there, I would be the perfect candidate to go in after her.

  “But, damn it, Andy! I spent half my childhood playing Tarzan in that thicket! And to tell you the truth,” I said, lowering my voice, “your deputies are a little too porky to go crawling around under those vines. Now, I could….”

  “Paisley, you know perfectly well that I can’t let a civilian take part in a potentially hazardous police investigation.”

  “Then deputize me! I’ll be the best deputy you’ve ever had! Please, Andy, please!”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head, then rolling his hat brim nervously his big hands. “We’re not real sure of what we’re dealing with here.”

  “One thing’s for certain—a frightened little girl is lost and we’re wasting valuable time hemming and hawing.”

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

  Thirty minutes later I was bitterly regretting my insistence on becoming Lakeland County’s newest public servant. My hair was full of twigs and leaves, and my face scratched and burning where I had brushed against vines and stinging nettles. I had crawled on my hands and knees, slithered on my belly, and fought my way through the dense underbrush with nothing but the flashlight Andy had given me.

  “My kingdom for a machete!” I gasped, as I wiped the sweat off my face and plucked a burr from behind my ear. A lot of years had passed since I last played under the low limbs of the willow and sassafras growing in wild profusion in our jungle. I hated to admit it, but I had lost all sense of direction. Blackberry, scuppernong, and honeysuckle vines wound around every tree and bush and filled all of the spaces in between. I felt like I was tangled up inside a big prickly ball of yarn.

  I tried to stand, but there wasn’t any room. My head struck the low hanging limb of a cedar and something with too many legs scurried across my hand as I rubbed the tender spot. Tears of frustration and anger filled my eyes. Andy Joiner would never let me forget it, but I had to confess that I was licked.

  I was turning around to go back the way I came when I heard a small snuffling sound off to my left.

  “Nell Jane?” I called softly. “Honey, is that you?”

  The crying increased, but there was no answer. I crawled forward, calling softly so as not to frighten the child even more.

  “Nell Jane, sweetheart, it’s Paisley Sterling. You know me, honey. Why, just this afternoon you gave me a beautiful card. I bet you made that card didn’t you?”

  “Ye…yes,” called a hesitant little voice over the tears.

  “Well, you are quite an artist. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

  The crying increased in both volume and tempo, but the little girl refused to respond to any more of my questions. Thorns tore at my clothes and caught at my hair as I made my way toward her. I swore viciously when I put my hand down on something quick and slimy, and apologized to the child automatically. I was rewarded by a tiny little laugh.

  “That’s the ticket,” I told her. “Laugh at me all you want. Can you see my flashlight? Am I getting close?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “You’re all dirty.”

  I pointed the flashlight in the direction of her voice and saw the child clinging to the trunk of a small sassafras. She didn’t look any better than I did. Her shirt was torn and every bare inch of her skin was crisscrossed with scratches. Somewhere she had lost her shorts, and her legs looked thin and vulnerable sticking out
of her little white cotton panties.

  “Hi, Nell Jane,” I said, with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Later, I couldn’t remember how I got us out of the jungle; but I do know I left a good bit of my hide and several hunks of hair behind. I handed the little girl over to the paramedics and stumbled toward Watson and my own distraught child.

  “Mom! Oh, my God! What have you done to yourself?”

  Cassie took off her sweater and wrapped it around my shoulders. It wasn’t until I felt its warmth that I realized I was shivering.

  “You should let one of the paramedics check you out, Mom,” she insisted.

  “No. I just want to go home. A bath is all I need—a nice warm bath.”

  Cassie helped me in the Jeep and gave me a quick hug. She had turned the car around to head for home when Andy came running over in front of Watson waving his arms.

  “Paisley!” he called. “You were right. Thanks for finding her.” He took a closer look at me under the harsh glare of the emergency lights. “I need to ask you some questions, but it can wait.” He started to walk away, and turned back. “You really ought’a see one of the paramedics, you know.”

  “I’m fine, Andy,” I assured him. “See you later.”

  Cassie drove slowly and carefully over the bumpy field. As we got farther and farther away from the ring of emergency vehicles, the darkness seemed to devour us.

  I leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath—sighing as I exhaled.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Mom?”

  “Well, let’s see,” I answered, taking stock. “I have bump as big as a goose egg on my head. My favorite jeans are ruined. I crawled through a big old patch of poison ivy. And I think I swallowed a spider, but other then that, I’m just hunky-dory.”

  “You’re a hero, you know,” said my daughter, with a proud smile.

  “Big whoop.”

  Chapter Four

  The hot bath felt even better than I had imagined. I lathered up twice and rinsed off, then filled the tub again for a long soak in the sweet, oil-scented water. My hair, however, presented a more difficult problem. In the past few weeks I had let it get too long and the auburn curls were frizzy and difficult to brush out under the best of conditions. Tonight I had no choice but to resort to the scissors.

  It wasn’t the first time I had cut my own hair. I hated beauty parlors. To my mind they were full of noxious odors, silly women, and malicious gossip. I avoided them like the plague.

  Reluctantly, I left the warm, sweet-scented haven of my bathroom and wrapped up in a long terry robe. Mother and Cassie were out on the back porch with their heads together over the remainder of my bottle of wine and a big tray of cheese and fruit.

  “Oh, dear!” apologized Mother. “I’m afraid we’ve finished off your wine, Paisley, dear. Shall I open another, or would you like something else?”

  “Water’s fine, Mother.” I showed her the bottle I had grabbed from the fridge on my way out. “I would like a hunk of that funny-smelling cheese, though, and some grapes.”

  “Cassie, please cut your mother a slice of manchego with the cheese knife before she disfigures it with her fork.”

  “Cut her some slack, Gran. Mom’s had quite a night.”

  “Nonsense! She was simply fulfilling her civic duty. Anyone would have done as much. Although,” she added, as she leaned over and rewarded me with a quick kiss on the cheek, “I’m sure our Paisley did it with more panache.” She paused and looked at me closely in the dim light of the citronella candle. “What have you done with your hair?”

  “Oh, Mom, what have you done?” giggled Cassie. “You look like….”

  “Please, don’t say Raggedy Ann,” I begged.

  “I was thinking more of the Chia pet my roommate had at Emory.”

  I jerked the hood of my robe up over my head and grumbled, “Never mind my hair. I’m a writer, not a model, for goodness sake.”

  “Yes, but….”

  “But, what, Mother?” I demanded.

  “Beth Davis called from the Rowan Springs Gazette to ask for an interview with the heroine of the day.”

  “And you refused, I hope!”

  “No, dear, I’m afraid not. As a matter of fact, I invited her for breakfast. You’re usually at your best in the morning.”

  “Damn, damn, and double damn! I hate that silly twit! She couldn’t write her way out of a paper sack.”

  “You have to admit she’s entertaining, Mom. Remember the wedding we were reading about last week. Describing a fifty-pound wedding cake shaped like a guitar in a hundred words or less can’t be all that easy.”

  “She’s pedantic and obtuse—and what’s worse, she’s a literary snob! Can you imagine anyone in Rowan Springs understanding her constant references to the bride and groom as Beatrice and Benedick?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Why am I surprised that you disagree with me, Mother?” I asked with a shake of my shorn curls. “And by the way, why do you?”

  “Miss Davis and quite a few of her peers were students of your father’s before he retired. Shakespeare’s comedies were required reading in his English Literature classes, and “Much Ado About Nothing” was one of his favorites. I’m sure some people are quite well-acquainted with Beatrice and Benedick.”

  Mother had taken some of the wind out of my sails, but I refused to admit defeat. “Well, I still don’t want her here. She’s always trying to get me to read her latest attempt at the great American novel. Last week I had to duck into the feed store and hide behind the Bag Balm shelf for twenty minutes until she finally quit gabbing with some poor soul and went on her merry way. I’ve managed to avoid her for months and now my very own mother has invited her into the bosom of my family!”

  Mother straightened her shoulders and zoomed in for the kill. “Be kind, Paisley, dear,” she ordered quietly. “More cheese?”

  Mother went to bed early, but Cassie and I made ourselves comfortable on the lounges and listened to the frogs and crickets until almost midnight.

  “Aren’t you exhausted, Mom?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I love hearing the night songs of all those little creatures. It’s is one of the things I missed the most when we lived in the city.”

  “I love the sound, too,” she agreed. “But I hate the thought of all that unrequited love.”

  “Lonesome, Cassie?”

  “Absolutely not! You may not believe it, Mom, but I practically have to beat ’em off with a stick!”

  I smiled in the darkness as I conjured up a picture of my tall, slender, and very beautiful daughter fending off hordes of hopeful and insistent swain. “Is there no one in Rowan Springs worthy of your charming company?” I teased.

  “Maybe a couple, but they’re married.”

  “You’re kidding! Who are they?”

  “Bruce Hawkins for one.”

  “He comes on to you?” I was surprised and disappointed. Bruce was Mother’s lawyer. I really liked and respected him, and his wife was one of the few people in Rowan Springs I wanted to get to know better.

  “No,” she answered, thoughtfully. “I don’t think you could call it that, but he has been spending a lot of time in the bookstore lately. Then again, Mary usually meets him there after work, and they always seem really happy to see one another. She’s getting a little chubby,” Cassie added, with a smile. “I think she might be pregnant.”

  “Well, then you can forget about Mr. Hawkins. Who’s the other one?”

  “William Budd.”

  “Good grief, Cassie! That funny little man? Whatever do you see in him?”

  “He’s sweet,” she protested. “And if he lost the granny glasses and changed his wardrobe a bit he could be really interesting looking.”

  “Maybe so…but somehow I think his neck would fall off if he didn’t wear that bow tie.”

  “Don’t be mean, Mom.”

  I cleared my throat of
the chuckle that was threatening. “You said married men. Is Budd married?”

  “He wasn’t married for very long. His wife died last year,” she said softly.

  “Oh! Sorry. Who was she? Anyone I might know?”

  “I never heard her name before. I think she was someone he met when he went away to school. She was ill for several years. He’s not as old as you think. He’s just had a hard time.”

  “My God, Cassie! You sound like you’ve fallen for this character.”

  “No, Mom,” she stated firmly. “But I do enjoy his conversation, and I can hardly ask one of my best customers to quit coming around.”

  “But he’s old! He almost as old as….”

  “You, Mom?” asked Cassie, barely suppressing her laughter. “He did mention that he had a crush on you when you were in junior high.”

  “See! He’s just a year, or two….”

  “No, Mom,” she laughed. “He was six, and you were his baby sitter.”

  I slept late the next morning—or at least, I pretended to. For the last couple of years I had managed to arrange my life just to suit me. Perhaps I was spoiled, but I liked having the freedom to decide what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it. I deeply resented any unwanted changes in my schedule.

  When Cassie rapped sharply on my door, I turned over and buried my head under the pillow. “Rats, rats, rats,” I mumbled angrily. “I should have left that snot-nosed little brat in the jungle.”

  “Now, now, Mom, you don’t really mean that,” admonished Cassie, as she entered my room and sat down on the edge of my bed. Aggie’s toenails clicked rapidly on the bare wood floors as she ran to join her mistress.

  “Go away! I’m asleep! And take that rotten little beast with you. She’s been burying dog biscuits under my pillow again. I had to get up twice during the night just to brush the crumbs off my sheets.”

  “Come on, Mom. Miss Davis is here—all bright and shiny as a new copper penny. Looks like she bought an outfit just for this interview. She must really think you’re something special!”

  “Then fill her in on the story of the ‘real me,’ and tell her to buzz off.”