Marriage and Mayhem

by Jeanne Glidewell

  After they’d departed, I told Sheila about my first meeting with Raven. “I noticed a letter sticking out of Raven’s purse, which she’d set on a coffee table in front me while trying to swab the coffee blotches off my shirt. She’d forgotten to take it with her when Lily asked her to fetch me a bottle of water. I wasn’t being nosy or anything, but both the address the letter was sent to and the return address on the envelope were clearly visible.”

  Sheila raised her eyebrows at my last remark. Before she could question me, I continued. “She apparently lives in a studio apartment at the River’s Edge complex in St. Joseph. I recall seeing that complex when we were on our way to the St. Jo Frontier Casino one day. Like the casino, River’s Edge sits right alongside the Missouri River.”

  “Good thinking on your part,” Sheila said. “Did you see which apartment she lives in?”

  “Um. Yeah. Apartment 412, if I remember right.”

  “And if you don’t remember right? Are we going to knock on a bunch of strangers’ doors until we find the correct one?” Sheila had clearly not found the tone of my voice reassuring.

  “Of course not, silly girl!” I was a lot better at this sleuthing stuff than my best friend gave me credit for. “I snapped a photo of the letter with my phone. You know, just in case I ever had a reason to remember where Raven lived.”

  “I’m sure glad you weren’t being nosy or anything.”

  Before driving to Raven’s apartment, we stopped at the Rockdale Library on our way out of town. I asked Deb how things were going for her as the new head librarian, and if she had any questions for me.

  “No,” Deb replied. “I think I have the hang of it now. Not that I don’t enjoy having you come in now and then to visit.”

  “I enjoy that, too. Say, I was just wondering. Do you happen to know Lily Franks?” It was a metaphorical question, of course, because Deb knew everyone who lived in Rockdale; formerly, currently, and even a few who had plans to move there in the near future. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deb handed out welcome baskets to every new family who moved to town.

  She’d always appeared to me to be a senior citizen in a thirty-something-year-old body. As I’d trained Deb to run the library in my absence, I often had to slow down my speech and repeat things as if I were trying to teach a ninety-year-old how to shoot and post a video on YouTube. Naturally, before I could do such a thing, I’d have to have an eight-year-old teach the process to me. I listened now as Deb expounded on Lily’s pregnancy.

  “Of course I know Lily. I was so tickled to hear that she and her husband had finally gotten pregnant. It seems the IVF treatment worked, thank goodness. It’s pretty effective, but also an expensive risk if it doesn’t pan out,” Deb said as she adjusted the wool sweater draped across her shoulders. It was as if she’d worn it if to ward off an unexpected August chill. Fortunately, Sheila and I were dressed in shorts, tank tops, and flip flops, because it felt as if the library’s thermostat was set on eighty. I wiped sweat off my brow as Deb continued with her explanation. “Joseph worked a second job for over a year to save money for the IVF attempt, so the fact that it was successful is even more of a blessing. Why did you want to know if I knew Lily?”

  “Oh, no particular reason. I just mentioned her name in passing since we saw her yesterday. She provided the flowers for Wendy’s wedding.”

  “Oh, yes. They were gorgeous. She’s fabulous at creating floral masterpieces, isn’t she?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Speaking of the wedding,” Deb began, “how’s that big fellow doing who collapsed during the ceremony? I heard Raven’s illness was short-lived. Thank goodness.”

  “Yes, thank God for that. Unfortunately, Bubba’s still comatose.” I wanted to get back to the subject of Lily and the abortion clinic, so I reverted back to the original subject abruptly. “I hadn’t heard about Lily’s pregnancy, and she didn’t mention it, but that is such welcome news.”

  “Yes, indeed. At just nine to ten weeks along, it’s still too early to feel totally confident. Lily and Joseph are over the moon, of course, and we’re all praying the pregnancy makes it to that oh-so-important first-trimester mark,” Deb said.

  The librarian’s response had blown the frosting off my cupcake. Having seen Lily enter an abortion clinic the previous day, I would have expected her pregnancy to be neither public knowledge nor something she and her husband were “over the moon” about. I figured the easiest way to uncover the truth about Lily’s visit to the clinic would be to ask Deb about it. And I was correct.

  “We were surprised to see Lily going into an abortion clinic in Kansas City yesterday. I wonder why in the world she’d stop by there.” I said this in a musing, rhetorical way, knowing Deb would rise to the occasion if she knew anything about it. I was not surprised that she did.

  “Oh, well,” Deb began with a self-satisfied smile, “that’s because Lily is doing the flowers for Lydia Brown’s wedding in mid-October. Lydia just started at the clinic as the receptionist for one of the doctors there. She works from ten to four, which she claims is six hours too many. I doubt she’ll work there much longer. Too stressful for her, as you can imagine.”

  “Oh, yes. I can well imagine,” I replied. Now we knew why the paper Lily glanced at in the parking lot said “Dr. DoGood, August 27th at 10:00”. She hadn’t stopped by the clinic for an appointment with the doctor, but to do business with his receptionist, who evidently arrived to work at ten. As a nice way of saying Deb must be the nosiest woman in Rockdale, I flattered her with, “I am forever amazed at how in tune you are with everything that’s happening in this little burg.”

  “Thank you, Lexie. I have always found it’s better to keep my ears wide open and my mouth zipped shut.” As she spoke, Deb’s expression looked like what you’d expect to see on Mother Teresa’s face as she accepted a prestigious humanitarian award. I’d agree Deb’s ears missed nary a thing, but I knew better when it came to her mouth being zipped shut. Her lips flapped more often than a hummingbird’s wings. Whatever those wide-open ears of hers took in, her “zipped-shut” mouth was more than happy to let out―with whomever she could entice to listen.

  “That’s a very good policy, my dear.” I decided our visit with the librarian had been enlightening, and we’d learned all we were apt to learn. “Sheila and I had best be going. I’ll be praying for a healthy baby for Lily and Joseph right along with you, Deb.”

  “I’ll pray too,” Sheila interjected. “Can’t be too rich, too thin, or have too many people praying for you.”

  Thirty-One

  We had no trouble locating the River’s Edge complex. It was exactly where my unreliable memory had remembered it to be. However, it was a good thing I’d taken the photo of the letter in Raven’s purse at our first meeting because she actually lived in apartment 241. If we’d come expecting to find her in apartment 412, as I’d incorrectly recalled, we’d have been sadly disappointed, as there was no apartment by that number in the three-story building.

  We weren’t surprised to find Raven at home, knowing she’d been scheduled to get off work at one o’clock. But we were surprised to see three pieces of luggage lined up in her entryway as she opened her door in response to our knock. All three looked as if she’d had to sit on them to get the zippers all the way to their closed positions. One suitcase had a small swath of yellow material sticking out from where the zipper had gotten stuck three-quarters of the way around.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “That much is apparent.” I replied good-humoredly as I glanced at the woman’s matching red luggage.

  After an exaggerated sniff, Raven answered. “I have a plane to catch at three.”

  “Going on a lengthy vacation?” Sheila asked. Her cheerful voice and demeanor could have won an Academy Award, considering the miserable state Raven was clearly in at that moment. “You deserve one after that traumatic experience on Saturday. You were so brave. We appreciate your efforts in resuscitating Bubba. So where
are you headed?”

  “Home.”

  “Home?” Sheila and I repeated in stereo.

  “Yes. I’ve decided this place is just not for me. I miss my family and friends back home in South Carolina.” She evidently missed them a lot, because her eyes were beet red and nearly swollen shut from crying.

  I had scrutinized the photo I’d taken of the letter sticking out of her purse before rapping on her door. It was from a Carolyn Hobbs of Surfside Beach, South Carolina. Betting on a hunch, I said, “Going home to Surfside Beach, huh?”

  Forget about having a Brussels sprout lodged in your throat! Raven’s mouth instantly dropped open like she was preparing to stuff an entire head of cabbage into it. “How did you―?”

  “Never mind, dear.” I smiled warmly at her. “I’m just happy for you and glad to see you didn’t suffer any permanent damage from your fainting spell at the ill-fated wedding. I’m sure you’ll be happier back home on the east coast. Maybe you and your ex-boyfriend will even patch things up once you return. You know what they say, don’t you? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and sometimes causes the eyes to wander.”

  It was like tapping into a maple tree, as tears began to stream unchecked down Raven’s cheeks. I realized too late I shouldn’t have ad-libbed that last part I’d tacked on about the wandering eyes. Ad-libbing had never been my friend, yet I couldn’t seem to stop. I felt remorseful as I watched the young lady sob. For a second, I considered searching for a bucket to place under Raven so the hardwood floor we stood on would not be damaged by salty water marks.

  After we’d managed to calm Raven down, I said, “I know you need to be going so you don’t miss your flight. Before you go, can you answer one question for us?”

  “(Hiccup!) I’ll try, but (sniff) make it quick. I can’t afford to (hiccup) be late. My last-minute airline ticket is non-refundable.”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” I said. “Can you think of any reason the flowers in Bubba’s boutonniere might have caused him and you, as well as Sheila and me, to have adverse reactions?”

  “Well, (sniff) I do recall Lily telling me that (hiccup) certain flowers were lethally poisonous to animals, such as oleander, lily-of-the-valley, and belladonna, which is also known as (hiccup) deadly nightshade. The castor oil plant is particularly toxic, as its bean contains ricinolein, or ricin. Did you know that a number of flowers, like that poinsettia plant you probably (sniff) put on your kitchen table every Christmas can kill a cat if it ingests any of (hiccup) it?”

  “Yes, I have heard that, now that you mention it.” In an attempt to lighten the mood and seem less accusatory, I added, “However, there didn’t appear to be any stray cats keeling over at the ceremony on Saturday. Do you know what flowers are poisonous to humans?”

  “I don’t know them by name, but there are a number of plants that can (hiccup) make humans very ill, and on rare occasions be deadly. Most, if not all, would have to be ingested to poison a person, however. I don’t think many of them, if used in a boutonniere, are likely to make someone react the way (hiccup) Burlon did.”

  “Burlon?” Confused by her response, I watched as all of the color drained from Raven’s face. If nothing else, her hiccupping stopped on a dime.

  “Oh, yeah, um. Well, you see, I heard that Bubba’s real name is Burlon. Bubba is just a childhood nickname that stuck, I’d guess.”

  “You’d guess that, huh?” I tried not to let my suspicions creep into my voice but failed miserably.

  “I really need to go now. I’m running short on time, and I have to drop off my key with the front office before I catch an Uber ride to the airport.” Raven grabbed two of her three suitcases and brushed past both Sheila and me so abruptly, she nearly knocked us down in her wake.

  “What about your other suitcase?” Sheila hollered as Raven raced down the hallway.

  “Don’t need it. It’s just clothes. I can buy (sniff) new stuff when I get home.” And with that, Raven disappeared into an elevator at the end of the hallway.

  “Should we chase her down and place this third suitcase in the Uber car with her?” I asked. “It looks like it has enough clothes in it to outfit a small African village.”

  “Can you move as quickly as she just did?” Sheila cocked an eyebrow at me as she spoke. “I set school records in track, and I know I couldn’t have caught her even back then. She’s hauling two overloaded suitcases, and I can’t run that fast empty-handed.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I couldn’t run her down if she were running backward and carrying all three bags.” I pointed to the lone red suitcase on wheels. “What should we do with that third bag then?”

  Sheila shrugged her shoulders. “Let’s take it down with us, just in case. The Uber driver may be running late.”

  “Good idea. If we can’t catch her in time, I guess I could mail it to that Carolyn Hobbs who sent the letter to Raven. I have her address on my phone.”

  “Do you have any idea what that’d cost, girl? As Raven said, she can buy new clothes―probably for less than it would cost you to ship that heavy bag to South Carolina. Just take it home with you if she’s already left,” Sheila replied. “She abandoned it, so it’s up for grabs in my opinion. I’m too skinny, and you’re too short, but Wendy is about the same age and size as Raven. Maybe there are things in there Wendy could wear. Better than to let perfectly good clothes go to waste. Raven looked very stylish both times I’ve seen her.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Raven has great taste when it comes to clothes. In fact, Wendy would look quite fashionable in the ensemble Raven is wearing right now, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely. Too bad she wore it today instead of packing it in this bag.” As Sheila spoke, she yanked up the handle of the heavy suitcase in order to pull it behind her.

  I shut the apartment door behind us, made sure it was locked, and then we headed toward the elevator that would take us to the ground floor.

  A red Ford Taurus, with Raven securely ensconced in the rear seat, was pulling away from the curb when we stepped outside. We tried valiantly, but were unable to flag the driver down. Even at Sheila’s insistence, I just didn’t feel right about taking the bag of clothes home to Wendy. We ended up stopping at a local shelter for abused women on the way home. Wendy was fortunate to have a good income and never lacked for nice clothing. Rather than give the suitcase full of useful items to her, I felt better about donating the clothes to women who needed them a lot more than she did. We did, however, scrutinize everything in the suitcase before turning it over at the front desk of the shelter.

  The only item we found of interest―other than a zebra-striped dress that would have been a real hit in that aforementioned African village―was a gold-plated, heart-shaped locket. The photo inside the locket was of a young couple, but a black permanent marker had rendered the man’s identity a mystery. His face had been “redacted” from record. We didn’t recognize the woman with the long dark hair, oversized eyeglasses, and blue eyes either, but we kept the locket just in case it might prove to be useful later on. Should the noxious flowers turn out to be the culprit, Raven might be considered a viable suspect, as she was the person most likely responsible for arranging the floral accessories. It occurred to us afterward, if that was the case, the bag and clothes might have been considered evidence, as well. At least we knew where we’d dropped the suitcase off if the authorities needed to reclaim it at a later date.

  Tracking Raven down just in the nick of time had proven worthwhile. We now had a lot of new discoveries to chew over. For example, what was behind her apparent rush to leave town, or her unexplained familiarity with Bubba—or Burlon, as she’d referred to him? Thanks to the Internet, we’d also found out that her hometown of Surfside, South Carolina, was just a few miles south of Bubba’s hometown of Myrtle Beach. Coincidence? I asked myself. I think not.

  There was also the fact that Raven had said a number of flowers were toxic. Sheila and I planned to do some research on that subject
later in the evening.

  But the thing that confused us most was why Raven would try to kill Bubba, if indeed she did, and then work so furiously to save him. Her frantic efforts to resuscitate him seemed anti-productive if eliminating him had been her intention. She’d likely put her own health in jeopardy by performing CPR.

  “Do you think there’s any possibility that Bubba is the man who broke Raven’s heart?” Sheila asked.

  “I do. I don’t believe in coincidences, particularly of this magnitude. Maybe doing CPR was designed to deflect suspicion away from herself in the event it was discovered his sudden illness had been a result of foul play.”

  “Could be,” Sheila replied. “Maybe that’s why she’s so anxious to get back to Surfside Beach. It stands to reason she wouldn’t want to be around if the authorities decide to question her.”

  I nodded my agreement. “And maybe what has recently happened to her ex-boyfriend has to do with why she moved here from South Carolina in the first place.”

  “Did Andy mention anything about Bubba’s ex-girlfriend showing up at the wedding? Seems like he would have recognized Raven if she were engaged to his best friend at one time.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. Andy showed no indication of recognizing Raven. But then, neither did Bubba. Maybe we’re looking at Raven’s sudden desire to hurry home all wrong. It may have nothing to do with Bubba. In fact, Raven may have had nothing to do with Bubba’s illness to begin with. We may be overlooking some very crucial clue,” I said.