Dying for Chocolate gs-2

by Diane Mott Davidson

  Finally I said, “Perhaps you are as concerned about your son as I am about mine.”

  Her eyelids flickered in appraising me.

  She said, “You can’t imagine what I’ve been through.”

  I nodded. Schulz’s gaze traveled from one to the other of us.

  He said, “Why don’t you tell us? We’re especially interested in the last couple of weeks.”

  Adele ignored him. “You know,” she said to me, “a death is like a divorce in many ways. You are left alone, whether you like it or not. When you’re divorced, you can’t express your sadness. When you’re widowed, it’s not considered proper to express . . . anger. And in either case, the financial burdens are tremendous.”

  I said, “You seem to have weathered the financial part okay.”

  “Oh, you think so?” Adele raised her thin eyebrows at me, then flicked more invisible lint from the beige sweater. “I’ve seen the way men eye Sissy for her body. Imagine being sized up for your dollars.” She cleared her throat. “At least in Sissy’s case, when men tell her she’s beautiful, they’re not lying.”

  “Did Brian Harrington say you were beautiful?”

  She paused. She said, “Many times.”

  I looked over at Schulz. His face had gone pale and was filmy with sweat. He excused himself quietly. Adele dismissed him with a wave.

  I said, “Was this before or after he was married to Weezie?”

  She looked at me, the corners of her mouth turned down. Water was running in the hall bathroom.

  She said, “Both.”

  I said, “Did he know Julian was his son?”

  Her face and composure crumpled. She shuddered, rubbed her cheeks and pulled herself together.

  She said, “He knew so little. There were things he chose not to know. He had a single purpose. To get the woman with the money or land to fall in love with him. He did it with Weezie and he did it with me.” As tears leaked from the edges of her eyes, she wiped them off with her index finger.

  “You don’t need to talk,” I said. In fact, I wondered why she was talking about this to me at all. Where was Schulz? Was he in danger from the general?

  “Yes I do,” Adele was saying. “It was a terrible rejection. Rejection! My God, that sounds like the way we used to talk in adolescence. I was thirty-one when I was with Brian. I felt all my anger, all my grief dissipate in that time with him. You hear about affairs. You think, oh, illicit sex.” She regarded me with disgust. “Sex is incidental.” She looked wistfully at the mantelpiece that had held the Waterford vase destroyed in the garden-explosion. “It’s being loved that we all want.” She sighed with a kind of moan. “Brian loved me. He wrapped me in love. All my anger, my grief over losing my first husband dissipated. And do you know what? I didn’t even feel guilty. I even thought Marcus Keely had had his heart attack so I could find Brian. My true love. Ha!” She cackled.

  My gastrointestinal tract was doing flip-flops. I put it down to caffeine on an empty stomach. I wanted to get this over with, to untangle the past and find out what was going on in the present.

  I said, “You got pregnant.”

  Her eyes wandered back to me. “Yes. After I’d invested in the Meadowview area of Aspen Meadow Country Club. I was the first one to buy a two-acre homesite, and Brian was the second, buying the parcel right next to mine. Forever together, he’d said. He also said he wanted to get the ball rolling for the business. He wanted to be able to say, We’ve had some sales but there are a few parcels left. I kept thinking he would ask me to marry him. . . . He said he wasn’t ready.

  “When I was four months along and unable to hide the pregnancy any longer, I left and went down to Utah. To collect pottery and whatnot,” she said with another hideous laugh and wave. “But really it was to have a baby and arrange a private adoption in Bluff. I found out about a Navajo woman who had married an Anglo. The Anglo was opening a candy store. They had been unable to have children. When you have money,” she said with a sniff, “you can arrange adoptions any way you want.”

  I nodded and looked around. I had not seen Schulz for a while and was worried. Perhaps the general was awake. But Schulz could take care of himself; I couldn’t risk Adele shutting down on me. I stayed put.

  “If you arranged to have the adoption done,” I said, still preoccupied with thoughts of Schulz, “why did you arrange to have it undone?”

  “It fell into place. I thought, again foolishly, that it was for a reason. Bo’s adoration embarrassed me terribly. I hated Washington and was all too glad to move out here once the Pentagon forced Bo’s retirement. I had the land; I’d never sold it. And then I felt such a strong pull, to see Brian again, to live next door . . . and I thought maybe if I could get Julian here, that we could—” She broke off, lost in reverie.

  “You were the one who said you can’t go back.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice shrill, “don’t I? So much work, so many preparations. Arranging the scholarship for Julian when I found out that the boarding department at Elk Park Prep was about to close down. Building this house next to Brian and that inane woman, Weezie!” She spat out the name, then softened. “And Julian. God, Julian.” She broke off then and stared at the fireplace in a way that seemed to signal the end of the conversation.

  I remembered her words: Whatever you do for your children, they don’t appreciate you.

  And then it all fell into place. A wave of cold fear swept over me. She was the one. I thought I’d needed her information to finger Weezie or the general or even Sissy. I was wrong.

  I said, “You tried to seduce Brian again, didn’t you? By the pool. I heard you splashing around. But he showed an unhealthy sexual attraction for Sissy instead. That must have made you furious. The general loved you, but it wasn’t enough. And . . . you’re the one who started the rumor about Weezie sleeping with Philip Miller. Yes?”

  She sucked in a sob and pursed her lips, then opened reddened eyes and nodded. Proudly, I thought. And then the full force of what she could have done struck me. I thought of the calendar in Philip’s office. She had had one of the last appointments with him.

  I said, “You went to see Philip Miller. Because Julian was living with you and having problems, Philip had called you. He must have wanted to see you and the general together.” She did not move. I wasn’t even sure she was listening. “But you went alone, because of what you were afraid would come out. Philip told you Julian wanted to research who his biological parents were. You must have told him the truth.”

  Her eyes blazed. “Yes, I told Philip Miller the truth,” she said fiercely. “I didn’t want to, but he just kept egging me on with all his questions, just like you are now. How did we come to have Julian in our house? he wanted to know. How were we relating to him? How did he think I was going to relate to my own son whom I hadn’t seen since birth?” Her face contorted. “And I said the biological father, Brian Harrington, had shown no interest in his son. I said I wanted to kill Brian Harrington. I had learned about getting things on the black market from Bo. I’d gotten Spanish fly and I was going to use it, because so many women had wanted Brian to love them. It would serve him right.”

  “But Philip took it from you—”

  “Yes, he took it! He threatened to call the police right away if I didn’t give it to him. Said I needed help, and that he was going to have to notify Brian that his life was in danger.” She smiled. “But he didn’t get my whole supply of Spanish fly. And the black market wasn’t the only thing I’d learned from Bo. After I’d seen Philip Miller, later that afternoon, I created a distraction. Pretended I’d left my cane in his office. The receptionist went to look for it and I memorized Miller’s calendar. I knew I’d have to act quickly before he turned me in. The eye doctor appointment was perfect.”

  The abdominal pains in my stomach had turned to cramps. I felt hot. How I wanted this conversation to be over. How I wanted Schulz to come back. And most of all, how I wanted to know where Arch was, to be assured th
at he was all right.

  Adele was talking. I struggled to focus on her voice.

  “I’d just had the glaucoma test myself, so I knew they used anesthetic. And Bo had told me all about peroxide torture when he was researching sabotage. There are more nerve endings in the eye than anywhere else in the body. The more nerve endings, the more pain. Put peroxide on those nerve endings, and you’re going to do a lot of damage. Very quickly.”

  I whispered, “How’d you do it?”

  “I went into the eye doctor right after I saw Philip’s calendar. Pretended I was there to raise money for the pool, while I took the saline rinse bottle from beside the ultrasound machine. Right under their noses! Then I came home and emptied the saline rinse bottle and put in Julian’s peroxide. I called the headmaster and insisted that Philip be the one to bring more decals, that no one else could do it but Philip Miller, especially if they wanted me to give the last twenty thousand for the pool.” She cackled. “So right after his eye appointment, he’d have to drive out to the school, then drive back to town. I thought with any luck he would die on that road. I couldn’t afford for him to talk to anybody, least of all Brian Harrington or you. You see, he wanted to warn you about living here. That’s why he called so early that morning. He thought he was being so careful, saying to you, Not on the phone!”

  I said, “So you were the one listening in on my calls. Then you told the general what was going on in my life.” She didn’t respond. I said, “You never gave up on Brian.”

  She sniffed and moved her hands in a nervous motion. Then she looked at me, as if she were searching for something. She said, “Oh, yes I did. At that anniversary party, when he kept on and on with Sissy, I knew it was over.”

  “How did you get him to take Spanish fly?”

  She sighed, fluttered her hands again. “I told him to come back after the party. I wanted to invest in Flicker Ridge. I smoothed cantharidin on top of his fudge. He died for chocolate!” She laughed. A wave of nausea swept over me. “Your son saw us the last time we were together. That’s why I’m sorry to say that he’s going to drown, too.”

  I screamed, “Where’s Arch?”

  “Where you won’t be able to save him this time.”

  I was going to throw up. I bolted for the hall bathroom. But I could hear Schulz in there. He was sick. I couldn’t listen to it. I held my stomach and lurched back to the living room.

  “What have you done?” I yelled at her.

  She said calmly, “The only thing I could be sure you would ever eat or drink was that damn espresso. So I put Spanish fly in your coffee can. I’m sorry, Goldy. You and the policeman should be dead in an hour.”

  29.

  I lunged toward her. “You bitch!” I screamed. “Where’s my son?”

  Just before my hands reached Adele’s neck she grabbed her cane and whacked me across the stomach. I doubled over with pain. My stomach heaved. The cane lashed my back. The living room blurred as I crash-landed on the floor. Pain surged through my body. I vomited on the Oriental rug.

  Adele stood over me and caned my arm. She screeched, “Get up!”

  It was so hard. Everything hurt: my stomach, my back, my innards.

  “Move!” she yelled. She flailed at my legs with the cane. “Get down to that bathroom!”

  I moved. “Tom!” I cried as I limped, furious at my physical weakness. “Tom! Bo! Help me!”

  “Shut up!” said Adele as she prodded my calves. “Bo can’t hear you. I put Valium in his scotch. And your policeman friend may be dead. One hopes.”

  Desperately, I whirled to attack her. But she caught me across the shoulders with the cane. Pain shot through my body. I fell against the wall outside the bathroom. She poked the bathroom door open.

  I peered in. Tom was on the floor. His big body was curled tightly in the fetal position. Prods from Adele elicited a few moans. He rolled over and lifted his face. It was pallid, an awful yellow. His eyes beseeched me.

  “Get in there!” howled Adele as she cracked me across the ankles. The woman was strong. I lost my balance and put my hands out to avoid hitting my head on the tile floor.

  Adele hovered overhead, a fuzzy-faced helicopter. “You just don’t understand,” she said as she closed the door. I heard her wedge something under the knob and then tap-step away.

  I turned to Schulz. His eyes were glazed with pain.

  He whispered, “I think I’m going to die.”

  “You’re not,” I told him with as much firmness as I could muster. Fire consumed my insides. The poison had to be diluted with water immediately, I knew that. I cupped my hand under the faucet and brought handful after handful of water to Schulz’s mouth, then to mine. Ten, twenty, thirty handfuis of water. My body burned with pain. In some distant part of my brain I heard Adele slam a door. She was leaving the house. Leaving us to die. Who would be blamed? The general? Me? Pierre the critic would have a field day with this one.

  I swallowed more water, squeezed my eyes shut, and summoned a mental picture of Arch. I had to find him. I had to. Find, find, find. I repeated this mantra while I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bathroom door.

  Bathroom doors can’t be locked from the outside. To keep us in, Adele had anchored the general’s portable door jam under the knob. I could just see the rubber end of the extended pole on the wooden hallway floor. It was no comfort to think her fingerprints might be on the top of the jam.

  I closed my eyes and saw Arch. I tried to think about what the general had told me about the door jam. The wedged pole made it impossible for an intruder to push a door open. The trick, the general had said, was to put the jam under a door that opened toward you.

  I rolled over. I was not going to try to push the bathroom door out. It was constructed to open inward, so it would not swing out to hit anyone passing in the hall.

  “I just wouldn’t understand, huh?” I said weakly as I delicately turned the knob, pulled on the door, and heard the jam clatter on the hall floor. “I don’t think so.”

  I hauled up on my elbows, whispered a prayer that Schulz, who was groaning weakly, would understand why I was abandoning him, and dragged myself down the hallway. Spasms of nausea tore through my body. I crawled toward the garage. Twice on my way I had to stop to be sick.

  I had thought Adele was my friend. I had wanted it. I had imagined we were confidantes. And now I was paying the price of my own self-deception, with the poisonous drug mistakenly taken when you tried to make people love you.

  I kept my head up as I crawled. I visualized ice, coolness, anything to get my mind off of what was really happening inside my abdomen. I visualized Arch.

  The garage door was open. I dragged my body across the gritty floor. Each movement was a struggle, getting into the van, hauling myself up, opening the glove compartment. My hand closed around my trusty safety kit. I prayed thanks and swallowed some ipecac.

  When I had made my torturous way back to the bathroom I asked Schulz to try to get up on his elbows. I cradled his head under my elbow. His face was awash in sweat.

  Before he would take the ipecac, he murmured, “If I die, I want you to know how I feel about you.”

  “I know how you feel about me. Swallow.”

  He did. I was sick into the toilet and then I held him around the torso while he was sick. It didn’t take long, but it was horrible. If Schulz and I could go through this together, we could weather anything. I stood up shakily, then helped him to his feet.

  “I’m going to look for Arch,” I said once I had rinsed my mouth out with tap water.

  “The heck you say,” he said feebly. He grasped the side of the marble basin and tried to steady himself. “I’m calling the department. Get help to track down Adele Farquhar. Get a medic here for you, me, and the general.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was shaky but okay, and there was no time to wait for the Furman County Sheriff’s Department to muster itself up to Aspen Meadow. I needed more water, and then I was going to lo
ok for Arch, whether Tom Schulz liked it or not.

  I limped shakily out to the porch. Bo’s face was extremely pale. His snores sounded like a small propeller-plane engine. I shook his shoulder. Nothing. The automatic timer flicked on the pool lights. It was 9:00 P.M. The murky, phosphorescent half-spheres on the walls of the empty pool cast an eerie pall across the patio. I heard Schulz wobble to the kitchen, then murmur into the phone. I moved slowly to the living room and picked up a bottle of Perrier from the bar. I didn’t have any weapons, so I threw the general’s toolbox into the van. Wrenches and Perrier: yuppie defense. I roared down the driveway.

  Where could Arch be? Why had Adele seemed so sure he would die tonight? Where you won’t be able to save him this time.

  The pool.

  I peeled off in the direction of Elk Park Prep.

  I was so used to that road I could whip around its curves and drink bottled water at the same time. The Perrier was a necessity to help dissipate whatever poison lingered in my system. I knew from reading about Spanish fly that some people became much sicker than others, and it didn’t necessarily depend on the dose. This would explain why Schulz had been sick before me. I shook my head from side to side. My brain felt woozy. I ordered myself to sharpen up. My sensibilities might be the only thing to save Arch.

  Luckily, some vestige of mental sharpness kicked in just when the van careened around the last curve and came up on the school entrance. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid smashing into the electrified gate.

  I cursed mightily and stepped gingerly out of the van. The gate was armed and the stone wall was too high to scale. I wished every flower behind Elk Park Prep’s deer-proof gate would burn in hell or be eaten by a marauding herd of wild animals.

  I stared at the electrified wires. I couldn’t risk touching it: I had heard too many stories of electric shock throwing unsuspecting humans for first-and-ten yardage. But I had to get through. Short of breaking the power circuit. . . But why break it? Why not keep it? I walked back to the van and got the general’s wire cutters and my jumper cables.