by Leslie Leigh
“The doorbell rang again and two ladies came in. The first thing she did was offer them the cookies.” By the time she got to that part of the story, she was laughing nervously.
“Wow. So you think she has dementia?”
“I’m guessing Stage 3.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps Cheri’s dad has been covering for her because Cheri made no mention of it at all.”
“Maybe she doesn’t even know,” Brian proffered.
“But here are the two wrenches in the works,” Melissa said. “First, if she’s that progressed in her dementia, how did she manage to decoct the foxglove and administer it to him on a regular basis?”
“That’s a very good question. What’s the second part?”
“The second part is only a whisper of intuition, and I have very little to go on. I shouldn’t even say it’s intuition in terms of where it could lead, but the story she was telling when we were interrupted was of Cheri’s father as a disturbed, double-campaign Vietnam vet who came home to a screaming two-year old that he had never seen before. She said it got so that Cheri screamed every time he walked into the room, and that he became very withdrawn.”
“So, with what you know about her behavior, how can anything be conjectured?”
“I tend to think that the first half-hour she was lucid. I mean, she even told me when Cheri would arrive. On the other hand, she told me twice that her husband had passed this morning. When I first got there, I introduced myself and she told me her husband had passed. Then, when she came back to the table after that couple came, she asked who I was and told me again that her husband had passed.
“If you were watching some sci-fi movie, it would be the robot that nobody realizes is a robot, and something goes hooey with its program and it starts repeating itself.”
“Can anything organic cause that?” Brian asked.
“The only thing I’ve ever seen that dramatic was with heavy metal toxicity—lead or mercury poisoning or something like that. There are several pharmaceuticals that could cause it—but no, those symptoms don’t manifest that way.”
“How about poison of any kind?”
“Since I don’t have my books with me, I’d have to consult Flora. Or the Internet, but it would likely be faster to call Flora.”
“Let’s go then,” Brian said. “You can call her back at the cabin.”
# # #
“I agree, Melissa; it’s more consistent with heavy metal toxicity, but I will consult my herbal when I get home.”
“Please do, and let me know what you find, Flora.”
When she ended the call, she turned to Brian. “Okay, I’m officially turning my brain off until Flora calls back.”
“Good plan,” Brian said. “I challenge you to a good game of Scrabble.”
“That’s not exactly turning my brain off,” Melissa protested. “Let’s go for a walk along the creek.”
“Even better,” Brian responded.
They changed clothes and walked down to the creek. The banks weren’t all that navigable, as they were sloped and covered with fallen and drift wood. The time of year, though, the creek was fairly shallow, so they decided to wade in it.
Brian commented on his disappointment at not seeing as much wildlife as he expected.
“If we came back at dusk,” she said, “we could probably find lots of deer, and perhaps even bears. That’s when they come down to drink. At this time of year, they’re lying somewhere in the shade, out of sight, watching us pass by.”
“I love all the knowledge you have of the natural world,” he said.
She looked up at him, “I think that’s why we’re so good together; our knowledge complements each other’s.”
He stopped her to kiss her. “I’m glad you think we’re good together,” he said.
“Yes, and let’s keep it that way,” she said. “Let’s keep moving so no bears get any ideas about checking us out up close.”
He laughed.
It was nearly dusk when they were almost back at the cabin, and they did see a pair of does—each with twin fawns—come down to the edge to drink. The deer stood like statues until Brian and Melissa had passed.
“Now that was something to see,” he said. “I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen fawns except in pictures.”
“Those were only a few days old,” she told him. “It’s too bad we didn’t see them coming down to the water’s edge. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen fawns springing about and playing.”
“Maybe we can see them from the cabin,” he said.
They sat on the deck for a while until Melissa heard her phone ringing. It was Flora.
“There are poisons that cause the kind of symptoms you described, as well as heavy-metal toxicity as we thought, but the problem is that all of these things manifest lots of other symptoms, as well. She would have shown signs of pain, wasting, all sorts of things, Melissa. I think the woman just may be getting senile.”
“She’s 80, so I suppose that wouldn’t be so strange. Thanks, Flora. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, one tidbit of gossip I have to tell you before you go—guess who came to get Kim when she got off work?”
“Not Brandon?”
“Heck, no. I wouldn’t be calling that gossip; I’d be calling that grounds for murder. No, it was Grant Martin.”
“Re-e-ally,” Melissa said, amused. “Well good. I can see that match. Grant’s not all that grown up, so they should be about the same maturity level, but he’s a heck of a lot better for her than the James boys.”
When she disconnected, she grinned at Brian.
“Am I right in hearing that your ex-boyfriend is dating Kim?” he asked.
“Flora says he picked her up after work.”
“Well, good. Maybe he can give her a little more security.”
“It might actually be a good match.”
“So you wouldn’t be upset?”
“Hardly. Grant is a really nice guy, but he’s definitely not my type. And if she’s going to stay in Catalonia, it’s an understatement to say that the dating pool is limited.
“Good thing I came along, huh?” he said grinning.
She played at smacking him for his comment. “It’s actually a compliment, you know. I was perfectly willing to go on with my single life. I wasn’t looking, but I couldn’t help notice when you came along, that’s for sure.” She put her hands up high on his chest and kissed him. “How about a big Greek salad for dinner with lots of feta and hummus on the side?”
“That sounds perfect,” he said. The cabin was warm as the last rays of light faded behind the mountains, but a cool breeze came up out of the trees as soon as it was gone. Brian opened the glass doors to the deck and closed the screen. Melissa opened the windows in the kitchen to get a cross breeze, and the space cooled off quickly.
As she put the finishing touches on the salad and was spooning the hummus into a bowl, her phone rang for a second time. It was her mother with plans for lunch tomorrow. They agreed on meeting at a Mexican restaurant.
She set the plates on the kitchen bar while she talked, along with the hummus bowl. She barely disconnected from one call when another lit up her phone. Melissa looked at Brian and mouthed “Cheri” while gesturing for him to come eat.
“Hi, Cheri,” Melissa said.
“Did you see my mom today?”
“I did.”
“How is she doing?”
“She seems to be doing very well. Perhaps it hasn’t really hit her yet. Several people came to the door to offer their condolences and to bring food while I was there. How long has it been since you saw your mom, Cheri?”
“Since last summer, why?”
“Do you talk on the phone often?”
“Yes, almost daily, why?”
“Sustained conversations?”
“Well, no. Since we talk so often, it’s usually only a few minutes.”
“Are you aware that she is showing signs of dementia?”
/> Melissa heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “I’ve been pretty sure over the past few months that it was happening, but I wasn’t altogether clear about it. Most times she talked just fine and other times what she was saying would be completely irrelevant to the conversation at hand.”
Melissa relayed the happenings of the morning to her.
“Oh, wow,” Cheri said.
“I do have to conjecture that the stress of the day could have made it much more pronounced. It’s good you are going so that you can assess what’s happening. I’ll be in town tomorrow. We’re going to lunch with Mom and Gary, so I’ll try to stop by to see you after that. It will be good to meet you.”
“That sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
Brian patted the stool beside him for her to sit. “The salad’s really great,” he said. “Cool and refreshing. This hummus is tasty, too.”
“My favorite brand,” she said. “I used to make my own, but the seasoning in this is just right, so I actually prefer it over mine.”
They debated on watching a movie, but they opted for the hot tub again, instead.
“I really do need one of these,” Melissa laughed. “You know I was led a pretty tranquil and unstressed life before all these murders started happening. The most anxiety I had in a week was figuring out how many Chelsea Buns to make.”
“But you were probably bored,” he said.
“Not really. I loved the sameness of every day, the predictability of everything.”
“There is something comforting in that,” he said. “But don’t you feel a certain satisfaction in putting your expertise to work in an entirely different helping mode?”
“I guess I do. I enjoy the ‘A-ha!’ momment and working through things until we prove my theory. But I guess I feel better making sick people well than bringing ‘sick’ people to justice. And then there are always consequences to deal with.”
“Meaning…?”
“For instance, the knife-throwing thing with Rhianna, the attempt on Corinne, and now the possibility of sending someone else to jail—quite possibly an 80 year-old woman!”
“I think if you separate all that out, you will find that this is really your only anxiety. Yes, you faced some adrenaline-fueled moments with Rhianna and with Dunnick, but wasn’t there some satisfaction in it, too?”
She didn’t respond right away, but her eyes showed that she understood his point.
“I will agree that this situation is quite different, Melissa; but, if you are right about the dementia, they’re not likely to incarcerate her. In fact, it’s most likely she would never come to trial.”
He saw relief in her eyes now. She searched his eyes for a few seconds. “Let’s think this through, then,” she said. “It wouldn’t take an autopsy to show the foxglove poisoning, just the digoxin assay like we requested for Anthony White. What if you went to the local police and talked to a detective, explaining the situation and requesting the assay.”
He nodded. “I could do that. Then what?”
“Then…then…I’ll feel like I’ve been true to my conscience. Perhaps while you’re doing that, I can get Cheri to take her mother for some neuro-psych testing. If they can detect the dementia, then there shouldn’t even be an arrest or an indictment, right?”
“No, but it’s not like they can just not file a report.”
“I think the most important part would be keeping it out of the public eye.”
“Definitely.”
“You know, what I haven’t told you yet is that Cheri told me that her father verbally abused both her and her mother, and that she just wanted her mom to have some peace. That’s why she didn’t want me to look into it any further. But the one thing I didn’t perceive from her mother was that she had been verbally abused for forty years, or even ten years. That kind of abuse takes it’s toll—usually manifesting itself in illness like depression, fibromyalgia, even cancer. But other than the dementia, I don’t sense any of that.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? Why would Cheri say that if it wasn’t true?”
“I’m really not sure.”
Chapter 10
Brian and Melissa drove up to the address her mother had given them. Melissa was a little surprised. “This doesn’t look like the kind of place my mother would appreciate,” she said.
“Why because it looks like a little hole in the wall?” Brian asked. “Those are often the best places, and the most authentic.”
“True,” Melissa said.
Melissa was even less sure when they stepped inside and the smell of frying lard hit them. But she looked around and saw her mother waving to them from a table.
“You’ll love this place,” Cynthia said effusively, as Melissa and Brian sat down. “Gary,” she said, turning to the man next to her, “this is my daughter, Melissa, and her friend, Brian. Melissa and Brian, Gary Corcoran.”
Brian and Gary shook hands across the table, and Melissa smiled. “Glad to meet you, Gary. Mom tells me good things about you.”
“Ditto,” he said.
Melissa sized him up. He was certainly younger and more handsome than her father had been. It struck her a bit strange because he seemed like someone Melissa could have dated herself. He had black hair with not even a smattering of gray and flashing blue eyes. She glanced at her mother and saw her beaming at him, quite obviously taken with this man.
“The food is really great here,” Gary said. “Very fresh and authentic Guadalajara-style Mexican food. You have to try the birria and the posole,” he said.
“Are the beans and tortillas fried in lard?” Melissa asked.
“Of course, all the frying is done in lard,” Gary said.
She wrinkled her nose.
Gary looked askance at her. “I’m surprised, Melissa, with you being a nutritionist. You know how important fats are to the diet. It has less saturated fat than butter and a higher smoke point.”
“But it’s pig fat,” she said.
“Yes, it’s pig fat, but I will guarantee you these folks aren’t buying American lard. The pigs in Mexico aren’t raised under the conditions they are here in the States, and they’re not grain-fed.”
Cynthia’s eyes sparkled and a wry smile appeared on her lips, although she didn’t look at Melissa.
“That does make me feel better, Gary,” she said. “I just don’t use it myself, and I guess my prejudices are pre-nutritional education.”
He smiled at her. “I understand you have a bakery in your market,” he said.
“I do.”
“I would recommend that you try it in your baking. It works with flour in a way that is unparalleled in flakiness.”
“You must cook, Gary, to be so knowledgeable.”
“It has long been my passion. Unfortunately, life and making a living took me away from that, but now that I’m retired, I’m returning to it.”
“He makes the best biscuits and gravy you can imagine,” Cynthia said.
“We’re coming to your place for breakfast,” Brian said.
“I’d be delighted to make breakfast for all of us,” Gary replied. “But let’s do it at Cynthia’s. Cook and dispenser of nutritional wisdom I am, but a housekeeper I am not.”
“I keep telling him to hire one,” Cynthia said.
“Why bother? I spend the majority of my time at your place anyway.”
The waiter brought drinks and chips and salsa, and Melissa realized that the lard was what made the chips so tasty, too.
“Is this an American thing?” Melissa asked Gary, indicating the chips and salsa.
“It depends on where you go in Mexico,” he said, “but it’s pretty ubiquitous.”
“I saw the taxi arrive at the Hodges’ this morning, so Cheri must be here,” Cynthia said, deftly changing the subject. “She hasn’t called me yet, and I didn’t want to bother her.”
“I told her I would come by after lunch. Do you want to go over with me?”
“Do you think it’s appropriate?
”
“You’re her friend; I think it would be most appropriate.”
“Good. I’d like to go over.”
Melissa cast a glance at Brian.
When they finished eating, they agreed to meet back at Cynthia’s.
When they got in the car, Brian said, “While you’re gone to see Cheri and her mother, I’ll take a drive over to the police department and see if I can round up an empathetic detective—although that’s almost an oxymoron. I’ll be happy if I can at least find one like Harms.”
“Good. Now that Cheri’s here, they’ll be making decisions quickly about the body, and somebody needs to get over to the funeral home to put things on hold.”
“What do I tell them?” he asked.
“Tell them the truth, but tell them as little as you can, making it clear, though, that they need to find some reason to hold the body another twenty-four hours or so, until somebody can get the blood work done.”
Brian nodded.
Melissa met her mother in the driveway.
“I stopped at the bakery. Even if you did take those cookies yesterday, I just hate to go empty-handed. I was able to get a pretty little basket with tea and scones.”
They walked to the door, and Cheri answered it.
“Who is it, dear?” Mrs. Hodges asked.
“It’s Cynthia Michaelson and Melissa,” Cheri said.
Mrs. Hodges came into the living room and looked at them.”
“Do I know you?”
“Cynthia lives across the street, Mother, and Melissa is her daughter.”
“Oh, nice to meet you,” Mrs. Hodges said.
“I was here to see you yesterday,” Melissa said. “Do you remember me? I brought you the lemon cookies.”
“The poisoned ones? I threw them all away,” she said.
“No, Mother. You and I finished them with our coffee this morning,” Cheri said.
Melissa knew it was pointless to try to re-orient her; they just had to wait out the episode.