by June Shaw
“So do we.” She scanned the gathering. “Now I need to go.”
“Why do police need to investigate?” I called, but she had dashed off into the crowd of others that included Detective Wilet. I got Eve on the phone while I ran to the closest elevator.
She answered with a smile in her voice. “Guess who I just spoke with?”
“Your grandson. Eve, get over here to the manor. There are police all around. Miss Clarice hasn’t gotten any better.”
The elevator door slid open.
“How’s Mom?” she asked, worry replacing her cheer.
“I’m about to go up there to find out.” I hung up, counting off the extended time it took to move upstairs. Pressure built inside my head during this slowest ride the elevator ever made.
A couple of female residents using walkers moved slowly down the hall. “Have either of you seen my mother?” I asked.
“She’s probably in her room. They made an announcement that we should all stay in our rooms or suites. And you know Miriam. She follows the rules.”
“But we were downstairs when they said that,” the other one said, “and it takes us longer to get where we need to go.”
“Thank you.” I ran past them to my mother’s room. I beat on her door, fearful that she wouldn’t be there. If not, where would she be? I envisioned her in a small room on the first floor with dark brown curtains and sofa, her beau seated at her side.
Much worse, she might be in her room, retching in her toilet or sprawled out on the floor.
Too many strong thrusts of my heart later, the door opened. Mom’s eyebrows rose with her quizzical expression.
I flew into her room, pushed the door shut with my foot, and wrapped her inside my arms. “You’re safe,” I said against the side of her head.
She gave a squeeze to me and then wiggled to back out of my embrace. “What’s happened, Sunny? Did they call you to come here?” I had seldom before seen fear trace my mother’s face and her eyes. “Why are we in our rooms?”
“Have they ever ordered y’all to do that before?”
“I told you we had an announcement like that after the last hurricane to make certain they knew who had returned if people had left here, but that became a fiasco. Residents who have trouble with walking went rushing and one man fell. He broke his hip and after he recovered, he needed to move into the nursing home.”
“No, you didn’t tell me about that.”
“Then it must have been Sunny.”
Even if my sister and I were identical, our mother never ever got us mixed up, not even when we were adolescents looking for something to do during that long, boring summer, and we made everything different about ourselves. I wore Eve’s favorite peacock blue short set, and she put on my black and gold Saints T-shirt and jean shorts. My feet weren’t comfortable in her sandals covered with large clear stones and an irritating strap that slipped between my first two toes. Hers surely felt good when she showed up in my tennis shoes with socks. She’d placed a touch of blush on my cheeks and left her own face plain. Eve placed her hair in a ponytail held with a rubber band that day, and I left mine down. We took each other’s places at the table when it was time to eat, having told each other to be careful of what we said.
Mom showed no sign of recognition of our changed states—until we finished eating and were carrying our used plates to the sink, giving each other winks on the side. And then our mother said, “Oh, Sunny, you know that when you tried some sandals with the strap between the toes like that before, they gave you blisters on the side of your big toe that hurt for a week. You might want to put them back on Eve’s side of the closet.” She wore a small grin and said nothing else about our attempted stunt.
Over the years we had fooled a few people, but this was our mother.
“I’m sure I told Eve to tell you about it. She must have forgotten. And I guess you didn’t come around here too soon after that.” That little dig she’d gotten in about me not visiting as often as she’d sometimes like let me know she wasn’t too scared about today.
“Eve’s on her way here,” I said, and Mom’s eyes opened wider, concern returning. “This is all I know. I got worried and decided to come and check on things here, especially to try to find out how Miss Clarice was. And when I got here, I found a lot of police.”
“Why are the police here? Did something else happen?”
I searched my mind. What had I discovered downstairs? I needed to be honest. “They found she’s sicker than she had been.”
“Oh no.” Tears rimmed the lower edge of her eyes. “What could have caused her illness? And why would the police be here?”
“I have no idea, but if she’s not doing any better, I imagine they’ll be admitting her to the hospital, at least for a day or two, instead of sending her back here too fast.”
Mom’s body slumped. “Poor thing. I’ll say a rosary for her.” She glanced at the wooden crucifix on the wall beside her sofa and made the sign of the cross. And then she sighed and headed to the coffeemaker. “You’ll need something,” she said, although I had the distinct impression that she was the one who did. By preparing this drink, especially so late in the day, she must feel a need for company. For me to stay longer. For me not to leave her alone up here now while everything was so uncertain. I wanted to stay with her, too.
“I can help.” I went for her silverware drawer and took out two spoons.
She waved me away from there. “You sit down. I need to wait on you again.” As if she hadn’t done that for so many years.
I nudged up right beside her and pressed my cheek against her soft one. “I’d like to wait on you now. I’ve had my turn the other way around.”
Again she shooed me away from her space. “You and your sister tried to do that once my arthritis started acting up so badly.” Her words made me glance at her hand with the large knuckles and twisted fingers that had made her slow down in the activities she could do for herself. Yes, we’d each insisted on having her move in with us, but she was such a strong-willed woman she wouldn’t even consider it and had reserved a place here without even telling us about it until she was ready to move in.
I sat at her little square table. “Then spoil me.”
“I shall.” With the water hot in her single-cup brewer, she set a pod in the top section. “It’s decaf so you don’t have to worry about it keeping you awake tonight.”
“I know.”
Since she never wanted anything for a Christmas or birthday gift, Eve and I often brought her little baskets filled with her favorite pods of decaf and tea and hot chocolate. I sat back relaxed, recalling these same moves of my mother’s around a kitchen, how her head tilted to the left whenever she checked stew or gumbo cooking on her stove. How her right arm seemed constantly in motion as she tossed in ingredients, chopped others, or stirred her pots. How the hem of her dresses swung one way, then another while she moved back and forth while she worked with those pots and pans. How the enticing smells began with the roux she was browning on the stove and then after she added onions, bell pepper, celery, and garlic, the whole room came alive with aromas.
Her upside pineapple cakes and apple pies with the crusts she had created by hand and laced over the top made me swoon. She had been a terrific cook with Cajun recipes that she created. Losing her big kitchen and stove were the main things she dreaded leaving in her home. That kitchen and stove had served too many fantastic meals for anyone to ever count.
“Here you go.” She set a mug of coffee in front of me. “You know it’s really hot. You might want to let it cool off. Or blow on it,” she said as she had said so many times when I was a child and she gave me a hot drink or plate of food.
I grinned. “Thank you. I will.” My gaze followed her quick motions to the overhead cabinet. From it, she retrieved white matching sugar and creamer servers. Mom set them in front of me. She p
laced another pod into her coffeemaker. A small, happy hum having no particular tune came from her while she watched it. I missed hearing those hums that came when I was a little girl and she’d wash my hair. Those weren’t from fear. They let me know everything would be all right.
Stirring sugar and a dash of creamer into my cup, I felt more peaceful than it seemed I had in a long time. The coffee enticed me. What interested me more was having my mother sit and join me. Together we might share other sweet memories from all the years we spent together.
She set her mug at the place next to mine and smiled at me.
“I’m just waiting for you,” I explained and nodded toward her chair.
She returned my smile with a sweet one of her own and was starting to sit.
Someone knocked on her door.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me, Eve,” my sister said from the hallway.
Mom went to her door and opened it. “How wonderful to see you,” she said and gave Eve a kiss. “Look, your sister’s here. You can join us. I’ll make another cup of coffee.”
Eve looked at me, folds in her forehead adding to the worry revealed in her eyes. Yes, she had seen all the police.
“Go on, sit right there.” Mom touched the back of the chair she’d been ready to sit on. “Take that coffee. Don’t worry, it’s decaf. I’ll fix myself another cup.” She flitted around, getting another spoon, mug, and pod while heating more water. “What a wonderful surprise, having both my girls come to visit me in the afternoon in my room. This feels almost like old times.”
Once she turned away, Eve and I exchanged concerned expressions. They were well founded. A moment later, a hard knock sounded on Mom’s door.
She gave us big smiles. “Ah, how nice. More company.” Without hesitation or looking through the peephole, she pulled her door open.
And then our mom’s body shrank back.
Chapter 19
Eve and I scrambled to our feet when her caller came into view. We squeezed in close to her, pressing against her sides, letting her know we were there with her.
The man outside her doorway did not look directly at us, although the outer edges of his eyes certainly took us in. He looked directly at Mom. “Mrs. Gautreaux, I’m Detective Wilet with the sheriff’s office. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” During the long moments’ pause he gave her to let that sink in, her upper body pressed harder against me and surely against my sister on her opposite side as though she needed support.
Then like the trooper we knew she was, she straightened herself and offered him her hand. “Hello, officer. Yes, you may ask.”
“May I come in?”
“All right.” She backed up to allow him entry. As soon as he walked in and shut the door, she said, “These are my daughters, Eve Vaughn and Sunny Taylor.”
None of us tried to shake each other’s hands. He gave us a brief nod. “I’ve met your daughters,” he told her, and she started to open her mouth, surely to ask where, and then a dark expression flashed over her eyes as she probably remembered some terrifying experiences we’d been through, and she nodded. Yes, she was remembering our close calls with death and knew he had gotten involved. And we had found her beau’s nephew dead beneath those lovely chandeliers in his new bathtub, so the detective could possibly still consider us suspects.
“Would you care to sit down, Detective? I’ll fix you some coffee.” Ever the polite hostess, she scurried to the coffeepot. “I’m sorry I don’t have any donuts, but I do have a bag of small chocolates.”
“I’ll sit, but I don’t care for coffee or chocolates, thanks. Please sit with me.” His eyes aimed at the coffee mugs Eve and I had on the table. He left the chairs next to them vacant and took another one.
“I’m sure it’s all right if we stay in here,” I said to him, not asking.
“Yes.” He pulled a pad and pen out of his pocket while the rest of us took places surrounding the table.
Mom sat beside him. She laid her hand over his, concern in her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do with poor Clarice, does it? Has something else happened here that we don’t know about?”
“Nothing else that we can tell you.” He slid his fingers out from under hers.
Eve interrupted. “Detective, I don’t know why police would question everyone about her getting sick.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I’m sure it will take forever for your crew to talk to everyone here about that.”
He returned his attention to Mom, his gaze harder than before. “I’m sure you’re aware that the woman you call Miss Clarice became ill soon after she ate her meal.”
Mom nodded. “I was sitting next to her. My daughters were there, too, at the next table.” She gave us warm smiles. “They came to join us for lunch.”
“I understand that. Mrs. Gautreaux, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the woman we’re speaking of has gotten much worse than she had been when she left here.”
“Oh no, the poor dear.” New deep wrinkles creased our mother’s forehead. “But she’ll be all right?”
“We don’t know that. What we do know is that she ingested something she shouldn’t have.” He kept hard eyes aimed at Mom.
“What was it?” I asked.
Eve leaned toward him. “Do you all know what she took?”
Without looking at either one of us, he said, “We do. It was medicine that she shouldn’t have taken.” The detective retained eye contact with our mother. “Mrs. Gautreaux, we’ve put in a request for a subpoena to examine the medical records of people who reside here but it may take a few days to receive. Someone from here is extremely ill, and waiting to learn more might put her in a dangerous situation.”
Mom released a sharp inhale. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Yes, ma’am. What we’re asking people here to do is volunteer information.”
“What do you want to know?”
I pressed against Mom’s arm. “Wait,” I said to her.
Eve was nodding like she agreed with my caution. “Maybe you should get legal advice first.”
Mom pulled her head back. She gave us both a level stare. “For what? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I said, “but—”
She shook her head at both of us. “If everyone here has to get legal counsel before the hospital can learn what Clarice ingested, that might be too late for her.” She lifted her chin toward the officer. “What is it you’d like to know?”
“Do you take medication for your heart?”
“Wait. Why are you asking her that?” I was ready to tell him to get out.
While anger made me grit my teeth, my mother’s composure remained calm.
“Yes, I do.”
Eve thrust her arm out, her hand raised like a stop sign aimed at him. “Probably at least fifty other people living here take prescriptions for their heart.”
Detective Wilet’s bulldog expression remained facing our mother with only the slightest shift of his eyes moving toward Eve and back to Mom. “How long have you been taking it?”
“Why do you want to know all that?” I asked, my voice not kind.
“Has anyone else gotten ill?” Mom asked him, the fear in her eye making me imagine she was thinking of the man she cared about more than any other person.
“No, ma’am, no one has notified the office here about that.”
“But suppose,” Eve said, “someone in their quarters here has gotten violently ill from the same thing, and nobody checked on them. They could possibly die.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Would you like for me and Eve to go around and check on some people the office hasn’t heard from?” I gave Eve a nod, like do-you-want-to-do-that-with-me, and she nodded to agree.
“We’d be glad to,” she said, getting up.
Detective Wilet gave he
r a straight arm that suggested she stop. “We don’t need your help, thank you.”
She sat again. I took a big swallow of my coffee. It was cold, unpleasant, tasting more like instant than brewed, but that was probably because as Mom said, it was decaf. Why bother with coffee if you drink that? The situation here surely made it taste bad.
Mom tapped the tabletop three times and got the officer’s attention. “What about all of the people in their rooms? How will anyone know if they’ve gotten sick?”
“My men and the staff here are contacting all of the residents to make certain they’re okay.” Seeing me ready to ask more, he said, “They’re calling every person’s room. And if anyone doesn’t answer a phone, they’re going to see about them.”
A small breath sounding like relief left Mom’s nostrils. The slightest quiver moved along her lips.
I reached out and clasped her hand. It felt chilled. “Mom, if you like, you can call Mac. Check on him.”
“I’ll do that after a while. After the officer leaves.”
“He’s surely okay,” Eve said. When Mom didn’t show relief from that statement, she added more. “Otherwise you would have heard.”
The officer didn’t ask who we were talking about or intrude in these assurances about a male resident. From the level look in his eye, I figured he already knew.
“Detective,” I said, hands clasped together on the table, a pinch of fear making discomfort squiggle down my arms, “why did our mother luck out and have you come to visit her room instead of receiving a phone call like you said others in this place are getting right now?”
Mom leaned closer toward him. “Are you going around and seeing a lot of residents in their rooms?”
He held eye contact with her. Ignoring her question, he said, “Mrs. Gautreaux, you normally carry your medicine with you in a small pouch until you come to your room after lunch. Is that correct?”
Murmurs grabbed my throat and blocked real words from coming out. They would have formed lyrics from “Silent Night.”
Eve’s throat was obviously wide open. A pink streak ran up her cheeks from her neck. “Why do you want to know that?”