Shiny’s eyes lost their playful gleam. “You haven’t heard the news then.”
I made enough spinach salad for Lela and Sara, and did some serious chopping for a quick batch of chicken noodle soup. Within minutes I had the broth and vegetables boiling, with the intention of adding the noodles later. I turned down the burner to let it simmer and headed out to the doctor’s office, heart feeling heavy in my chest. Old Lou’s driver’s side door was developing quite a creak. I’d have to get Hardy to dab some oil on the hinge or we’d have us a haunted house on wheels. Old Lou already had quite a collection of engine coughs and moans.
As soon as I set foot in the waiting room of Dr. Alex Icon, I came upon Lester Riley, dressed in his usual overalls and farm boots.
“LaTisha Barnhart!”
“How are the cows, Lester?”
“Chewing their cud and challenging the environment.”
A jab at environmentalists worried over the methane cows burp in a day. Lester had a problem with people worrying over such things. “Human activity accounts for fifty-five percent of methane production and they’re worried about my cows?”
“You train them to belch on cue and we can fuel a power plant.”
Lester slapped his leg and guffawed. “You’re good, LaTisha.” He worked his jaw and quirked his brows. “You thought anymore about taking a seat on the city council? You’d make a good council member.”
I noticed the Doctor’s receptionist was not at her desk and wrote my name on the waiting list under Lester’s. “Politics makes me crazy. Besides I’ve got my degree to finish as soon as Matilda is settled.”
“Think on it. With Mayor Taser expected to retire, we might have a seat or two become available.”
He’d been after me for months to consider the council. I dared to voice what was truly my opinion. “I’d vote for Regina.”
Lester scratched his chin. “She’s got a natural love for it, but I’m not sure how the majority would feel about her involvement with the Taser campaign scandal.”
“Forgiving. Regina did it for her momma.”
“But you don’t steal from a campaign to fund your mother’s nursing home care.”
Lester had a valid point, but I also knew that those who really knew Regina Rogane, owner of our hair salon, believed her when she said she intended to pay back the money. And she had, too, even while being the victim of our current Mayor’s wife’s blackmail scheme. Which led me to another point. “Look how good everyone treated Betsy after her public apology about the whole blackmailing scheme on Regina.”
Lester shook his head. “She had to do it, though. Betsy Taser’s a social climber without a conscience.”
Tammy Lyons, the Doctor’s receptionist, appeared, calling for Lester. When she laid eyes on me she squealed and held out her arms. “Mrs. Barnhart!”
I embraced that girl like she was my own. And she nearly was. Her and Lela had gone to school together and been great pals. “Lela call you? She’s coming home tomorrow.”
Tammy smoothed her hair from her eyes. “She is? She taking leave?”
“No. She was fired.”
Tammy’s eyes grew wide. “No. That was her dream job.”
I shrugged. “Was. She said the pressure was hot and she was almost glad to go. How’s your school going?”
Tammy had begun her first semester of college after working for the doctor over the summer and finally saving enough for tuition.
“All A’s.” Her grin was huge.
“That calls for another hug.” I gathered her slender form into my arms while Lester slid by us.
Tammy whispered into my ear, “Thanks for getting me the job. Doc told me your recommendation made the decision for him.”
“All I said was true, too. You’re hard working and determined, mannerly and pleasant. What employer wouldn’t want an employee like that?”
She pecked my cheek and scurried down the hall. Since the wood-looking plastic chairs looked less than inviting, I mounted the lone armchair like a queen ascending her throne. My hose went quickly to work rolling down. Made me want to switch to knee-highs. Not often did I get a bad pair anymore, but when I had to buy the cheaper brand because it was all I could find. . . I sighed and gave the curled waist a tug.
If only I was home breathing the scent of chicken broth instead of the sterile scent of antiseptic. I wanted to be anywhere but here. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm myself. The spells of the last few days haunted me. Somehow, way down deep, I knew this visit would not end in good news.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I called Lela as soon as I got home. Her cell phone rang and rang. I raced through what to say in my message, then decided to simply ask her to call me back. No use upsetting Lela without being able to explain, though I knew my simple message of “Call me, baby,” would put her on alert. Usually I left pleasantries, and the latest on her daddy when she didn’t answer.
I mixed up homemade egg noodles and cut them with a pizza cutter, making them as thin as I could. When I lifted the thin noodles and added them to the boiling broth, the tears began to gather. I blinked. Drops of salt spilled down my cheeks as I tossed the last of the noodles into the pot and turned it low again to simmer.
I swallowed, wiped my hands on the dishtowel hanging over my shoulder and turned to the refrigerator. I split the spinach salad into two containers and mixed the dressing in the blender, dividing that as well. Lining the picnic basket with a dishtowel, I slipped in the container of spinach salad and dressing, leaving enough room for the soup.
With nothing left to do, I sat.
The phone rang.
Lela.
“Momma, are you okay?”
“No, baby. Things are bad all around.” Tears came full force then, a gushing, gasping fountain that choked me and rendered me unable to answer the questions Lela peppered at me. I told her all about my doctor’s visit. She listened close.
“Don’t you tell me ‘no use borrowing trouble’?”
I couldn’t help it, my heart puffed with pride, even if her words pricked at me. “True, baby, but I know how I’ve been feeling.”
“Then don’t fret until you know those test results. God hasn’t suddenly lost control.”
“There’s more news, Lela.” And this hurt me real bad to tell. “It’s not good.”
She sucked in air. “Tell me.”
“It’s Sara.” I felt the rawness build in my throat. “The cancer is back.”
Lela went quiet. “Oh no.”
“You got fired but the good Lord knew there was certainly work for you to do here.”
“I’ve got my bags packed already, maybe I should go ahead and start out.”
“I made up some spinach salad and chicken noodle soup for them. There’s some for you too.”
Her voice got soft. “How long does she have?”
I steeled myself against another wave of grief. “Six weeks. Two months max.”
Lela made her decision to come home immediately, the tie between her and Sara a strong one. They’d become real good buddies during the weeks and months of Sara’s first struggle with cancer. Before remission, and before Lela went off to college.
I told her I needed to go back to Bridgeton Towers. “Should be home in four days or so, and I’ll join you in helping them out.”
I sat down hard at the table and tried to focus on the task at hand. Sara needed to eat. Even if she didn’t want to eat, her family would. And Lela would be home. She would take care of them for me while I was gone. It was the least we could do.
Closing my eyes, I breathed a prayer for this grieving family. For hope crushed beneath the heel of a sometimes too harsh reality. Sara would go be with the angels, but she wouldn’t leave here unaware of how loved and missed she would be.
My experience had been the reverse of Sara’s, my momma dying when I was eleven, but my momma’s sister took good care of me, and I had no complaints, only a deep grief to have held onto my moth
er for a little bit longer.
I placed the picnic basket in the back seat and slid behind the steering wheel of Old Lou. The Buick, with its leather seats and carpet stains from Shayna getting car sick, seemed like a scrapbook on wheels of my life raising children.
It wasn’t even noon yet and I felt drained. This wasn’t just about Sara, this was about the elephant in the room. The weight on my shoulders over the possibility of something really serious being wrong with me that the doctor had hinted at. A subject I wanted to avoid. Lela’s council had been sound and true. Not a bit of use being droopy over what I didn’t know.
Lord knows, and that’s good enough for me.
I squared my shoulders.
I rounded the corner and pulled up in front of the Buchanan’s rancher. Sara stood at the door as if waiting for me. I heaved my bulk out and did a wave in her direction. Her face beamed at me through the screen door.
“Mom. Mrs. Barnhart is here. She’s here!”
But Sara didn’t run outside and throw herself into my arms, and dread gripped me anew. It was the weakness. Her mother had seen it, worried over it, for the last three weeks. Sara didn’t want to eat, and even when hungry she only picked, and then other symptoms. . . I’d forgotten Sara’s doctor appointment coincided with delivering Matilda to Bridgeton Towers, and chided myself for forgetting this baby.
I placed the picnic basket at my feet and spread my arms wide, sunshine beaming down on my head. Sara slipped outside, movements slow, her face pale. She wrapped her little skinny arms around me as far as they could go.
“I missed you, baby.”
“Mom made me go to the grocery store with her. Shiny told us he’d seen you and that he thought you might be dropping by.”
Ah. That explained her vigil. “Brought you some spinach salad and chicken noodle soup. And I have a grand surprise.”
Sara’s head tilted up at me, eyes bright. “What? What is it?”
I touched the tip of her nose. “Lela’s coming home tonight. She’ll be here with you tomorrow.”
Sara clapped her hands. “Oh!” She scampered back inside. “Mom! Lela’s coming back. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
Suzanne Buchanan appeared from the back family room, gaunt, stress lines evident around her eyes and mouth. I held up the basket I’d retrieved and Suzanne nodded, her wan smile speaking volumes about the emotions she held in check.
“Sara, why don’t you take the basket to the kitchen for Mrs. Barnhart.”
Sara’s huge grin exposed the gap in the front. “I’m hungry!”
When she was out of hearing range, I faced Suzanne. The young mother fell into my open arms. We spilled tears all over each other, sniffling and whispering words of encouragement. Then we pulled apart, exchanged smiles, dried our eyes, and went into the kitchen to join Sara.
We women have a language that needs no words.
As soon as I got home, I ate a bowl of soup and tried calling Chief Conrad. There were some things brewing, and I wanted his opinion to know if he’d heard anything about Bridgeton Towers that should set me on edge.
“Haven’t heard of the place, LaTisha, but I think Shiny’s right. If anyone is going to know something, it will be Michael.”
I filled Chief’s ear with all the bits of evidence and accusations, motives and strange incidents that I’d run across in the investigation so far, then waited as he processed everything.
“It sure sounds interesting. If you were acting in an official capacity, it would make things easier. If you want, I can call the police in that town and—”
“No sense in it. If your friend Trevor finds something suspicious, then I’ll know to tip the police off and hope they investigate, but most of what I got is going to be laughed out of the police station.”
Chief agreed. “But one thing you can do is swallow that pride of yours and work with Sue Mie. She’s got an inside track being a CNA hired by Otis Payne himself.”
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“The affair gives Mrs. Payne a motive to knock off her husband, but not Polly. If Polly was great friends with Otis, as this Thomas guy indicated, and Gertrude too, then maybe they were more than friendly?”
“With such a huge gap in age?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
True. “I can’t see Louise being jealous of Polly and Otis.” It didn’t feel right to think about Polly and Otis having an affair.
“Polly was getting privileges from Otis. Why?”
“She acted like she was, but that doesn’t mean Thomas is right in thinking Otis let her into the gym. Maybe she got in some other way.”
“Those threats, too. . .Why would anyone threaten her like that? Was she the curious sort?”
“I really didn’t know her.”
“Others knew her. See if she was a trouble maker. Maybe she knew more about someone or something than she should have and that person was getting really ticked and trying to scare her off.”
It didn’t seem real to be hearing about death threats and the possibility of someone murdering an elderly lady. “You think I’m crazy?”
“I think, LaTisha, that if someone is thinking they are going to get away with murder while you’re around, they’re in for a huge surprise.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About six or seven stores down from Big Sky Grocer and Wig Out, I entered the offices housing the Distant Echo, our weekly newspaper. Besides the printing equipment, Michael Nooseman’s “office” probably held the award for smallest working cubicle. How that man managed to direct a newspaper from a five by eight area, mostly covered with paper, pencils, pens, with a desk and chair wedged in for good measure. . .it was a miracle he hadn’t died of asphyxiation.
I stood at the entrance of his office, arms crossed, ready and armed to rankle my good friend. “If you think for one minute that I’m going to fit in there with all the stuff you have—”
“You stop eating so much and you’d fit in here fine. It’s the reason I stay thin.”
Whoo-wee! He was dishing it out today. I never could recall one smile out of the old coot, but Michael didn’t need to smile, everyone knew his crustiness hid a soft heart. Not that you’d know it by his verbal assaults.
Michael unglued his eyeballs from his computer monitor and spun his chair in my direction, eyebrows lowered like storm clouds. He saluted me with his coffee mug that said, ‘Write What You Know. . .’ with sheets of blank pages stacked up high on a desk. Editorial humor, I suppose.
He scratched his chest and sucked at his coffee cup. “To what do I owe the distinct honor of your presence darkening my doorway? I thought you were out of town.”
“Something told me I’d better come back and give you a scoop before your one subscriber gets bored with the drivel you print and stops paying.”
Michael wiped his mouth on his sleeve, probably to wipe away remnants of the slurp of coffee, but I think it also hid a smile.
“Your momma taught you better than that. Use a napkin.”
His nostrils flared, eyes dark. “I’ve already got her spinning in her grave like a rotisserie chicken.” He pushed to his feet and squeezed between the edge of his desk and the wall, knocking a stack of papers over in the process.
“Hope what you spilled wasn’t important.”
“Nah, just some bills that need paying.”
That gave me pause and I wondered, in all honesty, how the paper stayed afloat. Townspeople had speculated for years that Michael Nooseman’s side business developing Websites supported the newspaper. Maybe it was time to have a fund raiser to keep the Distant Echo going strong.
“Got my copy today but haven’t had a chance to read it. Had me some excitement last night and thought we might work an exchange.”
Michael ducked back into his office and tried to pull out his office chair. He finally had to lift it over his head to get it free from the cubicle. “Why don’t you have a seat? Got some hot coffee if you’re interested.”
“Any hot chocolate?”
“Have to be difficult, don’t you?”
“You gonna get me a drink or not? Seems to me I could take this story of mine somewhere else.”
“My charming personality draws you here. You can’t help yourself. One cup of hot chocolate coming up.”
“With a splash of coffee, if you please. I need another one, didn’t finish the one I had this morning.”
Michael grunted in mock disgust. Purely dramatics. He moved toward a small kitchen area in the back of the room. “So you came here to pester me into making another one for you.”
“Easier than making a fresh one at home.”
Steam rose from the cup as he poured, then stirred in the hot chocolate mix. “Spill it before they nail my coffin shut, declaring I died of boredom. I’ve got a paper to run, you know. There’s not a lot of time to have high tea with every citizen who waltzes into my office.”
“I’m gonna waltz on your grave if you don’t bite that tongue of yours.”
His eyes sparkled a bit. There’s nothing he loved better than a good insult match and with me. Why do you think he offered me a drink? Because he wanted the visit to be extended. I suspect he does get bored with just computers and words to keep him company.
“You know we’re trying to get Momma settled at Bridgeton Towers. What do you know about that place?”
With slow, measured steps, he crossed the room and presented my hot drink. “Bridgeton Towers, you say? Hm. . .” He rubbed his jaw and shifted in his seat. “Bridgeton Towers. . .now why does that name sound familiar.”
His eyes cut to mine.
I was having none of it. “I know you know something. You got a mind sharper than glass.”
“A compliment, LaTisha?”
“Prelude to the threat on your life if you don’t stop messing with me.”
“Bridgeton Towers. Quite the subject of late. Someone asked me the same question this morning.”
This morning! My heart skipped a beat as I settled my hands around the warm cup and mulled the gleam in Michael’s eyes. This boy was sitting on some piece of information like a bee guarding honey. I was going to have to smoke his hive.
Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 14