by E. Joan Sims
“Well, there’s always the Movie of the Week and True Romance magazine to give her inspiration.”
“Yeh, there’s always that.” I yawned and stretched. “Still, I wish we had taken notes. Something she said might have had some significance. See you in the morning, Mother. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Oh, my goodness, I forgot to check the mattresses!”
“Go to sleep.”
Chapter Nine
She may have slept as deeply as I, or she might have stayed awake all night looking for bed bugs. I’ll never know. I woke up eight hours later and opened my eyes to see her fully dressed and made up, speaking softly into the telephone.
I turned over on my stomach and considered trying to go back to sleep, but the rings in my pocket made that an uncomfortable possibility. I scooted across Mother’s bed and retrieved my new faux silk undies and my old real denim jeans from the chair and headed for the shower.
Cassie was just beginning to stir when I came out of the bathroom and Mother was hanging up the phone.
“What say we check out the newspaper office for some back issues?” I asked as I started gathering up my things and tossing old candy wrappers in the trash.
“I have copies of their obituaries, if that’s what you mean.”
“I was thinking more in terms of before—like when Abigail collapsed and was taken to the hospital. Was that in the paper?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Someone, certainly William, would have shown it to me at the time. We can check. I think I have one at home.”
By the time we got back on the Interstate, it was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. I pulled around an eighteen-wheeler as it slowed going up a hill.
“Do we need to do anything else before we leave the area? How about the death certificates?”
“Well, as the next of kin, I guess I can request Abigail’s by mail. I don’t know how we could get William’s even if we tried in person.”
“Okay! Meadowdale Farm, here we come!”
Cassie asked the perennial childhood question with a smirk. “How much farther, Mom?”
“It’s for sure we are not almost there. I guess about a little less than two hours. What do you think, Mother?”
“About that. Are you all ready to hear about my sleuthing this morning or do you want to listen to the radio?”
“Oh, my gosh, Gran, we forgot about your phone calls! Of course we want to hear.”
“Wait, Mother, before you start. This time we have to take notes. Cassie, there’s a legal pad and pencil.…”
“I found it. Okay, Gran, shoot.”
“First, I called Abigail’s friend from the telephone office where she used to work. I thought that she would be the one I could be the most candid with. Her name is Mildred Jean Anderson, and she lives just outside of Lanierville. She was happy to hear from me. I saw her at the funeral, but we didn’t have a chance to talk. Unfortunately, her husband has been very ill this last year, so she had not seen Abigail for some time before she died.”
Cassie groaned, “I need some caffeine if I’m going to stay awake for this.”
We still had some drinks in the cooler. They were swimming around in cold ice water, but Cassie managed to fish out one for each of us. I sipped a cold Coke as Mother continued.
“Mildred Jean did keep in touch with weekly phone calls. She said Abigail always sounded happy and upbeat. Abigail cheered her up when Mildred Jean was worried about her husband. She had lots of advice about doctors and treatment. Apparently her husband had a heart condition similar to William’s. Abigail had said she would love to come and visit, but William was not well enough to drive, and her eyesight was getting worse.”
“Just a second, Gran. What about Abigail’s eyesight? What was wrong with her eyes?”
“I’ve forgotten what it was called. Paisley, do you remember?”
“Yes. Abigail had macular degeneration. It’s an irreversible condition, and there is nothing that can be done to correct it. If she had lived two or three more years she would have most likely gone blind.”
“Oh my, how awful!”
“Yes, Cassie, dear, awful indeed. She had a small cataract in each eye as well. A surgeon removed the cataracts some time last spring, but it didn’t really make much of a difference. She was very disappointed.”
“Mother, did Abigail have any other health problems? Was she on any medication?”
“Nothing that I know about. She had a physical exam before the eye surgery. It was the first one she’d had in years. Abigail passed with flying colors—normal blood pressure, all lab tests normal. She was in fantastic shape for someone about to have her sixty-sixth birthday.”
“My God, Abigail was sixty-six? I can’t believe it. Then you must be sixty-something, too, Gran. Come on, tell us, how old are you, sixty-one, sixty-two?”
“Cheeky child! Never you mind.”
“Well, not that you look it, but you must be sixty. That makes me feel a whole lot better. If I look as great as you when I’m sixty, I won’t mind growing old. Cool! This is almost as good as the Fountain of Youth.”
I took a quick peek at Mother. She had a pleased little smile on her face, but I knew she hated discussing her age.
“What was Abigail’s official cause of death, Mother?”
“I honestly don’t know. I went to the hospital to sign the release so they could take her body to the funeral home, but I didn’t talk to a doctor or even a nurse, just a clerk.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have to find out ASAP. Cassie, make a note to call the Department of Vital Records and request Abigail’s death certificate. Okay, Mother, please continue.”
“Mildred Jean told me a funny little anecdote. She was spending the afternoon with Abigail one day last year before her husband got sick, and the Dibbers dropped by with some lasagna. Sue Dibber made a big deal out of how much trouble it was to make from a special old family recipe. Mildred Jean got the idea that they were trying to really impress Abigail and William, but when she offered to put it in the refrigerator for Abigail, she saw a store label that the Dibbers had forgotten to remove on the bottom of the container. She said it made her laugh and feel really creepy at the same time. She had meant to tell Abigail about the ‘old family recipe’ from Kroger but the Dibbers stayed longer than she could, and she forgot about it. That was the last time she saw Abigail alive. She was very tearful about it. She and Abigail had worked together for twenty years and had been very close friends. They were so close, in fact, that she wouldn’t tell me any more personal details of Abigail’s life. Anyway, that’s all I got out of her.”
“Hmmm” was my only response, as we three detectives lapsed into silence. I didn’t know what the others were thinking, but my mind was working at full speed in an attempt to fit the pieces of our puzzle together.
Chapter Ten
It was Cassie who managed to revive our spirits on the drive home by convincing Mother and me to spend some time meandering through the resort park around the lake for the rest of the afternoon. My weariness disappeared as we drove slowly along the narrow winding roads through the wilderness. The deep green woods and thickets were wild and overgrown with heavy underbrush and wild berries, and it was easy to envision an Indian carrying a bow and arrows behind each tree. I marveled as I realized the dangers the early pioneers had faced when they passed through here with all their worldly goods.
We stopped twice to investigate a couple of promising antique stores, then parked by the lake to watch the late afternoon sun set over the water. The sky was beautiful—all orange and reds tinged with blue-purple—the least used crayon in the sixty-four color box. A thin sliver of moon hung just above the horizon.
I loved this time of year in the country. It always brought to mind the smell of burning leaves and supper cooking in a warm and cozy kitchen. On October evenings like this my father used to hide in the hayloft of the barn and wait for Velvet and me to find him. He would
then pounce out from behind a bale of hay in the musty darkness and make wonderfully terrifying wolf-like noises that would scare us half to death.
We loved the game even though I always ended up wetting my underwear. Once Velvet, who was four at the time, leapt out of the open window to escape from “the big bad wolf” and fell fifteen feet into the wet mud and manure below. She reeked of cow dung for a week, but it probably saved her life.
I always missed Dad more at this time of the year, and suddenly I dreaded going back home and not finding him there. I couldn’t stand the thought that he would not be sitting, pipe in hand, by a roaring fire reading one of his favorite books.
“Hey, what say we make a detour to Sallie’s in Big River and detox from all that junk food on one of her fantastic salads?”
“Oh, Paisley, I don’t know. Shouldn’t we get on home before dark?”
“Great idea, Mom!” Of course, Cassie could have added “since Gran doesn’t like it,” but she didn’t, thank goodness.
“Oh come on, Mother. I’m sure you’re too tired to cook, and I know I don’t feel like it. Besides, I really do have a craving for a salad, and we don’t have any fresh lettuce at home.”
“Oh, very well. But my treat. And maybe, if we are very good and eat all our veggies, we can share a piece of mile-high meringue pie.”
“Way to go, Gran!”
My flagging spirits lifted, and my thoughts returned to the problem at hand.
“Hey, Mother, you still haven’t finished your report, you know. Who was your second call to?”
“Mr. Parks, Joseph Parks III, an old friend of William’s. He is still quite spry and capable of getting out and about. He was the one who drove William to the hospital the last two times he was ill.”
“Okay, Gran, for the sake of our chronology, when was William’s first trip to the hospital?”
“It was about three weeks after Abigail died. William had some chest pain and shortness of breath. He got scared. I don’t know why he called Joe Parks instead of 911.”
“I do.” At least, I was almost certain I knew. “He didn’t want anyone to know his business. Half of the population of Lanierville and all the other little towns around here, including Rowan Springs, have those police scanners. Folks sit around with their televisions on mute and listen to the Police and Fire Department radios. They’re like vultures sitting at the side of the road waiting for an accident. Forget ‘ten-four.’ They know all the codes, from rape to breaking and entering.”
“I guess you’re right, Paisley,” sighed Mother. “He didn’t even want me to know. Mr. Parks said William was very insistent that he not notify anyone.”
“What about his chest pain? Was he having a heart attack?” asked Cass.
“No, it was a false alarm. Apparently, he just panicked. He was alone and afraid. It probably hadn’t hit him until then that he would be alone the rest of his life.”
“And how about his second trip to the hospital, Gran?”
“That was more serious.”
“Well, I guess, since he died.”
“You must be hungry, Paisley. You’re testy.” She ignored me and continued, “Joe said William didn’t seem any sicker that second time than he did the first. William even made him stop to get some aspirin at the drug store. He said the nurses at the hospital wouldn’t let him have aspirin every time he asked.”
“And they admitted him to the hospital?” I was hungry but I was trying not to be testy.
“Yes. Apparently they couldn’t locate his doctor, so to be on the safe side, they put him in a room on the third floor. Joe said William was happy because Sue Dibber was on that floor. He felt more comfortable with somebody he knew and said she would give him aspirin.”
“How long did he stay there before he died?” I asked.
“Three days.”
“Wow, that was quick! Did he stroke out?”
“Really, Cassandra, if you must emulate the speech pattern of anyone, let it be me and not your mother.”
“Who’s testy now?” I sang as we pulled into the parking lot at Sallie’s.
It was a little early for the “cocktails at seven, dinner at eight” crowd so we got a lovely table next to the big front window. The waitresses, excuse me, the servers, wore silly Old South-style long dresses, but they were efficient and pleasant and took our order quickly. We had our salads with Sallie’s marvelous, low-fat dressing in less time than you could skin a possum.
Chewing, I insist, has a wonderful effect on the brain. I believe the increased blood supply from the masticating muscles in the jaw causes all the little “grey cells,” as H. Poirot used to call them, to turn on and synapse all over the place. So, as I sat and munched away on fresh carrots, radishes, red leaf lettuce, and homemade garlic croutons, I came to a conclusion. I had pretty much all the information I needed to start writing our book. Since I had a captive audience as long as their food lasted, I decided to run my ideas by them.
“What do you all think about this as a premise for our novel? The Dibbers spend years sucking up.…”
“Paisley, please!” hissed Mother.
“…kissing up to William and Abigail. Since Ernest prepared the Roths’ taxes every year, he is well aware of William’s sizeable estate, and he and Sue have been trying to figure out a way to get their hands on some of that money. But then, a sexy young waitress with legs up to her armpits comes to town. Dibber becomes smitten by our little pet trollop and wants to run away with her. His desire for money becomes even more pressing, but the only real money he knows about is William’s. He also knows that if Abigail outlives William, she will inherit it all, and in turn leave everything to her first cousin, the redoubtable Anna Howard Sterling. In order to prevent such a disaster, he murders Abigail.”
I grabbed a piece of garlic toast and started munching. I needed some more grey cell stimulation.
“After he does away with Abigail, Dibber goes to work on William. Ernest convinces William that he is his one and only best friend and that no one else cares if William lives or dies. Then he just sits back and waits until the inevitable moment when William will suffer another attack. Dibber is lucky. He doesn’t have to wait long. And luckier still, when William goes to the hospital he is put on Mrs. Dibber’s floor. Ernest talks his wife into giving William extra medication. When William is sedated and mellow enough, Dibber gets William to give him power-of-attorney. Then he goes to the bank and opens the safety deposit box. Luck is with Dibber again. William’s original will is inside. Dibber trashes the old will and gets William to write another with him as the beneficiary. This is no problem because once more he has the help of his wife and her handy, dandy, medicine cabinet. William suddenly takes a turn for the worse. Because she is deeply religious, Sue Dibber has an attack of conscience and brings in the priest to save William’s immortal soul. William dies alone and unloved, but Catholic, and Dibber inherits three million dollars. The end.”
“My, my, Paisley, that’s very interesting,” observed Mother as she delicately dissected a cucumber slice from its seeds and avoided looking at me.
“Yeh, Mom, that’s terrific. Anybody else ready for lemon meringue pie now?”
“What’s the matter, Cassie? You don’t sound very convinced?”
“Well, I hate to say it but you don’t have anything exciting like fights or car chases. There’s not a single drunken brawl anywhere. Blood, gore, and sex—those are the things that sell murder stories. Don’t forget, you said ‘bye-bye’ to ‘nicey, nicey’ when you parted company with Bartholomew.”
“I can add those elements. And I do have a harlot; isn’t that enough?”
I had raised my voice more than a trifle. A dignified-looking gentleman at the next table did everything he could with his facial expressions to show his distaste of me, my conversation, and my cat if I had one. I almost laughed. He looked like he had a tic.
“No, Paisley, I think Cassie is right. You have to spice it up some if you want a best seller.
”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to chew on that some more.”
I winked boldly at my gentleman friend. He almost choked on a biscuit.
The short drive from Big River to the farm is a very pretty one. The road goes through a forest cut off from the mainland when the two big lakes were formed by the TVA dams. It is a protected animal reserve and in the daytime you can see almost every wild bird and animal native to the area.
At night all there is to admire is a beautiful night sky untainted by city lights. When we saw two brilliant shooting stars, Cassie made wildly insane wishes for all of us. We drove up in the long circular drive of home in a jolly mood.
I always drive around the complete circle when we come in at night. It’s partly for the sake of security and partly because of what we sometimes see. Rabbits or raccoons, or even deer, occasionally come up to feed on the fruit in the orchard. This time as I finished the circle and came back up to the house, big, very bright, headlights, suddenly turned on in front of us to blind me.
Cassie screamed loudly, “Mom, back up, back up!” as she saw two men get out of their car and come toward us. I put Watson in reverse and looked in the rear view mirror. Another car had pulled up to my rear bumper. Unless four-wheel drive could move us sideways, we had nowhere to go.
“Damn!” whispered Cassie in my ear as she grabbed on to my shoulders from behind, “we’re trapped.”
Mother had not uttered a word during all of this. I turned to look and saw her calm steady profile. She was a one hundred percent reincarnation of her ancestor, the elegant, imperturbable Lady Howard, wife of the Duke of Norfolk and confidante of Elizabeth I.
“Paisley! Close your mouth and quit staring at me. Have you had a seizure?” She tried to open the door. “Please unlock this door!”
“Are you crazy, Gran?”
“No, I am not crazy. This is my home, and I am not going to let anyone terrorize me on my own property.”