Too Sweet to Die

by T. Doyle

  I hugged her. Mrs. Almond, at 92, often had days where she desperately missed her husband, family, and friends and resented her body for continuing to live.

  Mr. Flores’s call light turned on and I checked for a CNA down the empty hall. I stood, turned off the call light, and patted Missy’s young shoulder. “Don’t think like that. I bet her insulin pump malfunctioned, and I’m just being morbid. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I hurried toward Mr. Flores’s room.

  What if Mrs. Collins heard about Oscar’s death and realized she could make her suicide look like an accident. My skin tingled and I had that feeling, the one when the kids were too quiet and something bad was about to happen.

  Mr. Flores called me in under the guise of feeling feverish. “Check my forehead, Charlie. I think I have a fever.” He raised his chin and presented his forehead for inspection.

  “I think I’ll use a thermometer, instead.” I pulled the temporal thermometer out of my pocket. “I won’t even charge you extra.” I slid the thermometer across his forehead.

  “I’ve heard the call bells ringing all night. Is everyone getting sick?”

  “No, and your temperature is normal.” I rested my fingers on his pulse and counted. “It has been crazy, but everyone has been recuperating nicely. Even you.” I noted his pulse and temperature.

  “Something is going on, out there. Look, kiddo, you can either spill your beans or dress me and help me into my wheelchair so I can find out from someone else.” His voice turned gravelly as he ran out of oxygen.

  “Nothing is going on out there right now, I promise you. And it’s 9:30, kind of late to have a social call on a friend.” I straightened his covers. “Besides, I don’t know anything because I’ve been busy all night long.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me and huffed. “Fine. But put me down for breakfast in the cafeteria tomorrow.”

  “Will do.” I turned on his bedside light. “Sleep well, Mr. Flores.” I flicked off his overhead light on my way out of his room.

  Vi came back from dinner and with the help of the pharmacy tech, we distributed all the evening medications.

  “Is it wrong I want to dose the dears with some Melatonin and Benadryl?” Vi’s normal sweet demeanor looked positively mischievous.

  I glanced at my watch. “I think we just need to remind them Blue Bloods is on.”

  “You can always count on Tom Selleck.” She headed to Mr. Garza’s room.

  I texted Joe from my car at ten-fifteen. On my way home.

  He didn’t reply, which meant he was still in surgery, and I probably wouldn’t see him before midnight. My mind buzzed with everything that had happened today.

  I eased onto old CR22, renamed Old Briar Ridge Road when Sunnyview Villages Retirement Community purchased the old farm and developed the land. I fumbled with my phone, selected my playlist, and switched my car audio to Bluetooth. My car sped down the gentle descent of the road, and I braked around the first curve. The pedal squished but the car slowed. I hugged the curve. I tapped the brake again, but my speed increased, along with my heartbeat. Thirty-five, now forty, and then forty-two mph. I pumped the brake pedal hard but my car didn’t respond, speeding faster toward the next curve.

  The small strip of shoulder dropped off to an irrigation ditch on either side of the road. The curve thirty feet away was banked, but my speed was increasing. Gravel pinged my wheel wells like warning shots. Cold prickled my neck and slid down my spine. I gripped the steering wheel, fingers frozen and clenched tight like I could somehow rein in the speed. My foot pumped the brakes and my brain screamed, slow down. Gravity pulled at me like I was on The Scrambler at the county fair, but the tires stayed on the road.

  I dreaded the next curve, a hair-pin bend. My headlights reflected the three small white crosses for the Jameson family. Three lives swallowed by the curve’s ditch.

  The car hurtled toward the curve at sixty mph and now four-hundred yards away.

  My heart thundered in my chest. I slammed the useless brake pedal over and over. A hiss accompanied the squish of the pedal to the floor. The curve loomed three-hundred yards away.

  My thoughts whiplashed between swears and prayers, and neither worked to slow the vehicle. If Joe was driving, what would he do? Downshift.

  I stretched my stiff fingers and grabbed the gearshift, smacking the handle to low gear. The car lurched and my body snapped forward leaving my stomach behind. The seatbelt cut into my neck, and the car edged close to the shoulder. On uneven ground, the front tire caught the lip of the pavement and chewed and spit gravel. The back tire went off the pavement and my car tilted ominously toward the ditch. The curve was two-hundred yards away but the speedometer showed I’d slowed my speed down to forty-six mph.

  My fingers tightly wound around the steering wheel and I nudged the car back onto the road, not wanting to lose control. The front tire hit the notched pavement, the rumple strip a reminder I was in danger of heading into the ditch, to my death. The tire thudded dud-dud-dud. The back wheel didn’t want to jump over the lip and back onto the pavement, and for a split second the car refused, sliding, sliding, sliding.

  Bile rose in the back of my throat. I eased my foot onto the gas, a tentative tap to urge the car back onto the road. Both tires thudded over the strip and I pushed on the brake pedal again, the squish and hiss of the pedal sounded like the car was cursing. I flew past the yellow sign warning me to slow down to 20 mph. Not possible. My speedometer read fifty. The curve began, gentle at first but then the tires squealed. The white crosses stood like silent sentries–an ineffective guardrail.

  I swallowed, sucking in a deep breath, and pulled at the steering wheel, following the yellow divider line. Inertia urged me closer to the crosses, and I fought the momentum to join them.

  My car held the road, whether by physics or miracle.

  My fingers clutched the wheel painfully tight, turning the wheel back to straight. My knuckles creaked and cracked, my breathing heaved. The downhill turned into uphill. The car slowed to forty-six mph, but my foot still pressed hard against the useless brake pedal.

  I gulped air. My fingers tingled, the pain and panic congealed making every muscle in my body tense.

  The car slowed to forty-four. Another breath and I forced my fingers to relax from their rigor mortis claw-like grip.

  I glanced at the instrument panel for the hazard lights. My gaze danced from the dashboard to the road. The speedometer read forty-two mph and then forty-one. No traffic in front or behind me. The hazard button was located between the two air vents, but that meant I’d have to take my hands off the wheel, again.

  My fingers ached but I blindly slid my hand to the vents, depressing the button. The yellow glow highlighted the road.

  I slapped at the parking brake button. Nothing happened. The car chunked into a pothole and I yelped, steering wheel gripped, and kept the car inside the lane.

  My eyes darted from the road to the speedometer. Thirty-seven. Thirty-six. Thirty-five. The crest of the hill approached. I worried I would reach the next downhill and speed up again. I pulled on the parking brake button. The car slowed to thirty and then twenty and then seventeen.

  A new round of adrenaline poured into my bloodstream at my success. The ice in my veins flared hot and my hand trembled when I pushed the gear to neutral.

  The car rolled on, the hum of the asphalt growing louder. The crest of the hill was too close. The shoulder was wider here, wide enough for me to pull over and park. I edged over to the shoulder. The tires stuttered over the rumple strip, first the right side, and then the left. The crest of the hill was fifty yards away. My speed read fourteen.

  I braced one hand against the steering wheel and grabbed the gearshift and forced it into park. The car jerked. My head flew forward but the seat belt cinched tight across my chest. The car stopped with a protesting creak, and I slumped back against the seat.

  I turned the engine off with my shaky hand. Out. I needed out of the car. My fingers slipped off the s
eat belt release and I tried again. And again. Finally, the seat belt retracted and I was free.

  The night air chilled the perspiration along my spine.

  I’m okay. I bent over and held my knees to stop them shaking. One breath. Two. The engine metal pinged as it cooled and I flinched.

  I’m okay. What if one of the kids had been in the car? What if the car hadn’t stopped? Joe would kill me if I got hurt. I straightened up and reached into the car and grabbed my purse.

  I wanted Joe. I speed-dialed him, but he didn’t answer. Probably still in surgery. I didn’t want to wait. I needed to be home. I needed a ride. Ian, my brother-in-law, owned a mechanic’s shop and could give me a ride and tow the car. I wiped my sweaty hand on my leg and punched Ian’s speed-dial.

  “Hey, Charlie.” Sleepiness accentuated Ian’s Southern drawl.

  “I need a tow.” I wanted to sound mildly perturbed, but my voice squeaked, high-pitched and frantic. My pulse thumped in time with my hazard lights.

  “Where are you?” Ian sounded completely awake and serious.

  “Not far from Sunnyview. On Briar Ridge Road.” My voice quivered.

  “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?” I could hear Liz, Joe’s sister, asking Ian.

  “Are you hurt, Charlie?” Ian asked.

  “No. My brakes stopped working but I was able to pull off the road. It scared me, but I’m fine.” I cradled the phone against my shoulder and zipped up my jacket.

  “The brakes on your CRV? That car isn’t even two years old.” Ian sounded angry at the car. “I’m getting dressed and should be there in twenty minutes. How long until Joe is there?”

  “I’m coming, too.” I heard Liz yell in the background.

  “Joe’s in surgery but I’ll try to reach him,” I said.

  “I’ll have Liz take her car and she can drop you off at home.” Keys jangled in the background. “I’ll be right there,” Ian said.

  “Thank you.”

  I dialed Joe and he answered. “Hey, sweetie. I’m just going to talk to the patient’s family and I’ll be right home.” His smooth voice blanketed me with warmth.

  I walked behind the car, nearly blinded by the bright yellow hazard light’s glow against the dark night. “I had a little car trouble and Ian’s headed out here with the tow truck. Liz is coming with him and she’ll drop me off at home.” My voice sounded calm, cool, and collected; three things I could never achieve on a regular basis.

  “What’s wrong?” The tension in Joe’s voice indicated his worry was a seven and a half on our ten-point scare-scale.

  “I’m not sure. My brakes failed, but I was able to pull off the road. I’m fine.” My knees trembled and I stomped my feet.

  “Failed?” Joe’s tone now struck Joe-problem-solver-mode. “Did you pump the brakes?”

  “Yes. The pedal went to the floor.” The memory of the squish, the shush of the pedal made my stomach churn. I hunched further into my jacket.

  “Did you downshift?”

  “Yes.” The warm fuzzy feeling of hearing his voice slid into exasperation. “Joe, go talk to your patient’s family. We can finish this at home.”

  “Was there a puddle under your car when you pulled out of the parking lot?” Joe asked.

  There would be no stopping his line of questioning. “You know, at ten-fifteen at night, I didn’t notice a puddle in the parking lot that looks like a moonscape on a good day. I also am not going to crawl under the car to examine for drips or colored fluids.” I kept my tone light, reasonable, but frustration bled into my words.

  “Where are you?” he asked shifting out of his diagnostic mode.

  “Briar Ridge, I pulled off when the car slowed going up the hill.”

  “I’m glad you’re safe, Babe. I’ll be right there. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I wanted him beside me, to pull me close so I could rest my head in the crook of his neck which always made life better. I ended the call and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I could see my breath. I wanted to sit in the car and crank up the heat, but what if the parking brake failed? I hugged myself tighter and decided I could be cold for twenty minutes. Why had my brakes failed? The car was new. It wasn’t like I went off-roading or drove through a construction site.

  Ten minutes later I reconsidered the possibility of both the brakes and parking brake failing versus frostbite. A car’s headlights swung around the sharp bend and I stepped behind my car. The headlights dipped down and the white light swept across my body. Please be a sober driver and not a homicidal maniac.

  The driver put on their directional and pulled up behind me. Then, I recognized Marabel’s Honda and waved and squealed with relief.

  She stopped and rolled down her window. “Charlie? What happened?”

  “My brakes went out.” My breath formed a cloud.

  “It’s freezing, get in my car.”

  The locks clicked open and I scurried around to the passenger’s side and got in. Heat surrounded me and I unzipped my jacket. My nose defrosted and dripped. I fished in my purse for a tissue.

  “What a crazy day,” Marabel said.

  “Thank you for stopping.” I wiped my nose and pushed the used tissue back in my bag. “I called my brother-in-law for a tow.”

  “What happened?” Marabel asked.

  I explained my harrowing experience, taking a good five minutes for something that only lasted one.

  “I’m glad this day is over.” Marabel slumped forward, rested her elbows on the steering wheel and massaged her forehead. “The cops searched Eric’s car but didn’t find drugs. He must have a hiding place the dogs can’t smell.” She sat back and faced me.

  I considered what would throw off the dogs. “Have they searched the laundry room?”

  Marabel picked up her phone. “I’ll ask Theo. He’s desperate to cooperate and keep the news quiet.” She texted the message.

  “Too late. I think the entire county called Missy tonight.”

  “Small town gossip keeps the community close.” Marabel’s sarcasm held a kernel of truth. She glanced at my car, her face highlighted by my hazard’s blinking lights. “You’re not scheduled to work tomorrow, but is it your day for Trivial Pursuit?”

  “Yes, but…” My gut twisted and turned at the thought of driving on this road again.

  “No, don’t worry about it.” Marabel’s sympathetic smile and worried eyes made me wonder how scared I really looked. “I’ll tell Nora and maybe she can find another partner.”

  “Ingrid, or Jenny. Or maybe we could get Mrs. Almond to play,” I suggested. I remembered my conversation with Delilah from Del Lago casino. “I ran into a patient’s niece last week and invited them to join the game. Her name is Delilah, but I don’t remember her aunt’s name.”

  “Delilah?” Marabel’s face puckered like she’d tasted a sour memory. “Didn’t she date Ray back in the day?”

  “Yes. Enough said.” I may have sounded testy.

  Marabel’s eyebrows slid up. “You and Ray have been spending a lot of time together.” She put her hand up to stop me. “I know it’s because of Oscar and Jenny. Nobody thinks you’d ever mess around on Joe.”

  “That’s good to hear, and it’s the truth.”

  “I think it’s great Ray has a friend who didn’t know him back then. He was always the big man on campus, great at football, great at baseball, great with the girls. I only went out with him to make my ex-boyfriend jealous, but Ray was fun and if we’re totally being truthful? He was a really nice guy.” A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “He was popular, but not because he sought it. People always expected him to achieve great things, like be the Mayor, or play pro football. I bet it’s not easy being back in town with a whole generation of people who feel the need to prove their life is better than his.”

  “Or be reminded of every screw up,” I said. “Everywhere we go women glare at him. And his mom is a handful. It’s like he never gets a break.” I really needed to stop with my snarky comments and b
e nicer to Ray.

  “Yeah.” Her shoulders inched up to her ears. “Why did we want to become adults?”

  “It just happened.” The flashing lights from the tow truck crested over the hill. “Ian’s here. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “Anytime. I hope your weekend improves.”

  I opened the car door. “Thanks. It can’t get any worse.”

  I shouldn’t have said that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Your brake line was cut,” Ian repeated on the phone the next morning.

  I sat down on top of the clean laundry piled on my bed that I’d been folding.

  “It wasn’t an accident. Tom is here taking pictures for evidence. Charlie, someone tried to kill you.” Ian sounded like he was reprimanding one of his kids.

  “Are you sure?” My voice faltered, petering out to nothing.

  “Charlie?” Joe’s voice called out from the kitchen.

  “In here.” I walked from our bedroom toward him. “What are you doing home?”

  “Ian called me.”

  I put my phone on speaker. “You called Joe first?” I asked my brother-in-law.

  “Yeah, and then I called the police. And then the police agreed with me and I called Joe back. And then I called Liz and Momma, and the pizza delivery guy, and then I called you. You’re not going anywhere alone until we figure out what the heck is going on.” He went on to describe what would happen to the person who tried to harm me which involved violent things not physically possible.

  Joe took the phone. “She loves you too, man. Thanks for calling. I got her.” Joe ended the call and put my phone on the kitchen counter.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked.

  “I took the day off. Babe, I need you to sit down.” He guided me to the table and pulled out a chair for me.

  He knelt down in front of me. “Tyler Rigby hung himself last night.”

  Whoa. My bones turned to jelly. Gray clouds swarmed my vision until there was a little black dot where Joe’s head used to be.