Black Beans & Vice

by J. B. Stanley

  “Honey! Are you okay?”

  She couldn’t answer. Each breath was a desperate gasp as her body tried to inhale oxygen in between convulsions. One hand kept her balanced on the rail while the other clutched at her stomach.

  “Oh, my God!” James stared at her in fear. “Did you drink the tea?”

  Jane managed a nod and James flew into action. He raced into the house and dialed 9-1-1. With a tremulous voice, he told the operator that his wife had likely been poisoned by a herbal tea.

  “Which herb, sir?” the woman asked serenely and James was exasperated by her calm. He wanted her to speak rapidly, to hastily tell him what to do, to promise that all would be well.

  “I-I don’t know,” he stammered, picturing the shelves and shelves of products in Roslyn’s storeroom.

  The operator spoke again. It took a moment for her words to pierce the buzzing in James’ head. “What are your wife’s symptoms, sir?”

  Suddenly, James felt that he was wasting precious time fielding questions from the composed woman on the phone. He slammed the handset down and yelled, “Eliot! Get in my truck!”

  “But I wanna—” the little boy whined.

  “NOW! DO WHAT I SAID RIGHT NOW!” James so rarely shouted that his son responded immediately.

  James grabbed a bucket from under the kitchen sink, ran back out to the deck, and gently lifted Jane into his arms. “You’re going to be fine, baby.” He rushed through the house, gently set Jane into the passenger seat, put the bucket on her lap, and belted Eliot in his car seat. He then raced inside once more, grabbed the pitcher of tea from the counter, and jumped into the truck.

  The drive to the hospital was hell. Eliot sat in wide-eyed silence in his seat, his large pupils dark with fear. Jane retched several times, but then dropped the bucket between her feet and grabbed her belly with both hands, moaning in pain.

  Her agony made every red light and slow driver James’ agony. Somehow, Eliot’s mute presence in the back seat kept James from taking too many risks, but each passing minute filled his mind with a series of torturous questions. How powerful was the poisonous herb in the tea? How much did Jane drink? Would he get her to the hospital in time?

  James screeched to a halt in front of the Emergency Room entrance, unbuckled Eliot and told him to stay close. Lifting Jane out of the car, he left the Bronco where it was, doors open wide, the key-left-in-ignition alarm sounding.

  Ignoring the reception area with its enclosed desk, sliding glass window, and sign-in clipboard, James carried his wife right up to a man in scrubs, who was loitering near the vending machines.

  “Please, my wife’s been poisoned!”

  To the man’s credit, he leapt into action immediately. He slammed a nearby wall button, automatically opening a set of double doors leading to the treatment rooms. Gesturing for James to put Jane down on an empty gurney in the hallway, he removed the stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Jane’s breathing.

  “Do you know what she ingested?” He spoke to James without looking at him.

  “An herbal tea. But I think it was deliberately brewed to do us harm. I’ve got it out in the car.”

  The man gestured for a pair of his colleagues to come to his aid. “Go get it, please.”

  James took Eliot’s hand to fetch the pitcher and then he stopped. “Thunder god vine,” he said. “Check for thunder god vine.”

  The man removed the stereoscope stem from his right ear. “Thunder god vine?” His look of astonishment was quickly replaced by a nod. “Okay. But get the pitcher anyway.”

  Murmuring words of comfort to Eliot, James grabbed the pitcher of tea from the Bronco and handed it to the nurse stationed outside the double doors. “You’ve got to move your car and check your wife in,” she directed. “They’re not going to let you back in here until you do.”

  Too blinded by worry to realize that Jane wasn’t the only patient the emergency room team would see that hour, James stalked off to move his car to the nearest lot. He completed the paperwork as fast as possible, his handwriting an anxious scrawl. Shoving the clipboard in the glass reception window’s slot, he pointed at the double doors. “Can I go back now?”

  “Your wife might have been moved, sir. Let me find out where she is.” The woman picked up her phone and dialed a number. She then glanced back at James. “I’ve paged the doctor. I’ll call you as soon as I have more information.”

  James controlled the rage surging through his body. He knew it stemmed from his feelings of helplessness and that he needed to press it back down. Only the warmth of Eliot’s small hand in his kept him from erupting. He led his son over to the vending machines and bought him a bag of pretzels and an apple juice.

  “What’s going to happen to Mommy?” Eliot asked, his lips quivering as he held his untouched snack.

  Gathering the boy in his lap, James whispered. “She was sick, but the doctor’s going to make her better. Don’t you worry.”

  Deciding to funnel his anger, he called Lucy on his cell phone. “Roslyn must be the murderer you’ve been looking for! She tried to kill us! Me or Jane … maybe all three of us.” The horror of his own statement sank in. “My God, she would have knowingly poisoned my son!”

  “I’m on it.” Lucy answered after James ran through the details. “She must have been worried that you discovered something in her office and that, eventually, you’d put two and two together and turn her in. Think about why you spooked her, James. When I catch her, I’m going to need as much information as possible to toss her in a cell.”

  Sensing Lucy was about to hang up, James called, “Wait! What about Kenneth?”

  “He’s denying everything. Says that he had the feathers in his pocket because he took them off your car.” There was a smile in her voice. “Don’t give him a second thought. He had cocaine in his system. First thing Monday morning, we get a restraining order for you and your family and go from there. He’s never going to bother you again, James. I promise.”

  James saw the receptionist pick up the phone and then glance in his direction. She pointed at the wall button and gave him a nod of consent. “Gotta go,” he told Lucy and moved toward the double doors. A nurse took James and Eliot back to the treatment area and had them wait while she went inside a room with a closed door. Several minutes passed before a doctor emerged from within, explaining that Jane had been given activated charcoal and seemed to have successfully purged the contents of her stomach.

  “The good news is that your wife ate a meal before drinking the tea, so the harmful qualities of the poison were absorbed at a slower rate.” He eased off a pair of clear disposable gloves. “We’ll be watching her closely over the next few hours, but I believe she’ll be just fine. Her throat will be sore and she may have other side effects such as headaches and cramping, but we’ll make her as comfortable as we can.”

  “Can I see her?” James asked, his voice full of yearning.

  The doctor flicked his eyes at Eliot. “You might want to wait a bit. Let her get everything out and then get cleaned up. Trust me,” he clapped James on the shoulder. “No one wants to be watched at a time like this. Honestly, it wouldn’t help her to know you’re in the room. She can only focus on one thing right now.”

  Heeding the physician’s advice, though not without feelings of guilt, James entertained Eliot by telling him as many Aesop’s Fables as he could remember. At the end of “The Fox and the Grapes” Lucy called again.

  “Roslyn’s gone. Anything of value has been removed from her house and office.” She cursed under her breath. “With all the money she got blackmailing Ned and Tia, she could be anywhere by now, on a first-class flight to paradise.”

  “I take it you didn’t find a defibrillator under the floorboards either,” James responded with equal anger and dejection.

  “I’m with the team at her house now, but Roslyn was no dummy. She was prepared for flight. Hold on, her phone is ringing.” James heard Lucy speaking, but her low voice was garble
d. After a rustle, Lucy returned. “That was a gallery in New Market. They called to tell Roslyn that her framing job was ready to be picked up. She’d commissioned custom frames for a series of ten nature photographs.”

  James stood up abruptly, nearly dumping on the floor. “Fern’s? The photos Lennon bought for his girlfriend?”

  “Maybe she’s not his girlfriend. I cannot picture them together. No, I’m thinking Roslyn is Lennon’s mom.”

  A light bulb went off in James’ mind. “Lennon’s new SUV! He told me a generous relative gave him a bunch of cash. Roslyn must have given Ned’s money to Lennon, to her son...”

  “He might have been involved in the murders too. Remember the prints on Tia’s neck? They were made from a large hand? And I could see her letting Lennon inside without worrying about being hurt. With his gentle hippie act, he might have had us all fooled. You sit tight,” Lucy commanded. “I’ve got to track down that rock-raking bastard!”

  Having no plans to leave the emergency room area, James and Eliot wandered back to the vending machines. He bought a package of Fig Newtons for Eliot and a granola bar for himself. The receptionist came out from her glass enclosure and gave Eliot a coloring book, crayons, and a sheet of rescue vehicle stickers.

  “How’s Mama doing?” she asked Eliot.

  Putting a fire truck sticker on his shirt, Eliot thanked her for the goodies. “Daddy said she’s going to be okay. He’s always right.”

  The receptionist winked at James. “I bet he is.”

  Eliot had colored three pages when a nurse came out of Jane’s room and told her husband and son they could go in and see her.

  “She’s a bit dehydrated and her throat hurts, but by the time she goes home tomorrow she’ll be good as new,” the nurse said and then lowered her voice. “The cops are going to want to talk to you.”

  “Fine. The more the better,” James replied, and then walked to his wife’s bedside. She smiled weakly and he felt the fear, which had clung to his chest like a parasite, release its grip and scuttle from the room.

  Later, after Eliot was in bed and James had listened to the frantic phone messages left by his friends, he sat in the dark living room and thought. With his pets nestled beside him, James turned over all the details of the two murders. Pieces were still missing. How did Roslyn get Ned in her power in the first place? Who used the defibrillator and where had it come from? Why would Roslyn perform such hideous acts of violence? As a moneymaking scheme to provide for her son? And what hold did she have over Tia?

  It was difficult to think clearly without experiencing spurts of rage and indulging in fantasies of revenge. After all, Roslyn Rhodes had poisoned his wife. If one little sip had been so harmful to Jane, James couldn’t stand the thought of what the tea could have done to Eliot.

  “To protect her son, she would have willingly killed mine,” he whispered, the anger flooding through him like an intense heat.

  He’d saved his phone call to Lucy for last. When he reached her, he wanted to hear that it was all over. The culprits had been apprehended, there was irrefutable proof that they’d murdered two townsfolk and had attempted to kill a third. and they’d be spending a long, long time in prison.

  “I wish I had better news,” Lucy said as soon as she heard his voice. “But the governor’s pulling out all the stops on this one. He’s got the state and local police involved. Photos are being shown during every news broadcast and for once, the media’s skill at sensationalizing might work to our advantage. I already saw a segment about our manhunt during the six o’clock news.”

  “What about their cars?” James tried to rein in his frustration, but failed. “Are they broadcasting their license plate numbers? Lennon’s was pretty hard to miss. Green SUV with a vanity plate reading, VEG OUT.”

  “We found his car on a CarMax lot. Lennon sold the truck four days ago and deposited a check for over twenty grand in his bank account. He was smart,” Lucy grudgingly admitted. “He waited for that check to clear and then withdrew all his funds. He’s run off with at least forty thousand in cash.”

  James sighed and Snickers raised his head in concern. “That kind of money makes it easier to hide.”

  “Hey, my neck is in the noose here. If they get away I look totally inept! Trust me, James. I am very motivated to catch those two. And I’ll start tomorrow by going over every possession, every piece of mail, and every detail people can recall about Roslyn and Lennon. It also means I’m giving you an assignment.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Think back on the conversations you’ve had with both mother and son. If I gather enough data from enough conversations, I believe we’ll get a clue as to where they’ve gone.”

  James smoothed the fur on his dog’s neck. “I’m way ahead of you on that front. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last hour. Between Roslyn and Kenneth, I’ve got scores to settle.” He hung up.

  A summer thunderstorm was brewing outside. The wind curled around the treetops and clouds blanketed the moon. At the sound of a branch tapping against a window, Snickers cocked his head and growled. In the dark and silent living room, James growled too.

  A week later, the Henry family arrived at Gillian’s colorful Victorian for what their hostess had dubbed a “Union of Souls” fête. Gillian had tied white and silver balloons on the porch railings and fastened crepe paper sculptures of kissing doves on the sconces flanking the wooden doors. A little sign taped to the brass knocker directed guests to head straight for the back yard. Gillian had outdone herself in creating a romantic atmosphere. She’d decorated her gazebo with more balloons and curtains of white streamers while twinkling white lights hung from the rafters in loose, graceful swags.

  It was a perfect summer night. The humidity was blessedly low, a soft breeze flowed down from the mountains, and the first fireflies of the season were speaking to one another in their magical language of light.

  The women were clad in cool sundresses and the men in shorts and polo shirts. The Fitzgerald brothers played croquet on the lawn as Lindy adjusted the volume on a battery-powered radio. Tony Bennett serenaded the party goers who exchanged small talk until Gillian asked them to congregate for a toast.

  The table she’d set was beautiful. Scott, Francis, Bennett, and Gillian had somehow wrestled her dining room table out the back door. Gillian had then covered it with a cloth so pristinely white that it glowed beneath the periwinkle sky like a new moon. Tall pillar candles protected by hurricane glass and posies of white roses in silver vases created a line of flickering light and heady fragrance down the center of the table. Rolled white cloth napkins were fastened with ivy vines and a silver tray bearing glass tumblers filled with a bright green liquid and sprigs of mint rested at the head of the table.

  “A green toast!” Gillian shouted. “To the bond between man and woman and parent and child! May your future together be filled with joy, adventure, and an endless stream of love!”

  The newlyweds clinked glasses with the other guests and even Eliot, who was given a limeade in a “grown-up glass,” participated in the toast.

  Bennett cleared his throat. “To James Henry. The best friend a fellow could hope to have. And to Jane, for bringin’ my man happiness. Lord knows he deserves it!”

  “To the couple that makes me believe that love is forever!” Lindy cried.

  The toasts continued for another five minutes. Eventually, most of the women were in tears and even Jackson’s eyes were shining.

  “What is this stuff?” he grumbled, holding out his glass and struggling to maintain a gruff expression.

  Gillian interpreted his question as a cue to pour refills all around. “It’s a Zen cocktail. I didn’t want anything traditional like champagne. A whole family has been united by this marriage. By going green, I was able to truly include Eliot and to celebrate how he’s influenced his parents to embark on a healthier, vegetarian lifestyle.” She performed a little curtsy in Eliot’s honor.

  Bennett gestured at
the grill. “Is he the reason we’re eatin’ mulch burgers tonight?”

  Gillian elbowed him roughly in the side. “You can have a non-vegetarian patty if you want. I prepared both, but I’m grilling the bean burgers first so they’re not tainted by the meat.”

  “Leave the grillin’ to me,” Bennett insisted. “I don’t want to ingest any more carcinogens than I have to.”

  While the pair bickered over cooking time and temperature, Fern and Willow escorted Eliot away from the table and showed him how to play horseshoes. Gillian had thoughtfully purchased several lawn games perfect for a boy his age. However, it was the Fitzgerald brothers who got the biggest kick out of the putting green, the beanbag toss, and the croquet set.

  The rest of the adults settled at the table and continued to sip on their refreshing green cocktails. Eventually, the conversation led to the subject of Kenneth Cooper and the unsolved murders of Ned Woodman and Tia Royale.

  “Kenneth is out of our hair,” Jane explained. “We were granted a strict restraining order. I’ve heard he’s also lost his job.”

  “I hope he gets disbarred,” James murmured.

  Milla rubbed her dimpled chin thoughtfully. “What about official charges? He’s not going to have to do any time?”

  Lucy fidgeted with the sprig of mint in her glass. “We couldn’t charge him with possession. He didn’t have any cocaine on his person or in his car—just in his body. And there wasn’t much we could do as far as his affinity for leaving dead birds around Jane and James. But no one wanted to see him go unpunished, so we decided to put Murphy’s idea into play.”

  “Ah ha! Her plan was to make the official inquiry public, right?” Lindy declared. “She splashed Kenneth’s history of cocaine use all over the front page. Every news service in the country picked up that story. No wonder that jerk’s law career is over!” She grinned. “Luis was certainly at the right place at the right time! It’s funny though; he keeps telling me he wasn’t. He’s being very mysterious about the big finale I missed. Even my students are acting weird. They won’t even talk about the play!” She shrugged. “Guess that’s what final exams will do to you.”