by Wendy Tyson
“How so?” Denver raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty sure.”
“It’s in my contract,” Jatin said. “Harriet couldn’t pay me what I was worth, so she added options and restricted stock and a big fat change in control bonus.” He stubbed the cigarette out on the grass beside his foot. “As long as BOLD wins, I win.”
Denver pulled his hand through his thick hair. “The others too?”
“Those of us who started with Harriet.” Jatin grinned. “See? Don’t you wish you’d chosen the lab over the pasture?”
“Does sound like a sweet deal.” Denver took Megan’s hand and squeezed it. “But my animals repay me in ways that can’t be quantified.”
“Ha!” Jatin grinned. The innkeeper came with the drinks, and Jatin grabbed a fresh glass. “Try and deposit that in the bank, my friend. Gratitude is great, money is better.”
Megan left at four p.m. She thought about tracking Martine down at her new hotel but decided against it. Denver could handle his friends; she’d had enough for one day. Anyway, Xavier wasn’t answering his texts, and Barbara was shopping. Denver accepted Jatin’s offer of dinner, and Megan headed back to the farm to check on Bibi and talk to Clay about the Marshall property.
Jatin was right about one thing: gratitude was nice, but money paid the bills.
Bibi was in the barn, sitting with Camilla, when Megan arrived. She’d taken off her jeans and pressed blouse and now wore a “Winsome Wins” casino night t-shirt and a pair of gray velour sweatpants. She was handing the pig slices of apple, one by one, and ignoring the pleading looks of Gunther and Sadie.
“I see who ranks in this house,” Megan said. “How quickly you’re replaced, dogs. I think Bibi would let Camilla stay in the house over you two.”
“Not true.” Bibi tossed each dog an apple slice. She pet the pig on the head and fed her another. “This pig is smarter than the two dogs put together.”
“I don’t think so.”
Bibi grunted. “I told Alvaro to take bacon off the menu.”
“Did he agree?”
“He mumbled something about me and Clover having lost our marbles and stormed off.” She smiled. “The day he agrees will be the day we bury him.”
“True.”
Megan perched on the enclosure beside her grandmother. “How’d it go with Dillon?”
“Not well.” Bibi put a hand in the air. “Here, help me up. And tell Clay to get a chair in this barn. I can’t keep sitting on the damp ground.”
Megan gently pulled her grandmother up. “You okay?”
“Just a little tired.” She gave the pig a last pat and walked toward the barn exit. “Some tea will perk me up.”
Megan knew that meant her special tea—tea with brandy. “Whatever works, Bibi.”
Bibi was silent for the walk to the house. The weather had remained warm and sunny, no signs of the storms, and Megan could hear Clay and Porter taking advantage of the long period of daylight. Clay was still preparing goods for the farmers market, and Porter was getting two large beds ready for a fresh planting of baby lettuces. The baby lettuces were a good seller with local restaurants. As long as they were carefully tended and picked before they bolted, it was a crop they could continue all season long.
Inside, Bibi started to disappear down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Dillon?” Megan reminded her.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” Bibi asked. “I’m pretty tired and my stomach is off. I’m going to bed.”
“Bibi, it’s not even dinner time. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Bibi turned and smiled. “I’m fine, Megan. Just not young anymore.” She put a hand on her stomach. “And I think maybe what I ate at the café didn’t agree with me.”
Megan nodded. She watched her grandmother make her way up the stairs, one slow step at a time.
“These are the greens.” Clay patted a large pile of individually portioned Swiss chard, kale, bok choy, and mustards. “Three dollars a bunch. And here are the garlic scapes, the spring onions, and the radishes.” He pointed to three boxes in the corner of the CoolBot. “We have four varieties of radish, but the French breakfast radishes are my favorite.” He handed Megan a stack of recipe cards. “Sautéed French breakfast radishes. People don’t realize you can cook radishes. They’re actually quite delicious with herbs and butter.”
Megan took the cards, glancing down at the Washington Acres logo and beautifully printed radish recipe ideas. Not for the first time, she was overwhelmed with gratitude that Clay still worked here. He never ceased to amaze her with his creativity and work ethic. She knew he went home at night to study for his engineering degree and still somehow found time to make recipe cards. She dreaded the day he moved on to greener pastures.
“I adore you.”
Clay grinned. “Do you have what you need?”
“Yes, Clay. You’re like a worried new parent. I have done the farmers market before.”
“Not in a while. And this is a new one.” Clay push his long hair away from his face. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a hairband. Tying his hair in a ponytail, he laughed. “I do sound like a helicopter parent.”
“It’s okay. I will be fine, though. You and Emily enjoy yourselves.”
Ever since Emily’s father went missing almost two years prior, she and her daughter had become close family friends. Megan observed from the sidelines as a friendship developed between Clay and Emily. They were quiet about it, but she’d watched as that friendship blossomed into more. This was the first time they were going away together, and it would be just Porter and Megan for the Saturday farmers market.
“If we’ve covered this, I have one more thing to talk with you about.” They left the cool interior of the CoolBot and stood in the barn. Megan shared the conversation she’d had with the construction foreman earlier that day. “We need to decide what to do first—house or barn.”
Clay’s mouth pressed into a frown. “That’s too bad. What do you want to do?”
“I was thinking we go forward with the barn and save the house for next year. I don’t have the funds for both right now, and I think we could use the barn for winter projects.”
Clay looked thoughtful. “What’s your hesitation?”
“I guess I was just excited to tackle both. I can’t wait to see the house restored. What if we don’t address these issues this year, and the house falls apart in the meantime?”
Clay gave her a reassuring smile. “The house has stood for over a hundred years. Another year won’t spell disaster.”
“That’s what the foreman said.”
“I think you have your answer.”
Megan gave Clay’s arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll go check with Bibi. If she’s fine with it, that’s what we’ll do.”
The house was quiet inside. Sadie followed Megan inside. The dog ran down the hall, and Megan placed the recipe cards and pricing paper on the kitchen table so she’d be ready in the morning. She needed to get the bags and cash to make change. Otherwise, she should be set.
It was ten minutes after six, and Megan was hungry. She decided she’d make sandwiches and a small salad for her and Bibi. Her grandmother needed to eat. She was in the process of slicing cheese for grilled cheese when she heard Sadie whining. She ignored it at first—the dog was probably locked out of Bibi’s room—but when Sadie’s whines turned into yippy barks, Megan grew concerned. She tossed the knife on the counter and raced down the hall, taking the steps two at a time.
Bibi’s door was open, and Megan could make out Sadie standing by the bed. The dog barked when she saw Megan. Megan ran to the bed where she saw her grandmother lying, skin red and dry to the touch. She was breathing—barely. Her eyes opened. They moved back in forth with terror.
“Meg..mm…meg…” Bibi’s voice slurred. She closed her eyes.
“Bibi? Bibi!”
Megan pulled her phone out and dialed 911. She kept her voice steady while she gave the address, but once she hung up, the tears wouldn’t stop.
Twenty-Four
“Sadie may have saved Bibi’s life. They’re not sure, but they think she may have had a stroke. There are some mild neurological symptoms.” Megan sank into the couch in the family waiting room, next to Denver. He wrapped his arms around her, and she molded herself against him. “This was all too much for her. I should have known better.”
“Your grandmother is a force, Megs. Ye couldn’t have foreseen this.”
“She seemed so happy. Driven to help Dillon.” Megan buried her face in Denver’s chest. “I brought Camilla home, then I brought this tragedy home. Bibi’s eighty-five.”
Denver took hold of Megan’s shoulders and gently pushed her back so she was facing him. The room was empty except for an older man asleep on a chair across the room. Megan felt the tears coming again, and she choked them back, willing herself to be strong.
She gave voice to her biggest fear. “What if she doesn’t make it?”
“Megs?” Denver placed two fingers under Megan’s chin and tilted her head up so they were eye to eye. “There’s a saying in my country: Whit’s fur ye’ll no go past ye. Simply put, we can’t control the future. Your grandmother is a strong woman. She’s got more grit than a dozen people. If anyone can get through this, she can.”
Megan nodded. Clay and Porter had come into the waiting room, their faces as long as her own. Denver was right—Bibi had grit. And she’d expect her granddaughter to exhibit the same now.
“How is she?” Clay asked.
“It’s a waiting game,” Denver said.
Megan stood.
“Where are ye going, Megs?”
“To sit with Bibi. Once the doctors are done examining her, they said I could stay by her side.” She kissed Denver. He’d left his friends to run over to the hospital as soon as Megan called. “Will you handle the townspeople? I’ve already gotten a dozen calls.”
Denver agreed.
“And don’t worry about tomorrow,” Porter said. “I can handle the farmers market solo.”
“Oh, we’re not leaving,” Clay said. “Not until we know Bonnie’s okay.”
Megan looked from one to the other, her bruised heart full of gratitude. She may not have any siblings, but she had the best adopted family she could have asked for.
Megan felt her hand being squeezed. She sat up with a jolt, remembering where she was and what had happened in a burst of despair. The room was dimly lit with artificial light, and a series of beeps told her Bibi was still alive.
Another squeeze. Megan wiped the drool from her mouth and sat up. Her head was on the bed and one arm was draped across Bibi’s body, holding her grandmother’s hand. She felt it again and finally realized it was Bibi squeezing her fingers.
She stood, excited. Her grandmother’s eyes were closed. They fluttered open, she smiled.
“Bibi, I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”
Megan felt the squeeze again. She reached over and pressed the call button. The nurses were there immediately.
“She squeezed my hand and opened her eyes.”
The nurses ushered her out. Megan wandered back to the family room where she found a half dozen Winsome residents and Denver. Some were talking quietly, Denver was dozing. She crawled on the couch next to him and waited.
“You couldn’t pay me to eat that.” Clover eyed Denver’s chicken sandwich with disdain. “Hospital food is bad enough, but use enough breadcrumbs and deep fry something and you can hide anything.”
“When you’re hungry enough, you can eat anything. And I’m famished.” Denver took a large bite. “Mmmm.”
Clover clucked her disgust and turned her attention to Megan. “Bibi is doing well?”
“Still a little out of it, but she wants to come home.”
“Do they know what happened?”
“It wasn’t a stroke. She may have had a seizure.”
Both Clover and Denver looked at her. “A seizure?” Denver said.
Megan nodded. “They said she’s progressing well. She’ll be fine—eventually.”
Clover studied her. “You don’t seem great for someone who got great news. What are you not telling us? Do you know what caused the seizure?”
“Not yet.” Megan poked at the flaccid salad in front of her. She knew what the doctors were thinking, but she couldn’t speak about it. Not here.
She felt Denver’s hand on her knee. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Your Aunt Sarah and your mother were here while you were in with the doctors. They didn’t want to bother you. They’ll be back to visit Bibi.”
Megan gave a weak smile. A year ago, the sight of Megan’s mother would have set Bibi’s blood pressure soaring, but now that they’d reached a truce, her grandmother would probably enjoy a visit.
When Clover had finished her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Denver his chicken, Clover cleared the table. While she was gone, Megan asked Denver if they could talk. Alone.
“Of course, Megs. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not. I know what happened to Bibi, and I think we may need to speak with Eloise. The sooner the better.”
They drove along Canal Street in silence. It wasn’t until they’d reached Eloise’s street that Denver said, “I just can’t believe it.”
“I know. I don’t know what to think. I really don’t know what to do with this.” She peered at Denver across the truck’s center console. “Eloise may not take this well.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should wait until Bobby arrives. It took everything I had to convince him to let us do this. Maybe he was right.”
Denver shook his head. “We should tell her. I owe her that, at least. The question is whether she can be objective.”
“We have to trust that she can.”
Denver agreed, but Megan could tell by the expression in his eyes that the trust wasn’t in him.
“Did Bibi say anything? Hint at anything out of the ordinary?”
“No. But I didn’t want to press her.” Megan looked at Denver and wiped the tears from her eyes. “The damage could have been permanent. What you said about her having grit? Yeah, that’s what saved her.”
Megan turned into Eloise’s property and parked the truck. It was Sunday afternoon and the cheerful weather had continued. Eighties and sunny. Weather that demanded light-hearted fun—not introspection and suspicion. Eloise was outside waiting for them, and she had jogged to the truck before Megan even killed the ignition.
“Dillon’s watching a movie. We have fifteen minutes before it’s over. How about the barn? We should have some privacy there.” Eloise looked like a shell of the woman they knew. Her jeans were stained, her shirt untucked, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. Denver had called to say they needed to discuss something with her, and looking at her now, Megan could tell she’d immediately figured the worse.
Denver climbed out of the truck. He gave his aunt a hug, whispered something in her ear, and started for the barn. Megan stood by the truck for a few seconds, staring at the house. She swore she saw a curtain on the ground floor move, but she wasn’t sure. Could have been a trick of the sun.
“Bibi was poisoned.” Megan spoke softly, controlling her voice to hide the panic she felt rising up in her gut.
“I don’t understand.” Eloise moved a rake and sat down on a hay bale. Her face was pale, her hands shaking. “Poisoned?”
“The EMTs thought at first she’d had a stroke, but the tests didn’t back that up. After a lot of educated guesswork, they realized she’d overdosed on lithium.” Megan closed her eyes. “They thought she’d done it herself accidentally.”
“Does your grandmother even take lithium?” Eloise asked.
“No. That’s just it, she doesn’t. My grandmother takes brandy in her tea and the occasional pain reliever. Other than that, she refuses all medication, even vitamins.”
Eloise was silent for a moment. “Lithium is dangerous stuff. Even people who have a prescription have to be carefully monitored. There’s a fine line between therapeutic dose and toxic amount, and it can cause thyroid and other complications.”
Megan nodded. “I know. I’ve had a crash course.”
Eloise said, “Acute lithium poisoning…will Bonnie…will Bonnie be okay?”
Denver said, “She should be fine. Megan talked to the doctors today. The tremors and slurred speech are gone. There was some concern that the neurological effects could be long-lasting or even permanent, but that won’t be the case.” Denver’s eyes were moist, and he turned his head away toward the rear of the barn. “In fact, her age may have contributed to her symptoms. Someone may not have meant to cause lasting harm or really hurt her, but because of her age, they could have killed her.”
“Playing with lithium is like pharmaceutical Russian roulette.” Eloise glanced from Megan to Denver. “I assume the fact you’re here means you think Dillon may be the culprit.”
Megan didn’t wait for Denver to speak. “Not necessarily. The police will be here soon, and they can tell you more. But we were worried about you, and Denver wanted to get here as quickly as possible. Just in case. To give you time to digest the news.”
Denver interrupted, “And to give you time to decide if you want Dillon moved.”
Eloise shook her head. “He couldn’t have gotten it here.”
“Is Dillon on lithium?”
“A very low dose. They put him on it after his mother was killed. He’d always had bipolar disorder, but they were worried about suicide and wanted to curb the manic episodes. I keep it locked in a cabinet with his other medications. I saw it just this morning, though. Nothing appeared to be missing.” Eloise put her hand to her mouth. “Unless…unless he’s palming the medication. I never thought to check his mouth.”