18 Deader Homes and Gardens (12 page)

“Sounds divine,” I said. “Terry, can we talk?”

Inez and Jordan found this hilarious. They clutched each other and brayed like possessed donkeys, making rude noises and in danger of falling into the pool. Terry stood up and grinned at me. “Of course, Claire. Shall we go inside?”

I sat on a stool in the kitchen and watched him make a pitcher of lemonade. He poured two glasses, then held a bottle of vodka over one and gave me a questioning look. I shook my head. He poured himself a rather stout shot. “So what shall we talk about? The latest flops on and off Broadway? The production of
The Sound of Music
in which all parts were played by drag queens?”

“How about the house? Did you speak with your lawyer this morning?”

Terry tasted his lemonade, grimaced, and added another shot of vodka. “That was my plan when I drove into Farberville this morning. Well, I also wanted to get a copy of the
New York Times
from that little news store on Thurber Street, and maybe some fresh bagels. I was stricken to discover that the bakery next to the pool hall had gone out of business. Roberta and Juniper were veritable artistes in the culinary world. Did you ever try their cream puffs filled with caramel mousse? To die for.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Did you make it to your lawyer’s office?” If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from making a suggestion about what he could do with the cream puffs. It would not be to die for.

“I did,” he said. He took a drink of the much diluted lemonade. “Her name’s Link Cranberry. Isn’t that classic? She must have suffered in the schoolyard. ‘Cranberry, strawberry, gooseberry pie, here comes Link with a tear in her eye.’” He noticed that I wasn’t appreciating his drollness. “She said that I shouldn’t sell the house until the Hollows’ lawsuit is finalized. I can, however, lease it with the stipulation that the lease might be terminated.”

“What did she say about the probable outcome of the lawsuit?”

“It’s baseless, but the chancery judge is a die-hard conservative. If he’s antigay, he may side with the Hollows out of spite. They’ll all swear that Winston was not of sound mind, and that I forced him to sign the deed. Our friends will all swear that Winston was perfectly sane at the time. Who’s he going to believe—a family that’s been here since the nineteenth century or a bunch of faggots? The fact that Winston and I were legally married may annoy the judge all the more.”

I had a feeling that his dire prediction might be right. The presence of Farber College added an element of liberal ambience, but it was only a teaspoon of water in a dark sea of social conservatism. “Green” was not an ecological movement; it was the color of money. “So Ms. Cranberry is not optimistic?”

Terry smiled. “I have unlimited financial resources to fight them, and for Winston’s sake, I will. He wanted me to have the house if something happened to him. Murder may not have crossed his mind, but it should have.” He drained his drink. “Damn, I forgot to pick up tonic water this morning. My official summer drink is vodka and tonic, with a squeeze of lime juice.”

“I’ll bring you a case of tonic water and dozens of limes after I’ve signed the lease,” I said. “We agree to the stipulation. Do you have a pen?”

“Ms. Cranberry has to be in court this afternoon, but she’ll draw it up first thing Monday morning. I can drop by your house and—” He broke off abruptly and put both hands on the edge of the island. “Something’s wrong. I think I’m going to—” He concluded the sentence by vomiting on his hands. He tried to straighten up, but his arms began to twitch spasmodically. He vomited again.

With all due respect to Florence Nightingale, I have an aversion to sickness. I went to the sink and dampened a dish towel. “Here,” I said as I averted my eyes. Had it been possible, I would have averted my nose as well.

Terry waved me back as he continued to retch. He lost his grip and slithered to the floor, moaning piteously. “I need help,” he rasped.

I’d left my cell phone in my car. “Be right back,” I said, then ran out the front door. I called nine-one-one, did my best to describe his symptoms, and gave directions.

“Is he on any medications?” the dispatcher asked.

“I have no idea! Just send an ambulance!”

“Does the victim have insurance? I’ll need the name of the provider and the number of his policy.”

My response was less than polite. Clutching the phone, I hurried back inside and crouched next to Terry. “An ambulance is on the way. Do you want some water?” I felt as useful as a flat tire on a rainy night. He was doubled up in a tight ball, his legs speckled with vomited debris. His moans were protracted. I put my hand on his back to keep him from banging his head on the low cabinet. I glanced up and saw Inez and Jordan in the doorway that led from the terrace. Their faces were white, their mouths open. Behind them, Moses’s face hovered like an unsightly helium balloon.

“I’ve called for an ambulance,” I said firmly, as if I were in control of some minor complication. “You’d better wait outside. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I didn’t fool anyone, including myself.

6

Paramedics stormed the house and surrounded Terry, who was alarmingly still. They were followed by a pair of uniformed policemen. Neither of the paramedics fell into Jordan’s category of “hunk,” but they were efficient and fast. I stood and watched as Terry was put on a gurney and taken to the ambulance parked outside. I followed to ask about Terry’s diagnosis, but a police officer, who appeared to be Caron’s age, stopped me in the entry hall.

“I need information about the patient, ma’am,” he said.

All I could give him was Terry’s last name and hometown. I described what had happened before the gastric attack. The officer eyed the vodka bottle on the floor. “So you both were drinking,” he said as if accusing us of rampant alcoholism, “while the girls were in the vicinity of the swimming pool. Did you plan to drive home in your condition?”

“I can handle lemonade on the rocks,” I said, “and the girls are hardly toddlers. You might want to take a sample of the vodka.”

“Name and address, ma’am?”

“Claire Malloy, and my address is on record at the PD.”

“You’ve been arrested in the past?” His hand shifted closer to his gun, prepared to react if I admitted that I’d robbed convenience stores and gunned down grannies on the street—and battered young policemen with liquor bottles.

The second officer, J. Bingsley, put his hand on the younger officer’s arm. “Ms. Malloy is married to Deputy Chief Rosen. He’ll vouch for her.” He looked at me. “Do you think the vodka is responsible for the victim’s condition?”

I shrugged. “He seemed fine when we came inside to talk. I have no idea what he ate or drank earlier, but his symptoms began after he’d ingested several ounces of the vodka. I drank the lemonade and I’m okay.”

“Is he a friend?”

“I only met him in person yesterday. He came here from Key West to negotiate a lease for the property. My husband”—I pointedly did not add emphasis—“and I are hoping to buy it after a lawsuit is settled.”

After Bingsley sent his partner outside to question Inez and Jordan, he went into the living room and made a call. Although I tried my best, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I did catch my name—and I was pretty sure I heard a pained sigh from dear Jorgeson, who’d most likely planned to be sitting with his wife in their rose garden by late afternoon. I felt a pang of guilt for ruining his evening, but in no way was I responsible. “A policeman’s lot is not a happy one,” as Gilbert opined to Sullivan.

I went out to the terrace to escape the stench. Officer Teenager towered over Inez and Jordan, barking questions at them. I presumed Jordan had enough sense to refrain from mouthing off or bragging about her rap sheet. Moses had disappeared.

“I’ve called for the crime squad,” Bingsley said as he came outside. “This is likely to be nothing more than food poisoning, but the scene has to be secured until the ER confirms the cause. If you prefer to leave, it’s not a problem. Lieutenant Jorgeson went so far as to suggest that you do so.” He eyed his partner. “Threadgill’s a rookie. You’ll have to forgive him, Ms. Malloy.”

“For not knowing that I’m married to Deputy Chief Rosen, and therefore to be treated with deference? I am simply a witness and should be subjected to whatever it is to which witnesses should be subjected.” I politely overlooked his bemused expression and continued. “I think you’d better test the vodka, but food poisoning is a possibility. He had breakfast in town a couple of hours ago. How long will it take to get lab results?”

“It depends on the backlog. Samples have to be sent to the state lab, in which case it may be weeks. Do you have a reason for thinking that the vodka was poisoned?”

I sat down to weigh the two scenarios. Food poisoning was not unknown in the cafés and restaurants in Farberville. Then again, Terry was not the golden child of Hollow Valley. I hadn’t met Charles and Felicia, although from all reports thus far, I wasn’t eager to do so. They had disapproved of Winston and Terry’s lifestyle in all aspects, from their homosexuality to their consumption of alcohol. Ethan had made it clear that he thought Terry was conniving and manipulative. Almost everything I’d been told about Winston, Terry, the notorious housewarming party, and Winston’s death had been contradicted by another source. I was trying to formulate a reply to Officer Bingsley when my cell phone rang.

I gaped at it as if it had stung me. “I’d better take this.”

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Deputy Chief Peter Rosen.

“This is what you get for not taking my calls earlier,” I said, “but no, you were so busy with your silly meetings that you ignored my frantic efforts to keep you informed. I’d like to think you’ll do better in the future.”

“What the hell is going on?” Peter repeated, spitting out each word. “Who was taken to the ER? Why are you at what might be a crime scene?”

I grimaced at Officer Bingsley, who must have overheard Peter’s strident voice. “I’m fine, dear. I told you last night that I was coming to the house to talk to Terry about the lease, remember?” I went on to describe the events that had occurred prior to the call. “A very nice police officer named Bingsley is here with me now, discussing the possibility of food poisoning. It may turn out to be that it was something in the vodka…” I abruptly realized how close I’d been to having a nip in my lemonade. Had I done so, two gurneys would have been required. I might be in the ER, having my stomach pumped. It was a procedure not to be confused with recreation.

Peter was still ranting. I handed my phone to Officer Bingsley and walked toward the apple orchard, my arms wrapped around my shoulders, shivering. Food poisoning was more probable than sabotage. Terry hadn’t offered me a pastry from his morning foray, or anything else that might contain
E. coli
or botulism. A surge of nausea overwhelmed. In spite of my efforts to control my stomach, I vomited, barely missing my feet. When the nausea passed, I sat down under a tree and assured myself that panic was the impetus, not something in the lemonade. As loath as I am to admit that I am not always unruffled, I was frightened. The apple trees began to resemble those in
The Wizard of Oz.
I certainly could use a bit of courage that I could not acquire by tapping my ruby slippers together three times. I was wearing sandals.

Eventually, Officer Bingsley found me. “Are you ill, Ms. Malloy? Should I get the paramedics back here?”

I put out my hand and allowed him to help me up. “Delayed shock is all. Did Deputy Chief Rosen say anything of significance?”

“Mostly what he would do to me if I didn’t escort you away from the scene in the next ten seconds,” he said grimly. He gave me back my cell phone. “Do you want me to drive you and the girls home? Officer Threadgill can drive your vehicle.”

“I’m quite capable of driving myself and one of the girls back to town. The other one lives nearby.” I veered around a certain patch of grass as we went back to the terrace. Inez and Jordan were putting on their shoes under the belligerent supervision of Officer Threadgill. “Inez,” I said, “we’re leaving now. Jordan, you’d better go hide under Aunt Margaret Louise’s bed. Ethan’s looking for you.”

I told Officer Bingsley that I would smooth things over with my husband, then beckoned Inez to follow me around the house to my car. Her face lowered, Jordan took off in the direction of the meadow. Officer Threadgill’s rigid posture slumped as his prime suspects escaped from what might have been an interminable interrogation. When Inez and I arrived in the front yard, we were faced by an impromptu gathering of the property owners’ association. Nattie, Ethan, Pandora Butterfly, and two unfamiliar people hovered in a clump, all looking worried.

“Claire,” Nattie said, “what on earth happened? I saw an ambulance leaving when I turned off the highway. Are you all right?”

Ethan stepped forward. “Did Terry come back? Why didn’t you tell me when we were talking about him?”

“You knew Terry was here?” Nattie asked accusingly, staring at me. “Did he say something about Winston? Is that why you’ve been asking me all these questions?”

“Of course not,” I said. I felt as though I should apologize for eating cinnamon rolls under false pretenses. At the same time, I wondered if she’d been quite so truthful with me. Moses had told me that she lied.

“How lovely,” Pandora said dreamily as she began to dance. She was wearing a richly embroidered kimono and stained ballet slippers. “Do you see the mockingbirds on the eave?”

Too many questions, I thought, resisting the urge to climb into my car, lock the doors, and drive off at a speed more suitable to an oval track. “Everything is under control. Terry flew in yesterday and stayed here last night. We were chatting when he became ill. It’s most likely a case of food poisoning. When he recovers, the police will find out where he ate this morning and take it from there.”

“He’s going to recover?” Nattie asked.

“I’m sure he will.” I squeezed Inez’s shoulder to reassure her. I needed someone to squeeze my shoulder in the same manner. “He’s young and healthy. He may be back by this evening.”