High Anxiety (26 page)

“How damaging are the files?” Mona asked.

Thad looked at her. “The one we’re most concerned about would make great tabloid fodder and devastate everyone involved, including a public figure.”

“See what I mean?” I said. “It’s not an even playing field. If it were just me, I could handle it, but there are too many others involved.”

“That means you can add blackmail to her list of bads,” Jimbo said. “Which means more jail time for her when she’s caught.”

“
If
she’s caught,” I added.

 

 

Officer Jenkins called
shortly after Mona, Jimbo, and I arrived at my office. “I just got off the phone with Abigail Davis,” he said. “She said she met with you last night in hopes of calling a truce, but you and another person tried to start trouble. She said she fears for her life.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “You know, this would be laughable if it weren’t so sick,” I said. “Looks like I can add pathological lying to psychosis.”

“Did you actually meet with her?” he asked.

“Yes. I know you’re against it, but she promised to return the files she stole from my office.” I explained the importance of one of the files without giving the senator’s name.

“How do you suppose she knew to contact me?” he asked.

“She was in my house again. Obviously, she went in before I had my locks changed. She took the diary you suggested I keep. I stapled your business card to the first page so I wouldn’t lose it.”

“That makes sense.”

“What about the fingerprints?” I asked.

“I’d planned to call you this morning. The crime lab was only able to get a partial. My guess is she wiped everything clean when she broke into your office.”

“Meaning we aren’t any closer to locating her or proving she is guilty.”

“I’m sorry. All we can do is keep trying.”

 

 

Arnell was my
first patient of the day. He wore a dove gray skirt and jacket with a pale blue blouse, and a scarf that pulled it all together. “I have bad news,” he said. “John Smith is a phony.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were two John Smiths at Magnolia Place for almost a year, which is a coincidence, but not so unusual, since the name is so common.”

“Okay, I’m confused.”

“There was John Smith, the war hero, and our John Smith, who never served in the armed forces.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Well, John is always complaining about the food at Magnolia Place, so, unbeknownst to him, I went to see the director yesterday and asked if I might serve a special dish for the residents once a month. Told the guy I would even cover the costs.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” I said.

Arnell shrugged. “Anyway, we got to talking about John, and that’s how I found out.”

“How did John know so many details about Lenore Brown, not to mention Pearl Harbor and the rest of it?”

“The late John Smith, who I understand was quite an extrovert, shared many of his stories over meals in the dining room. He was real popular. When he died, some of his personal belongings came up missing, but nobody ever suspected our friend. Also, since their names were the same, the mail often got mixed up.”

“So what do we know about
our
John Smith?”

“It’s kind of sad,” Arnell said. “He has no family, and most of his friends passed away long ago. The director said he spent most of the time sitting in his room alone.”

“That
is
sad. My mom and aunt will be disappointed.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Arnell said. “The guy is ninety years old, and his health isn’t as good as he pretends. Dixie and Trixie enjoy him as much as he does them.” Arnell looked thoughtful. “I don’t like lying to people, but I don’t think we should say anything.”

I debated it. “Okay, we’ll keep Mr. Smith’s true identity a secret for now. As long as nobody gets hurt,” I added.

 

 

It was after
six o’clock when I arrived at my mom and my aunt’s apartment, which was over their studio in Little Five Points. I could smell mom’s cooking—chicken-fried steak with all the fixings—as I took the back stairs to the second floor. John Smith, wearing a white dress shirt and bow tie, greeted me heartily.

“You’re late,” my mother said.

“Now, Dixie, you promised to be nice,” my aunt Trixie said. She smiled at me. “You’re just in time.”

“Only because I held off serving dinner,” my mother replied.

“I’m sorry I kept everybody waiting,” I said, knowing an apology was the only way to win my mother’s forgiveness. That, and guilt, I reminded myself. “I just feel awful,” I added.

Arnell winked at me. He’d changed into a silk lounging outfit and ballerina slippers.

My mother sniffed. “Well, go ahead and wash up while Trixie and I put dinner on the table.”

In the bathroom, I washed my hands three times. I returned to the kitchen to find everyone seated. Arnell sat next to Mr. Smith and was admiring his bow tie.

“Arnell, would you please say grace?” my mother asked. “And you might add a little prayer for Kate, since she is in such dire need of help.”

I gave an inward sigh and wondered if I should have stayed home and eaten a frozen dinner.

We bowed our heads while Arnell prayed. Once we raised our heads, my mother began passing the food. She served Mr. Smith, filling his plate so high that I couldn’t help but wonder how such a slightly built man could hold so much food.

“Mr. Smith,” I began.

“Now, now, I told you to call me John,” he reminded me with a kindly smile.

“I was wondering. Do they offer many activities at Magnolia Place?”

He nodded. “We have an activities director. First thing in the morning, we gather in the sunroom and do stretching exercises while she plays the piano. Dixie, these are the best biscuits I’ve ever tasted,” he said.

She glowed.

“What else do they offer?” I asked.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” my mother said. “Are you shopping for a nursing home for me? If you are, you’re wasting your time, because you’re going to cause me to have a fatal heart attack long before I have to go into assisted living.”

“Dixie, for Pete’s sake!” Aunt Trixie said. “What is wrong with you today?”

“I have a lot on my mind,” she said, pursing her lips and looking directly at me.

I decided to ignore her.

Mr. Smith wiped his mouth on a napkin. “We also have arts and crafts,” he went on, as though our conversation hadn’t even been interrupted. “We’re painting birdhouses right now. We play cards and work puzzles, and one of the caretakers reads a chapter or two from a book each night. The residents get to choose the book. Plus, the staff goes all out on holidays, and families are invited to come.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I just wish the food was better and the caretakers prettier.” He smiled and winked.

Arnell tapped his iced tea glass with a spoon. “I have an announcement to make,” he said and looked at John. “I visited Magnolia Place today and offered to prepare a gourmet meal once a month.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Aunt Trixie said.

“Very thoughtful,” my mother agreed, nodding, and I nodded as well.

But John looked troubled. “Did you meet with the director?” he asked.

“Yes, and he was thrilled with my idea.”

John’s smiled looked forced. “That’s just splendid!” he said, although his tone didn’t match his words.

I wondered if he feared being found out. “Arnell is an artist in the kitchen,” I said, then hoped my mother wouldn’t take offense, “but nobody can top my mom’s chicken-fried steak and biscuits.”

“Amen to that,” Arnell said. “I’ve got the extra pounds to prove it.”

She waved off the remark, but I could tell she was pleased. “Well, then,” she began, “since we’re making announcements, Trixie and I have one of our own.” She turned to John. “We cleaned up the old trunk containing the letters you sent Lenore, and we are giving it to you as a gift to celebrate our friendship.”

“Oh, my,” John said, his face coloring. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aunt Trixie said. “Dixie and I will deliver it right to your room at Magnolia Place. Along with the letters you wrote.”

Arnell and I exchanged looks.

“I’m deeply touched,” John said, and I noted a sudden glistening in his eyes. “Every time I look at it I will think of my new friends.”

Once dinner was finished and we all had dessert—key lime pie—I offered to clean the kitchen.

“We’ll do it together,” my mother said. “It will give us time to talk.”

Trixie shot me a look of sympathy as she invited Arnell and John into the living room for coffee so my mother and I could be alone.

“Abigail Davis called again,” my mother said as soon as everyone was out of hearing range. “She asked me to talk to you about your, um, relationship.”

I stepped closer to her. “Mom, I didn’t want to bring you into this, but Abigail has serious emotional problems. She desperately needs help. If she calls you again, hang up; otherwise, you’re going to be inundated with phone calls from her. She is just looking for attention.”

“I wish Jay were here. He would know what to do.”

“It’s up to me to solve my problems, Mom,” I insisted.

She looked surprised. “You sound angry.”

“The only person I’m angry with is Abigail. As for Jay—” I shrugged and swallowed back the lump in my throat that felt the size of a goose egg. “I’m just hurt, I guess. I always try to be there for him when he needs me, but he’s never around when I need him. He didn’t have to go to Tallahassee; there were plenty of volunteers. I will always play second fiddle to his career.”

“Firefighting is in his blood,” she said. “Just like it was in your father’s. He was off duty the night he died, but that didn’t stop him from going to that fire once he saw how bad it was. I was as angry as you were when he didn’t make it out of that building.”

I looked at her. “I don’t remember being angry. Just sad,” I said.

“Oh, honey, you were mad enough to eat barbed wire. You didn’t even want to attend his funeral. I’m surprised you don’t remember. Why do you think I put you in counseling?”

“I guess I forgot.”

“I don’t think you’ve completely gotten over it,” she said. “Maybe that’s why you take it out on Jay. There’s a term for that, I’m sure.”

“It’s called displaced anger. Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“You’re the psychologist,” she said. “I figured you knew.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t remember a lot of what occurred after my father’s death except thinking my world had come to an end. My eyes burned. Had I unknowingly been punishing Jay because my father, who’d been my best friend, had died? It suddenly occurred to me that my hand washing had begun after Jay was injured. Even worse, he’d seemed to enjoy spending time with his buddies more than he did me. Had he sensed my hostility?

“I know you think I butt into your business more than I should,” my mother confessed. “I promise to try to do better if you’ll promise not to blow up your office again.”

She was never going to let me forget that little incident. “Okay, Mom,” I said. “It’s a deal.”

 

 

I arrived at
Mona’s with a change of clothes and my faithful dog and rang the doorbell. Mona answered. She was not dressed in her mourning clothes, so the first thing I noticed was that her rash had worsened. The second thing I noticed was an expression of stark fear.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She grabbed my wrist and yanked me inside. “Tiara is in labor,” she cried. “She’s in my bathtub as we speak.”

“But I thought she wasn’t due—”

“The idiot went through Mama’s medical bag this morning and found a bottle of castor oil! She drank every drop. She went into labor an hour ago, and everything is happening so fast. Mama is furious with her.”

I heard Willie-Mae call out from the second floor, “Mona, come quick. I need a spare hand!”

“I can’t do it!” Mona whispered to me. “This is why I left home in the first place. You have to go up there and help.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about birthing babies!”

A loud yowl from the second floor made me jump.

“Monaaa!” Willie-Mae shouted. “We need you!”

Mona pressed her hands against her ears. “I can’t stand it!”

“Dammit!” I said, dropping my purse and outfit on the sofa. I raced upstairs. “I don’t know why this sort of stuff always happens to me,” I muttered to myself.

“I’m dyyyiiing,” Tiara cried.

I ran toward the bathroom and skidded to a stop just inside. Tiara was in the oversized tub, water barely covering her massive stomach, naked as the day she was born. Willie-Mae sat on the edge of the tub behind her, legs fully immersed, prodding Tiara on. “Quick short breaths, Tiara,” she said.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked, dreading what the answer might be.

“The baby is coming,” Willie-Mae said. “I’m going to need you to catch it when it comes out.”

My world stopped turning. “Did you say—?”

“Roll up your sleeves and get ready.”

I began rolling up my sleeves. “But what if I miss it?” I cried. “I’ve never been a really good catcher.”

“Yeeoww!” Tiara wailed.

Willie-Mae looked at me. “Front and center, Kate.”

I knelt at the tub.

“Okay, listen to me, Tiara,” Willie-Mae said. “On the next contraction, I want you to push.”

“I’m too tired,” she said tearfully.

“You can do it, hon,” Willie-Mae said. “It’s almost over. Get ready, Kate.”

I nodded, but I wished I had stayed home.

Tiara tensed, her eyes shot open, and her mouth formed a big O. She let out a squeal.