by CeeCee James
I picked up a fork. To be honest, I was trying to stall, desperate to do anything I could so that I could catch my breath. This woman was mentally sharper than me, and there was no knowing what she’d say next. Her words felt like a deluge of water pouring over me. I set down the utensil and fanned my face.
“You okay?” she asked.
At that moment, a man and a woman peered in through the dining room doorway.
“Knock! Knock!” said a heavy-set dark-haired man with a grin. He waggled a bottle of wine. “I heard someone was having a party!”
“Gordon Taylor!” shouted Ian from the head of the table. He stood, and they shook hands.
“Please! Have a drink,” shouted Gordon. He popped the cork to the squeals of some of the women. Ian looked at his glass confused. It still had an inch of wine in it. He quickly drained the glass and then held it out.
Gordon filled it up.
Jasmine covered her glass with her hand. “Sorry, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh come on. This is the good stuff!” Gordon said. He turned the bottle so the label could be read. I had no idea what it was, but several of the guests let out impressed sighs.
Ian sipped it and wrinkled his nose. Finally, he nodded. “It’s good. Very good. Please! Have a seat.”
The caterer brought over a few more chairs. We all scooted down, chairs rumbling against the floor, until there was a sliver of space available for the new guests.
I turned toward them, welcoming the distraction. Welcoming it so hard that I would have taken anything at that point to stop the conversation between Celeste and me.
Little did I know what was coming next.
2
After the neighbors had finally settled into their seat, things got back to normal around the table. Celeste turned toward me, her chest rising as she drew in a breath. By the pursing of her lips and the raised eyebrows, I imagined she wanted to pop off another round of questions. Rapidly, I spun toward my other neighbor.
“Are you enjoying the food?” I asked the man, my voice high and filled with desperation.
The man appeared to be in his fifties, with wrinkles just starting to whisk out from around his eyes and mouth. His pasty-white skin color accentuated the enormous pores dotting his nose and cheeks.
Just as I asked the question, he made a face like he’d crunched on a bit of bone.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I watched with concern. His facial expression wasn’t improving.
He shook his head, nose wrinkling. “Potato salad tastes off.”
I watched him wipe his fork clean with his napkin and then glance at my own plate where a plop of the salad sat on a lettuce leaf.
“Don’t eat that,” he advised, shaking his head.
“Really?” I asked, dipping a tine of my fork into the mayonnaise mixture. I brought it to my nose and gave a quick sniff, but it smelled normal to me.
He took a gulp of water. “Definitely off. In fact, we should tell the caterers to clear it away before anyone else eats it.”
There was a cough from the front of the table. Ian waved his napkin in front of his face. He smiled weakly at whatever Gordon, the neighbor, was saying, and gestured with his hand that he’d be right back. He took a big drink of wine, grimaced again, and stood with a scrape of the chair legs against the wood floor. Ian’s face glistened with sweat. He had that green around the gills look, and I thought he might vomit, to be honest.
Celeste tapped my elbow. “He doesn’t look like he feels very well.” She poked at her barbecue chicken. “I hope it’s not something in the food.”
I glanced at the potato salad. Besides my neighbor, everyone else had eaten it and seemed to be okay. “Maybe it’s a virus,” I said.
She nodded. “The stomach flu does seem to be going around.” Still, she laid the heavy silver fork on the plate with a soft clink. “Now, about your mother.”
I stared at Uncle Chris, hoping for a lifeline.
He must have felt my eyes on him. “How you doing down there, ladies?” he asked.
Celeste answered, “I was just telling Stella that I think Ruth, Ian’s mom, is here wishing him well tonight. Don’t you think so, Jasmine? That she’s here, lurking around the corners, keeping an eye on things?”
Everyone around the table quieted at the strange statement. I wondered what kind of crazy thing she was going to say next.
Jasmine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I… I don’t quite know about that.”
“Oh, they come and check in, especially on momentous occasions. Life. Going away parties. Death.” Celeste tittered. “You know that cold feeling rising along the back of your neck when you are convinced someone is watching you? And you spin around, hoping to catch them, but no one is there?” She winked. “That’s the spirits checking on you from the other side.”
Now, I considered if Celeste might be drunk.
Jasmine didn’t seem to know how to answer that. “That very well could be.” She twisted a napkin and tossed it on her plate. “If you will excuse me.” She got up and moved stiffly through the doorway in the direction that Ian went.
I turned back to my potato salad. This party exemplified everything I hated about crowds, stuck as I was between two doozy conversationalists. Concentrating on my plate felt like the safest option by far.
My peace didn’t last for long.
“You know,” said Celeste, brushing my elbow again. “I’m sensing a spiritual presence for sure.”
“I told you the salad was no good,” grumbled the man on my right. “Poor guy is probably puking his guts out.”
“They can make themselves visible if they want,” continued Celeste.
“Just hope it doesn’t happen to me,” growled the man.
At that moment, Jasmine re-entered the room with a smile.
“Is he okay?” asked the neighbor’s wife.
“He’s just freshening up,” she said to the entire table.
“Well, that’s good news,” said Celeste, while my neighbor frowned discontentedly, apparently preferring the visual of Ian being sick.
The servers cleared the plates and then dessert was offered, chocolate mousse and French silk pie. I was stuffed and passed. Besides, I couldn’t tell if it was the idea put into my head by both my neighbor and Celeste, but I was feeling a little queasy.
“Poor Jasmine, being forced to move,” Celeste said again. I was scared to give her my attention, unsure of what topic she would start in on next.
“I heard it was a great move for them,” I finally answered.
“She loves this house. She’d never dreamed of leaving it. No, he’s forcing her.” She went back to spooning up her dessert. She tasted the dot of chocolate at the end of the spoon before putting down the utensil. I realized I’d scarcely seen her eat a thing.
I hardly knew how to answer that, and decided to nod and focus on my wine. Across from me, Kari seemed to be feeling great. She laughed at whatever the neighbor’s wife said to her and finished her wine.
But when the servers came later to removed the dessert plates, I think we all eyed Ian’s empty seat. It was a weird feeling, not knowing exactly what to do with the guest of honor absent. Do we get up and mingle? Sit and wait?
Jasmine glanced nervously back in the hall’s direction, clearly surprised Ian wasn’t back. Finally, Uncle Chris balled up his napkin and stood up. “I’ll just go check on him.”
Jasmine seemed reassured and dipped her head in a graceful nod. An uneasy feeling curled inside of me, the kind that brought to mind old TV shows that my dad used to love where they threw salt over their shoulder while muttering about dark signs. So it was with sinking dread, but no surprise, when Uncle Chris returned, gray-faced. “Call the police,” he demanded.
“The police?” gasped the neighbor, Gordon.
“Is it Ian? Is he not well? Should I call an ambulance?” Jasmine jumped up and gripped the table. The blood drained from her face, allowing her lips to stand out like rasp
berries on ice-cream.
Uncle Chris faced her. He exhaled deeply and the lines around his mouth deepened. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. An ambulance won’t help him now. He’s dead.”
Gasps and screams of shock rose around the table. I stared in disbelief toward Jasmine.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted, nearly hitting her head on the table. Somehow Uncle Chris managed to catch her before that happened and eased her to the floor.
The police arrived a short time later. They quarantined us into separate groups where we were all questioned. It surprised me when Officer Carlson arrived. We’d run into each other a few times now, over the course of the time since I’d moved to Brookfield. I don’t think I was one of his favorite people. In fact, he’d made fun of me and called me Hollywood because I was from the west coast. I’d sarcastically mentioned that Washington was not California, but he didn’t seem to care.
His eyes widened when he saw me, and then he turned to mutter at his partner. Of course, it was loud enough for me to hear. “I’m too close to her to interview her.” The two of them laughed.
I didn’t like what his buddy thought Carlson inferred, and Carlson didn’t seem to correct it. I crossed my arms, my face settling into the same scowl I’d used when staring down mocking competitors at a track meet in high school.
Officer Carlson walked away, and his partner beckoned me over to him. I stalked over with more attitude than one should have when the guest of honor has died at a party.
“I’m Officer Daniels, and I have just a few questions. So, please set the scene for me, where were you during the dinner?” he asked, staring me straight in the eye. Officer Carlson was tall and bald, but his partner was a short guy. Officer Daniels didn’t have much more hair than Carlson though. However, Officer Carlson’s bald head was by choice rather than nature—and Daniels seemed to desperately be hanging on to his fringe from the looks of the hair wax.
“I was at the table,” I succinctly answered. I’d learned in my past dealings with the police to limit the details I offered.
He took out a pad and used his teeth to pull off the cap. “Did you see Ian leave?”
“Yes. He seemed sick.”
“So he left the table to…?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure why he left. Maybe to go to the bathroom?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Chris talking with another officer. His pale face showed how he was still in shock, and I felt sorry for him.
“What did you think when Ian didn’t return to the table?” the officer asked.
“I thought nothing of it, because his wife got up and checked on him. She said he was fine, just freshening up.”
“So, what made you think he might have gotten sick?”
I started to mention the potato salad, but that would put the focus on Kari. I shrugged instead. “Everyone has weird food allergies nowadays. You never know what will affect a person.”
“Did anyone else notice he was gone?”
“I think we all did. I heard that lady over there ask Ian’s wife if he was okay. Maybe that’s what made me wonder if he had become sick.”
“And what did his wife say?”
“Jasmine said she was sure he’d be right back.”
“Did Jasmine act suspiciously in any way?”
That jerked me upright. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, was her behavior in any way suspicious? Did it seem like she was trying to delay people looking for him, etcetera?”
My eyebrows raised, shocked he was asking me, but I shook my head. “No. I think she checked on him after being concerned, but she herself was reassured after she’d talked with him.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking these questions? What exactly happened to him?”
Officer Daniels ignored me. “Was there anyone else that caught your attention by acting strangely?”
Again, I shook my head, breathing deep to remain calm. It occurred to me that every person here was being asked the same questions. What if someone thought I’d done something suspicious?
He snapped the notebook shut. “We might like you to come down to the station at some point, so stick around town.”
“Why would you need me to come down?” I asked.
“To get your fingerprints. We don’t know the cause of death yet.”
I clenched my hands when he said this. He noticed and lifted an eyebrow as he flipped open the pad to scribble some more. Great. Now, what did he write? And why was I suddenly feeling guilty? Heat crawled up under my collar and filled my face. I could just imagine that my cheeks were glowing like stop signs.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss O’Neil. That will be all for now.” He glanced around the place. “Is anyone staying behind to clean up? It looks like Mrs. Stuber will need some help.”
Punctuating that statement was a sob that Jasmine let out as the neighbor’s wife hugged her. “Yes, I will.” I rubbed the back of my neck, still amazed to be caught up in all of this.
Officer Daniels walked over to Celeste while I headed toward Uncle Chris. A balloon bobbed in my way, and I batted it down. Uncle Chris was talking with one of the guys that both he and Ian had graduated with.
“How you holding up?” he asked and pulled me in with a heavy arm over my shoulders.
I patted his back. “I was coming over here to ask you the same thing. How are you?”
His lips pressed together, and I saw he couldn’t speak. He shook his head and then stared out the window, his eyes bloodshot.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, hugging him tighter.
“Yeah, Ian was a good guy,” said the other man standing there. “By the way, I’m Mike.”
I nodded in his direction while Uncle Chris croaked out, “Ian was one of the best. I don’t know how Jasmine will manage without him.”
“How long have they been married?” I asked.
“Oh, just over a year.”
“But they’ve dated for a while,” Mike interjected.
“Yeah, they’ve been on and off for a few years,” Uncle Chris amended.
“I see. Do they have kids?” I asked.
“No.”
“He never wanted any.”
“Well, people change,” I said.
“Not him. He’s said that for as long as I’ve known him.” Uncle Chris pulled out a cigar. He stared at it longingly and rolled it in his hands.
“No kids that we know of,” Mike said, with a soft chuckle. “You know how Ian was. I’m sure there’s a few out there.”
“He was a playboy, huh?” That shouldn’t surprise me. Uncle Chris was an overgrown frat boy, himself.
“Let’s just say he was well-known for his dalliances,” Mike answered.
“Quite the horn dog,” interjected Uncle Chris.
“But he settled down once he met Jasmine, huh?” I clarified, feeling slightly concerned. Can leopards change their spots?
“Well, I think that was part of the problem, why they broke up so many times. But I’m sure he’s been on the straight and narrow ever since they’ve been married.” Mike nodded.
“How she managed to lock him down, I’ll never know,” Uncle Chris said. “Of course, marriage is not for me."
“How about love?” I asked.
“They definitely did love each other. Traveled the world together so far.”
“Really!”
“Yeah. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Uncle Chris sighed. He glanced around at the house. “Everything’s a mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the will is going to have to be sorted out, there are new buyers who signed a contract that we’ll have to deal with. I don’t know where Jasmine is going to go.”
“Can any of the contracts be voided in light of what happened?”
“We’ll see,” Uncle Chris said. “I know she never wanted to move in the first place.”
People began leaving as the pol
ice were done interviewing them. It hit me hard that I would soon be alone with the grieving new widow.
3
And, just like that, everyone had filtered out. Not in a rush, so you would notice an empty room. More like a trickle, like a slow helium balloon leak, that became obvious once the balloon settled to the floor. All of the family friends, the police, and emergency personnel. Even the caterers abandoned us, taking their silver tureens away. In fact, I think they were the first to go.
Uncle Chris sat with Jasmine in the other room, accompanied by Celeste. I could hear Jasmine on the phone. Her tears were chilling.
Kari and I stared at each other over the table still littered with wine glasses and China. Without another word, we both began to clean up. It was incredibly somber and surreal to clear the remnants of a celebration that had so abruptly turned into tragedy.
“What are you thinking?” Kari whispered.
I understood why she whispered. Even though Jasmine was down the hall in the other room, it felt almost sacrilegious to speak out-loud. “I’m thinking we’re all in shock.” I gathered up the cloth napkins.
“Do you think it was a heart attack?” she asked. “Apoplexy?”
“Apoplexy? That’s a real thing? I thought that was just something the doctor shouted in the 16th century before he brought out the leeches.”
“It’s a real thing,” she whispered. Another wail rose from the living room, making me shiver.
“I have no idea,” I answered, grabbing the silverware. She stacked the plates, and we headed into the kitchen.
The kitchen provided enough of a buffer that we could no longer hear Jasmine’s grief. A sweet scent filled the air, not of barbecue, but of something else. Something I couldn’t identify.
“It’s the diffuser,” Kari said, noting how I was sniffing the air. She pointed to an unassuming little vase that was spraying a fine mist in the air. “I have that oil. Cozy Home.”
The counter was littered with aluminum trays of meat, potatoes, salads, and vegetables. It seemed the caterers decided to cut their losses and split as soon as the cops showed up. I couldn’t blame them.
