Broken Heart Attack

by James J Cudney

  “It was built into the cost of the loan. I think we'll be okay, but we can't let any delays get in the way.” Eleanor's face relaxed as she spoke showing how much stronger she'd become in the last few years. There was a fair balance between confidence and humility that shined through.

  I was proud of my sister. She'd been through countless discussions with my mother about why she hadn't settled down and gotten married. Eleanor explained she'd been trying but things weren't looking promising in that area of her life. Until she met the right man, the diner would be her partner. I felt obliged to ask about Connor.

  “Yes, Connor called earlier today. We're planning to talk soon about what's going on between us. He's still interested, but he doesn't want to rush anything.”

  “I assume that's code for scared to be in the middle of you and Maggie?”

  “Wouldn't you be?” Eleanor said using her 'I'm being serious' tone and mean face.

  “Only because you can be vicious when you go after something you desperately desire!” I teased.

  “I'm a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. I'm thirty-years-old and might not be married with kids, but I own a business and a small home. I'm on the board of the town community center, and I volunteer on several different committees in Wharton County. Life's good, but there can always be more. Why not throw myself at something when I want it?” There was a twinkle in her eye when she told me how she felt about herself these days.

  I was excited for her becoming a big business woman around town. “You're pretty awesome, Eleanor. I don't tell you that enough.”

  “You're the best big brother around. Speaking of brothers, have you heard from Hampton at all?” Hampton, the second eldest of the five Ayrwick siblings, was a lawyer married to a snobby, rich oil heiress.

  I said, “Nope. I figured he'd call Dad first, then we'd know whatever surprise he had in store. How about Gabriel or Penelope?” Penelope is our oldest sibling at thirty-six, married to Jack with twin boys about to enter their teenage years and a trouble-making step-daughter from Jack's first marriage—all of which I unabashedly hoped would wreak havoc with my sister's many OCDs.

  “Penelope and I talked this morning. She made partner at that fancy New York City real estate firm. Gabriel is still a mystery,” Eleanor said with a pang of sadness in her voice.

  Nearly eight years ago, my youngest brother, Gabriel, announced he was transferring to Penn State to finish his degree having only been at Braxton for two years. That's when our father decided to accept the presidency Braxton had been offering to him for years—especially once they upped the ante until it was so sweet, even I might have passed on dessert for a taste of it. After Gabriel changed his mind on the transfer, he expected our father to withdraw from the job. Of course, he couldn't. Gabriel in his usual elegant manner left Braxton and decided never to come home again claiming our father had stabbed him in the back. He was too proud to attend the same school where our father was the head honcho. I can't say they ever got along, but I still don't know exactly what's kept him away for so long.

  “I was thinking about hiring a detective to track down Gabriel. Maybe we could convince him to give Dad another chance,” I said.

  “Hire a detective? I thought that was your new job from what Nana D tells me about the search for Gwendolyn's killer. Aren't you running for sheriff so you can be Nana D's sidekick when she wins the mayoral race?” Eleanor giggled like a school girl before standing up to plate some dessert for us.

  I might have made an inappropriate gesture at her. “No, I'm not running for sheriff. That's not until next year, but you do have a point. I've picked up some more skills since returning home. I could track Gabriel down.” Hmm… could I also run for sheriff? No, I wasn't qualified. Yet.

  “What's going on with the Paddington case?” Eleanor asked as if I'd actually refer to them as cases. “I saw Jennifer today at the doctor's office. She's Gwendolyn's daughter, right?”

  I nodded. “One of them, at least. Did you speak to her?”

  “No, I've never met her before, but I recognized her from a few charity organizations we both worked on in the past. She was arguing with the receptionist.” Eleanor scooped banana pudding between her lips practically drooling over the taste.

  “That good?” I said with a cheer before shoveling down my own spoonful. “What was the disagreement about?”

  “Money. She complained that some procedure was too expensive and she'd lost her insurance when her last job ended. I'm not sure what it was about, but she seemed steamed no one had explained the costs to her before she saw the doctor.”

  At the risk of learning too much, I asked the question anyway. “What kind of doctor?” Fearing it was the gynecologist, I closed my eyes and covered my ears.

  “You're such a baby! Yes, it was related to her lady parts. Honestly, Kellan. You're thirty-two-years-old and you have a daughter. You're gonna have to get used to talking about it someday.” Eleanor dropped her spoon into the bowl and pushed it toward the end of the table. “Have you made any decisions about Francesca?”

  Phew, I was glad she brought it up. I struggled to acknowledge out loud what was going on in my life. “Thank you for asking. I'm still in shock. Cecilia's playing games trying to manipulate Emma. And I found a letter Francesca left for me the day she came by.”

  “What did it say?” Eleanor reached out and patted my hand.

  “She reminded me of wonderful times in our past. Just some personal things that made me realize I'll never stop loving her.” My normally protected barriers began to weaken. I rarely cried, but in the last few days, I'd felt like the waterworks were always near the surface. “How can this be happening?”

  Eleanor dragged me to the kitchen to wash our dishes thinking manual labor would be a good solution for improving my humdrum mood. We settled on not making any decisions until Cecilia's two-week deadline arrived, and even then, I would take control of the situation. Eleanor reminded me that I held the cards—not them.

  When Emma arrived, we turned on some music and had a lively dance party. We also helped Eleanor finish setting up the rest of the diner in preparation for the inspection the following day. Maggie stopped by to check on progress but made it clear she fully trusted Eleanor to make all the decisions. As the silent partner in their new business venture, Maggie let Eleanor take the lead until her job at the library settled down. After introducing Emma to Maggie, Eleanor took my daughter into the kitchen to view the new equipment. I knew she was trying to give Maggie and I a few moments alone.

  “She's gorgeous, Kellan. And so smart and kind. You must be an amazing father,” Maggie said while hugging me. “She's a lucky girl.”

  As Maggie started to pull away, our favorite song came on the radio. An instrumental version of 'I'll Stand By You' by The Pretenders accompanied us as we stood in an embrace beginning to sway back and forth like we had years ago. The street light poured in through the crackled window and illuminated her tender face. For just a minute, I saw a different future than the one I'd thought would always be present with Francesca. Lost in thought, I hadn't immediately realized my phone was ringing.

  “I guess you need to answer that,” Maggie said with disappointment.

  I'd have let it go to voicemail for just about anyone, but I had to respond to Nana D's ring. I pulled the phone from my pocket as Maggie told me she needed to get going. When I watched her leave, my heart raced even faster. I forced myself to answer Nana D's call. “Hi. Everything okay?”

  “No, Kellan, it's most definitely not. Finnigan told us what the cops found. We were right.”

  “What do you mean?” I'd been too distracted to think clearly.

  “There wasn't anything in the iced tea. It's a good thing we saved that glass. It means the cocaine was introduced in the pills Brad gave to Gwennie. There was enough in there to kill a horse.”

  “That's awful. What else did you learn?” My head began to throb from overload of things taking up all my a
ttention.

  “Gwennie called last week to re-draft her will again with Finnigan.”

  “Did he say what changes were made?”

  “No, that's the issue. Finnigan wrote up the revisions, but she asked him to leave the names blank. She planned to fill them in and send it back to him. That was the night before she died.”

  “Where's the will now?” I contemplated whether that approach was even legal, but Finnigan wouldn't have allowed it to happen if he had concerns. I'd need to validate that at some point. Maybe my brother, Hampton, would know the specifics of this type of law. Did I dare call him?

  “Finnigan doesn't know. She might have put it in the mail, or it might not have been finalized. We're as confused as a fart in a fan factory on a humid day.”

  What did she say? I couldn't even permit myself to ask without conjuring up the most awful images and horrendous smells. I hung up with Nana D realizing the possible existence of two wills made the investigation a lot more complicated. What did it all mean? And was the sheriff looking at Brad as the guilty party for giving her the pills laced with cocaine?

  * * *

  “I must've dropped it in your office, Dad. I was going through some paperwork to change my mailing address and found it,” I fibbed at breakfast the following morning when my father grilled me about Francesca's letter. I'd gotten home too late the night before to explain anything and had come up with the excuse overnight.

  “What were you doing in my study? And under the desk no less…” my father said curtly while sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and eating a bowl of granola. He'd already dressed in his power suit for a big meeting on campus with the Board of Trustees to review the budget for Braxton's conversion into a university. “It's not that I don't want you in there, but it was odd.”

  I stared at him as he methodically collected several grains and a raspberry on the same spoonful before swallowing it. He'd always advised it was important to achieve the right balance in weight and taste with each bite. “I'm not sure, I probably bent down to pick up some loose change that fell from my pants and knocked the letter under the file cabinet portion. I had the letter in my pocket when I was thinking about my upcoming anniversary with Francesca. It's several years old.” My brow began to sweat despite not having completed my morning run.

  We chatted idly about the weather and Emma's new school. I could tell he was suspicious but had no way of knowing how the letter had wound up on the floor. Unless he had installed a security camera in his study in the past. A drop of sweat from my forehead splashed into my coffee. My father looked over and scratched his head. “Are you feeling okay, son?”

  I nodded and mumbled something about it being too warm in the room. He offered to drop Emma off at school for me which was a big help since I needed to run a few errands, get in a workout, and meet Eustacia's family at noon for the family meeting Millard had organized for me to attend.

  Once I kissed Emma goodbye and my father's car pulled down the driveway, I dashed into his study and combed every corner or crevice I could find. I waved in every direction to see if I heard a camera making any noise or moving to capture my picture. I made it appear like I was looking for a stamp. When I found one a few minutes later, I said out loud in case he was listening too, “Exactly what I needed to mail my change of address forms. I can always count on Dad to save the day.” I even made a big show of holding out the stamp and admiring the latest design. Arthur or Myriam might cast me in their next production.

  I found no cameras, but I wasn't as versed in the world of security as I needed to be. For all I knew he could've hidden something in a pen or a clock. Maybe even one of Emma's old teddy bears which sat on the shelf staring at me in judgment. I imagined it chastising me for lying to my family. For some reason, the bear sounded like Winnie The Pooh.

  Chapter 9

  Once all my tasks were completed, I pulled up in front of the Paddington estate at five minutes to noon. What does one wear when you plan to secretly grill the loving family of a woman who'd been murdered, but you aren't a detective? I'd settled on traditional clothing by choosing a pair of tan corduroys, a classic single-breasted blue blazer, and open-collared white dress shirt. If it weren't the Paddingtons I might have chosen something more comfortable like jeans and a t-shirt, but I wasn't completely clueless as to the need to impress a potential killer. Or should I have looked sloppy so the perp ignored me? This new secret job of mine was more cumbersome and baffling than necessary.

  Bertha led me to a new room I hadn't been in before. We turned left at the Great Hall and walked past a grand library and a game room, both decorated in mauve and gold wall-paper. She dropped me off in what I assumed to be Gwendolyn's office given it had a conference table and large, lavish desk in the corner. “The others will be in shorty,” she said pulling the door closed behind her.

  The room felt stuffy. Everything had been dusted recently as not a speck could be found. No personal items of any sort offered warmth or comfort. The lighting was minimal, and there was only one small window covered in thick, heavy drapery. I organized my thoughts as the grandfather clock's minute hand ticked by leaving me more unsettled with my approach. I reviewed the notes on my phone to ensure I had all the questions listed. I'd been intently reading when the door opened and spooked me back to reality.

  Jennifer Paddington was the first to enter the room. Her slightly stooped posture and slow entrance felt awkward and unusual. Her normal elegance and confidence had been replaced by something darker. After a confused expression where she nervously scratched at the table's solid wood, Jennifer said, “Kellan, I didn't expect to see you in here. Uncle Millard told us we needed to discuss my mother's funeral plans. I'm sorry I'm late, did I miss that conversation?”

  Hoping not to be caught off-guard as well, I shrugged my shoulders and asked her to take a seat at the table. I also thought I'd be interviewing the entire family in one meeting, but it seemed Millard had other plans. “I'm sure they'll be along soon enough. Millard and Eustacia asked me to swing by so I could find out if anyone had input on the Paddington family's role in overseeing the Play House at Braxton,” I managed to squeak out as a cover. If she thought I was there to solicit ideas as I temporarily stepped into the role of patron, it might relax her.

  “Oh, I forgot about that. Mother was so active with the theater. Sometimes she spent more time with that crowd than her own family,” Jennifer remarked with slightly pursed lips followed by a fake smile. I knew it was fake because she couldn't hold a gaze with me for more than a second at a time without blushing or coughing.

  I considered her response, uncertain if she was being flippant or had seriously felt that way about her relationship with her mother. “She had a passion to support the arts. Were you close?”

  “Mother wasn't someone you could easily be close to, Kellan. She loved us, sure, but we were often left to ourselves while she and Father kept busy running Paddington Enterprises, traveling to New York City for shows, and entertaining the more important people.” Jennifer glanced around the room as if she were recalling previous times where her needs had been overshadowed by those of her parents. “I've never liked this room. It's cold. Empty. Don't you think?”

  I sighed. “It's not an inviting space for cozy family time. I'm sorry things weren't so wonderful at home. I admired your mother's forthright approach, but I can see how it might be difficult being one of her children.” I hoped there'd been a different, more private side to Gwendolyn, but it appeared that wasn't the case.

  “There's nothing I can add of value to the Play House. It's not something I've ever been interested in. My nephew, Sam, and niece, Dana, were much more involved with Mother in that area. If that's all, I'm going to track down Uncle Millard. I don't have a lot of time today to…”

  The door opened and in skulked Ophelia. “What's the purpose of calling us all together today? I'm handling Mother's funeral plans. There's nothing anyone else needs…” A knitted brow and an unflattering frown re
vealed her disgust before the words had even left her lips. She stopped short and adjusted the collar on her lavender silk blouse when she saw me sitting at the table. “Who are you?”

  Jennifer moaned at the interruption. I attempted to re-introduce myself, but Ophelia turned away from me and focused on her sister. “Did you hear anything about Mother's will? I've called Finnigan Masters, but he hasn't returned my voicemail. It's quite irresponsible of him.”

  Eustacia walked in the room leaning on her cane for support until she reached the table. “Sit down, the both of you. Finnigan has no responsibility to discuss the will with either one of you. I have Gwendolyn's power-of-attorney. We're pulling everything together this week so that we can determine when to have the formal will reading.”

  Jennifer took a seat at the table. Ophelia waved her hand at her aunt in a dismissive manner. “I don't understand why she left you in charge. You're not even her sister.”

  Jennifer said, “Behave, Ophelia. You know they've been close ever since Father died.”

  “My name is Kellan Ayrwick, Mrs. Taft,” I said looking toward Ophelia. “We met the other day during the King Lear performance. I am a friend of your family…”

  “Oh, yes, the guy Mother fell onto during the second half of the show. What are you doing here?” Her voice held enough contempt to rival any narcissist I'd met in the past, perhaps even Myriam.

  “Kellan's here to discuss the Play House, but also to help me figure out which one of you drove poor Gwennie to her death.” Eustacia sat taller in the chair unaffected by her accusation against someone in the family. She chose to go directly for the kill instead of gradually introducing the conversation.

  “One of us? Are you mad, Aunt Eustacia? Mother died of a heart attack,” replied Ophelia with a shriek in her voice. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Didn't you know the cops were here searching the house yesterday?” Jennifer said shaking her head at her sister. “Maybe you shouldn't have gone off for a spa day in the middle of everything blowing up around us.”