Broken Heart Attack

by James J Cudney

  “Your hangover cure. I couldn't leave you feeling this bad all day long. I need your support at the debate.” Nana D smiled at me like a gentle and innocent grandmother who wanted only the best for me.

  “You're a wicked woman. I get it. Don't mess with Nana D. It won't happen again,” I said before swallowing a large gulp of her concoction.

  “Excellent. Then we're off to a good start today. Also, Timothy still hasn't turned up. Eustacia called an hour ago to tell me no one's heard from him in nearly four days.”

  “I'll see what I can find out after the debate,” I said accepting the glass of water from Emma. I alternated between the water and Nana D's hangover cure until both drinks were gone. Within ten minutes, I felt like a new person. “You're a miracle worker.”

  When I came downstairs dressed and ready to go thirty minutes later, I asked Nana D, “Has anyone found out what's going on with either of the two wills?”

  Nana D shook her head. “Eustacia was going to ask Bertha to go through the entire house to see if she could find anything. I unfortunately learned nothing from talking to her.”

  After dropping Emma off at school, we drove to the debate. As soon as we got back on the main road, my phone rang. Once we saw who it was, Nana D put it on speaker so we could both listen. Arthur called to offer the use of his stage contractor and an electrician who could stop by the Pick-Me-Up Diner on their break to give Eleanor a quote for the repairs. When I told him the name of Eleanor's contractor, he laughed wildly. “That man's a crook. I looked him up on an a few websites when he applied at the Play House for a job. Steals from everyone, then doesn't finish the work. Eleanor should count herself lucky he accomplished what he did before vanishing!” Arthur suggested we should meet for coffee on Friday to catch up. We firmed up plans, then hung up.

  As we entered the Wharton County Civic Center's parking lot, Nana D said, “I'm gonna crack down on these slipshod contractors and get them out of my county. By the way, might Arthur be a good catch for Eleanor? She could stand to get herself a date sometime soon. Between you and her, it's like an entire generation has given up on love.”

  I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time at my grandmother. When I realized having her focus on setting up Eleanor would be a blessing in disguise, I gave in. “That's a possibility. Maybe you should try to help her out with a new romance?”

  “Sounds like a deal. But don't think that gets you off the hook. You're still my primary focus right now. I've found a charming girl who works at the prison. Real chipper. Built like an ox, too. A security guard, I believe,” Nana D casually mentioned as she popped open the car door and raced into the building before I had a chance to reply. Was she serious?

  While Nana D and Marcus prepared with the moderator, Lara Bouvier, on stage for the upcoming debate, I made a list of things to inquire about once we were done. I needed to find out from the sheriff what she'd learned, not that she'd share easily. The debate kicked off with Lara introducing herself to the room. The local news station, WCLN, had planned to cover all three of the debates which meant the entire county could watch even though the attendance for today's first one was kept to a few hundred citizens ranging from members of the civic center to local merchant groups. Lara, a mid-forties divorcee, was the political correspondent at Wharton County's local news station who covered both national and regional politics in the area. She'd once been married to one of Judge Grey's sons, but it hadn't lasted long. Rumor had it—via the Septuagenarian Club—Lara was now getting hot and heavy with Marcus Stanton's younger brother, Niles, owner of Wharton County's prime real estate agency.

  Marcus got the first question and dazzled the room by indicating his record for singlehandedly reducing the percentage of crime each and every year for the last seven years. When Nana D had an opportunity to counter, she went for the jugular. “Really? I may not have access to all the same metrics and phony details you've got, Stanton, but three weeks ago there were two murders in Braxton. Where were you when they were happening?” Nana D was skirting a dangerous line given they both had reason to keep the details of those incidences from being available to the public—Nana D and Marcus Stanton had interacted with the killer and never realized what was going on behind their backs the entire time.

  After a few retorts, Lara pushed them both to the next question. She asked Nana D, “What are your top three initiatives?” Given we'd prepared for it, Nana D would nail this question.

  “First, we're gonna rid this town of red tape, bully politicians, and false promises. I'm not one to point out the current regime's faults, but clearly these shenanigans need to stop. Wharton County needs a mayor committed to staying true to this land's history. We've got to focus on re-building our downtown area and that includes the Finnulia River waterfront and shores at Crilly Lake.”

  The audience cheered when Nana D told them she intended to ensure the county would bring in three new big business opportunities to create jobs. She then promised to re-create the family atmosphere in Wellington Park when there were cherished afternoons eating delicious frozen treats, playing old-fashioned games with family, and relaxing in the beauty of the outdoors.

  By the end of the debate, Marcus Stanton earned some wins when he pointed out Nana D's lack of experience and her age. It was ironic given he was in his early-sixties and right on the cusp himself of being eligible to move to Willow Trees. He suggested forming a council of the community's elder population to advise him on how to help make Wharton County a better place. He even proposed Nana D step down from the mayoral race to be his right-hand woman running such a council. When the debate ended, Lara wouldn't declare anyone a winner but assured us she saw excellent points from both sides that day. As Marcus stepped off the stage, he snubbed Nana D and went into his private limo. I quickly pointed out his disgraceful attitude to the cameraman who was grateful to capture it on video.

  “I think I did well,” Nana D exclaimed when she found me thirty minutes later.

  “You got in a few curveballs, Nana D. I'm proud of you,” I said embracing her as the cameras snapped some photos of us. It would be good for the campaign if nothing else. Or maybe a silver-framed photo for her upcoming seventy-fifth birthday.

  When I got back to Nana D's place, I noticed I had a voicemail from the executive producer at the network back in LA. After firing my boss a few weeks earlier, they'd told me they were planning to take the show in a different direction but weren't sure how or where I'd fit in. They'd recently finished their initial discussions with some investors and the top brass at the network who decided to put Dark Reality, our television series, on hiatus for one year. During that time, I was free to work for another television show, but in one year, when they were ready to start production on their next season, they'd be in contact with me to discuss potential roles. In one way, it was good. It meant I could try to convince them to take the show in a direction where I could focus on true crime instead of the mock-crime-made-for-reality-television-series my former boss had insisted on.

  It was also bad because that meant I had no reason to return to LA for the next year. I'd committed to staying in and teaching at Braxton for the next year, too. I guess it meant my professional life was settled for the short-term, but there was still a need to figure out the situation with Francesca. If I went back to LA as she wanted, I had no job. How could I afford to keep my house and raise Emma? The Castiglianos would surely foot the bill and be thoroughly thrilled if I moved in with them. It would mean they'd see Emma every day, and Francesca could be near us. But hiding with my in-laws and sneaking around to see my wife wasn't the life I wanted. I needed time to fully digest the news about my delayed contract at Dark Reality.

  We got back to Nana D's house and had a late lunch. When we were finished, she called Dr. Betscha to find out more about Gwendolyn's death. I wasn't sure exactly how he and Nana D were related, but they both descended from the Betscha siblings who'd been founding members of Braxton and Wharton County over two hundred years earlier. T
hird cousins once removed by hopping branches and traversing leaves blowing in the wind via a stepladder and eighth re-marriage. Who knew? I just called him a cousin.

  “You might be family, Seraphina, but I can't give you too many details. This is tied to a police investigation, and you're not the next of kin,” Dr. Betscha said.

  “Well, Eustacia is next of kin, and she informed me that she told you it was okay to talk to us,” Nana D demanded of her cousin. “I'm only trying to figure out what happened to my poor friend. Something doesn't add up, and I'm willing to bet you know why, Alex.”

  “I've turned over a final report to Sheriff Montague as of this morning. I'll tell you a few things, but please don't let it slip to the sheriff,” he replied.

  “You're a solid man. Momma always told me your daddy was good to her. I can see it runs in the family. When we're all done talking here, you need to come by for dinner, Alex. I still can't believe you haven't been scooped up, yet. Forty and not married. What's this world coming to?” Nana D teased.

  “I'm a confirmed bachelor, Seraphina. I've gone on a few dates from time to time, but I haven't met the right woman. Someday it might happen. Until then, let's leave it alone, alrighty?”

  Nana D agreed. I didn't say a word, feeling grateful I wasn't the focus of her attention for once. Although, I did wonder whether I should set him up with Jennifer Paddington who was trying to have a child. He might be a prime candidate. “What can you tell us, Dr. Betscha?” I asked.

  “Give us details. How does this work?” Nana D said unable to let him do the talking.

  “Slow down, Seraphina. Gwendolyn was sick, probably sicker than she knew. She hadn't come in to see me in close to three months. A lot had changed during that time, and she wasn't a well woman. Her heart had begun to deteriorate, and she was developing clots. We could've controlled many of the symptoms, but given what I saw in her bloodstream, some recent infections, and the impact on her heart, the poor woman would've needed advanced medicine soon enough. The medication she'd been on already for years should've been keeping her system running a little better, but…”

  “Are you saying she was going to die from something else?” I inquired feeling a twinge in my chest. Had Gwendolyn known how sick she was?

  “I'm afraid so,” Dr. Betscha remarked in a sympathetic tone. “But there's one key thing to point out. The blood tests did not show a good level of medications she was supposedly taking. I double checked it, if she was regularly following her prescribed medication plan, I would have seen it in the test results. Based on what I saw, either Gwendolyn stopped taking her medicine, or someone swapped a good chunk of her pills with a placebo. I told the sheriff I suspected she'd been swallowing fake sugar pills based on adding up everything found in her bloodwork.”

  I gasped. The shock of someone's intentional wickedness unnerved me. “Is there anything you can tell us about the placebos? Or whether her nurse, Brad, should have recognized any symptoms?”

  “Perhaps Brad should have put a few things together based on the symptoms you mentioned. It's not uncommon for someone in their seventies to experience these same signs and have it be advanced age and existing illness.”

  “You're saying she would've thought it was only a need to change the amount of her medication? At least until she came to you, and you ran tests picking up the missing medications in her bloodwork,” I noted.

  “Correct. The cocaine definitely killed her, but lack of any real medication would've led it to happen relatively soon anyway.”

  When we hung up with Dr. Betscha, Nana D and I agreed it was time to have a detailed discussion with Gwendolyn's nurse, Brad. He would be able to shed light on how he managed her medication. He might also be someone who could've helped the killer plan Gwendolyn's death. Something must have changed in that last twenty-four hours to cause the killer to push his or her plan forward so Gwendolyn was out of the picture much sooner.

  * * *

  “You're a lifesaver, big brother,” Eleanor gleefully shouted into the phone the next morning. “I called the electrician Arthur suggested, and he's starting work today. He thinks he can get everything converted by Sunday. I might still be able to open early next week.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the time. Why did my sister feel the need to call me at six o'clock in the morning to share her good news? “That's awesome. Do you ever sleep? This is an uncivilized hour to call people, you know.” Before she could respond, my phone beeped telling me I had another caller. This time it was Nana D. “Seriously? I need to learn how to shut my phone off night. Can I call you back later, Eleanor?”

  I switched back to the other line. “This better be important. I love you to pieces, Nana D, but I was dreaming about a warm, sunny beach full of calming waves and palm trees.”

  “Get your patootie out of bed. The sun is on its way up, and you've got a nurse to grill. Honestly, Kellan, I don't know what kind of lesson you're teaching Emma by staying in bed so late when there are major priorities in need of your attention.” Nana D's voice was like foghorn blasting at full volume in the middle of a tiny room.

  “Emma is still sleeping. She gets up at seven o'clock for breakfast and then I drop her off at school. We have a routine. I thought we were meeting at the Paddington estate at ten o'clock today to talk with Brad?” Once we'd spoken with Dr. Betscha the night before, she'd cooked me dinner as an apology for getting me drunk on margaritas. Afterward, I'd gone home early, helped Emma do her homework, and caught up on sleep as I'd started feeling like I was coming down with a cold or had overworked my body during the last few days at the gym. I climbed out of my bed, threw on my robe, and checked Emma's room to confirm she was still sound asleep. “What changed?”

  Nana D continued, “That's yesterday's news, kiddo. Finnigan Masters is coming by to review the will with Eustacia this morning at eight thirty. Meet me there so we can find out who else has a motive.”

  “I'll do my best, but I can't promise I'll be there by…” I heard the phone click when she hung up. My grandmother apparently didn't care about my own plans this morning. I trudged down the hall to the shower and turned the cold water on full blast. Within seconds my body startled out of hibernation as I reached for the shampoo. As I got myself ready for the day, I waffled on whether Brad wasn't a proficient nurse or he had something to do with the plot to kill her. There was a small chance he was innocent and had everything documented to review with Dr. Betscha, but the entire situation felt too suspicious.

  Chapter 11

  After dropping Emma off at school, I arrived at the Paddington estate shortly after eight-thirty. Bertha greeted me and led me to the Great Hall where Nana D, Millard, Eustacia, and Finnigan were having coffee.

  “I see you chose to attend,” Nana D teased. “We've discussed punctuality before, brilliant one.”

  “It's a shame what's happening this generation. They've no appreciation for getting up early to put in a hard day's work,” Eustacia continued. “Today's youth will be the downfall of this society.”

  I wanted to defend myself, but pride over being called a youth despite being in my early thirties won out. Instead, I turned to Finnigan. “I'm sorry I missed you the other day. So glad to hear how well you're doing with the practice these days.”

  Finnigan was two years older than me. His tawny brown hair had begun to gray at the temples, but he still maintained a youthful appearance. His family was English and had moved to Wharton County when we were children. Traces of his accent made an appearance at times, but for the most part he'd been Americanized by now. Tall and thin, he and his brother, Liam, towered over me, yet they always seemed to try and shrink their appearance to blend in with the crowd. He wore a striped blue suit with a colorful tie that reminded me of Monet painting I'd seen in one of the halls around the Paddington estate.

  “Thanks, Kellan. I'm excited you're back in Braxton. Liam's hoping to find a few days to stop home in between hockey games,” Finnigan said. He shared a pictu
re of him and Liam at a recent game. I was glad to see they stayed close over the years. I wish I had that chance with my own brothers, but it hadn't worked out in the past.

  “Shall we get started?” Millard said with a hint of nervousness in his voice. He sipped from his coffee cup while pruning one of the nearby lemon trees. Each time he brushed against one of the branches, a whiff of fresh citrus wafted by us.

  Finnigan cleared this throat. “I'll make this as easy as possible. When Charles and Gwendolyn Paddington first came to see my father, I was recently out of law school and interning in the family practice. Dad handled the Paddington affairs, but he transitioned them to me shortly before Charles passed away. I met with Gwendolyn when Charles was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, then again once he was gone. I tried to be as caring and gentle as possible with her during that difficult time to help prepare a new will.”

  Millard nodded. “Your father is an excellent attorney. He and Lindsey worked on many cases together in the past. Clever mind. He knew American law better than Lindsey did. I should call him to have tea soon.”

  “Yes, he insisted I study it even as a child. I still know very little about the UK because of his pressure to learn everything about our new homeland.”

  Eustacia pointedly banged her cane on the tiled floor. “I don't mean to rush you, but could we forego the details of your education and focus on the will? This ain't a remake of Romper Room.”

  Nana D pressed her fingers into my forearm as if to tell me to remain quiet. I was there to listen, I understood the message.

  Finnigan blushed. “My apologies, I know this is a bit complicated given the circumstances. At the time, Charles and Gwendolyn had made the decision to exclude their son, Timothy, from the will. I wasn't privy to all of the detailed reasons, but Charles and Gwendolyn had chosen to split the estate among various charities and theater organizations, as well as with their daughters, Ophelia and Jennifer. It was a clean separation. Fifty percent was allocated as donations, and the remaining fifty percent was split equally between both women.”