"It all happened so fast," Beatrice said to the detective as she relayed the series of events leading up to the death. She made sure to heavily emphasize the fact that the passion fruit pie was meant for her and that he had eaten it by pure coincidence, but even still, Detective Rogers seemed less than convinced by Beatrice's theories.
This may have been for two reasons. The first was that poison wasn't confirmed yet. The doctor on scene had hypothesized that it was an allergic reaction and until that was proven otherwise, it was the theory that the detective seemed content on sticking with.
The other reason was far more personal.
Matthew Anderson wasn't Beatrice's first date since her husband's death. He was the second. The first was none other than Detective Rogers. They had had exactly two dates and although both dates were fine, neither sent off sparks like Beatrice would have liked. As such, she saw fit to end the romance before it became too much. Rogers however didn’t see things quite the same way. He never missed a chance to ask her out, or flirt outrageously when he could. It seemed that he still had his heart and mind set on the possibility of a third date.
Consequently, he had a pretty tough time hiding his disappointment when he found out how Beatrice knew the victim.
"So... this was your, first date? Second? How... how well did you know Mr. Anderson?' There was a quiver too his voice and it really made Beatrice's heart ache.
In truth, there was nothing wrong with the guy. He was a tall, strapping man. Only a few years younger than she was, he had greying hair that made him look distinguished and boyish good looks that Beatrice should have been all over. The real kicker was the fact that she used to be his teacher many moons ago. It was a fact that she just couldn't get past, even though she tried.
"This was the first time actually. One minute he was heading to the bathroom and the next... and the next..." Before she could stop, Beatrice could feel the tears coming on. She cursed herself for it. She wasn't sad. There were just so many emotions flooding her right now that it was a chore to keep them all in order.
"Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened, slowly," he said. As he did he reached out to touch her arm in comfort, only to decide against it at the last second. He was left with was an awkward arm movement that he didn't know how to bail out of.
"It was so strange. That dessert was meant for me, not him! The doctor says that it was a reaction, but I think it was poison. Someone is trying to kill me," she let out, wishing that she hadn't. She could tell that he didn't believe her. And more than that, the look on his face suggested that he thought her to be just a little crazy.
"Let's not jump to conclusions, not yet. Why don't you go home, relax and I'll call you if I come up with something." He said it in a soothing yet patronizing manner. Beatrice knew there and then that he wasn't going to believe for a second that someone had tried to kill her.
Beatrice sighed to herself with this thought. It looked like, once again, it was going to be up to her to step up where the police couldn't.
"Beatrice! Are you alright?" The high-pitched scream came from across the café, carrying with perfect clarity as it struck Beatrice. It was her best friends, Stella and Sophie, rushing across the floor to be by her side.
"Thank God you called us," said Sophie. "I was about to have a long hot bath!"
"Sophie, you don't take a bath," Stella said.
"What?" Sophie asked, looking genuinely confused by the statement.
Upon reaching her, the two ladies pulled Beatrice into a huge bear hug, near squeezing the life from her. It was in that moment that all fear of poisoning and attempted murders faded from her brain. She knew that with these two ladies by her side she could get through anything. These two ladies were complete opposites and an odd pairing.
Stella was a thirty-year-old stuck in a sixty-year-old's body. Her skin was constantly tanned while her make-up was constantly flawless. If her hair wasn't sitting perfectly she wouldn't leave the house and if her dress and shoes didn't match then she wouldn't leave her room. Right now, she was dressed in a tight fitting black one piece that hugged her frame and showed her curves; a deliberate outfit choice as she knew that men would be about.
Sophie on the other hand was as far from Stella as one could be. Her hair, a constantly changing tapestry, was bright pink today. Undone, it pointed in every possible direction. She wore glasses with big, thick frames and an outfit that was the combination of the first two articles of clothing that she got her hands on. On top of this she was a few eggs short of a soufflé, not to mention the baking dish, the oven and every other ingredient needed.
Wrenching herself from their hug, Beatrice offered Detective Rogers a curt nod goodbye before pulling the two ladies to the side, well out of earshot. "I think I might be hallucinating," she said in full honesty. It was something that she had been contemplating ever since Fred appeared and then disappeared. Although she was certain that she saw him, this whole thing had gotten strange. She didn't know what to believe anymore.
"Don't worry, happens to me all the time," said Sophie, pushing her big glasses back up on her nose. They had a habit of falling down whenever Sophie so much as moved.
"Sophie, your whole life is one big hallucination," said Beatrice. Usually she would humor Sophie at this point, but right now, she just didn't have the time and wasn't in the frame of mind. "I'm being serious about this, I think I saw Fred."
"Flintstone?" asked Sophie. "What's he doing out of Bedrock?" She absentmindedly put her hair in her mouth and started chewing it. It was something that she did whenever she was confused. Beatrice often wondered how she had any hair left.
Beatrice sighed. "No Sophie, not Flintstone. Fred, the brother of my husband, I haven't, seen him in years in fact I haven't seen him since I married my husband." After he had vanished, Beatrice sat down to have a think about the last time that she had seen her husband’s brother. It was many, many years ago, right before she got married. Since the marriage, he had all but fallen from their lives. The reason for which was... well it was ominous to say the least.
"How bizarre," said Stella. "Why would he make a sudden appearance after all this time?" There was something about Stella's tone that made it more than a question. She had a suspicion, that was clear. And Beatrice was sure she knew what it was.
"Go on, say it." Beatrice pressed her best friend. It was better to get this all out now.
"Well, isn't Fred the one that threatened your life all those years ago because you chose your husband instead of him to marry?" Stella pointed out. Beatrice sighed. Yep, that was exactly the reason that Fred had fallen out of the picture.
It was the way Stella had said it, that really made the whole thing sound far worse than it was. Beatrice never believed that he had actually meant what he said. It was such a heat of the moment thing. He truly believed that he loved her and sometimes passion can make a man say crazy things. Although she tried to point this out to her husband, he wouldn’t hear a word of it, banishing his brother from ever seeing them again. And that was the way it had been... until now, the day that someone had tried to kill her.
"Yes, that's the same one, but he couldn't be that mad all these years later, certainly not enough to kill me." Beatrice just wasn't so sure that it was him... if it was anybody at all. Honestly, at this point it was almost like she was hoping it was a murder. Maybe the doctor was right and it was a reaction. Maybe they were getting all worked up for no reason.
"We need to get you home," Stella said, wrapping her arms around her as she led her across the floor and from the café.
"You're right, I need to get out of all this heat."
Yes, Beatrice had decided that she would let this lie for now. Chances are that it was all blown out of proportion and her date had simply had a reaction. Even so, and as much as she tried to convince herself of this, there was that pesky intuition again, screaming a warning at her that she didn't understand.
4
Hey beautiful."
&n
bsp; It was a greeting that Beatrice was all but used to by now as she entered her home later that same day. Every time that she walked through the door, that same deep voice greeted her and for a second she truly felt that the words were meant for her. She felt like she wasn't alone, that she was coming back to a house populated by a loving husband that made life just that little bit easier than it had become.
She then snapped back to reality and remembered that it was just her pet bird, Buzz, calling to her from the living room. Even so, Beatrice smiled at the greeting. His voice sounded exactly like her husband's, with the same inflection and everything. He even extended the 'l' sound at the end, just like her husband used to. It was an odd feeling every time she realized that it was just Buzz. It filled her with a sense of warmth, before that ice-cold feeling of loneliness suddenly appeared, washing it all away.
If it were any other day she might have broken down then and there, but right now she had a little too much on her mind. She bent down to pick up her cat, Sylvester, only to see that for the first time in as long as she could remember, he wasn't there. How odd.
She wandered into the living room where Buzz was. Now would usually be the time that Buzz would sing to her, or call out for treats. He hated being alone all day so as soon as another body was in the room he lost control, but not today.
The only explanation was someone else was in the house.
She could feel it now. She didn't know what it was when she first entered the house, now though, that she really paid attention, she could tell that something was different. The house felt full, like someone had recently been here. It couldn't be her grandson. He was out for the weekend and wouldn't be home until later that night.
Hey eyes flicked to her bedroom door, where she knew a baseball bat was sitting, propped up behind the door. Should she run for it? Or should she grab the bat and hunt down whoever might be here? It was ludicrous to even think that she stood a chance against a potential thief, but Beatrice had had a long day and was in the type of mood that even a potential burglar wouldn't want to come across.
Then she smelled it. It was indistinct at first, barely noticeable over the bird seed and kitty litter, but the longer she stood in the room, the stronger the smell became. The distinct scent of flour mixed with eggs, milk and a little bit of sugar. Someone was baking!
Her blood boiled as the realization hit her. Not only had someone broken into her house, but they had dared to enter her sanctuary. Her safe space! Now it was personal. With total disregard for her own safety, Beatrice stormed into the kitchen, fully prepared to confront and beat the daylights out of whoever had such gall.
She hadn't known what to expect when she stormed into the room, but of all the things that it might have been, she did not expect who it turned out to be.
"Fred?" She said in shock and disbelief, pulling up short.
"Oh, good evening," he said, with his crafty smile. He didn't seem at all surprised or put out by her arrival. Instead, it seemed more like he had been expecting it. He was currently standing over the kitchen counter, mixing bowl in hand as he whipped a concoction of something. All the while smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"What are you doing in my here?" she asked, trying to hide the anger in her voice. And that alone was no easy task. No one, and that means no one, touches Beatrice's cooking equipment.
"I thought I'd surprise you with a batch of cookies. Although truth be told, I'm having a hard time getting the batter to cream. What's your secret? You were always the best chef I ever --"
"No, I meant what are you doing in my house?" Sure, the fact that he was in her kitchen making cookies was strange enough, but him being in her house somehow managed to top that. One problem at a time.
"What, we didn't get to finish our little discussion before. Hope you don't mind. The door was unlocked." He flashed her another goofy smile. That smile was the only thing about him that she remembered. Everything else, and that meant everything was different. He wore an expensive suit with what looked like an expensive watch. His hair was greasy yet styled and even his skin looked clearer. There was something not quite right about it all.
"Get out," she said, pointing to the door "before I call the cops." She didn't know why she was so angry. It was just after all that had happened, this was the last thing that she needed. She was more than happy to tell herself that she had imagined the previous encounter and leave it at that. Now however, that lie was going to be a little harder to swallow.
"Oh, I don't think you want to do that" he said confidently as he leaned against the kitchen cabinet. He was just so different. Beatrice could not believe it. What made the whole thing harder was how much he reminded her of her husband. Now more than ever. She had to get rid of him before she did or said something that she would regret.
"And why is that? I have a gun in the house, you know." She said it will little conviction, so much that even she didn't believe it.
He clearly didn’t believe it either as he burst out laughing. "You, a gun? That'll be the day. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?" The audacity of this guy.
She had never hated Fred, rather she pitied him. He was always the runt of the two brothers, but now, the way he was acting, so smug and sure of himself, that pity was slowly melting away. A few more clicks and she might be right on hate.
Her attitude was getting her nowhere. It was time for a different tact. "What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound pleasant. She had always had the ability to manipulate Fred. It was time to see if she still held that same power.
"I understand that my brother is dead now." He said it with about as little remorse as a person could. It sent a pang through Beatrice's chest. She was very much starting to dislike this man.
"It's been two years. You didn't even come to the funeral," she all but spat the words.
"I had no idea honestly and I'm crushed." Again, said with zero remorse. He was like a robot; almost like he had read that and that was the appropriate response, rather than feeling it.
"I bet you are," she said sarcastically. Her eyes flicked from the kitchen to the front door. There was something very unsettling about the way this conversation was unfolding. She wanted to make sure that she had all her bases covered.
"My brother and I may have kept our distance over the last few years, but deep inside we did love each other. We both just happened to fall in love with the same woman." So that's what this was. Finally, she had an answer, even if it wasn't one she particularly wanted. Fred had come back to win her over. Pick up his dead brother’s seconds. How romantic.
"If you think you have a chance in hell of being with me, you've got another thing coming." She shouldn't have been surprised by his admission. After all he had told her as much all those years ago. She just assumed that he would have been over it by now, and not harboring a forty-year love grudge.
"That hurts Beatrice," he pouted, still beating at the mixture. "Give it some time. Something tells me that you’re bound to fall in love with me again." Beatrice watched the bowl in his hands, cringing at the thought of how ruined the batter most likely was.
"Again? That was a long time ago. And any chance you may have had was ruined when I got a chance to see the real you. Not a side that was so easy to love back." Of course, she was talking about the incident. It was the main reason that her husband had banished him and why they hadn't spoken in so long. It made her skin crawl just thinking about it.
"People change" he said. He was serious now, almost angry. It was as if he hadn't been expecting her to bring the incident up and now that she had, his plans had been completely ruined.
"Not from my experience," she said back, standing her ground as she folded her arms.
The moment that she had challenged him, she regretted it. Fred was far from stable, if history was any indication. If pushed, there was no telling what he might do, but to her surprise, he offered her a big, warm smile. "Well I better be going, but don't worry, yo
u'll be seeing me around."
And then, as if this whole situation was the most natural thing in the entire world, he put the bowl down, offered her a curt nod and walked from the kitchen right out the front door. Beatrice grabbed onto the kitchen counter when he was gone, having to steady herself. She hadn't even realized that she hadn't taken a breath the entire time he was there.
She didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. She didn't even know where to start. The man was clearly unhinged, anyone could see that. Had he just been hitting on her or suggesting that her life was in danger? It was anyone's guess. But it was a guess that she didn't want to have to take. She was going to have to figure out why Fred was actually back. Surely there was something there.
It was then that she saw the bowl he had been mixing. Her eyes shot open as she ran across the kitchen to its aid. Maybe she could save whatever it was that he had been making, but of course, there was no such luck. Whatever it was, it was nothing more than a bowl full of brown goo. Even Beatrice couldn't save it.
Case of the Passion Fruit Poisoning Page 2
