"Hey, are you a diabetic?" I hollered down the hallway. There was no response. Even if Roxie hadn't already left the building, I doubt she would have given me a response. I was not her favorite person right then.
I called Wendy on my cell phone, and she confirmed the symptoms Roxie claimed Walter exhibited were indeed those of a low blood sugar reaction. She was somewhat surprised to hear Walter had already begun to regain consciousness from the affect of chloroform, but deduced he might not have been given a full dose, or a strong enough dose, of it.
Then, as Wendy is prone to do, she began telling me everything she knew about chloroform. I listened politely for a minute or two, although I didn't really care that chloroform was forty times sweeter than sugar, or that it could also be made by the chlorination of methane by using free radicals to create a reaction in the presence of ultraviolet light. When she lapsed into a story about the American chemist Dr. Samuel Guthrie, who first prepared chloroform, I broke in to tell her I was in heavy traffic (in Rockdale, no less) and needed to pay full attention to the road.
After putting my cell phone back into my purse, I thought about what I'd learned by speaking with Roxie. I now felt as if I'd created more questions than I'd found answers to. I walked out to the parking lot and headed back to the Alexandria Inn in my Jeep, not sure if I'd ever get the chance to speak with Roxie Kane again. I hoped so. I still wanted to get an answer to my last question. If she were a diabetic, she would most likely jump to the top of my suspect list. Being the last known person to see him alive put her in a questionable position. How coincidental was it that she was with him just minutes before he died?
Chapter 12
I stopped by Pete's Pantry on the way home from the college to pick up a few groceries. Stone was grilling some rib eye steaks for supper, and I wanted to get the ingredients to make an eggplant casserole so Eleanor would have something substantial to eat in lieu of the meat.
The selection of eggplant was pretty lame, even though it was still eggplant season in the Midwest. I also picked up some carrots so I could serve them in Stone's favorite way—boiled, dipped in milk and cracker crumbs, and then fried in butter. Hopefully, the Dudleys would like them fixed that way, as well.
While I was at the grocery store, I picked up the ingredients I would need to make a broccoli/rice/cheese casserole on Tuesday, and some rather sorry-looking green beans to snap and cook. I would add a bit of bacon grease to add flavor, and serve them along with the casserole. Maybe Eleanor wouldn't notice the hint of bacon flavor in the beans, and not realize she was eating the by-product of a pig. If I didn't help raise her cholesterol level, who would?
Then it occurred to me that if her husband's tongue swelled up like a blowfish and he developed unsightly blotches all over his face due to his pork allergy, Eleanor might catch on that a meat by-product was somehow involved with the supper I was feeding her. I quickly replaced the limp green beans with a large head of cauliflower.
Standing in line at the checkout counter, I heard the clerk talking to the customer in front of me, asking her if she planned to attend the football scrimmage scheduled for that afternoon. The college team would be competing against another nearby community college team, a game that wouldn't affect their league records. The game would be in lieu of a regular practice for each of the two teams.
"Do you know if the cheerleaders will be cheering at the game?" I asked the clerk, who gave me an odd look. "My niece is a cheerleader and I enjoy watching her cheer."
"Oh, of course," she replied with a smile. "I should think the cheerleaders will be cheering tonight. They're competing against another college team, so it'd stand to reason both sides might have cheerleaders present. I'm sure they could only benefit from the practice. You might call the college and ask though, before you go to the trouble to attend the game."
Stone loved to watch college football on television every Saturday and pro football on Sundays. I wondered if he'd be interested in going to watch the scrimmage game after supper. The Dudleys would be left alone at the inn tonight, but entertaining the guests 24/7 was not one of the services the inn offered. I still wanted to speak with Sidney, Walter's long-time girlfriend, or possibly even to her best friend, Paula, again, if Sidney was still too overwhelmed with grief to talk. Either girl might be aware of someone Walter had issues with before his death.
* * *
I called the college as the lady had suggested, and was told the cheerleaders would be attending the game and practicing some of their new cheers. Stone agreed to go, because he enjoyed football on any level.
The stands were fairly empty when we arrived at the college stadium around three in the afternoon. It was cool and windy, so we'd worn windbreakers over thick sweaters to ward off the cold. We stopped at the concession stand on the way in. Stone wanted a cup of hot chocolate and I, of course, wanted a cup of coffee.
We took a couple of seats together about halfway up the bleachers on the fifty yard line, which Stone assured me was a great vantage point to watch the game. He didn't expect a large crowd, since the game was being played in the afternoon while many people were still at work. And after all, it was just a scrimmage game, not anything that would affect the teams' rankings, or their official records.
The cheerleaders were mingling with the crowd. They looked cold to me. They'd have to cheer their little hearts out to keep warm this afternoon in the skimpy outfits they were wearing. I could still remember those days when I was a cheerleader. I hadn't had a clue to what was taking place on the field. I didn't know the difference between a kickoff and a punt, and really hadn't cared to know. Now that it no longer mattered, I found myself shouting "clipping" at the TV, and could explain what a nickel or dime package was in detail.
I thought it best to enjoy my cup of coffee and wait for the game to start before I went down to the sidelines and tried to steal a few minutes of Sidney's time, assuming she even showed up for the game. Stone held my free hand while he pointed out the few players and people in the stands he was acquainted with. I was surprised by how many businessmen he knew from around town. He had dealt with a lot of them while restoring the Alexandria Inn.
Listening to people chattering around us, we found out the band would not be present at the game and, as I already knew, the cheerleaders had only chosen to attend to try out some of their new routines. Like the football players, the game would count in lieu of cheerleading practice this week. The opponent's team had not brought along their cheerleaders for this Monday afternoon scrimmage. They had but a handful of fans in the bleachers on their side of the field. The officials for the game were merely volunteers from around town. They weren't completely schooled on all of the rules of the game.
"Don't forget there's a wake tomorrow night we need to attend," Stone reminded me. "We'll need to serve an early dinner, so we can get dressed and get to the church by six-thirty."
"You're right. I don't want to be late," I said. "There will be a lot of key players at the wake, and it might prove useful to mingle around and chat with them."
"You aren't going to turn this young man's wake into an interrogation, are you?" Stone asked. Why does everyone use that word when they're describing my technique of investigating? I was slightly insulted by his question, even though there was a lot of truth to it.
I could tell he was a bit appalled at the idea of my questioning Walter's family and friends at the funeral services, and I agreed I would only talk to them about the murder if the subject came up in conversation. I probably would do very little talking at all, I told him. Still, it wouldn't hurt to visit a bit, offer my condolences, and maybe ask a question here or there as long as I wasn't too intrusive. I would try to refrain myself from "interrogating" anyone at the memorial services.
"Okay, then. But let's let the mourners have their time to grieve and reflect on Walter's life. Most likely the killer will not even be at the services. If he disliked him enough to kill him, why would he come to the memorial services to mourn for h
im?"
"Of course, you're right," I said. He was right unless a close family member or a so-called friend thought it would raise suspicion if he didn't attend.
* * *
Rockdale was ahead ten to three at the end of the first quarter.
It took some doing, but I finally convinced Stone of my need to speak with Sidney for just a minute or two. I hadn't been able to ascertain if she were among the group of cheerleaders or not. They all tended to look alike from a distance. I could only pick out Paula due to her brunette hair. I excused myself and went down to the sidelines, after first stopping off at the Johnny-on-the-spot to get rid of some of the coffee I'd been drinking all day long.
I noticed Paula right off the bat and waved at her when she caught my eye. She waved back, then she turned back to the other cheerleader she was conversing with. I made my way through the throng of cheerleaders to where she and the other girl were standing.
"Hi, Ms. Reed," Paula greeted me. She seemed surprised to see me. I was equally surprised she'd remembered my fictitious name.
"Hello, ladies," I said to both girls. "I love your uniforms."
"Thanks," said the other girl. "I'm Jennifer, by the way."
"Hi, Paula. Hello, Jennifer. I'm Wanda Reed, an investigative writer for the Rockdale Gazette," I said, for Jennifer's benefit, in case she didn't recognize me from their practice on Saturday.
"I thought you told me your name was Rhonda," Paula said quizzically.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant to say Rhonda. It's just that some of my closest friends call me Wanda, so I misspoke. It's kind of an inside joke, you see," I explained, fumbling for a reason to have forgotten my own name. Paula was still young; her memory was better than mine. "Rhonda or Wanda. I answer to either."
"What are you doing here, Ms. Reed?" Paula asked. She didn't want to use either name, apparently.
"I had hoped to speak with Sidney. I'm still working on my article for the paper. Is she here today? I've yet to see her," I said, glancing from one cheerleader to the next.
"No, she's still too upset. She doesn't feel like she has anything to cheer about. Her parents are keeping her home from school and all the other school activities this week. It's to give her a chance to recover from the shock and grief of losing Walter. We might see her tomorrow at the wake. Most of the cheerleading squad is going to go to it together," she said. "Sidney told me on the phone this morning her parents didn't want her to attend the wake or the funeral. They think it'll be too much for her to handle. Still, I imagine she'll try to talk them in to letting her attend. I know her well enough to know she will want to see him one last time, even if it's in a casket. It will be difficult for her to let go and get on with her life."
"I understand, and I can see why she'd want an opportunity to say goodbye. But I also understand her parents' concern. Have the detectives spoken with her yet?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. I haven't been able to see her since Saturday, and she didn't mention talking to the police on the phone. I doubt they've spoken to her, though. She's been holed up in her house," Paula said. "Her mom and dad have been fending off authorities and media, not even allowing her friends to see her. She's just too distraught to see anyone right now, I'm sure."
Maybe I'd get a chance to speak with Sidney for a moment at the wake, if she was able to attend, but the likelihood didn't sound too promising. I'd probably have to go through the parents to get to her. They sounded very protective of her, and there was nothing wrong with that. I'd always been over-protective of Wendy too. When you're a single parent, it's hard not to spend most of your time worrying about your children. And parental concern wasn't something you got over, no matter how old your child was. It was just part of the job description of being a parent.
"Well, maybe I'll see you there tomorrow," I said to her. I really had no intention of getting too close to Paula at the wake, however. I didn't want her to figure out I wasn't really Rhonda "Wanda" Reed, a newspaper journalist. Lying could be such a nuisance sometimes. It was so easy to get caught up in a web of lies. Like I said before, I never used to be such a liar, but murder seemed to bring out the worst in me when it came to telling the truth.
Just as I turned from Paula to leave, I was struck by what felt like a Mack truck. I felt a painful impact to my midsection, and my neck snapped forward, as I was pushed backward with a lot of force. My breath was knocked out of me. I remember falling to the ground with a heavy weight on top of me, and the next thing I knew I was looking up into Stone's eyes as a paramedic was strapping an oxygen mask on me. I noticed I was no longer on the sideline, but off to the side of the bleachers, lying on a canvas stretcher. I must have blacked out for a short time. Stone patted my arm and spoke reassuringly.
"You'll be okay. They're just going to take you to the hospital for further observation. They want to X-ray you to make sure you have no broken bones. And they want to watch you for signs of a concussion," he said. "They examined you for fractures and didn't find any sign of one. Your eyes are not dilated, and your pupils responded normally to light, so they don't suspect a concussion either, but they do have to make certain."
"What happened?" I asked, from beneath the oxygen mask.
"You got tackled by a wide receiver. He was running along the sidelines toward the end zone when a Rockdale player knocked him out of bounds. You had your back to the field and got taken down with him," he explained. "So we're off to the emergency room, a place you're very familiar with."
Yes, I had been to the emergency room a few times in the past, but this was my first ride in an ambulance. I had a severe headache by that time and was relieved they didn't have to turn the siren on just to transport me to the hospital for further observation. I just hoped the hospital didn't find a reason to admit me. I had a wake to go to the following evening, and not even a concussion and a few broken bones would prevent me from being there.
Chapter 13
Several hours later, after a battery of tests, I was released from the Wheatfield Memorial Hospital in St. Joseph with a few bruised ribs and a headache. It was almost midnight when we returned to the inn in Rockdale. I'd been given pain medication at the hospital, which had alleviated the pain in my ribs and eliminated my headache completely. I didn't feel half bad for someone in my condition. I knew there was a reason I stockpiled pain pills.
The house was eerily quiet as we entered the kitchen. The message light on the phone was blinking. I pressed the button and listened.
"Mom, Stone, this is Wendy. I have some great news for you. I want to tell you about it in person, though, not on an answering machine. So, I'll be over tomorrow morning," she said in her recorded message. "You'll both be excited about it too."
"Wonder what that's all about?" Stone asked.
"Hard to say, but she sure is happy about something, isn't she?"
"Guess we'll find out in the morning. Let's get your poor, battered body to bed. I'm sure you'll be even sorer in the morning. Do you still have some pain pills on hand for tomorrow?" Stone asked.
"Of course."
Normally, after hearing a message like Wendy's, and getting knocked out cold at a football game, I would find it hard to get to sleep. But after a long evening and a shot of Demerol, I found falling asleep came very easily to me. I didn't awaken again until I felt Stone rubbing my shoulder at eight-thirty the next morning. As predicted, it hurt to even breathe, much less move my body. I groaned dramatically as I sat up in bed.
"I brought you some coffee and your favorite granola cereal for breakfast," Stone said.
"Thanks, honey. What about the Dudleys? I need to get downstairs and fix them something for breakfast too."
"Don't worry about Steve and Eleanor. I fed them some cold cereal and toast, and they've headed out to meet with a cousin in Kansas City."
"I hope they weren't disappointed about having toast and granola cereal for breakfast," I said.
"Actually, they had Honey Nut Cheerios. I explained to them about your accident las
t night, and they were fine with their breakfast. They're both watching their cholesterol levels. They both seemed quite concerned about you too, and wanted me to wish you a quick recovery."
"No headache this morning, but my ribs are sore, and I feel stiff all over."
"I figured you would be, but at least your head feels all right today. Stay in bed as long as you want. There's nothing pressing this morning," Stone assured me.
"I think I'll come down to the kitchen for a coffee refill in a little bit and wait for Wendy to arrive with her big news."
* * *
Before Wendy's foot even touched down inside the front door, she blurted out breathlessly, "Andy is flying in here tomorrow afternoon to spend a few days. He told me to tell you guys, and to tell you he'll be staying here at the inn with you, as usual. It was a last minute decision on his part."
"Fantastic!" Stone and I spoke in unison.
After giving both of us a hug, Wendy sat down at the kitchen table. "He'll arrive here at four-fifteen tomorrow at Kansas City International Airport. I'll go and pick him up."
As I poured her a cup of coffee, I said, "I can't wait to see him. It's been such a long time. He hasn't been here since Fourth of July weekend."
"That's wonderful news, Wendy," Stone said. Andy had always been Stone's favorite nephew, possibly his favorite relative. Andy was the son of Stone's older brother, Sterling, and he lived not too far from Stone's former residence in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Andy was a pilot and owned a small charter flight business there. "Is there any particular reason he's coming to Kansas City, or is it just for a visit?"
"You know how Andy always wanted to own some land? He noticed an ad for a place on the Internet quite a while ago, and he just found out it's still on the market. It's like a farm, I guess. He'd like to move back to this area, and thought maybe this was his opportunity to do so. He's got an appointment with a realtor to look at the place Thursday morning," Wendy explained.
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