Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  Cordelia did not apologize for frightening her visitor. ‘Why have you been creeping around the house?’

  ‘Creeping? Oh, no, tiptoeing maybe. I’ve been trying to be quiet so I didn’t wake you. I know how much you need to rest right now.’

  ‘What were you looking for in the dining room?’

  Tish stepped into the parlor and cautiously approached Cordelia. ‘Looking for? Nothing. Just admiring the house. Wisteria Knolls is a charming old—’

  On the table before Cordelia, along with a box of tissues, writing paper and pen, and a carafe and glass containing alcohol, rested two silver salt cellars.

  ‘I knew you’d seen them this afternoon,’ Cordelia said. ‘I heard you in the kitchen and then saw your note. Although I don’t know what put you on to them.’

  ‘It seemed strange to me that you had neither the time nor presence of mind to cut flowers for the entry hall – a task you do on a regular basis – but you could manage to empty the salt cellars. Of course, you had to empty them. They were filled with arsenic. But how did you keep from poisoning the entire household?’

  ‘Only my mother used the salt cellars. Part of the Darlington family silver. John rarely uses salt, and if he does, he opts for the Tupperware picnic shakers in the kitchen. But Mother always insisted that I bring one salt cellar upstairs on a tray with her eggs at breakfast and that the other be placed on the dining-room table so she could use it with her supper. She salted food without tasting it, you know. Terrible habit.’

  ‘And the fundraiser?’ Tish asked.

  ‘I gave her an extra dose of arsenic that afternoon at lunch, hoping that it might kick her off. I had no idea it would be so successful.’ Cordelia smiled.

  ‘Weren’t you afraid she might die at home?’

  ‘There was a concern, but, quite frankly, between her work at the library and the parties with her friends, my mother was always out and about. She only came here for a few hours’ sleep, breakfast, the odd meal, and to deride me about every single detail of my miserable existence.’

  ‘Did she do that to Charlotte as well? Criticize every detail of her existence?’

  ‘Yes, and for all those years I allowed Mother to do it. My God, how stupid I was. I thought Charlotte would be OK as long as John and I were supportive parents. We told her to ignore what Grandma said and praised her as often as we could. We thought we’d been successful too, but then, while she was in middle school, Charlotte began cutting herself. John and I got her a therapist and sent her to St Margaret’s. Away from here. Away from my mother. She started to do better until …’

  ‘Until just before Christmas,’ Tish completed the sentence. ‘When the prospect of returning home for the holidays caused a setback. Did she try to commit suicide? Is that why she’s at Eastern State?’

  Cordelia turned her head sharply to look at Tish. Her eyes were wild with hurt and panic. ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I knew she was somewhere in Williamsburg. Everything else was an educated guess.’

  Cordelia nodded. ‘I didn’t want her there. I wanted her to be treated, mind you. John and I both did. We knew her life depended upon it. But Williamsburg wasn’t our first choice. We both agreed that Yale–New Haven’s program was the best for her. NewYork–Presbyterian was a close second. Either choice would have worked. Charlotte loves art and having New York City right on her doorstep would have made an exciting change for her.’

  ‘The plan was that we’d all move north, as a family,’ Cordelia continued. ‘John, Charlotte, and me. We’d find a house near the hospital so that even if she was in treatment, we could see her regularly, have meals with her, maybe bring her home for weekends and limited stays. No one here would know the reason for the move. Charlotte would avoid the wagging tongues, the small-town, close-minded comments of the locals, and the stigma that still comes with depression and mental illness. It was to be a fresh, clean start for all of us. Of course, I should have known that such a plan wouldn’t and couldn’t work.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t want you to go,’ Tish ventured.

  ‘Didn’t want? No, the more appropriate term is “wouldn’t allow.”’

  ‘Even at the risk of her granddaughter’s health?’ Tish questioned.

  ‘We didn’t tell my mother about Charlotte’s failed suicide attempt because my mother would have considered it a disgrace and a sin,’ Cordelia explained. ‘So we couched our move in the terms of a wonderful business opportunity for John. An opportunity we couldn’t possibly fail to act upon. My mother appeared to believe the story and congratulated us on the move. It was, however, all an act. A few days later, on her way to the library, she slipped on the ice and fell. Although she hadn’t broken any bones, she claimed she was in too much pain to walk unassisted. Doctor Livermore determined that she had muscular damage and put her on bed rest and also ordered a walker. Our move was postponed while I cared for her and ensured she was able to keep up with her work at the library. It was spring by the time she could walk and drive again.’

  ‘What about Charlotte? What happened to her in the interim?’

  ‘That’s when we sent her to Eastern State. Temporarily, we thought.’

  ‘And your mother? Why did you say she had been pretending?’

  ‘Because, while she was laid up, she had John’s supposed business opportunity investigated and discovered it was non-existent.’

  ‘Investigated? You mean she hired a detective?’ Tish was incredulous.

  ‘That’s precisely what I mean. She also found out about Charlotte’s suicide attempt and decided that she should be kept at Eastern State instead of – and I quote – “one of those awful Yankee hospitals that brainwash their patients into hating their families.”’

  ‘But Charlotte was already at Eastern State.’ Tish failed to see the connection.

  ‘Yes, convenient, wasn’t it? My mother staged her fall to keep us here temporarily until she could do so permanently. When she found out about Charlotte, she pulled strings to have Doctor Livermore sign her into Eastern State, supposedly under the pretense that it was the best hospital, but it was because she knew I wouldn’t move north without Charlotte.’

  ‘But Doctor Livermore had taken an oath,’ Tish argued. ‘An oath to protect his patients. Why would he do that?’

  ‘Oaths were no contest for my mother’s powers of persuasion. She knew everything about everyone and used it to her advantage.’

  Tish recalled Opal’s confession regarding her relationship with the good doctor. A kinky romp with the local romance novelist would not sit well with Dr Livermore’s more conservative, wealthy patients. ‘Once you figured out what your mother had done, why not move Charlotte out of Eastern State?’

  ‘To what purpose? My mother would never have allowed us to move with her. Not while there was still breath left in her body. Besides, Charlotte was starting to do well there. For the first time in a long while she seemed happy. Me, on the other hand …’

  ‘Is that why you shot Doctor Livermore? Because he signed Charlotte into Eastern State and consigned you to life at Wisteria Knolls?’

  ‘That was a factor, but no. It’s because he was going to tell the police about it. He called me the day after the fundraiser to discuss “the issue” between my mother and me. He wanted me to be aware that he felt the need to tell the police about Charlotte’s hospitalization and his role in it. However, since Charlotte is still a minor, he needed my permission to disclose her whereabouts and condition. It wasn’t simply a debriefing for the police, though; I could tell from Doctor Livermore’s voice that he was suspicious of me.’

  ‘So you shot him,’ Tish inferred.

  ‘One of the luxuries of being educated at a private girls’ school in the South: the rifle team. It was an easy shot from the alley across the street, and our town laws meant all neighboring businesses would be closed until at least noon on a Sunday. After the deed was done, I wiped the rifle clean of prints, locked it in the trunk of my car, and ran to th
e church in a state of panic.’

  ‘You took a chance. One of the church members might have seen you,’ Tish pointed out.

  ‘Yes, it was a bit risky, but it was fun – the element of danger, I suppose. I’ve spent most of my life here, chained to my mother and her concepts of propriety.’ Cordelia stared out of the window at the storm.

  ‘And yet when John mentioned moving Charlotte to Baltimore, you were against it. You wanted to bring her here.’

  ‘Because Wisteria Knolls was going to be mine,’ Cordelia shouted. ‘Mine to decorate as I pleased. Mine to make into a real home, instead of some stodgy museum. Apart from Charlotte, I’ve never really had anything that belonged exclusively to me. John might have for a short while, I suppose, but my mother managed even to take that away from me. Just as she had everything else.’

  ‘Like your relationship with Mayor Whitley? He’s the one who sent you that text message when I was here on Saturday, not Charlotte. Charlotte wouldn’t be allowed a cell phone at Eastern State.’

  ‘Well, well, you are on your toes, aren’t you? First Baltimore and now this. Here I thought my mother was resourceful,’ Cordelia sneered. ‘Yes, I had an affair with Jarrod. I started it out of spitefulness for John’s affair with Roberta. Over time, it filled the gaps in my life, and I eventually fell in love. Unfortunately, my mother found out and used it for her own personal gain. That’s what scared Jarrod off in the end. My mother’s blackmail put the fear into him that others might find out about us.’

  Cordelia reached down to the coffee table, extracted a paper handkerchief from the box, and blew her nose, loudly, into it. After several seconds had elapsed, she spoke again. ‘My mother took great pleasure in my deprivation. She took my father away from me years ago.’ Her hazel eyes focused on an indeterminate spot on the other side of the room. ‘I adored my father, but my mother drove him away. He wanted to move us to Washington, DC, you know. How different my life would have been if he had succeeded. When I was in high school, I asked my mother if I could spend the summer with him and, of course, come home with him on weekends, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I was a Darlington and, therefore, needed to learn about the running of Wisteria Knolls. I so wish I had put my foot down and gone that summer,’ Cordelia said wistfully. ‘My father died too soon. Heart attack, my mother initially claimed, but I knew better. When she confronted me this spring about John’s business opportunity being a sham, she told me I was no better than my father. I pressed her on it. My mother had always criticized my father, even while he was still alive, but this … this had a different feel to it altogether. She went on to tell me that my father was a womanizer, an abuser of women, and that, ten years ago, upon discovering his transgressions, she had decided to do something about it. Someone, she said, had to defend the Darlington name, so she tampered with my father’s heart medication. He was dead within forty-eight hours.’

  Tish drew a hand to her forehead as she felt the blood drain from her face. ‘You mean, your mother …’

  ‘Murdered my father. My wonderful father. And then she sullied his memory with lies,’ Cordelia screamed.

  Tish said nothing. Ashton Broderick had raped Augusta Wilson and left her pregnant and scared. One could only imagine what he might have done to other women through the years, but sharing that information with Cordelia at this moment served no purpose.

  ‘It was then that I knew we needed to be free of her.’ Cordelia rose from her chair and gazed out of the front window. ‘My daughter and I needed to be free to live our own lives. We needed to be free of the Darlington evil, and the only way that was going to happen was if my mother was dead.’

  Some time elapsed before either woman spoke again.

  ‘After all your mother put you through – all the abuse you suffered at her hands – a court would sympathize with you. You may serve some time in jail but a good attorney could get your sentence reduced.’

  ‘I’m not going to trial. I’m not going to jail. Not for a single day. Not for ridding the earth of that cruel, manipulative bitch.’ Cordelia moved from the window and lunged for the glass on the coffee table.

  Tish, fully aware of what the glass and perhaps even the carafe might contain, rushed toward Cordelia and tackled her to the ground. The glass, full and upright, was still glued to Cordelia’s fingers.

  ‘Let go of me,’ she screamed as she struggled to reach the glass to her lips.

  Tish, pinning Cordelia to the parlor floorboards with her body, grabbed at Cordelia’s wrist with both hands. Cordelia countered the move by grabbing Tish’s hands with her free hand and digging her nails into the skin.

  Tish cried out in pain. ‘No. No, Cordelia. Think of Charlotte. You can’t do this to her.’

  ‘Better this than let her live with a murdering mother,’ Cordelia exclaimed.

  With the full weight of her body, Tish lunged at the hand bearing the glass and knocked it to the floor. The liquid inside the glass spilled on to the ancient floorboards. ‘No. You need to tell her your story, so she can learn from it, so she can understand, from you, what’s happened. Don’t fail her.’

  With those words, Cordelia’s body relaxed. Her grip on Tish’s hands loosened and her fingertips relinquished the glass, sending it rolling toward the hearth of the nearby fireplace. ‘I’ve already failed her,’ she moaned.

  ‘No, you haven’t, Cordelia. But if you force her to navigate through this alone, she may never recover.’ Tish sat up, leaving Cordelia to curl into the fetal position.

  Schuyler Thompson suddenly rushed across the threshold. ‘We were waiting in the kitchen and heard screams. Are you OK?’

  Tish nodded and rose to her feet. As a precautionary measure, she handed the carafe to Schuyler and instructed him to put it away somewhere.

  ‘The police are on their way,’ he whispered to her.

  With a weary nod, Tish grabbed a bunch of tissues from the box on the coffee table and, getting down on her hands and knees, crawled back to Cordelia, who was now convulsed in sobs. Sitting beside Cordelia on the hardwood floor, Tish lifted her head on to her lap and silently stroked her hair as they awaited Sheriff Reade’s arrival.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  It was a clear, cool, early September Saturday when Tish and company celebrated the official grand opening of Cookin’ the Books. As Jules stirred the punch and prepared the other beverages, Mary Jo and her kids decorated the shop with flag banners made from recycled book pages and colorful scrapbook paper.

  Celestine, carrying a large parcel covered in aluminum foil, was the first to arrive on the scene. ‘Well, good day, y’all. And I do mean good day. It’s like you custom-ordered it, honey.’

  Tish, dressed in a black T-shirt, black skirt with an embroidered floral border, and a white Cookin’ the Books’ apron, took the heavy package and placed it on the counter, and then greeted Celestine with a hug and peck on the cheek. ‘I know. Seventy-five degrees and not a lick of rain in sight. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Well, you deserve it,’ Celestine replied. The smile on her face was genuine. ‘After the rocky start you had.’

  ‘Oh, I still feel badly about asking you so many questions,’ Tish apologized.

  ‘You know, it actually did me some good to reflect on things and open up about them. Sometimes we keep things inside for so long that we forget they even happened. So I thank you for those questions.’

  ‘Hello.’ Augusta Wilson, accompanied by Edwin, stuck her head in the door. ‘I heard there’s a party going on in here.’

  ‘There is, come on in and join us, girlfriend,’ Jules greeted her with a glass of punch.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Augusta stepped into the café, resplendent in a bright pink dress and a wide-brimmed sunhat topped with peonies in coordinating rosy shades. She accepted the glass and immediately took a sip. ‘Mmm. Oh, Tish, Edwin and I got you a little something for the café.’

  Edwin, looking happy and relaxed in a blue polo shirt and plaid pants, presented Tish with a potted
plant. ‘It’s bamboo, for luck.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Tish exclaimed as she proceeded to bestow the Wilsons with appreciative hugs. ‘You didn’t need to bring me anything.’

  ‘It’s just a token of our friendship and appreciation,’ Edwin explained.

  ‘Well, thanks again. So, what have you two been up to lately?’

  ‘Actually, Edwin and I have booked our first vacation in ten years,’ Augusta announced.

  ‘Good for you,’ Mary Jo congratulated.

  ‘We’re taking a European cruise,’ Edwin elaborated. ‘We leave this evening from Virginia Beach.’

  ‘Yeah, with everything that’s happened – my illness, job stress, and other issues’ – her eyes slid toward Tish in confidence – ‘we decided it was time to celebrate life and each other.’

  ‘That sounds toast-worthy.’ Jules raised a glass and clinked it against those of the Wilsons.

  ‘Do I hear some toasting going on?’ Daryl Dufour called from the doorway.

  ‘That depends,’ answered Celestine. ‘Does that punch have booze in it, Jules?’

  ‘This one does, but I have a virgin version too,’ he offered.

  ‘Mr Dufour will be having the virgin,’ she commanded with a wink in Daryl’s direction.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Daryl allowed. ‘It’s such a glorious day, I don’t need anything to add to the buzz.’

  ‘It is beautiful out there, isn’t it?’ Tish remarked.

  ‘It is, and not only are we lucky to have a wonderful new business and a most worthwhile new resident in our town, but I have some good news as well. I’ve been busting a gut to tell y’all, if you don’t mind me sharing, Miss Tarragon.’

  ‘Of course not. After what we’ve all been through, the more good news and celebration, the better.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Daryl bowed slightly. ‘I found out last night from Ms Augusta herself’ – he indicated the woman in the pink dress – ‘that I have been appointed the new director of Hobson Glen Library.’