Death By Design

by Abigail Keam

  “Babyproof the electrical outlets and the bottom cabinets?”

  “Done, done, and done. Charles went through the house with me and double-checked.”

  I turned and waved to Charles, Lady Elsmere’s butler and heir, who was waiting patiently with our mini caravan of vehicles.

  Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky, had insisted on sending her Bentley for Matt, plus a Land Rover as big as a battleship to carry his things.

  Charles nodded and waved back. I could tell he was excited too.

  I turned back and saw a private jet touch down on the runway and taxi to the tarmac in front of where we were waiting. I grabbed Franklin’s arm. “This may be him.”

  We both waited anxiously as the plane glided to a smooth stop just yards from our little entourage. After a few minutes, the door opened and the stairs unfolded.

  A flight attendant peered out, saw us, and pulled back inside. We waited a few more minutes. My left leg was starting to tremble, because I had been standing too long. Matt or no Matt, I was going to have to sit down soon.

  An airport worker jaunted over from a nearby building and began unloading the plane’s baggage compartment. He pulled out five bags.

  That’s all? A mother takes more than that for a stroll around the neighborhood.

  Finally, a woman emerged with a tiny bundle in her arms–a bundle that was crying. Babies do not like air pressure changes inside airplanes. Good! The baby’s lungs and hearing worked. Now I just hoped she had ten toes and ten fingers.

  Franklin emitted a little cry of his own. “Come on,” he called to me, as he rushed the stairs in anticipation.

  “Give them some breathing room, Franklin,” I admonished.

  I didn’t know what to expect, so I hung back. Franklin had gone to California several times to see Matt, but I had not. A two-hour plane ride to New York was all I could handle. A trans-continental flight was out of the question.

  I hadn’t seen Matt since I put him on a private plane and dispatched him to the loving arms of Meriah in California. I didn’t know what to expect.

  A beaming Franklin escorted the woman who was a nurse, and the baby to the Bentley.

  Charles and another employee gathered the bags and put them in the Land Rover.

  At last Matt emerged, but not the vital, athletic Matt I remembered. This man was wan and gaunt. His clothes hung loosely on his skeletal frame. Matt’s beautiful raven hair had lost its luster, and his once-pouty lips were no longer plump and inviting. They were thin and cruelly set. His hands trembled a bit as he tentatively took each step of the stairway.

  “Don’t you cry, girl,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t you dare cry.” I pinched myself, forcing a smile while looking up at Matt as he descended.

  When Matt got closer, I could see that his blue eyes still smoldered, but the mischievousness was gone.

  I thought of the poet Lord Byron, whose illness created a wasted beauty of a most haunting kind.

  Matt’s restless eyes lighted on me. “Hello, Rennie,” said Matt, using his pet name for me. “Good of you to come.” He smiled and held out his arms.

  I rushed to Matt and buried my face against his chest. I could hear his heart beat. “Matt, my Matt! Ready to go home?” I looked up at him.

  His reply was a weak nod.

  I noticed that his eyes were moist.

  Charles hurried over and excused the flight attendants. The two of us carefully eased Matt into the lush backseat of the Bentley. Franklin had already entered the back from the other side with the baby and the nurse, so I rode shotgun.

  During the ride home, I stole glances in the rearview mirror, and always Matt was staring at the back of my head.

  Did he blame me for his present condition?

  Of course he did.

  But hadn’t I warned him to stay away from me? Hadn’t I begged him to live in the city? Hadn’t I told him that living close to me was dangerous? Hadn’t he said he would see it through to the end, meaning my situation with Fred O’nan?

  Quit making excuses, Josiah, I scolded myself. You should have pulled him by the hair of the head out of that shed and into town and never seen him again. Look where your selfishness has gotten him.

  Oh, my darling boy. What have I done to you!

  6

  We all kept our distance and gave Matt several days to settle in without descending upon him.

  Lady Elsmere made the first move. She summoned him to a family dinner, including the nurse and the baby. Matt knew Lady Elsmere well enough to realize that declining the invitation was simply not an option.

  It turned out to be quite a happy affair. Franklin, Matt, June, Charles and his wife Mrs. Dupuy, their daughters Amelia and Bess, Michael Connor, who brought Shaneika along, (hmm, seems like they are a “thing” now), myself, Matt’s nurse, and the baby who was passed around like a sack of potatoes with everyone kissing her cheeks and straightening her hair bows.

  Fortunately, she was a good-natured baby and seemed to thrive on adoration–just like her daddy. The apple certainly hadn’t fallen far from the tree in that respect.

  It was obvious Matt was a devoted, doting father, beaming whenever the baby gurgled or pooped.

  As luck would have it, the nurse got the baby to take a nap so we could enjoy our meal without the gurgling or pooping. I’m not a big fan of either–whether from a baby or an adult for that matter.

  June’s massive dining room table was laid out for what she considered a casual dinner with her “everyday” china and mason jars for the drinks; the invited wore casual clothes since they knew their shirts would likely be stained with butter, sauce, and grease drippings. Sounds like a typical Southern feast to me!

  We had gathered in the library for the customary pre-dinner bourbon cocktails when Charles appeared at the door and announced, “Dinner is served, y’all.”

  We rushed to the dining room like a passel of ravenous, feral pigs. I nudged Franklin out of the seat I wanted. I like sitting in the middle of the action, where I can see and hear everything. June anchored one end of the table, and Charles, as heir to June’s estate, sat at the other. Matt sat on the right of June and next to Amelia.

  Amelia had already announced that Matt was too thin, and it was her God-given duty to fatten him up. Whenever Matt looked away, she plopped more potato salad onto his already-laden plate. It was not clear whether Matt noticed his plate was being surreptitiously filled. Nevertheless, he kept eating like some half-starved dog.

  Dinner consisted of barbeque slathered in a secret bourbon honey sauce, homemade potato salad, fried green tomatoes, coleslaw, greasy green beans with chunks of salty ham hock, sautéed red beets, an old-fashioned ring mold of cherry Jell-O with bananas, sliced red tomatoes, spicy deviled eggs, corn bread and yeast rolls with honey butter, sweet iced tea, hand-squeezed lemonade, and topped off with a fabulous black walnut cake with hand-cranked pawpaw ice cream.

  Since the Dupuy’s grandsons, in their teens and early twenties, were still at the atrocious table manners stage, we made them eat in the kitchen. That way they could eat with their hands, or whatever, and we didn’t have to see the mess. Silverware be damned! Charles bribed them with fifty dollars each if they would serve and clean up, so they didn’t mind.

  Everyone ate with relish.

  Matt closed his eyes and savored a bite of green beans. “I’ve missed your cooking so much, Miss Bess. In California, all the food is so healthy, it’s boring.”

  “Are you saying my food is not healthy?” accused Bess, taking offense. “Most of the food on this table was raised on this farm. Totally organic, and I cooked everything myself.”

  “No, Miss Bess, what I’m saying is that compared to good Southern cooking, California food is not even food–well, it’s cardboard. The only local food in southern California with any taste is Hispanic.”

  “Don’t let some snotty celebrity chef hear you say that. You might get sued,” chimed in Franklin.

&nbs
p; “Sir, remember you were recuperating. You could only eat bland food,” offered the nurse while clearly calculating the fat and salt grams on her plate. It was causing her some concern. She continued, “You couldn’t get out to our fine restaurants.”

  Matt winced. “Again, please call me Matt. Sir sounds like you’re addressing my father.”

  Franklin piped up, “You can call me sir.”

  The nurse scowled at Franklin. Apparently they had already butted heads about who was running Matt’s household.

  Miss June pushed her chair back. “I’m so stuffed you’re going to have to use a crane to get me to the second floor. Children, as much as I want to talk some more, these old bones need to lie down a bit. Please carry on.”

  Amelia, who acted as June’s caregiver, rose from the table. “Let me escort you, Lady Elsmere, to your room.”

  June gave everyone a mischievous look. “She calls me Lady Elsmere in public, but in private she calls me ‘Old Buzzard.’”

  “I do not,” protested Amelia. “The awful things you say, old woman.”

  June grinned. “See?” She rested her hand on Amelia’s outstretched arm and let Amelia escort her out of the room.

  When he was sure Amelia and June were out of earshot, Matt commented, “June seems quite a bit more frail than when I last saw her.”

  Charles nodded while he folded his napkin. “She’ll be eighty-nine in a few weeks. Her birthday will coincide with the upcoming couture exhibit. She has forty dresses in it. Selecting and cataloging the dresses for the exhibit simply wore her out.”

  Mrs. Dupuy added, “Exquisite dresses. Some of them are vintage couture from the forties. We had to get most of them out of storage in the attic. You’ve never seen such lovely clothes.”

  Franklin added, “Josiah has dresses in the exhibit also.”

  “I have two, but Shaneika has loaned more than fifteen,” I said. “Of course she won’t tell us how she managed to acquire her treasure trove of vintage couture.”

  Shaneika sneered. “None of your beeswax, Josiah. I wish you’d quit pressing me about my background.”

  “Is there something embarrassing about your background?” inquired Franklin.

  “You know how gossip is in a Southern town. If you’re black and have a single drop of white blood, everyone wants to know the dirty details. Well, I refuse to descend into the gutter to satisfy people’s prurient curiosity.”

  “Are there dirty details? Is there a gutter to lie in?” pushed Franklin, buttering another roll.

  “Franklin, let it slide, boy,” warned Michael.

  “Just wondering. That’s all. Shaneika is always so evasive about her past and just who her ancestors are. I’m just wondering why all the hush-hush?”

  “I’m not hush-hush, Franklin. Why is everyone so interested in my family’s history? Let’s talk about your family, Franklin. Any dirt there?”

  Franklin looked disappointed. “Unfortunately, no. My family is so vanilla, we make Andy and Opie look like drug dealers. The only scandal in my family is me.”

  “You mean because you’re gay?” Charles asked.

  Franklin laughed. “No, the fact that I didn’t become a doctor like my father. The last three generations of males have been doctors. I majored in computer science. It broke my father’s heart.”

  I changed the subject. “Matt, what’s the news with Meriah? Will she be paying us a visit soon?”

  Matt folded his napkin, taking his time. I could tell he was thinking about how to respond. “She’s on a whirlwind book tour right now. I’m sure Meriah will drop by when she’s finished.”

  “I never heard the details of the birth. How did it go?” I asked, not that I actually cared, but I was tired of Franklin going after Shaneika.

  Matt’s face lit up. “At first Meriah was not going to let me take part, but when the contractions started, she asked for me. I followed her right into the birthing room and shared in the entire birth process. It was one of the most wonderful experiences anyone could have. I got to see my baby born.” Matt’s eyes teared up. “I’ll be forever thankful that she allowed me to witness my daughter’s birth.”

  Franklin jeered, “And once Meriah squeezed it out, she kicked the baby to the curb.”

  “That’s not correct, Franklin,” snapped Matt, his blue eyes flashing.

  “I know what I saw.”

  Matt looked around the table. “Meriah had a difficult birthing. She was in labor for a very long time. It took a toll. Then she succumbed to postpartum depression, so naturally I took over the baby’s care.”

  “Meriah went back to writing and parties as soon as she could drag herself out of bed.”

  “Franklin, that’s unfair. Meriah loves the baby. She calls every night. She just doesn’t have the baby gene like you do.”

  Franklin sniffed, “Whatever you say.”

  “She’s a beautiful baby, Matt,” offered Mrs. Dupuy. “I hope you’re not shy about asking me to babysit.”

  Matt’s face brightened, “Really? That would be wonderful. Even with Franklin and the nurse, she can be overwhelming at times. We all need a break now and then. I know she would be safe with you.”

  Mrs. Dupuy nodded as she gazed softly at Charles. “I know what you mean. If I hadn’t had my mother to help me, I would have gone out of my mind, especially since my first girl had the colic. She cried constantly for six weeks. My mother-in-law was a saint for helping me too. Newborns can be a handful. Matt, don’t you be shy. If you need some time, give me a call. I love babies, and it won’t bother me to watch over that sweet thing for a couple of hours.”

  I hoped nobody noticed that I wasn’t volunteering to babysit. As a rule, I don’t understand all the fuss about babies. I’d rather have a puppy.

  I stood and raised my glass. “Here’s to our friendship and the bonds that bind us as a people and a culture.”

  “Here. Here.” said some. “Amen,” hummed others as we all stood and clicked our glasses.

  We were feeling pretty good about ourselves when Malcolm, one of the grandsons, entered the dining room. He came over and whispered in my ear. Nodding, I folded my napkin and said, “Excuse me. I have a telephone call.” Following Malcolm into the hallway, I picked up the receiver, “Hello?”

  “Josiah, is that you? This is Bunny Witt of the Philadelphia Witts. Do you remember talking to me in New York?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Bunny. How on earth did you track me down?”

  “I called the number June gave me, but no answer. I thought maybe you might be visiting her, so I gave her number a try. Clever, huh?”

  “Yes, you’d make a great detective.”

  “You think so?”

  “What can I do you for, Bunny?” I sat down suspecting this call was going to take awhile.

  “Josiah, you won’t believe it, but someone has been rifling through my things here in Lexington.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Just like before in New York. Nothing has been taken, but things are out of place. Even my personal papers are out of order.”

  “When did this take place?”

  “It happened before I arrived. I’m sure of it.”

  “I think you should call the police. This seems to be getting out of hand. It may be nothing or you may be in danger. You won’t know until you have more information.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I am beside myself.”

  “Are you alone at the apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who knows you are in Lexington?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone. No one.”

  “What does that mean, Bunny?”

  “The first thing I did after getting off the plane was check in with the exhibit director about my dresses. I wanted to make sure they had arrived in good condition.”

  Sighing, I said, “That means everyone knows you’re in Lexington.”

  “I guess so. Was I wrong to do that? Anyway, when I got back to my apartment, I noticed stra
ightaway that things were amiss.”

  “Is there any security at your apartment?”

  “Some strong locks, that’s all.”

  “They don’t seem to be strong enough. Do you have any relatives you can stay with?” I could tell she was hinting at staying with me, but I had enough problems of my own. Besides, it sounded like Bunny had a stalker problem. Stalker issues usually end up with someone being injured or dead. I had learned this lesson the hard way, and I didn’t want to take on another stalker having so recently rid myself of my own.

  “Jo, tell Bunny she can stay with me while she’s in Lexington.”

  “June, are you listening on the extension?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. That’s why I refuse to get a cell phone. How can I snoop on those things? Landlines are so useful for listening in unobtrusively.”

  “June, is that you?” asked Bunny.

  “Yes, dear. I already said so. If you wish, you can stay with me until Josiah captures your stalker.”

  “Hold on there. I’m not capturing anyone. One stalker in a lifetime is enough for me, thank you. Bunny needs to call the police or hire a detective.”

  “You mean you won’t help me?” asked Bunny in a trembling voice.

  “I can’t help you, Bunny. I’m in no shape mentally or physically to help anyone. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you at least fetch her?” inquired June.

  Sensing a pair beady eyes staring at the back of my neck, I looked up, and there was June, glaring at me from the second floor balcony, looking rather put out.

  Feeling rather guilty, since June stood by me through thick and thin with my travails with Fred O’nan, I caved in. “I’m coming to get you, Bunny. What’s your address?”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you. I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  I wrote down the address. “Make that half an hour. I’ll honk the horn.” Hanging up the receiver, I yelled to June. “Can I borrow Liam?”

  “He’s gone to Ireland for a visit with his family. He won’t be back for several weeks,” June yelled back.

  “Jumping Jehosaphat,” I muttered to myself.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I looked up.