Rip Your Heart Out

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "Yep. Just after Tasman drove away, I went inside to get a bite to eat. I didn't see what time Sydney left."

  "Do you reckon Tasman had something to do with his aunt's death—after Sydney left, I mean? Like you said, I'm sure she just stopped by for a quick moment to check on Mabel, and then had to get back to the hospital to finish her shift. Or, maybe she spelled Tasman just long enough for him to run an errand. Sydney indicated she never felt comfortable leaving him alone with their aunt, but she didn't have much of a choice."

  Itsy shrugged. "Yeah, he could've played a part in how Mabel gave up the ghost, I guess. Iffen, that is, there turns out to be something amiss about how she kicked that oxygen habit of hers. Whatever the case, Mabel's using a stepladder to pick dandelions now."

  Itsy definitely had a colorful way with words. As I grimaced at her gallows humor, Itsy leaned over and pinched the blossom off a dandelion. It was as if the yellow weed reminded her of the euphemism about being deceased.

  I didn't want to ask her about whether or not Mabel had actually been on oxygen, lest she think I was still having trouble keeping up with her. "Speaking of ghosts, Itsy, did Mabel ever mention anything about her house being haunted? Did she say anything about odd, unexplainable things going on like flickering lights, unusual noises, or disappearing leprechauns in the drawing room?"

  "Not that I recollect. She certainly never mentioned anything about disappearing leprechauns. Mabel was one egg short of a carton but even so, she wasn't that much of a nut job. I'm kind of starting to wonder about you though."

  "That makes two of us! Three, if you count my husband. You sure didn't care for Mabel very much, did you?" I asked.

  Itsy shrugged again. "Let's just say we had our differences."

  "Like what?"

  Without answering my question, Itsy knelt down to resume her weeding. "You best be getting along, Rapella. I've got work to do. Besides, old Gallant there looks like he's about to drop a load, and I don't want him dropping it here. I'm very particular about how my lawn is fertilized."

  * * *

  I decided to walk Gallant in another direction. Ridley had indicated he went to the same church as Mabel, Sacred Heart Catholic Church on Falmouth Street. It was farther from the Heart Shack than I'd anticipated, but we came to it just as I was about to turn around. Gallant and I continued a little farther so I could make out what was on the sign in front of the ornate building.

  The sign read "Join us for Wednesday evening mass. Wal-Mart is not the only saving place." It was nice to see the powers-that-be at Sacred Heart displaying a sense of humor. We walked to the other side of the sign, the side facing the traffic coming down Second Street. "Honk if you love Jesus. Text while driving if you want to meet him. Wednesday night worship 7:00."

  "Oh, crap!" I said out loud, after discovering Gallant had done just that right next to the church sign. I'd forgotten to bring a bag to clean up after Gallant and felt bad about him defacing the church's manicured lawn.

  I read the sign again as I urged the dog to hurry up and finish his business. Today was Wednesday, and there'd be a service at seven that evening. I wasn't Catholic, but there was no reason I couldn't attend the seven-o'clock worship service. Rip would be perfectly content to spend the evening staring at the boob tube in our room while I was gone.

  I thought that by attending the service, I might get an opportunity to speak with Ridley Wickets again. I'd called him a couple of times in the last several days and left messages. As of yet, I hadn't received a response. The sunglasses had disappeared from the fireplace mantel where I'd left them, but not until a couple of days after Ridley had visited the house. I assumed he'd stopped by one day when I'd left the front door unlocked and retrieved them without sticking around to say hello.

  I'd promised Sydney to ask the caretaker if he'd been rooting around in her aunt's basement, and if so, why. So far the opportunity to ask him hadn't presented itself. If he was in attendance for mass that evening, I hoped to engage him in a conversation afterward.

  "Come on, boy! Let's get going so we can be home before Rip and I need to leave for his rehab session. Besides, we need to get out of here before someone drives by and sees where you just deposited your church offering."

  "Ruff! Ruff!"

  Chapter 20

  When Gallant and I turned the corner onto South Hart Street, I recognized the red and silver Mini-Cooper parked on the street in front of the Heart Shack. Curious as to why Adelaide Combs had come calling, we picked up our pace. The St. Bernard, who Sydney told me was approaching eleven years old, had one speed—and it wasn't "warp".

  When Gallant began to pant, I slowed down to let him catch his breath. "I'm sorry, boy. I keep forgetting that in dog years, you're about nine years my senior."

  When we walked into the foyer, I was surprised to see a thin, wiry man with long dirty-blond hair sorting through the stack of mail I'd stacked on the marble table. I was even more surprised to see him wearing the sunglasses I'd thought belonged to Ridley Wickets. "Hey, buddy. Do those sunglasses belong to you?"

  He stopped thumbing through the collection of envelopes and stared at me as if expecting me to break into a song and dance routine. "No, lady, they belong to Elton John but he's letting me borrow them. Who'd you think they belonged to?"

  I've always heard that dogs are good judges of character, so I believed Gallant when he moved closer to my side and began to snarl and display his intimidating eyeteeth. He then growled in a deep-throated timbre. I reached down to grasp his collar, which would have done little to stop him should he have decided to pounce. When the fellow took a step toward Gallant, the dog cowered and scooted in behind me, as if he feared he had a brutal beating coming. I wondered if the man had abused him in the past.

  "Chill out, Gallant," the man said. "Hey, boy! It's just me, dude."

  "And who might you be?" I asked. I'll admit I was acting a little proprietary for someone whose name was not on the deed to the house, or even the electric bill the scraggly dude held in his right hand.

  "Part owner of this place," he answered defensively. "So, who are you and what are you doing here?"

  His response made it clear he was the twins' pot-smoking brother. By the condition of his teeth, marijuana likely wasn't the only substance he was abusing. To me, he had a definite meth-head appearance. As he glared at me, Tasman inhaled deeply, resulting in a whistling from his nose. It was as if the nasal septum between his nostrils was perforated. I'd heard this happened to cocaine addicts on occasion. Could this be the case with Tasman? I may not have recognized the true purpose of the roach clip I'd found, that undoubtedly belonged to him, but I was well aware of the fact that marijuana was a gateway drug to more powerful narcotics. If Tasman was addicted to street drugs like meth and cocaine, why in the world would Sydney ever entrust her aunt's well-being to his care?

  I listened to Tasman's nose whistle again before responding. "My name's Rapella Ripple, and I have every right to be here."

  "Did Sydney hire a dog walker?" He asked.

  "What difference would it make if she did?"

  "Ain't really none of your business, old lady, but Sydney is getting paid by the estate to take care of the animals. Me and Addie's money shouldn't go toward paying someone like you."

  "Well, it isn't, you insolent little twerp. Sydney isn't paying 'someone like me' to walk Gallant." I tried to skirt past Tasman but he blocked my passage. The sensation of being trapped unnerved me. "Please step aside and let me pass."

  Tasman put his hands on his hips and didn't budge. The creepy smile on his face displayed both his rotting teeth and a tongue piercing. His threatening demeanor was disturbing. The long period of silence made me even more uncomfortable.

  I glanced at the vase of lilac blossoms on the table. I'd added them to brighten up the entrance, but that didn't mean the glass jar couldn't also be utilized for clocking rude little bastards on the head, if the situation called for it. As I was debating my next move, Tasman finally
spoke.

  "You didn't tell me why you're here, old lady."

  "My husband and I are temporary residents of what's now being referred to as the Heart Shack." In case, like his sister Adelaide, he was unaware that his aunt had bequeathed her home to the heart center, I went on to explain the nature of my presence, which only seemed to inflame him more. It was like tossing gasoline on a smoldering fire.

  After getting a few graphic expletives out of his system, Tasman calmed down enough to respond to my explanation. "Adelaide told me about the so-called Heart Shack."

  "There's nothing 'so-called' about it, numb nuts!" I decided I could participate in offensive name-calling just as easily as he had.

  "Adelaide's checking out my aunt's will to see if it's even legal. Sydney's stupid heart center may have to take a flying leap if we have anything to do with it, you stupid old bag."

  "Good luck with that!" My patronizing tone clearly hit a raw nerve in Tasman, who sneered at me as he spat out more ugly words. "You can drop dead for all I care, lady."

  Drop dead? Old bag? Could Goofus have picked these cruel phrases up from this jerk? I could see the little creep calling his aunt nasty names just as he had me, even after she'd given him a home when he and his sisters were orphaned.

  "You need that horrid-looking mouth of yours scrubbed out with a bar of soap, young man. What makes you think your aunt's will might be invalid?"

  "Cause Adelaide said so."

  "Cause Adelaide said so?" I mimicked his words as mockingly as I could. "Is she the brains behind this money-grubbing duo? It's obvious you aren't."

  "What's it to you, lady?"

  "You are an ungrateful brat! You're fortunate your aunt was kind enough to put a roof over your head." I'd like to put something over your head too, buddy boy, and it ain't a roof, I thought, but managed to resist saying. I hadn't liked this disrespectful prick at first glance and had no problem telling him so. "I'm appalled by your attitude. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't intentionally—"

  Just then one of the twins joined us in the foyer, who I knew by the scowl on her face was Adelaide. It was probably a good thing she'd interrupted me. I was about to accuse her despicable brother of doing something vile that I had no proof whatsoever he was guilty of doing.

  My habit of treating suspects as though they were guilty until proven innocent had sent me on more than one apology tour in the past. The last thing I wanted was to feel obliged to issue an apology to some brazen piece of work who'd call me an old lady and a stupid old bag. I turned my attention to the leader of the money-grubbing duo as she began to spout her own brand of nonsense.

  "Aunt Mabel was coerced into changing her will before she died of mysterious causes," she said matter-of-factly as Tasman stood next to her, nodding his head like a bobble-head doll. "I'd bet my life on it."

  "And I'd love to take that bet, young lady. I don't know where you got the notion she was coerced into anything, but I do know her cause of death was not mysterious. The medical examiner listed your aunt's official cause of death as pulmonary embolism. What's mysterious about that?" I wasn't going to mention the recent autopsy results in case she hadn't already heard about them. I didn't want to give Adelaide the satisfaction of knowing Sydney could potentially be held responsible for their aunt's high Vitamin K level, which may have ultimately led to her death. I truly felt Sydney would be cleared of any responsibility in Mabel's passing.

  I glanced from Adelaide to Tasman. This time I stopped just short of accusing the pair of murder. "Does either of you two know something about her death, or have a personal reason you should be turning yourself over to the police department?"

  Neither looked pleased about my last question, not that I expected they would. I'd intended it to be a remark that would stick in their craws—and hopefully chokes the crap out of both of them.

  "I don't know why I'm even wasting my breath talking about my aunt's death with you. It's none of your concern to begin with. Just feed and walk the damn dog and stay out of our business." With that retort, Adelaide clutched her brother's arm and led him out of the foyer, through the drawing room, and on to the kitchen. I was but a few steps behind. After huddling together and conversing in low whispers, they walked toward the staircase leading to the basement.

  I would have liked to follow them to see what they were up to. Were they on a mission to continue raiding their aunt's storeroom? Unfortunately, I didn't have the time for it. Rip was due at rehab in ten minutes.

  Sure enough, I could hear rummaging through boxes and drawers in the storeroom directly below the kitchen as I rushed to feed the two pets. I fed Gallant and gave him his poop pay, despite the fact he'd earned it in a most sacrilegious manner by relieving himself on church property.

  "Can't eat that skid! Get outta sear!" Goofus chanted. He seemed even more manic than usual as he bobbed his head and paced from one end of his perch to the other and back again.

  I began to sing softly, but Goofus only became more frantic. I decided to wait to interact with the crazed bird until he'd calmed down. I wanted to pull the same number of fingers out of his cage that I poked in. Although I'm ashamed to admit it, I once briefly considered ways I could eliminate the feathered nuisance while making his demise look like an unfortunate accident. I swallowed hard when I realized that the same kind of wicked deed might have done Mabel in.

  * * *

  At Rip's very first rehab visit on Monday of the previous week, he'd had to walk around the facility for ten minutes before walking on a treadmill for five and ride a stationary bike for another five. Rip's therapist, Ethel, was nearly as old as Rip and was a strict drill master. She pretty much wiped the floor with my poor husband, and didn't take "no" or "I can't" for an answer. I adored Ethel just as much as I did Nurse Combs.

  Rip was exhausted by the time he dragged his bone-weary keister back to the truck. When he'd exited the building that first day, he'd looked as if he'd scaled Mount Everest–and died just before reaching the apex. Truly, he'd looked like death warmed over, which I don't feel guilty saying now that I know he's going to be all right.

  With each session after his first one, Ethel had increased his walking and the time on each apparatus by one minute. This morning, at his sixth rehab session to date, he'd been instructed to walk for sixteen minutes and do eleven minutes on the two pieces of exercise equipment. By the incredulous expression on Rip's face when Ethel gave him his instructions, you'd have thought she'd insisted he run a full marathon and then tack on another five miles as a celebratory victory lap.

  Following today's session, Rip didn't have enough oomph left to lift his own feet into the truck. I had to hoist him into the passenger seat and strap him in like a toddler. He was dead weight and unable to offer much assistance. Getting the right hold on his body to lift him, without collapsing with him on top of me, had taken numerous attempts. I'm sure it'd been a comical scene for the folks coming and going from the facility. We might have even gone viral on YouTube that evening, because I swear I'd seen a young man videoing us with his cell phone.

  Rip wasn't adjusting as quickly to the therapy as I'd anticipated. I felt sorry for him because I had witnessed the effort he was expending. But I had to set my feelings aside and continue to nudge him along. The outcome was too important to let him skate by without pushing himself as much as possible.

  When we returned to the house, he slowly climbed up the stairs to rest in the recliner, mumbling the entire way. I was wishing Goofus was making a racket instead of being uncharacteristically silent, so his carrying-on would drown out Rip's complaining. Rip had finished his second full week of rehabilitation therapy, yet for some reason, the decrease in remaining rehab sessions and the decrease in bellyaching were not occurring proportionately–not that I'd ever seriously thought they would.

  Once I knew Rip was safely up the staircase, I gathered all of the ingredients I'd need to prepare supper. I'd invited Dave and Cindy Miller to join us for dinner that evening before the
y headed over to the sleep lab to get Dave set up for his sleep study. I wanted to use the time to get a head start on things.

  I chopped up the head of lettuce, radishes, green bell pepper and a cucumber for the salad I aimed to serve with my chicken enchilada casserole. I placed the vegetables in an airtight container and put it in the fridge to stay fresh until the four of us sat down to eat.

  * * *

  While Rip rested upstairs, I took Gallant out for a long walk. Upon returning, I read a couple of chapters of the book I was immersed in, then I puttered around in the kitchen, setting the table and creating a centerpiece out of lilac blossoms, and several roses Itsy had snipped off one of her bushes for me.

  I went upstairs just before five to rouse my sleeping husband because the Millers were due shortly.

  "Rip, wake up. We'll be having dinner soon. Cindy's bringing sugar-free apple tarts for our dessert, which is so thoughtful of her."

  "You didn't tell me Nurse Combs was joining us for supper."

  Clearly Rip hadn't pictured himself down-under before he'd replied, as I'd instructed him to, because he'd mistaken the nurse's name for Cindy again. I exaggerated the enunciation of the first syllables of the two names as I responded. "Not SYDney, CINdy. Cindy is Dave Miller's wife's name."

  "Who's Dave Miller?"

  "Jeez Louise, Rip. He's the guy who owns the fifth wheel that was parked next to our trailer at the Sunset RV Park. Remember? They towed the trailer here for us so I wouldn't have to do it by myself."

  "That was very kind of them, but there would've been no need for you to handle it alone, honey. I could have done it."

  "No, you couldn't have. There was no way you could've tackled that job so soon after your operation, honey. You weren't even released to drive until yesterday. Sydney warned you to build up your strength and endurance, but to go about it in baby steps for a while. You've done well in your efforts to not overdo it. Maybe too well, in fact."