Rip Your Heart Out

by Jeanne Glidewell

"Because you're itsy-bitsy?"

  "I thought we'd gone over that before." Itsy had a stern tone to her voice, but the twinkle in her eyes belied her attempt to sound perturbed.

  Once we were seated in the detective's office, I asked Mr. Akers to bring out the grocery receipt I'd given him the previous day. I then went over all the reasons I was convinced Tasman Combs had deliberately caused his aunt's death: my first exchange with him in the foyer, his persistent search for the gold, the threatening note he'd left for me to find, his "I'm worried they'll find out" comment to some unknown listener on his phone, his expensive drug habit that had to be hard to afford after being fired for smoking weed on the job, and the fact Mabel didn't trust him.

  Itsy chimed in once in a while with examples of why she'd never trusted Tasman to be alone with her sister, and why she'd always thought he'd knock Mabel off, given the opportunity. The detective nodded numerous times, but never voiced an opinion on the evidence and reasoning we presented.

  Finally, he said, "My biggest concern is that from what you two have told me about him, Tasman doesn't sound like he has the sense God gave a left-handed monkey wrench, much less the wherewithal to know he could kill his aunt with broccoli and Brussels sprouts."

  "Do you have the sense God gave a left-handed monkey wrench, detective?" I asked. "I feel as though I do."

  Detective Akers stared at me silently, obviously taken aback by my question. His expression was one of a man who'd just been asked if he was smart enough to breathe on his own, or if instead he'd require constant reminders. As expected, he didn't respond and I continued.

  "My point is that I would've had no idea I could kill someone in Mabel's position with veggies high in Vitamin K. Would you have? But, everyone knows how to use the Internet to research information, particularly people in Tasman's age group. If I was determined to build an atom bomb, thanks to the World Wide Web, I could learn how to do it."

  "Okay, I see your point, Mrs. Ripple. I suppose it wouldn't hurt for us to have a little chat with him. If he is guilty, and thinks we have solid proof of his culpability, he may feel compelled to confess. But don't get your hopes up, ladies. I've seen many murder cases go sideways when we least expected it."

  "Will you let us know if you're able to break him and get him to confess?" I asked.

  Detective Akers turned away to pick up the phone, but not before I saw him roll his eyes. He glanced at Itsy, who returned his look with a pleading expression on her face. "Well, I guess since you're Ms. Trumbo's next of kin, I can give you a call after we talk to him."

  "Thank you," Itsy replied. "But call Rapella's cell phone, please. She's the one spearheading this investigation."

  The look the detective gave me after Itsy's remark was difficult to decipher, but it was probably for the best I didn't know what was going through his mind at the time. I smiled apologetically at the officer, grabbed Itsy's arm, and steered her toward the door. "Okay, let's get out of the kind gentleman's hair so he can get to work on the case."

  * * *

  The next six hours dragged on like an Oscar winner's acceptance speech. While Rip watched TV and did his assigned exercises, Itsy and I sat on the front porch in a couple of comfortable rattan chairs I'd found in the basement.

  We sipped on glasses of sun tea, and on occasion Itsy would stuff some tobacco in her mouth. I'd found an empty coffee can in the pantry for her to use as a spittoon. I'd also found her Bundt cake pan. It looked like something she'd picked up at a garage sale for a quarter. However, when I returned it to her, you'd have thought I'd uncovered a long lost diamond ring someone dear to her heart had given her. But then, who am I to throw stones when I resided in my own little "glass house"? I'd have wanted the cake pan back, too, because it'd cost ten to twenty hard-earned bucks to replace with a brand new one.

  As we chatted about her and Mabel's childhoods, we glanced at my phone on the wrought-iron table every minute or two, trying to will it to ring. Itsy told me about her struggles growing up, being shuffled from one foster home to another and never feeling loved, or even wanted, at any of them. The Warmans, who'd been her final foster family, had been the most welcoming of all, even though she'd counted the days until she could pack her bags and take off on her own. Her story moved me, even though I sensed no self-pity in her telling of it.

  Itsy and I glanced at the phone again, thinking the detective wasn't going to keep us in the loop after all. Finally, just when we were about to give up, the screen on the phone lit up and it began to ring.

  "Hello," I enabled the speaker on the phone so Itsy could hear both sides of the conversation, and answered breathlessly.

  "This is Detective Akers. I'm afraid we've had to clear Tasman Combs of any wrongdoing."

  "What?" I then repeated my question, hoping I'd misunderstood what he'd said. "You had to do what?"

  "During the interrogation, he said his sister, Sydney, showed up at Mabel's house around five the night before the woman's death and told him he was free to go. She'd said she'd gotten off early and would see that Mabel got fed and settled before she went home. Apparently, Mabel Trumbo was actually their great-aunt, but that's beside the point."

  "Yes, I know. Saying great-aunt every time is cumbersome."

  "Exactly," the detective said. "So, anyway, as he was preparing to leave, Sydney removed several bags of frozen vegetables from a Safeway bag she'd brought in with her. Tasman questioned her about them because earlier she'd told him to make sure Aunt Mabel didn't consume any green or leafy vegetables. Sydney had actually made a list for Tasman of foods to avoid, which is now in our evidence locker."

  The detective cleared his voice and went on with his explanation. "Sydney told him it was true Mabel shouldn't eat foods high in Vitamin K under normal circumstances, but the solonga level in her system was too low, and the veggies would help return it to its recommended level. He didn't question her decision. After all, Sydney was a cardiac nurse and knew just about everything there was to know about heart health."

  "Solonga level?" I asked. "Seriously? We weren't warned about monitoring Rip's solonga level after his bypass surgery."

  "I'd never even heard of it," Detective Akers said. "Anyway, it looks like Tasman's in the clear."

  "But–"

  "Tasman also said Mabel had been confused all day and acting strangely, as if she'd been drugged or something. From what you two told me, Tasman should recognize that look as well as anyone. In fact, although he didn't come right out and say it, he inferred he'd smoked a little weed just before Sydney arrived and he wanted to escape before Sydney noticed it and climbed all over his... well, you-know-what."

  "Was Tasman able to prove his whereabouts afterward? Could he prove he went home to Tokeland after he left Mabel's house?" I was grasping for straws, but I could feel the case beginning to slide sideways, as Detective Akers had said they frequently do.

  "No, better than that. He was able to prove he went to the biker bar on First Avenue by the Alexis Hotel. The bartender vouched for him, saying he arrived around five-thirty and was there all evening. He even had Tasman on a security camera video, drunk as a skunk and trying to pick up a chick who was even more trashed than he was. According to the bartender, he left with that gal just before closing time and stayed overnight at her apartment."

  "Could Tasman prove that?"

  "Yes. We recognized the woman on the video and she verified he spent the night with her. She said the details of that evening were a little hazy, but she was positive Tasman was there all night and didn't leave until she had to get up the next morning to get ready to go to work at, believe it or not, the police station."

  "Really?" I asked.

  "Yes, she's our dispatcher here. But, that's neither here nor there, and you didn't hear it from me. Understood?"

  "Absolutely. Our lips are sealed."

  "So, that's that."

  "Yes, if you can believe a word the little pothead said." I knew I sounded defensive, but I'd been so sure we'd had the l
ittle jerk dead to rights.

  I hated to ask, but I wanted to put the case to rest. Was it possible Sydney was responsible for her Aunt Mabel's death? After all, by her own admission, she was the person who purchased all of the woman's groceries. She knew exactly what a high level of Vitamin K could do to a person on blood thinner medicine following bypass surgery. I couldn't imagine why she'd purchase the frozen vegetables in Tokeland, unless she was there visiting Tasman. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that there was no such thing as a solonga level. So-long-a? Seriously? I was sure it'd been a pitiful attempt at humor on some insensitive fool's part. Was Sydney the insensitive fool in question?

  Despite the outcome, I had to know the truth. Itsy deserved closure as well. I bit the bullet, and asked the detective, "So, I assume you're going to look into any possible alibi Sydney Combs might've had?"

  "Absolutely! Detective Riley's on the way to the hospital now to pick her up for questioning."

  "Okay, thanks." Itsy and I were both disheartened by the turn of events. "Will you let us know what happens after Sydney's questioned?"

  It took a long time for Detective Akers to respond, and when he finally did, his voice sounded reluctant. "I suppose so."

  It was a long evening, and I was understandably upset by the outcome of Itsy's and my visit to the police station. I couldn't deal with my sense of guilt at being behind Sydney's apprehension. I kept wondering if she'd been humiliated at being led away from her work at the hospital by a homicide detective. I was praying she hadn't been "cuffed and stuffed" like Itsy had.

  "It's not your fault," Rip said in an attempt to console me. "Besides, dear, if Nurse Combs did the crime, she should have to do the time. Mabel deserves justice as much as anyone."

  "I know. I just wish it hadn't been Sydney behind her aunt's death. I was so certain it was her brother who'd killed Mabel."

  "We don't know for certain yet that Sydney was involved. Keep the faith, darling."

  * * *

  The phone rang the next morning while Itsy and I were conversing over coffee in the drawing room. The caller ID on my phone indicated it was the Seattle police department calling. Afraid of what the detective might tell me, I had to force myself to answer it.

  "Mrs. Ripple? This is Detective Akers."

  "Good morning, detective," I replied. An eternal optimist, I added, "I suppose you're calling to tell me Sydney's been charged with first degree murder."

  "No," he replied. "Actually, I was going to inform you that she's been cleared, as well."

  I breathed an audible sigh of relief. The detective asked me if I was all right before he finished his explanation as to why Sydney was also off the hook. "Dr. Murillo, a cardiac surgeon at the heart center, confirmed Sydney assisted him throughout a long surgery that began at four o'clock in the afternoon and wasn't completed until after midnight. Apparently, a patient had been brought in for emergency surgery to repair an aortic aneurysm."

  "That is music to my ears." When I realized how dispassionate my remark sounded, I clarified it. "I meant that Sydney's innocent, not that the patient needed emergency surgery, mind you. Go on."

  "So anyway, we know Tasman was at the bar when the vegetables were ingested, which the coroner, Dr. Thies, estimated took place in the six-hour window between four and ten the evening prior to her death. Dr. Thies has now determined the victim's death was an accident. Most likely she was hungry and decided to fix the vegetables for herself. With her memory issues, she probably didn't think twice about what she was eating."

  "Can the coroner's determination be proven without a shadow of a doubt?" I asked. I was hoping it could be, but something told me there was more to the story than met the eye.

  "Probably not, Mrs. Ripple. But even if someone else intentionally fed her those vegetables, we know it wasn't Tasman, or his sister, Sydney. Because, let's face it, Sydney couldn't have been at two places at the same time."

  Itsy and I looked at each other with identical stunned expressions. Something had dawned on both of us at the exact same moment. I took a deep breath and said, "Maybe it only appeared as if she was in two places at the same time, detective."

  "Huh? What do you mean by that?"

  "Sydney has an identical twin! The two are nearly indistinguishable from each other."

  "Really? We weren't aware of that." The detective was clearly astonished. "Tasman never mentioned a second sister, much less that she was Sydney's twin. You may be on to something. What's her name and where can we find her?"

  I gave the detective her name and told him she lived in Yakima. I recalled hearing Sydney say Adelaide worked at the First Cut Hair Salon, which was most likely in her home town. It was a weekday, so there was a good chance they could find her there.

  I thanked the detective and ended the call, overwhelmed with relief that it hadn't been Sydney who'd killed her aunt. My prayers had been answered.

  Although it wasn't Tasman as we'd originally thought, we were hopeful we'd found Mabel Trumbo's killer. We were afraid to be overly confident, having been convinced we'd found the killer before only to be disappointed.

  I sat back in the rattan chair with what was, no doubt, a smug, self-satisfied expression plastered on my face. I had the satisfaction of knowing my warning to Adelaide the first time I'd met her seemed as if it might have turned out to be prophetic in nature. Karma may truly had come back and bit the evil twin in the butt.

  Chapter 32

  The following day, Adelaide Combs was arrested on first-degree murder charges. Detective Akers was kind enough to tell us that, during an intense interrogation, she'd admitted to having planned the murder in order to capitalize on her inheritance, not knowing at the time the house had been bequeathed to the heart center. She'd also hoped to find the gold nuggets her Aunt Mabel was alleged to have stashed away somewhere on her property, but, to her dismay, her victim had hidden the booty too well. As a pathetic attempt to justify her actions, Adelaide had claimed to be "putting the old broad out of her misery" because, after all, Mabel Trumbo "couldn't remember shit, you know". Hearing that only served to give me more satisfaction in knowing the despicable young woman was going to get what she had coming to her.

  In the days that followed, we found out a lot of details about the murder via the sizzling grapevine, Detective Akers, and the local news coverage. It seems Adelaide had purchased the frozen vegetables in Tokeland the week before Mabel's death when she'd picked Tasman up on her way to visit their biological father, Roland Combs, in South Bend. After researching the connection between Vitamin K and blood clotting, along with how much of the sleep aid medication Adelaide had been prescribed years earlier it would take to cause confusion and sedation, she'd devised her murder plot.

  A few days before Mabel's death, Adelaide had stopped by Mabel's house on the pretense of being concerned about her health. While there, she'd sneakily removed all of the anti-coagulant pills from the prescription bottle on the kitchen counter and replaced them with off-brand Vitamin K tablets that were nearly identical in appearance. The swap ensured Mabel's blood would thicken up faster during the several days prior to the Sunday Tasman was due to watch over Mabel.

  In Mabel's weekly pill organizer, Adelaide had also slipped a couple of her sleeping pills into the Sunday morning compartment and two more in the noon slot. They were small and easily overlooked in the cocktail of medications Mabel took.

  On the fateful Sunday evening, Adelaide had dressed in a set of scrubs, purchased earlier in the week in Yakima, and confirmed by a sales clerk at the uniform store. She then went to Mabel's house and pretended to be her identical twin, Sydney. Adelaide breezed into the house and cheerfully greeted her aunt. "Hi, Aunt Mabel. It's me, Sydney."

  Aunt Mabel, who was off in another world due to all of the sleeping pills she'd ingested that day, easily fell for the ruse. Adelaide, still pretending to be Sydney, told Tasman he was free to go. She'd stay and see to it that Aunt Mabel was fed and put down before she went
home. Little did Tasman know that she meant the term "put down" literally. He hadn't questioned his sister's identity, as it was difficult for even him to tell them apart, unless they were standing side by side. The fact Adelaide wore the scrubs she'd recently obtained and called him Taz, a nickname Sydney often used, made him even less suspicious that he was being duped. Having a buzz on didn't help matters, either, he'd admitted.

  After Tasman left and headed to a nearby bar, Adelaide had convinced her Aunt Mabel, who was loopy at the time, to gobble down large amounts of Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and canned spinach because her solonga level was critically low. Solonga was indeed a made-up term Adelaide created for her own amusement. Adelaide then gave her aunt her evening medications, which had included no anti-coagulant pills, but plenty of Vitamin K tablets. She put her aunt to bed, locked the front door and left to let "nature" take its course.

  Adelaide had no way of knowing at the time if her scheme would work. But it did. Aunt Mabel suffered a fatal pulmonary embolism early the next morning. As Adelaide had hoped, a blood clot formed, then broke loose and traveled through Mabel's blood stream to her lung.

  Adelaide's plan had been well thought out and executed precisely. It would've worked perfectly, too, if not for one thing—a stupid, old, nosy-ass woman named Rapella Ripple, who helped karma come back and kick Adelaide Combs in her skinny-jeans-clad rear end. And I could not have been happier about it!

  * * *

  To my relief, Ridley Wicket's citizenship was never questioned and at Sydney's request, he'd been granted free use of one of the suites for the remainder of his life by the director of the heart center. Ridley never explained his reluctance to return to his native country, and Rip and I never asked. Rip didn't think it was any of our business, and I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.

  The aging caretaker told us he'd witnessed one of the twins—he couldn't distinguish between the two either–messing around with Mabel's weekly pill organizer four or five days before Mabel's death. After a couple of weeks of troubling contemplation, his scruples kicked in, prompting him to phone in an anonymous tip to the local police station. Ridley knew he stood the chance of being discovered and booted out of the country, but by then his conscience wouldn't let him harbor the secret any longer.