Watkins - 05 - Poison Heart

by Mary Logue

  Claire had talked to the sheriff about Margaret’s claim that her stepmother was trying to raid her father’s estate.

  He nodded and said, “Yeah, go talk to her. I’m not sure we can stop her stepmother, but it might make her feel better.”

  “Then I’m going to go home. Reiner’s guy is coming to take the elk home today. I want to be there.”

  “How are you going to move the elk?”

  “We won’t make him walk home. Although that might be easier. Caretaker said he’d send a big trailer. Will be interesting to see them try to load him up—not my problem. My daughter’s going to miss him.”

  “He has that much personality?”

  “He does. And he has big brown eyes. You know what that does to the girls. He’s amazingly tame for such a large animal.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” The sheriff tapped a pencil on his desk and said, “I got another call from Reiner.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He wants us to find out who shot his elk. He’s all torqued up about it, wants to know why we don’t have the perpetrator in hand.” The sheriff paused for a moment, then launched into a speech. “What is it with these townsfolk? They come down here, and if anything doesn’t go their way, they threaten to sue everyone in sight the way we offer coffee to our neighbors. Don’t they realize they’ve got to live with us the rest of their lives?”

  “These are people who don’t know their next-door neighbor’s name in town, let alone their problems.” Claire laughed. “I should know, I was one of them.”

  “This Reiner seems particularly obnoxious. Where does he get off?”

  “He runs a big business. Used to everyone jumping when he demands it. Gets a lot done that way. I know he came from money, but I bet he earns his income now.”

  “All I know about the guy is he pays his taxes, and they are nothing to sneeze at. A couple months’ salary of one of our deputies. I suppose he’s an asset to this community.”

  “Yeah, but he should look at himself. I don’t think he realizes how stirred up he’s got people in this county over some of the things he’s doing.”

  The sheriff swiveled back in his chair. “What’re people stirred up about?”

  “I think just who he is, what he represents. The thing is, he doesn’t even see them. It’s like they’re just part of the local color.”

  “That’ll make folks mad.”

  “But mad enough to walk on his land, cut his fence, and shoot one of his animals?”

  “People have done worse with less reason.”

  Walking up to the Underwood house, Claire noticed a flower—a clematis vine had crawled up a trellis in front of the house, and a single fading purple blossom bobbed in the autumn breeze. Maybe the last flower of the season.

  Claire knocked on the door, and Margaret yelled at her to come in. Opening the door, she found herself looking into the kitchen. An old woodstove stood next to the far wall, Margaret looking into it.

  The floors were wide pine planks, polished to a shine. A large porcelain kitchen sink was placed right under a window with a row of plants—rosemary, scented geranium, thyme—lining the ledge. Under another window was the trunk that Claire had helped her carry into the house. There was nothing fancy about the room, but it was full of light and warmth and wonderful aromas.

  “Something smells good.”

  “Have you had lunch?” Margaret asked, looking up from where she was squatting in front of the oven, checking on something she was baking. “I made some soup and corn bread.”

  Claire automatically was going to say no, but when she thought of her options, she changed her mind. “I’d love to join you. Better than a burger at the Fort. You have a great place here.”

  Margaret stood and smiled. Claire didn’t think she had ever seen the woman smile before. It made her nearly beautiful, her cheeks full, her eyes lit up. “Thank you.” Then Margaret’s eyes fell and her smile crumbled. “I tried to go see my father this morning, but they wouldn’t let me see him.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Patty Jo told the nurses I was not to be allowed to see my father. I was standing in the hallway just outside his door, but I couldn’t go in. What will he think when I don’t show up?”

  As she often did in her job, Claire felt amazed at how mean people were to each other. “Why would she do that?”

  “She’s afraid I’ll talk to Dad about her selling the farm. I didn’t bring it up the last time I saw him, because I didn’t want to upset him. Now I wish I had. He has a right to know what’s going on.” Margaret set another place for Claire. “Can she do this to me? Can she stop me from seeing my dad?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what her rights are. I’ll check into it. You need to get a lawyer.”

  Margaret put her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this. How can this be happening? It’s bad enough that my father has had a stroke, but then to have this woman ripping him off and keeping me from seeing my own father . . .”

  “I did talk to the county attorney about her selling the house. You need to get your own attorney and file a petition for an injunction. She said the best thing would be if you could prove undue influence.”

  “How am I going to do this all in time? I just found out that this Friday she’s auctioning off the contents of the house. It was in the shopper. How do I prove anything before then?”

  Claire thought the chances of her stopping the auction were slim. She knew how slowly the court usually moved. “Talk to your attorney immediately. Once you have filed the petition, we can freeze the assets. If you can do it fast enough, there’s a chance we could stop the auction. You need to get right on that. And I wouldn’t spread the word. I don’t think you want Patty Jo to know what you’re doing.”

  Mark walked in the kitchen door in time to hear the last few words. “What about Patty Jo?”

  “Mark, take your boots off. Claire’s been telling me what we need to do.”

  He slid them off on a piece of newspaper right by the door and walked in his stocking feet to the sink to wash his hands. He was a small man, maybe five-eight, but up close Claire could see that he was a solid block, muscles filling out his flannel shirt. He had thin brown hair tied back in a ponytail and deep wrinkles running down his cheeks, but he was handsome. Weathered, but attractive.

  As he wiped his hands on a towel, he talked to Margaret. “I’m not happy with Letty’s tit. It still looks swollen to me.”

  “I’ll pack it again. Letty’s one of our ewes.” Margaret explained to Claire. “She’s a good producer, but one of her teats has been impacted.”

  “Say no more,” Claire said.

  Mark reached out his big hand. “I don’t think we’ve actually met.” His handshake resembled his stature: firm and short.

  “No, I just saw you that one day I picked up Margaret.”

  He sat down in a chair at the table. Claire got the impression he was holding a lot in, as if he might burst if he didn’t control himself. “Patty Jo needs to be taught a lesson. She’s going around like she owns that place. She doesn’t. It’s supposed to go to Margaret.”

  Margaret served big bowls of soup and then handed the corn bread around. “How do we prove that Patty Jo isn’t acting with my dad’s best interests in mind? She’s his wife—how can she have undue influence?”

  “From what I understand, you need to show that she took advantage of his situation. How did she persuade him to sign the power of attorney? I know it doesn’t sound easy. Did your father ever complain about Patty Jo? How she was trying to take advantage of him?”

  “I’ll ask around. I doubt it. He was pretty tight-lipped. To tell you the truth, I don’t think he talked to anyone about those sorts of things.”

  “Good luck.”

  They were all silent for a moment, then Margaret asked, “What if she had something to do with his stroke?”

  Claire looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean she brought it on,
but she claims she didn’t know anything had happened to my father until she called him for dinner. When I got to the hospital the doctor told me it looked like he had the stroke hours before the ambulance came. The damage was irreversible. Why didn’t Patty Jo find him sooner? He was just out by the barn. What if she just let him lie there?”

  This horrifying picture shot into Claire’s mind: an old man on the ground, his wife in the house watching TV.

  Meg had known they were coming to take Harvey away, but all day she tried to put it out of her mind, the way you try to keep a tongue away from a sore tooth. But there was no avoiding it when, a few minutes after the school bus dropped her off, two men arrived with a huge trailer. Meg saw them from the kitchen window.

  They backed the trailer up to the barn and then went inside. Meg ran out from the house to see what they were doing and found them tying a rope around Harvey’s neck. She could tell that he didn’t like it and she tried to make them stop, but they wouldn’t listen to her.

  “You need to wait,” Meg shouted at them. “Wait until my mom gets home. She needs to be here.”

  “Sweetie, get out of the way,” one man said. “This animal is liable to buck, and you might lose your front teeth again.”

  Meg decided it would be best if she didn’t watch them. She walked into the house and sat on the floor in her room and wondered how Rich’s mom was doing. She knew Rich had left in the middle of the night and that he wasn’t back yet. She felt like praying that Beatrice would be okay, but she didn’t understand prayers. God had always felt so far away from her, even farther than the president of the United States. Older, but with his own tight agenda. God, if she thought he existed, scared her. When her worries about Beatrice started to overwhelm her, she decided maybe it would be better to see how Harvey was doing. He was here, and maybe she could help.

  When she walked out of the house, the two men were standing on each side of Harvey, trying to lead him up the ramp and into the trailer. Harvey wasn’t having any of it. He had planted his legs and wasn’t moving. Meg was surprised by how badly it was going. She could see, right off the bat, so many things they were doing wrong. She could try to tell them, but she was sure they wouldn’t listen to her.

  Then her mother drove up the driveway.

  As her mother stepped out of the car, Meg ran to her.

  “Mom, they don’t know what they’re doing. Can’t you stop them?”

  Claire wrapped an arm around Meg’s shoulders, and they walked up to the side of the trailer. “Hey, Jim. How’s it going?” she said.

  “Not so good. He’s been in a trailer before, but he doesn’t seem to want to budge today.”

  “I think I can make him get in the trailer,” Meg told them all.

  Her mother looked down at her. “You can?”

  Jim said, “I’d like to see that. Do you want to give it a try?”

  Claire squeezed her shoulders. “My daughter could get hurt.”

  “No, Mom, I won’t get hurt. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be very careful. Plus, Harvey’s used to me. He’s seen me every day for the last week. He knows me. Let me at least try.”

  The two men shrugged, and her mother said, “Okay, but we’re going to stand here. If anything happens, these men will jump in.”

  “Fine, but stand back. I need Harvey to forget you’re there. He doesn’t trust those guys.” Then Meg laid out her plan. “First let’s take Harvey back into the barn and let him calm down.”

  They led him into the barn and tied him to his stall. Meg walked back out with the men and told them what she wanted them to do.

  “You need to turn the truck off. That noise is bothering him. It’s too much.”

  They turned the truck off.

  “Now, open both doors at the end of the trailer. That way the whole trailer won’t seem so claustrophobic to Harvey.”

  The two men walked around to the head of the truck and opened the doors on either side of the trailer.

  “Wait for me. I’ll be right back. Then I think we can load him.” Meg ran into the house. She found an apple at the bottom of the refrigerator and cut it into four pieces. She stuffed it in her pocket and ran back outside.

  Her mother and the two men were waiting. The men seemed impatient. Meg decided she had to do it all herself. The men would not be gentle enough. “I’ll get him now,” she said, and walked into the barn. She showed Harvey the apple, then led him out to the bottom of the ramp.

  “I can do it, but why don’t you move a little farther away? Walk away, but don’t make any sudden moves.” Meg stood at the bottom of the ramp and fed Harvey the first piece of apple. While he was eating, she talked to him. She told him he was a good elk. She told him where he was going and how happy he would be to see all his friends again. Then she walked halfway up the ramp and held out another piece.

  Harvey took a step up the ramp and stretched out his neck to reach the apple. He ate the second piece. Meg backed up to the top of the ramp, and he followed. She fed him the third piece.

  Facing him, she walked backward until she hit the back wall of the trailer. Harvey was watching her. She held out her hand with the last slice of apple. Meg could tell he was trying to decide what to do. But he was already up the ramp and didn’t really want to go back down.

  Harvey sniffed the air. Meg held the apple on the palm of her hand as if it were a diamond for him to inspect. She could see his eyes were on the apple slice. This was where patience came in—something she had learned in school when it got too boring. Minutes went by. There was one moment when he turned his head and she thought she had lost him, then she clucked her tongue and he looked at her and the apple again.

  Finally he decided. She could tell by the way he shifted his weight on his legs even before he took the step. What he didn’t like, she knew, was entering the enclosure of the trailer.

  Suddenly he lunged forward, as if to get it over with, and stepped into the trailer, and she pulled the last piece of apple in closer to her chest. He came all the way into the trailer and put his muzzle on her hand, grabbing the apple.

  After he had taken the last piece of apple, she tied his rope to the bar that was next to her head. The smell of the elk surrounded her. She whispered to him, “I won’t forget you,” and then she jumped out one of the doors at the head of the trailer.

  Her mother was standing right there and said, “Good job, Meg.”

  “How’d you learn to do that?” Jim asked her.

  “You need to think like an elk, that’s all,” Meg told him, and then left the men to secure the trailer. She didn’t want to watch them drive away. She ran to the house and went inside.

  She went to her room and sat on the floor. She would never have another elk in her life like Harvey. She hated it when she got left behind. A hole where the elk had stood in the barn every day for the last week grew in her mind until it sucked up the whole universe. Tears started leaking out of her eyes and running down her face. The sadness in her was like a stream that wouldn’t stop.

  Meg heard her mother come to her doorway. “Meggy, you were great.”

  “I was not.” Meg couldn’t keep the sob out of her voice.

  Her mother knelt by her and put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Meg pulled away from her mother’s touch and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m not honey, and you know what the matter is. Another thing gone. Everything I love goes away. I hate it.” Meg couldn’t help herself as the words tore out of her mouth in a mean way.

  “It must seem like that sometimes.”

  “Mom, leave me alone. I don’t need your words of wisdom. You don’t understand. I need to be by myself right now and do it my own way.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I just picked up the injunction. I’ll swing by and get you,” Claire Watkins said to Margaret over the phone.

  “Thank you so much. I’ll be standing at the end of the driveway, waiting,” Margaret said.

  Margaret was fi
nishing up the laundry—folding Mark’s clothes—but all she could think about was the auction. It would have to stop. Margaret just hoped they got there before anything important had been sold.

  She checked the clock again: 11:47. It was only two minutes later than the last time she’d looked. The auction was supposed to start at noon. The shirt in her hands was crumpled into a ball instead of folded to be put away. She snapped it out straight and then started to smooth it with her hands.

  Having been to a couple of hundred farm auctions in her life, she knew the schedule by heart. The first two hours—from ten to noon—would be devoted to letting the crowd mill around all the stuff. The farm implements and machinery would be out in the barnyard, and some of the big pieces of furniture would be left in the house, but since it was a nice day a lot would have been carted outside. Most of the small items would be boxed and sold as a lot—the linens, the silver, the china, the geegaws.

  She could picture it so clearly. Her neighbors would be walking around her parents’ farm, poking and pawing all the trappings of her family’s life together. Margaret wanted to throw up.

  Mark was worrying her. He had gone out to the barn to finish milking the goats. He didn’t even want to talk about what was going on. He seemed ready to snap at any moment.

  She could tell the problems with Patty Jo were eating Mark up inside. He was drinking a bit more than she had ever noticed him doing before. During the day he threw himself into work, but at night he was restless. That’s when he would start to drink. She wouldn’t have minded so much if it would calm him down, but often it made him worse. He would get belligerent with her and then often leave. She didn’t know where he was going at night.

  She tried to push Mark out of her head. He would be fine when they got this situation resolved.

  Margaret couldn’t help thinking about all the little things of her mother’s she would like to have: her sewing kit, the quilt she had made, the old doll that sat in the china cabinet. Come to that, the china cabinet.