Bingoed

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Not that we know,” answered Essie. She pushed her walker away from the sink and started to turn it toward the restroom door.

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Essie,” said Opal, now following her friend onto the grounds of the botanical gardens.

  “I agree,” said Marjorie, following the other two women as they gathered their front wheels together immediately in front of the public restroom, the bright blue signs indicating ‘male’ and ‘female’ standing guard over their discussion.

  “Marjorie, Opal,” said Essie, looking directly at her friends, “there’s no reason for Sue Barber to save that dollar bill—to keep it protected in a sealed plastic bag in her purse—if it were merely part of funds that were used for Bingo prizes. Something else is going on. She saved that one dollar for a reason.”

  “If it were poisoned, surely she’d get rid of it,” offered Marjorie.

  “Not necessarily,” added Essie. “Maybe she intends to use it again. I mean, Bob is still alive.”

  “How gruesome, Essie,” said Opal. “And if that dollar bill was poisoned, how did she hand it to Bob without getting poisoned herself?

  “And how do you poison someone with a dollar bill? Just by touching it?” asked Marjorie. “That must be a really potent poison.”

  “Which would explain why she’s keeping it in a plastic bag,” answered Essie.

  “I just don’t see what motive Sue would have to hurt Bob,” mused Opal, grinding her teeth over her bottom lip. “He’s such a nice man.”

  “Such a nice rich man,” added Essie. “Maybe she had some scheme to get his millions.”

  “His five millions,” added Marjorie, caught up in the excitement of their discussion.

  “So,” said Opal calmly, “we now have three suspects.”

  “Three?” asked Marjorie.

  “Sue, Violet, and this Ben Jericho,” listed Opal.

  “Yes,” agreed Essie, smiling. “I’m not certain that all three have a motive or that all three had the opportunity or that all three have the means, but I truly believe that one of them did or does.”

  “Jericho may have a motive, I guess, to get Bob’s money, but I don’t see that he had any opportunity or means,” said Marjorie.

  “That we know of yet,” cautioned Essie.

  “And Violet may have a motive, but we’re not sure. She had the opportunity and possibly the means, but again we’re not sure,” added Opal.

  “Now Sue,” said Essie, completing their list. “As far as we know, she has no motive, but she had the best opportunity and possibly the means—if this dollar bill proves to be poisoned.”

  “Now, Essie,” said Marjorie as the three women stood head to head behind their walkers outside the public restrooms at the botanical gardens. “The question is how to find out if the dollar bill in Sue’s purse is poisoned or not.”

  Essie also added a fourth possible suspect in her mind—Evelyn Cudahy. As Bob’s new wife, she stood to inherit all of Bob’s millions—if Bob died. Even so, Essie had promised not to reveal Bob and Evelyn’s marital status and she intended to keep her word—even going so far as keeping it from her two best friends. However, if facts developed that indicated that Evelyn was somehow implicated in Bob’s recent collapse—then all promises were cancelled and all bets were off.

  As Essie glanced over her shoulder and down the incline back to where the Happy Haven bus was parked, she noticed that Sue Barber was standing before the bus’s door. Sue was staring up the hill at the three elderly residents who were chatting in an animated fashion about possible attempted murder. Did Sue realize what they suspected? Did she notice that someone had rifled through her purse? Essie didn’t know but she had no intention of giving one of their suspects something to worry about.

  “Ladies,” said Essie, “We’d better go enjoy the beautiful Reardon Botanical Gardens before Sue Barber comes up this monster hill and starts asking questions.” She glanced over and smiled benignly at their Social Director. Opal and Marjorie followed suit and soon the three women had rolled their walkers onto a path that took them into the depths of the gardens.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Though an old man I am but a young gardener.”

  —Thomas Jefferson

  It was like a safari. Essie led Marjorie and Opal up and down the narrow paths that wound around throughout what appeared—to Essie’s eyes—like some tropical jungle, not botanical gardens. As they wheeled their walkers deeper and deeper into the gardens, the branches hanging down brushed against their faces as they walked. As it was spring, many of the trees were in full bloom and sweet-smelling petals fluttered from above, landing on their hair and their walkers like confetti.

  “Isn’t this beautiful, Essie?” asked Marjorie, grabbing at some of the blooms and sniffing them deeply.

  “Like magnolias,” noted Essie, “but larger blossoms.”

  “All these petals are sticking to my glasses,” whined Opal. “I can barely see because the branches are so thick, the sun can’t even shine through.”

  “I know,” agreed Marjorie, “it’s like some tropical jungle.”

  “And right here in the center of our little town,” added Essie. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

  “You were so worried about finding a restroom,” noted Marjorie.

  “We did find one,” said Opal.

  “If you can call it that,” sneered Essie. “Oh well, it was worth it. My sweet barleycorn, look over there!” She pointed to her left. In the distance, a small waterfall could be seen crashing into a flower-covered pool.

  “What kind of plants are those, flower expert?” Opal asked.

  “I wish I knew,” answered Essie. “Most of them seem tropical. Look at the pinks and oranges.”

  “As much as I enjoy it here,” said Marjorie, “I’m getting kind of worried about this path.”

  “Yes,” agreed Opal, “it’s really narrow and it’s getting bumpy. My walker is getting stuck on all these little rocks.”

  “Oh my begonias,” sputtered Essie, looking at her watch, “look at the time. It’s almost three o’clock. We were supposed to be back at the bus at three. We’d better turn around and go back.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the long way?” asked Marjorie. “Wouldn’t we be better off going straight ahead? Surely we’ll find a different path that will take us to the entrance.”

  “I don’t know, Marjorie,” said Opal, shaking her head. “The signs here all just point one direction. I think Essie is right. I think we’d better turn around and go back.”

  “What time is it?” asked Marjorie.

  “Ten till three,” said Essie, starting to turn her walker around on the bumpy gravel pathway.

  “We’ll never get there in time!” cried Marjorie.

  “They’re not going to leave without us!” noted Opal.

  “Come on, you two,” said Essie, charging back the way they came with a huge shove to her walker. She stormed down the rocky winding path as fast as her spindly legs would move. Opal and Marjorie rotated their walkers and then headed after her in hot pursuit—at least as hot a pursuit as two little old ladies with walkers could do.

  Essie bounded ahead with Opal and Marjorie pulling up the rear almost out of sight. As she scurried over the little road, all of a sudden a large branch fell from high up in the tops of the trees and landed immediately behind her on the pathway.

  “Oh jumping Juniper tree!” she yelled as she turned to see the giant tree limb directly behind her on the ground. If I hadn’t been quite as fast as I am, it would have landed right on my head, she thought to herself. Almost immediately, Opal and Marjorie arrived and stopped their walkers short.

  “Essie!” shrieked Marjorie. “That big branch almost landed on top of you!”

  “It just missed you by a few inches!” added Opal.

  “You are so lucky!” said Marjorie.

  “So I am,” agreed Essie, breathing deeply as she surveyed t
he branch that had just narrowly missed smashing her to smithereens. She looked up into the trees trying to determine the source of the fallen branch. Nothing moved. How did that happen? she wondered. She thought that if a branch that large fell off of a tree, its source would surely be noticeable. But all the trees looked normal; none of them showed any signs of recent breakage.

  “Are you okay, Essie?” asked Opal.

  “Fine,” responded Essie, “just a bit mystified.”

  “What?” asked Marjorie. “It was a fluke accident. You were lucky you were moving so fast.”

  “Was it a fluke?” wondered Essie out loud, staring upwards and then off into the bushes on either side of the pathway. Just where had that branch come from? Did it really fall from the trees above? Or did someone throw it onto the trail directly into Essie’s pathway? She had been concentrating so hard on moving forward and getting back to the bus that she really hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings. Not a very wise thing to do, when she was smack in the middle of investigating a possible attempted murder.

  “If you’re not hurt, Essie,” said Opal, “maybe we should get moving. Are you able to walk?”

  “Oh, I’m more than able to walk,” said Essie, “No tree branch is going to get in my way.”

  “That’s the Essie I know,” said Marjorie. She and Opal moved into formation behind their leader. Essie set forth on the winding trail leading out of the botanical gardens’ interior back to the entrance. After a few minutes of heavy wheeling, the three women arrived on the scene of the bus. Sue Barber was standing in front of the bus, tapping her finger on her clipboard, looking down at the sign-up sheet. As the three friends climbed aboard the bus—relegating their walkers again to the luggage compartment where the driver and Sue stored them—they were greeted by the catcalls of their fellow residents.

  “Hey, Essie,” said one woman, “you get lost out in the little garden?” She laughed and nudged her seatmate in the ribs.

  “Essie,” said a pleasant gentleman in the second row, “you’re just an explorer like me. Here, have a seat.” He patted the place next to him.

  Essie smiled at her friends but continued to the back with Opal and Marjorie in tow.

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

  “Nah,” said one rather plump man near the rear. “Sue finally got tired of waiting for you a little after three so she went looking for you. But she came back—just shortly before the three of you showed up just now.”

  “Really?” asked Essie.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “She said she couldn’t find you. She was really getting worried. I think she was about ready to contact the head of the gardens or the police or someone—then all of a sudden the three of you show up! Great timing!” He laughed and Essie and her two friends laughed too.

  The three women returned to their seats at the very back of the bus.

  “So,” whispered Essie to her pals as the bus took off with a jerk, “Sue Barber came looking for us. Probably about the time that big branch almost splattered me into a zillion pieces.”

  “Essie,” responded Marjorie in a hushed voice. “You don’t think Sue had anything to do with that branch falling near you.”

  “You mean, nearly on me!” retorted Essie.

  “Surely you don’t think Sue tried to kill you, Essie,” whispered Opal into Essie’s other ear.

  “I think somebody did,” said Essie between her teeth, “and I intend to find out who.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Does age poison us, or do we poison age?”

  —Astrid Alauda

  If Sue Barber had tried to kill her at the Reardon Botanical Gardens, reasoned Essie, she probably wouldn’t give up, just because her first attempt had failed. Essie figured she’d probably be safe during the day when she was around other residents. Sue wouldn’t be likely to try something in front of witnesses. No, thought Essie, the dangerous time would be at night when she was asleep. She didn’t lock her front door—no one did because aides and staff members had to be able to get into apartments to assist residents who might need help. Locked doors just slowed them down and increased the chances that falls and sudden illnesses could not be dealt with in a timely fashion.

  But, now after the episode in the gardens with the large branch, she worried that as soon as she fell asleep, Sue Barber would sneak into her room and finish her off. It would be easy to do and probably no one would be the wiser. Sue would just probably wait until late and then come into Essie’s bedroom and smother her with a pillow.

  Wait a minute, Essie told herself. If it was so easy to murder a resident in their room, why hadn’t Sue just done that to Bob Weiderley? Why go through all the rigmarole of killing him with a poisoned dollar bill at Bingo? It seemed excessively convoluted. It wasn’t as if Bob could fight her off if she decided to strangle him in his bed. And why would Sue want to kill Bob anyway? Or her?

  It was now late afternoon and Essie was doing her contemplating in her comfortable arm chair in her living room. Marjorie and Opal had returned to their rooms too. All three women were exhausted—not only from the hiking and walking they’d done at the botanical gardens, but from the excitement and fear they had experienced with Essie’s close call with the branch—and ultimately their suspicion that Sue Barber had caused the debacle.

  Essie picked up her clipboard from her end table and aimlessly began filling in boxes in her crossword puzzle of the day. The definition for fourteen across was “hired killer.” So much for helping get my mind off my problems, she thought as she wrote in “assassin” in the spaces.

  There was a knock at her door. Essie almost jumped out of her chair she was so on edge. Surely, it wasn’t Sue Barber come round to finish the job. She wouldn’t risk it right in the middle of the afternoon with so many residents walking around.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, moving as quickly as possible from her chair and grabbing a large serving spoon from the top drawer in her kitchen nook. She clung to the front door knob when there was no answer.

  “Who’s there?” she called out again through the crack between the door and the door frame. No response. Now, this is ridiculous. A murderer doesn’t knock on the door and then say nothing. Slowly she turned the knob and ever so cautiously peeked around the corner.

  “Stars’ bars!” she exclaimed. “Fay, what are you doing here?” Sweet, plump and generally silent Fay sat in her wheelchair in the hallway, her hands folded discreetly in her lap and resting on a pile of papers. Fay smiled at Essie.

  “I didn’t even know that you knew which room I was in,” said Essie. “Do you want to come in?” she asked her quiet, sleepy tablemate. Fay said nothing but handed Essie the pile of papers in her lap. Essie glanced down and noticed that she was looking at more print-outs from the family room computer—possibly a good thirty or forty pages.

  “What’s all this?” asked Essie.

  “Poison,” said Fay succinctly. Then wheeling herself around, she headed back down the hallway.

  “Thank you, Fay,” yelled Essie after her. Essie shut her door, stopping only to ponder whether or not it might be possible to devise some sort of lock for her front door that would prevent Sue Barber from entering but not to prevent her aides from entering should she need their help in the middle of the night. There didn’t seem to be any way.

  She rolled herself back to her chair, parked her walker, and plopped back down so she could examine the material that Fay had brought her. Quickly, she thumbed through the stack. There were sections from encyclopedias and medical reference books. There were what appeared to be question and answer sites for patients to ask doctors questions about their symptoms. There were photographs. There were quotations from quite a number of murder mysteries by different authors. Fay had evidently gone through some of the material and marked certain lines and paragraphs with a pen. My goodness, thought Essie, that sweet lady that we always consider only about half there most of the time, seems to have the rese
arch skills of a trained librarian. Essie couldn’t remember what Fay had done before she retired, but surely it must have been something that involved searching for information because it was quite evident that she was very good at it.

  Now, the question was whether or not all of this information would be of any help in trying to determine if Sue Barber or someone else poisoned Bob Weiderley. Evelyn Cudahy (or rather Evelyn Weiderley) had told her that the doctors had found some strange substance in Bob’s bloodstream and Essie suspected that that substance was poison. Essie plumped the pages together neatly into their original order. Starting with the first page, she began to read. The first sections concerned poisons in general—what technically constituted a poison from a medical and a legal standpoint. There were categories for different types of poisons. One category system of great interest to her was based on how a poison is delivered into the body. Obviously, the most commonly used method in most murder mysteries was by mouth. However, poisons could also be absorbed, she read, by inhalation and through the skin.

  She thought about the dollar bill she had found in Sue Barber’s purse. It was in a plastic bag. Why? Was it because it was drenched in poison and Sue Barber wanted to avoid contact with it or prevent anyone else from having contact with it? If that was the case, she wondered, why didn’t Sue just get rid of it? She could cut it up—no, it would still be poisonous whether or not it was in small pieces. What if she burned it in a fire? Would the fumes be poisonous? She didn’t know. And if that dollar was poisonous, how did Sue hand it to Bob for the Bingo prize (which she did) without herself getting poisoned? Did she protect herself in some way? Was it because she was younger and stronger than Bob? That sounded a little risky to Essie. She surely wouldn’t risk poisoning someone by handing them some poisoned substance and just hope it didn’t poison her too.

  She continued reading. There was information on poison strength. Some poisons were lethal in extremely small amounts—others required that larger quantities be consumed or ingested in some way before they became toxic. Some poisons acted immediately; others took quite some time to take effect. Some poisons were cumulative; others were not. That is, one type of poison would be secreted from the body quickly so that a second dose would be no more lethal than the first. A second type of poison might remain in the body for a long time so that a second dose would combine with that already present and form a lethal combination.