Kiss and Make Up

by Sheila Hudson

  Phylomena Anderson was nothing like the queen bee that I had imagined. She was silver-haired and her lavender caftan came straight out of the house of Dior. Small of stature, Ms. Anderson seemed to float out of the entryway.

  “May I call you Mollie?” she asked and extended her hands.

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Please call me Phyl. Everyone does. I don’t know what my mother was thinking sticking me with Phylomena.”

  She smelled like a profusion of peppermint, bergamot, and lavender. I followed her to a small room that had a roaring fire and was set for cocktails. I loved the fire even though it was summertime. It seems that we shared a lot of things in common other than her son that is.

  We shared a glass of a scrumptious white wine – no doubt imported from some exotic country – not the kind Kroger sells. After a few sips, Phyl delved into the real reason for the invitation.

  “My son, Finn, thinks a lot of you Mollie. So I figured we should get to know one another,” Phyl said and I think her words were genuine.

  I looked into her gray eyes and said, “I respect your son immensely. He has been a wonderful resource through this entire unfortunate event.”

  “Of course, I don’t think for one minute that you had anything to do with Rosalie Adams’ demise. Our lawyer will clear your name and the police force will get to this bottom of this mystery,” Phyl adamantly assured me.

  “I appreciate that Ms. Anderson . . . I mean Phyl. I don’t have many people in my court. I am pleased that you and Mr. Anderson are supporting me,” I was humbled by her interest and also curious if she thought I might be a potential family member.

  Phyl laughed. I noticed the biggest diamond I’d ever seen on her left hand. “Mr. Anderson. . . Phineas Latham Sr. has a bark bigger than his bite. He knows that all of you at the Beacon call him the Curmudgeon. I think he considers it a badge of honor though he’d never admit it. That’s Finn’s full name you know, but Phineas sounds like a little old man so it has been Finn since he was born.”

  I smiled and asked if Finn had siblings. A shadow came across the matriarch’s face. “Sadly, no. We wanted more children but it wasn’t possible. Our daughter was stillborn, so Finn carries all of our hopes and dreams.”

  Whether it was the drawl of this southern matriarch or her maternal ambiance, I felt compelled to touch her and share our grief together. We sat for a few moments after I described Maggie’s illness and the fact that she succumbed to a strain of pneumonia that most of our friends recovered from.

  “We are not to question what comes our way,” she advised. “I am a woman of faith and my grief at losing a child is heightened by the joy of seeing her again.”

  “Phoebe would have been about your age. I had a difficult pregnancy and came close to death myself. We already had Finn so my husband was resolute that it was too big of a risk to try again,” Phyl dabbed her eyes and I strained against the tears in my own eyes.

  A servant came and cleared away our glasses. She pretended not to notice our tears. Phyl rose and announced, “Let’s go to the patio and have our dinner, shall we?”

  I nodded and followed her through a grand hallway complete with crystal chandeliers onto a plaza that was out of a House Beautiful magazine. The aromas of roses in full bloom blended with gardenias. A small pond placed at the far end of the garden contained a child’s figure pouring water out of a pitcher. I waited for Phyl to take a seat. She waved her hand for me to sit across from her. In only a few moments, this stranger had kindled something inside me. She embodied a maternal influence that I didn’t realize I craved.

  Our evening ended on a positive note. We didn’t touch on any other personal issues. Phyl asked about my career, the police investigation, what my future plans were. We intentionally skirted around my twin’s death and other unpleasantries. Phyl shared her fears that Finn would never have a family of his own. She desperately wanted grandchildren. Phineas aka the curmudgeon was busy passing down the family business. He wanted Finn to share his enthusiasm for the Beacon and all that ownership meant in the community. This burning desire took up all of his being. He had no time to think of grandchildren – or anything else.

  “Thank you so much for this time. I feel that we’ve become friends,” I said and clasped Phyl’s hand.

  “Yes, dear. I feel the same,” she answered. She waved goodbye as the limo whisked me back to my apartment and back to the real world.

  13

  What can top dinner at a mansion? Obviously nothing. Maybe that’s why my night was filled with half-dreams and tossing and turning. Maggie kept reminding me to “kiss and make up.” Flashes of the “Some Like It Hot” movie did a loop of reruns in my dreams. I awoke with memories of times with my twin and a fundraiser with the theme “Light It Up” when we learned to do the Electric Slide.

  By 6:00 AM I gave up trying to sleep. What did it all mean? I needed coffee – no a nap – no coffee. My cell phone decided for me. It buzzed and the caller ID indicated it was Detective Olson. I flipped on the coffeepot and answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Mollie? This is . . . Jonathan.”

  “I hope that it’s good news you’re going to give me.”

  “The lab reports have come back and confirmed that Ms. Adams definitely died from a toxic substance but not from anything that she ate or drank. It came from another source. We don’t know what the substance was nor the source, but it proved conclusively that she contacted it BEFORE you picked her up in the limo. So the good news is that you are off the suspect list. I wanted to be the first to let you know.”

  Jonathan’s tone conveyed that he was pretty pleased with himself. As for me, I was thrilled to be crossed off the list of Persons of Interest. Still I wanted to know the cause of Rosie’s demise. Plus, who set me up?

  “Thanks Jonathan. I appreciate the call. Does the Beacon know? I need to be reinstated at work as soon as possible.”

  “I can notify Mr. Anderson, Senior if you want,” Jonathan answered. His voice softened. “One more thing, would you go to dinner with me on Saturday evening? I have tickets to the new ballet and I thought we could make an evening of it.”

  Wow. The ballet. This guy is classy for a police detective.

  “Can I get back to you on that? I may be covering the reunion thing if Finn . . . I mean Mr. Anderson hasn’t assigned someone else to do the article,” I stumbled all over myself. No dates for months and now I have two gorgeous guys wanting to take me out on the same night. Go figure!

  “I understand just thought I’d toss it out there. I have a friend who is a costume designer for the Atlanta Ballet and she managed to wrangle me a couple of comp tickets. They are good for the entire weekend. Just let me know if you can make it,” he sounded a little apologetic for asking. I hoped I hadn’t hurt his feelings.

  “Sure thing. Got to go – another call coming it.”

  And it was. Another cell phone call but I decided not to take it. I needed to contemplate my dream. Analyze what it meant if anything and go over the toxicology reports one more time. Also I had a pot of coffee to drink so that I could get that cranky motor running. I was three cups into the pot when a text message buzzed on my cell.

  How was dinner with Mom? I called but you didn’t answer. New cell. Finn

  It would take a while to answer his question in full, so I just typed: enjoyed it very much. I didn’t feel like revealing what we talked about and how Phyl and I shared our innermost feelings of grief.

  I think it’s time to pull out my secret weapon, a purveyor of essential oils, somewhat of a high priestess of healing, and all round good friend – Natalie’s mom – Alicia Martin. When Natalie and I were in elementary school, the kids used to call her Morticia after the famous Addams’ family matriarch. I’m not sure how Natalie or her mother felt about that, but Ms. Martin was always happy to share her knowledge of oils and their qualities to heal, beautify, or soothe.

  Should I call her directly or go through Natalie? I
f Natalie is present, she will question how I know what I know and where did I get it. I can’t reveal that I photographed her reports. She would probably lose her job even though she is completely innocent. So straight to Morticia -– I mean Alicia -- it is.

  Alicia was somewhat of a community celebrity. She owner the Au Naturalle Herb and Tea Shoppe. I don’t think much Lipton was served here – more like Chamomile, Ginger, Dandelion, and other exotic mixtures that cured everything from migraines to bruises. I loved to visit her just for the heavenly smells of lavender, bergamot, verbena, and citrus. And it wasn’t just teas, Alicia made lotions, bath oils, soaps, and perfumery items of all descriptions. She matched the oils with your blood type, your aura, and your birthday – sounds weird but it was fun. I always go to her to purchase things for people who are difficult to buy for. My perfume history is limited to Maggie’s White Shoulders and my Chanel No. 5 when I could afford it.

  What others didn’t know was that Alicia had a more than ordinary working knowledge of poisons. The only reason that I knew this bit of trivia was when I was assigned a paper on Agatha Christie. Alicia’s eyes lit up and she took me into her confidence about herbal remedies. She shared amazing lore about poisons and cures that could be found on different parts of the same plant. It seems that Natalie’s dad had been some sort of healer in the Caribbean and passed on his knowledge to Alicia before he died. She combined it with her already working knowledge of essentials oils and voila a business was born!

  A tiny bell tinkled as I came through the glass doors. I was immediately engulfed in the smell of a lavender mix that was euphoria for my olfactory senses.

  “Just a minute, please,” came the sound from the back room where Alicia was no doubt concocting an elixir for a customer.

  “Alicia. It’s Mollie McLachlan. Don’t hurry. I’m just perusing the shop,” I called back. Entering the shop brought back so many memories of Maggie, Natalie, and me opening all the bottles of oils to get a whiff and give our inexperienced opinions. In between, we were asking questions about the oils’ use and begging for perfume to use in our dress up fantasies. With some items, Alicia was fairly permissive but there was a shelf we were never to touch. Just which one was it? And were the items the same as they were back in the day?

  Alicia appeared in her long aqua swirling skirt with matching beaded top. She didn’t look any different that when we were children. Her skin treatments obviously worked. Her olive skin glowed and her almond eyes were as bright as ever. Her blue-black hair glistened. She wore it shorter now but it was still becoming.

  “Mollie. How good of you to visit? Come let’s have tea and catch up. Want me to call Natalie and see if she can join us?” Alicia was excitedly directing me to an area where she had placed a small love seat and table. On the way to her niche, she flipped on the burner underneath the kettle.

  “Actually it was you I wanted to speak with. It’s about a matter that I’d rather not have Natalie involved in. It might get her in trouble at work,” I said as diplomatically as I could.

  “Of course. I understand,” Alicia said but I could tell she intended to pump the truth out of me once I was comfortably under her spell. “And what’s with Alicia? You and Maggie always called me Auntie Lee. Are you too sophisticated for that?”

  “No of course not. I love that you have always been there for me when I needed you – with Maggie and later with Mama. You’re my secret weapon. That’s why I hesitated to include you in this matter but there’s no one else who can answer my questions,” I said and hugged her close.

  The kettle whistled and the slip of a woman that I called Auntie Lee was back with our tea. And for the first time since the whole murder episode started, I had hope that this mystery would be solved and my life would return to normal.

  14

  Catching up with Auntie Lee took longer than I had imagined. We hadn’t had a talk since Mama’s funeral and a lot had happened in between time. Of course the bulk of the conversation centered around my latest episode of having Rosalie Adams die in the back seat of the car I was driving.

  We sipped our lemon, lavender, chamomile tea and I drew strength from this wise woman who had been like a second mother to me and Maggie. Over the years Natalie and I had grown apart but her mother always kept in touch. Maybe Auntie Lee had psychic powers after all.

  Lastly I pulled the reports out of my tote and spread them on the table. The chemical names for toxins tested, stomach contents, and other pertinent facts were highlighted. Auntie Lee picked up the documents and examined them for a few moments. Then she consulted some of the books underneath the counter. What seemed like a few moments later, Auntie Lee announced hydrogen cyanide.

  “What?” I said.

  “Hydrogen cyanide. It fits all the symptoms and the pattern of death that you describe. If a thorn, a needle, even a clothes tag is dipped into a concentrate that pierces the skin, it can cause paralysis of the lungs in a matter of minutes. The cyanide ion halts cellular respiration by acting as a non-competitive inhibitor for an enzyme in the mitochondria called cytochrome c oxidase. See right here in the reference book on poisons,” Auntie Lee read quickly. I took the book from her and read where she directed.

  It seems that this type of poison when inhaled is what was used in the death camps in Europe. Hydrogen cyanide was called prussic acid in that day. So someone with knowledge of chemistry and Ms. Adams’ schedule was the culprit. Did they act alone or did they have an aide-de-camp?

  “How could this happen?” I turned to Auntie Lee. But of course, she had no more details than I.

  “By the length of time it took to discover, I’d say it was in a well-hidden place – like between the fingers and toes – which would be impossible in your situation – more like the crease of the neck, the elbow, or behind the ear. If it was well done, it would be no more noticeable than a bee sting or a mosquito bite.”

  “So between the plane and the car, Rosie was pricked by something poisonous and died in the back seat because she couldn’t properly breathe?” I looked at the woman who had been a godsend for an answer.

  “It seems so,” Auntie Lee answered and without a blink asked, “More tea?”

  My mind was swirling. The lavenders and citrus fragrances bid me to rest but I needed to share what I had learned with the authorities without letting them know how I obtained it. If I only told Jonathan, perhaps he wouldn’t ask where I got it. I didn’t even believe that myself.

  I’m sure I smelled like I’d bathed in patchouli when I arrived at my apartment, but I didn’t care. The time with Auntie Lee was like an oasis in the middle of this nightmare I’ve been in for a while.

  I alerted the authorities to what I had discovered and skillfully avoided HOW I got the info, Chief Harden ordered a reexamination of the body. Sure enough there was a microscopic pin prick on the elbow crease. A further examination revealed the poison Auntie Lee had suggested – hydrogen cyanide – underneath the skin. The coroner also noticed a waxy substance had become visible around her nasal cavity. He noted that the team would take samples and investigate further. So that’s the what and how but the hard part is the who? And perhaps most important of all – why?

  The crew of the private plane which brought Ms. Adams to Atlanta was under scrutiny. Each had been investigated vigorously. Besides what would be their motive? By killing off Ms. Adams they would be losing a valuable customer.

  Who else besides me had a close encounter with Ms. Adams? Of course the Sky Cap. Did I ever really get a close look at him? No. Who looks at those who are helping you with your luggage? No one. Think. Think. Kiss and make up. “Some Like It Hot.” Light It Up. – the entourage!

  One by one Maggie’s clues were making sense. Rae was in charge of cosmetics which was the make-up part. Hot – what would that be? Tabasco maybe for Dee’s family in the McIlhenny Tabasco sauce business. As for the Light It Up reference, perhaps that would be the electronics that Kimball is in charge of. But if all that is true, what motive did eac
h of them have to cause such an incident? If my ramblings turned out to be valid, the plot was pretty clever. But how to prove all of this?

  I needed help. Auntie Lee had done her part and so had Natalie, she just didn’t know it. Now it was time for me to garner our collected wisdom and provide enough evidence to arrest the threesome.

  When and where did they hatch this plan? I knew they didn’t arrive after Ms. Adams. Rae had spilled the beans on that. So just where were they?

  I went through my mental list of contacts that would possibly have access to that information. One phone call would let me know if a new friend of mine who had considerable influence would be willing to play sleuth. Meanwhile I’d ask Callie how good her hacking skills were. Could she check on someone’s bank, credit card, and cell phone records? It really pays to have friends with benefits.

  The entourage was getting restless. Rae had telephoned the police station several times. She did it under the guise of family interest, but I knew differently. Each time she asked when the body would be released to the family. I knew Rae and the others were anxious to get out of Dodge.

  Speaking of which, Ms. Adams’ family was due to arrive soon. They had special invitations to attend the reunion concert tomorrow and take Rosie’s ashes to scatter at the family home place. The snafu of the reexamination would not be viewed kindly by her relatives. Until we got a confession, I had to keep them from cremating that body. Without this further investigation, the mystery would never be solved and the killer or killers could go on to do this again to another victim.

  I was pondering on all these aspects when my head hit the pillow. I didn’t believe I’d be able to sleep. However I was wrong. I did sleep and my dreams were as curious as my life thus far.

  15

  My dream went something like this:

  Maggie and I were in costume. She was dressed like Sgt. Peppers’ Lonely Heart Club Band complete with red blazer, brass buttons, and hat. All that was missing was a monkey. We were laughing and appeared to be on our way to a party.