by Pyper James
Winnie. That’s how she would find out.
Firing up the Karmann Ghia, Vivica and Max set out for Winifred’s house. She knew bringing Maximus along was a clever idea. The boys loved him. Vivica hadn’t been to the Baxter residence since she got back to Dahlonega.
“This should be fun, Max,” Vivica said as she steered the Volkswagen out of the vineyard and onto the main road.
“Music! We need music, Maximus!”
Turning on the radio, Vivica found a station playing classic 80’s rock and roll. This was just up her alley; fast tempo, thumping bass, and fiery stringed electrical guitars. Maximus seemed pleased with her selection as he hung his head from the open window and let the gentle breeze lift his floppy ears. Vivica rocked out, letting go of all the dreariness that occupied her thoughts for the past few days. She needed to smile and laugh and forget about her troubles, if only for a little while. Being with the Baxter’s would definitely do that.
It didn’t take long to navigate the ten miles to the Baxter home. Without knowing who lived there, you could tell the house was full of life and activity, from the scattering of bikes and basketballs on the front lawn, to the minivan with the graphic of two adults and three kids with one on the way; captured perfectly through stick figures on the back window. Vivica felt better already as she and Max made their way to the front door, doing their best to avoid skateboards and frisbees.
Vivica could hear sounds coming from inside even before she rang the doorbell. There was no point in knocking. There was no way a knock could be heard over the noise inside. Vivica rang the bell again; hearing the melodic chime echoing inside and out.
“Can somebody get the door!”
Middle son, Justin padded to the door.
“Who is it,” he asked from the other side. His parents taught him never to open the door without first finding out who it was. Safety reasons and all.
“It’s Vivica.”
On the other side, Vivica could hear locks clicking and then the door opened.
“Oh, and Max, too.”
“Max!” Justin exclaimed, throwing the door the rest of the way open and heading straight for the basset. Maximus let the young boy drape his arms around his neck. Max’s tail wag said he was cool with it.
“Mom, it’s Aunt Vivica and Max,” Justin called back as he led the duo inside.
The outside of the Baxter residence was just the beginning; a reflection of the organized chaos inside.
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s in the kitchen,” Justin replied, leading Max another direction. When the other boys saw the four-legged, they were just as excited as Justin was. Stepping over toy soldiers and Legos, Vivica meandered towards the kitchen.
“Winnie? Vivica called.
“Hee hee hoo. I’m in here! Hee hee hoo.”
Vivica quickened her step. Rounding the corner, she saw Winnie, breathing hard and rubbing her swollen belly.
“Is it time?” Vivica asked, getting to Winnie as quickly as possible.
“Nah,” she replied. “Just practicing my breathing.”
“You scared me,” Vivica sighed. “I thought you were in labor.”
“Maybe if I keep up the breathing techniques, this little bugger will make his appearance,” Winifred lamented, doing her best to get comfortable in the wooden chair. There was a seat cushion covering the seat but that didn’t make it any more comfortable. Actually, at this stage of her pregnancy, nothing made Winifred comfortable.
“Can you give me a hand?”
“Sure, but is there something I can do?”
“It’s the boys,” Winifred replied. “I’ve got chicken nuggets and fries in the oven. It’s time for the handsome beasts to eat. They’re always hungry and I’m always cooking.”
Winifred sounded tired. “Let me get that” Vivica suggested.
“That would be so great,” Winifred replied.
“It’s the least I can do.”
Winifred settled back down in the chair as Vivica made her way over to the sink where she washed and dried her hands on the towel that hung on the arm of the stove. Turning it off, Vivica dawned oven mitts and pulled out the food. She sat it on top of the stove, took off the gloves, and opened the refrigerator. The boys at least needed some fruit or vegetables to go with their meal. Vivica found some fresh grapes and strawberries that she washed and then fixed the plates.
“You want them to eat in here,” Vivica asked.
“God yes,” Winnie replied. “If they don’t eat at the kitchen table, I’ll have food everywhere. Crumbs mean bugs and all manner of unwanted creatures roaming in the dark.
“No problem,” Vivica replied as she placed one plate on her forearm and carried the other two in her hands.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Winnie admired.
“Thanks,” Vivica replied, setting the plates on the table. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of experience waiting tables.”
“In the big city?”
“Yep.”
Vivica called to the boys and they stormed to the table, each taking their customary place.
“I’m starved,” Jacob Jr. said, digging in with both hands.
“You just had breakfast three hours ago,” Winnie fussed. “And use a fork!”
The boys laughed as they shoveled food into their mouths.
“Vivica, help me get out of here,” Winnie scoffed. “I don’t need to witness the carnage.”
Vivica did as her friend asked, assisting her out of the chair. The two left the kitchen and walked towards the back of the house where the family room was. You could tell this was where the family spent a great deal of time. The room was filled with comfy oversized couches, huge television and all the makings of everyone’s favorite things. There were sports memorabilia on the walls representing Big Jacob’s favorite teams, books and crochet in one corner which Vivica knew were two of Winnie’s favorite past times, when she had time, as well as a smattering of toys, and board games for the boys. The fireplace in one corner of the room was not only a gathering place but the mantel served as the bearer of multiple family portraits. Winnie loved her family no matter how much she fussed about them. As she passed the mantel, Winnie looked up and smiled. Seeing those captured moments of her growing family was evidence of how much she truly loved them.
Winifred made her way to the large chair and sat down. Lifting the handle on the side, Winnie elevated her legs. Even from where Vivica stood, she could see that Winnie’s ankles were tight and swollen.
“How much longer do you have again?”
“It feels like a lifetime,” Winnie griped. “But probably about six weeks, give or take. If this one is anything like the last two, it will be closer to the six. But, if this one takes after the oldest, I could be in for more time.”
“Jacob was late?”
“Almost an entire week,” Winnie reflected. “The doctors thought they would have to induce me. I wasn’t going for that. I told the doctors that my son would come when he got good and gosh darn ready and not a minute before.”
“So, you were just as stubborn then as you’ve always been,” Vivica teased.
“For sure,” Winnie announced. “I didn’t want them poking and prodding any more than they’d done already.”
“But the doctors are the professionals, though,” Vivica reasoned.
“Yeah, but I’m that kid’s mother, and it was my body. I figured that qualified me to speak my mind.”
“I’m sure you did,” Vivica laughed.
Winifred’s brow wrinkled as she tried to lift herself forward.
“Ugh,” she moaned.
“What’s the problem,” Vivica asked.
“I wish Big Jacob was here to rub my ankles.”
“I can do that,” Vivica replied, walking over and kneeling next to the chair.
“You’ve done more than enough, Vivica. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t,” Vivica answered. “I volunteered.
> Vivica reached over and smoothed Winnie’s pant legs back far enough so she could massage her legs. Winifred leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. The tension in her legs started to ease some.
“Don’t tell Jacob, but you’re better at this than he is, with his calloused, burly hands.”
They laughed. Of course, Vivica would never tell Jacob, unless Winnie pushed her. The two were quiet for a moment as Winnie relaxed further into the chair. Then, she opened one eye and looked at Vivica.
“So, what’s this I hear about you finding a body?”
“Not just a body, Winnie, a dead body.”
“That had to be incredibly scary,” Winnie mused.
“Trust me it was,” Vivica replied. “One of the scariest things I’ve ever been through.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it.”
Winifred had heard about what happened, but there was nothing like hearing about it from the source. Vivica shared the story with her.
“Man,” Winnie sighed. “That is so weird. You never really hear of stuff like that here.”
“Just my luck, though, right? First, snafued by Cindy Rose, then, scared out of my mind by Princeton Wyatt.”
“I didn’t know Mr. Wyatt personally,” Winifred started. “But from everything I heard, he was a nice, quiet sort. Didn’t really bother anyone, pretty much kept to himself.”
“Why would someone want to kill him,” Vivica asked. “That question has trailed through my mind over and over.”
“It is curious isn’t it,” Winifred agreed.
The duo fell silent as each woman thought about the situation. Vivica knew far less about Mr. Wyatt than Winifred did. And she didn’t know much.
“Do you think Harper and Gathright can figure it out?” Vivica had her doubts even as she raised the question.
“Harper’s pretty good,” Winifred said. Even though he was a jock back in school, Johnathan was always smart. But that Gathright?”
“Where in the world did he come from,” Vivica asked.
“He was a few years ahead of us in school so that’s probably why you don’t remember him,” Winifred offered. “But you wouldn’t believe who he’s related to?”
“Who?” Vivica remembered so few of her high school classmates.
“The Rainiers.”
“What? How?”
“He is Cindy Rose’s first cousin,” Winnie laughed. “She never claimed him back in school because he was such a dork.”
“And she was way too cool for school,” Vivica chimed.
“Exactly. Bo bumbled around for a few years, trying to find himself,” Winifred offered with comical air quotes. “Putting him on the force was a favor to Mr. Rainier.”
“That explains a lot,” Vivica replied. “The arrogance, the ignorance.”
“With Bo Gathright by his side, who knows if Johnathan will ever figure it out.” Winnie agreed.
“What if we help him?” Vivica mused.
“The sheriff will never go for that. He’s much too proud in his job; in being the law of the land.”
“Still, there has to be a way.”
“You could ask him,” Winifred suggested. “He’s always had a soft spot for you Vivica, you know that.”
“He certainly didn’t show it when he was interrogating me at the Wyatt house.”
“Interrogated?”
“Yeah, that’s what it felt like,” Vivica replied. “He asked me question after question and when I gave him my answers, I wasn’t sure he believed me.”
“If he interrogated you, Vivica, seriously,” Winifred began. “That means you’re a suspect, not a witness.”
Hearing Winifred say it out loud affirmed what Vivica had been feeling. At first, she thought maybe she overreacted, took the inquiry personally. But, what Winnie said assured Vivica that it wasn’t just her imagination.
“If Johnathan thinks I’m a suspect, he definitely won’t let me help.”
“It’s not Johnathan who thinks your suspicious,” Winifred corrected. “It’s the sheriff who suspects you.”
“They are one in the same,” Vivica concluded. It was frustrating to want something so bad and not being able to have it. Then, Vivica stood to her feet, pacing the floor a few steps forward and then back again.
“There was a moment, though,” Vivica recalled.
“What,” Winifred asked, sitting up in the chair.
“There was a moment, right after the inquisition, when Johnathan reached out to me, like he had something more he wanted to say.”
“Not Sheriff Harper?”
“Nope, it was Johnathan,” Vivica answered. “He’d taken off his police officer hat. He was trying to appeal to me as the man I once knew.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Winifred began.
Vivica turned back to her friend and smiled.
“He may try and appeal to me again.”
Chapter Four
Sheriff Harper was frustrated. There was so much about this situation with Princeton Wyatt that didn’t sit right; so many unanswered questions and much more he didn’t know. The office telephone rang off the hook. People had questions; questions he couldn’t answer. They were frightened that a murderer was on the loose and they were concerned that maybe a serial killer was in Dahlonega. That was a stretch by most people’s standards, but when a town hadn’t been touched by cold-blooded murder in more than two decades, for those that remembered, any murder cast a plethora of doubts. Doubt bred speculation and when the mind was allowed to wonder, people could drum up the most frightening of scenarios.
Johnathan didn’t like for the citizens of his town to be unsettled. The sleepiness of Dahlonega was something he worked very hard to protect. That’s why even when other opportunities to move to a bigger city and head up a larger police force availed themselves to Sheriff Harper, he declined. Johnathan stayed in Dahlonega because he loved it. He swore to protect the town because it was home. Whoever did this to Princeton Wyatt threatened the promise he made to keep his hometown safe. Johnathan Harper wouldn’t stand for that. He couldn’t.
Sheriff Harper needed answers. That was the only way to figure out what really happened to Mr. Wyatt. They didn’t have a lot to go on; no real clues at the scene. And the only witness? Well, that was another story entirely. Johnathan still felt bad about how he handled that situation. Hopefully, Vivica understood, but a part of Johnathan knew, he would have to do more than offer some slip-shot apology for treating her that way. He just wasn’t sure when he would get another chance.
“It’s time boss,” Gathright said. “And you know how Mitchell feels about people being late.”
That was one thing Bo was right about, Johnathan concluded. Fortunately, the coroner’s office was not that far away, within walking distance just about a block from the sheriff’s office. They arrived with a few minutes to spare.
“Thank you for respecting my time,” Brown Mitchell said as he led the officers back to the morgue. The smell of formaldehyde was strong as they entered the inner sanctum of the coroner’s office. The place was sterile, and Mitchell prided himself on keeping his work environment clean. In the center of the room was Princeton Wyatt, covered with a white cloth from head to toe.
“Shall we begin?”
Gathright and Harper nodded their agreement. This was the part of the job Gathright hated the most. He was always uneasy being in the space with death all around. He tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but Bo couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over. The smell of the chemicals in the morgue turned his stomach.
Mitchell uncovered Princeton Wyatt down to his waist. Gathright winced at the coroner’s stitch work on the victim’s chest. It reminded him of the Frankenstein movie he watched as a kid. The thick black cording holding the victim together, Gathright just wanted the whole thing to be done with. He tried to avert his eyes as much as possible. It was hard.
“Princeton Wyatt was 77 years old when he met his demise. Interestingly enough, Princeton was in inc
redible health for a man of his age. There were no major illnesses detected during the autopsy which rules out natural causes.”
“There was a needle hanging in the man’s neck,” Gathright quipped. “You don’t need science to tell you that’s what killed him.”
“Of course, the syringe is suspected, but in order to effectively conduct an autopsy, Bo Gathright, a scientist has to rule out as much as he rules in.”
“What does that mean, Gathright asked.
“That’s why some wear a badge while other’s wear medical jackets,” Mitchell snarked. “During an autopsy, you must be able to rule out everything that didn’t cause death, so you can report with assurity what did.”
Get on with it then, Gathright thought but didn’t say.
“The other thing the autopsy told me was that Princeton didn’t have a heart attack because of the attack on his person.”
“That means, whatever was in the syringe is what killed him,” Harper asked.
“That would be the logical next step,” Mitchell replied. “The problem is, whatever agent was used, whatever poison, I suspect, is not easily detectable, not right off.”
Mitchell paused before continuing.
“Another reason why it was so important to establish Princeton’s level of health before drawing conclusions. Poison has the power to mimic natural causes. I fully suspect the murderer didn’t intend to leave the needle in Mr. Wyatt’s neck. Maybe he or she was startled and that’s why they left it, or maybe Princeton put up a last-ditch fight.”
“Were there any defensive wounds,” Harper asked.
“No,” Mitchell answered. “Which suggests poor Mr. Wyatt didn’t stand a chance.”
“That could also mean the person who did this might have been startled by the unexpected.”
“Precisely,” Mitchell agreed. “And while you’re figuring that part out, I’ll be waiting for the test results to come back on the poison. I sent the sample to poison control yesterday. I should have the results in another 48 hours.”
Harper and Gathright prepared to leave the office.
“Mitchell, were there any fingerprints on the syringe,” Harper asked as he paused before leaving.
“The killer was smart. I suspect whoever it was either wore gloves or held the needle in something to avoid leaving prints. However, they weren’t as good as they thought because I got a partial.”
