Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  “I heard on the prayer chain that Miranda’s being released tomorrow.” She settles into her seat. “Now, don’t worry if you knew it already. I figured no one knew till late last night.”

  I’d forgotten to call Nikki Jo back when the Doctor called—too wrapped up in unmasking a murderer, I guess.

  “Let me know when you’re going over and I’ll send something along,” she continues.

  We sit in congenial anticipation until we reach the doctor’s office in Point Pleasant. It’s a quaint wood house with tiger-lily orange awnings.

  The secretary seems to have missed her calling as a hard-hitting drill sergeant. She gruffly lets me know that if I don’t have insurance or Medicaid, I can’t have this baby with them. How long will it take to sign up for welfare? Then how long until I can schedule another appointment?

  I’m on the verge of shameful tears when Nikki Jo steps up, brandishing her nails in the secretary’s face.

  “Now, look here. This birth will be paid for, start to finish, by us. Roger and Nikki Jo Spencer.” She pulls out a gold credit card and slams it on the counter. “You got that? Now, you give Tess her urine cup and get this show on the road. We didn’t drive all this way to get harassed. You ought to be ashamed, treating a new mother this way.”

  My appointment moves very quickly after that.

  Once we’re settled in the cozy, amber-hued room, the doctor comes in. She’s middle-aged and very apologetic.

  “So glad to meet you, Mrs. Spencer. Sorry for the misunderstanding about payments. Now, let’s take a listen to this baby, shall we?”

  After spreading warm gel around, she slides a monitor over my stomach that looks like the library check-out device. I catch my breath when a whooshing, thumping sound fills the room.

  Nikki Jo’s eyes well up. The doctor smiles. All my tightly-held control flies to the four winds and I start crying—great, gasping sobs.

  This is for real. I’m going to be a mom.

  19

  ~*~

  The first time my mother’s ghost appeared, I was working in my flowerbed.

  Gloves and a mask were my typical attire, especially when I worked with poisonous plants like foxglove. I’d heard some stories about people inhaling the pollen and getting sick.

  The now-familiar light flickered in our woods. At first, I thought I was seeing things, that my mask was clouding my vision. Then her voice drifted over on the dry winter air.

  “Rose?”

  Plain as day, just like that. It was my dead mother’s voice. I didn’t know if I should hide in the house or answer her.

  Finally, I pulled down the mask and shouted toward the light.

  “What do you want?”

  The light moved toward me, but I held my ground. I could see her face, shimmering in the sunrays.

  “Justice.”

  How did she know what Paul had done? Did she finally believe how hateful he’d been to me?

  “How, Mother?”

  The translucent entity darted toward me, and I fell on the ground. It hovered over my flowers.

  It was as if the ghost read my mind. I’d known for so long that foxglove was the key to my freedom. Now I had the supernatural approval I needed.

  It was time to act.

  ~*~

  Copious amounts of sunlight and unusually warm temperatures short-circuit my hunt for a murderer until Wednesday. Nikki Jo’s been gearing up for the Thanksgiving feast for at least a month now, and all her preparations are starting to fall into place. I bring my meager candied walnuts over to add to her storehouse of foods.

  Five cheesecakes cool on the granite-topped island in the kitchen. I don’t even try to compete. Tomorrow, I’ll bring my defrosted éclairs and crème puffs from Sam’s Club, and regardless of my lack of effort, everyone will tell me how delicious they are. The Spencers are a grateful lot.

  When Miranda called yesterday, I was so overjoyed to hear her familiar voice, I hardly caught a word she said. She agreed to come to Thanksgiving dinner here. With her birdlike eating habits, she’ll hardly make a dent in our banquet.

  Nikki Jo bangs around upstairs, probably vacuuming and changing sheets. I sneak out of the house so I don’t distract her. Roger’s outside with pruning shears, attacking a boxwood. It’s questionable if what’s left of it will even look vaguely symmetrical. He waves.

  “Never pays to be inside during Thanksgiving week.” He winks at me.

  I laugh. “Tell her to call if she needs me.”

  “Will do. Only women can get this stuff right. I tried readjusting the centerpiece on the dining room table one year. Never got over that experience.”

  It strikes me how much Thomas is like his dad. Not only do both have the same strong jaw and lean-muscled build, but they also share a mischievous sense of humor.

  As I walk down the path, my hand automatically covers my stomach. Wonder if this is another Spencer boy, to carry on the family name?

  Petey skitters out of a mulched flowerbed, practically running into me. He’s holding a shovel. Thor yips from the side of the yard.

  “Dad said I had to fill in the trap holes. He was pretty ticked about the bear thing. I had to tie up Thor so he wouldn’t follow me.” He throws a rueful glance over his shoulder.

  “I appreciate that, Petey. When’s Andrew getting here?”

  “Mom said later today. Said he’s bringing some big-city girl with him.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Course, she’s gonna stay with a lady in church, not us. But she’ll be here for dinner tonight.”

  Petey’s eyes gleam. Big-city girls are somewhat of an alien species around here.

  “See you tomorrow, then. Be careful disarming your traps.”

  A smile wrinkles his nose. Suddenly it hits me that this intrepid little redhead is as much my brother as he is Thomas’.

  The possibility of squeezing in a little research presents a strong temptation. I know I have to be careful after what happened to Miranda. But I had a brainstorm last night. I could ask Axel who sent my yellow begonia.

  I’ve tried calling Fabled Flowers, but a woman always answers. If I just show up, Axel might look it up for me.

  It’s more than a possibility that the same person who sent me those flowers sent Miranda her notes. I feel like I’m closing in on a stalker…if not a killer from forty years ago. How could I not go check into this? I stride in the house, determined to take a trip to town.

  As I put on my forest eyeliner and a couple coats of mascara, I’m thankful for my time selling Mary Kay in college. Not only did it bring in a little extra cash, it also taught me how to make the most of my assets. Heart-shaped face, clear blue eyes, dark brows, and wide bowed lips. Thomas says I’m prettiest without makeup, but today I’m not getting ready for Thomas. I need to catch Axel off guard, to make sure he’ll talk.

  By the time I find my purse and put on my heeled ankle boots, I’m ready for war. Once I’m on the main road, I find the loudest radio station and blast it. College memories tumble through my head the entire trip to Point Pleasant, but I keep shoving them back. No one tries to kill my best friend and gets away with it.

  20

  ~*~

  Bartholomew came to see me. Having him in my proximity again brought back a flood of memories. But instead of falling for his magnetic charm, I flew off the handle. I screamed at him like a deranged banshee, beating his chest with my fists. He stood still as a statue and took it.

  When I stopped, he wrapped his long fingers around one of my still-clenched fists. He moved close to me, his sheer presence overwhelming.

  “I can’t bear to see you like this. What’s happened? Has Paul done something?"

  Pastor Cliff’s death was too fresh. I could close my eyes and hear him saying he and Bartholomew would get me away from Paul. Should I take this chance, telling Bartholomew everything?

  Was it the easy way out? Or the hardest?

  His hands, always gentle, stroked the hair from my fa
ce. When he leaned in to kiss me, the future swirled before me, bright as sunlight on creek water.

  I told him almost everything.

  ~*~

  After fortifying myself at Kelly’s Coffee with a grande cinnamon-vanilla swirl, I make the quick half-block walk to Fabled Flowers. Knowing better than to get close to the display window, I push the door open, clanking the cowbell.

  The intoxicating smell of eucalyptus fills the shop. Exotic ferns form a semicircle around a water feature in the back. Its light, gurgling sounds remind me of the creek. The tension in my shoulders unwittingly slides away.

  Oddly enough, some of my favorite flowers are on display in the coolers. Full white hydrangeas riot with double burgundy roses. Crisp off-white calla lilies and orange daisies make an unusual pair.

  As I’m trying to figure out how they got hydrangeas this time of year, someone walks up quietly behind me. I turn to see a lovely Asian girl, with striking cheekbones and a quick smile. “What can I help you with today?”

  Axel isn’t in sight. Should I stall or tell the truth?

  “Um…yes. I mean, I think you could help. I’m looking for Axel Becker. Does he work here?”

  “Yes ma’am, he owns the shop. He’s not here right now—probably walking down by the river. He does that every day.”

  “Oh, okay.” I contemplate. Should I hunt him down? Wouldn’t that look desperate? But maybe I am desperate. I give the girl a warm smile. “Thanks so much. I’ll find him.”

  Once I’m outside, I follow a hunch and walk toward the amphitheater. The bright cornflower sky is full of conflicted clouds—white and puffy on top, gray and flat underneath. Cumulus? Cumulo-nimbus? Scientific terminology has always thrilled me.

  “Ooch!” My head comes out of the clouds when I step on someone’s foot. A very long foot.

  “Hallo.” Axel gives me an amused smile, flexing his foot. “You are in town today?” His German accent flows without much American restraint today.

  “I came to find you. We need to talk.” I fall into step beside him, taking two steps to every one of his. “I need to know who sent me the plant.”

  “Yellow begonia. Ja. I had no name.”

  “But you might have the order record? Maybe the credit card links to an address.”

  His pale eyes widen, as if he’d never thought of that option. “I should.” The strong jaw flexes, like He-Man bracing to kill a mastodon.

  Why on earth does a dude like this own a flower shop? Axel’s about as über-masculine as it gets.

  We go back into the shop. I stifle a laugh when the secretary gives a short bow to Axel before giving him the phone messages. Like the king of the pride, he dominates the entire shop with his presence.

  He leads me into a back room, which doesn’t alarm me as much as it possibly should. There’s an old wooden file cabinet against the back wall. He rifles through folders until he finds the right one. He hands me the receipt, which says:

  For Nov 1st. One potted YELLOW begonia.

  To: Tess Spencer, 2 Spencer Hill Road, Buckneck, WV

  From: Anonymous (phone ID Sedona, AZ), payment in full with Visa last numbers 3026

  The pink receipt rattles in my hand. Arizona. The Doctor lived in Arizona. Miranda’s note was postmarked from Arizona.

  “You are having thoughts on this?” He stands near his desk, a respectful distance from me.

  “I am.” I don’t try to explain things to Axel. I’m not even sure how much he’d understand. Though his vocabulary seems limited, he does have intelligent eyes. However, those sharp eyes are currently roving over my body.

  “You are with child?” He seems surprised.

  “Yes, I’m married—verheiratet.” My high school German washes over me when I visualize Frau Hansen writing words on the board.

  His features soften as I speak his language. “Viel Segen.”

  I don’t know what that means, but it sounds slightly off-color coming from Axel’s mouth.

  I pull my purse tight, backing toward the door. “I have to go. Thank you. Many danke.”

  He quickly walks in front of me, and I picture him blocking the door, leaning in to steal another kiss. Instead, he opens the door and beams at me.

  “Auf wiedersehen, Tess Spencer!”

  As I walk back to my SUV, raindrops lightly patter on my face. I cozy into my car seat, drinking my cold cinnamon coffee and trying to understand.

  Why do I trust the Good Doctor, when everything points back to him? Miranda’s wrong dosage, her warning letter, and now the anonymous begonia delivery from Arizona. Not to mention his involvement with Rose. Maybe he assumed she’d leave her money to him, and he’s bitter that Miranda got it.

  There’s nothing for it but to ask him point-blank what he’s holding back. I pull out an abominably high gas receipt and scrawl my questions for the Doctor.

  My stomach rumbles. When was the last time I ate? Those orange-glazed scones in the coffee shop looked so good. I turn the key, ready to go home. When I look up, I can’t believe my eyes.

  Andrew’s restored turquoise Karmann Ghia is unmistakable as it races into the municipal parking lot and jerks to a halt. Thomas’ younger brother steps out, producing the usual effect. Women walking by on the street point and wave, convinced Brad Pitt is in town. With his longer hair and trimmed blond beard, he’s a dead ringer. Unfortunately, he knows it. He stands and yawns, leaving his girlfriend to open her own door.

  Oh, mercy. The poor girl wears a parka and snow boots, all ready for a blizzard in our sixty-degree weather. With her gaunt build, she looks to be about fourteen, but I know she’s in college.

  Andrew turns and shields his eyes—from what, I have no idea, since the sun’s behind those cumulo-nimbus clouds. He waves and rushes to my car, leaving his girlfriend in the dust.

  “Tess! I can’t believe it! What’re you doing in Point Pleasant, woman?”

  I suppress a smile. “As you know, I don’t live too far away. You on your way home? Don’t eat anything—your momma has tons of food waiting.”

  Andrew smiles exactly the same smile as Thomas. His girlfriend segues over to our car, just taking her time, as if she wasn’t left behind by her boyfriend.

  Andrew notices her. “Tess, allow me to introduce Kelsey Brighton. Kels, Tess is my brother’s wife. She’s pregnant.”

  He peers at my stomach, obviously disappointed there isn’t more to see.

  “I’m not that pregnant yet, you silly. I have to get home because I’m starving. You want me to call your mom?”

  “No way. We’re going to surprise her. She wasn’t expecting us till tonight. It’ll be epic.”

  I shake Kelsey’s hand, fully realizing I’ll forget her name by the time I get home. Kelsey, Kendra, Kayla, Kendall…trendy names fly right past me. I need book or TV characters to ground them for me.

  Thomas calls as I’m speeding over the mountain. After living in Buckneck a couple of years, I feel like I know every curve by heart. Sometimes I think I could drive it at night, with no lights on.

  Thomas sounds perky. “Hey babe, what’s going on?”

  “Just did a little research in Point Pleasant, and guess who I ran into?”

  “Tell me it’s not that hulking German.”

  I won’t tell him, then. “Your brother Andrew and his new girlfriend, Kendall or something.”

  “Did she seem any better than the last one?”

  “Well, she’s…more humble. But she trails around after him like an orphan puppy, just like all the others.”

  Thomas sighs, then affects an Irish accent. “He’s a blemish on the bonnie Spencer name.”

  I laugh so hard, the phone slips out of my hand and into the tissue box. I fish around for it, wiping my eyes. Thomas’ accents kill me, even if the word "bonnie" is more Scottish than Irish.

  As I finally pull the phone to my ear, Thomas shouts at me. “Tess!”

  “I’m here!”

  “Listen, I gotta run, babe. But I’ve found some infor
mation about Rose’s will. It’s a bit odd.”

  What’s one more bit of odd information? I’m in deep now. Bring it.

  21

  ~*~

  Many days, I sat in the living room, waiting until the sun hit the gold chair just right. The dust would light up like so many tiny crystals—even tears—rising to the sky. I imagined Cliff looking down on me, fully approving what I was planning. After all, my mother did.

  I hadn’t told Bartholomew about the ghost. Having such a logical doctor’s mind, he wouldn’t understand. At least that’s what I told myself.

  Paul started avoiding me. Did my anger brand me, like a giant scarlet letter? I feared he saw more than he let on. What would the punishment be, if he knew about Bartholomew?

  One night, long after Paul went to sleep, I went outside, drawn to the thin light of the half-moon. I stood barefoot beneath my wisteria arbor. The dark vines twined around the wood like snakes. I raised my hands, summoning a ghostly appearance. I doubted it would work, but I craved that peculiar closeness with my mother.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a hollow-looking light. It shot up to me and hovered, as before. I tried to watch it, but it was like a star. The more you stared directly at it, the more it disappeared.

  “Mother. I know you loved me. I want to tell you that.”

  The light flickered.

  “I also want—”

  “Rose? Who you talking to out there?”

  The light died as I turned around. Paul ran up to me, wearing his boxers, V-neck white tee, and dirty black boots. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me.

  “You’re out here on the frozen ground, standing barefooted? Confound it all, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!”

  I smiled. Paul took a step back. I had tapped into a power bigger than myself, something that carried me through, until all the pieces were in place.

  ~*~

  Around six, Nikki Jo sends Petey over with two hot homemade meatball subs. She probably made enough for an army, unsure of how much Andrew’s girlfriend would scarf down. His last girlfriend ate like a horse and weighed in at a whopping 110 pounds.