Knowing he suspected something foul about the pie, she used her fork and chopped off the tip of her slice. She scooped it into her mouth and was amazed at how good the pie tasted, despite the seriousness of the situation she was in.
Veronica and Victoria followed their mother’s lead. They all tried the pie. “This is real good, Mom,” Victoria said.
Seemingly satisfied, Martin broke off the end of his pie with his fork. He raised the food to his mouth, but paused. Valerie knew she had been watching him too closely. Martin held out his fork. “You try it,” he said, smiling.
“I have a piece,” Valerie said, as if her husband were acting silly.
He thrust the fork closer to her face. She did not hesitate and ate the pie. She then made a face as if to say, See, you’re being ridiculous. Martin grunted and went about eating his slice. “You’re right, Tori. This is good.”
Inside, Valerie felt relieved. The tiny piece of pie she had eaten off Martin’s fork, even if saturated with the allergy medication would not effect her. Antihistamines had the exact opposite effect on her. They made her wired and jumpy, as if jolted by a lightening bolt of caffeine.
Like an animal, Martin ate his way up to the crust, then stopped and set down his fork. He used his finger to probe around at the filing along the edge of the crust. “Stop eating, girls,” he said. “Stop eating.” He reached out and grabbed Veronica’s hand before Veronica could eat her next piece of pie. He slid her plate closer to him and inspected what was left, using his fork to peel off the top crust layer. He looked closely at the filling, then moved onto Victoria’s piece of pie. He began laughing as he did so.
“Martin?” Valerie asked. Though she felt her heart beating like a boxer’s fist against her ribs, she thought for sure the organ had stopped altogether. She found it difficult to breathe. “Honey?”
“Did you poison me and the girls? Did you put something in our pie?” He touched his finger to the filling on what was left of his crust. He rubbed his finger and thumb together and a powdery substance snowed onto the table. “You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch,” Martin said, slamming the palms of his hands down onto the table as he pushed himself up onto his feet. The chair he had been sitting in tipped over and banged onto the linoleum floor. Using his arm like a broom, he swept the plates and flowery centerpiece off the table. The noise was clamorous. All three girls stiffened, unable to anticipate what might be coming next.
Though she thought she had braced herself for the attack, she was not ready for the punch Martin threw. It connected squarely with her jaw. The power behind the blow knocked her out of the chair. She found it difficult to focus; her vision was blurry. As she tried to stand up her head filled with fog. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was still on the kitchen floor, holding her chin. “Martin,” she said, pleading. “Not in front of the girls.”
Though her heart pounded so hard all she could hear were the beats in her ears, Valerie could see the terrified faces of her daughters as Martin’s foot shot out, kicking her in the thigh. An intense pain rocketed its way toward every nerve in the area. She clung to her leg as she attempted to scramble away from the maniac. She knew she was in trouble when her backward retreat was stopped solid by the oven. “Martin,” she screamed out as he kicked her again.
Veronica and Victoria left the kitchen in a hurry. Martin was too preoccupied to notice. Valerie felt a small sense of relief as she heard the front door opening. They would be safe. They were out of the house.
Martin knelt down next to Valerie and stared at his wife with a pathetically sympathetic look. “I just want to come back home. I want things to go back to normal. I miss you and the girls. The girls need their father. You saw them today, sitting on my lap. It’s not right for you to deny them their father.”
Valerie lowered her head crying. She felt terrified. How could he be talking to me like this—as if everything were all right, she wondered? “It can’t work, Martin. This can’t work.”
He clenched his teeth and tried to smile. “Valerie. Val. Honey, we can work all of this out. We’re not the divorcing kind. We’re the in-love kind. I’m still in love with you. Don’t you feel the same way about me? Don’t you miss having me home?”
She saw the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth. Maybe she should agree with him and say what ever she could. “I don’t think so. I don’t see how.”
Martin grabbed a fistful of hair, pulled her forward and slammed the back of her head into the stove. As a loud, thunderous boom exploded inside her brain, and as Valerie’s ears began to ring, Martin stood up. And as Martin lifted his leg and aimed the bottom of his boot toward Valerie’s face, she wondered about her own safety and thought for sure that her life was about to end. As his foot crunched against her nose, and as tears immediately poured from her eyes and mixed with the blood flowing out of her nostrils, Valerie said a quick prayer hoping God would somehow save her from such a primitive and barbarous fate. She lost consciousness as an odd light shown in her eyes—glittering, almost.
_____________________________
The smell overtook her nostrils, more powerfully than if she had placed her head in a bucket filled with ammonia. It was like a volt. Her eyes popped open and she screamed in the face of the man hovering inches over her. She brought her arms up defensively. Panicking, she tried to gouge out her husband’s eyes, but the man was strong, catching and holding her wrists.
“Ma’am, it’s okay. It’s all right.”
Valerie shook her head, clearing her vision and saw that a police officer was kneeling next to her. Martin was not in the kitchen. She sat up slowly, and with the officer’s help. “Where’s Martin? Where’s my husband?”
“We have him outside. An officer is taking his statement. If you are feeling all right, I’d like to have a word with you. Are you feeling all right?” The police officer had a warm, wet kitchen towel in his hand. “If you’d like to keep this pressed against your nose. The bleeding has stopped.”
Valerie took the blood soaked hand towel and pressed it against her nose, gently. The nose ached and throbbed. It felt huge. It had to be swollen. “Can I get up?”
“Can you? Let’s try,” the police officer took her under the arm and helped her to her feet. “How’s that? How does that feel?”
“I’m a little queasy. I think my nose is broken,” Valerie said.
“I think you’re right. We have an ambulance on the way,” the police officer said.
“Chet?” A man called from the living room. “Can you come out here?”
The police officer offered Valerie a comforting smile. “That’s my partner, Harrison. I’m going see what he needs. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll be right back. Okay?” Officer Chet bent down and picked up the fallen chair. Valerie sat down. Chet, in a most tender way, placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
Valerie looked at the mess on the floor. Dishes and pie were all over the place. She cried into the towel. She felt so ashamed and so embarrassed. The entire day was a nightmare she would never forget. And as she cried, relief began to flood through her. God had answered her prayers. The police were here and she was safe. Martin had not been able to kill her. My girls, she thought worriedly. They must have run to a neighbors and called the police.
When Chet returned, his demeanor appeared different. He now stood by the table with his thumbs hooked through his belt loop. The other police officer, Harrison, entered the kitchen and stepped over the mess on the floor. He held a brown lunch bag. Using a fork off the floor, he scooped most of the pie into the bag.
“What’s he doing that for? I’ll clean it up,” Valerie said, suddenly feeling anxious.
“Mrs. Wringer—”
“It’s Miss. I’m not married anymore,” Valerie said. The knot was back in her stomach. She had a bad feeling.
“You and your husband were recently divorced?” Chet asked. Valerie watched Harrison.
“That’s right.”
/> “Why?”
“He was an alcoholic. He was screwing around with hookers,” she said. She lowered her head so that she was not making eye contact with either of the police officers. “He beat me.”
“When Martin came here today, did you let him into your house?”
“No. One of my girls must have.”
“Did you ask him to leave?”
She had not. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought he might have been drinking. He’s violent when he’s drinking. I didn’t want to do anything to upset him.”
“Did he harm you in anyway?” Chet asked.
Now Valerie looked at the police officer as if he were an imbecile and lowered the hand towel away from her face.
“I mean before you tried to poison him?”
Valerie gasped. “I didn’t try to poison him.”
“Didn’t you get him a drink, making him feel welcomed?”
“He had a bottle of whiskey hidden in the basement, he forced me to bring it up to him,” Valerie said, defensively.
“Did you, or did you not ask him to stay for lunch.”
“No—I mean, I did, but I was trying to distract him. My girls were hiding in a bedroom upstairs. I didn’t want him to harm them.”
“Had he ever harmed them before?”
“No.”
“What made you think he might harm them today?”
Valerie remained silent. “This is ridiculous.”
“Harrison ran a check. We don’t have any record on domestic calls being dispatched to this house. Nothing was ever filed by you. Are you sure your husband beat you before you tried to poison him?”
“It’s an antihistamine. I wanted him to fall asleep so I could get my girls and get out of the house. He had beaten me well before lunch.” She wanted to yell, ask my girls, but did not want to involve them. Not yet, not if she did not have to.
“Where did you get the medication?”
“It’s in the cupboard, over the sink.”
Harrison opened the cupboard. He produced another lunch bag and with the fork, knocked the box of medicine into it. “Did you put anything else in the pie?”
Valerie looked at Harrison with disgust and shook her head from side to side.
“Are you sure?”
“Pie filler,” she said.
“Still have the can?”
“It’s in the trash.”
“Ms. Wringer, let me ask you a serious question, all right? Did you feed this pie to your daughters?”
Valerie felt tears brim in her eyes. “I did, but not the piece with the medication.”
“How can you know that?”
“I marked the pie crust. I pressed the fork tines into the crust at a different angle. I knew which piece to give to Martin. I knew which piece he had to eat.” Even as she said it, even though she knew she was right, she knew how it must have sounded to the police officers. “I want to file assault and battery charges against my husband, and I want a restraining order. I don’t want him near my kids, this house or me! Never is he to come near us again.”
While Harrison dug around in her garbage, Valerie went back to crying. She heard the front door open. Two paramedics, dressed in white shirts and navy blue pants, walked into the kitchen carrying medical bags. Valerie felt thankful for their interruption. While they inspected her, she thought about the best way to handle the situation. If necessary, she would not say another word until she contacted her attorney. She would call her sister and have the girls picked up until things were straightened out.
Chapter 52
They stood hand in hand on the front step. Felicia could not hold still. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot. Finally she gathered up enough courage to ring the doorbell. “Are we terribly late?”
Michael shook his head. “Five minutes.”
“My dad hates when people are late.”
“Relax. He’s going to be just as nervous as you are,” Michael said.
“You think so?”
“I know so. I know I would be.”
She kissed him quick. “Thanks for coming with me.”
He squeezed her hand. “I love you.”
Her eyes twinkled. She did not say it back, but Michael was all right with that. It would take her time. He was in no hurry.
Marcia, Felicia’s younger sister, opened the door. Michael remembered her from the hospital. Tonight, however, the pretty young lady wore a smile. “Dad’s so nervous,” Marcia said, stepping aside to let the couple in.
Marcia and Felicia kissed and hugged hello. “So am I,” Felicia confessed. “Do you remember my friend, Michael?”
Marcia nodded. “Hi again.”
“Hi,” Michael said. He wanted to compliment the way she looked, wearing an ankle length dress and her hair up, but thought it inappropriate. “It’s good to see you again,” is what he said instead.
At the end of the front hall, Michael saw Felicia’s mother. She stood anxiously with her hands clasped together. The scene reminded him of a story out of the Bible. The prodigal daughter was returning home. The occasion called for a feast. If Michael was not mistaken, he smelled turkey.
After her mother’s warm welcome, she led them all into the family room where Felicia’s father sat on the sofa, pretending to watch television. It was not hard to pick up. Tension filled the room. Neither father nor daughter seemed to know how to react. It would be difficult for both of them, for different reasons, Michael knew.
Felicia took a step forward. Michael caught her father’s eyes as they moved to see what she was doing. “Daddy?”
Her father rolled his lower lip over his upper. He had one hand on the arm of the sofa, one on his thigh. His fingers rolled into loosely balled up fists, then unrolled, only to roll up again. “How are you?” the man managed.
It was enough. Felicia went to her father’s side and dropped to her knees. She hugged him and cried into his chest. Her father looked at his wife and at his other daughter. Slowly his hand left his leg and worked its way onto his oldest daughter’s back. Once contact was made, the hug became more sincere. In less than a second, he was holding her ferociously tight. And maybe he did not want anyone to see, because as he began to cry, he turned and rested his cheek on top of Felicia’s head. Michael could hear him mumbling. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”
Like a spectator, Michael looked over at Marcia and her mom. They were holding each other and crying. They all looked happy, and hopeful. It was when Marcia held out a hand toward Michael that he became caught up in the wave of emotions. He held her hand. She gave it a squeeze.
When the reunited hug between father and daughter ended, Felicia lifted her head. Her father cupped her by the ears and stared into her face. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too,” he said, and they kissed. Then he held her head out and stared at his daughter for a moment longer before saying: “Okay. Let’s eat.”
_____________________________
Valerie tried not to seem so weak and out of control, but she could not contain herself. She was furious with the police for their silent accusations. She was furious with herself for letting them get to her this way. Once she was able to tell the entire story, everything would get cleared up. She needed to keep reminding herself of this fact.
Officer Harrison had his brown lunch bags in his hands and was looking around the house expectantly. “I think I got everything.”
“Where’s Martin Wringer?” Officer Chet asked. He had his notepad out and was scribbling profusely. “Mind if I sit?” Chet asked Valerie.
“No. Please, make yourself comfortable,” she replied with a strong flavor of sarcasm.
Chet thanked her and sat down. “Look, Ms. Wringer, I know this isn’t easy,” Chet said. “We’re going to follow you to the hospital and get this cleared up.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Right now? No.” Chet closed his pen and slipped it into the breast pocket of h
is uniform.
Harrison came back into the kitchen. “Chet, we’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Wringer. He’s gone.”
Though the two police officers looked panicked, Valerie felt relieved. Martin’s screw up would only help her prove how crazy the man truly is.
“Did you ask him to hang around?” Chet asked. He was standing up with his hands firmly planted on the weapons on his belt.
“Yeah. Sure I did. He asked if he was free to take off. I told him I’d be inside for a minute, to wait here and that you and I would be back out to talk to him in a couple of minutes. I also told him I knew he’d been drinking, so I didn’t want him behind the wheel,” Harrison explained.
Valerie thought he looked too young to be a police officer. She had trouble recognizing his authority, whereas Chet looked much older and possessed a much harder look to him. “He’s dangerous,” Valerie said. “He sweet talked you outside, but when you came in here to get my side of the story, he got nervous. He probably figured I would tell you my side and you’d find out the truth, so he got scared and took off.”
“Ma’am, we don’t need your opinion right now,” Harrison said. He was looking at his partner for support.
Chet had his hands on the radio clipped to the shoulder of his uniform. “This is two-one-one-two, over.”
“Go ahead two-one-one-two.”
“What was your husband driving, Ms. Wringer?” Chet asked. When she told him, he talked into his radio again. “We need to contact the DMV for plate numbers on a white conversion van registered to a Martin Wringer,” he said, and provided an address to the police dispatch. “Will hold for information, over.”
“And I remember something. Before I blacked out, right after he kicked me in the face,” Valerie said, cringing as the memory replayed itself in her mind’s eye. “I remember just before I closed my eyes that he, Martin, had taken out a knife.” She said, more to herself, in realization, “I think he was going to kill me.”
Johnny Blade Page 23
