Murder Melts in Your Mouth

by Nancy Martin

  He had pointed the gun at me again, so I said, “Normally, it’s just me. You caught us at a bad time.”

  “Sit down,” he commanded.

  “There aren’t enough chairs,” Rawlins pointed out.

  “I’ll stand,” I said.

  I tried to think of all the hostage situations I’d ever seen on television. Unfortunately, the only ones I could recall were those that ended in a shoot-out or with the cavalry charging through the back door. A few psychological tactics swirled vaguely around in my head. I wondered if my father really did have any marijuana.

  I cleared my throat. “Would anyone like some lemonade?”

  “We’ve had lemonade,” Mama said. “Then everybody had to go to the bathroom, which was a terrible ordeal.”

  Tierney said, “We’re not going through that again.”

  “Then we ordered pizza for dinner.”

  “We’re not going through that again, either,” snapped Tierney.

  “Nora, dear, you should really have something besides Lean Cuisine in your freezer. What if friends drop by?”

  “Hey,” Henry objected. “I was the one who paid for the pizza! Somebody owes me forty bucks. And I don’t even like mushrooms!”

  “Mushrooms are good for you. It’s the pepperoni you insisted on that’s giving everyone heartburn.” Mama gave an indelicate burp. “There. You see?”

  I put both hands up to silence the squabbling. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since three o’clock,” Henry said.

  Sounding victimized, Mama said, “It’s been a very long day, Nora. First we missed our afternoon yoga session because Oscar and I got to talking about his diminished libido—”

  Oscar muttered, “Dear God.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Mama told him. “But you can’t expect to perform your best without taking corrective measures. I can prescribe a diet. Which will not include pepperoni, I’m telling you right now.”

  Lucy said, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

  “No,” Tierney said.

  Daddy said to me, “He finally locked the twins in the powder room. It seemed like a good idea to all of us.”

  “Those two,” Tierney said darkly, “are insane.”

  Daddy explained, “They tried to poison his lemonade. With some of that plant food you keep on the windowsill.”

  Good for the twins, I thought.

  “But Henry drank it instead.”

  Henry said, “I didn’t drink enough to make me sick.”

  “You threw up,” Lucy said accusingly. “You threw up in the sink. It was gross.”

  “I did some spitting. There’s a difference. And let’s not talk about gross, Miss Smarty-pants. You were the one who—”

  “All right, all right!” Tierney shouted. “I can’t stand it anymore!”

  Everyone fell silent. The muscles in Tierney’s neck looked ready to tear from strain.

  From my handbag on the floor where I’d dropped it, my cell phone began to jingle. Michael was calling, I thought. Making sure I got home safely.

  I wanted to scream for his help. But Michael was an hour away, maybe longer. And I hadn’t left him in the mood for rescuing me.

  Meanwhile, Tierney’s anxiety had clearly reached a breaking point. He pointed the gun at my purse.

  But he didn’t pull the trigger. We all waited while the phone rang six times and finally stopped. But immediately, Rawlins’s phone began to play a tune. We waited while it finished, whereupon the house phone shrilled. When the answering machine kicked on, we all heard Michael say tersely, “Call me.”

  Then he hung up.

  Into the silence that followed the answering machine’s beep, I said, “I don’t think we’ve actually met, Tierney. I’m Nora.”

  “I know,” he said. “You followed me yesterday.”

  “Not intentionally.” Endeavoring to sound nonthreatening, I said, “Look, I’m very sorry about your father. You have my condolences. Hoyt was a kind man. A generous man.”

  From the table, my mother made a rude noise.

  Tierney pointed the gun at her.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking only slightly contrite. “But he didn’t like to dance. In my experience, small men have small feet and are usually light on them. But not Hoyt. What a wet blanket.”

  I said, “We’re all very sorry for your loss, Tierney. You must be feeling terrible.”

  “How did you guess?” he asked. “Was it the gun that tipped you off?”

  My own temper suddenly sizzled to life. “It’s been a long day for all of us. So sarcasm is hardly going to make this situation better. Plus there are impressionable children in the room.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to be reasonable.”

  “Well, somebody has to try! What exactly do you hope to accomplish here? You’ve taken a whole family hostage—for what? What do you want?”

  “I don’t know anymore! It was much clearer before I met all you people.”

  “Would you like an aspirin?” I asked. “I know I would.”

  “Yes.” With a glimmer of resignation, he said, “I’d like two aspirin, please.”

  “Then we’ll listen to what you have to say,” I suggested. “We’ll all be quiet, won’t we? And you can tell us what you want us to do.”

  Mama sat up straighter. “If you want to know what I think—”

  “We’re all going to be quiet, Mama, while Tierney has his aspirin.”

  Obediently, she subsided in her chair.

  I found a bottle of Excedrin and portioned out tablets for Tierney and myself. When Oscar looked hopeful, I gave him some pills, too. He gulped them gratefully. Mama gave him a disapproving look.

  After swallowing the pills, Tierney seemed to get a grip on himself. He said, “Okay, here’s the new plan. I want to lock everybody up someplace while I talk to you.” He pointed the gun at Daddy. “And you.” He pointed it at me.

  “Very sensible,” I said. “Why don’t we ask everyone else to step into the scullery for a few minutes?”

  “The—?”

  “The little room right over there. It has a lock on the door, if that makes you comfortable. And the windows have been painted shut for years. Nobody will get in or out without your permission.”

  “I hate the scullery,” Lucy said. “Remember when the twins kept that lizard in there?”

  I said, “What lizard?”

  “It’s okay, Aunt Nora. He went away all by himself.”

  “C’mon, Luce,” Rawlins said, seeing my expression. “We’ll play a game in the scullery.”

  “What game?”

  “Any game you like. We’ll tie up somebody and play Joan of Arc again. Remember that one?”

  She pointed at Henry. “I want to tie him up.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Henry. “Joan of Arc?”

  “Okay, everybody.” I raised my voice. “In our most orderly way, let’s proceed into the scullery, shall we? I promise it won’t be for long.”

  With his gun, Tierney gestured the family group across the kitchen and into the scullery, where my mother could be heard chiding Oscar about his diet as the door closed. I turned the lock and put the key on the counter.

  Then Tierney came back to the kitchen table and sat down.

  For the first time I noticed a bandage on the thumb of his left hand.

  I said, “What happened to your thumb?”

  “Your daughter bit me.” He peeled off the bandage cautiously. “At least it’s not bleeding anymore.”

  “When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “I live in the jungle. My immunizations are all current.”

  “Then you should be safe. Lucy’s not my daughter, by the way. She’s my niece. My sister Libby’s child.”

  Tierney peered at me as if I had suggested a second onslaught was on its way. “There are more of you?”

  “Just two more. Libby and my sister
Emma.”

  He shook his head as if trying to clear cobwebs. “I have a vague memory of only one of you. One who beat up Carlton Streetman, the basketball player’s son. Broke his nose.”

  “That would be Emma.” Tierney was about Emma’s age, I guessed. A couple of years younger than me.

  Right now, though, Libby would take one look at him and declare he had an old soul. A certain kind of life experience shone in his gaze—behind the current expression of barely suppressed terror, that is—and I wondered about his life. Like me, he’d been kicked out of the lives of his parents early. Yet, like many of us who grew up in the world of Old Money and long pedigrees, he’d probably absorbed a notion of family tradition. With Amazon Chocolate, he’d clearly tried to create something both profitable and socially responsible.

  And I didn’t see the usual signs of profligate wealth gone to seed. No ridiculously expensive watch. No foppish haircut or fussy manicure. His white shirt had been expensive once, but someone had laundered it hundreds of times. The Gucci logo on his belt looked worn. His shoes were the kind suitable for hiking, yet fashionable in a hip, urban way.

  I wondered about the contradictions, and found myself staring deeply into his eyes.

  He stared back at me, and for a strange moment I felt something electric start to buzz in my head.

  “Nora.” Daddy cleared his throat. “I’d like an aspirin, too.”

  I forgot about Tierney and his gun and finally took a close look at my father. He was pale, and a faint sheen of sweat shone on his face. Now that Mama and the children were out of the room, he allowed himself to sag in his chair.

  “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “But…that aspirin?”

  I hustled to the kitchen counter for the Excedrin.

  “What’s the matter?” Tierney asked.

  My father waved his hand. “A little nausea, that’s all.”

  “Nausea?” I said. “Would you rather have a Tums?”

  “No, no. Aspirin. Several, please.”

  I knelt beside his chair with the tablets in my hand. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Tell the truth.”

  “It might be a little angina. Nothing serious.”

  “Of course angina is serious! Where does it hurt?”

  “My arm. My jaw.” He put one trembling hand on his chest. “And here.”

  I pressed two tablets between his lips. As he chewed them, I seized his wrist and tried to find his pulse there. But I had no experience with such things and ended up holding his hand. I cursed myself for overestimating his health. I had mistaken his tan for vibrancy, I realized now.

  I’d often thought of my father as Hepplewhite furniture—one of the many things for which he had a collector’s appreciation. He was slim and graceful with considerable inner strength, but not enough strength to withstand a crushing weight. And lately, he’d been carrying a very heavy load. I liked to remember him the way he looked in the photograph I kept on a living room shelf. The camera had caught him winking, holding the bridle of a black horse with twelve-year-old Emma on its back—yet somehow my father had dominated the picture, not the animal or the pretty pixie in the saddle. His raffish expression, the elegance of his posture and the classic pullover and threadbare trousers looked more genuinely aristocratic than any Ralph Lauren stylist could dream up.

  But now his eyes looked frightened.

  I gentled my tone. “When did this start?”

  “Two years ago. No, three.”

  “Have you seen a doctor? Do you have some medication?”

  “I left my nitroglycerin tablets on a boat last month.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Your mother and I took a day cruise to see the remains of an island temple on Talikit. The boat was a lovely two-masted—”

  “Talikit?” Tierney said. “That’s a beautiful island.”

  “Lovely,” Daddy agreed. “The cliffs, the turtles.”

  Tierney’s face darkened. “Who’s taking tourists to Talikit? That island has a delicate ecosystem. If people start hiking all over it, they’ll destroy the plants and kill off the turtles. Those are very rare turtles.”

  “Let’s focus on the pain,” I said. “You’ve had it before, Daddy? How bad is it now? Compared to the last time?”

  He wagged his head back and forth. “So-so.”

  I shook a handful of pills into my hand. “Here. Chew up a couple more. It should help. And I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tierney said as I scrambled to my feet. “No ambulance.”

  “Are you kidding?” I demanded. “We need help! He could be having a heart attack.”

  “No ambulance,” Daddy said just as firmly, around a mouthful of aspirin.

  “Don’t be crazy! You need medical attention!”

  Tierney eyed my father with suspicion. “He’s faking.”

  “How do you fake these symptoms?” I asked. “Look at him!”

  Daddy said, “Muffin, I’d rather avoid contact with any kind of officials. It might put your mother and me in an awkward position.”

  “Me, too,” Tierney said. “No ambulance. No police.”

  “So what do you suggest?” I said to my father. “We should stand around watching while you have a heart attack?”

  “No, of course not. The two of you go about your business. I’ll just sit here quietly. But—another aspirin, please.”

  This time he was too weak to chew the pill. I rested my hand on his forehead. His skin felt clammy to me, and I didn’t like the gray color of his face. My own heart had begun to hammer in my chest.

  “He’ll be fine,” Tierney said, without sounding convinced.

  Daddy nodded. “Sure. Fine. But maybe I could lie down for a minute?”

  “That’s it,” I snapped. “I’m calling 911.”

  I crossed the kitchen to the phone, but Tierney kept the gun trained on my father. He said, “If you’re faking, I could get very angry.”

  “You don’t really look like the angry type,” Daddy said.

  I pressed 911 on the phone and spoke to the woman who answered my call. I described my father’s condition succinctly and gave the address. She must have heard the edge of fear in my voice, because she spoke soothingly to me and asked me to stay on the line.

  Behind me, Daddy was saying, “How do you know about those turtles?”

  “I have a friend who studies them.”

  “A friend? Is she pretty? From a nice family?”

  “He’s a he,” Tierney said. “A guy.”

  Daddy looked surprised, then dismayed. “You’re not a homosexual, are you?”

  Tierney bristled. “He’s just a friend. A grad student I met. We’re not—I’ve had girlfriends, you know. Just not at the moment.”

  “Nice girls? Anyone we might know?”

  “Daddy,” I said, “we need to talk about your homophobia.”

  “Ma’am?” the 911 operator said in my ear.

  “Sorry,” I said to her. “There’s a lot going on here.”

  But Tierney swung the gun in my direction. “Hang up,” he said.

  “I’m supposed to keep talking.” I pointed at the receiver.

  “Ma’am?” the 911 operator said. “Is that the patient you’re talking to?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Hang up,” Tierney said again.

  “Ma’am, who else is there with you?”

  Tierney put the gun to my father’s head. Daddy’s eyes widened.

  I hung up the phone.

  “They’re coming,” I said to him. “The paramedics will be here soon. The fire station is just two miles down the road.”

  “Okay,” Tierney said to me. “If help is on the way, then you’re coming with me.”

  “What?”

  “What?” Daddy said. “Why?”

  He was holding on to the edge of the table with both hands, trying to stay upright.

  Even Tierney couldn’t help seeing how desperately my father wanted to stay
in command of himself. Tierney said, “I’m not going to drag you around. I’ll talk to her instead.”

  “No, don’t,” my father protested. “She doesn’t know anything that can help you.”

  I said, “Yes. I do. Take me. Don’t hurt anyone.”

  To me, Tierney said, “Help him lie down someplace. Then we’re out of here.”

  I did as he ordered and helped Daddy into the living room. He stretched out on the leather sofa, one hand instinctively resting over his heart. I fussed with a cashmere throw, trying to put it across his legs, but Daddy pushed it aside. Toby put his forepaws up on the sofa and sniffed my father’s face.

  Tierney grabbed my elbow and pulled me to my feet. “Stop stalling,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “He needs somebody with him. Let me get Rawlins. My nephew can—”

  “The ambulance will be here in no time. We’re out of here.”

  Then Tierney pointed his gun at my father one last time. “Don’t die, old man.”

  Daddy tried to smile. “I’ll try.”

  I choked and found I couldn’t say good-bye. Tierney wrestled me out of the room. I grabbed my handbag as he pulled me through the kitchen. We went out the back door, down the steps and across the lawn to the black sedan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tierney put the gun in the pocket of the driver’s-side door and made sure my seat belt was tightly fastened. He told me to put my handbag on the floor and my hands on my knees.

  He started the car and a chipper female voice suddenly said from inside the dashboard, “Turn left.”

  “What’s that?”

  Tierney sighed. “It’s the damn navigation system on the car. I can’t turn it off.”

  “She sounds a little like Goldie Hawn. Without the giggle.”

  Helpfully, the voice said, “At the next opportunity, turn left.”

  “Shut up, Goldie,” Tierney said.

  “Where’s she trying to take you?”

  “I don’t know. They used my passport when I rented the car. Maybe she’s trying to get me back to South America.”

  He drove down the driveway and turned right onto the highway.

  Goldie spoke up again, sounding disappointed. “You’ve made an error. I’m recalculating your route.”

  Tierney muttered, “Don’t do me any favors.”