A Good Samaritan

by Jesse Jacobson

  “No, not at all. I saw her two weeks ago. I brought two books from the library for her to read. She seemed . . . I don’t know, happy . . . and healthy. I can't believe it.”

  “Well, you know how heart attacks can be,” Liam stressed. “They often have no warning signs.”

  “And they can happen just like that,” Julie added.

  “Such a shame,” Liam murmured. “She seemed to be doing so well lately. I saw her not all that long ago, myself. Mickey is right. She seemed healthy to me, too—and happy.”

  “When did you see her, Liam?” Julie asked.

  “I don’t remember for sure, maybe ten days ago at the Hardware Store, I believe,” Liam recalled. “It was so good to see her out of the house. She was in the store with Alma Peabody.”

  “Alma Peabody? I don't know her,” Julie remarked.

  “She's a friend of Grace—lives out of town. She and Daisy were in the store shopping for plant food.”

  Grace was Tranquility’s Volunteer Election Coordinator.

  “I’ve seen her. Alma lives toward Hickory Bluff,” Anna chimed in. “She's divorced—doesn't come into town all that much.”

  “I had no idea Daisy was friends with anyone named Alma,” I said. “She told me she was getting out of the house a bit. I was certainly happy to hear that.”

  “I think she'd met Alma fairly recently,” Liam offered. “I overheard them talking about the nursery in Hickory Bluff. I figured they must have met there.”

  “Daisy loved her garden, that's for sure,” Anna agreed. “Meeting a new friend in a nursery would be no surprise.”

  Daisy having a heart attack should not have come as a surprise to any of us. I’d seen her medications on the kitchen counter in the recent past and knew she’d been treating a heart condition.

  For many years Daisy lived frugally on a very tiny retirement income. She’d lost her husband to a stroke twenty-two years ago. The loss hit her hard, but the worst was yet to come.

  Five years after her husband passed, Daisy’s teenaged daughter, Donna, a then-seventeen-year-old student and aspiring actress, was murdered. The authorities investigated for thirty-months before the case went cold. Donna’s murder remained unsolved—that is, until I stumbled on new and interesting information.

  Having served as a cop for six years, I developed a nose for foul play, and even though I had no authorization or authority to do so, I began a clandestine investigation into Donna’s murder. The investigation turned out to be a source of aggravation between me and my boyfriend, Deputy Noah.

  Uncovering new information about Donna’s murder happened completely by accident. About a year ago, during a time my landlord was treating my rental house for termites, Daisy Danner was kind enough to let me stay two nights in her spare bedroom, which was next door to Donna’s old room.

  Daisy had maintained Donna’s room in its original condition as a shrine to her daughter’s memory. I stumbled on a secret compartment in Donna’s desk drawer. The drawer contained correspondence between Donna and the man who eventually was proven to be her killer.

  I took the evidence to Noah, who was annoyed at me for snooping, but interested nonetheless, given the fact that he considered Daisy Danner to be the best teacher he ever had. He took a personal interest in reopening the cold case of Donna Danner’s murder.

  The evidence was just enough to ignite a chain of events that led to the identity of the killer, who turned out to be a B-Movie actor with the smarts to elude the authorities for more than fifteen years.

  We later discovered that Donna Danner was not the only aspiring young actress he murdered. He’d also murdered the daughter of a Texas oil executive, who’d offered a two-hundred-fifty thousand-dollar reward for the capture of his daughter’s killer.

  When it came time to collect the reward, Noah and I both agreed the money should go to Daisy. She refused it at first. She was just so happy to get closure on her daughter’s death. Eventually, Noah and I talked her into accepting it.

  In the ensuing weeks, Daisy came out of her shell, little by little. Her passions were reading and gardening. However, she still left the house only rarely—old habits were hard to break.

  I established a routine, bringing her a few books each month and returning the finished novels to the library. At first, my visits lasted no more than a few minutes, just long enough to drop off a few books, pick up those she had finished, and get her wish list for the following month.

  When I stopped by, she’d invite me into her house for tea and cookies. We’d sit and talk—mostly about her garden. I would listen intently, as though I understood what she was saying about pollination, soil nutrients and grub damage. It was obvious she enjoyed my visits, and the companionship. I certainly enjoyed her company, too. I'd grown to like her a lot. She was sweet and caring. Recently, I invited her to join Liam, Julie, and I at The Lick Skillet on Sunday afternoons. She said she wasn’t quite ready and I didn’t want to push her, but it felt like she was close to engaging in more social activity.

  “You say she seemed fine when you saw her?” Anna asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “It was early afternoon last Wednesday. She invited me in. We had tea and she was telling me about her latest plans for the garden.”

  “Latest plans?” Liam asked.

  I nodded, “Yes, she had a lot of plans in the works. She was passionate.”

  “She knew more about home gardening than anyone I know,” Liam stressed. “I can't believe she's gone.”

  “It's so sad,” I continued. “She was just getting her garden the way she wanted it.”

  “Oh, my goodness, her garden was amazing,” Anna attested. “She loved it so much.”

  “You haven't even seen it lately, Anna,” I added. “Once she invested time and money into it, it became even more astonishing.”

  “What about her family?” Liam pondered. “Did she have anyone else at all?”

  “She once told me about a younger brother and sister, who lived together in Rhode Island, I think,” I replied. “They’re twins, I believe.”

  “Vermont,” Anna corrected. “I met them once, many years ago. A very . . . eccentric pair. Did you know that Daisy and her family were from England, originally?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I admitted. “I never detected an accent.”

  “She did have a mild British accent a long time ago,” Julie said. “I remember it from when I was in her history class. She lost it over the years.”

  “Daisy was born in the United States,” Anna said. “Her siblings were born in England. They moved back and forth when she was young.”

  “Victor and Bessie are their names,” Julie informed. “Their last name had something to do with plants, as I recall. Branch? Rose? Flowers?”

  “It was Bloom,” Anna corrected.

  “That’s right,” Julie replied. “Victor and Bessie Bloom. How did you remember that?”

  “I saw Noah earlier today,” Anna told us. “He told me he’d contacted them to let them know Daisy had passed. He mentioned their names.”

  “Noah knows about this already?” I snapped. “Why didn’t he call me?”

  “You have a dead cell phone battery, remember?” Anna pointed out.

  “Dammit. Sorry. You said they were odd people,” I commented, moving the conversation back to Daisy’s siblings and away from my inability to perform a simple routine task like keeping a charge on my phone. “I knew she spoke with them on the phone occasionally, but she never talked about them much. What makes you think they were odd?”

  Anna shrugged, “They were very snotty—British snotty, uppity even, always insulting everyone, even each other.”

  “Are they coming to town?” I wondered.

  “Yes, they are due here tomorrow from what Noah told me,” Anna continued.

  “This will be interesting. They are weird,” Julie added.

  “And this is coming from someone who’d know,” Anna blurted.

  Julie nodded and raised her
hand, “Guilty.” She wrinkled her nose and offered a mischievous grin.

  Julie Justine was the fourth member of our little group. She was short and rail thin. She wore plain clothes, usually dark. Her hair was dyed jet-black and she wore black horn-rimmed glasses, offering a stark contrast to her pale white skin, which had never been touched by a makeup brush. Of the four of us, she probably had the highest IQ, though her naiveté and lack of basic social skills made her seem more like an airhead than a prodigy.

  Julie was also notorious for playing pranks. I’m not talking about harmless goofs against friends. I am talking about pranks against people she didn’t like, and sometimes those pranks bordered on excess. Some of her shenanigans went awry and resulted in catastrophe. But all in all, I loved her dearly.

  I sat there, still stunned, shaking my head, half listening, half distracted.

  “Why are you shaking your head, Mickey?” Liam asked.

  “I just keep thinking about Daisy passing. I know she had a heart condition,” I replied. “I saw her medications on the counter. I knew she was having sleeping problems, too. This should not be such a surprise. Still, she seemed more alive in recent weeks than I’ve ever seen her. It just doesn't feel right.”

  “Mickey, she was well over seventy-years-old with serious heart issues,” Liam reiterated. “People get old—it happens.”

  “I know, but still, doesn’t it strike anyone else as odd that a lonely widow comes into money and then dies suddenly a few short months later?”

  “Not necessarily,” Liam maintained. “Given the circumstances—her age and history of heart problems. Old people die, Mickey. I see it every day.”

  “I'm sure Lucille will be sniffing around soon,” Anna ventured.

  Julie let out a raspberry, “Lucille? Oh, yeah,” she agreed. “You can count on that.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d forgotten about Lucille. Ever since Daisy came into money, Lucille Beauregard had taken a strong interest in her 'emotional recovery and well-being,’ as she liked to put it.

  Lucille was a life-long resident and self-appointed judge of what was and was not in Tranquility’s best interests. She’d recently lost her bid for Town Council and had been on a mission to save face ever since. She had a burning desire to show people how useful she could still be in the community.

  The woman also hated me with a passion. Lucille’s daughter, Christina, was about Noah’s age. Matchmaker that she was, Lucille decided Noah and Christina should be together. When her efforts failed, Lucille decided the reason had to be that I was a woman with loose morals, one who used feminine wiles to cast a spell on the unsuspecting Deputy using depraved sex as a lure.

  I’ve been on the woman’s shit list ever since. At various times she’s been known to refer to me as a blonde bimbo, a slut or a damn foreigner.

  She first got wind that Daisy had come into money when she learned that the widow planned to donate funds to the local high school drama department. The high school theater was in terrible shape, badly needing a makeover. Donna dreamed of becoming an actress. Daisy told me her idea about helping to renovate the high school theater. I could not think of a more fitting way to honor her daughter's memory. The donation was sizable and word of it quickly spread throughout town.

  Lucille knew that Daisy had been living hand-to-mouth and decided she would find out how it was that Daisy was suddenly able to make a donation of that substance. In the small town of Tranquility, it didn't take long for her to find out all the details.

  When she learned about Daisy’s sudden good fortune, she made a number of personal visits to her house under the guise of checking in on her and offering to help. Lucille’s idea of helping, of course, was to offer other ideas to Daisy that would advance her personal agenda.

  Lucille’s latest brainchild was to gain support for, and then commission, the construction of a statue of the late Civil War Confederate General P. T. G. Beauregard, who never set foot in Tranquility or Flynn County as far as anyone knew, but was a southern general who happened to be distantly related to Lucille. Lucille thought the statue should be placed at the entrance of town. It would represent strength and courage, she insisted.

  Anna, Julie, Liam, Noah and I all thought it was a horrible idea. With so many Southern towns under political scrutiny with regard to flying Confederate flags on government buildings in the South, the very last thing we thought the town of Tranquility needed was media coverage focused on a statue to memorialize a Confederate general.

  Fortunately, the idea was gaining almost no traction, but Lucille, being Lucille, continued to campaign for it. She presented the idea to Daisy. Daisy mentioned it to me in passing. She was uninterested but adverse to hurting anyone’s feelings, so she kept putting Lucille off. My best guess is that Daisy was Lucille's last hope for funding the project, so in the absence of a direct “no,” Lucille continued to push.

  Julie interrupted my thought process by breaking out into laughter.

  “What the hell is that about?” I asked.

  “Oh, I was just thinking about last year during the heat wave when I slipped a dead fish under Lucille’s seat while she was in Costco. I hid and waited for her to get into the car. The look on her face was priceless, I tell you.”

  “You’re such a child, Julie,” Anna sighed. “That was over the top. The dead fish smell stayed in her car for months.”

  Julie laughed again, “The gift that keeps on giving. It serves the old battleax right. You know damn well she won’t let this statue thing drop.”

  Julie had a fair point. When Lucille got herself worked up on a mission, she was not easily dissuaded. And it would be just like her to overstate Daisy’s intentions to Victor and Bessie.

  “And you don’t know this, Mickey,” Anna added, “but Lucille met Victor and Bessie when they were here last, about three years ago. Lucille was quite smitten with Victor as I recall.”

  “Well, that was not a two-way street, I can tell you that,” Julie volunteered, chuckling. “Victor couldn't stand Lucille.”

  “I think I like this guy already,” I proclaimed.

  “Don't get carried away,” Anna cautioned. “I don't think Victor likes anyone very much. He has an ego the size of the Georgia Dome.”

  “Really?” I replied. “Because he’s so . . . what, handsome?”

  “He's actually not bad looking, for a fat, cranky old cuss,” Julie interjected. “The attraction had nothing to do with his looks, though.”

  “What then?”

  “He’s British,” Anna replied. “He’s quite prim and proper—he carries an air of sophistication.”

  “Yeah, hot air,” Julie barked.

  Anna shrugged, “Whatever. He cagey and smart, like a fox and he’s got the whole Downton Abby thing going. I wonder if he’s mellowed since he was here last?” Anna asked.

  Julie smirked, “You’re asking if a cranky old fart has mellowed now that he’s three years older? Really?”

  Anna shrugged, “Now that you say it out loud, I’m not so sure it was a good question.”

  We changed our conversation to more pleasant topics, like what Julie might do next to torment Lucille, but I could not get poor Daisy Danner out of my head.

  After a long while, we said our goodbyes and I headed home. I needed to make a couple of stops beforehand but decided to call Noah first. He was working an extra-long shift.

  He answered on the third ring. I got right to the point.

  “I have a bone to pick with you, Mister. Why didn’t you tell me Daisy Danner passed away?” I asked.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he replied.

  “Sorry,” I said, “but really . . . why?”

  “I tried to call you, Mickey,” he continued. “The call went straight to voicemail. I didn’t think it was a very good thing to leave on a message.”

  “You knew how much I loved Daisy. Why didn’t you come find me?”

  “I’m so sorry. I just got busy. Plus, I ran into Anna. I figured she’d te
ll you.”

  “Were you on the scene?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I was the closest responder when the 9-1-1 call came in on Saturday afternoon. When I arrived, she had already been dead for quite some time.”

  “How long had she been dead?”

  “Based on body temperature, the EMT thought she had been gone fifteen to twenty hours.”

  “So, she passed away sometime early Friday evening, between seven o’clock in the evening and midnight?”

  “To be determined, but yes, something like that.”

  “Who found her?”

  “Her gardener,” Noah said. “He showed up around two o’clock on Saturday afternoon which was his normal time and regular day.”

  “That had to be quite a shock for him,” I guessed.

  “I would think so. He was doing work at her house for over two hours before he realized anything was wrong. He mowed her lawn, like always, did some trimming and watering. When he was done, he knocked on her door, but Daisy didn't answer. He knew she almost never left the house, so he got worried. He walked around back and saw that the door was cracked open. He knocked on the door and called to her. When she didn’t answer, he walked in. He pushed it open and saw Daisy motionless on the kitchen floor. It looks like she’d just come in from the outside.”

  “That's so awful. Will there be an autopsy?” I asked, knowing what the answer would be.

  “No,” Noah revealed. “There was no sign of foul play; no forced entry; nothing missing. She was seventy years old and in ill-health, Mickey. She died five feet from four separate heart medications.”

  “Still . . .”

  “Still what?”

  “She just came into a lot of money, Noah,” I replied. “Doesn’t the timing seem a bit odd?”

  “It might,” Noah admitted, “but given the circumstances, it doesn’t seem odd at all. There are a couple of things you don’t know. I called her primary care doctor to inform him of Daisy’s passing. He was saddened but not surprised. He had recently seen Daisy and had upped her medication after her most recent examination and bloodwork. He was worried that her condition was worsening. She actually skipped a follow-up appointment with him early last week. And when the EMT arrived and looked at the actual meds she was taking, he noticed more pills were in the bottle than should have been there—meaning that she had been missing quite a few doses. According to the doctor, Daisy had been complaining that the meds were bothering her stomach. She wasn’t taking her meds as instructed.”