by J. D. Griffo
Once again Lori was interrupted before she could confirm or deny.
“Ladies! It’s like I’ve time traveled back to the Inquisition,” Helen chastised. “Give the woman a chance to breathe and answer the really important question.”
“Which is?” Alberta asked washing her hands with a dishtowel.
“What kind of pesticide was Jonas’s pinot laced with?”
Alberta laughed and threw the towel down on the kitchen counter. “Holy Anna Maria Alberghetti! I am pazzo! With all our kibitzin’ I almost forgot.”
When Lori spoke again it was like she was a different person. She was precise, articulate, and spoke so quickly that no one could interrupt her even if they wanted to.
“The second toxicology report, unfortunately, came back inconclusive and we’re unable to pinpoint the type of pesticide that was found in Jonas’s system,” Lori conveyed, “but the results did help us narrow it down to a member of the organophosphate family, which is a common, but deadly, toxin found in readily available pesticides and insecticides. However, even with the final results, we still have to speculate as to how Jonas was poisoned.”
Lori stared off into space and took a deep breath before continuing.
“It’s hard to tell definitively,” Lori cautioned. “But it’s very likely that the white wine and the pesticide, whichever one it was, combined together to cause an allergic reaction that resulted in respiratory failure.”
“Probably the same way Bocce died,” Alberta said as she made the sign of the cross.
“So Father Sal was right,” Helen added. “Jonas was allergic to white wine.”
“Yes,” Lori confirmed. “The report supports that, but Alberta knew it before we did. Impressive work, Mrs. Scaglione.”
“Thank you,” Alberta said, curtseying slightly. “I understand what killed Jonas, but I don’t understand how it killed him. Why would he drink wine he knew he was allergic to?”
“Drunks have been known to drink the most outrageous substances when they’re desperate,” Lori explained. “Rubbing alcohol, cough syrup, hand sanitizer, lemon extract.”
“Lemon extract?” Alberta exclaimed. “Grandma used that in her cookies.”
Raising her eyebrows, Lori said, “It contains eighty-three percent alcohol.”
“No wonder she loved baking so much,” Helen remarked.
Ignoring her sister, Alberta continued with her line of questioning. “So, Jonas could have mistakenly drank the pesticide. I mean not for nothing, but as a park custodian he must have had access to products that contained the substance.”
“Of course he did, Gram, maybe he mistook some weed killer for his wine.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Joyce said. “It’s hard to mistake a bottle of pesticide for a bottle of pinot grigio, don’t you think Lori?”
Lori scrunched up her face and shook her head while sipping a glass of fluffy marshmallow vodka. “First of all, it’s a tie between root beer and fluffy marshmallow, I’m not sure which one is more delicious. Second of all, you’re right, but I’ve seen it happen before. Alcoholics like all addicts come in many shapes and sizes so not everyone acts the same. Jonas could have been in a blind rage or was so drunk he was hallucinating and downed the first thing he reached for, but not knowing the man I can’t rely on his personal habits, I can only focus on the facts.”
“And the facts tell you he didn’t make a lethal mistake?” Helen asked.
“Correct,” Lori replied. “And I come to that conclusion not because I think Jonas was a discerning alcoholic who wouldn’t stoop to drinking pesticide if he was desperate for a high, but because of the lack of evidence. There were no traces of the pesticide found in the tree house.”
“Not even inside the wine bottle?” Alberta asked.
“None,” Lori confirmed.
“What about the glasses?” Jinx asked, holding up her own jelly glass.
“Both glasses were wiped pretty thoroughly so it doesn’t take a brain surgeon, or a medical examiner for that matter, to conclude that someone was trying to get rid of any trace of the poison,” Lori stated. “But if I had to hazard a guess it would be that before that wipe down only Jonas’s glass contained both the wine and the pesticide.”
“Which means someone played the role of deadly bartender,” Jinx surmised. “Spiked Jonas’s wine before he showed up or when he wasn’t looking and then left with the pesticide when he fled the scene.”
Sighing expressively, Lori agreed, “That’s how I see it, too.”
“So this is premeditated murder,” Alberta said, almost to herself.
The statement and all the ugliness it brought with it lingered in the room for a while. It was as if each woman was trying to figure out a way that it couldn’t be true, but failed. If there was pesticide in Jonas’s system, but no traces of it in the tree house, he either drank it before he entered the house, or whoever gave him the tainted liquid took the evidence when they left.
“Who could’ve wanted that poor man dead that badly?” Alberta asked.
“I haven’t been back in Tranquility for very long and most of the people I grew up with have moved away,” Lori advised. “But did Jonas have any enemies?”
“None as far as I can tell from my investigation.”
All heads turned to look at Joyce, who was too busy munching on a piece of s’mores cake to notice how much attention her comment had garnered.
“What do you mean your investigation?” Alberta asked.
“I made a few phone calls to some friends,” Joyce started.
“You have friends?” Helen asked sarcastically.
“Would you shush?” Alberta scolded. “Joyce, what did you learn?”
“Nothing, that’s the problem,” she replied. “Jonas wasn’t in debt, his credit score was decent, he didn’t have a criminal record, and he was never married. At first glance there aren’t any red flags in his past or his present to indicate he’d have an enemy.”
“He must have done something that ticked someone off,” Jinx said.
“Those girls at the diner did say he was creepy,” Alberta added. “Though Nola denied it.”
Refilling her jelly glass with a combination of both root beer and fluffy marshmallow vodka, Lori suggested, “Maybe you amateur detectives need to investigate the Academy.”
“I think you mean ama-tour,” Alberta corrected.
“What?” Lori asked.
She would have to wait for a reply because the four women laughed hysterically at Alberta’s imitation of Sharon. Joyce couldn’t resist joining in even though Sharon was a patron of hers.
“Sorry, that woman is going to ruin all her students with her phony airs,” Helen remarked.
“Sharon?” Lori said. “The principal?”
“I don’t know her very well and I don’t like to make fun,” Alberta claimed. “But I have to agree with Helen, Sharon acts like her you know what doesn’t stink.”
“She might also want to dress a bit more age appropriate,” Jinx commented. “Did you check out the hemline on the skirt she wore at Jonas’s service? A bit high for such an event and definitely too high for a woman her age.”
“It was more like a handkerchief,” Alberta said.
“C’mon,” Joyce interjected, “I thought she looked terrific.”
A thick silence greeted Joyce’s comment, broken only by Helen’s shriek.
“For a fifteen-year-old hussy!”
Once again the women erupted into laughter that only ended when Lori accidentally knocked over her jelly glass and spilled vodka all over the table.
“Oh dammit!” Lori shouted, mopping up the spill with some napkins. “Sorry, I’m starting to crash, I must confess it’s been a very long day.”
“Confess! That’s it!” Alberta squealed, uncharacteristically ignoring the mess.
“What do you mean?” Lori asked.
“Jonas might not have done something to get himself killed,” Alberta said. “But maybe he knew
something that he felt compelled to confess.”
“Confess to what?” Joyce asked. “I told you he didn’t have a criminal record.”
“Maybe not to a serious crime or one that went reported or was uncovered,” Alberta explained. “But why else would you have to meet with a priest if not to confess something. And Father Sal said that they met regularly.”
No one had to say a word for Helen to know what three out of the four women were thinking. Smirking, she replied, “Don’t say it, I need to have a clandestine rendezvous with Father Sal.”
“It doesn’t have to be secret,” Alberta said. “You can do it in broad daylight.”
“Well, gee, thanks, sis.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Jinxie,” Helen said. “You know I don’t really like Sal so will you come with me?”
“Sure thing, I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning,” she replied.
“And don’t be like Miss Sharon, remember to, you know, dress appropriately,” Helen said cryptically.
“What? Oh, yeah, right,” Jinx said, then two seconds later shouted, “Oh my God!”
“What’s wrong?” Alberta asked.
“I just realized that the person Jonas knew, trusted, and murdered him, could very well have been at the service.”
The cool evening breeze suddenly turned into a strong wind, and the gingham curtain on the window over the kitchen sink rose and fell against the window screen. Most disturbingly, the small statue of the Blessed Mother that Alberta kept on the window sill next to the photos of her parents and children, and the porcelain Bambi that she had since she was a child, toppled over and fell into the sink. Alberta raced over to the kitchen counter to lower the window and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the statue wasn’t broken. It was hardly expensive, but symbolic.
Lori joined Alberta and helped her put back the fallen photos and tchotchkes. “It’s nice to be able to see loved ones,” Lori remarked. “Otherwise we’re persone invisibili.”
“The invisible man?” Jinx questioned, not sure if her translation was accurate.
She was close.
“Invisible people,” Alberta said. “What do you mean by that, Lori?”
“For all the people at Jonas’s service, did anyone really know him?” she asked rhetorically. “He was on this earth, like the rest of us, but he was hardly noticed until he was killed.”
Lori looked out the window and watched the moon reflected on Memory Lake. Alberta thought Lori looked like she was lost in memories of her very own, but like the song said, memories that might be too painful to remember.
“I think it’s time for me to go before I have us all crying in our vodka,” Lori announced.
“Me too,” Jinx said. “Gram could you drive me? Freddy dropped me off here so I don’t have my car.”
“Nonsense, I’ll take you home,” Lori said. “Although my Prius isn’t as fancy as your grandmother’s Mercedes.”
“The Mercedes is mine,” Joyce corrected. “Berta drives the new baby blue BMW.”
“Same color as my eyeglasses,” Helen remarked.
“First new car I’ve had in years,” Alberta said. “I thought I might as well live a little.”
“Might as well live while you can,” Lori said. “Because like Jinx said, somewhere close by, there’s a killer among us.”
CHAPTER 9
Correre dietro alle farfalle.
Father Sal’s office looked the same as the last time Helen and Jinx visited, except this time scattered among the brown leather chesterfield sofa, plush burnt orange rug, and antique mahogany desk were boxes both empty and overflowing. Since Sal was months away from retirement, the mementos and gifts he had accumulated over a lifetime in the priesthood were now encased in bubble wrap and securely resting in boxes anxiously awaiting their new home. Almost as anxiously as Father Sal himself. He loved being a priest, but he loved the prospect of being a retired priest even more. Until then, Helen and Jinx were going to make sure he continued playing the role of informant.
“More wine, Father?” Jinx asked, pouring more Chardonnay into his glass before he even responded.
“Thank you, Sister Maria,” Sal said.
Jinx smiled and bowed her head. She felt blasphemous dressing up as a novitiate yet again in Sal’s presence, but since she had impersonated one the last time she and Helen met Sal they both decided they should err on the side of consistency and continue the charade so Jinx donned the habit once more. She figured if Helen could ignore her true feelings about Father Sal to pump him for information, the least Jinx could do was play her part. In costume.
Seeing Father Sal lounging back in his Italian leather desk chair, Jinx thought he too was wearing a costume and had decided to show up today as a priest who once appeared on The Sopranos. His jet black hair was conspicuously absent of any strands of gray that should have appeared on the man’s head and perfectly matched the thick frames of his vintage eyeglasses. His left hand was adorned with two gold rings, one highlighting a ruby, the other a sparkling diamond, which Jinx could tell weren’t fakes. And his skin, smooth and unlined, was either covered in theatrical makeup or was the result of a few trips to the Botox clinic. Even though she knew Sal had spent even more years in the employ of the Catholic Church than Helen had, Jinx couldn’t shake the feeling that he was playacting the role. As a result she felt a little less guilty that she was impersonating a woman of the cloth. It was all about a means to an end anyway, and the quicker she got there, the quicker she could end the charade.
“Such an excellent vintage, isn’t it?” Jinx remarked.
“Yes, quite a good one,” Sal answered. “One of my favorites.”
“Speaking of favorites,” Helen interrupted. “You were quite fond of Jonas, weren’t you?”
A shadow brushed past Sal’s face. “Very much so,” he said. “I knew him his whole life.”
“How long did you know him professionally?” Jinx asked.
“Oh my, well . . . quite a long time,” was all Sal would say. He took a long drink of wine and finally clarified his vagueness, “Over thirty years at least.”
“Such dedication,” Helen remarked. “You and he must have had a strong bond.”
“We did, unbreakable.”
Jinx realized it was time for something to shatter.
“Why did Jonas come to you, Father? Was it for the wine? Or the absolution?”
Sal looked at Jinx as if he knew she was a fraud, but if he did he gave no indication when he spoke. “Some souls are lost and simply ache to be heard. Jonas wanted someone to hear what was in his heart.”
“And what was that, Sal?” Helen demanded. “Tell us.”
Sal paused for a moment, but it was clear that he, like Jonas, felt the need to be heard. “The age-old illness from time immemorial that poets, scholars, and philosophers have spent untold hours pondering and never really getting close to the miracle. He was in love.”
Helen and Jinx exchanged confused glances. There had to be more to it. Jonas wouldn’t maintain a thirty-year relationship with a priest just to talk about his love life. Unless there was something corrupt about that love.
“In love with who?” Jinx asked.
“His high school sweetheart.”
“Did she love him back?”
“Unfortunately, it was an unrequited affection.”
“Does this sweetheart have a name?”
“I’m sure she does, but he never mentioned it to me.”
“And you never asked?”
“No, Sister Maria, I never did,” Sal replied, appearing to be offended by the very question. “You see when a parishioner needs counseling, it’s best to allow the parishioner to lead the conversation. Let them feel that they are in control even when, by their mere presence in a pastor’s office, they feel completely out of control.”
“Is that how Jonas felt?” Helen inquired. “Out of control?”
The grandfather clock in the corner of the of
fice chimed ten times, and the trio collectively chose silence during the musical pronouncement.
“The heart wants what the heart wants and when the heart is told it can’t have what it wants the result can be painful,” Sal mused. “It can make you do things you normally wouldn’t do.”
“What kind of things did Jonas do?” Jinx questioned.
“Don’t let your imagination get the best of you, Sister,” Sal cautioned. “It isn’t like he stalked her or did anything requiring police intervention, he merely sent her flowers.”
“A very romantic gesture,” Helen remarked.
“The roses were sweet,” Sal continued. “It was something he started while he was in high school and he kept it up long after they graduated and long after they were a couple.”
“Which now sounds a little less romantic,” Jinx added.
“Jonas was trapped in the past,” Sal explained. “He would speak of this girl, this woman actually, as if he had just met her or as if they had only returned from their first date, instead of as a woman he’d known for over twenty-five years. I guess it’s because they were almost engaged.”
“Engaged?” Jinx cried. “Don’t you think that’s an important piece of the puzzle?”
“It was an engagement in Jonas’s mind only,” Sal clarified, waving his left hand in the air dismissively, which reminded Jinx of one of Helen’s more notorious gestures, except when Helen did it her hand wasn’t dripping in jewels. “He never asked the girl for her hand in marriage, he never bought a ring, he only thought that when she returned to town about twenty years ago that this time he would win her hand and they’d be wed. When things didn’t work out as he planned . . . well, that’s, unfortunately, when things got worse for him and he began to drink even more heavily.”
“And never stopped,” Jinx added. “Until the day he died.”
“Correre dietro alle farfalle,” Helen said.
“I have no idea what you just said, Sister . . . I mean former Sister Helen, but it sounded beautiful,” Jinx remarked.
“To run after butterflies,” Helen translated.
