by E. Joan Sims
When we arrived at the house and he came around to help me out of the car, I saw tears in his eyes.
“You must forgive an old man, my dear. When I think we might have lost you forever.…”
I kissed his only slightly wrinkled old cheek.
“Thanks, Horatio. I love you, too.”
I refused to go inside. It was a beautiful Indian summer afternoon, and I wanted to be out on the patio.
Mother and Mabel padded the chaise lounge with pillows. With Horatio’s help they managed to ease me down on it. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and smiled.
“I’m happy now. You’re all forgiven.”
Mother laughed as she sat down next to me and held my hand. “Whatever for, Paisley? Do you forgive us for coming home to find you down in the orchard, your poor little bleeding body draped over Sue Dibber’s? Or maybe, you forgive us for restraining that murderous woman until the police got here? For rushing you to the hospital to attend to your wounds? Oh, and I almost forgot—for rescuing poor little Aggie before she ate through her crate trying to help you.”
“Yeah, all of that.”
Dr. Peter Harvard brought Cassie home around four o’clock. He had taken her to lunch instead of going back to Morgantown. She brought him out to the patio so he could tell me himself that I was “fit as a fiddle.”
“Actually, you have some very deep bruises, Mrs. DeLeon. Both shoulders are quite hemorrhagic. But the good news is that nothing is broken.”
He winked at Cassie. He was definitely not gay.
“I’ll need to check on you again soon. Maybe next Saturday night, say, about eight-thirty?”
“Great! Plan to stay for dinner. Gran is a fabulous cook.”
Cassie smiled shyly and I watched in admiration. I had never really seen her at work.
“Gran’s teaching me everything she knows.”
“Oh, boy.”
“What’s that, Mom?”
“Nothing, dear.”
I dozed off after the good doctor left. When I awoke, Pamela was sitting next to me looking anxiously at my stitches.
“Oh, Paisley, are you going to be all right?”
She burst into tears. “I thought I would die when your Mother called. We were all so worried. You are going to be all right, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I am. Quit sniveling. By the way, I’m still mad at you for that crack about the farm thing.”
“Now I know you’re okay.” She laughed and blew her nose. “I’m sorry about that, but I was mad at you, too. I thought you had really blown it.”
She surveyed my bandages.
“My God, child! What you will go through to prove a point.”
“So everything’s fine?” I inquired. “No more lawsuit? No more kicking poor little old ladies off the old home place?”
“I can’t see anyone kicking your mother anywhere. But, yes, everything is fine. Dibber’s lawyer called two days ago. He apologized for his part in what he called ‘their foul charade.’ Although, I’m sure the little weasel knew all along Dibber was conning your cousin.”
“Just like Leonard Paisley said.”
“Leonard knew,” she nodded in agreement.
“Has anybody heard from Mary Ann?”
“Yes, she went to the priest, Father Barnard, who, by the by, is also sorry for his part in the foul charade. He hopes to make it up by helping young Mary Ann and her Jimmy get back on their feet.”
“And the money?”
“According to my lawyer, a person cannot profit from murder. Nice little law, quite logical don’t you think? Anyway the money goes back to William’s next of kin, three cousins, I think. Too bad you all can’t get any. But the good news is that all this publicity has sent book sales skyrocketing. We’re going to make a fortune! The publisher is clamoring for Leonard’s next book.”
“Damn Leonard! I’d like to wring his neck.”
Pam patted my sore knee until I winced.
“Not yet, old girl, not yet,” she said.
