"Who was that?" Perkins asked.
"That was Dorothy."
"Don't tell me you're trying to get a ride to the hospital."
"How could you know that?" Honey was a little surprised the detective was such a master of the obvious.
Perkins was 6'3" tall and weighed 260 pounds. His last sixty pounds had landed in his belly. Now, Honey, at 5'4", 115 pounds, was playfully poking her right fist into that belly. "How could you know that?" she repeated.
"Honey, please." He backed up a step to avoid her poke and said, "You know I can't let you go see Leonard. We're in the middle of an investigation here."
His denial hit her like a real punch in the gut. Honey sat back down at the kitchen table, collapsing like a deflating blow-up doll. All the fight drained out of her. She put her arms on the table and put her head down and began to weep softly. "I need to go see him. I need to take care of him. He needs me. What will he do without me?" She raised her head. Tears had smeared her makeup. "Won't you take me to him? Please. He's all I've got."
As Honey's voice was approaching a wail, Karen Lindvall, the duly-elected and first female prosecutor in the history of Wabash County, walked in and informed Detective Perkins that she was taking over the crime scene investigation. The prosecutor was a blonde, tough-talking, 55-year-old woman of beautiful, Swedish descent. She paid no attention to Honey at first, electing to inform the detective of his many mistakes in gathering evidence. "You can't have people running around from room to room like this," she scolded. "We'll have one team for each room. And, by the way, we'll be focusing on the kitchen. This is a case of poisoning. All the food and liquid needs to be tested."
The prosecutor virtually kicked Detective Perkins out of the room, then turned to Honey and softened considerably, "Come here, Honey, and give me a hug. I know how hard this must be. And don't worry. I know you didn't do it. We've known each other too long."
"I helped you get elected," Honey sobbed into her shoulder. "We had a big fund raiser right in this house."
"That's got nothing to do with it," Lindvall said. "This is woman to woman. I know you and I know Leonard. It's a small county. I know how much you love him. But you've got to admit, it does look bad, Leonard getting poisoned while he's shacking up at your house."
Honey backed away from the hug, dried her eyes and said with a sniffle, "I wouldn't call it 'shacking up.'"
"You can call it whatever you want," Lindvall chuckled. "Now, listen, I know you want to go see him. And I'm going to authorize that, okay? I probably shouldn't but I'm going to do it anyway. What are you going to do? Machine gun him to death in his hospital bed?"
Honey's eyes turned hopeful. She couldn't believe her ears.
"In fact, I'm going to let Perkins escort you to the hospital. I need to get him out of here anyway. He's like china in a bull shop." Lindvall joked.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Honey gushed as she threw her arms around the prosecutor.
"But you've got to promise me you'll stay with the detective at all times. And don't say anything to anyone about the case. I know you'll cooperate with this investigation any way you can and I've got a feeling I'm going to need you. By the way, Leonard's doing fine. They're keeping him overnight for observation, but he's showing no signs of trauma. So, go see him, and when you get back we'll talk about what he's been drinking and eating."
"What about the arsenic?" Honey asked.
The prosecutor looked back with steel in her eyes, "Who said anything about arsenic?"
Honey looked like a little girl getting caught stealing candy.
"Never mind. I know. Don't you believe a word he says."
With that, the prosecutor spun on her high heels and stormed out of the kitchen, shouting, "Perkins!"
* * *
Leonard was sitting up in bed, flirting with two young nurses, like everything was right with the world. The man looked many years younger than his age. He had a full head of silver hair and laughing blue eyes with bushy eyebrows Honey could never get him to trim. His jutting jaw and powerful forehead made him look tough and stubborn but he was mostly gentle and kind. He was an excellent dancer. Most of his best moves came from square dancing as a young man.
"Step aside, girls," Honey said as she moved quickly to him. "This is my man."
"Honey," Leonard said as she buried herself in his embrace. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."
"I can see how hard you've been looking for me," Honey said, gesturing to the nurses. "Ladies," she said as she disentangled herself from Leonard's embrace, "could we have a little privacy?"
The nurses politely left the room. "Who's this?" Leonard asked as he noticed Perkins for the first time.
"This is Detective Perkins. I've known him most of his life. We used to tip him the most of anybody on his paper route. Isn't that right, Davey?"
Perkins nodded but said nothing. He was still smarting from Honey spilling the beans about the arsenic. He took out a note pad and pen and said to Leonard, "I've got a few questions for you, Mr. Atkins, if you don't mind."
"You're a detective, huh?" Leonard asked as the two men shook hands. "I'm glad to meet you, but if you don't mind, I've got some questions for you. Starting with why the heck did you haul me out of Honey's house on a stretcher? And what's this about me being poisoned? I don't feel poisoned. Look at me. I've been ready to get out of here since they drugged me up and brought me in. Now they say I've got to stay all night. What's going on?"
"Funny you should ask that question," Perkins said. "I can't talk about the investigation but I do need to know if you are able to understand your situation."
"He wants to know if you're competent, mentally," Honey interrupted.
"You sound like my niece, Gretchen," Leonard said to Perkins. "She wants the court to declare me incompetent so I can't revoke the Power of Attorney I gave her."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Okay," Leonard began with a deep sigh. "My wife died two years ago, and I had a real rough go of it. She was all I had, so when she was gone I didn't know what to do. I lost it for a while. I guess it's what you call grieving.
"Gretchen is my niece, the only family I have left. She took over my finances after my wife died. I gave her what's called a Power of Attorney. That means she can run my life any way she wants until I revoke that power. A Power of Attorney is something you can always revoke. That's what her lawyer told us, anyway. Now that I want to revoke the Power, Gretchen and her lawyer are trying to get me declared mentally incompetent. They've petitioned the court to get a guardianship over me."
"And you can't sign anything or revoke anything if you're not competent," Perkins concluded.
"Bingo," Leonard said. "And that includes writing a will, which I have never done. Stupid of me, I know. I just never got around to it. Besides, I always thought my wife would live longer than me. Then she got the cancer and left me alone.
"My wife and I only had one child. Her name was Emma. She drowned back in 1942. She was only seven years old. Gretchen was at the pond when it happened. It wasn't Gretchen's fault, but I know she always blamed herself. She became like the daughter I lost after her mother and father died. Gretchen's father was the only family I had left. When he died, Gretchen was all I had and I was all she had."
"So how can she say you're incompetent?" Perkins asked.
Leonard looked at Honey before answering. When Honey nodded for him to go ahead, he said, "I do have a problem with my memory and the doctors at the nursing home are saying it's Alzheimer's. I don't know if they're right, but I do know I've been getting better since Honey and I got together."
"What's Gretchen doing with your money?" the detective asked, continuing his inquiry into Leonard's competency.
"I've got a feeling she's hiring lawyers and surveyors to help her sell off parts of the farm. I've heard some rumblings about a new housing addition coming in. Every time I ask Gretchen about it she won't give me a straight answer. In fact,
it seemed for a while there that nobody wanted me to know what was going on."
"And then you found me," Honey said.
"That's right, pumpkin."
"What about your brother? Once he died, didn't his share of the family farm go to Gretchen?" Detective Perkins asked.
"Over the years, after our parents were gone, I gradually bought out my brother's share. He and his wife were terrible with money and he was a pretty bad drinker," Leonard said. "In the end, he didn't own any part of the farm. I know Gretchen was never happy about any of that."
"Well then," Perkins began, "you sound pretty darned competent to me. But let's start with the obvious. What is your date of birth?"
"That's easy. August 12, 1915."
"And that makes you how old?"
"75?"
"Leonard," Honey tried to help.
"No helping please," Perkins said.
"Okay," Leonard said, "I might be a little older than 75. I'll tell you, it's 1992 now and I was born in 1916 so that would make me how old?"
"You want to borrow my pen and paper?"
Leonard took the paper and was able to determine he was 76, not 75. "That's an honest mistake," Leonard said. "The years go by so fast anymore I can't keep track of them."
"At least you know what year it is now. Can you tell me today's date?"
Leonard looked helplessly at Honey, who shook her head to show she couldn't help. Then he looked back at Perkins and said, "I'm afraid you've got me on that one. If I had to guess, I'd say it's sometime in September."
Honey said, "That's right."
"No helping," Perkins warned. "What day in September?"
"That I couldn't tell you. And before you ask, I don't know what day of the week it is either. That doesn't make me incompetent. It just means I'm not working, so keeping track of the days isn't so important. I don't get weekends off like you. Fact is, I never got weekends off. Farming keeps you busy seven days a week. Why don't you ask me something important like who's the president?"
"Okay."
"It's George Bush. But he won't be president for long. There's an election coming up, and I think this kid from I forget where, some southern state, is going to win."
"What's his name?"
"I think his name is Clinton, but don't hold me to that."
The questions went on until Perkins got a pretty good idea that Leonard was not only competent, but also quite clever at hiding his memory problems. Anything he couldn't remember he wrote off as unimportant.
Leonard repeated his birth date three times over the course of the interview. The sooner he got to a competency hearing, the better off he would be. Repeating oneself is the first of many bad signs to come.
Honey was certain that Leonard's memory problems were caused by grief over his wife's death and the stress caused by Gretchen's legal maneuverings. She was also convinced that the more time Leonard spent being in love with her, the better off he would be. Honey was in denial. She decided not to tell the detective about the time Leonard fell asleep watching television at her house and awakened to shout at her, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"
A nurse came in to say dinner was on the way and to ask if anybody else wanted a meal. Right behind her was a chunky woman in a business suit who announced in a Spanish accent, "I am Maria Gomez from Adult Protective. Are you Leonard Atkins?"
Before Leonard could answer, Ms. Gomez looked at Honey and said, "And you must be Honey Waldrop."
"What's this about?" Perkins asked.
"Who are you?" Ms. Gomez glared at Perkins.
"I am Detective David Perkins of the Wabash County Sheriff's Department. I'm in charge here."
"Not any more," Ms. Gomez snarled. "Read this."
Perkins took the document and reviewed it.
"It's an emergency restraining order issued by Judge Jonathan Fee of the Wabash Circuit Court," Ms. Gomez explained, "the court in charge of Gretchen Atkins' petition to establish guardianship over Leonard Atkins. This order clearly states that Honey Waldrop shall have no contact with Leonard Atkins, either directly or indirectly, pending the outcome of the criminal investigation regarding the poisoning of Leonard Atkins."
"What does this mean?" Honey asked.
"It means you must leave this hospital room immediately," Ms. Gomez said. "If you choose to not comply, you will be charged with invasion of privacy, a Class D Felony, punishable by up to three years in jail."
"You can't do this," Leonard said, struggling to get out of bed. "I know my rights. Tell her, detective. She can't just march in here and tell me I can't be with my woman."
Perkins looked at Honey, who was beginning to lose her color, and said, "I'm afraid she can, Mr. Atkins. This court order is basically a no-contact order. Judge Fee has signed it. Honey, I'm afraid you and I are going to have to leave."
Honey fainted on the spot. She hit the bed first, which broke her fall, then slid to the floor before anyone could catch her. Besides a few bruises that would show up later, she was not injured. Fifteen minutes later, she awoke on a gurney in the nurses' station down the hall from Leonard's room.
"Where am I?" she asked while trying to bring the ceiling into focus. Detective Perkins' concerned face came into her view.
"You're in the hospital. You fainted in Leonard's room. Don't try to sit up. You've got a tube in your arm. It's an I.V. The doctor thinks you might be dehydrated."
"I never got a chance to drink my tea," Honey said, struggling to sit up. "Where's my Leonard?" She flopped her head back down on the pillow, "Oh, yes, it all comes back to me now. They kicked me out of his room because they think I poisoned him. What am I going to do Davey? What can I do?"
"For now you need to rest and try not to worry."
"Who was that woman who came in with the court order?"
"That was Maria Gomez, one of the toughest women you'll ever meet. She works for adult protective and she's seen enough abuse of the elderly to put her on the warpath forever."
"Didn't you tell her I would never hurt my Leonard?"
"I don't think she much cares what I think," Perkins said. "Don't worry, the investigation will prove you're innocent."
"I thought I was innocent until proven guilty."
Two
THE FRONT PAGE banner headline of the North Manchester Herald seemed to scream, "Waldrop Home Searched for Poison." Beneath the headline was a four-column photo of Honey's house, wrapped with yellow tape and surrounded by emergency vehicles.
Honey had spent a fitful night at her home after being released from the hospital. She was up and waiting for the paper when it arrived at 5:30 a.m. The news hit her so hard she nearly fainted again. Breathing deeply, she returned to her kitchen and drank a tall glass of water and took a blood pressure pill before sitting down to read the story. She was still in her robe.
"Oh, my goodness," she cried out to the empty house, "this sounds like something out of The National Enquirer!"
Little did she know how true that comment would become.
The story read:
Leonard Atkins was rushed to Wabash Memorial Hospital yesterday as technicians searched the home of Honey Waldrop for clues in an apparent case of poisoning.
Mr. Atkins is a retired farmer from Wabash County and Ms. Waldrop is a highly regarded community leader in North Manchester. Mr. Atkins had been placed in the nursing home for memory issues, but The Herald has learned that the two have been living together in Ms. Waldrop's home for several months. He is 76 years old; she is 77.
"They just had to put the ages in," Honey grumbled. She had always loved to see her name in the paper and it had been printed many times over the past fifty years as she led one charity event after another. This was the first time anyone had revealed her age. She knew the whole town was a-twitter over two older folks getting romantic, but this was really too much. Having the world know her age was almost as bad as being accused of attempted murder.
The story continued:
Wabash Coun
ty Prosecutor, Karen Lindvall, said no charges have been filed in the case and stated Ms. Waldrop is not a suspect, but does remain a person of interest. Lab results from food and medicine and cosmetics removed from the home will not be available for at least two weeks, Lindvall stated.
Wabash County Detective David Perkins would not comment on what kind of poisoning is involved in the case, nor would he comment on any possible motive.
"Two weeks," Honey howled at the newspaper. "I'll be lynched in the town square by then. And Davey makes it sound like I've got some motive he can't talk about."
Honey threw down the newspaper and got up to make herself some tea and oatmeal. All she could think about was Leonard. His favorite saying was, "Be happy with what you got." She could hear him saying it in her mind. She could see him too, handsome devil that he was. She could even smell him in her mind. He always smelled like Old Spice deodorant. Honey loved everything about that man.
"Be happy with what you got," he loved to say. "That's the only way to be happy. Some folks, you could give them a million dollars and all they'd want is another million dollars. They can never be happy. The only way to be happy is to be happy with what you got.
"Well, I'm not happy with what I've got," Honey said as she paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, wondering what in the world she was going to do.
She paced until 8 a.m., plotting her next move. She knew what it would have to be. It was probably too early, but she dialed the number anyway.
When the going gets tough, the wealthy call their stockbrokers.
Surprisingly, she got Jim Tech on the phone and immediately poured her story out, beginning with, "They took Leonard away," and ending with, "I'll do anything to get him back."
Tech knew something was seriously wrong as soon as Honey launched into her tale of woe without the usual social small talk as an introduction. She was a misplaced Southern belle, after all. Somewhere in her rambling and excited story, he heard the words "police" and "search warrant" and "poison."
Honey and Leonard Page 2
