by Lea Chan
“Well,” she thought defiantly, “I’ll just say the same thing. And whether we all did or did not flush our pieces of paper down the toilet, I could, at least, tear up another one and say that one was mine. Nobody would know the difference. But what if the other three did the same? Oh, this is ridiculous. How could anyone suspect shy little me? But still, why, oh why was I the one who drew it? Damn Lester and his ideas.”
Lester had retired to his rooms on the third floor, shaken by Kevin’s reaction. He loved the boy and hated to see him suffer. Kevin was a great son and he was lucky to have him. The only thing Lester and Agnes had agreed on was Kevin’s upbringing.
“I never minded when Agnes indulged him. We never played against each other in front of him or for him. I’ll give Agnes that much” He paced back and forth.
“But,” his thoughts continued, “the other part of my life has been pure hell living with that woman. The constant nagging, lecturing, ‘Don’t eat pizza, Lester darling. It’ll make you fat, bad for your heart.’ Fat? Hell, talk about the pot calling the kettle black! ‘Put your shirt on Lester, darling, when you go outside. We must maintain our position and appearance in society.’ Appearance? Hadn’t she ever looked in a mirror?” His thoughts were spinning out of control, his blood pressure rising.
Putting a halt to his irritating reflections, he turned to a more pleasing and self-congratulatory concept. What a stroke of genius it had been to come up with the idea of drawing to see who would kill Agnes. He wondered how the others were dealing with the so-called accidental death. Could it actually appear that way? But what were Audrey, Penny, and Bernie thinking? Were they going nuts, worrying about their little game? They had to hold up. Donovan shouldn’t be too hard to fool.
Bernie had finally convinced Kevin to take a sleeping pill. She watched him as he dozed fitfully. He had taken his mother’s death too hard, much too hard. But did she really care how Kevin felt about his mother? The woman had treated her abominably, although it had been anticipated. She knew Kevin loved her more than he had ever loved his mother. Otherwise he would never have married her.
“It’s funny, though, but I never thought he’d react like this.” Her thoughts shifted to the X she had drawn. “Will anyone besides Les, Audrey, and Penny think I had anything to do with Agnes dying? What’s an autopsy all about anyway? That accident idea sounds good to me. I don’t want nobody else thinking I did this. The four of us got to keep cool heads. Something my daddy never did. I sure don’t want to end up like him. I hope that little fool Penny keeps her mouth shut. She’s so honest she might just blab about us drawing to kill Agnes. Surely, Audrey’ll make her keep quiet.”
Dinner that evening was served at the regular time in deference to respect for the memory of Agnes and especially for Kevin, and, the four conspirators agreed, to put on a show of deeply felt mourning in front of Mark.
They had met briefly in the library where Lester and Audrey both admonished the other two to be careful with their behavior.
The very paranoid Penny was convinced that all three pairs of eyes were focused on her and that they knew she had drawn the X. She even began to wonder if the entire plot had been planned that way.
The meal was hushed as everyone doted on a still seemingly sedated Kevin. The only departure from solemnity resulted from a comment by Bernie.
“This chili is delicious but I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” asked Audrey sharply.
“I thought chili was Mexican not French.”
As the others fought to contain their laughter, Kevin, coming out of his sedation, reproved her, “Honey, you know Mark isn’t French. For crying out loud, he came here from The Cracked Cup.”
“I know,” she stated petulantly, “but I thought he was trying to cook French style.”
Kevin almost exploded, “Damn, you’re almost as easy to fool as Mom was!”
The others gasped at his momentary departure from grief.
“Actually,” interposed Penny, “chili is Texan. It’s supposed to have originated near San Antonio.”
Ignoring Penny’s unsolicited tidbit of information, Kevin addressed his tablemates, “Now listen, you guys. I loved my mama but you all got to admit she was a little nuts when it came to food.”
“Oh yes,” contributed Audrey dryly, “just remember Shetekia and Chenequel.”
They all laughed nervously except Bernie, who assumed that Audrey was referring to the spying episode the previous day in the garden. There seemed to be an undercurrent that went beyond Agnes’ plants. She looked at Mark, who, as he was serving the last of the chili, was trying to maintain a serious demeanor. Well, he had to get along with Kevin and Lester, too, for that matter. But she felt something just wasn’t right.
“And,” continued Kevin in a more serious vein, “I know we all loved her and we’ll miss her. I-I think we should dedicate this dinner in her honor. I know how much she was looking forward to it.” Suddenly he broke down and cried.
Lester couldn’t take much more of his son’s grief or of his homage to his mother and knew he had to take charge. “Yes, Kevin is right. She had her moments,” and, he thought, that was putting it mildly, “but this meal is for her.”
To change the focus away from Agnes, he addressed Mark, “From now on I want you to eat with us. I want you to stay on and become a part of this family. Invite your dad over once in a while.”
Mark appeared relieved and grateful. He hoped that his amusement at being socially promoted due to the death of Agnes didn’t show on his face.
Lester’s comments to Mark produced a simultaneous reckoning among the three women. From now on Lester really was their new benefactor. Their future in Henley House depended on him, more, of course, for Audrey and Penny than Bernie who as Kevin’s wife had a secure position in the household.
The phone rang in Shirley Gates’ apartment study.
“Hello,” said Shirley, breathlessly, as she picked up her telephone.
“Shirley?”
“Yes. Annie, is that you? What’s up?”
“Then you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“About our dearly beloved assistant director.”
“Agnes? What about her?”
“She died sometime today.”
Silence, then “No! How? You’re not serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s on the news right now. I’m surprised nobody notified you.”
“I-I’ve been in my study here at home all afternoon working on the script for my TV segment. I turned off the bell on my telephone as soon as I got home from our luncheon and let the answering machine in the living room take over. I had just finished my work and had turned the bell on the minute you called. So please, explain everything to me.”
“I only know what’s on TV. I thought maybe you had more information.”
“No, no. What was on TV?”
“She was found dead in her home.”
“Who found her?”
“Mark Robeson.”
“Oh yes, Marcel, le grand chef. So, tell me everything. Was it a heart attack? She was so fat.”
“The media hasn’t given out much information. All the medical examiner has said is that it may have been an accident.”
“You’re kidding! What kind of accident?”
“He wouldn’t say but the TV reporter said the rumor is food poisoning.”
“Accidental food poisoning for the great nutritionist? How appropriate!” She almost laughed, then said more seriously, “I hope it wasn’t something that Mark fixed?”
“Uhh, I don’t know but after what was said about finding a way to get rid of her, well, and I’m joking, really, I thought to myself, is this what Shirley meant by getting rid of Agnes? Killing her?”
“Oh my goodness! That’s not funny, Annie. No, no, no! My plan was to petition the administration to eliminate Agnes’ position in order to save money to hire more teachers. There are lots of unnecessary positions in this school
district and assistant director of nutrition is certainly one of them.”
“Well, you and I know that but Agnes Henley was a force to reckon with in this town. She would never have been eliminated that way.” In spite of herself Annie began to giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“This is terrible of me. She was eliminated. Isn’t that what mobsters do to, uh, competitors?”
“Oh, Annie, we’re both terrible,” Shirley replied laughing. “But you’re right, I guess. Agnes probably would have kept her job. Although if the petition had succeeded, it would have been fun to see her get what she deserved. Alive, that is!”
“Well, whatever. She’s out of the picture now. Do you think Shetekia and Chenequel had anything to do with her food poisoning?”
“My word, Annie! What a thing to say! A few months ago I might have said maybe, but not now with Mark Robeson doing the cooking. I wonder what on earth could have happened. Listen, I’m dying to see if there are any messages on my answering machine. I’ll call you back if I learn anything.”
Shirley hung up the phone, walked into the living room, and found the machine blinking away. Of course, it wasn’t blinking any faster than usual. It just seemed that way. The messages were frantic calls from school personnel, colleagues, and friends inquiring if she had any knowledge of the death of Agnes Henley.
One call was from Chief Donovan.
Donovan drove into his driveway of his home wondering if May Belle had heard about Miz Agnes. He figured she probably had heard since she knew the poor lady and her friends loved to gossip. One thing he could say about May Belle, though, was that she ignored gossip. She listened to it but never picked up the phone and passed it on. He knew there were plenty of times that he probably could have gotten valuable information from her regarding a case but they had agreed early in their marriage not to discuss what went on at their respective jobs. May Belle taught world history in the junior high school but never brought her problems home to him and he did the same with her. Their evenings together were quiet sanctuaries of watching the evening news and reading newspapers.
Walking in the front door he called out his usual, “Honey, I’m home.”
She walked into the living room from the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek. “Busy day, huh?” she said with a slight sparkle in her eye.
“You heard about Miz Agnes then?” he asked. This was probably one time when their rule about discussing his cases would be broken. After all May Belle knew Agnes Henley very well. It was only normal that she would want to talk about the death of a friend.
“Oh yes, my phone has been ringing all day. The rumors are out of control. Everyone says she died of food poisoning. I hate to ask you this but is that true?”
“I don’t know but it’s highly unlikely. I should get the autopsy report tomorrow.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll try to squelch all the rumors that are floating about. I wonder how things like that get started?”
“Damned if I know. I can’t believe that anyone on the force or in the Henley family leaked anything to the press. Oh, what am I saying! There’s a Tucker living there. I bet she’s the one that’s spreading those rumors. All she had to do was call her mama and tell some warbled story and ole lady Tucker would have a field day. Or maybe it was Mark Robeson what told his daddy. After all he’s the one that found the body.”
May Belle smiled. For once she would have liked to grill Harold about Agnes but she realized that this was one case that she should wait for the official verdict. She had definite opinions regarding Agnes Henley especially in regard to food poisoning but she’d keep silent for the time being. After Agnes was buried and the case was closed then she might tell Harold a thing or two.
“Well, come on and get ready for dinner,” she said. “At least you don’t have to worry about food poisoning here.”
He laughed as he gave her a big hug.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wednesday, June 5th
“Damn!” said Donovan Wednesday morning when he heard the results of the autopsy. “You mean to say I really do have a suspicious death to investigate here in Magnolia Creek? And Miz Henley of all people!”
“It’s just as I expected,” said Rupert Norrison, the medical examiner, “she died from eating poisonous weeds in her salad. Her salad bowl and her stomach were full of them. Now, the way I see it, your job is to figure out why or how a nutrition expert could confuse something like that.”
“Damn! That’s crazy! Like maybe somebody held a gun to her head and told her to eat them? That’s nuts.”
After the call he turned to Metson and explained the autopsy results.
“How could she have died so fast?” asked Metson. “I thought most poisonous plants just made you sick, at least give you time to get to the doctor.”
“Apparently not this one. Rupert gave me the scientific name but I can’t remember it. It was Latin or Greek, I guess. Anyway, according to him this particular weed paralyzes the body first, from the muscles to the lungs. The mind’s the last to go. In other words, she must of known what was happening but couldn’t move or speak.”
“Damn! That’s horrible! But still, it must’ve been quick acting.”
“Yeah, that’s what Rupert said. Damn, now I got to tell the Henleys what she died of.”
“You going to interrogate them some more?”
He answered slowly, “Guess I’m going to have to. After all, it is a most suspicious death.”
“Yeah, but the Henleys of all people.”
“Come on, let’s go get this over with.”
Lester answered the doorbell. “Officers, do you have any news for us?” he asked anxiously.
“Mr. Henley, I sure hate to bother you at a time like this but, well, I’d like to talk to all of you at one time in the library.”
Inwardly Lester quivered. Donovan’s words sounded ominous. Outwardly he tired to appear calm and polite.
“Yes, sir. Just step in here and I’ll try to round up everyone. Uh, do you want to see Mark, too?”
“Yes, everyone that lives here.”
Momentarily left alone, the officers glanced around the room, which seemed big and opulent but comfortable. As Donovan admired the collection of mystery novels, he was irritated by Metson’s next comment.
“Strange reading tastes.”
“How do you mean?”
“Books on gardening and botany. Agatha Christie novels. Reader’s Digest Condensed Books.”
“So? What would you suggest that Miz Henley should have read? They sound normal to me.”
“Yeah, but she was a nutrition expert. Where’s the cookbooks and such?”
“In the kitchen with Marcel,” Donovan replied sarcastically. “Besides, gardening and botany go right along with nutrition, I’d think, which just makes her death that much more suspicious.”
“Yeah, I guess so, considering what she died of.” He paused a few minutes, and then added, “What about Lester? This ain’t stuff a man would read.”
Donovan himself was a mystery aficionado, although the only Agatha Christie novel he was really familiar with was Murder on the Orient Express, preferring Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe, a man who knew good food. Peeved again at Metson’s comments, he came to Lester’s defense, “Maybe he has a study of his own upstairs with reading material. Of course, some people don’t read much anyway,” he added pointedly to Metson who missed the inference. “Shhh, I hear some of them coming.”
The door opened and Penny cautiously walked in, visibly distraught and nervous. Donovan noted what a pretty woman she was, considering her age, although she was a little too much on the shy side. He thought how different his own confident, assured wife May Belle was.
Audrey entered quickly behind her. Now there was a really good-looking woman, he thought to himself, as he admired her sleek figure and carefully coifed blonde hairdo. She didn’t spare money on herself. Of Course she was Ask Hildegarde so naturally she’d be classy. Why, however, d
id she have the fake name? Ask Audrey sounded ritzy to him. May Belle said the rumor was that Audrey also wrote the Hazel recipes, but May Belle herself thought Penny wrote them. Strange, he never could understand aliases and pen names.
He studied Audrey some more. Again, his wife’s image appeared in his mind, short, plump, and graying. Comfortable. That’s what his wife was, comfortable. Audrey was elegant but she didn’t look comfortable. Was that why she never married? He figured he knew why Penny had never married, just too shy.
Bernie came next. Donovan couldn’t figure for the life of him what a rich kid like Kevin Henley saw in a little piece of trailer trash like her. Damn, she would be disqualified in a wet tee-shirt contest. Topside, she was flatter than a griddle pan. Then he mentally chastised himself. Bernadette Tucker had just as much right to marry Kevin Henley as anyone else, especially if Kevin loved her. Just no accounting for tastes, he thought as he recalled the family fights he had been called to at her folks’ trailer.
Lester and Kevin walked in together with Mark at their heels. No father and son could be more different. Lester was small, wiry, dark and swarthy. Kevin was tall, robustly muscular, freckle-faced, and redheaded. To an observer most of Kevin’s genes would appear to have come from his mother.
Then there was Mark who could simply be described as tall, dark, and handsome, a cliché perhaps but true. Both young men had graduated from high school. Neither had gone to college. Mark had worked at his father’s diner before coming to Henley House. As far as Donovan knew, Kevin had never had a job. He was an indulged, wealthy kid but a likable one, nonetheless. And he had married the town tramp. Donovan had never figured Kevin and Mark to be particularly friendly with each other but he guessed maybe he had been wrong about that. Apparently, Kevin had been privy and agreeable to the idea of Mark posing as Marcel, his mother’s French chef.
