Bindweed

by Janis Harrison

  Someone snorted in disgust.

  Abner’s lips trembled, and he fought for control. Slowly his gaze traveled the room. “I have an advantage over all of you. I know I’m innocent. But you might want to think about this. If I didn’t harm Toby, then who did? Who walking among you is free to kill again?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning I awoke with several thoughts flitting through my weary brain. I’d been up and down most of the night, getting little sleep. Seeing Toby in the casket, hearing the pain in Abner’s voice, speaking with others who had loved Toby had kept my mind spinning. Around three o’clock this morning, I’d stared out my bedroom window, across the treetops to Bailey’s house. A light had been on, so I figured he’d been working on his book. I needed to talk to someone and would have welcomed Bailey’s input, but for what I had in mind, there was really only one person who had the authority to hear my questions.

  I threw caution to the wind and went to see Sid at the hospital. I arrived about a quarter till seven. The shifts were changing and the nursing station hummed with activity. From the deliveries yesterday, I knew Sid was in room 621. Since I didn’t need directions, I breezed down the corridors as if I had every right to be there before visiting hours.

  Sid’s door was open. I peeked around the door frame. I wanted to save both him and me the embarrassment if he was perched on a bedpan. Thank goodness he was fully clothed and stood at the window. I rapped on the door.

  Sid spoke without turning. “You’re up bright and early, Bretta. I saw you get out of your vehicle and race across the parking lot. Even from the sixth floor, I could tell you were hell-bent on some mission. I hoped you had business in some other area of the hospital.” He sighed and faced me. “But since you’re knocking on my door, I guess I’m the lucky one.”

  Sid’s skin was pasty white, but his eyes were clear and bright. I would have liked a more receptive welcome, but that would’ve been asking for too much. He’d undergone an appendectomy, not a personality transplant. I took heart from the fact that his tone was mild and he wasn’t blustering. I gestured to the empty room. “Where are all your flowers?”

  “I had the nurse take them to other patients. I can get out of here faster and with less fuss if I’m traveling light. They say the paperwork should be done by eleven o’clock. I’m ready now. My ride should be here at eight. I have things to do, and waiting for hospital personnel to get their act together isn’t one of them.” He waved me to a chair. “Sit if you want. I’m standing. My butt is sore from wallowing in bed.”

  “I’m surprised you’re going home so soon.”

  Sid quickly set me straight. “I’m not going home. I’m going to work, but they don’t have to know that. For all the hoopla I’ve been through, I have a couple of pitiful little laser holes in my belly and some nasty bruises on my arm where some inept witch couldn’t find a vein. Hell, I’ve had worse pain. Grappling with that punk spraying graffiti on county bridges comes to mind. The little snot played dirty, scratching and clawing like a girl.”

  I ignored that sexist reference. “Last night at the visitation I discovered that Toby reversed his route on the day he died. Mr. Barker said Toby came into the bakery right after lunch instead of his usual time, which was later in the afternoon.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “It might if people were used to him coming around at a certain time, and he dropped by earlier than expected. Perhaps he saw something that got him into serious trouble.”

  “We checked his route for the day he died, but no one mentioned a change. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

  “Mr. Barker said that when Toby came into the bakery, he was talking about a bowl of white worms.” I proceeded to tell Sid the other “critter” stories Mr. Barker had related to me.

  Sid wasn’t impressed. “‘Snips and snails and puppy dog tails.’ Boys like creepy crawlers.”

  “I know that, but what if those white worms were maggots?”

  Sid’s upper lip curled. “That’s too damned visual. I had rice for breakfast.” He thought a second, then asked, “Where would Toby see such a thing?”

  Those questions had kept me awake most of the night. Maggots suggested death and decay. But why a bowl? Were the maggots feeding on something in the bowl? How big was the bowl? Where had Toby been? I hadn’t come up with any answers last night, which was why I’d come to Sid. I’d just worked up my courage to put my questions to him when the phone rang.

  Sid picked it up. “Sheriff Hancock.” He listened to the voice on the other end. “How bad is it?” He muttered under his breath. “Just left her house? Okay. I’ll take over from this end. You stay there and go over everything with a magnifying glass. I mean it, Deputy. I don’t like coincidences. This ties in. I don’t give a rat’s ass what anybody says. You stay there. Be on the alert for any corroborating evidence. Got it?”

  Sid slammed down the phone. He was already on his way to the door when he enlightened me. “Leona Harper is being transported to the ER.”

  It took a couple of heartbeats to get me up to speed. By that time Sid was out the door. I hurried after him. He hustled down the corridor, holding his side. I caught up to him at the elevators. He poked the button for the ground floor.

  I asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s unconscious.”

  The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and we got on. Sid leaned weakly against the wall. His skin was the color of oatmeal. His hand shook as he made a quick swipe across his face. “I don’t want questions, Bretta, so here’s what I’ve got. Yvonne Pritchard tried to call Leona last night, but she didn’t answer. Yvonne assumed Leona was still at the funeral home. Yvonne tried again this morning and still couldn’t get an answer. No one picked up the phone at the dress shop, either. Apparently, Melba Cameron, Leona Harper, and Yvonne Pritchard have exchanged house keys. If for any reason one of the three is worried about the welfare of another, she can get inside the house. Yvonne was worried about Leona, so she used her key.”

  The elevator doors opened. Sid stepped out and headed for the ER. I loped along about a step behind him. I said, “Leona came by the flower shop yesterday afternoon. We visited about the people on Hawthorn Street. I learned from her that Abner has a gambling problem, and that Josh is about to lose his video store.”

  “Old news.”

  “You didn’t bring any charges against Abner.”

  “Not at this time. Avery Wheeler is trying to decide if he wants to pursue a case of fraud, but with Toby dead, he’s not thinking too hard on it.”

  “Do you have another suspect in mind?”

  “What’s in my mind isn’t any of your business.”

  I frowned. “That hardly seems fair. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking my brain.”

  Sid slowed and looked over his shoulder at me. “I asked for your help at Toby’s house the other day and you stiffed me.”

  This man could aggravate me faster than anyone I knew. I could have pointed out that he had been the one who demanded that before I spoke, I had to be sure of my facts. Now, at his convenience, I was to spout every thought that zipped through my brain.

  In a huff, I walked past Sid and pushed open the glass doors that shut the ER away from the rest of the hospital. The noise level was high, the lights brighter. The pace was hectic, and to my inexperienced eyes it seemed disorderly. Several people dressed in green scrubs scurried in and out of curtained enclosures.

  Suddenly Sid snorted. “Nurses ought to be in white. Yesterday morning I woke up to a woman standing over me. She was wearing a Mickey Mouse-printed shirt. Hell, for a minute, I thought I was in the children’s ward. Professionals should dress accordingly.” He touched his blue shirt and sighed. “I miss my khaki.” His hand rested briefly on his hip. “I miss my gun.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I doubt you’ll need it.”

  “Don’t matter. I still miss it.”

  “They’re her
e,” said a woman standing near the entrance.

  The outer doors swooshed open, and two men rolled in a stretcher. Hospital personnel converged on the patient. My heart hammered as the drama played out not more than twenty feet from me. I heard snatches of conversation. Some of the medical terms I didn’t understand, but I got enough to know that Leona’s air passages were swollen. She was wheeled into a curtained cubicle and Sid and I moved closer. We kept out of the way, but when the blanket was removed from Leona, I heard a nurse gasp.

  “Sweet mother of Jesus,” she whispered.

  For the blink of an eye, no one moved—except me. I maneuvered myself so that I had a quick glimpse. Leona was naked, her body as red as a rose and covered with oozing blisters. Her eyes were slits in a face that was bloated beyond recognition. Her lips were puffed out, exposing teeth in a macabre smile. The ER staff closed around her, shutting off my view.

  A man with a stethoscope dangling around his neck turned, saw Sid, and strode purposefully toward us. I figured he was about to give us the boot, but he said, “I’m Dr. Emery. Are either of you family? This woman is having an allergic reaction to something. It would help to know her medical history.”

  “I’m Sheriff Hancock.”

  Dr. Emery turned to me. I shook my head. “I’m not family, but Leona told me that one time she almost died from an allergic reaction to poison ivy.”

  The doctor frowned. As he moved away, he muttered, “If that’s the case, it looks as if she took a bath in it.”

  Bath? My eyes opened wide. “Sid,” I said, “Leona received a gift of bubble bath yesterday. When she stopped at my shop, she was on her way home to bathe.”

  “Who gave it to her?”

  “She thought it was from a customer named Mrs. Darby.” I proceeded to tell him about the brown sack, bottle of bubble bath, and the bag of cinnamon disks. “Leona didn’t see Mrs. Darcy leave the package on the counter. She just assumed that’s who it was from because the woman had given her gifts in the past.”

  Sid said, “I need a phone.” He sprinted off.

  I hung around the ER, but Sid didn’t return. It didn’t seem right to go off and leave Leona, so I went to the waiting room and sat down. I picked up a magazine and flipped the pages, but I didn’t read a word.

  My thoughts refused to leave that bottle of bubble bath. Leona hadn’t known for a fact that Mrs. Darby was the one who’d left the bottle on the counter. She’d assumed it was Mrs. Darby, but what if it was someone else? Who knew she was allergic to poison ivy? And why target Leona? What did she know?

  I switched gears. How would a person distill the poison? Boil it? Strain it? Mix it with store-bought bubble bath?

  I had questions and I wanted answers. I didn’t realize how antsy I was until Yvonne and Phillip arrived. I sprang to my feet, anxious to be on my way.

  After Phillip had gotten Yvonne settled in a chair, he asked, “How’s Leona?”

  “There hasn’t been any word yet.”

  He glanced at Yvonne. “I wanted to take her home, but she insisted on coming to the hospital. If she doesn’t take care of herself, she’ll be in a bed upstairs herself.”

  “I need to be here for Leona,” was Yvonne’s wobbly reply.

  She was a basket case. Copious tears had reddened her eyes. The heavy folds of skin around her neck and face sagged. I touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I heard you found her.”

  Tears welled up and dribbled down her cheeks. “I wanted to check on her last night, but Phillip told me I was being neurotic. He said that just because Leona didn’t answer her phone didn’t mean something was wrong.” Yvonne pressed her hands tightly together. “We had a pact, and I broke it.”

  “By not going over there last night?”

  “No. No. Melba, Leona, and I swore that if one or the other of us had to be transported to the hospital, the one who found us had to make sure we were presentable. She was naked, and I couldn’t make myself touch her. Her skin was covered with watery blisters the size of teacups.”

  Yvonne hung her head. “She’s my best friend. She takes such pride in her appearance. When she finds out she rode to the hospital without a stitch on, she’ll be mortified.”

  “She’ll understand,” I said.

  Yvonne glared at me. “No she won’t. Propriety was important to her. Looking good, dressing well, behaving in a manner suitable for a lady was how she lived her life. She would have made the effort to make me respectable.”

  Phillip sighed. “Yvonne, honey, it was more important that you called for assistance than whether Leona was dressed in her best bib and tucker.”

  “I don’t agree,” she said firmly, “but that’s my opinion. And since I knew Leona better than either one of you, that’s the end of this conversation.”

  That was my cue to leave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was almost nine o’clock when I passed Scent-Sational, Melba’s candle shop. The “Closed” sign was still in the window. Worried, I decided to stop in and see if she was okay. Her shop was on the corner, so I turned down the side street off of Hawthorn and parked. I went to the front door and tried the knob. The door was locked. I peered in and saw a light in back. I rapped gently on the glass. No little figure bustled forward. I knocked louder. Still no one.

  Concerned, I went around to the back of the building. Melba’s alleyway was much narrower than the one that ran behind my flower shop. Her blue Ford was parked close to an old porch. The boards creaked and moaned as I mounted the steps. The door was covered with a piece of sheet metal. Again I knocked and waited. No answer. I tried the knob. The door swung open.

  I stuck my head in and called, “Melba? It’s Bretta Solomon. Are you okay?”

  I listened intently but only heard a radio playing. Uneasily, I stepped inside. I was in her back storage room. The shelves were jam-packed with candles and bags of potpourri. They looked pretty sitting neatly in rows, but the sickeningly sweet odors blended together in an overpowering assault on my nose. Were these intense aromas masking something else entirely? I was thinking about Toby’s bowl of white worms. Had he seen maggots? Where? I felt sick to my stomach and blamed it on the oppressively heavy scent of the candles. Or was it my present situation that made my stomach churn?

  “Melba?” I called again, and this time I heard the uncertainty in my voice.

  Where was she? Why didn’t she answer?

  The hairs on my arm tingled. In a rising panic, I thought, Maybe she can’t.

  I got a grip on my imagination. Think rationally, I told myself. The music seemed to be coming from the basement. I walked quietly to the head of a staircase and started down.

  Now I was reluctant to call out. I wanted to surprise—not be surprised. I descended another couple of steps, hunkering so I could see beneath the floor joists. Off to my left, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned in that direction and crept down another step. Gripping the rail tightly, I bent my knees so that I was almost sitting on the step behind me.

  I had a clear view of an artist’s studio. Melba was seated on a stool, her back to me. A portion of the canvas in front of her glistened with wet paint.

  I almost laughed aloud with relief. Then I focused on the painting Melba was working on. There was no mistaking the setting. The background was a city with emerald green spires, towering among white, fleecy clouds. The Tin Woodsman, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, Toto, and Dorothy, were asleep among the red poppies. A young man sauntered down the yellow brick road, headed for the Emerald City. There was no question in my mind. The man was Toby. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, the same as the last time I’d seen him alive.

  I looked around the basement and saw stacks of canvases, but only a few were facing so I could view the subject. They were all scenes from The Wizard of Oz, but with a unique twist that I decided must be Melba’s style.

  Melba glanced at me over her shoulder. “I heard you calling my name, but I wasn’t sure I wanted company.” She tur
ned her back to me. “I should have known you wouldn’t go merrily on your way.”

  Hurt by her tone, I said, “I’ll leave, now that I know you’re okay.” I turned to go, but stopped when she said, “I did this painting years ago, but I had a horse of a different color on the road. I decided last night that before I attended Toby’s funeral, I had to paint him on the yellow brick road. It’s easier to accept that he’s gone if I can picture him like this—headed to the Emerald City. Maybe he’ll finally get his wish.”

  “His wish?”

  “To have a mother and a father and brothers and sisters. He wanted a family more than anything else in this world.”

  “Did Toby know you painted?”

  “Of course. He helped me with some of my ideas. His mental capacities were limited in some areas, but in others he excelled.” She got up and went across the room. “Take a look at this one. It was his idea to have the good witch, dressed in all her finery, have the face of a crone. While the bad witch in her pointy black hat and gloomy cape would be blond and beautiful.”

  I smiled. “It is a bit of a jolt seeing that glittery dress on a bent and ugly figure. I wonder how Toby came up with that idea.”

  “He said it would confuse the witches. If the bad witch looked nice, she might change into a good witch.”

  “But then the good witch could change into the bad one.”

  Melba laughed. “Toby didn’t reason things out that way or that well. I never told him, but I figured that without his realizing it, he’d made the discovery that just because a person looked nice, it didn’t necessarily mean they were kind.”

  “Interesting. Are there other paintings that he helped you with?”

  She shuffled through a stack and pulled out another. “I only finished this painting the day Toby died. I don’t care for it, but Toby thought it was wonderful. He wanted it for his room, but I don’t let any of my paintings leave this basement. I do them for my own enjoyment. They relax me. I’ve been captivated by the Oz movie for years, but it was always too much happy ending for my taste. Toby knew what I wanted and seemed comfortable making suggestions.”