As I took the 3rd batch of cookies from the oven, my cell phone rang. It took a minute to put the tray on a cooling rack, remove my oven mitt, and glance at the caller ID. It was an unknown caller number. Probably some salesman. Just as I was putting another tray of cookies into the oven, my cell rang again. This time Clara’s number popped up.
“Hello Clara. I was just. . .
“It’s not Clara. It’s Hattie. Clara’s sick. She vomited, then fainted. I need you here now!” “Call 911. I’m on my way.”
I stripped off my apron, grabbed my purse, and jumped into the cruiser. She knew the way to Golden Palms by heart. Since the van was named Scarlett, maybe I should name her too. Funny the things you think of when you are terrified.
Images of our move to Athena, when I first met Clara, our latest adventure to Stephens County, and how much I loved each of them all became mishmash in my brain! Darn! I forgot to let Tom know I was leaving. I dashed off a quick text while driving like a maniac to Golden Palms. I prayed that I didn’t get stopped by a cop. My heart palpitated like a race horse. Please God don’t let anything happen to Clara!
~8~
The ambulance and I arrived simultaneously at Golden Palms. Clara’s face was ghostly pale as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance. I squeezed her hand but she was unresponsive. Hattie was in the parking lot crying into her shawl. I wheeled her inside and scooped her into my arms. We held each other and wept. This was my biggest nightmare come true! When I could tear myself away, I asked Hattie to tell me what happened.
“We were laughing and talking,” Hattie began with a tremor in her voice. “Clara went to the ladies’ room while I went to retrieve a deck of cards. We had decided to play poker. Elvira showed up with a pot of Earl Gray and asked to join us. We were both surprised, but agreed. Elvira poured the tea and before I knew it, Clara begins to vomit and passes out.”
“Where is Elvira?” I asked.
“I don’t know with all the excitement I suppose she took to her room.” Hattie was borderline hysterical. “Should we follow the ambulance to the hospital or wait and see what they say? Do you think they’ll just treat her for the flu or upset stomach or whatever made her throw up?”
Hattie’s words showed me that she hadn’t grasped the threat level involved.
“Not sure what’s best. Look at you, dear. You’re trembling. Why don’t you go to your room and try to rest? I’ll follow the paramedics to the hospital and let you know. Okay, dear?”
Just then a tall, thin, gray-headed stranger approached, offered his hand, and said, “Let me introduce myself I am Dr. Leonard, the new administrator. I must apologize for the furor. Seems a visitor suddenly took ill. Whom do I have the privilege of meeting?”
Hattie whirled around and knocked her sailor’s cap askew. Apparently, his arrival was news to her as well. Hattie’s pupils dilated. I winked and extended my hand.
“Roxie Thibeaux, minister’s wife of First Church. I suppose you already know Hattie Sewell. She is a long-time resident here at Golden Palms.”
“No I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he purred. He turned to Hattie and smiled.
“I wonder if it would be asking too much to see that Hattie is escorted back to her room. She’s had quite a shock. It was our friend, Clara, who took ill suddenly and was rushed to the hospital.”
“Oh. So Ms. Nesmith was your friend?” He glared at Hattie like she had cooties. “I’ll see to it right away.” He exhumed a cell phone from his suit pocket and within seconds, an attendant appeared. The attendant escorted Hattie down the hall to her quarters. She looked back and mouthed, I’m afraid.
I nodded to let her know that I understood. But first, to the matter at hand. I had to find out what made Clara ill. A cat death was one thing but a friend was quite another. Of course, it could have just been a coincidence, but if that were the case it was a convenient coincidence. If indeed there was a poisoner at Golden Palms, I would find him or her and make them pay. I wonder how much Mr. Whitfield passed on to Dr. Leonard about the events of the last few weeks. Only one way to find out.
“Were you acquainted with our last administrator, Mr. Whitfield?”
“No, I never met the gentleman.”
“Then you weren’t aware that we had a death here recently? Mr. Mitchell Langford.”
“Heavens, no. There wasn’t any mention of that when the board interviewed me. And I don’t believe that name was in my notes either. Was he an elderly gentleman?”
I smiled. “Yes, he was up in years. But you must excuse me. I really must get to the hospital and check on Clara. Please take special care of Hattie. This shock isn’t good for someone of her age.”
Then I did a Colombo. “One more thing. Could you give Elvira Honeycutt a message? Tell her that I will be in to check on her when I return. She’s another favorite.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to visit Ms. Honeycutt. I was visiting each resident when the excitement with your friend occurred.”
A small white fib. Perhaps Dr. Leonard’s visit and my little message would put the fear of God into Elvira if she was somehow responsible for Clara’s sudden collapse. If not, well it would just be my revenge for tattling on Hattie from time to time.
When Dr. Leonard took his leave, I examined the table where the trio played cards. No teapot but a silver tray with remnants of what appeared to be cookies – chocolate chip cookies. Where was the teapot? The cups were gone too. Did they each eat cookies? I wonder. Only two people could give me an answer that I would believe and one of them was en route to the Emergency Room. This small episode probably wouldn’t be on a scale to have a police investigation. Just the same, I watch crime shows like everyone else. I bagged those cookie crumbs.
After leaving Hattie in what I prayed were capable hands, I put the pedal to the metal and headed for Athena Medical Center. Tom telephoned as soon as he got my text. I instructed him to remove the turkey from the oven. By my calculations, it should be done by now. Then take the cookies out of the second oven and throw them away because I was positive they were burned to a crisp.
I asked Tom to stay at the parsonage until I received the results from the hospital. No sense worrying everyone. It could be that Clara was on one of her colon cleanse crazes or forgot to take her medication. Medication. And just what would that be? I hadn’t a clue. I never paid attention to their discussions of medicines, doctors, and herbal remedies.
Hattie’s warning about someone poisoning the Golden Palms inmates reverberated, but I also remembered her admonition to play it smart so as not to appear to be hysterical. Hattie was one smart lady. Images of Amy and Suzy came to mind. As soon as I could, I’d let them know about Clara. No need for hysteria.
My stomach growled and I realized it was late afternoon. With the Christmas baking and Clara’s collapse, I hadn’t taken time to eat. I reasoned that Clara’s fate was out of my hands. I searched through my tote with one hand and retrieved a power bar. As I drove I prayed for Clara’s recovery and the others in our group. Why would anyone harm Clara? Could this be a warning? Was this related to Mitchell’s demise? Was this another supposed accident or on purpose? Was Hattie in danger?
I sped to the Emergency Room. Only Tom and the residents of Golden Palms would know about Clara and I wanted to keep it that way. And, of course Dr. Leonard. Where did he come from anyway? And why did Whitfield leave so suddenly? Was this a serious attack on a person from the one who decided to rid the world of Mitchell? Was my imagination turning a simple case of a person who had a virus into a sleuth noir?
Tom ignored my instructions to stay home. Thank God for that. He greeted me in the emergency waiting room with arms outstretched. I fell into them and cried like a bawling infant. All I could see was Clara’s vacant face, her closed eyes, and limp fingers. I put on a stoical mask for Hattie’s sake but all my bravery was gone. After a good cry, I composed myself and listened to what Tom had to say.
“Hon. I talked with the doc. At first,
he was reluctant to give out information to anyone not a relative. When I flashed my chaplain card, he did reveal that Clara’s blood pressure bottomed out and caused her collapse.”
I dabbed my eyes with Tom’s handkerchief.
“They had to pump Clara’s stomach.”
“Poor Clara,” I said and accepted the vending machine coffee he proffered. It was comforting just to have Tom sit with his arm around me. What were we about to face? Whom should I notify? A young man in aqua scrubs found us in the waiting room. I snapped to attention and braced myself for the worst.
“Are you by any chance Roxy?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I dabbed my eyes again.
“Clara is asking for you.”
~9~
With raccoon eyes, flushed cheeks, and streaked foundation, I followed the nurse’s instructions to Clara’s room. I didn’t care. All I knew was that Clara was alive and asking for me.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I gushed as I gently took her hand. Clara was woozy, connected to umpteen dozen tubes and wires. But in spite of that, she managed a smile and pointed to her throat.
“I know dear. They had to pump your stomach. Your throat must be raw I know. Listen, dear. Don’t talk. Just listen and nod. I need answers before the doc runs me out. OK?
She nodded.
“Did you have tea and cookies at Golden Palms?”
Nod.
“Think. Did Elvira drink tea?”
No nod, but a quizzical look.
“Did Hattie drink tea?”
Clara shook her head ‘no’ and pointed to a water bottle.
“Hattie drank water?”
Another nod.
“Just rest. Hattie and Elvira are both okay, but I have to get back to Golden Palms. Hattie is beside herself with worry. Tom and I will take care of everything. I’ll be back soon.”
I glanced upward and said, “Thank you Lord.”
Clara managed a second grin, patted my hand, and closed her eyes.
Tom and I retreated just in time to catch the doctor approaching Clara’s room.
“What happened to Clara?” I asked him. What made her blood pressure hit the floor?”
The doctor was again hesitant to reveal any privileged information. He admitted, “At first I was puzzled. Clara’s chart indicated that she takes 10 mg of Lisinopril which regulates blood pressure. So her blood pressure should have been stable. However, when the analysis of Clara’s stomach contents came back the report showed tetrahydrozine in her system.
“What in the world is that and where would she get it?”
One word.
“Visine©.”
He explained that a few drops ingested would cause constriction of blood vessels plus a multiple of woes including a drop in blood pressure. When mixed with Clara’s medication, the drop in blood pressure could have proved fatal. He further added that the theobromine in the chocolate cookies hastened things along as well. With her rapidly declining blood pressure, the chocolate became toxic becoming a recipe for a trip to the ER.
“I surmised it was just as accident. But you are her friend, do you agree it was an accident?” the doctor asked.
I answered, “Yes of course. That’s what it was. An accident.” But I lied. I had told so many lies today. I wondered if the Lord would ever forgive me. My heart raced. Another poisoning! Should I tell the doctor about Mitchell? He’d think I was off my rocker. Should I contact the police? They’d probably think the same. Think. Think. Think, Roxy. Hattie could be in danger. I had to figure out a way to get Hattie out of Golden Palms, but on a ruse that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, perhaps Hattie would agree to leave GP for the holidays. Suzy had her hands full already. Then there was Clara, who might need a place to recuperate. Didn’t she mention a nephew on the police force? What was his name? The wheels in my brain were still turning with ideas about placing who where and for how long as I dialed Suzy’s cell.
“Hey, do you miss me?” Suzy yelled into the mouthpiece.
“Yes, I did. Er . . I do,” I said. Just the sound of her voice made me feel better. I walked outside the waiting room for privacy. Tom had gone to check on Clara again. He wanted to pray with her if she was up to it.
Suzy put her cell on speaker so Amy could hear. After a few gasps and a bucket of tears, I managed to get through the Clara saga and assure them of her recovery. I explained as best I could about the tea, Lisinopril, and chocolate making Clara’s blood pressure dive. I didn’t mention Elvira since there was already bad blood between them.
“When will you two be home?”
“Maybe tomorrow if I can pry Amy away from the Murder She Wrote marathon. I swear she thinks that she IS Jessica Fletcher.
Amy’s voice in the background said, “I do not.”
“If we pack tonight and leave after breakfast, we could get to the hospital for afternoon visitation. How long will Clara be there?”
“Don’t know yet. Tom’s with her now. The doctor just made his rounds, so it will probably be sometime tomorrow if they get her blood pressure stabilized. I’ve been thinking about where Clara could recuperate. Do you know her nephew’s name or have any contact information for him?”
And while Suzy rambled on, I began to wonder—where in the sam hill is Clara’s cell phone?
~10~
Since Tom and I had both driven to the hospital, it took some powerful persuasion before he would allow me to drive to GP alone. Finally, when I emphasized the danger Hattie was in, he acquiesced with a promise to call as soon as I reached my destination. I arrived at Golden Palms only to be greeted by fire trucks and paramedics. Twice in one day, I can’t believe it.
Moments later, the neighborhood was overrun with emergency personnel and what passed as media in our burg. If reporters were on the scene, God only knows what they asked the residents. Clara would be beside herself if she knew. Folks sporting CSI vests measured, bagged, and tagged heaven only knows what while our one and only ambulance displayed blinking lights that drew nosy neighbors to front porches. Rubberneckers hung out of car windows as they drove by at a snail’s pace. Sirens died down, but circling blue lights marked the spot. Astronauts could locate the Golden Palms Residency Center from the space station.
First responders asked if I was a relative of one of the residents. I lied yet again and they allowed me inside. I must get to Hattie. What fresh hell is this? Partway down the hall a volunteer was wheeling Hattie out. She wore a cotton floral nightgown with matching robe accented by a breathing mask. She made motions to me, but I couldn’t understand anything she was saying. Finally, she pushed the mask aside and gasped ‘fire.’
I glared at the woman pushing the chair.
“Is everyone out?”
“Yes. We took some out the front, but the majority of the residents are in the back garden. I don’t think there is much damage. Mostly smoke. A lit candle appears to be the source of the blaze.”
Dr. Leonard was flushed and running around with a stethoscope checking pulses and barking orders to the employees. I rushed to Hattie’s room, swept an arm across her dresser garnering meds, toiletries, and a few clothes into a trash bag. I caught up with the volunteer and took the reins.
“Thanks I’ll take over from here.”
With that, I wheeled Miss Hattie straight out of the front entrance and toward my Cruiser. I put my finger to my lips and indicated silence. When we reached the car, I buckled her in, folded her wheel chair, and stashed her duds. Just then a young policeman caught up with us.
“Ma’am. What are you doing?”
“I’m taking Aunt Hattie to her personal physician. He’s opening the office just for her. She needs medical attention after all this excitement. Her heart you know.” With my best Southern charm, I whispered, “With her advanced age, we can’t take a chance.”
“No ma’am. I mean yes ma’am. Right you are.”
What a convincing liar I am getting to be. Now to make it
to the parsonage before anyone got wise. Stashing Hattie at the parsonage with Tom would give me one less thing to worry about. Clara was out of harm’s way in the hospital. Now to get to the bottom of this madness. Not only did I have a plan, but I had a list and Elvira Honeycutt was at the tippy-top.
I deposited Hattie in our guest room and explained the situation to my patient, understanding, and long-suffering husband. On the drive I had experienced an epiphany of how to handle reporting the attempt on Clara and unraveling the mystery of Mitchell’s poisoning.
“911 What is your emergency?”
“I want to report an attempted murder. No, I don’t wish to give my name. But I can relay details about the circumstances that I would like the police to know.”
I wasn’t a fool. I knew they would trace the telephone number. While rushing to join Hattie and the volunteer, I spied Clara’s Hello Kitty cell phone on the poker table. I slipped it into my pocket. When my 911 call was traced to Clara, her policeman nephew would be alerted as next of kin. Voila! We would have an officer of the law anxious to hear what had transpired over the last few weeks.
While I was patting myself on the back, Clara’s phone rang. The caller I.D. read ‘Kenny Nesmith’. Bingo. But should I answer on Clara’s behalf ? Or should I not answer and position the phone next to Clara’s bedside?
Before I could decide, the doorbell rang. I answered to a young gentleman in blue. “Yes, Officer,” I said sweetly and batted a few lashes.
“Ma’am. My name is Kenny Nesmith. My aunt is Clara Nesmith, and the GPS on her phone says she is at this address.”
Busted. Oh well it was bound to happen. My life flashed before me.
“Come in, Kenny. First of all, Clara is a dear friend. She collapsed today and is in the hospital.
His face flushed.
Thursday Club Mysteries: All 7 stories Page 5
