“You go right ahead and eat as many as you want,” he said, putting a brown bakery box in front of me, “and if you just want to eat the frosting, feel free. Whatever you want, pumpkin.”
My father must have been fairly shook up about recent circumstances to allow something like that. Usually he told me the same things my aunts did: waste not, want not.
I struggled to sit in a more comfortable position. Hospital beds were not designed for optimum comfort. “I have a question,” I said. As I looked at the anxious faces peering at me, my heart rate accelerated. I hated to ask this, but I had to know. “Did I accidentally shoot Debbee?”
Everyone around me exchanged a look, but nobody said anything. “Did I?” I asked, worried that I’d killed someone. “Did I kill her?”
“Debbee’s not dead,” my mother said, placing her hand on my arm, “and no, you didn’t shoot her.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “The shooting at Debbee’s farm is only one piece of this investigation. This whole situation has gotten quite complicated, but to answer your question, Officer Genova shot Debbee.”
“Rob?” I looked at Giuseppe, who nodded. “Is Rob all right?”
“You’ve got some good friends, Ava,” Oliver said. “When Officer Genova responded to the scene, he saw that Debbee had her weapon trained on you and was worried for your life. He acted quickly and de-escalated the situation.”
“By shooting her,” I said, “is he in trouble?”
“There’s going to be an investigation,” Stanley said. “Anytime a police officer shoots someone, they have to do that, but clearly he saved your life. The only thing he might get in trouble for is not following protocol and announcing himself, telling her to drop her weapon, that sort of thing, but I don’t think he’s going to get in trouble.”
Oliver shook his head in disgust. “What?” I asked. “Why does that upset you?”
“He should have followed proper procedure instead of reacting without thinking.”
“Maybe if he had followed procedure, I wouldn’t be here talking to you,” I said.
“Maybe,” Oliver acknowledged. “There’s something else, though, that we need to talk about.”
I knew what was coming. I’d known it since I saw those purple flower things in Debbee’s grain. “She was poisoning people, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t think she meant to do it,” Oliver said. “In fact, she’s her own victim, since she ate the food too. But yes, anyone who ate her breads recently ingested something called ergot, which causes fairly severe problems. The good news is that this hasn’t been going on for very long, so hopefully not too many people have been affected.”
“Remember the Salem witch trials?” Giuseppe said. “One theory is that ergot poisoning caused that entire uproar.”
This sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember how ergot could cause that level of problem. “Wouldn’t food poisoning cause you to throw up? How could it have caused the Salem witch trials?”
A nurse walked in at the tail end of my question. “Time to take our vitals,” she said. I made a face. I hated it when medical professionals used words like our and we. There is no we in hospital. She must have noticed the look on my face, as she hurried to say, “Lucky for you, I can answer your question, too, as most of us have been reading up on that very issue since our new admissions. Initially ergot poisoning causes gastrointestinal problems. If left untreated it leads to things like headaches and itchy skin. After that it causes hallucinations, which is when it gets really interesting.”
I flashed back to the bizarre behavior of the crowd at Ethel’s house. Then I wondered about the dancers on the green and the voice from the alley. “Holy cannoli, all those people were eating Debbee’s bread. Is the whole town sick?”
“I only eat Janine’s food,” Giuseppe said, “and thankfully we belong to an organic co-op so baby Danny didn’t eat any of that stuff.” He made a face when he said it, looking upset and mad at the same time.
The nurse unwrapped a thermometer that was attached to a machine, stuck it in my mouth and nodded. “Lots of people are here right now. Police department’s been going through town, looking for folks who bought Debbee’s food. It’s a mess, I’ll tell you.”
Since I had a thermometer stuck in my mouth, all I could do was nod. When the machine beeped, she took the thermometer out of my mouth and nodded. “Your temp is normal. I’m going to take your blood pressure now.”
“Will everyone be okay? Has anyone died?” I asked, looking at my family. I hated to think that people had been hurt by one woman’s carelessness. The nurse wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm and started pumping.
“It might take a while, but we think we’ve got this contained,” Oliver said. “People are in the hospital now and are being monitored. I don’t think the poisoning has gone on long enough to cause anyone’s death.”
“How did this happen?” I asked. I wanted to place the blame entirely on Debbee, but I knew there was a chance this wasn’t her fault.
“She got careless,” Oliver said. “She imported some grains from a grower in the tropics, and they were infected with ergot. She never realized those dark flowers were deadly. She’s also …” Oliver stopped talking, looking a bit flustered.
“What? Mentally ill? Unstable? In need of serious medication?” I asked.
Oliver had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Due to the ongoing investigation and possible charges, I can’t tell you too much about her situation, but that assessment might be correct. She is currently resting comfortably while waiting for an evaluation.”
Good, then maybe she would get the help she needed. I’d known for a while Debbee wasn’t all there, but I hoped that with the proper medical attention she would find her way back to some type of normalcy. Mental illness was not fun for anyone, and hopefully she had family or someone to help her through.
I didn’t know if I wanted to get started on this, but once the question crossed my mind I had to ask. “Is it possible that’s what’s wrong with Linwood, not Alzheimer’s?”
Stanley squeezed my hand. “His wife wondered the same thing,” he said. “She brought him here for testing. We won’t know right away, but it’s possible.”
“What’s he doing out of jail?” Giuseppe asked.
“He was out on bail,” Oliver said. “I think the judge was lenient because of his condition and the fact that the doctors testified his being in prison could exacerbate his symptoms. He is being monitored, though, with an ankle bracelet because of his violent tendencies, and he is restricted to staying at home.”
The Velcro made a scratchy noise as the nurse ripped the cuff from my arm. “Looks like everything’s normal.”
“Good, then I’m leaving,” I said.
“You have to wait for the doctor,” she said. “He should be doing his rounds in a few hours.”
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, looking for my purse. “Mom, Dad, can you give me a ride?”
“Whatever you need, sweetheart,” my father said. I smiled. I could always count on my parents to help me.
“You cannot leave until you get the doctor’s signature,” the nurse reiterated.
“Mmm,” I answered, opening the closet door to get my shoes. “Tell the good doc I said thanks, I’m checking out.”
“You can’t just leave,” she insisted, her face turning red.
I’d like to think I had enough influence from my parents and my aunts to know how to handle the situation gracefully. I just wanted to go home, see Sparky and take a long, hot bath.
“She’s pretty stubborn,” Oliver said.
“In a good way,” Stanley added.
“You might as well put those papers together, because she’s leaving,” Oliver said.
I reached for my coat. I figured the doctor could call and yell at me later.
“So, sis, I was wondering, if you’re up to it, there’s a house over on …”
“No,” I said.
“We were going to …”
“I don’t want to do any more ghost hunts, G. No, okay? Just no.” Clearly my brother did not understand me, so I was going to have to explain this once and for all. “I’m not helping anymore. This is it. I’m done. Over. Goodbye.”
“It’s an open house,” my mother said. “Giuseppe and Janine are thinking about buying it.”
Oh.
Stanley stepped forward and put his arm around me. “We’ll figure out a time that works for Ava, and we’d love to take a look at it.”
Giuseppe’s face lit up as if we’d given him an extra birthday present. “Thanks, guys, I really appreciate it. This is the perfect place for us, with more space and a big backyard for Danny. The neighborhood’s great, too.”
I felt bad for being so short with my brother. After all, he was only asking for advice on something. “I’d love to see it.”
As we walked down the hallway toward the elevators, Giuseppe kept talking about the house. “It’s a little older, might need some work done, you know, update the kitchen and bathrooms and all that, but I think we can get it at a really good price.”
“I hope there’s not too much that needs to be done,” my father said. “You should get an inspection before you make an offer, make sure this is something you can handle.”
My brother pushed the down button for the elevator and waved his hand in the air. “Don’t worry, Dad, the price isn’t low because of the condition of the house.”
As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, my heart sank. I knew what was coming even before Giuseppe said it.
“The house is cheap because it’s haunted.”
Meet Author Narielle Living
Narielle Living is a freelance writer who grew up in Connecticut and is now based in the tidewater area of Virginia. She is the author of the mysteries Signs of the South and Revenge of the Past, and she co-authored Chesapeake Bay Karma—The Amulet. Her fiction also appears in the anthologies Chesapeake Bay Christmas Volumes I, II, and III, and Harboring Secrets.
A former massage therapist and healing arts educator, Narielle is a member of the Chesapeake Bay Writers and Sisters in Crime. For more information about her books or workshops, visit www.narielleliving.com, or find her on Facebook and Twitter.
Madness in Brewster Square Page 22
