by E. Joan Sims
“No, but I remember Garcia Lorca, and Isabel Allende, and…”
“Cassie!”
She jumped up from the sofa causing Aggie to scramble around trying to keep her footing on something or somebody. The dog failed to gain purchase and fell to the floor with an angry growl and a disgusted look on her furry face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Cassie, her eyes wide with fear.
“Baxter! He left a suicide note hidden in Leonard’s twelfth chapter!”
“Oh, my God!”
She tripped over the angry snarling puppy in her attempt to reach my side.
“Pull up that chair,” I pointed to my grandmother Howard’s dainty little rocker. “Here, I’ll turn the screen around so we can both read it.”
“Shouldn’t we call Gran and Horatio?”
“Do you want to wait?”
“No!” she responded impatiently.
“Well, neither do I. Besides, let’s find out what he said first. Gran might insist that we call in Andy Joiner. If she does that, our plans for tonight will be shot to hell.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks, Mom, for putting Ethan first.”
“Just remember that on visiting day when you have other things to do.”
I scrolled quickly through the pages to see how much Edgar Baxter had written within Leonard’s text. There seemed to be two and a half pages of odd, sometimes rambling sentences, all without standard punctuation or any capital letters.
“Seems very strange. Do you think he was drunk or on some medication?” asked Cassie.
“Could have been. Or maybe nothing mattered any more, least of all the rules of grammar. And remember, he had no computer in his office. He probably couldn’t type.”
We read quickly thorough the old man’s hasty notes. It was difficult to get the meaning without periods or commas, but essentially he was making a strained confession without any apologies for his actions:
“my darling lovee juliia died an lef me al alone she who wold hav b en the most lov inm other had nown to lovf andnoento leave behinfor med to lov ei am alone I hav a missionnow to mak sertann only those who shold an deserve to bar the infAnts old a ndpoor and foolish with foul genes and c roooked souls and eevil heartts canno long caRry seed”
“Spooky!” breathed Cassie.
“Shhhh, I’m trying to read.”
“none lissened to me I spok to them and inthhhhheir prided they laufed at my gpod c onsul theyh angered med an d so they lost the right to c hoolsz researxc h fvoujnd the goldednrod and and”
“I’m getting a headache. Mom, you read and tell me what the crazy old fart said.”
“Umm, he does sound a bit off. I wonder why no one ever noticed?”
“I always thought he was a bit medieval, but that’s a long way from being crazy enough to start your own plague.”
“You want me to try and decipher some more of this?”
“Please! You’re the detective—detect!”
“He seems to have discovered the same information Ethan did about Goldenrod.”
I went on reading so I could explain it to Cassie. It seemed that when Baxter decided that he was going to play God, he approached an allergist—my allergist—in Morgantown, and had him make up several batches of allergen. When he kept asking for stronger extracts, the allergist became suspicious and started asking questions. Baxter then had to bypass him and find another source so he could continue to give the extract to his patients. He used a series of three injections which he would prescribe for the women under the guise of folic acid and prenatal vitamins.
The first shot was twice the strength of the regular Goldenrod allergen and would put unusual stress on the fetal heart. The second, even stronger one, brought on bleeding from the placenta. The most concentrated extract, the third and last, would cause deep contractions of the uterus and expulsion of the fetus.
He only used his “special therapy” a few times that first year, but then he began seeing more and more families who didn’t, to his mind, deserve a baby. His Goldenrod treatments increased. So did his need for the allergen.
Something went terribly wrong during the last fourteen months. Even those fortunate mothers he had deemed worthy of bearing children began to miscarry. When it happened time and time again, he panicked and closed his practice to obstetrical patients. The abortions continued. Baxter felt that he had brought about a plague. He had no choice. He sentenced himself to die.
The night Cassie and I had gone to Wallace’s office, Edgar Baxter had gone also. He went to find the records of his maternity patients who had gone to Wallace when he closed his own practice. He wanted to find any evidence against himself and destroy it as he had, or thought he had, destroyed his own records in the fire.
He heard our voices just in time and hid in the examining room where Winston had surprised me and Cassie. He found Wallace’s shotgun, which I had left on the examining table, and decided to take it with him. He had never owned a gun. Wallace’s fancy weapon seemed the perfect instrument for his own demise. When we stayed at Winston’s until dawn, and his last attempt to tie up loose ends failed, he decided to go ahead and use it. He hoped the gods would judge him for his intentions rather than the results. Again, these were his own words.
“That’s it? No, ‘I’m sorry.’ No, ‘Gee, I guess I played God and went a little too far?’” asked Cassie.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“What a creep!”
“I think he was insane,” I responded sorrowfully.
My daughter was still too young to understand that minds are fragile things. She had no patience for a very good and decent old man who had cracked after years of seeing too much suffering and death. I wished we could have helped him before it was too late. We might have stopped him before he went into his mental cave and unleashed the monster. He was gone now, but the monster was still with us—maybe forever.
Cassie went back to the sofa and rescued her banana. Aggie was trying her best to lick it out of the bowl.
“Crazy as a bed bug, that’s for sure!” she said shaking her head as she shared her dessert with the puppy.
“No, I think he was one of the walking wounded,” I continued. “Completely insane but able to function in the normal everyday world without calling too much attention to himself. Maybe it happened slowly after Julie died. Or maybe it even happened after his surgery.”
“Nuts! He was nuts—plain and simple.”
“No, Cassie, there was nothing plain and simple about the insanity of Edgar Baxter. He thought he was God. His divine mind mulled over the ability of each and every woman to care for her child. His decision was absolute, his actions terminal. He was the one who gave life and took it away.”
“Wow! The ultimate power trip.”
“There’s only one thing,” I added. “He made mistakes.”
“What?”
“Underestimating Mabel and Apollo, for one.”
Chapter Thirty-six
“Have you finished your telephone call, Paisley, dear?” Mother preceded Horatio into the library. “We thought perhaps you and Cassandra would like to join us for coffee.”
Horatio put the heavy silver tray on the table between the two sofas. Cassie plucked Aggie off the cushions to make room for the four of us and dropped the puppy on the floor quickly before she could bite her. Aggie didn’t like being displaced. The big comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace had become her throne.
“Well, my dears, what’s new on the mystery front?” asked Horatio as Mother poured his coffee. “Have you proven the innocence of Cassandra’s young man?”
He took a sip and peered intently over the rim of the dainty porcelain cup.
“Do you have him hiding under your bed?” He winked broadly as he continued, “I heard this morning that he escaped from Teddyville in the wee hours.”
“He’s not under the bed, yet, Horatio,” I sighed. “But you and Mother might as well know, Cassie and I are meeting him l
ater tonight.”
“Did you plan this foolishness, Paisley?” demanded Mother sternly.
I shook my head in response.
“Did you Cassandra?”
“Well, sort of,” answered Cassie guiltily.
She busied herself with pouring her own cup of coffee. She hardly ever drank the stuff and certainly not with five teaspoons of sugar
“Aha!” Mother nodded her elegantly coifed head so hard a tendril of snow white hair escaped from her French twist.
“The early morning phone call. The one I was too sleepy to answer. You little devils! You’ve known all day long, and yet you still haven’t seen fit to tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I lied. “It was for your own protection. I didn’t want you to become involved in a potentially illegal situation.”
“Ha!” she laughed ironically. “Like that ever stopped you before, my dear.”
“Well…” She had my number. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she chided. “When are you meeting Ethan and where? And,” she continued, “don’t lie to me any more, Cassandra. It’s very disrespectful.” Mother glared at me in fury. “Your mother should have taught you that.”
I squirmed in my seat like a child while my mother reprimanded me. I felt like I was in kindergarten. Suddenly Horatio started laughing. Mother turned on him with her eyes blazing. He choked and sputtered.
“I’m quite sorry, my lovely Anna,” he croaked. “But you are so fearsome! You would have had General Patton quaking in his boots.”
He smiled fondly and kissed her on the cheek in appeasement. “Thank the good Lord you were not my mother. I might have missed out on all the naughty fun.”
“Gran’s not that bad, Horatio, honest!”
Mother sniffed haughtily, “No need to try and butter me up, Cassandra. The damage is done.”
“Okay,” I sighed. I knew it was time to come clean. “How about we trade you all the information we know for some much needed assistance later this evening?”
Mother’s eyes sparkled with merry excitement. Once again she had manipulated us with Machiavellian expertise. The woman who was furious at us one moment ago for engaging in nefarious undertakings was now quite ready to listen to our adventures.
I let Cassie start. I had some quick thinking to do. Horatio Raleigh was one of Rowan Springs’ leading citizens. He was also a businessman with a lucrative commercial enterprise. I didn’t want to compromise him in any way. I stopped Cassie when she got to the tale of the car wash.
Horatio was laughing heartily, “Don’t stop, my dear, please. The thought of our grave and somber Chief of Police being outwitted by a mere slip of a girl is much too delicious.”
“I’m sorry, Horatio,” I apologized, “but I am too fond of you to relate anything more in your presence.”
He raised one white eyebrow questioningly. I was being reprimanded again but in a much more subtle way.
“I’m glad you have the decency to blush, my child,” he said softly. “You speak to me as though I were a stranger instead of someone who has had intimate and loving ties to this family for three generations.”
He took pity on my discomfiture and patted my hand with his beautifully manicured one. “There’s nothing that could happen under this roof that I would not be proud to be a part of,” he assured me.
“How about over this roof, because that’s how we’re going to elude Joiner’s men when we sneak out to meet Ethan.”
“Marvelous!” he said with admiration. “I was wondering how you were going to pull it off.”
Since he had declared himself to be in for the long haul, we confessed everything. I explained about our trip to the extension farm, and the startling information we had learned from Barry. Horatio already knew about him.
“Ah, yes, Dr. Bartholomew Sedmonds.”
“Doctor?”
I was sorry to hear there was another medical doctor mixed up in the case. I was even more sorry to hear that Barry was the doctor.
“Yes. Sedmonds has a Ph.D. in microbiology.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as Horatio went to explain.
“Very esoteric specialty, as I remember. Something about mushrooms.”
“Fungi?” asked Cassie.
“Exactly! He’s a world renowned expert. We should be proud to have him here in our midst. Even if he is a bit peculiar.”
“He should fit right in,” I mumbled.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Nothing, Mother. He asked me out for dinner,” I added to placate her.
“Oh, how lovely, dear!
“Venison spaghetti. You and Cassie are invited, too.”
“How charming! I simply cannot wait!”
“Yeah, me, too,” I grumped. But I had to admit I was just the tiniest bit excited by the prospect of seeing Barry again. It was hard to forget that warm infectious laugh and those wonderful green eyes.
By the time we had finished relating all of the day’s events, including the suicide of Edgar Baxter, Mother and Horatio were exhausted and depressed, and Cassie and I were high on caffeine and adrenaline in anticipation of our next adventure.
“Ethan will probably be hungry, dear. Shall I fix some sandwiches for you to take?”
“No, Gran. He said he had someone who could put him up for the day. I’m sure he’s had nothing to do but eat and sleep. He’ll be fine. Thanks anyway.”
“Why couldn’t that ‘someone’ get him out of town? Then he wouldn’t have to involve you and your mother.” asked Horatio.
“I honestly don’t know,” answered Cassie. “I’m sure he would have made other arrangements if he possibly could have.”
“You can still make those sandwiches if you want to, Mother. As a matter of fact it’s a great idea. I was wondering how we could distract those cops while we make our escape. If you don’t mind, you and Horatio can serve them coffee and something to eat while we play monkey on the rooftop.”
“Terrific idea, Mom!” Cassie laughed. “I know you’ll slip at least once and yell something nasty. Maybe if they’re eating and talking with Gran and Horatio they won’t hear you.”
“I’m as surefooted as…well, maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “And don’t forget Aggie. She’s sure to hear us up there and make a ruckus. Feed her something also.”
“Just make sure it’s not jelly beans,” hooted my daughter.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mother was always able to cure herself of depression by cooking. Horatio picked up on her mood, and in no time at all the two of them were laughing and talking as though Edgar Baxter had not shot a big ragged hole in his head. It was a perfect example of the fittest surviving. I firmly believed the first tool of civilized man was not fire or some silly old sharp rock, but his unique ability to enjoy a sense of humor.
I sat and listened to them for a moment so I could sneak a finger full of Mother’s wonderful pimento cheese when she wasn’t looking. I was sorry now that I had abandoned my dessert to Cassie. My stomach was warming up to all the possibilities in the kitchen. Cassie poked her head around the corner and caught me as I was stealing another swipe of p-cheese.
“Remember Mom, a full mongoose is a…”
“I know, I know,” I sighed.
“The food is ready, Paisley. Just let me know when you want me to serve it to the men outside.”
Mother looked worried for a moment. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Relax, Mother, it’s a piece of cake.”
I looked around to see if Cassie had left. “By the way, do you have any of that cake…?”
“Mom!”
“Coming Cassie!”
I gave my concerned little mother a quick hug.
“We’ll be fine, you’ll see. This mess will be straightened out in no time, and everything will be back to normal.”
“Normal?” she laughed. “What’s that?”
I smiled, “Po
int well taken.”
Cassie and I dressed in black jeans and dark sweaters. The sweaters would come in handy. The evenings were getting chilly even though we hadn’t yet seen the last of September.
“Put on an extra pair of socks, Cassie. We’ll walk across the roof in our stocking feet. We’ll have better footing that way. Tie your sneakers around your waist by the shoestrings. We can put them on once we get down on the ground.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before!”
“Your Aunt Velvet and I did this almost every night in the summertime. Granpa Sterling would have been furious if he had known we were traipsing about on his roof, but lucky for us he was partially deaf. And Grandma Sterling either didn’t hear us or pretended not to, because she never said a thing.”
“How come you never told me?”
“It’s dangerous! Do you think I want my one and only precious duckling cavorting about on a steep roof two stories off the ground?”
“Who says I haven’t?”
I sat down hard on the floor and looked up at her.
“Have you, Cassie?” I asked, astounded.
“Let’s see how good I am at cavorting. That may answer your question.”
I shook my head in amazement as I pulled on a second pair of thick athletic socks. I had always thought Vel and I had just been very clever with our nighttime activities and that’s why we weren’t discovered. Now I realized that maybe our grandparents just never imagined we would do such a thing.
Cassie turned off the light in her bedroom, and I ran back to mine to do the same. Mother was to tell anyone who asked that her daughter and granddaughter had already gone to bed.
I stood in the darkened dining room just outside the kitchen and whispered loudly to get Mother’s attention.
“Don’t look, Mother, just in case somebody’s watching. Pretend that you are talking to Horatio. Cassie and I are ready to leave. You can start serving the food anytime.”
“Good luck, darlings,” she whispered back while smiling brilliantly at Horatio.
“Thanks!”
Cassie and I hurried through the dark house and up the stairs to what used to be the second floor. For the last fifty-odd years it had been an attic. For some mysterious reason the previous owners decided to lower the roof. They also boarded up the windows and doors on the top story. There was no rhyme or reason for what appeared to be a rather hasty and haphazard job.
