More Things In Heaven and Earth

by Jeff High

  “It must have been a low-caliber pistol,” he whispered. “Perhaps a twenty-two.” It was only a small wound.

  He had been running. His suit was drenched with sweat. As he lay in the fresh, delicate grass, steam rose from him and drifted elusively into the soft air. He breathed in great heaving gasps, staring up into the vast, silent sky, an eternal canopy pulsing with a million radiant stars.

  It was the telegram. He had come back for the telegram. He’d thought it was with everything else. But when he’d buried the box, he hadn’t found it.

  In his agony, he whispered softly: “Oh, Elise; dear, precious Elise.” He would tell her everything. Explain everything. His mind drifted. His eyes wanted to close. Then, down the far reaches of the road toward town, he heard the long, slow wail of a police siren. He stiffened. His thoughts raced. They were coming. Someone at one of the farmhouses must have heard the gunshot. He flattened himself deeper into the tall grass.

  The car blew past, flying headlong toward the lake and stopping in the distance, the headlights pouring across the bandstand. No one had seen him. He would have to wait before moving again.

  Once more he stared briefly into the infinite heavens. But now the stars were fading. “Elise; darling, beloved Elise. I will . . . I will tell you. . . .” His breathing slowed. His eyes were surrendering. They grew tired, heavy, and in his delirium, he spoke tenderly, sliding into the distant language of his childhood. “I will tell you. . . . über die Diamanten.”

  I will tell you about the diamonds.

  CHAPTER 1

  Estelle

  As I approached, I could see that getting past her was going to be difficult. The woman, bless her heart, was large, blocking part of the grocery aisle. Her askew and drifting cart was barricading the balance of it.

  She seemed lost to another world, intensely focused on a midshelf item. And there was something about the red spandex covering her lower half that was difficult to ignore. Even though her vibrant and oversized Christmas-themed sweater hung sloppily past her considerable hips, the spandex was clearly not the most complimentary fashion choice, like memory foam that had lost its memory. For anywhere in the South, and especially for Watervalley, the outfit took unabashed flamboyance to a new level. Moreover, although the scent was pleasant, she had apparently chosen to marinate herself in perfume.

  Absorbed in the moment, she was oblivious to my presence. I was about to utter a simple “Excuse me” when suddenly the woman bolted upright. She jerked violently with a convulsion that seemed to start at her ankles and rippled viciously up through her entire body, ending with a fierce shuddering of her head and hands.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she exhorted, “that was a big one!” She took a deep breath, regaining herself.

  After a stunned moment, my doctor instincts kicked in. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  I had startled her, if that were possible, given what I had just witnessed, and she gasped lightly. Then, just as quickly, she responded with radiant animation.

  “Oh hi, sugar! I did not see you standing there.”

  “Ma’am, do you need to sit down?”

  She smiled broadly and flipped her hand airily toward me. “No, no, no, I’m fine, sweetie. I was just having one of my moments.” I gauged her to be about fifty, and despite her robust size, she had a lively, pretty face with near perfect chocolate brown skin. She wore no shortage of holiday-colored bracelets and beads and ornate earrings, all of which were adventurous by Watervalley standards but just short of gaudy. And despite her gushy delivery, she spoke with a subtle articulation that wasn’t the norm for around here. It had definitely been molded in an urban setting.

  She reclaimed her wandering shopping cart and smiled warmly at me again, speaking with another quick gesture of her hand. “You have a nice day!” Then with an emphatic, cheery nod, she proclaimed, “Happy holidays,” and was off.

  I returned the smile and nodded cautiously. “And you as well.”

  She continued at a leisurely pace down the aisle. I paused for a few moments to give her some distance. But after five or so steps, she once again halted and stood straight up at rigid attention with her entire body quaking and shuddering so violently that she rattled her grocery cart.

  “Sweet heavens!” she announced in a loud voice.

  I immediately left my own cart and dashed to her side. “Ma’am, something’s definitely not right here. I’m a doctor. Are you having some kind of seizure?”

  She regained possession of herself, and regarded me with the same engaged, bright face. “Goodness, sugar, are you Dr. Bradford? I have heard just so many wonderful things about you.”

  “Well, yes, I am Luke Bradford, but right now, ma’am, I’m more concerned about you. You seem to be having some kind of neurologic episode. Are you epileptic by chance?”

  She dipped her head, pursing her lips in a beaming smile. “Listen to you. Aren’t you just the sweetest? No, honey, I’m not epileptic. It’s just my silly pacemaker. Sometimes it gets a mind of its own and shocks me for no reason. It usually quits after two or three times. So I’m fine, just fine.”

  “Ma’am, if the ICD on your pacemaker is shocking you, it may mean that your heart is in a lethal rhythm. I think we need to get you over to the clinic.” Numerous times in my brief medical career, I had had to deal with patients in cardiac arrest. But the heroics needed to care for someone in remote Watervalley made this situation an absolute adrenaline shot. This lady needed critical medical attention, and fast.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can tell when I’m tachycardic because my hair tingles.” She gave a light pat to her head and increased the wattage of her smile.

  “Well, you may be right, but I still think it best to get you over to the clinic immediately. We have a pacemaker programmer and I can analyze yours in a matter of minutes.”

  She studied me for a brief moment with no break in her effervescent smile. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “Dr. Bradford, it’s really not necessary. But something tells me you’re not giving up on this, are you?”

  I grinned, shaking my head.

  She exhaled in resignation. “Well, okay, if you insist. So, look, I’ve got four more things on my list. Let me just grab those and I can follow you over there.”

  I stood dumbfounded. Given the gravity of what was happening to her, this idea left me incredulous. “Ma’am, I was actually considering calling the EMTs and having you taken to the clinic right away.”

  Once again she flipped her hand at me in dismissal. “Oh, sugar, it is not worth that much trouble. Just let me grab these few items and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

  Despite what I considered a potential disaster, it was clear that I was not going to win this part of the argument. I sought compromise. “Okay. I’ll help you round up what’s left on your list and then you can ride with me over to the clinic.”

  She folded her arms, giving me a look of complete adoration. Her words began in a high pitch of inquiry and then descended lower. “Really? You’re willing to do that? Well, darling, if that’s the case, then you may need to pucker up ’cause I might be laying a little bit of heaven on you.”

  I paused, slightly taken aback. “Well, thanks. But I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” I wasn’t certain what to make of that comment or of this incredibly colorful, unreserved woman. She was patently unconcerned and, admittedly, was showing no symptoms of cardiac distress. “So, tell me what things you need,” I said.

  I grabbed the last few items on her list and met up with her in the checkout line. Wanting to move quickly, I grabbed her bags and headed for the door. But the woman had other ideas. Her top pace was more of a saunter and her jovial manner was a clear indicator that she saw no urgency in the situation. With pained effort I bridled my steps to keep even with her. Meanwhile, she was talking nonstop about how happy she was to be back in Watervalley, and about the warm day, and about starting a new business, and occasionally injecting some adoring commentary about how kind I was
being. But truthfully, I felt more duty-bound than kind. As the only doctor in Watervalley, I knew full well that this woman’s ill health was mine to deal with, either now or later.

  Impatiently I walked toward my old Corolla. But as we neared she spoke up. “Oh, that’s my car next to yours. Do you want to just take it?” Beside my shabby Corolla was a late-model BMW with a license plate that read “BonBon1.”

  Driving her car threw too many variables in the mix, so I insisted that we take mine. I tossed her few bags of groceries into the backseat and opened the passenger door, only now realizing that my pocket-sized car might be an uncommonly awkward fit for a woman of her heft. To ease the process, I took her hand and arm to help her squeeze in. With some effort she maneuvered into the front seat and swung both feet inside.

  I was just about to release her when a lightning bolt jolted me to attention and zipped up my arm. The whole world went black.

  When I awoke I was seeing double, lying with my back on the pavement and my face pointed skyward. The large woman was peering over me, but she had two faces. One was leering at me with scornful disdain while the other regarded me with a wide-eyed look of innocent anticipation. Then I realized I wasn’t seeing double. Standing above me was none other than Connie Thompson, my devoted, critical, and—ironically—wealthy housekeeper, and beside her, the walking Christmas-ornament lady from the grocery store. Against the clear blue midday December sky, they looked like twins.

  I pushed myself to a sitting position and rubbed the back of my head, where a considerable knot was rising.

  Christmas-ornament lady bent over and held my cheeks between her plump, fragrant hands. “Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry. My silly pacemaker went off while you were holding my arm. The car tires insulated me, but the jolt must have grounded through you. You fell back and bumped your head on my Beemer.”

  Connie, on the other hand, peered at me sternly through her gold-inlay glasses. She spoke in her typical expressionless, no-nonsense manner. “Dr. Bradford, do you need medical attention?”

  I sat there for a moment with my arms crossed over my knees and eventually looked up again at the two women, one with the face of an eager puppy, the other with that of a disapproving schoolteacher. I pondered Connie’s question and responded impassively, “Yeah, looks like I have a lump on my head. What say you kiss it and make it better?”

  Connie rolled her eyes and regarded me with placid disdain. Her voice was absolute deadpan. “Why am I not surprised that you would use even this situation to exhibit some foolishness?”

  I rose to my feet, lightly rubbing the tender bump. “How long was I out?”

  Christmas-ornament lady responded, “Only a couple of minutes. I called Connie immediately. Fortunately she was only a block away.”

  I stood for a moment, gazing back and forth at the two women. There was something odd about them. They were complete opposites in both manner and dress, but strangely, they looked similar.

  “So, you two know each other?” I inquired.

  This brought a shrug and a giggle from the colorful one while Connie tilted her head and regarded me with modest disbelief. “Dr. Bradford, have you two not met?” She exhaled with a tiresome frown. “Then by all means, let me introduce you. Dr. Bradford, this is my younger sister, Estelle. You two have something in common. She got her doctorate from Vanderbilt also.”