by Abigail Keam
I slumped down on the couch; Matt joined me and brought my legs up to his lap. Carefully, he took off my shoes and began rubbing my feet. I cooed as I nestled into big comfy pillows.
“Your left foot is hot. No wonder you’re in a bad mood. How much pain are you in?” He kept rubbing while looking expectantly at me. Matt knew something was not right.
I was acting weird, even for me.
“Careful,” I cautioned. “The skin is really tender there.”
Matt readjusted my leg.
“That’s why I came home. For some reason, my pain level has shot up and I’ve run out of pain medication.”
“Why didn’t you have a doctor in New York give you a prescription?”
“I tried, but she called my doctor down here and was told that I wasn’t due for a refill until next month.”
“You’ve gone through everything?”
“I had to double the dose. My leg hurts like the dickens. Something’s out of kilter.”
“You’re right. Your skin is hot on the left foot, but not on the right.”
“Matt. I’m completely out. I’ve got to get inside my house. I have some . . . extra . . . medication there.”
“No problem. Tell me where it is and I’ll get for you.”
I bit my lip. “Well, that’s going to be a problem. You see, it’s a little stash that Asa left for me in case of emergencies.”
Matt’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. “Christ, you’re talking about illegal pain killers.”
“Please, Matt. Get me the medication. It was all I could do to keep it together on the plane. Please, Matt. I’m begging.”
“Josiah, I say this with complete love and affection. If the doctor doesn’t find anything wrong with you, and you still need all this high-powered pain medication – then, my little dove, you’re going into rehab.”
“Matt, please. No lectures now. Please. Please. I’m in pain. The pills are in a floor safe in my clothes closet. Get me a pencil. I’ll write down the numbers.”
I finally had to tell Matt the combination, as my hand shook so badly that I couldn’t write. He called Eunice and gave her some lame story that I needed something and he had to get into my bedroom.
She unlocked the side door for him and Matt slipped in unnoticed by the wedding party. Shutting the closet door, he found the safe, which he opened on the first go around.
He pulled out some big nasty-looking pills plus two maryjane ciggies. But before he closed the safe, he discovered important-looking papers and gave them a thorough perusal before putting them back. Giving the closet one last check, Matt closed it and then met Eunice by the side door.
She gave him a large basket of food from the wedding.
Matt gave her a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out the side door and racing to his bungalow.
By that time, I was crying from the pain.
Matt took one look at my tear-stained face and crumbled.
“Hold on, Rennie. You’re going feel better in a few minutes. I’m gonna fix you a hot plate of food and get some medication inside of you.” He thrust a lit marijuana cigarette at me. “Here. Smoke this in the meantime.”
I knew by taking such chances as giving me illegal medication, Matt could lose his license to practice law and could go to jail. I was putting both him and my daughter, Asa, in terrible positions. Still, I gratefully took the joint, inhaling its musty smoke.
Rennie was Matt’s pet name for me, after the actor Michael Rennie.
Matt had met me at a party where I whispered Michael Rennie’s commands to the robot, Gort, from the movie, The Day The Earth Stood Still in his ear for a bet.
Matt had won and we had been friends ever since.
After pouring a large sweet iced tea for me, Matt put a plate together and put it on a TV tray. I was famished.
“I crushed up some pills and mixed them in the mashed yams.”
I was grateful that Matt had already cut the chicken into small pieces. I still struggled with knives.
I took a couple of bites of the mashed yams and finished my iced tea. I started to take another bite but my hands started to feel really heavy and my eyelids fluttered. “Matt,” I cried. “I feel fun . . . . . . . .”
2
The next morning I woke up feeling dizzy. I cradled my head until I realized that my leg wasn’t throbbing. I tried to think. The last thing I remembered was that I was trying to tell Matt that I felt sleepy. It took me a few moments to recognize that I was in Matt’s guest room at his bungalow.
Slowly I got out of bed. On a chair was placed an outfit that I could get into easily, complete with fresh undies. Leaning against the chair was my ebony cane with the silver wolf’s head.
I wondered what Matt thought when he saw the cane, since Franklin had purchased it in Key West. Did he think of Franklin at all? Did he think he had made a mistake when he cut Franklin loose? He never talked about it.
At least to me.
Anyway, Franklin was Matt’s boyfriend, whom Matt dumped so he could marry Meriah Caldwell, the famous mystery writer. They got down to the “I do’s” in the church when Lacey Bridges shot a wedding guest during the ceremony . . . right in front of me. Then Lacey put the gun in her mouth . . . you can imagine the rest. It was quite a shock and put a stop to the wedding, and finally, the relationship.
I love Matt, but I don’t understand him.
Finally presentable, I limped into the living room. Mrs. Todd was making breakfast. I gave her a feeble wave.
“Do you feel better, honey?” she asked.
“I feel like someone slipped me a Mickey last night.”
“Matt told me that he put sleeping medication in your food so you would get a good night’s rest.”
“Ahh, that explains it – but I do feel better somehow.”
“Good. Good. Matt said to keep an eye on you until you got settled back in the Butterfly. Now you sit down at the table. I’ve got some nice pecan pancakes ready to grill.”
“Bacon? Not too crisp.”
“Coming right up. A good breakfast will set you right up and when you get ready, we can have our talk.”
“Has the bridal party left?”
“Over an hour ago. They’re at their bridal breakfast right now.”
“Goodness. They’ve pulled out all the stops. A breakfast. Where?”
“Over at Lady Elsmere’s house. Lady Elsmere let us use all her antique china and silver. I must say the table looked splendid. It was a small party of thirty, so we could still use her dining room table. It took a while, though, to find all of the leaves to it.”
I took a drink of my tomato juice, wishing a little vodka had been tossed in. You know – a little eye-opener in the morning. “Is Charles okay with this extra work?”
Eunice Todd flipped the pancakes over while the bacon sizzled. “Charles isn’t in charge of the house anymore.”
“What?”
“Lady Elsmere told him he had to start running the farm and overseeing the horses since he was going to be inheriting the property. He’s moved into the big house and, instead of serving dinner, he sits with Lady Elsmere now.”
Mrs. Todd placed before me a plate of golden brown pancakes topped with melting butter cradled by gobs of bacon. Before I could ask for the maple syrup, she placed a warmed glass bottle of Kentucky maple syrup on the table. After going back to the stove she returned with a bowl of grits.
I poured the expensive syrup over my pancakes and took a bite. Yum. I was in heaven.
Most people don’t associate Kentucky with maple syrup, but many farmers tap the sugar maple tree and cook the sap down until the liquid is a buttery golden color. It’s expensive because it is labor intensive, but the product is worth it since it is not mixed with corn syrup like grocery brands are.
I don’t believe in buying cheap corn-based food. Pay the man what his product is worth is what I always say.
I will buy a $15 free-range chicken from the Farmers’ Market. I will pa
y that much because I know that the chicken has had a good natural life until harvested.
From that expensive chicken, I can make several meals. The chicken will cook in my crock-pot until it falls apart. With the broth and dark meat, I will make a homemade noodle or rice soup with summer or fall vegetables.
With one breast, I will make a chicken/rice casserole with broccoli/squash, smothering it with local cheese, which I’ll bake. The other piece of white meat is served with mashed potatoes or yams and a salad. The parts that I don’t want will be mixed in Baby’s food. (Always remember not to give your pets the bones. They are too soft.) So the expensive chicken turns out to be the base of seven or more meals for less than $2.00 each.
And I don’t have to worry about inhumane treatment of the animal while alive, or antibiotics and other nasty stuff fed to it coming back to haunt me.
But I digress again. Let’s get back to the story. “Who in charge of the house?”
“Lady Elsmere’s grand-nephew by her late husband came to visit and he brought his man with him.”
“Is the nephew still here?”
Mrs. Todd sat at the table with her plate of pancakes. Reaching for the syrup, she said, “Yes. And he’s been making it his life’s work to meet every rich widow in Kentucky.”
“Hmmm,” I replied before putting more butter on my cakes. “What does Charles think?”
“Charles thinks this nephew has his eye on the farm and has put his man in charge so he could report back to the nephew the goings-on.”
“Is this the nephew that inherited Lord Elsmere’s estate?”
Mrs. Todd swallowed and gently patted her mouth before speaking. “He is the man’s brother.”
“Do hush now!”
“Unhuh. See what I mean.”
“I see the need for concern. This might be an adventurer planning to steal Charles’ inheritance away from him.”
“And since that new butler has taken over, Lady Elsmere keeps getting crankier and crankier with Charles. Things in the house are missing. Food is arriving at the table cold. The wine is not served correctly. I hear tell that she hates white wine being served warm which it has been lately.”
“Why doesn’t she put Charles back in charge?”
“Because the new man says it’s Charles’ fault. He accused Charles of trying to make him look bad. There was a big row at the house last week between the two. Mike Connor told Shaneika and she told me.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Things have settled down some, but I think there’s still tension.”
“My goodness, I will have to go over there today and just stick my nose in Lady Elsmere’s business,” I announced with glee. “But let’s get back to my house, okay.”
Eunice Todd leaned over and pulled a folder out of her purse lying beside the table. “Look at this. It’s a business plan for next year.”
I opened the folder.
“And here is something else.” Mrs. Todd pushed a check towards me.
“What this?”
“Your portion of the proceeds.”
I gave the check a glance. “Two thousand dollars?”
“And that’s after everything has been paid. Pure profit.”
“What’s your cut?”
“The same.”
I nodded my approval. Even with my settlement from the city, I was on a very conservative budget. Things were better since I had started boarding horses, but I was still on a tight leash. The money from the city paid for my medical expenses while the honey sales and the boarded horses paid for the farm expenses. I have very little money for my own personal use. The two hundred thousand Shaneika paid me for ten acres went to repair the Butterfly.
My only vain expenses were having my hair done, plus buying cut flower arrangements, and feed for my animals. Of course, Baby was a small fortune, but I owed him.
I checked the date on the check. “So this check is good to go?”
“The bridal party paid by visa, so the check is good. What do you think?”
“How many a year?”
“Let’s start with ten and see what happens, but I think more than ten would be pushing it for me.”
“And my personal items would be protected?”
“There is a walk-through before the bridal party leaves. If something is not right, I’ll know about it. They have to check out with me or there is an automatic penalty fee.”
“And they will always use the west wing?”
“If they stay overnight. Otherwise, only the general living areas will be used. The wing with your bedroom and office will be shut off. Nobody will be able to get in.”
I thought for a moment, rubbing my finger around the juice glass rim. Two thousand dollars was temping.
“What about the tours?”
“The tours will be cut back to one day a week. They just don’t make as much money as a wedding.” Mrs. Todd looked at me hopefully. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, you should allow school groups to come out here. You’re just letting the Butterfly go to waste. It should be full of people and goings-on.”
“I’ve had a crazy person trying to kill me. I think that accounts for the lock-down.”
“He’s under control. If he gets free, then we can rethink things but until then – open this house up and let it breathe. You can’t live your life in fear that O’nan might show up one day.”
“I’m tempted, Eunice. I really could use the money but I’d like to talk it over with my daughter first and then Matt.”
Mrs. Todd patted my arm. “That’s fine, honey. It’s a step in the right direction. We’re both still too young to be put out to pasture. You think about it and get back to me.” She rose from the table and, seemingly satisfied with our conversation, started to wash the dishes. She hummed Sam Cook’s You Send Me while filling the sink with hot water.
I went to make my bed and gather my personal belongings. As soon as the kitchen was tidy, Eunice was going back to the Butterfly.
Baby helped make the bed by depositing little droplets of drool where he tried to smooth out the bedspread with his snout. Then he discovered a food stain, which he licked clean, leaving a huge wet spot on the bedspread. Giving the room one final look, I declared it fit for the next guest and called for Baby to follow me. I didn’t think one night’s use required the sheets to be washed.
Matt had been thoughtful enough to leave my electric golf cart at the bungalow. I dropped Eunice off at the Butterfly and with Baby in tow, we headed for Lady Elsmere’s house.
I usually just entered through the kitchen since “my accident” as the steps to the portico were bothersome. Opening the back door, I walked into the mudroom that led into the kitchen where workers were busy peeling, boiling, paring and smoking.
Smoking? Charles didn’t allow smoking in the house unless it was a guest.
I didn’t recognize any of the staff. Where was Charles’ family who worked in the kitchen?
The workers turned and stared. One man approached me, and in a French accent, asked, “May I help you?”
Not recognizing the kitchen help either, Baby placed himself in front of me, growling slightly.
The Frenchman, holding a ladle, stepped back.
“He usually gets treats when he visits,” I announced. “He won’t bite.”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
I thought quickly but my French was horrible. “Ummm, plisir, umm no, gaterie pour une chienne.”
Undoubtedly the chef checked Baby out. Grinning, he said, “Non, Madame, chien.”
“Oui, he’s a male,” I smiled while holding onto Baby’s collar.
The French chef muttered something in French to one of his workers and a nice piece of flank steak appeared. He carefully placed the steak on newspaper and set it near us.
Baby looked up as if to ask permission.
“It’s okay, Baby. Knock yourself out.”
The French chef conveyed to his crew that my dog’s name was Baby. “Bébé,” laughed the Chef.
Another worker carefully placed a large bowl of water next to Baby and scooted away fast when Baby turned his face so his good eye could see who was near him.
“What in the Queen’s name is going on?”
I turned to see a smallish man with reddish hair in an impeccably tailored suit.
All the workers scurried to their respective tasks and left me alone to tell the tale.
Thinking that he must be Lady Elsmere’s great-nephew, I strode towards him and held out my hand. “Hello, I’m Josiah Reynolds, the next door neighbor.”
The little man gave me a stony glare as if it pained him to speak to such an oaf. “I am Giles, Sir Anthony’s manservant.”
I hastily lowered my hand. Oooops! One does not shake hands with servants.
“Very nice to meet you, Giles. I’m going to visit June, I mean Lady Elsmere. Come, Baby.”
Giles stepped towards me, blocking my way. He turned his head a little when he heard Baby’s low growl coming from his left.
“You’re in my way,” I said curtly.
“Do you have an appointment with her Ladyship?”
“Uh, Giles, neighbors don’t make appointments in Kentucky. We just drop by. It’s called being neighborly.”
“Her Ladyship is busy right now. Perhaps you can leave a card?”
I gave Giles a nasty smile. I so disliked men telling me what to do. “See this dog,” I said. “This is a trained attack dog.”
Baby cocked his head to one side and let his long tongue droop out the side of his mouth. He began panting.
“Stick with me,” I mumbled to Baby. To Giles I demanded, “Now if you don’t let me pass, I gonna give Baby the command to attack.”
Giles looked with contempt at Baby. “I don’t think that dog is capable of much except drooling puddles, which is what he’s doing now on this antique, parqúet floor.”
Seeing that I was not going to intimidate this little pug of an Irishman, I just stepped around him and went down the hall. After giving a huge sneeze, Baby followed suit.
In the foyer I met Amelia, Charles’ daughter. We spoke briefly and after telling me that she was glad that I was back, she directed me to the breakfast room where June was having coffee with a friend.
