Death by Lotto

by Abigail Keam

  I jerked my head around to see a huge man standing between the kitchen and me . . . and safety.

  “Who the hell are you, lady?”

  “Jumping Jehosaphat! You scared me.”

  “I’m gonna ask you again before I call the police. Who are you?”

  Standing up, I stretched out my hand. “I’m Mrs. Reynolds. You must be Jubal Bradley, Ethel’s nephew. She asked me to come and check on Petty. She was worried.”

  Jubal shifted his weight as he peered out from his green John Deere cap. “Why you going through her freezer? Looks like stealing to me.” He didn’t move to shake my hand.

  I gave up a little hiccup of a nervous laugh. “She’s staying with my neighbor, Lady Elsmere, and wanted to cook something special as a thank you for staying with her. You know Lady Elsmere? She lives on that big horse farm on Tates Creek.”

  “I know where she’s staying. I talked to her this morning. She didn’t say nothing about someone coming out and getting some meat for her.”

  “Maybe she thought of it after she talked to you. She wanted me to check on the cat too.”

  “You said that. You seem awful fidgety.”

  “Like I said, you frightened me.”

  “Hmmmm,” Jubal said, still giving me the once-over. “Somebody else with you?”

  “Yes, my brother. He’s checking the house for her.”

  “Hello. Someone call my name?” asked Neff, peeking into the kitchen. “Hello there. Are you Jubal? My name is Walter,” announced Neff. “I see you’ve met my wife.”

  “Wife? She said you were her brother. What’s going on here?”

  “Did I say wife? I meant sister. My wife just left me and I keep thinking of her all the time. A Freudian slip. Come on, sis. Let’s not bother this man anymore. I’ve got the yellow dress Ethel wanted. Did you get the roast?”

  “Getting it now. Very nice to meet you, Jubal. I’ll tell Ethel that you stopped by. You can lock up,” I said, pushing by him. “Let’s not keep Ethel waiting, brother.” As I opened the back door holding a very heavy roast I hesitated, “Oh, we fed the cat and cleaned his litter box.”

  Walter gave Jubal a wide smile while pushing me out the door before I could say anything else. We both ran to the car. Before I could throw the roast in the back seat or close my door, Neff was ramming the Avanti down the driveway.

  When we were far enough away, Neff stopped at a gas station, buying two soft drinks.

  I opened my bottle with haste.

  “I always say women look dainty when chugging a sixteen ounce drink in thirty seconds like a truck driver,” sneered Neff.

  “Do I laugh now or wait ’til you get funny?”

  “You don’t look very ladylike.”

  “I’m thirsty,” I replied, wiping my chin with my hand.

  “Obviously.”

  “Jubal is a really big man. Kinda scary.”

  “Yep, they don’t make ’em like that anymore. Must have thyroid problems,” Neff offered.

  “Why was he there, you think?”

  “To do the same that we were doing.”

  “Maybe he saw the car and came to investigate?” I responded.

  “Nope. I parked way in the back. No one could see the car from the front road. He didn’t know we were there until he came to the back of the house.” And Neff concluded with a mischievous smile, “We closed the back door which automatically locks, which means Jubal must have a had a key to unlock it.”

  “That’s right,” I realized with glee.

  We clicked our soda pop bottles together.

  One little mystery had been solved.

  Jubal had a key to his aunt’s house.

  15

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” uttered Ethel, reaching for Lady Elsmere’s hand. “Are you saying that Jubal searched my house?”

  Neff threw his report on the table. “I’m saying that he has a key. That’s why our search was cut short because he entered the house while we were there. He couldn’t have done that if he hadn’t had a copy of your key.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Miss Ethel, looking bewildered. “Whatever shall I do then? He’s my only kin.”

  “I am suggesting again that you install a security system with cameras.”

  “Miss Ethel, we didn’t find your Bible. Do you know where it might be?” I asked, cutting in.

  “It should have been on my bed stand. That’s where I always leave it except when I go to church.”

  “You don’t read it in the living room or in the kitchen?” Neff questioned.

  “No, just the bedroom. That way I always know where it is, you see.”

  “Do you have another Bible that you use sometimes?” asked Neff, unwrapping a piece of gum.

  I made a face at him. Seeing my grimace, he reluctantly put the gum back in his pants pocket.

  “No. Who would want my Bible?”

  Silence permeated the room.

  Finally Lady Elsmere spoke. “Ethel, you’ve got to face the fact that Jubal might be a rotten apple.”

  “He was always a hard-headed boy, and the years have not been good to him.”

  “Well, that’s all I can do at the moment,” explained Neff. “Take my advice – have the locks changed and put in a security system.”

  “Yes, I will, young man. Thank you for your help.”

  “Ummm, this is my invoice. Payment upon delivery.”

  Ethel perused the invoice like a squirrel judging a fat ear of corn. Finally she came up for air. “I left my bag in the hallway. Will you fetch it for me?”

  “You get it,” Neff said to me. “I don’t touch women’s purses.”

  “All right,” I fumed as I rose to get the handbag. “The sooner she writes her check, the sooner you get going.”

  “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” kidded Neff. He turned to Ethel and Lady Elsmere. “She loves me, but don’t like to show her affection in front of folks.”

  “Doesn’t,” corrected Lady Elsmere.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Lady Elsmere rolled her eyes.

  The purse was on the sideboard in the main foyer along with Lady Elsmere’s, which I had told and told her not to keep there, but would she listen?

  I picked up Ethel’s handbag. “Golly, this is heavy.” I laid the purse back down on the sideboard and opened it. I’m such a stinker.

  There was Ethel’s Bible!

  Hearing a sound, I turned. Behind me stood Giles with an accusing look on his face. “May I help you, Madame?”

  Snapping the bag shut, I replied with as much dignity as possible, “No thank you,” and sauntered around him.

  Feeling Giles’ reproving eyes upon my back, I hurried away. “I found your Bible, Ethel. It was in your handbag.”

  “Really?” She eagerly pulled out the worn book.

  “Open it,” encouraged Neff.

  “Well,” demanded Lady Elsmere, leaning over to get a better view. “Is the ticket in there?”

  “Give me a moment, June,” protested Ethel. Ethel carefully pulled out the lottery tickets that she used as bookmarks and handed them to me. “Check for me, dear. My hands are shaking too much.”

  I pulled out my newspaper copy of the lottery winners and checked the numbers against her tickets.

  Neff stood behind looking over my shoulder. “Do you mind?” I snarled, shaking him off. “You’re leaning on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “The ticket isn’t here,” I confirmed.

  Ethel looked in her bag. “Nothing in here either. I guess I didn’t win.”

  “That’s not necessarily so,” assured Lady Elsmere. She turned to Neff. “Didn’t you say in your report that the cashier said Jubal didn’t play Ethel’s regular numbers?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  Lady Elsmere took a sip of her whiskey sour before continuing. “Then you still might have won, Ethel. You’ve just got to remember where you put that last lottery ticket.”

>   “June, I don’t care anymore. I’m sick of the whole business. I just want to go home to Petty and forget this entire debacle. It’s been most distressing.”

  “But Ethel, you just can’t throw away a potential fortune,” argued Lady Elsmere.

  “If you don’t mind, June, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m done with it.” Standing up, she asked, “Young man, is our business concluded?”

  “As far as I’m concerned. You got your report and I’ve got my money. Now this check won’t bounce on me, will it?”

  Ethel looked as though someone had thrown cold water on her face. “Of course not. What a thing to say.” She angrily straightened her dress and picked up her purse. “June, thank you for everything, but tomorrow I’m going home.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t, Ethel,” lamented Lady Elsmere. “I’ve got a bad feeling. Nothing good is going to come of you going home before this is settled.”

  I sat watching everyone’s expressions. I could tell Neff was thinking the same thing that I was – that Ethel had remembered what she had done with the lottery ticket and didn’t want us to realize it.

  I had a bad feeling too.

  Nothing good was going to come of Ethel striking out on her own.

  16

  I was nervous. I was restless. I was shaky. I needed to unravel this puzzle. And when I needed to think, I visited my girls – the bees. Of course, at this time of the year the bees were tight in a cluster protecting the Queen, eating surplus honey and flexing their wings keep the temperature warm.

  There were almost no males in this harmonious group, as the drones were driven out or killed when the weather turned. They ate too much and were useless to the survival of the hive, so their sisters killed with impunity, knowing that their mother would lay more drone eggs in late winter when she starting gearing up the hive for the spring.

  I could never stand to witness the expulsion of the drones. It was too cruel and I had had enough cruelty in my life, thank you. So when that process started, I would not visit the beeyard for days until I knew it was over.

  Getting out of my golf cart, my thoughts reverted to Miss Ethel. I did not think the ending would bode well for Miss Ethel – not with millions of dollars at stake.

  Jubal was not like the gentle drones in the hives, accepting their fate. He was faithful to no Queen and his male aggression was probably ramped up several notches by his gambling predicament and lust for the lottery winnings. From what Neff’s report said of Jubal, he was one of those folks too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash. He saw the lottery ticket as his way out of a crippling lifestyle.

  Thinking about Jubal and Ethel, I kneed the back of each hive. If the hive tilted forward easily, then it needed emergency feeding immediately. That was the first test.

  After I inspected the food supplies, I surveyed the opening of each hive, making sure that it was clean and free of debris. If it was dirty with feces, then I knew the bees needed medicine as they had diarrhea, which would dehydrate them.

  (Bees will break their cluster in order to fly out of the hive to go potty if the temperature is fifty degrees or more. Sometimes I have seen them out at forty-five degrees. They are very clean insects).

  Last but not least, I stood behind a hive and knocked loudly on its side. Then I listened to hear if the hive buzzed. If it did, then I knew that hive still had bees in it.

  To my satisfaction, all the hives seemed in good condition, but one could never tell. I’ve opened up hives in the spring that were full of honey, free of disease and dry. Not one bee in them.

  Honeybees seemed to have a will of their own and do what they wished. They were unpredictable.

  But it was the unpredictability of people that had me worried. Even being with my girls couldn’t shake it. Something was not right.

  It was as Shakespeare had written for me, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

  17

  I was coming out of my audiologist’s office when I glanced out of the atrium’s window and chanced to see Meriah Caldwell get out of a cab and enter the building.

  Jumping Jehosaphat! What was she doing back in town? And what was she doing at a doctor’s building? I pushed the going-up button. If I were lucky to catch the elevator with Meriah on it, I could surprise her and find out what she was doing here.

  Yes, I know it was none of my business.

  To my luck, both elevators’ doors opened at the same time. Meriah was not on either of them, which meant she was on a lower floor. Behind me was a directory to the doctors’ offices. I studied it with simple selfish curiosity.

  First floor – Dermatology and Gastroenterology

  Second floor –Pulmonary Diseases

  Third floor – Obstetrics-Gynecology

  Fourth floor – Cardiology

  My eyes flew back to the third floor listing. Ob-Gyn. I slumped against the directory. It couldn’t be. Could it? Determined to find out, I got on the elevator the next time it opened and pushed button three.

  The door opened at level three where I tentatively stepped out. Slowly I walked around the hallways to find the entire floor consumed with doctors treating female complaints. Which office was she in?

  The only way to know for sure was to enter each office and see if Meriah was sitting in the waiting room. Or I could wait outside at the main doorway and confront Meriah on the way out. That seemed the most fun – jumping out from behind a door and going “boo!” but not the most expedient. I could be waiting all day.

  I started my campaign. I entered each office, sat down, picked up a magazine and perused the room. Finding no Meriah, I would move on to the next office. I had to be unobtrusive, as I didn’t want to be escorted out of the building by some roughneck security guards, but usually no one questions a woman who has a limp and a cane.

  On my fourth try, I saw Meriah across the waiting room after I sat down. She was flipping through a magazine with restless, thin hands. In fact, she looked thinner than when I had last seen her, if that was possible, and had dark circles under her eyes.

  Suddenly I felt ashamed of myself.

  Here I was stalking Meriah when not even two months ago, a crazy woman had killed herself and another guest at Meriah’s wedding. Meriah had fled to Los Angeles while I traveled to the east coast, both of us leaving Matt to deal with the aftermath.

  Matt had told me that Meriah had not even said goodbye, but had left a note with Lady Elsmere saying that they were finished and she was never coming back.

  Meriah must have been terribly frightened to do that, as I knew she had loved Matt. Now here she was – looking unhappy and ill. I hoped nothing was seriously wrong although I couldn’t understand why she was seeing a doctor here and not in Los Angeles.

  Matt would have told me if she were back . . . if he had known.

  Picking up my purse, I began to make my way out of the waiting room when Meriah glanced up and recognized me. Her face drained of color as her eyes expressed both apprehension and confusion.

  I felt like such a jerk. There was nothing to do now but say hello. “Meriah,” I cooed. “This is something of an unexpected pleasure. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  Meriah stared back with mistrust oozing from every pore. “I’m here for just a few days before I fly back,” she finally coughed up. “And you are here why?”

  “Oh, I’m here to get a pap smear,” I lied. “Gotta get those done every year for women at my age.”

  “A pap smear, huh,” parroted Meriah. “That’s funny since this office specializes in obstetrics.”

  It hit me what she had said. “Meriah, are you? Is it Matt’s?”

  Meriah’s face suddenly turned green as she grabbed at her belly. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She rushed through a door that led to the examining rooms where the restrooms were located.

  Several minutes later, an office clerk delivered a note to me.

  On it was scrawled – “Get lost!”

&
nbsp; I did.

  18

  In spite of Lady Elsmere’s pleading, Ethel Bradley packed her overnight bag, determined to go home. Instead of letting Charles take her home, Ethel took a cab.

  It took fifty minutes to get home. Ethel had to write a check for part of the fare, as it was more than the one hundred dollars she kept for emergencies.

  The cabbie was not especially amused when she gave him a paltry three-dollar tip, but it was all the cash she had left in her handbag.

  Grateful that she was home, Ethel unlocked the back door, breathing a sigh of relief. The house smelled clean.

  That made Ethel feel better. She so liked to keep her house nice. She would have to write a thank you note to Josiah Reynolds for cleaning out Petty’s litter box. “She didn’t have to do that,” Ethel muttered to herself, but was glad Josiah had.

  Lady Elsmere’s house was grand to be sure, but it wasn’t home. Ethel could finally get a good night’s sleep and drink tea out of her own china. Besides, she missed her tabby. “Petty. Petty,” she called. “Petty! Now where is my precious?”

  Ethel glanced in the living room. No cat on the couch. She pulled back the drapes from the bay window in the kitchen. No kitty hiding on the widow sill.

  Hearing a faint meow, Ethel followed the sound and stepped into the mudroom off the kitchen. “Petty. Mommy’s home, dearest.”

  Ethel found Petty all right.

  At first she didn’t notice Petty for the two men in her mudroom wearing ski masks. One of them was carrying Petty, who looked very, very unhappy.

  Ethel didn’t even think about screaming as she turned to run. She didn’t get far.

  Grabbing her from behind, the men roughly pushed her into a kitchen chair. Ethel gave a little cry when a burlap bag was pulled over her head.

  Having been roughly dropped, Petty snuck under a pie safe, faintly meowing his distress.

  “What did you do with that lottery ticket?” snarled one man in an obviously disguised voice.

  Ethel wailed, “You didn’t hurt my cat, did you? Petty? Petty?”

  One of the men slapped the top of her head. “You better be worried about yourself instead of that stupid cat.”