Muffin But Trouble

by Victoria Hamilton

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I said. “I know her. We’re . . . we were friends.”

  I pushed past her. There, on a disheveled cot, was Leatrice . . . Lynn Pugmire, as she was born. She wept, shivered and shuddered, then coughed. She was thin . . . thinner than I had ever seen her, with bones that stuck out like razors under her skin. I got my phone out of my pocket and punched in a number.

  “Virgil,” I said when he answered. “I’ve found my friend, and . . . and I’m afraid she’s d-dying!” I slumped onto the floor and began to cry.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Virgil was on his way, understanding through my blubbering where we were, approximately. I sent Lizzie outside to wait for them and flag them down, getting myself together with effort. I crouched down beside the disheveled sagging cot, wiping the tears from my cheek with the back of my hand.

  The place smelled of rot, mold and vomit. There were two trays of food on the other cot, soup with congealed fat on the top, and sandwiches, the bread curling and desiccated. “Lynn, it’s me, Merry,” I said, pushing back her frowsy hair from a high forehead pallid and yet filmed with sweat. “Lynn . . . Leatrice,” I said, not knowing which name she’d respond to. “It’s me, honey, Merry Wynter. Can you hear me?” I examined her worriedly. Her eyes were open and staring, but unfocused. Her skin was dry, flaky, and coarse, like leather. Her scalp looked awful, the dermatitis she was prone to having flared up and leaving scaly patches. I’d bet she was dehydrated. There was also a sour smell clinging to her, like spoiled diapers. She wore a nightgown, of sorts, a long cotton shift, stained with numerous substances. My stomach turned. I looked to Felice. “How long has she been like this?”

  “A few days. She won’t eat.” Felice rocked back and forth, fist pressing into her stomach as if she felt ill, as well she might with the odor in this place. “She hasn’t been able to keep anything down, not even water today. Anything she eats or drinks she brings up.” Felice’s eyes welled, and tears began running down her cheeks. “Mother Esther made her an herbal tea, but that didn’t help. Before today she was at least able to get out of bed by herself, but she hasn’t been up at all today. Mother Esther said she was being stubborn and willful.”

  “She’s sick,” I said angrily. “Anyone could see that.”

  “I was told to leave her alone until she decided to get up. Mother Esther said she’d get up soon enough if we let her sulk, but I snuck here to see if she had eaten her lunch and wanted to go to the toilet, but she couldn’t get up.”

  My phone pinged. It was Virgil.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve busted open the gate and we’re bringing Dewayne’s Jeep to the encampment. I don’t give a shit what goddamn Mother Esther or anyone else says even though she’s squawking at us and flapping her arms like a chicken.” His voice was rugged, and I had a sense that they were approaching over the bumpy ground. “We’ll be there in less than five minutes. Have your friend ready to load in and we’ll take her directly to the hospital.”

  I nodded, then muttered a teary yes. My husband is the best. I shoved the phone back in my bag. “Felice, we’re taking Lynn to a hospital.”

  She looked tearily relieved and nodded. “She has a purse with some cards in it. She hid it before the prophet could take it away when she first came here. I knew, but I didn’t say anything. I’ve been looking through it, trying to find a contact phone number or something. I was g-going to sneak off and call someone, but I d-didn’t know who! I think there’s ID in there, and a hospital card.” She reached under the cot and pulled out an LV bag.

  Louis Vuitton; that was definitely poor Lynn’s! I put my hand on Felice’s shoulder. “You’re a good woman. If you and Alcina will come with us—”

  “I want to but . . . I can’t. Not yet.”

  I examined her face. “Why not?”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide and frightened. She was scared, but I didn’t have time to figure out why. “Was there a girl called Glynnis here?”

  She nodded. “She left, a few days ago.”

  “She didn’t leave, Felice,” I said, my tone harsh.

  “What do you mean?”

  I was going to be the bearer of bad news, but maybe she needed a strong dose of reality to make up her mind. I could hear Dewayne’s Jeep roaring close. Lynn’s breathing was shallow; there was no time to lose. My search was over for today but I still desperately wanted to get Felice and Alcina to leave. I stood and put my hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye. “Glynnis is dead. Murdered. Someone—probably someone here—beat her senseless and dropped her off on the highway to die.”

  Lizzie pushed the busted door aside and shoved the second cot toward the wall. As Dewayne backed the Jeep up to the hut, Virgil came in and knelt by Lynn. As a former cop, rescue is his thing and he is adept. He examined her eyes, felt her pulse, and nodded. “We can get her to the hospital a lot faster than if we call 911 and try to describe where we are. And she’s not dying . . . not yet anyway. Another day or so and I don’t know.” He gently covered her frail body with a tattered blanket and pushed his arms under her shoulders and knees, picking her up as if she were a rag doll, hoisting her securely against his chest. He sidled out of the hut and lifted her into the backseat of the Jeep, climbing up in with her.

  Felice was ashen and shaking. She shoved the purse at me and muttered that she had to go find Alcina. She scooted out the door and ran, bunching her skirts up in both hands, the material fluttering and flapping behind her. I pushed the car keys in my hand at Lizzie and said, “Find Pish and Shilo and tell them what’s happening. I’m going with Lynn.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t do anything on your own! Don’t try to be a hero, Lizzie, I mean it,” I said.

  She had a pugnacious look, but finally nodded.

  Virgil had made Lynn comfortable in the back of the Jeep, and had hopped out, taking Dewayne aside and muttering with him. He turned to me. “Okay, I’m going to drive, and you’re coming with us, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Dewayne is staying back with these folks.” He glanced around the encampment, or what we could see of it from our angle. “There is something not right about this place. I’ll tell you more later, but right now, let’s get going.”

  I climbed in back with Lynn, talking to her in low tones as Virgil took off, quickly, but trying to steer clear of bumps and ruts. We got to the highway, and the ride became smoother. Lynn didn’t seem any better, but she wasn’t any worse, and we were within minutes of professional help. I was grateful that Dewayne had stayed behind; he is as stalwart and as reliable a human as I have ever met, ex-army, ex-cop, current PI, and all-around good guy.

  Virgil, while he drove, called ahead to the hospital and explained the situation. They know him from his time as sheriff of Autumn Vale, so it was a simple conversation. There was a team waiting outside the emergency room doors with a gurney. River Valley County Hospital is smallish but serves a large area and has a bustling emergency room. Fortunately it wasn’t overly busy—too early for flu season—and they took Lynn in immediately. I wasn’t going to complicate her story too much, especially not at first, but I did tell the doctor that I was her friend and had known her many years. She had no immediate family that I knew of. She was from New York City.

  A nurse started an IV of fluids, given her severe dehydration, they then drew blood for tests. They peppered me with questions that I answered as well as I could, considering I hadn’t seen her in three years. We told them where we found her, and I told the triage nurse—a young fellow named Rick—that I had been told by friends in the city that last they heard of her in the summer she was on her way to visit me, at Wynter Castle. The nurse’s eyes gleamed with interest and he made a passing reference to the castle.

  But he was all business and started the paperwork necessary. Her insurance was up-to-date; she would be admitted. She would need many tests to determine if there were underlying problems beyond severe dehydration. I told the physici
an of Lynn’s inability to keep anything, even water, down, and her best guess was a gastrointestinal blockage or an infection.

  I was sent into the hall while they worked, and I paced and worried. Virgil had been willing to stay with me but I was concerned for Pish, Lizzie and Shilo at the encampment. As we spoke Virgil received a tip from someone at the Ridley Ridge Sheriff’s Department that Barney and Voorhees were on their way back to the Light and the Way, so I sent my husband back to the camp and told him to keep me informed.

  After a couple of hours the doctor came out and said that though she was drowsy, she was awake and responsive. They had done numerous tests; her problems appeared to come from malnutrition and dehydration, mainly. She had, though, been in starvation mode, which meant that her body had no fat to use as energy. She was also therefore in severe ketoacidosis. They would not be releasing her for a few days, at the very least, as she needed a slow, controlled introduction of fluids and dietary elements.

  I could see her, if I wanted, the physician said with a kind smile. Taking a deep breath, I entered, stopping just inside the door to look first. There was an IV in her arm with fluids going in, and she was being monitored for heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen levels. She was so frail she barely made a mound under the sheet and blanket on the bed, the head of which was propped up at an angle. This was not the first time I had seen her in a hospital bed. She had overdosed twice when I was working for her, and I never knew if it was by accident or on purpose.

  I watched her breathe and thought about the past. I had been angry at her for so long I wasn’t sure what I was now feeling: pity; worry. But I was still angry. So much of what was wrong in Lynn’s life seemed self-inflicted. She burned through friendships and relationships, destroying them by lying, cheating, even stealing. Her manager had dumped her, weary of babysitting her every time he found her a job. She was destructive and ruined the lives of so many people, but . . . my heart relented. It was true that she had hurt me terribly, but by chasing me away she had sent me to a much better life, while hers continued in decline. The person she had hurt the worst was herself.

  I could have pity. I was now in a better place to perhaps help her, but what I would not do is be dragged back into her whirlwind life. I approached the bed and said softly, “Lynn, can you hear me?”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at me, focusing for the first time since we had gotten to her. “Merry.” She reached out one bony hand and I took it, but it was limp, so I laid it back down on the cover gently. “Where am I?”

  I knew the doctor had already told her that, but I told her again, and I told her where she had been. “Lynn, how did you get tangled up with the Light and the Way Ministry people?”

  She blinked, her pale eyes wide with worry. “Are they . . . they aren’t coming to get me, are they? Those men—”

  “No, honey, it’s me, Merry. You know you can trust me. Everything’s going to be okay.” I gently touched her shoulder.

  She sighed, burrowed under the cover, turned on her side away from me and fell deeply asleep without answering my question.

  • • •

  I headed outside and blinked at the bright sunlight. After the drama and trauma, it felt like I had lived through a whole day. It should be midnight, but it was just midafternoon. I needed to see where my people were and what they were doing.

  I called Virgil, but he didn’t pick up. Worried, I called Lizzie, and she didn’t pick up. Nor did Pish. Or Shilo. Frantic, I dialed Dewayne’s number.

  “’Lo?”

  “Dewayne! Where is everyone?” I cried, pacing. “No one’s answering their phone!” I had worked myself up into a lather.

  He chuckled. “It’s okay, Merry, it’s all right. We’re batting five hundred.”

  I relaxed at his warm laugh and took a deep breath. “What does that mean? You know better than to use sports analogies with me.”

  “As I understand it you went there looking for your friend, but also would have liked Lizzie’s friend and her mom, and that girl Cecily, to come away with you. Two outta four ain’t bad.”

  “Did Lizzie find Alcina? Did she come away with you?”

  “No, looks like that’ll have to wait. But you got your friend, and we convinced Cecily she was safe with us.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hey, don’t sound so disappointed!”

  “No, that’s great. Really, Dewayne! I’m disappointed that Felice and Alcina didn’t come away, but happy that Cecily did. Did Barney and Voorhees arrive?”

  “Virge told you we got the warning, right? With our cargo—meaning Cecily—we didn’t want to run into those two, so we took off. Didn’t see them.”

  “Okay.” I was deeply worried about Felice and Alcina, but I wasn’t sure how much more we could do. We’d have to talk about it.

  “Virge and me did find a little surprise out there before your call.”

  “Oh? What was it?”

  “Guess.”

  “Come on, Dewayne, don’t make me drag it out of you. What’s up?”

  “We were a little far afield, you know? A little reconnaissance. A friend of yours was on-site. I’ve seen her around town, but I can’t say she’s a friendly sort.”

  My jaw dropped open. “You saw Isadore?” I cried. “Where?”

  “I’d rather not say on the phone. You’re never gonna believe it all.”

  “Where are you all?”

  “Well, Cecily knew Glynnis, so we took her to Sheriff Baxter, and she’s in now being interviewed.”

  “Poor kid,” I said. “She must be scared!”

  “That’s why Virge is in with her; she wouldn’t let go of him.”

  “That explains why he’s not answering his phone.”

  “I think she’s got a bit of a crush on your man.”

  “I don’t blame her.”

  “Isadore is being interviewed too.” His voice had an odd tone.

  “What’s up with that?”

  “Oh, nothing . . . but I’ve interviewed her type before. I’m not sure they’ll get all the information she has. She’s . . .” His voice drifted off, as if he didn’t know how to finish the description.

  “Yeah, I know: closed off, to say the least. She’s not a talker. If you don’t ask the right questions, you don’t get all she knows. If I can help, or more likely Hannah . . . she’ll talk to Hannah Moore. Anyway, okay. I know you can’t really talk.” I thought for a long minute and huddled into my sweater. “I’m at the hospital, but Lynn is sleeping now and is going to be staying, so I may as well go home. Anyone available with a car?”

  “You need someone to pick you up?” he replied.

  I heard my darling Pish’s voice in the background. “Shilo and I can come get her,” he said.

  “Tell him that’s good, Dewayne. And thank you for answering!”

  “No prob. Give him half an hour.”

  “Okay. I’m going to the cafeteria to get a tea, but then I’ll be near the outpatient exit sitting on a bench in the sun.”

  The cafeteria was a small, dimly lit dungeon in the basement. I ordered tea, and they gave me a pale imitation about the color of straw. As I was fixing it up with honey, I overheard a mention of the Light and the Way. Interesting. I half turned; it was two women in scrubs sitting at a table nearby. I skulked and took a seat, my back turned to them.

  It took a moment to tune in, but it was an involved and indignant conversation about one of the women’s sisters, who had become a plural wife to the rudest guy she had ever met, some dude who looked like a golfer but acted like a Bible thumper.

  Barney; had to be. This must be Mariah they were speaking of. The woman referred to her sister as Maria, though.

  “I don’t get her at all! She left her husband and took her son—he’s a grown-up, for God’s sake, but she still treats him like he’s her little boo; I mean, she named her damn kid ‘gift of God,’ for crying out loud—and hooked up with this guy, the one who yells at women on the streets. Whata creep!”<
br />
  The other woman murmured something.

  “Didn’t I just try to talk her out of it, but she’s got this idear in her head, something about divine retribution on all the sinners, or something. Something about the hand of God, and the prophet getting rid of all the loose women. She always was strange but she’s been getting weirder and weirder lately. We had a big blow-up and I said to her, I said, Maria, aren’t you one of them loose women, since you’re still married and yet you’re out there shacked up with a guy with two wives? I said to her, I said, Maria, don’t you want your own man? And she said no. Having a sister-wife . . .” The woman snorted there, in disbelief—“is sooo much better, she said! More hands to do chores. Someone to talk to. So I said to her . . . I said, If I want someone to talk to I’ll get a dog. Better than a damn man.”

  The other woman mumbled a question.

  The sister of the sister-wife loudly swore and said, “Screw that! I know that fricken prophet, Arden Voorhees. That whole family is bonkers. Arden and his brother, Bardo . . . they were troublemakers when they were kids, back in the seventies, but I always thought it was Bardo who was the real jerk, and that Arden—he was like a baby bird, you know, fluffy thin hair, kind of a weak-looking sad sack—was okay. Bardo was in jail, but he got killed in some fight as soon as he got out. They found his body in the woods. Guy was beaten to a pulp.” She paused as the other woman murmured something. “No, they never convicted anyone. Can you imagine? Anyway . . . Arden went off the deep end from that day forward. Turned into the lunatic you see now, out there.”

  The other woman asked a question, but her voice was still so soft I didn’t catch it. However, the answer was loud and clear.

  “Oh, I have no doubt Voorhees is behind that murder. That poor kid. Who else would have done it but the jerk who convinced her he was the freakin’ be-all and end-all prophet of the world? Glynnis Johnson’s death is Arden Voorhees’s fault.”