18 Deader Homes and Gardens (13 page)

A man with short, peppery hair and a hard look said, “His kind have despicable diseases because of promiscuity and illegal drugs. First Winston, and now this … this viper. He deserves to suffer for his sins.”

I cleverly deduced that this was Charles Finnelly, spokesperson for the moral minority of Hollow Valley. His wife, Felicia, looked as though she’d been munching green persimmons. Her lips were so tight that they were scarcely visible. “No one deserves to suffer,” I said, although I doubted that he cared about my opinion. At least he didn’t keep his wife barefoot and pregnant. Not that he could, since she was in her fifties and probably wore a flannel gown and a platinum chastity belt to bed.

Nattie ignored the exchange and said, “Have you seen Jordan, Claire? Ethan said that she never showed up at the nursery this morning. Is she involved?”

I was not about to squeal on my Mohawked prodigy. “I saw her earlier and she was okay.” Inez started to say something, but I increased the intensity of my grip on her shoulder until she gulped. “We need to go. The police will lock up the house before they leave.”

“They needn’t bother,” trilled Madame Butterfly, who was now flapping her arms. “Oh, look at this dear little yellow butterfly! Catch her, Ethan, so I can release her in my garden.”

I hustled Inez into the car, called a generic good-bye, and drove down the gravel driveway to the blacktop road. It took several minutes before I felt calm enough to say, “How did you and Jordan get along?”

“Okay, I guess,” Inez said. “There are kids like that at school, but they’re kind of invisible. They don’t join any clubs or participate in class. They go to all that effort to be unique, but they look like clones. Anyway, Jordan was kind of nasty at first. After a while, she relaxed, and we went up the hillside to look for ginseng.”

“The two of you must have had a good time. You were carrying on like a pair of drunks. Terry, too.” I glanced at her and caught the blush on her cheeks. It was possible that the hormonal inundation had caught up with her at last. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” I inquired delicately.

“He told us all these really wild stories about the theater people in New York. I thought I’d die laughing. Not that I did, of course.” She began to giggle. “There are bars in Greenwich Village that put on beauty pageants for men who dress up like famous actresses. I kept picturing my father in a blond wig and an evening gown, wobbling across a stage in high heels.” Her giggles grew so loud that I wanted to put my hand over her mouth. “And my brother in a bikini! He’s so scrawny that he’d have to glue it on!”

It didn’t sound as though she were infatuated with Terry, I thought with relief. Although she must have been aware of alternative sexual orientations, I wasn’t sure that she’d actually encountered any openly gay guys. Farberville High School’s closet doors were locked with dead bolts. The lesbians and gays who came into the Book Depot were no more disposed to discuss their sexual activity than anyone else was. If for no other reason than to distract myself, I said, “Terry’s gay, you know.”

Inez stopped giggling to stare at me. “What difference does that make, Ms. Malloy?”

“None at all,” I said. It was unfortunate (and inexcusable) that some of the Hollows did not concur. I let her ramble on about Broadway’s wits and warts while I tried not to worry about Terry or dwell on what might turn out to be my closest call to date. I’d had some doozies over the last few years, but I’d never doubted that I could find a way to save my flawless skin.

I dropped off Inez at the library and went home. After a shower and a change of clothing, I called Jorgeson. “How’s Terry Kennedy?” I asked.

“The man who had to be taken by ambulance to the emergency room? Officers Bingsley and Threadgill haven’t reported yet, Ms. Malloy. As far as I know, they’re still at the scene.”

“Would you be so kind as to call the hospital? They’re obsessed with privacy, and I’m not the man’s sister. Well, I could claim to be his next of kin, but that would be a lie. I’d hate to upset Peter even more.” I fluttered my eyelashes for the benefit of an unseen audience. “You know how he can be, Jorgeson.”

“I’ll call the hospital and then call you back.”

“You’re such a dear.” I hung up and went into the kitchen to pour myself a small glass of Scotch. I jammed the bottle back in the cabinet and filled the teakettle, wondering how long it would be before I would be able to enjoy a cocktail. Days, weeks, months—as long as it took for the medical lab to determine that Terry had been stricken with food poisoning from a botulistic bagel or a salmonella-laden custard tart. I was spooning sugar in my tea when Jorgeson finally bestirred himself to call.

“Well?” I said by way of greeting.

“He lapsed into a coma in the ER and is hooked up to a ventilator and monitoring machines in the ICU. No diagnosis, but the prognosis is not good,” he said. “The lab hasn’t come up with anything yet. For now, they’re assuming it’s a case of food poisoning. We’re searching his car for a receipt from one of the local eateries.”

“He was in Key West yesterday. Maybe he ate something tainted before he left.”

He sighed. “That’s very helpful, Ms. Malloy. I’ll ask the PD if they’ve had any cases down there. If you’ll excuse me—”

“One more thing,” I said, not at all ready to excuse him. “Has the Maxwell County sheriff found out any more about Angela?”

“The only airplane that uses the landing strip is locked in a metal shed. The owner is at his daughter’s house, recovering from the flu. He has the only key, and there are no indications that anyone tampered with the padlock. Angela’s car has been towed in to be examined in more detail. As for now, I’m dealing with two convenience store robberies and an escalating brawl on fraternity row. If I get any updates about Kennedy or Angela Delmond, you’ll be the first to know.” He had enough sense not to ask to be excused a second time.

I took the phone out to the balcony and called Peter. He listened to my recitation of the recent events, attempting to interrupt, until I’d covered everything that I felt was of consequence.

“I want you to stay away from Hollow Valley until this is cleared up,” he began officiously. “I realize that you’re focused on the house, but you’ll have to wait until I get back tomorrow. This is not the time for meddling, however civic minded you like to think you are.”

“Right now I am not the least bit civic minded,” I protested. “I simply want the house, and I’m not going to let anyone stop me.”

“What if I tell you to stay away from Hollow Valley?”

If ever a situation required tact, this was it. Besides, it would be cruel to allow him to worry. “There’s not much I can do until we find out what caused Terry’s attack. Jorgeson’s quite sure it’s food poisoning. I can’t see myself snooping through garbage bins behind cafés, picking through rotten produce. Do you think we should rent a storage locker? I trip over a box every time I walk into the kitchen. We can pack up our winter clothes and—”

“Stay away from Hollow Valley.” He launched into a very sweet lecture on how much I meant to him and how horribly he would suffer if something bad happened to me. When he ran out of hyperbole, I steered him into a romantic discussion involving his first night at home.

I was relieved when the conversation ended. I made a mental note to read some romance novels to increase my competency in verbal passion, then poured another cup of tea and sat down on the sofa with a notebook. The time had come to sort out the Hollows from octogenarian Moses to wee Weevil. Since I had limited knowledge of the lineage, it took only a couple of minutes. I sketched a map of Hollow Valley, with the blacktop road, the driveways, the residents, and the nursery. There were three houses: the Finnellys’, Ethan and Pandora Butterfly’s, and Terry’s—which had been Winston’s but was going to be mine. Aunt Margaret Louise lived in the mill, and Nattie and Moses lived in the Old Tavern. If Hollow hermits lived in caves on the mountain behind the nursery, no one had mentioned them.

The housewarming party would have been great entertainment for a disinterested observer. I smiled as I pictured Felicia and Charles in the dining room, overcome with self-righteousness as they viewed the debauchery. Oh, the horrors! Nattie thought that Terry was nice; Ethan thought that Terry was a con man. I knew that Terry could be charming, but also emotional. As for Winston, he had been either deeply depressed or eager to samba in Rio. He’d fished, or he hadn’t. He’d slipped, jumped, or been propelled into the stream.

The whole business was a puddle of deception deep enough to provide a haven for catfish. I had only twenty-four hours to snoop around before Deputy Chief Rosen arrived home from Atlanta.

Before I could choose a course of action, Jorgeson called. He had checked with the hospital and reported that Terry’s condition remained unchanged. I wished him success with the riotous Zetas, Thetas, and Betas. He failed to appreciate my witticism. There was no point in going to the hospital unless I was prepared to lie through my teeth, and even if I crept through a crack in the walls of the sterilized citadel, it would accomplish nothing as long as Terry was in a coma. The lab would not welcome my subtle hints that they step away from the vending machines and run the necessary tests to determine the cause of Terry’s symptoms.

It was the middle of the afternoon. Surely the courthouse judges had stashed their gavels and retired their robes in order to enjoy the weekend. It was likely that Terry’s attorney was back in her office, finishing the week’s backlog of files to be filed and writs to be written. Her name was impossible to forget. I looked up her office address in the primordial telephone directory, grabbed my purse, and drove to a yellow-brick house within walking distance of the courthouse. What had been the living room was now a reception room. The desk was clear, and the receptionist was gone for the day. I prowled down a hallway until I found a door with the name
CRANBERRY
painted on the glass. The light was on, and I heard a voice. I tapped once and then went inside.

Link Cranberry was not what I’d expected, although in all honesty I had no expectations. It could not have been more than two or three years since she earned her law degree. She had black hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, and she wore enormous black-framed glasses. Her lips were scarlet. When she stood up, she was not as tall as the coat rack behind her desk. To compensate for her diminutive stature, she’d perfected a menacing glare.

“The office is closed,” she said icily, the telephone receiver in her hand. It would have been far more impressive if she hadn’t sounded like a squeaky, petulant child. “Call Monday and make an appointment.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard what’s happed to Terry Kennedy. He’s at the hospital.”

“Oh, shit,” she said. She ended the telephone call with a few terse words. “I met with him only this morning. Was he in an accident?” She sank into her chair. “Are his injuries that severe? Is he in intensive care?”

“He’s in a coma,” I said, then told her what little I knew. “If it’s food poisoning, it may not be fatal. Healthy people usually survive.”

Ms. Cranberry rubbed her face and neck as she assimilated the information. “He’s such a great guy. I should do something, but what? Does the hospital have the name of his next of kin? I may have it in a file somewhere.” She took several deep breaths. “Give me a minute to find the file, okay? It should be in this stack.”

I watched her fumble for a moment, then sat down and said, “I’m not convinced it’s food poisoning.”

She looked up. “Who are you?”

“Claire Malloy. I’m hoping to lease Terry’s house until the lawsuit is settled. After that, my husband and I want to buy it.”

“I recognize the name,” she said. I waited for her to laud my modest contributions in the field of detection, but she found the file and pulled out a piece of paper. “Terry did say that he spoke to you. I’m supposed to draw up the lease Monday morning. I guess I ought to wait until he regains consciousness before I do anything further. Thank you for coming by, Ms. Malloy. I hope that next time the circumstances will be more pleasant.”

I wasn’t about to be sent away before I found out what I could. “Ms. Cranberry, I’m sorry to cause you more distress, but Terry may not regain consciousness.”

“But you just said that healthy people can handle food poisoning…”

“That’s true. However, his condition may not have been caused by food-borne bacteria. The police haven’t ruled out the possibility that Terry unknowingly ingested another type of poison. I was talking to him this morning, after his appointment with you. I had lemonade; he had lemonade spiked with vodka. Five minutes later, he was writhing on his kitchen floor and I was calling nine-one-one for an ambulance.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I mean, why would somebody want to hurt Terry? Sure, the Hollows were unhappy about the transfer of the property to his name, but it’s not worth killing somebody. I’m not one hundred percent confident that they won’t prevail with their lawsuit.”

“What then?”

She shrugged. “Winston died intestate, so his estate will go to his closest relative, either a Hollow or a Martinson. It’ll be a mess, but I won’t be involved.”

“Does Terry have a will?”

“Client-lawyer privilege prevents me from answering that.”

“But he told you that he wanted to let me lease the property, didn’t he? He asked you to prepare the lease.”

Ms. Cranberry hesitated. “I suppose it’s okay to tell you this much. We discussed your lease and the terms. He wants to let you and your husband lease it for a hundred dollars a month.”

“We’ll be happy to pay whatever the rental market dictates.” My mood elevator raced to the top floor of a very high skyscraper, took in the panoramic view, but then plummeted to the basement. Terry was incapable of signing the lease, at least for the time being.

I promised to keep her informed. When I arrived home, I called Jorgeson, who said that Terry’s condition was unchanged. Before I could ask, he added that the lab had not produced any results. In an amusingly opaque attempt to sidetrack me, he extolled the fragrance and beauty of roses begging to be cut and given a good home. I thanked him and hung up. I stared blankly at a pile of boxes, suddenly numbed with guilt. I’d sparked the mess by refusing to settle for an unremarkable house. Angela had tossed on kindling by contacting Terry, then disappearing, which had forced me to call him. He’d returned to Farberville, to end up in an ICU cubicle.