Honey and Leonard

The tree-lined street in front of her house was jammed with fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance and several governmental vans. Uniformed people seemed to be everywhere. Most of her neighbors had come out to see what was happening. Honey felt her heart begin to race as she noticed the yellow police tape being stretched around her two-story, brick home.

"Leonard!" she screamed as she began running toward her front door. "Leonard! Oh, no!"

She made it through the crowd and the yellow tape and halfway up her front steps before a burly detective in a brown suit grabbed her with both arms. "Oh, no you don't, lady. This is a crime scene. You can't just come charging in here."

"But this is my house," she cried as she realized the futility of struggle.

The detective released her from his bear hug and held her by one wrist so he could get a better look at her. "Is that you, Mrs. Waldrop?" he asked.

"Yes, it's me. You know it's me, Davey. You delivered my newspapers for ten years. Now, let go of me," she wiggled out of his grasp. "What's happened to my Leonard?"

"He's going to be fine. The medics are with him now. I'll take you to him if you promise to stay with me and not rush in like you own the place."

"I do own the place."

"Bad choice of words on my part. It is a working crime scene at the moment. I'm still Davey but you'd better call me Detective Perkins for now. I'm in charge of the investigation."

"Crime scene? Investigation?" Honey raised her voice. "What have they done to my Leonard?"

As she waited for the detective's explanation, Honey noticed all activity around her home had come to an abrupt standstill. Everyone was staring at her. Detective Perkins offered her his arm and began escorting her into the home.

"Why is everybody staring at me?"

As if in answer to her question, the front door banged open and out came two medics carrying Leonard on a gurney. He looked quite pale and was strapped down for safety. He managed to raise his head slightly when he heard Honey calling his name.

"What happened?" Honey asked as the detective let her get close enough for conversation.

Leonard looked confused and alarmed as he shook his head and said, "I have no idea. They said I have to go with them."

"Where are you taking him?" she demanded as the medics continued toward the ambulance. "You've got him all doped up. What's going on here?"

The detective had to grab her arms again as she attempted to grab the gurney. "Come on now, Mrs. Waldrop. He's going to be fine. You've got to let him go so they can take him to the hospital for testing and observation."

"Don't you 'Mrs. Waldrop' me. And take your hands off me, Davey. This is police brutality."

The detective let her go as Leonard was taken away and loaded into the ambulance. Honey didn't try to follow. A tight circle of uniforms had gathered to see if she was going to make enough of a fuss to get handcuffed. Being surrounded, Honey wisely decided to change her approach.

"Davey," Honey said, "I mean Detective Perkins. Perhaps you and I could go inside so you could tell me exactly what is happening."

The detective appeared relieved by Honey's more cooperative attitude. "That is an excellent idea. Let's do go inside. But let me warn you, there are quite a few folks in there and they're searching your home."

"Can they do that?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. We've got a search warrant signed by the judge. Here it is. Take a look."

"How can they take Leonard out of my house if he doesn't want to go?"

"Adult Protective got a court order to have him removed. Here, look."

She looked the documents over but didn't read one word. For one thing, she didn't have her glasses on. For another, she wouldn't have understood it anyway. She was in emotional shock.

Honey was glad the detective had warned her about the search. Once inside, she was devastated to see people in hazardous materials suits with masks and plastic gloves going through her every drawer and cupboard. She was disoriented by the time she and the detective settled into the breakfast nook in the kitchen for their conversation. It felt like aliens had invaded her home.

"I'm sorry," she began, "this is all just too much."

"No, no. There's no need to apologize. I know how hard this must be for you and let me start off by saying I don't believe a word of it. Not one word."

"Believe a word of what?"

Detective Perkins took a long look into Honey's eyes and sighed deeply. "Okay. Here it is. Leonard went in for some blood tests recently, and it looks like he's been poisoned. That's why they sedated him and put him on a stretcher. Apparently, the doctors wanted him immobilized for the trip to the hospital."

"What?" Honey's eyes widened. "Who would poison Leonard? He doesn't have any enemies. Neither one of us do. We've only been dating a year come Halloween. He's been a farmer his whole life."

The detective waited for her to continue with a look of sympathy in his eyes. Suddenly, Honey realized what was going on. "Oh, my God, you can't think it was me."

"No, I don't think it was you," the detective attempted to calm her. "I've known you and Doc Waldrop, rest his soul, my entire life. And I know you and Leonard have been having a wonderful time together these past few months."

"All of North Manchester, Indiana, seems to know everything about us," Honey scoffed. "My husband was the finest doctor this town ever saw. I loved him dearly, but he's been dead nearly five years. And now, Leonard Atkins is the best thing that ever happened to me. You can put that in your report. Everybody else seems to be taking notes. You'd think people would have better things to do than gossip about a couple of old folks falling in love. It's 1992 for heaven's sake. Don't look now, but old people are taking over the world."

"This isn't about gossip, Mrs. Waldrop. Leonard's been poisoned. The blood tests prove it. Don't worry, I'm not going to arrest you today. I just need to ask a few routine questions."

"
Arrest me today
?" Honey gasped. "That sounds like you might arrest me in the near future."

"No, at this point, I'm not even saying you're a suspect."

"So what am I?"

"You're what we call a person of interest."

"Oh, good Lord," Honey began to cry. She wasn't one to break down easily. She'd seen a lot of sorrow in her day. Tears were getting the best of her at this point. It felt like everything she loved was being taken away. "This is like some terrible television program," she said as she wiped her eyes with a cloth napkin.

As the detective took her hands in his to try to comfort her, a person in a hazmat suit came up and said, "Detective Perkins, we've searched the kitchen and the living room and the bathrooms. Everything looks clean; we've got samples for testing. Any place else you want us to hit?"

"Better check the basement," he said.

"Oh, yes," Honey said, "by all means, check the basement. That's where I keep all the poison."

"Now, Mrs. Waldrop . . ." the detective began.

Honey removed her hands from his and began to regain her composure. "No, I'm fine. Go ahead. Search anywhere you like. I'll help. This is preposterous. There is no poison in this house. Come on; let's check my closet upstairs. That's where I keep my makeup. If I had any poison, which I don't, that's where I would keep it."

"Good idea," said Perkins. "That's more like it. We do appreciate your cooperation."

"It doesn't look like I have much choice," Honey grumbled as she and the detective went up the carpeted steps with one of the hazmat suit people.

Her walk-in closet was the size of a large bedroom. It was filled with a long lifetime of a wealthy widow's clothing and accessories. She had more than 200 pairs of shoes and a hat for nearly every day of the year. Each side of the room had a vanity desk with a large mirror and drawers filled with make-up and lotions, perfumes and hairsprays.

"This ought to keep you and your boys busy for a good long time," Honey said as she looked up to the detective. "I've got shoes in here older than you."

"I'm sure you do," Perkins said as he took Honey back downstairs to the kitchen nook.

"I know who's behind all this," she said once they sat down.

He waited for her to continue.

"It's Gretchen. Gretchen Atkins, Leonard's niece. She's been taking care of his money. Or should I say stealing his money. He gave her Power of Attorney once he started having problems with his memory after his wife died. He's rich as Croesus, you know."

"I've heard that."

Honey paused, catching herself. "Now don't you dare think I would hurt my Leonard for his money. I've got more than enough of my own, thank you. The doctor left me well off when he died, and I've been doing quite fine by myself. You can ask my broker."

"Why would Gretchen be behind this?"

"She doesn't want me in the picture. I ask too many questions. I told Leonard he never should have signed over Power of Attorney to her. And I told Gretchen he could revoke it any time he wants. That's why she's trying to get guardianship on him. She wants him found mentally incompetent, so he can't revoke her Power."

"How do you know all this?" Perkins asked.

"Leonard's at my house more than he's at that pathetic nursing home she put him in. She calls it independent living. I call it independent dying. I know he has some problems with his memory, but he's getting better. I'm taking good care of him."

She looked at Perkins to make sure he was paying close enough attention. "Anyway, Leonard brings his mail over for me to help him go through it. I saw the petition to establish guardianship over Leonard that Gretchen filed with the court. Her lawyer sent him the legal notice."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"It wasn't more than a week ago. And I'll tell you what. Leonard's prepared to fight it. He doesn't need a guardian as long as he has me. And if he does need a guardian, it'll be me, not her. She's stealing his money. She doesn't care about him. She just wants his money. Look at the car she's driving. It's a brand new Toyota. I've been told her big new house is paid for. She doesn't make that kind of money teaching fifth grade."

"So why would she want to poison Leonard?"

"He doesn't have a will. Gretchen's the only family he's got left. If he dies, it all goes to her. Leonard and I were going to get a lawyer to do a will and revoke that Power of Attorney, but now she's trying to say he's not competent to sign anything."

"Is he competent?"

Honey's face lit up as she formulated her response. She was still a beautiful woman. She had Liz Taylor in her eyes and Katherine Hepburn in her shoulders and hips. Her family came from Mobile, Alabama, where she'd been the queen of her high school senior prom. It was a storybook life until she lost her only sibling, her brother, on a bombing run over Germany in World War II. After that terrible loss, she started volunteering in the hospital, treating many returning veterans. She was a good worker,but she got in trouble a time or two for flirting with the patients. The doctor was tall and handsome. He swept her off her feet at a time when she was looking for a hero. They married after the war and moved north to his home state, Indiana.

Honey could pour out Southern charm like maple syrup turns Southern grits into a decidedly Northern dish.

"I'll tell you how competent Leonard is," she told the detective. "Last Saturday night, he showed up at my door with a dozen roses and took me to dinner. His shirt was clean, his shoes were shined and his hair was strictly Valentino. We had a perfect, Italian night out."

"Did you drive?"

"No, I let him drive my Cadillac. I hate to drive, and he's still an excellent driver. He sold his Oldsmobile two weeks ago and he's looking for a new one. He's between cars."

"How did he get to your house?"

"He walked. He's in good shape, I'm telling you, mentally and physically. The nursing home is right down the street from my house, about a quarter mile."

"I know he's got a valid driver's license," Perkins said. "He got a ticket last month for running a red light."

"That was that stupid light out on South Mill Road. I was with him. We were in his old car. There was nobody on the road. He always runs red lights when there's nobody coming. He's got a mind of his own."

"There was somebody on the road."

"If you want to say that policeman was on the road. He was hiding behind the gas station, just waiting for someone to run that light."

Perkins laughed. "Let's get back to the point. How do you suppose Gretchen would poison Leonard?"

"I have no idea."

The detective waited patiently for her to continue. Honey knew what he was doing. He was waiting to see how she would attempt to incriminate Gretchen and unwittingly shine light on her own activities and motives. She wasn't going down that road.

"What makes you think Leonard was even poisoned?" she asked. "He didn't look that bad on the stretcher. He was fine last night and this morning when Dorothy Anderson picked me up for our Wednesday bridge luncheon."

"We have blood test results that show he's been poisoned."

"Poisoned with what?"

Perkins shook his head and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you that."

"Why, Davey Perkins. Don't you Sherlock Holmes me. You can't come in and tear my house apart and call me a murderer and then not tell me what kind of poison we're talking about. Besides, if I did it, which I most definitely did not, and wouldn't even think about even if I hated him, which I don't, I love the man dearly . . .  Now wait, where was I going with that?"

"You were saying, 'If I did it.'"

"Oh, right. If I did poison Leonard, I would already know what the poison was, now wouldn't I?"

The detective smiled slightly as he said, "I guess that's right. And, anyway, I know you wouldn't poison anybody. So I'll tell you. It was arsenic."

"Arsenic!" Honey was visibly shocked. "That sounds so positively evil. Where would I get arsenic?"

One of the hazmat suits interrupted to ask, "How much of the medicine cabinet do you want us to analyze?"