Honey and Leonard (2 page)

The detective got up to supervise the search and said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Waldrop. It won't take much longer. I'll make sure we don't take anything you need on a daily basis. By the way, are Leonard's meds in the same cabinet as yours?"

"Mine are on the right, his are on the left. You can read the names on the bottles. And, Davey, please, stop calling me 'Mrs. Waldrop.' You make me feel as old as I am. You're a full-grown man now. You may call me 'Honey.'"

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Waldrop; I mean, Honey."

Perkins chuckled in embarrassment and went off with his people, leaving Honey alone with her thoughts. She was more than worried. She was being accused of trying to murder the man she loved. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, except maybe let too many people know she and Leonard were happily in love and living together.

What makes people so nosey? And why do they love a scandal? Oh, that's right. It's good old-fashioned entertainment.

How could she prove her innocence? And what about Leonard? She was more worried about Leonard than anything else. She kept seeing the confused look on his face as they took him out on the stretcher. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was only one thing she needed to do. Go find Leonard.

She got up to make some Earl Grey Tea for herself. She needed to think. Going to see Leonard might be problematic. For one thing, she hated driving. For another, there must be rules against attempted-murder suspects going to see their alleged victims in the hospital.

She could get in to see him. They would have taken him to Wabash County Hospital, fifteen miles away. She knew everybody there except the new folks. She had been president of the Women's Auxiliary when her late husband had practically run the place. She got on the phone to call Dorothy, her bridge club friend.

Dorothy answered after the first ring and said, "My goodness, Honey, what's going on over there? I had to drop you off a block away. I should have stayed with you. Now, I hear Leonard's been murdered and you're the number one suspect. How could anyone even suggest such a thing? Don't worry. I'm your alibi. So are all the girls at bridge club."

"Dorothy," Honey said. "Leonard is not dead. The police say he's been poisoned but they know it's not me. They're still here, searching the entire house."

"Oh, thank God! Is he going to be okay?"

"I'm pretty sure he will," Honey said. "Now, listen. I need a ride to the hospital right now. I've got to be with Leonard. He needs me."

There was a long pause on the line.

"Honey, I'm not sure I can do that. I'm not sure you should do that. Are you under arrest or anything like that?"

As Honey was contemplating her status, Detective Perkins walked back into the room. "I'll call you right back," Honey said as she hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Perkins asked.

"That was Dorothy."

"Don't tell me you're trying to get a ride to the hospital."

"How could you know that?" Honey was a little surprised the detective was such a master of the obvious.

Perkins was 6'3" tall and weighed 260 pounds. His last sixty pounds had landed in his belly. Now, Honey, at 5'4", 115 pounds, was playfully poking her right fist into that belly. "How could you know that?" she repeated.

"Honey, please." He backed up a step to avoid her poke and said, "You know I can't let you go see Leonard. We're in the middle of an investigation here."

His denial hit her like a real punch in the gut. Honey sat back down at the kitchen table, collapsing like a deflating blow-up doll. All the fight drained out of her. She put her arms on the table and put her head down and began to weep softly. "I need to go see him. I need to take care of him. He needs me. What will he do without me?" She raised her head. Tears had smeared her makeup. "Won't you take me to him? Please. He's all I've got."

As Honey's voice was approaching a wail, Karen Lindvall, the duly-elected and first female prosecutor in the history of Wabash County, walked in and informed Detective Perkins that she was taking over the crime scene investigation. The prosecutor was a blonde, tough-talking, 55-year-old woman of beautiful, Swedish descent. She paid no attention to Honey at first, electing to inform the detective of his many mistakes in gathering evidence. "You can't have people running around from room to room like this," she scolded. "We'll have one team for each room. And, by the way, we'll be focusing on the kitchen. This is a case of poisoning. All the food and liquid needs to be tested."

The prosecutor virtually kicked Detective Perkins out of the room, then turned to Honey and softened considerably, "Come here, Honey, and give me a hug. I know how hard this must be. And don't worry. I know you didn't do it. We've known each other too long."

"I helped you get elected," Honey sobbed into her shoulder. "We had a big fund raiser right in this house."

"That's got nothing to do with it," Lindvall said. "This is woman to woman. I know you and I know Leonard. It's a small county. I know how much you love him. But you've got to admit, it does look bad, Leonard getting poisoned while he's shacking up at your house."

Honey backed away from the hug, dried her eyes and said with a sniffle, "I wouldn't call it 'shacking up.'"

"You can call it whatever you want," Lindvall chuckled. "Now, listen, I know you want to go see him. And I'm going to authorize that, okay? I probably shouldn't but I'm going to do it anyway. What are you going to do? Machine gun him to death in his hospital bed?"

Honey's eyes turned hopeful. She couldn't believe her ears.

"In fact, I'm going to let Perkins escort you to the hospital. I need to get him out of here anyway. He's like china in a bull shop." Lindvall joked.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Honey gushed as she threw her arms around the prosecutor.

"But you've got to promise me you'll stay with the detective at all times. And don't say anything to anyone about the case. I know you'll cooperate with this investigation any way you can and I've got a feeling I'm going to need you. By the way, Leonard's doing fine. They're keeping him overnight for observation, but he's showing no signs of trauma. So, go see him, and when you get back we'll talk about what he's been drinking and eating."

"What about the arsenic?" Honey asked.

The prosecutor looked back with steel in her eyes, "Who said anything about arsenic?"

Honey looked like a little girl getting caught stealing candy.

"Never mind. I know. Don't you believe a word he says."

With that, the prosecutor spun on her high heels and stormed out of the kitchen, shouting, "Perkins!"

"Step aside, girls," Honey said as she moved quickly to him. "This is my man."

"Honey," Leonard said as she buried herself in his embrace. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."

"I can see how hard you've been looking for me," Honey said, gesturing to the nurses. "Ladies," she said as she disentangled herself from Leonard's embrace, "could we have a little privacy?"

The nurses politely left the room. "Who's this?" Leonard asked as he noticed Perkins for the first time.

"This is Detective Perkins. I've known him most of his life. We used to tip him the most of anybody on his paper route. Isn't that right, Davey?"

Perkins nodded but said nothing. He was still smarting from Honey spilling the beans about the arsenic. He took out a note pad and pen and said to Leonard, "I've got a few questions for you, Mr. Atkins, if you don't mind."

"You're a detective, huh?" Leonard asked as the two men shook hands. "I'm glad to meet you, but if you don't mind, I've got some questions for you. Starting with why the heck did you haul me out of Honey's house on a stretcher? And what's this about me being poisoned? I don't feel poisoned. Look at me. I've been ready to get out of here since they drugged me up and brought me in. Now they say I've got to stay all night. What's going on?"

"Funny you should ask that question," Perkins said. "I can't talk about the investigation but I do need to know if you are able to understand your situation."

"He wants to know if you're competent, mentally," Honey interrupted.

"You sound like my niece, Gretchen," Leonard said to Perkins. "She wants the court to declare me incompetent so I can't revoke the Power of Attorney I gave her."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Okay," Leonard began with a deep sigh. "My wife died two years ago, and I had a real rough go of it. She was all I had, so when she was gone I didn't know what to do. I lost it for a while. I guess it's what you call grieving.

"Gretchen is my niece, the only family I have left. She took over my finances after my wife died. I gave her what's called a Power of Attorney. That means she can run my life any way she wants until I revoke that power. A Power of Attorney is something you can always revoke. That's what her lawyer told us, anyway. Now that I want to revoke the Power, Gretchen and her lawyer are trying to get me declared mentally incompetent. They've petitioned the court to get a guardianship over me."

"And you can't sign anything or revoke anything if you're not competent," Perkins concluded.

"Bingo," Leonard said. "And that includes writing a will, which I have never done. Stupid of me, I know. I just never got around to it. Besides, I always thought my wife would live longer than me. Then she got the cancer and left me alone.

"My wife and I only had one child. Her name was Emma. She drowned back in 1942. She was only seven years old. Gretchen was at the pond when it happened. It wasn't Gretchen's fault, but I know she always blamed herself. She became like the daughter I lost after her mother and father died. Gretchen's father was the only family I had left. When he died, Gretchen was all I had and I was all she had."

"So how can she say you're incompetent?" Perkins asked.

Leonard looked at Honey before answering. When Honey nodded for him to go ahead, he said, "I do have a problem with my memory and the doctors at the nursing home are saying it's Alzheimer's. I don't know if they're right, but I do know I've been getting better since Honey and I got together."

"What's Gretchen doing with your money?" the detective asked, continuing his inquiry into Leonard's competency.

"I've got a feeling she's hiring lawyers and surveyors to help her sell off parts of the farm. I've heard some rumblings about a new housing addition coming in. Every time I ask Gretchen about it she won't give me a straight answer. In fact, it seemed for a while there that nobody wanted me to know what was going on."

"And then you found me," Honey said.

"That's right, pumpkin."

"What about your brother? Once he died, didn't his share of the family farm go to Gretchen?" Detective Perkins asked.

"Over the years, after our parents were gone, I gradually bought out my brother's share. He and his wife were terrible with money and he was a pretty bad drinker," Leonard said. "In the end, he didn't own any part of the farm. I know Gretchen was never happy about any of that."

"Well then," Perkins began, "you sound pretty darned competent to me. But let's start with the obvious. What is your date of birth?"

"That's easy. August 12, 1915."

"And that makes you how old?"

"75?"

"Leonard," Honey tried to help.

"No helping please," Perkins said.

"Okay," Leonard said, "I might be a little older than 75. I'll tell you, it's 1992 now and I was born in 1916 so that would make me how old?"

"You want to borrow my pen and paper?"

Leonard took the paper and was able to determine he was 76, not 75. "That's an honest mistake," Leonard said. "The years go by so fast anymore I can't keep track of them."

"At least you know what year it is now. Can you tell me today's date?"

Leonard looked helplessly at Honey, who shook her head to show she couldn't help. Then he looked back at Perkins and said, "I'm afraid you've got me on that one. If I had to guess, I'd say it's sometime in September."

Honey said, "That's right."

"No helping," Perkins warned. "What day in September?"

"That I couldn't tell you. And before you ask, I don't know what day of the week it is either. That doesn't make me incompetent. It just means I'm not working, so keeping track of the days isn't so important. I don't get weekends off like you. Fact is, I never got weekends off. Farming keeps you busy seven days a week. Why don't you ask me something important like who's the president?"

"Okay."

"It's George Bush. But he won't be president for long. There's an election coming up, and I think this kid from I forget where, some southern state, is going to win."

"What's his name?"

"I think his name is Clinton, but don't hold me to that."

The questions went on until Perkins got a pretty good idea that Leonard was not only competent, but also quite clever at hiding his memory problems. Anything he couldn't remember he wrote off as unimportant.

Leonard repeated his birth date three times over the course of the interview. The sooner he got to a competency hearing, the better off he would be. Repeating oneself is the first of many bad signs to come.

Honey was certain that Leonard's memory problems were caused by grief over his wife's death and the stress caused by Gretchen's legal maneuverings. She was also convinced that the more time Leonard spent being in love with her, the better off he would be. Honey was in denial. She decided not to tell the detective about the time Leonard fell asleep watching television at her house and awakened to shout at her, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

A nurse came in to say dinner was on the way and to ask if anybody else wanted a meal. Right behind her was a chunky woman in a business suit who announced in a Spanish accent, "I am Maria Gomez from Adult Protective. Are you Leonard Atkins?"