Love Among the Walnuts (14 page)

"Who do you know on the list?" Sandy asked Mr. Moreland.

"My brother-in-law."

"How about Mr. Van Dyke?" Graham asked.

Mr. Moreland shook his head almost unbelievingly. "His son."

"You mean," Sandy began, "you mean, your relatives have been paying your fees here and then getting most, of the money back?"

Mr. Moreland nodded. Sandy had expected an explosion of Mr. Moreland's synthetic swear words or a tantrum or
something
dramatic. What he wasn't prepared for was the terrible sadness he read on Mr. Moreland's face. Mr. Van Dyke was bright red, but he looked sad, too.

As Sandy looked at the circle of faces around the table, he saw the same woeful expression appear on all of them as the realization penetrated that their families had given them away and that the surrender had not been difficult, either emotionally or financially.

Mr. Moreland took up a pencil and began figuring. "They paid Walnut Manor's whopping fees, left fifteen percent of them for Opal and Dr. Waldemar to scrape along on, stole back the other eighty-five percent, which, invested at a modest eight percent—and undoubtedly more, the way the market's gone lately—would yield, over ten years..." He scribbled for a minute and then held up the paper. "Look at that! They've gotten rid of us
and
gotten rich. And probably claimed some kind of tax write-off, too, for something or other. My brother-in-law works for the IRS—Lord knows how he's been able to use that—but I'm betting none of this income has been reported. I can't even guess how many laws have been violated here."

"I don't care," Boom-Boom said, sticking his thumb in his mouth, as he had not done (except at bedtime) for several weeks. "I like it better here, anyway."

"That may be true," Boom-Boom said, in his grown-up voice, after removing his thumb. "But a crime has been committed and we must see that it is punished."

"That's right," Graham said. "We can't let them get away with this. Besides, it's insulting that they would think Dr. Waldemar was so stupid that he wouldn't notice what was going on." They all looked at the snoring Dr. Waldemar. "Maybe not stupid," Graham amended, "but ... distracted."

"Like we all are. Were," Virgil said.

"Were is right," Lyle added. "But not anymore. I don't feel nearly as distracted as I used to."

"But you've got a point," Mr. Moreland said, pulling thoughtfully on his beard. "Who's going to listen to anything we have to say? We're only a bunch of nuts. How can we report a crime? The board, our loving relatives, will just say we're out of our minds. And I'm not sure Dr. Waldemar would have much more credibility than we would. Especially when it comes out that he hasn't looked at any of the board's reports for years."

"And if you do report this crime and aren't believed," Opal said, "you won't have only Bart and Bernie after you. You'll have the whole board. Once they know you're on to them, do you think they'll be satisfied with keeping you stashed away here in the country? They'd probably rather have you playing harps."

"Or stoking fires," Mr. Moreland muttered.

"'Those who welcome death have only tried it from the ears up.' Wilson Mizner," Everett said.

As they pondered this, the front doorbell rang, making them all jump eight inches in the air. Opal, who was extra nervous to begin with because of quitting smoking, jumped eleven.

Opal tiptoed to the front door and peeked out the side window. "It's only the grocery delivery boy," she called back to those crowded in the library doorway. "We're still safe."

Graham came to the door, dismissed the delivery boy, and managed to carry all the boxes of groceries, in a pile, to the kitchen in one trip.

None of them liked knowing that a simple grocery delivery could scare them half out of their wits—especially now that they were getting their wits back.

When Sunnie came downstairs for lunch, it was a morose group she found by the library fire. Mr. Moreland and Mr. Van Dyke, and even Sandy, stirred disconsolately through the pile of financial papers. Now that they knew what they were looking for, they found ever more evidence to support what they knew to be true. They even turned up a threatening letter from the board about Bentley and Sandy taking the inmates to Eclipse the night the power had been off. Dr. Waldemar hadn't opened it, so they'd missed knowing that, if it happened again, legal action would be brought. Good thing the board didn't know about the Christmas rides'.

Virgil and Lyle sat staring at a blank TV screen. They were so upset, they hadn't remembered to turn it on. Boom-Boom paced, his hands clasped desperately behind his back so he wouldn't suck his thumb. Everett muttered and mumbled quotations that only he could hear. And Graham stood looking out the French doors onto the snow, absentmindedly lifting Opal in an armchair. Dr. Waldemar slept on.

"Gee, everybody's so quiet," Sunnie said, not meeting Sandy's eyes, even though he gazed intently at her. "Have we got the winter blues? You know, there are people who get that way when they don't see the sun enough. They get depressed and sad and sleep all the time. And do you know what the cure is? Light. That's all. Just light. Don't you wish there were a simple cure for everything? Oh, I wish there were a simple cure for comas. I seem to have a touch of the blues myself today. What can we do to cheer ourselves up? How about turning all the lights on?"

"The lights are already on," Opal said. Graham had stopped lifting her chair and had slid down to sit on the floor. "I don't think light is going to fix the problem we've got today."

"You shouldn't be negative," Sunnie said, sitting on the couch next to Virgil, whose head had fallen onto Lyle's shoulder. Lyle's own head rested on the couch back and they both snored lightly—nothing to compete with Dr. Waldemar's Olympic championship snoring. "It's important to give things a chance. Then once you've tried them, you can decide if they work or not." Opal yawned, which Sunnie thought was rather rude, though she knew Opal's manners weren't always the best. Besides, she tried to make allowances for Opal now that she'd quit smoking. Rudeness wasn't fatal as often as cigarette smoking was.

Yawning was one thing, but when Opal's eyes closed, Sunnie felt justified in being hurt. She thought what she was saying was pretty interesting. Maybe she should try talking about something else. "Where's Bentley?" she asked. "Isn't he coming to lunch today?"

There was no response. From anyone. Looking around, Sunnie realized that they were all asleep: Opal in her chair; Graham on the floor; Eddy on his platform; Boom-Boom, Everett, Mr. Moreland, Mr. Van Dyke, and Sandy all slumped over onto the card table. How odd. And how odd that Sunnie herself felt so drowsy. Perhaps she wasn't getting enough sleep. Perhaps she needed more vitamins or more exercise or more...

Bentley had had high hopes for his new cure. He'd even skipped lunch to keep working on it, and that was a great sacrifice because he very much enjoyed lunch at Walnut Manor. But by midafternoon it was clear to him that he was on another wild cure chase.

He poured the concoction down the sink in the little laboratory and went to the kitchen, where he fixed himself a sandwich of smoked turkey pate and poured a Pensa-Cola into a thin crystal goblet. He'd thought having a fancy lunch would cheer him up, but realized the most cheering thing he could think of was to see Flossie's face, even if she was asleep. Then to cheer himself up from seeing Flossie still asleep, he could go downstairs and talk to the others.

He left his sandwich unfinished and poured his Pensa-Cola down the sink, as he had the failed cure. Maybe Opal had made spaghetti for lunch, and maybe there would be leftovers now that Graham wasn't eating everything that wasn't glued down or hidden. He hated to admit it, but Opal's spaghetti sauce was better than his own.

Sighing, he put on his coat and went to the garage.

When Bentley came through the door at Walnut Manor, he heard a peculiar, repetitive sound that he couldn't identify. He stood in the hall, his head cocked, listening.

It wasn't the TV, he was pretty sure of that. He knew which programs Virgil and Lyle usually watched at this time, though recently in the afternoons they'd been going outdoors with Sunnie or reading to each other or helping Opal cook and clean.

He knew what it sounded like, but it couldn't possibly be a bunch of people all snoring in unison.

Could it? That's
exactly
what it sounded like.

He opened the doors to the library. The sound was louder and it
was
a bunch of people all snoring in unison.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What did Opal make for lunch? Damitol soup?"

Nobody stirred.

Bentley went to the card table and shook Sandy. Sandy slept on.

Oh, no,
Bentley thought. This was like the first morning when he hadn't been able to wake Flossie. And ' then Horatio and Mousey. And then Attila.

He shook Mr. Moreland and Mr. Van Dyke and Everett and Boom-Boom. Nothing.

He shook Sunnie and Virgil and Lyle, Eddy and Opal and Graham. More nothing.

It was no comfort at all to Bentley that he was positive he knew who was responsible for all this snoring. He didn't know how they'd done it, but Bart and Bernie had thought of some other way to induce comas. Or worse.

He was scared and sad for a moment, and then he was so angry it frightened him. How dare Bart and Bernie be so greedy and mean and unscrupulous? How dare they think they could get away with this? He would
not
permit it.

He was so angry he was burning up with it. He tore off his coat, and he was still burning up. He flung open the French doors to the stone porch and stepped out into the snow. It took him a lot of deep, cold breaths, but finally he calmed down and went back into the library.

Imagine his surprise when he saw that Sunnie had opened her eyes and was sitting up, rubbing her temples and looking around her.

"Bentley," she said. "What's happening here?"

"I thought you would know," he said, relieved beyond words. "I just arrived and found all of you sound asleep and snoring."

"It was the oddest thing," Sunnie told him. "I sat down to talk to Opal before lunch, and she fell asleep while I was speaking. I looked around and saw that everybody else was asleep, too. And then I felt sooooo drowsy that I couldn't resist closing my eyes just for a second. What time is it?"

"Three-thirty."

Opal's eyes opened suddenly. "It's freezing in here," she complained, sitting up in her chair. "What nincompoop opened the French doors?"

Sunnie jumped off the couch and ran to her. "Bentley did, and don't call him a nincompoop. He probably saved our lives. Look—" She gestured around the room, where the sleepers were groggily beginning to wake. "Something put us all to sleep just before lunch. If it was one of Bart and Bernie's schemes, I'm sure none of us was meant to wake up." She shivered, and not just from the cold. "When Bentley opened the French doors, whatever was in the air must have drifted out, and we woke up while we still could."

Bentley searched the room but found nothing suspicious. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Flossie!" and ran out through the library doors and up the stairs to the sickroom with Sunnie right behind him.

When he flung open the sickroom door, Louie, who was sleeping at the foot of Flossie's bed, lifted his head and looked annoyed at having his nap interrupted. Bentley raced to the window and threw it open before he ran to Flossie's bed. As soon as he saw that the covers were moving up and down with her breaths, he threw his arms around her and burst into tears. Really, all those quiet years at Eclipse hadn't accustomed him to so much violent emotion, and he was finding it both dismaying and exciting.

Sunnie checked on her other patients, who were fine although still comatose. She stood and patted Bentley's back while he collected himself. "Whatever it was that put the rest of us to sleep must not have gotten up here yet. I'm going to open every window in the house and keep them open until we know what's going on. I'm scared."

"Me, too," Bentley said. "What if I hadn't come along until dinnertime? What if I'd decided to work through dinner?"

"Don't think about it," Sunnie said. "That's not what happened, and we're all OK. But we do need to find out what
did
happen. I'll stay up here; I'm not going to leave my sleepers for a moment until this is over. But you and the others must search the whole house to see if you can find anything unusual."

Bentley took a huge white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes, and was about to put it away, when Sunnie said in a quivering voice, "Can I have a corner?"

He handed her his handkerchief and watched while she dried her own eyes. Sharing one's handkerchief and one's tears makes a bond between two people that is never forgotten.

Bentley stood up, straightened his jacket, and marched downstairs.

Hours later, everyone but Sunnie and the sleepers met in the library to report what their searches had turned up. Unfortunately, everyone had found the same thing: nothing.

"Think," Sandy exhorted them. "Think
bard.
Was there
anything
the least bit unusual, anywhere?"

"Well," Graham said hesitantly, "there
was
something. It seemed so trivial I dismissed it, but since it's the only clue we've got, maybe—"

"
What!
" they all yelled.

Graham looked startled. "It was in the kitchen. You know, I am pretty familiar with the kitchen, and if I was going to notice any little thing out of the ordinary, that's where I'd notice it. What I found," he went on, "was an empty Pensa-Cola syrup canister." He stopped, as if he'd made a great announcement.

"So what?" Opal said, cracking her gum. That was the only time that those who heard it would be glad she was still alive to make that annoying sound. "We use a lot of Pensa-Cola."

"But it was in the delivery of groceries we got this morning. It should have been full. And I know it wasn't the old canister because I hauled that one out to the trash yesterday." Again he paused. And again no one could figure out why he thought this was significant.