Love Among the Walnuts (15 page)

"You mean we fell asleep because the market delivered us an empty canister of Pensa-Cola?" Mr. Moreland asked. "Bunch of poppycock, Graham. Makes no sense at all."

"No, you don't get it. I think the canister was full of some kind of gas that was released once we brought it into the house. Bentley, you know about chemistry. Is there a gas that's odorless and colorless and wouldn't leave any trace in the air or in the blood, but that could kill us if we breathed it long enough?"

Bentley thought so hard his forehead puckers took hours to smooth out. "Yes," he said finally. "It's called cyanosulfidioxinethonoxide. It completely dissipates from the air within six hours. But it's banned in this country."

"That wouldn't mean anything to Bart and Bernie," Sandy said. "They could get it somehow."

"Sounds like something in the list of ingredients on a frozen diet dinner," Graham said.

"Come to think of it," Opal said, "that grocery boy wasn't the one who usually delivers, was he? I think I'll call the market and see who made our delivery." She left the library and went to make her phone call.

"Well, if that's what happened," Sandy said, "if Bart and Bernie tried to kill us with poison gas disguised as Pensa-Cola, then they've got even more nerve than I thought. Horatio would be outraged."

"Do you think Bart and Bernie will be coming by soon to see how well their plan worked?" Virgil asked. He scooted a little closer to Lyle on the couch.

"I think they'll wait until at least tomorrow," Bentley said. "Just to make sure we're all ... you know. There'd be no hurry."

Opal came back from the office. "I talked to the guy who usually delivers our groceries. He was just leaving to come out here when he discovered that all four tires on his van were flat. A nicely dressed man came by, told him he was headed this way, and offered to deliver the groceries for him."

"You think it was Bart or Bernie?" Graham asked.

"Maybe. Or somebody they hired," Opal said. "If it was Bart or Bernie, they had to have turned the groceries over to someone else before they got to Walnut Manor. But I'll bet anything they're the ones who substituted the poison-filled canister for the real one."

"We have no proof that's what happened, or even that that's what made you fall asleep," Bentley said, trying to be reasonable, even though they were all convinced that their theory was correct. "We'd never be able to bring these charges to court."

"It's too bad Bart and Bernie couldn't use their ingenuity to make a living the honest way," Sandy said. "They may be dumb in a lot of ways, but they've got amazing criminal creativity."

"A good reason for us all to hurry up and think of a way to stop them," Mr. Moreland said. "We might not be as lucky next time."

"I've
got
to find a cure for these comas," Bentley said. "Our poor sleepers can't protect themselves; it's up to us to watch out for them. We're responsible for what happens to them—" He shook his head and put his coat on. "I'm going back to Eclipse and get to work. You want to come, Sandy?"

"No," Sandy said. "I'll stay here. But I'll walk you to the car."

In the driveway Bentley said, "I'll see you later. You'd better go up and tell Sunnie what we think happened."

"Oh, I'll let Graham or somebody else tell her. She doesn't seem to want to talk to me lately."

"How come?"

"I don't know," Sandy said, though he was pretty sure he did. Somehow he was embarrassed to have Bentley know about the kiss. "She probably thinks I'm boring and dull."

"I doubt it," said Bentley, who remembered enough of his own youth to know that whatever was going on between Sunnie and Sandy was more complicated than either of them knew.

One by one, all the inmates drifted upstairs to the sickroom. They didn't feel right leaving Sunnie alone, and they didn't want to be apart from one another, either.

Sunnie waited seven hours, just to be on the safe side, and then went around closing windows, cautioning everyone to speak up if they began to feel any drowsiness. They were still wide awake after dinner, so they quit worrying—at least about the gas.

Sunnie read a chapter from
Treasure Island
before Bentley came to take Sandy back to Eclipse, and they all spent an uneasy night filled with long wakeful spells and restless dreams.

Morning came as a great relief. Somehow problems always look more manageable in the daylight than in the dark. And morning brought all the inmates together again. They had learned that there were solace and strength in being together.

While they were having breakfast in the dining room, the phone rang. They could hear the ring from the kitchen phone and the muffled ring of the phone in the office. Opal didn't move to answer it. Neither did anyone else.

It rang thirteen times before it stopped.

"Thirteen isn't a very lucky number," Lyle said, glancing nervously at Virgil.

The phone began to ring again. Somehow it seemed louder and more insistent this time. Again, it stopped after thirteen rings. Virgil and Lyle moved their chairs closer to each other and held each other's hands.

"I give them an hour, tops," Opal said. "I'll bet they don't even try the doorbell. They'll come right in."

"Why should they ring the doorbell?" Mr. Moreland asked. "They're sure there won't be anyone in here who could answer it."

"What are we going to do when they come?" Boom-Boom asked in a voice that was halfway between his little kid's voice and his grown-up one.

"We could play dead," Graham suggested. "And when they come into the library, we could all jump up and scare them out of their wits."

Boom-Boom giggled. "Yeah," he said. "That would be fun."

"I think it would be better if we pretend nothing has happened," Mr. Moreland said. "If we play dead, they'll know we're on to them. We want to keep them guessing. Let them think their canister of gas failed to work."

Forty-five minutes later they were in the library, with the door to the hall open, occupied with their usual activities, when the front, door stealthily opened and Bart and Bernie stuck their heads cautiously in.

"Do you hear anything?" Bernie asked in a stage whisper.

"How can I hear anything with you hissing in my ear?" Bart answered, not bothering to lower his voice. "There won't be anything to hear, anyhow."

They closed the door and came across the hall to the library. Dr. Waldemar got out of his chair by the fire and walked to the door to meet them. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked mildly.

The color drained from Bart's and Bernie's faces. Then Bernie's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over backward. When his head hit the floor, the house shook a little and everyone in the library winced.

Bart opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Dr. Waldemar waited patiently for an answer to his question.

Finally Bart found his voice. "I...," he croaked. "We just came by to see how our brother is."

"He's doing as well as can be expected," Dr. Waldemar said, sounding just like a real doctor, which he was, but it had been a long time since he'd had to sound like one. "But your other brother doesn't seem to be doing as well."

Bart glanced down at Bernie. "Oh, he gets these ... spells. He'll be all right,"

"Well, good-bye," Dr. Waldemar said. "Nice of you to stop by." He started back to his chair.

"Uh, you're all looking well," Bart said, still standing in the doorway.

"We are, thank you," Dr. Waldemar said.

"No flu or colds or any other ailments?" Bart asked.

"Nothing at all," Dr. Waldemar said. "We're all unusually healthy. Sometimes I think there's something in the air at Walnut Manor that protects us from ever getting sick. We'll probably live forever out here."

Bart muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Dr. Waldemar asked.

"Nothing," Bart said.

"I thought you said, 'Not if I can help it.'"

"Of course not," Bart said. "Why would I say such a thing?"

"I couldn't imagine. Do you want some help with your brother?"

"No." Bart grabbed Bernie by the leg and dragged him to the front door, which was still standing open, and right down the steps to their car.

When the sound of the car's engine faded into the distance, Everett said, "'It's not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.' Marcus Aurelius. 121 to 180."

"Well, I feel more alive than I have for a long time," Mr. Moreland said. "I think Dr. 'demar does, too." He clapped Dr. Waldemar on the shoulder. "Doc, your performance was fabulous. Nothing like a good crisis to make one feel alert and cheerful. Remember, L. Barlow, how it was when our companies were in trouble? Didn't you feel sharp witted and cunning then?"

Mr. Van Dyke nodded with fond remembrance.

"I feel that way again, don't you?" Mr. Moreland asked.

Mr. Van Dyke nodded again.

"We're going to get them," Mr. Moreland said. "I know we will."

"You better get those sharp wits to work in a hurry, then," Opal told him. "Those guys aren't going to wait long before they make another try. And sooner or later they'll succeed. We can't always be as lucky as we were yesterday."

"Wouldn't it be simplest to have Dr. Waldemar report the cooked books?" Sandy asked. "Even if he has been careless about his paperwork, surely the authorities would believe him."

"And then what do you think would happen?" Opal asked. "At the very least, Dr. Waldemar would lose his job for letting this criminal activity go on for so long. I probably would, too."

"According to these records," Mr. Moreland said, "there's no pension plan for either of you. Losing your jobs would leave you with no money and no place to live. Dr. Waldemar is too old to be looking for another job."

"And what do you think would happen to Walnut Manor?" Opal asked. "Except for Sandy's and Bentley's family, it's been years since we've had a new patient."

There was a long heavy silence as they all realized that if they blew the whistle on the board of directors, it would be the end of Walnut Manor. It surprised them to realize that they now felt about Walnut Manor the way Mole had felt about his cozy home. They couldn't imagine living anywhere else. And when they thought about where they might be sent if Walnut Manor closed, they all shuddered.

"What can we do?" Graham asked.

"There's got to be something," Mr. Moreland said, frowning. "There's got to be a way to get somebody to pay attention to the ravings of a bunch of nut cases who haven't been out in the real world for years. Somebody who would overlook Dr. Waldemar's inattention to business and Opal's ... ah ... eccentricities."

Mr. Van Dyke was shaking his head sadly, thinking of his son on the board.

Virgil and Lyle shook their heads, and so, finally, did Graham.

"'Our repentance is not so much regret for the evil we have done, as fear of its consequences.' Due de La Rochefoucauld. 1613 to 1680," Everett said.

"So we have to come up with some good consequences," Opal said. "Any ideas?"

For the rest of the day there was silence in the library as everyone thought. Just before five o'clock, Sandy went into the office and made a phone call.

The next morning, when Sunnie opened the door to the sickroom to take in the breakfast trays, Louie, tired of being cooped up for so long, ran unnoticed past her and scampered down the stairs. He sauntered into the library and curled up in L. Barlow Van Dyke's unoccupied chair.

Sandy arrived, just as breakfast was over, and sat down at the table to join everyone in having an extra cup of coffee. Bentley was hot on the trail of another possible cure, so he had remained at Eclipse. After their coffee, they all helped Opal clear the table and wash the dishes. As Everett put the last dry dish away, Sandy said, "I have a plan. Why don't you come into the library and let me tell you about it."

They trooped into the library and took their customary seats, Mr. Van Dyke having to lift Louie onto his lap so he could sit down. Sandy stood by the fireplace. He'd gone over his plan with Bentley several times the night before, looking for flaws in it, but they hadn't found any. Now, looking but at the hopeful faces of the people he'd come to care so much about, he worried that his plan was too naive or implausible to work. After all, what did he know about the world?

As he opened his mouth to speak, Boom-Boom screamed, a high-pitched, frightened-child scream, and pointed to Louie in Mr. Van Dyke's lap. "He has Louie!" Boom-Boom cried. "And he's a cat molester!"

Louie, scared awake by Boom-Boom's scream, jumped up and climbed Mr. Van Dyke's chest until he was pressed under his chin with his paws around the man's neck. Mr. Van Dyke cuddled Louie against him protectively and, though bright red in the face, said with dignity, "I am not and never have been a cat molester."

Well, you could have heard a feather drop in the library then.

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" Opal finally asked irritably.

"I was too mad," Mr. Van Dyke said. "The first day I came here, or, rather, was brought here"—he stopped to clear his throat. His voice had a rusty, unused quality about it—"against my wishes, I should add, you asked me what I would like to be called. I told you, but you thought I'd said 'Cat molester,' and you told everyone to be careful with cats around me. I was so insulted. I, L. Barlow Van Dyke,"—he cleared his throat again—"a man of wealth and culture being referred to as a common cat molester. It was intolerable. I've always had a hot temper. My explosions, in fact, were one of the reasons my family put me in here, I suppose. I was determined not to lose my temper the minute I arrived; I figured that would only make things worse for me. So I thought I'd keep quiet until I got over being mad, and, well, at first it was kind of restful, and then it just got to be a habit."

"What
did
you want to be called?" Lyle asked.

Mr. Van Dyke cleared his throat again, but already his voice was much stronger and surer. "You know how I always wear this yachting cap? That's because I like to think of myself as captain of my fate. It's a sad joke, considering where I've ended up, but I still like wearing the cap. And my first name is Lester. So I wanted to be called Captain Lester."