Poison to Purge Melancholy (27 page)

“Do you know, mistress, who might have hidden this wood where I found it?”

“No, sir. If that log is from Mr. Brennan’s room—”

“It is. I saw your mother remove it this morning.”

“Tom said that Mother placed it and two others beside the dining room hearth before church. They are not there now—the reason I’ve come out for more wood. I presumed one of the lodgers must have taken them to his room. Perhaps this was discarded for being half-burned.” Poor excuse, I thought, for the waste of good fuel.

“No,” Mr. Dunbar said. “I imagine we should find this fellow’s two brothers deep within the ashes as well.”

“But why?”

“Might I have the use of your hand ax, mistress?”

“I shall fetch it for you, sir.” Gathering my skirts, I ran lightly to the door, and retrieved the hatchet from the closet beneath the stairs. I found Mr. Dunbar waiting for me just outside. He took the ax, offered his arm, and escorted me back to the stump.

“Stand clear.” Wedging the blade into the burned end of the log, he gently tapped it upon the block until the length of wood split. From each half, forth from two places in the grain, silver liquid emerged, beading, as if the log bled from its wound.

“Quicksilver!” I cried, amazed.

“Aye.” He stooped to inspect each wedge. “This was drilled, then the mercury poured in and the holes stopped with some brown substance.” With one finger, he poked at the plug.

“Why?” I said again.

Mr. Dunbar sighed, musing, “To drive a man mad. Perchance, given time, to kill him. Once the lock was upon his door and his snuff could not be poisoned, this way was found.”

My gasp brought him from his reflections. He stood and faced me. “Mistress Polly, who placed John Brennan’s wood beside his door each day?”

“’Twas Tom’s chore, though when he was off on some errand, I brought it up, or Mother, if I was needed elsewhere. Sometimes if Dr. Riddick was about, he carried it above stairs for us.”

“How soon after the chopping was this done?”

“We swept the hearthstones first, and on market days, Mother had no time to attend to the wood until after the midday meal. She chooses which logs to place in each room, keeping the fattest downstairs for cooking. You and Mr. Walker get the next best, because Mother favors you, sir—” I felt a new blush and wished I could speak with more eloquence. “Then Mr. Parker and the doctor, and Mr. Brennan would get the worst.”

Mr. Dunbar raised his brow. “Your mother did not favor Mr. Brennan?”

I remembered my silly fear when Mother first took him in, that she favored Mr. Brennan over much, but on reflection, I said, “No, on the whole, I believe not. He always got the worst of the wood, I know, even when officers from the army lodged with us, and Mother only charged them half.”

“Is that so?” He seemed struck by the notion. “You mean after the surrender? American and French officers?”

“French then, sir. Americans before, for two weeks in September when the army was encamped nearby.”

“And when Cornwallis occupied the town in June, did your mother lodge any of the Redcoats?”

“They gave us no choice. Five officers were assigned to us. Mother charged them each a shilling more for the week they stayed.”

“Did Brennan consort with those officers, mistress?”

“Consort? He spoke with them, certainly. Sometimes late into the night. I could hear the murmur of voices, though not words. I recall him conversing with the Americans and Frenchmen in the same manner. He was friendly to all who slept beneath our roof.”

“Between June and October of that year, mistress, was Brennan absent from town for any length of time?”

I thought back to the time. “Twice that I recall. Over one night both times. Seeking out a cheaper source of tobacco, he told us.”

“Back to the logs—where are they kept until their apportionment?”

“Beside the dining room hearth, sir.”

He frowned. “Once placed beside Brennan’s door, did his wood remain long in the hall?”

“At times. Mr. Brennan was not always in his room. Even when he was, Mother told us never to knock upon his door to let him know. She said if he would make our work difficult, and not pay for the convenience, then he would reap no special courtesy from us. For myself, I think she might have been afraid of him after he became mad, and wished to protect us. You could ask Mr. Walker what he thought. He was in the dining room when she spoke. As was Mr. Parker, I believe.”

“Ah.” Mr. Dunbar’s hands, I noted, were red from the cold. “Let us put this log back beneath the ashes for now. Promise me you will never burn it, or the two others, if you find them.”

I promised, then watched him push the two wedges beneath the pile with the hatchet, after which, he said, “I shall split new wood for you, mistress.”

“You needn’t trouble, sir. I—”

“My pleasure, I assure you.” With that, he bowed.

I thanked him with a curtsy, yet could not meet his gaze.

“However,” he said gravely, “with this favor I wish to purchase your silence. Will you say naught of this to anyone? Even your family?”

I assured him that I would keep our secret.

First thing I heard
was a whispered “Damn, we woke her.” I had something like an ice cube against my neck and both my wrists were confined—Acey’s fingers on my left wrist, something soft and tight on my right.

I opened my lids and saw Beth Ann’s blue digital watch maybe three inches away. The blinking colon between the numbers made my eyes cross, so I looked at her hand instead. She still had a grip on me, in fact, was holding my arm across my chest. On my wrist, Acey’s little blood pressure cuff beeped and deflated.

“Amazing!” Acey exclaimed. “One-ten over seventy. And your pulse came down to sixty-five. Temperature didn’t budge. Whatever you’re doing, Pat, it’s better than meditation.” Breaking the circle, she reached to pull her stethoscope from her ears. Sachi moved the business end of it—the ice cube—from my jugular, or whatever that pulse on the neck is called. Beth Ann let go and slouched back against the pillows.

Miss Maggie cut to the chase. “What did you see, Pat?”

She had me trained to start from the beginning and give minute details. I only editorialized on two points: “Dunbar looks familiar somehow, but I can’t place him,” and “Mercury in firewood? Would that work?”

Sachi fielded my last question. “Mercury vaporizes at a fairly low temperature—”

“She was a chem major,” said Acey.

“Just having a leaky thermometer around on a hot summer’s day could be dangerous,” Sachi continued. “The fumes are heavier than air, so they wouldn’t go up the chimney.”

Miss Maggie added, “Fireplaces back then didn’t have glass doors or metal curtains. In the winter, with no central heating or energy-efficient windows, I bet Brennan sat as close to the blaze as he could.”

“What doesn’t make sense here,” Acey said, “is that none of this was common knowledge in the eighteenth century. Who would have known mercury fumes were poisonous?”

“There was a doctor living in this house,” Beth Ann suggested.

“Not only that,” Miss Maggie said, “he had an interest in mental illness.”

“If he knew of the link between mercury and mania, that’s your murderer.” Acey laughed. “Rich would say all physicians are above suspicion, by virtue of their oath. I say always suspect doctors first, by virtue of their egos.”

“Dr. Riddick may be the poisoner,” Miss Maggie said. “He might even have fired the shot that killed Brennan. But how do we put the victim to rest so he’ll stop bugging Pat and Sachi?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t do much good. I couldn’t find out enough.”

“That was our fault,” Acey said. “The pressure cuff woke you. Though you didn’t flinch when Sachi put the thermometer in your ear.”

“No.” I took off the cuff and handed it to her. “I think, well, Polly seemed reluctant to tell me everything.”

“Because of the promise she made to Mr. Dunbar?” Another Beth Ann suggestion.

I nodded. “Possibly. Her crush seemed strong enough that she might have held that promise sacred.”

A knock came at the door, along with Horse’s voice. “Ladies! Dessert’s on.”

Miss Maggie’s ears perked up. “We’ll continue this later.” She bustled out.

I stood to leave, too, but Acey said, “I need a quick word with Pat. Beth Ann, stay close to Sachi, okay?”

Sachi closed the door behind them on the way out and Acey faced me. “Look, I know you don’t want Hugh to find out any of this—and he won’t hear it from me. After all, I was your attending physician—but you need to tell him yourself.”

I shook my head, vehemently, as if to ward off the notion. “I can’t. He hates when I—”

“He’s afraid of the unknown. Big deal. Aren’t we all? Why should he be pampered?”

“That’s not—I promised him, last summer when we first started going out, that I wouldn’t do the ghost thing anymore—”

“A promise you broke this weekend.”

“Not my fault. I didn’t
ask
for poisoning symptoms.”

“I know.” Those two words held all kinds of compassion. She sighed. “Listen, Pat. You’ve got a gift, on many levels. You can tap a part of your brain so off-limits to most people that quote-unquote modern science pretends it doesn’t exist at all. And from a physiological point of view, you’ve got a method for dealing with stress that hypertension patients would kill for. Trust me, when perimenopause shit comes your way, if it hasn’t already, using this natural tool you’ve got will save you tons of unpleasantness.”

Acey hesitated, seeing if I wanted to respond. When I didn’t—we Italians can be
molto
stubborn—she gently took my left hand and held it up between us. “Are you ready for what this ring represents?”

“What? You mean—?” I couldn’t say Tanya’s name aloud.

“I mean the whole ’til-death-do-us-part thing.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m ready.” Despite my argument with Hugh, no second thoughts lurked in my mind about the actual commitment.

Acey laughed. “I think you are. If wearing Tanya’s ring’s a problem, better tell Hugh you want Great-Aunt Mildred’s. No strings attached to that one.” She released my hand. “My point here is, if you’re heading into marriage, you want to avoid two things. Lying is one. You’re going to have to lie if you keep secrets. The other is giving up any part of yourself for Hugh. Don’t give up your gift for a mere man.” She turned to leave. “Having planted that evil thought, I’m off to nosh sugar.”

“Wait, I have a question for you.”

Acey stopped with her hand on the door. “Fair enough.”

“You and Sachi—you have matching rings.”

Holding her fingers up, all bare, she said, “Me? I’m not wearing a ring.”

“You were this morning.”

Acey lowered her hands. “I could say you’re mistaken. Or that I’d borrowed Sachi’s ring and gave it back to her when she showed up—”

“Her fingers are thinner.”

“Okay, here’s a good one: Sachi and I are members of a secret cult that uses decoder rings.”

“Are you gay?” I blurted out.

Acey blinked, swallowed, then let her smile return. “I was right. You’ve got guts. Most folks would go with ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ as being proper and not liable to get their tush burned. Not you. You came right out with the G-word.”

“I’m not trying to pry. I’m only asking because—”

“You’re wondering why, if I’m happily involved, married, or whatever term you prefer for the arrangement, I not only brought along a boyfriend this weekend, but one as scummy as Kevin Weisel?”

“Who ended up in intensive care within a few hours of his arrival.”

That made her lose the smile and the attitude. Acey wearily leaned against the door, her face rife with conflicting emotions. “I wish I hadn’t brought him. His own gluttony was to blame, but he shouldn’t die because of it. Though, considering how else this
could
have played out, I won’t say I’m completely sorry.”

I wanted to ask her what she meant. She didn’t give me a chance.

“It started as a joke. Of course. Lots of tragedies do. A month after I graduated from college, Rich tried to set me up with a doctor friend of his. I said no thanks, not interested, I’m headed for med school. Rich didn’t take that threat seriously. I’m not sure any of my brothers did, but Rich was the worst. Understand, he’d been playing sitcom-dad to the rest of us since Ma got divorced. He figured I’d wimp out halfway through my first semester and want a hand-picked Prince Charming waiting in the wings to whisk me off to the land of babies and minivans. Rich’s paternal skills at work.” Acey drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, tangent city. Back to the story.”

I sat down. My legs were starting to ache. Way too much stress, I decided.

Acey continued, “For our Labor Day cookout that year, Ma, bless her soul, called to warn me that Rich wanted to invite his doctor friend to dinner. I said, ‘Tell him I’m bringing a date.’ A male friend of mine from school went in on the joke with me. Unfortunately, John was too nice and a med student to boot. Rich approved. I craved a higher annoyance factor. So there was my challenge: for every family gathering I had to suffer through with Rich, I vowed to find a totally obnoxious date. And the finding has actually proved easier than dumping each guy the day after. Have I shocked you yet?”

I ignored the question, saying, “Rich wasn’t supposed to be here this year.”

“Right. Which is why I didn’t have a date as of last weekend when we all met at the shore house summit, which I attended only because I felt Ma needed a woman there defending her sudden declaration of independence. Anyway, Rich wanted to know what sort of loser I was seeing lately and well, one good taunt led to another. In the end, I said I was bringing an honest-to-Pete M.D. to dinner. Foot and Horse were there, so I had to pull it off. Piece of cake. Kevin had been hitting on me since I joined the practice across the hall. When I suggested Christmas weekend away, he jumped at it. I wonder what excuse he gave his wife.”

“He didn’t balk when you told him you were going to your mom’s house?”

“I didn’t tell him until we were on the road yesterday.”

“What about Sachi? What does she think of this?”

Acey didn’t respond right away. She strolled over to the end table, reaching out to brush a speck of fuzz from the lampshade, leaving the shade slightly lopsided. Her face was more brightly lit now, and I saw lines of anxiety.

“Sachi was supposed to have dinner today with some friends of ours. She’d rather have gone home this weekend to see her parents and two younger sisters, but a year and a half ago she made the mistake of telling her family she was gay. Her father told her not to show her face again.” Acey swung toward me, her hands finding her jeans pockets. “She won’t hear of me staying with her on holidays. Knowing that I can still come home is important to her. If I have to dredge up fake boyfriends to perpetuate the myth that
allows
me to come home, well, that’s cool with her.”

I had a feeling that this was the heart of the matter, more than just playing an elaborate joke on Rich. Acey was afraid of her family finding out. I reran Glad’s reaction to Sachi in my brain and said, “I’m pretty sure your mom knows.”

“Does she?” Acey cocked her head as she considered the idea. “Ma’s been a big surprise lately. I don’t know if it’s retirement or Evelyn or maybe even this house. Something’s changed her.”

A sticky silence settled between us. I was wondering what I’d do if she’d ask me to keep her secret. Not that I’d tell Hugh under normal circumstances, but if she had anything to do with slipping Dr. Weisel the protriptyline—Did I really think she had?

Through the Venetian blind slats, I saw a flash of lights, and grasped the diversion. “Something’s going on outside.”

Acey yanked on the cord to raise the blind and give us a clear view. The yard was dim in the late afternoon twilight, but the back fence was lit by headlights. Rich, I presumed. Then the porch light came on, and I saw a minivan docking alongside the fence. Glad appeared on the porch, wringing her hands.

“The plot thickens,” Acey said. “Rich’s truelove Delia’s here.” She headed for the hall, with me close behind, and there we found Evelyn unbolting the outside door while Horse, Beth Ann, and Sachi waited nearby. Like the rest of us, the newcomer wasn’t allowed to view the dining room until the next grand unveiling, so Glad directed her daughter-in-law our way.

Delia stepped over the threshold—a big woman, seeming more in scale to a Lee man than me or Irene. She wore a bulky zip-up cardigan for a coat, over a denim overall dress, kneesocks and black sneaks, showing a preference for comfort over fashion. She also wore an aura of world-weary resolve, as if to say, “Bring on the next crisis. What’s one more?” I’d seen the look before, always on the moms of teenagers.

The first words out of her mouth were, “He
was
here, right?”

“If you mean your dear hubby,” Horse replied, “absolutely. He just went—”

“Wait,” Delia interrupted. “Let me guess. He’s at the hospital.”

“You’ve got Rich pegged, Del,” Acey said.

“Some wives worry about the other woman. With me, it’s the other HMO.” It came out glib, like Delia had said it dozens, no,
hundreds
of times before. “Guess I should go hunt him down.” Though she looked less than thrilled with the notion.

Evelyn spoke up, “We were about to sit down to dessert. Won’t you join us?”