Sweet Poison (15 page)

J
ulia came out of the kitchen carrying a newspaper and cup of morning coffee and sat down on the chesterfield sofa in the living room, wrapping her bathrobe around her legs. She’d turned on the gas fireplace across the room a few minutes before and could feel the warmth starting to circulate. A few degrees colder outside and the rain would turn to snow.

October was a time of change in the north country. She could almost hear the ease of summer being locked away behind a door made of ice and snow. December through March in Botswana was the rainy season—also high summer. The climate was lush, hot, and impossibly humid. The only time the weather turned cool was during the dry season, May through September, and even then, it was nothing like a Minnesota winter. By comparison, Minnesota seemed a stingy place, a country of pale humans who grumbled—and also bragged—about living on such hard, unforgiving land but who loved the place nonetheless, as a sailor might love the sea.

The house she was in at the moment suited her needs, but it wouldn’t be long before she went looking for something else. It was more of a cabin, really, the interior of which had been renovated so
thoroughly, with such a ruthless eye to modernity, that all of the old-fashioned, wood-smoked, dark, creaky, northwoodsiness it once surely contained had been meticulously expunged. Still, it was comfortable, with a beautiful view of the lake. For some unexamined reason, Julia had come to hate inner cities. It would be hard to talk Jane into leaving her house in Linden Hills, but she was sure they could find someplace that appealed to both of them.

Opening the paper, she searched for an article about Corey Hodge. She’d been following the local political blogs as well as the local papers and knew that Ray Lawless had represented him in a rape case many years ago. If what the TV news had reported last night was true, Corey might be involved in a new crime, this one a rape/homicide. The police had finally released a statement today that stated the cause of death. Surprisingly, it was a heart attack. The taser used to immobilize Charity had interfered with her heart rhythm. Julia had heard of other incidents where tasers had caused deaths, but it was rare. Generally, the individual needed to have some kind of underlying heart condition. In Charity’s case, she was so young that her heart had probably never been tested beyond a doctor listening with a stethoscope.

Julia smiled, knowing Jane would be all over this. She would already be sifting through the possibilities, weighing how she could help to prove Corey’s innocence. It took a rare sort of audacity to think you had the skills necessary to meet that kind of challenge, but Jane was like that. She’d worked hard and, with little help from anyone, had become a successful businesswoman. She’d also been instrumental in solving some fairly high-profile crimes in the Twin Cities. Who wouldn’t admire that?

For the few years Julia had been in Africa, she saw to it that the two major Twin Cities papers had been regularly mailed to her. Since both Jane and Ray were reasonably public figures, she’d been able to keep up with some of what had been happening in both their lives. For instance, she knew about the new club Jane had opened a year or so ago. Julia hadn’t gone to see it yet, but she would. Jane may have
misread her intentions about the visits to her house, but that would blow over in time.

For the moment, it was the presence of one Kenzie Mulroy that worried Julia the most. She intended to focus all her energy on the new woman in Jane’s life. Once she was out of the picture, it might not be clear sailing, but at the very least, Julia would be there to help Jane pick up the pieces of her shattered love life.

Hearing an alarm clock go off in one of the back bedrooms, Julia went into the kitchen to start breakfast. She’d just finished cutting up the fruit for the oatmeal when Neil came out of the hallway, freshly showered, wearing a gray shirt and dark wool Dockers. She was still standing at the sink when he came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, popping a piece of strawberry into his mouth.

“Better every day,” said Julia. “When does your flight leave?”

“Ten. Which means I need to be out to the airport by eight—eight thirty at the latest.”

“Do you need me to drive you?”

“No, a friend’s picking me up in a few minutes. I packed last night. To be honest, I never entirely unpack.” There was a hint of resignation in the statement.

Julia poured them each a glass of orange juice and they sat down at the small glass-topped table to eat.

“I’ll miss you,” said Neil, sprinkling brown sugar on his oatmeal.

“No you won’t. You’ll be so busy at the conference you won’t have time to think about anything else.”

“I wish you were coming with me.”

“There will be other conferences, other opportunities.”

The fourth meeting of the International AIDS Society would begin in Sydney, Australia, in two days. Julia had thought about attending. Under other circumstances, she might have gone.

“You know, Jules, you’ll have to go back to South Africa when the Southern Africa AIDS Council presents you with that award next year.”

“We’ll see.” She stared at her oatmeal, knowing she should eat but fearing her stomach would rebel.

“Oh. I didn’t tell you.” He stirred some cream into his coffee. “I heard yesterday that there are some rumblings you might be up for an award because of your work with Doctors Without Borders.”

“Really.” She was flattered.

“You’re an incredible woman,” he said, gazing at her with troubled eyes.

“Don’t worry about me while you’re gone. I’ll be fine. I’m much better than I was even a month ago.”

“You are,” he agreed, eating his oatmeal quickly. “What will you do while I’m gone?”

“Rest. Read. Relax.”

“That all sounds good.”

“Can I make you anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, twisting the wedding ring on his left hand. “I wish you’d wear your ring while I’m gone. Married women don’t get hassled as much as single women.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sorry you married me?”

“I never lied to you, Neil. All I can offer you is friendship … and gratitude.”

He nodded. “One of these days you’ll want that easy divorce I promised you.”

She could read the pain in his eyes, but there was no way she could stanch it.

During the worst point in her illness, Neil had come to her over and over again, pouring out his concerns. He felt she wasn’t getting proper care, the right tests, the best medical advice, but nobody would listen to him because he had no formal connection to her. He was told that the only one who could control the direction of her treatment was Julia herself. She’d been half out of her mind with a fever at the time. Her world had retreated behind a foggy curtain that rarely allowed reality in.

Neil had made his case slowly, day by day, holding her hand, telling her she needed to trust him enough to let him help. The only way he could do that was for her to marry him, in the hospital. He pressed her, said he knew people who would help set it up. Once he had the proper papers, he promised that he would have her moved immediately to a better hospital in Johannesburg. He insisted he would do everything in his power to make sure she was seen by the best doctors in South Africa. And he’d been true to his word. When she was well enough to travel, they’d returned to the United States together, to a clinic in Vermont, where he visited her every day.

It became obvious to Julia over time that, for Neil, this unusual marriage was more than just a necessary legal arrangement. Back in Vermont, he told her that he loved her, that he wanted with all his heart for the two of them to stay married. She was up-front with him at the time and on several occasions in later months. She had no feelings for him other than friendship. She would be forever grateful for what he’d done, but that gratitude didn’t include living in a loveless marriage.

He was right about her wanting a divorce, but they could deal with that after he got back from Australia.

A horn honked outside.

“That must be my ride,” said Neil. He seemed hesitant to leave.

“Better get going,” said Julia, rising, holding her coffee cup.

She waited for him to get his bag, then walked him out to the front porch. “Be safe,” she said, pecking him on the lips.

“Miss me a little?”

“Of course I will.”

He smiled at her, held her close, and then walked out to the waiting car.

Y
ou should come see the river,” called Luke, standing in front of one of the loft’s windows. “It’s beautiful—all shrouded in morning mist.” He held a can of Diet Pepsi in his hand. It wasn’t much of a breakfast, but it would have to do. He had an early meeting in less than half an hour, but he still hadn’t decided whether or not he could leave Christopher alone.

Christopher shuffled out of the bedroom, leaning hard on his cane, dressed in his bathrobe and slippers. Luke hadn’t seen him out of those clothes in days. He looked disheveled. Hungover. Like he needed a shower and a serious shave.

“How you doing?”

“How do you think I’m doing?”

Luke felt a sudden rush of tenderness. “Take some aspirin.”

“I did. So far it hasn’t helped.” He sat down carefully in a chair, as if his entire body hurt. “Can’t say I think much of alcohol as a pain reliever.”

“You were really messed up last night.”

“I know. You deserve an apology.”

“Stop it.”

Christopher pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should call the police. Tell them about Gabriel Keen.”

“We can’t be sure Keen did it.”

“Of course he did it. He’s crazy, Luke. I hardly have to prove that to you.”

“The cops will dig into Charity’s life. They’ll find out about him.”

Luke had known for a long time that Christopher lived in a far different world from the one he lived in—a landscape filled with invading shadows, with danger behind every door. For the first few weeks after he woke up in the hospital, he floated on painkillers. But by the time he came home, he was being weaned off them. That’s when he finally remembered who had attacked him. A month and a half after the vicious assault in the church parking lot, Luke called the police and sat with Christopher as he gave a statement. Based on that statement, the police were able to get a search warrant. They found a baseball bat at the back of Gabriel’s closet. It had been cleaned, but blood and hair from Christopher’s head were still embedded in it.

Gabriel Keen was arrested. But before he could be officially indicted for attempted murder, the search was tossed. Without the bat, all the police had was Christopher’s word, and it wasn’t enough. Gabriel had attacked Christopher because he was gay, because he hated homosexuality and couldn’t stand the idea that an ordained elder, one who was so clearly loved and respected by members like Charity, was also a closeted faggot. As Gabriel was let go, an investigation into Christopher’s “perversion” was being carried out, one that would end in a church trial. Gabriel was a free man, while Christopher was about to be marked, stripped of his holy orders, and removed from his position as pastor of Merriam Park United Methodist.

Once Keen was released, reality hit Christopher with a sickening thud. Christopher reminded Luke of someone who, without the ability to swim, had been thrown into a dangerously cold lake. No matter how much Luke tried to help or promised to be there for him, Christopher was isolated by violent memories that Luke could only
guess at. It took awhile, but Luke finally realized how limited and lame his notion of pain really was.

Feeling a deep grief rise up in his chest, Luke walked over to Christopher, handed him his Diet Pepsi. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“I can’t. I’m up now and I need to do some thinking.”

“About what?”

Squinting up at Luke, he said, “You don’t seem all that upset about Charity.”

“Of course I’m upset. But I’m more concerned about you.”

Christopher reached up, squeezed his hand. “Just get out of here. You’ve got a busy day. All this fuss makes me feel like a child.”

“Call me later and let me know how your day is going.”

“I will. I think I’ll go read some psalms,” said Christopher, handing the Pepsi back to Luke.

Luke truly didn’t understand. Religion had caused Christopher so much pain, how could he look to it for comfort? Crossing into the hall by the front door, he retrieved his wool Pendleton jacket from the closet, then walked back and stood at the edge of the living room. “Call if you need anything.”

“All I need,” said Christopher, hanging the handle of the cane over his shoulder, “is to figure out a new plot for my life. This one’s going nowhere.” He said the words defiantly, dry-eyed, with a hint of humor, and completely without hope.

Outside in the parking garage, Luke settled into his Audi. He stuck his key in the ignition and tried to start the car, but the engine wouldn’t catch.

“Damn it all,” he said, waiting a few seconds and trying again. This was just what he needed—his car to die on him on a day when he had to be all over the city. He thought a minute and came up with a solution.