A Dash of Murder
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, businesses and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or implied.
A Dash of Murder ©2011 Teresa Trent. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced, scanned of transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or any information storage or retrieval system, or di
stributed without written permission of the author with exception of short quotes for purposes of review.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
“One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The
brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.”
Emily Dickinson
I looked up into the window of the crumbling abandoned hospital, and for just a second, I saw it. It was filmy and fleeting, and it seemed to find me in the
midst of the suffocating heat.
“Mom, hurry up. We just need to identify any fungi or lichens, and then I have enough information for my merit badge.” My seven-year-old son, Zach turned his back on me as he searched out in the overgrown field of weeds climbing near
ly to his blue-jean clad waist.
The back of my neck prickled even though I was sweating in the afternoon heat of South Texas in late October. My eyes scanned the second story of the dilapidated building, and I felt a strangely unwelcome chill. Was someone up there? The gray windows with the mismatched glass shards somehow resembled razor-sharp teeth. With a second
glance, they seemed empty now.
This was the Johnson Tuberculosis Hospital. It had been closed and empty for the last forty years. So many souls had passed through here – it felt as if a part of them lingered. The hospital opened in the 1920s, providing therapies and rest from the ills of tuberculosis. Now the faded brick and shattered windows were just a lonely reminder of the necessity
it once was.
An unaccustomed breeze softly meandered in, swirling the heat around us. The chinaberry and oak trees, in the patch of forest next to the hospital, swayed gently and then stopped, returning us to the feeling
of being inside a steamy sauna.
“Betsy!” Danny, my twenty-four-year old cousin with Down Syndrome came across the front lawn of the hospital, the weeds swishing at his bug-sprayed ankles. He held a Scout book, the
pages now flapping at his side.
“Betsy, at the job, my friend Ellie said it’s cold where her grandma is. Why i
sn’t it cold here? Why, Betsy?”
Danny’s “job” was general clean-up at our local fast food restaurant. I had picked him up from work today to help out my Aunt Maggie. He had a pleasant aroma of french fries still about h
im.
“Because we live in Texas, and Ellie’s grandma lives up North somewhere.” I turned around to see Zach, dangerously close to a plant with three leaves, which meant either poison ivy or poison oak. I don’t know why, when my only child decided to work on his plant science merit badge for his Texas Scout Achievement, he chose the required 100 by 100 plot of land right in front of this falling-down, ancient building. No one had cared for the land in years, and now it had become overgrown by prickle poppies, buffalo burrs, pigweed and devil’s horn. I slapped at a mosquito. It was in the 90s today as it had been for the last three months, and it seemed the heat and humidity would never end. We were just a few days fro
m Halloween and still sweating.
“Ooh, Mom. I just found a broom weed.” Zach pointed to a yellow flower in a patch of weeds.
“Good, the witc
hes can use that on Halloween.”
Danny laughed. “There is no such thing as witches, Betsy. No witch
es, no monsters and no ghosts!”
I nodded in agreement, and I pulled at my blouse to unstick it from my body. Again, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I focused back up at the window of the old hospital. Were we not alone? Was s
omeone walking around in there?
“Zach, do you see anybody up in that wi
ndow?”
Zach looked up, squinting his brown eyes in the ray of sun aimed at us. I waited as he scanned each window in the crumbling building. A bird cried behind us, piercing the quiet. He looked back at me with a scowl. “No.” He returned to his clipboard.
Danny put his hands together around his mouth and shouted at the empty building
. “Hello? Hello? Anybody home?”
I blew out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Must be the heat.” I have to admit I stayed out of the outdoors as much as possible, especially when it felt like this. Why go out and sweat when I could be inside with the air conditioning hu
mming and the computer glowing?
My Aunt Maggie would say the thing in the window was an apparition of some type, or maybe a residual haunting of someone who lived or worked at the hospital. Ghost hunting had become one of her hobbies when my Uncle Jeeter died. She was a card-carrying member of the Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society, which consisted of herself, Howard Gunther and Birdie Bryant. Birdie was a snowbird and would probably show up around Thanksgiving and stay until Memorial Day. It was too bad she wouldn’t be around for the upcoming Halloween weekend. Maggie and Howard sorely needed her for the biggest project their group had ever tackled. I especially would have liked to see her, as I was the one wh
o was volunteered in her place.
“
Mom?”
I turned from the building to see Zach, who was holding his clipboard to his chest. He looked up at me with his
eyebrow raised up to one side.
“
What are you looking at?”
“I don’t kn
ow. I thought I saw something.”
“Like what?” He was starting to pick up on my anxiety. I was being silly, and I knew my slight sense of discomfort could turn into a giant fear in Zach. I needed to lighten the mood. A smile spread across my face, rea
ssuring him all was well.
“Like … ghosts!” I wailed and chased him and Danny around the patch of spindly greenery. They both giggled and shrieked as they ran through the tall weeds and flying insects. The sound seemed to echo against the aging bricks and decaying structure. Zach ran with wild abandon and hoisted himself up to a three-foot high brick wall that had served a
s an enclosure for a courtyard.
“You can’t get me!” he taunted, s
tanding on the top of the wall.
“Zach you better get down from there!” Danny yelled from the other side of t
he field. “You’ll break your …”
Zach twisted his little body around to see his cousin. It was then that he fell backwards onto the concrete courtyard behind the wall, and I hea
rd a sickening, snapping sound.
******
Zach sat holding his arm and rocking while Danny sat in the chair next to him repeating, “It’s going to b
e okay. It’s going to be okay.”
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the rectangular windows of our family doctor’s office. I stood at a frosted glass window in the reception area feeling ridiculous tapping at it for the third time. The receptionist slid the dividing glass window back. She was wearing blue scrubs
with white butterflies on them.
“Have you heard anything from Dr. MacPhee yet?” I asked while glancing over my shoulder
at Zach still rocking in pain.
“Yes, Mrs. Livingston. He is on his way.” Her smile was tight, and her dark brown hair coiled at the back of her head. Not a hair would dare fall out of place. She put her red lacquered fingernails back on the glass door and slid i
t shut with a resounding click.
“
It hurts, Mom.” Zach whimpered.
“I know, baby, I know. Dr. Mac will be here in just a moment.” I walked back and sat in one of the matching maroon seats and started to put my arm around him
but then thought better of it.
“It’s g
oing to be okay,” Danny echoed.
“Will I have to have a shot?” Zach asked, a tear settling at the rim of his eyelid. It wouldn’t take much to push it down his dirt-streaked face.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But you might ge
t a cast for everyone to sign.”
“Really?”
“
Cool,” Danny said.
The door to the street opened, letting in rushes of hot air. Dr. Mac, flushed from the heat, came directly over to us. He was in his late sixties with silver-gray hair and a rather round middle. With a beard, he could double as Santa Claus and would probably be asked to play him at the hospital Christmas party in a couple of months. He put his car key into his pocket, and I could hear it jangle against change tha
t must have already been there.
“Zachary Livingston, what happened? Have you been living life on the wild side again?” He joked as he bent down tenderly to touch Zach’s arm. His eyes never left his
examination of the broken bone.
“I’m so sorry it took me some time to get here. Mrs. MacPhee has me running all over town. Our daughter, Elaina, is getting married right before Thanksgiving, and she is entertaining the future in-laws tonight. I was out picking up tablecloth linens for her. As a matter of fact, I’ll put a cast on Zachary and then I
have to be out the door again.
“Thank you so much for making time for us. We could have gone to the emergency room, but I just thought it would be a lot e
asier with you working on him.”
“Don’t you think a thing about it. For Zachary here, I will glad
ly interrupt my honey-do list.”
I sighed in relief, feeling comfort in the many years he had done just what he was doing today. Mac was the doctor who had delivered Zach and helped me through that awful time when I had felt so all alone. That was when he asked me to call him Mac instead of Dr. MacPhee. He told me that if we were going to be spending all this time together we should at least be on a first-name basis. Thanks to him and people like him, that part of my life was all just a bad dream now. It was hard to believe so much time had passed since then. When we started this doctor/patient relationship, I was married, p
regnant and about to be conned.
CHAPTER TWO
Seven Years Earlier:
I stretched out my arms to my husband as he walked up the broken concrete we called
a sidewalk.
Barry came through the squeaking screen door of the rental house. “I’m home,” he said, the tiredness creeping into his voice. He followed that with a hacking cough that sounded deep in his chest. I was
hoping he felt better tonight.
He had been expecting me to rush out the door to my own job at the Alamo Grand Theater, but instead I had squeezed my balloon-shaped body into a black sleeveless dress. Hoping he wouldn’t notice how little room there was in the dress, I flounced my long brown hair to give it fullness. I had seen this in a movie while I had been walking up and down the aisles looking for people with their feet on the seats. I even practiced it in the mirror earlier that day. I leaned against the doorway into the tiny kitchen and put on my best Marlena Dietrich voice to say “Hello.” Sexiness was practically
oozing out of my vocal chords.
Barry loosened the tie on his white shirt and smiled. His light blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well … hello. Listen, I don’t know who you are, but I’ll bet my wife will be back any moment.” He sighed and walked over, taking me into his arms. He pulled back slightly, his eyes taking
in my ever-so-seductive outfit.
“That dress just barely fits you. I wonder if it will even fit after the baby’s her
e.”
He was right. It was too tight, but so was our budget. He lowered his lips onto mine and kissed me. Maestro, cue the violins. A warmth spread through me. We were finding the same old wonderful us. I reveled in the moment, and then he pulled his face back and looked at m
e, not moving, not progressing.
“Barry?”
“Yes?” His eyes drifted towards the closed closet door to the left of me. I chose to ignore it. We were on our way to being fine, and I
wasn’t slowing down the moment.
“Barry, I don’t have to g
o to the theater tonight.”
His crystal-blue eyes pulled back to m
ine. “Um, yes I gathered that.”
“I
thought that maybe we could …”
His face took on a scowl as he shook his head. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean
with all that the doctor said.”
The violins in my romantic fan
tasy came to a screeching halt.
“The doctor said that there was a chance of a disability. These tes
ts aren’t foolproof, you know.”
“I know. A chance of a disability.” I reached up and pushed a stray hair out of his face. He must have left his suit jacket in the car again. When he was showing property, he always made sure he was in a full suit no matter how hot it got. His partner was the same way. Barry had been a part of Canfield Investments for almost two years now. In that time, he had brought home exactly four commission checks. It was a wonder how he had made the money stretch. With the arrival of the baby, I knew
money would be extremely tight.
“So?” My voice led upward.
“So, well … I can’t stop thinking about Danny. Your aunt and uncle had to give up their lives to take care of him. If something like that should happen … well, I’
m just not sure I’m up for it.”
“They wouldn’t say they’ve given up their lives. If anything, they would say he made their lives better, richer and happier. Besides that, it’s not going to happen.” I felt his grip tighten on my arms as if he were figh
ting off a wave of aggravation.
I felt my own anger rising to my throat. “And what good does it do to go there, Barry? Why are we stressing out about a situation that may never happen to us? Why?”
He let go of me and backed up. Barry yanked at his unfastened tie. “I don’t know. You’re probably right.” He gazed at the floor and then back up at me, seeming to gain control of his emotions. His voice was strained but tender. “Listen, why don’t you take this evening to get off your feet and rest, and keep that baby healthy. I ran out of cough drops at work, and I won’t sleep tonight if I can’t get this hacking to s
top. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Even though it wasn’t the evening I wanted, he did, at least, seem to be trying to find some peace with his fears. Worrying about something that may or may not happen could make anybody crazy. Maybe we could get back on track and restart this evening, just not in
the way I had planned.
“Okay. I guess I’ll put
our romantic evening on hold.”
He took my hand in his. I loved the feeling of his hand surrounding mine. “Good. I hope you can understand I don’t want to take any chances with our baby. If I am to believe about it being okay, I have to at least know I did all I coul
d to ensure the baby’s safety.”
He kissed me on the forehead, as a father would be with a demanding daughter, lingering just a little too long, and with that, Barry was out the door and on his wa
y.
I blew out the candles and started putting the dinner into plastic containers. I kicked off my black heels. He was always right about things concerning me. Barry had big dreams in succeeding in his world of investing. He had told me how he planned to start here in Pecan Bayou. Then as the company grew, we would move to Dallas or Houston where he and Canfield would have offices. We would be a part of a country club and associate with the wealthiest people in the state. It seemed he was training to be a somebody, and I loved that about him. I tended to be more on the tomboy side than the Junior League material he had no doubt envisioned. He was always there to guide me through it, and I was thankful. I changed out of my stretched-out little black dress and put on my pink cotton maternity gown and sat with my feet up on the couch. That night st
arted a long, long wait for me.
It wasn’t until later I found out he had a bag already packed in the trunk of his car. In the closet, he had stowed another bag and his golf clubs. I would have loved to wrap at least one of those clubs around his neck. I guess he was planning to slip out while I was at work. No divorce, no child support, no shared custody. Life’s too hard – see you later. It would have been so easy for him if I hadn’t planned my little surprise. How could I have been so unable to read his intentions? Fairytale endings may happen to other women, but they weren’t going to happen to me. Somehow, I had failed.
