Armoires and Arsenic (16 page)

“Thanks for these,” said Tuesday holding up a cookie. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Olivia said, “How’s that cleanse working out for you, Tuesday?”

Before Carrie dashed out the back door, she called, “You guys going to the memorial service for Mr. Blackman? Word at the shop is that it’s going to be a big deal. Like a show of support for his wife. She’s really torn up.”

Olivia said, “Yeah, well she would be. Maybe. I’ll see. When is it?”

Carrie told her and was gone.

“Heads we don’t go, tails we don’t go.” Thus, Olivia answered Tuesday’s question about whether they should attend the memorial.

Tuesday finished up the last of Carries’ pastries. “I see you’re really up for this, honeybun.”

“I know it would be disrespectful not to go, but she thinks I killed her husband.”

Tuesday drained her tea. Out of habit, she examined her tea leaves. “Hmm, travel in my future.”

“Brilliant.  You’re going home soon.”

Tuesday ignored her. “But maybe if we go she will see you are a good person and couldn’t possibly have done that.  Would the killer show up at the funeral of his, or her, victim?”

“Alright.” Olivia pretended to check her calendar to see if she if she had a conflict the next morning at ten, sending Tuesday into fits of laughter.

“Baby cheeks, you’d be drummed out of Beverly Hills with a calendar that blank. ”

The next day, bolstered with pain pills, they set off. Olivia intended to slip quietly into the back of the Darling Valley First Episcopal church and blend in with the mourners. She figured she’d sign the guest book with something appropriately syrupy and get out before the widow saw her. Her plan was scotched as soon as she walked into the vestibule.

“Miss Granville?” She turned into the devastating eyes of Detective Richards. All heads within earshot swiveled in her direction and the elbow poking began.

“Detective Richards. I didn’t realize you were a friend of Mr. Blackman’s.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s my practice to attend the funerals of my murder victims. Sometimes the guilty party reveals himself in an inappropriate show of emotion. Or herself.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut and a hanky over my face. But what do you mean, all your murder victims? I thought you only had parking infractions and leash law violations in cozy Darling Valley.”

“I was referring to my stint in Chicago where funerals could keep me busy. That’s where I worked before coming here.”

Tuesday interrupted. “Didn’t I say you were a traveler?”

Surprisingly, Richards smiled. “Yes, Miss Tuesday, I’ve been around.”

He piqued Olivia’s curiosity, and she said, “I’m going to put the shoe on the other foot, Detective. How long have you been here and why DV?”

“Fair question and it’s a matter of public record. I arrived just a little over a year ago.”

“And? You’re leaving out the juicy part. Why did you leave Chicago and why DV?”

Was it the somber setting that made Richards drop his guard a bit, the subtle message that life is short and connection is all? He surprised Olivia with a candid answer. “I left Chicago for the same reason you left LA.”

Tuesday said, “To start a design business?”

Richards laughed out loud. “No, an affair of the heart gone wrong. DV looked too peaceful to pass up. A position opened up when my predecessor retired to Havasu City in Arizona. And besides, the fact that my family is nearby helped seal the deal.

But Olivia remembered him saying his family was in Lake Forest. Was that story about Harvard and sunshine a lie? Who could she trust in this place? But all she said was, “An affair of the heart. So we have more in common than just armoires and arsenic.”

Remembering the gorgeous brunette he took to the auction, she thought,
You didn’t waste any time patching yourself up.

Richards corrected her. “Arsenic? Oh, we haven’t determined that it’s arsenic, unless you know something I don’t, Miss Granville.”

“That’s what’s all over the Internet. So I take it you don’t have the coroner’s report yet.”

“Not yet. But let’s not dwell on that aspect of Mr. Blackman’s life. We are here to memorialize him.”

The three stood in the vestibule listening to the low chords of the somber organ music, Olivia thinking about the cause of death. Poison. That raised a flood of possibilities. How could she find out who shared his last meal? Or drink? Didn’t Roger report he saw Blackman drinking with someone in his showroom that night? Surely, poison is easily detectable. Why hadn’t the ME made an announcement?

She was about to pose these questions to Richards when she spotted the widow and her two sons getting out of a limousine. She tugged on Tuesday’s arm. “Well, we have to find a seat before the church fills up. Nice seeing you, detective. Oh, that doesn’t sound right at a funeral, does it? Well, as long as I’ve put my foot in my mouth, so to speak, where are my shoes?”

“Safe in the department’s evidence room. Be well, both of you.” And he went off to find his own seat.

Olivia and Tuesday could hear the click of camera shutters outside. The slim DV police force was on duty to prevent the press disturbing the
solemn affair. A few reporters rudely called out, “Do you know who killed your husband, Mrs. Blackman. Could you turn around and give us a picture? Those your sons? Where they been? How’d they get along with their stepfather?”

But they stayed on public property and the officers could do nothing about them until they moved onto the church steps. The children hurried their grieving mother into the church. In a moment, Dr. Chandler arrived alone. The driver of his limousine jumped out to open the door for him and he followed the family into the church.

The church filled up quickly. Tuesday murmured to Olivia, “Ten percent mourners and ninety percent gawkers.” A string quartet at the altar played a Bach sonata, and then an organist blared A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, which brought everyone to their feet. Then, when nothing happened, they sat down.

Olivia could hear the widow sniffling and in a moment, she and Dr. Chandler shuffled past her pew. Actually, the doctor half carried the widow. She was crumbling from the effort of controlling her emotions. When she sagged, he put his arm around her for support. They stood for a moment while she composed herself.  Olivia studied Mrs. Blackman, trying to imagine how she would comport herself if burdened with such grief. She had attended her grandmother’s funeral, whose death had been a blow from which she had not fully recovered. But her grandmother was in poor health and her demise was not only expected but a relief to her daughter, Olivia’s mother,
who had not shouldered the caregiving duties with as much grace as Olivia would have liked.

What was it like to receive the shock that, not only was your beloved husband dead, but that he had been murdered and gruesomely stuffed into a piece of furniture and shipped off to a virtual stranger? Olivia shook her head at the horror and indignity of it. If nothing else, Mrs. Blackman had always carried herself with utmost dignity. No doubt some of the turnout was in gratitude for her good works she had thrown herself into on behalf of the community. From what Olivia was learning about her, she had an ulterior motive, acceptance by the upper rungs of society.  Still, she walked the walk. Olivia speculated that, from what she was discovering about her husband, she was more loved than the deceased.

Olivia stared at the widow as though she might reveal the answer to some of the mysteries of life and death now that she was experiencing life’s cruelest blow, the loss of her most loved being. Then she noticed a peculiar movement on the part of the doctor. What was happening? He seemed to slip something into Mrs. Blackman’s coat pocket, hovering over her to conceal his movements. For a brief moment Olivia saw something gleam. It was metal and caught the light reflecting off the stained glass windows. He must be passing drugs to her, more sedatives no doubt. Mrs. Blackman’s two sons came up behind her and ushered the doctor away, each taking an arm. Their mother seemed too dazed to notice.

Olivia and Tuesday left before the end of the service to avoid facing Mrs. Blackman. Late in the day, Olivia felt the sharp stab of IBS again. Over the next hour it worsened and by evening she was gasping for breath, despite taking two pain pills. Tuesday overrode her objections to calling the doctor.

“Tues, he’s probably with the family. You know he hasn’t left Mrs. Blackman’s side. Surely she needs him more today than I do.”

Then she doubled over and Tuesday grabbed the doctor’s card from the kitchen counter and dialed the number herself. The answering service said they would pass the message on to the doctor. Tuesday guessed he would have a colleague on call to advise Olivia. To their surprise, the doctor called back almost immediately. He reassured Olivia that she had done the right thing in contacting him.

“But, I’m afraid I’m leaving town unexpectedly for a day or two, and I won’t be in my office. Would you be able to come by my house? I can check you here and if I think you need emergency care, I’ll arrange for paramedics to come and transport you to the hospital in San Rafael.”

By now the streetlights had come on, helping Tuesday navigate her Mercedes to the doctor’s house. He greeted them at the door and helped Olivia into his living room. While the doctor settled Olivia on one of the leather couches, Tuesday studied the three aquariums around which the room had been designed. The larger one dwarfed the tank in his office with two smaller aquariums bookending each side. The doctor began to palpate Olivia’s abdomen.

“I’m concerned, Miss Granville, but your belly is soft, which is a good sign. I’m going to send you home with a stronger pain med. Vicodin. I have some samples for you. Should you take a turn for the worse and your abdomen feels tight and hot, call the paramedics immediately. These IBS episodes can be damned unpleasant, but we don’t want to over treat if it resolves itself soon.”

Both Tuesday and the doctor helped Olivia sit up. “I hate to rush you, but I do have to get on my way.”

Olivia thanked him profusely. “Of course, we won’t take up any more of your time.”

C
handler hurried them out the door and Tuesday made Olivia comfortable in the front seat. They were around the block when Tuesday realized she had left her scarf in the doctor’s living room.

“Ollie, we have to go back. He’s going out of town and I might be back in LA before I have a chance to get it. I can’t do readings without it.”

“No, let’s go home. I’ll call him and leave a message with his service to see if his office assistant will hold it for you.”

“But what if she doesn’t have a key to his house? No, it will only take a sec.” Before Olivia could offer up another argument, Tuesday executed a U turn with a squeal of rubber. Off in the distance, they could see a car pull up in front of the doctor’s house. “See, that’s his limo taking him to the airport I bet. Just in time.”

But as they got closer they gave one another stunned looks. Mrs. Blackman was getting out of the car, walking quite well under her own power. They watched her pull something out of her purse, a key, and unlock the front door.

“That’s what I saw him slip into her pocket today! I told you, Tues, I saw him give her something on the QT.”

A light came on in a back room, highlighting the doctor coming to the front door. He put his arms around Mrs. Blackman in an embrace they didn’t teach him in medical school.

Tuesday whistled. “Holy cuckold, Mr. Blackman. Look what the merry widow is up to.”

Then the woman pushed the doctor away and they began what appeared to be an argument, their moving figures through the blinds like a Javanese shadow puppets.

The pain pill had started to work and Olivia said, “Tuesday, out of here. Now. We don’t want them to see us.”

“But Ollie. My scarf!”

“Tues, I’ll buy you another. Where did you find it, in the two for a buck bin at Goodwill?”

Tuesday was offended. “A dollar each,” she said as she peeled away from the curb.

At home, Tuesday helped Olivia up the stairs and into the kitchen. Olivia insisted she was able to sit at the counter. “Would you make some chamomile tea? I’m going to see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

She flicked on her iPad. A quick Google search revealed the doctor’s  home page, Facebook page, medical society listings and professional CV. He credentials were impeccable, a Yale B.S. and Harvard med school graduate and, amazingly, he seemed to have gotten this far in his career without a malpractice charge against him.

Olivia said, “Well, we can assume he has a great bedside manner.”

Tuesday said, “He’s a saint.”

Olivia sipped her tea. “Hmm. Methinks Saint Full of Shit.”

Tuesday came to his defense. “So he does the down and dirty with Mrs. Blackman. From what we’ve learned about Blackman, she’s entitled to a little TLC.”

“Tuesday, there is no bigger shark pool that the one we know well in LA. These financiers didn’t make their money making nicey nicey with each other. And they all play in the same sandbox.”

She typed some more phrases into the Google search box.

“Bingo. I knew it.”

Tuesday rushed to look over shoulder.

“Classic. Can’t these guys come up with something new?”

“What do you mean, Ollie?”

“I wondered why Blackman would settle for a restoration shop when surely he had enough connections with these players to get in on some good action. I mean these guys,” Olivia extended her hand to include all of Darling Valley, “built Silicon Valley. Well, it says here that he once had a biotech firm. Gotshalk was a partner, Cook, who used to own this house. Mr. Harmon, deceased spouse of my tenant. They were all in on it. And the medical director was none other than . . .”