Eine Kleine Murder (16 page)

Chapter 28

Lullaby: A song to quiet children or lull them to sleep (Eng.)

Sitting at the counter to work, my mind strayed to the clean, empty traps. I couldn't concentrate on my music. Those mice posed a dilemma. I hated catching them, despised cleaning out the traps even more. It was obvious to me I didn't want to deal with traps anymore. But I certainly didn't want to share the cabin with any mice, either.

I went back outside to collect the empty traps, not sure what I was going to do with them.

“Cressa! Miss Carraway!” Freddie Fiori ran up, breathless and frantic, his wide face a map of worry.

“What's the matter? Are your children worse?” I stooped to picked up the traps.

“Much worse. It happened all of a sudden. Just this morning.” Freddie shook his head like he couldn't believe it, sending his dark curls tumbling. “I have to call a doctor. The kids have been throwing up for a couple of hours. Quaid and Blain, the twins, don't have the energy to even get out of bed today. On top of all that, we're running out of diapers.”

“I have super medicine from the drugstore, but it sounds like they're a lot sicker than I was. Can I do anything to help?”

He hesitated. “Do you have a phone I could use? Ours is still disconnected. Haven't had the money for the hookup fee. I could use the Toombses' land line, but I hate like the devil to have to bother them. Or to get that far away from the kids.”

“No problem.” I saw the relief in his face at the offer of tangible help. “I'll get it right now.”

I dropped the traps and ran in to get my phone. He snatched it from me as soon as I returned.

“I'd like to call Pat first. See where she wants me to take them.” He started pushing numbers.

“Your wife's at work?”

“Yeah, she works in the Cities. And she has the car. We only have one.”

However, Ivan the Terrible was unresponsive again. No signal.

I cringed to remember my phone bill, no doubt in the batch of bills Neek was saving to forward to me, would soon be overdue. I still hadn't rented a post office box.

Freddie's shoulders slumped. I reached my hand out and held his.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'm sure you can use Al Harmon's phone.”

“I should have thought of that.” He handed me the phone and looked back toward his trailer. “Maybe you could call a doctor and see what he says? I'm worried about being away from them for too long.”

“Do you know the number?”

“We haven't seen one since we moved here. Al must have a doctor. Can you call his?”

“Sure, I'll do that.”

“I appreciate it, Cressa. Tell him they're throwing up nonstop and hurt all over. And I'll go ahead and get back to them. Thanks again. You're a lifesaver.”

I flew to Al's and banged on the door.

“Cressa, what's the matter?” he said from across the room as I scrambled in.

“There's an emergency.”

“Are you all right?”

“It's not me, it's Freddie Fiori's kids. I need to use your phone.”

He motioned me in, unfolding his length from the chair.

“My cell isn't working again. I just saw Freddie Fiori and he said they're all sick. Really sick. He doesn't have a doctor in Alpha. Do you think yours would see them?”

“There isn't one in Alpha. Mine's in Rock Island. Doc McPherson. He's a great guy. I'm sure he'll help. Let me call.”

He dialed the phone, asked for the nurse, then handed me the receiver. I described their condition, thinking to ask if it was a life-threatening situation or not. The nurse put me on hold and the doctor came on the line.

“I can't say for sure what the treatment should be until I see them,” he said after I repeated their symptoms. “And it sounds like I'd better see them at the hospital.”

“Okay. I'll tell their father they need to go in.” I thought about the lack of a vehicle, but maybe they'd all fit into mine somehow.

“What did you say the name was?” Dr. McPherson asked.

I told him it was Fiori.

“Are they related to the nurse who works in emergency?”

“That's their mother.”

“I'll have her paged to let her know what's going on. And I'll leave right now to see them when they get to Moline.”

I tore along the road to the Fiori's trailer. He opened the screen door and the smell of vomit hit me.

“I phoned Al's doctor,” I said, “and he wants to see them at the hospital. He's going to meet you in Moline.”

Freddie bowed his head and swore softly. “The van's not here.”

“Maybe we can all squeeze into my car. Or use Al's, too.”

He agreed.

“I'll go get my car and bring it over here.”

I first dashed to Al's again and he brought his car, too. We didn't have any child car seats, but we would at least have enough seatbelts.

Freddie led us into a small bedroom, close with the rank odor of sickness. The children were huddled under their covers in two sets of bunk beds. I looked closer, and one bottom bunk held two of them. Al and I helped Freddie wipe their sweaty faces and we trooped out, the three oldest dizzy on their feet, and Freddie and I each carrying a toddler.

We strapped the three oldest into my Civic, then installed the two youngest with Freddie in the back seat of Al's Chevy Impala.

“I think I might have an idea what's wrong with your kids,” I called to Freddie as we climbed into the cars. “Do you mind if I ask them a couple of questions?”

“Ask away. But let's get going.”

As we raced through Alpha and headed north on 150, I turned to the oldest one, sitting beside me. “What's your name, honey?”

“Kisha,” answered the girl, leaning her head on the window, her face pale and sweating.

“When you were at Mrs. Evans's cabin the other day—”

“Day before yesterday,” she interrupted. Her voice croaked, but she was alert.

“Yes, that's right.”
At least she's still with-it enough to know what day it is.

“Did you eat anything she made, Kisha?”

“Yes, she gave us cookies. We all ate them.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Al was close behind me. “Did you eat a lot of them?”

“No, I didn't eat
too
many.”

“Did, too! You pigged out, Kisha,” squealed a voice from the back seat.

“Well, you did, too, James! You just gobbled ‘em up,” she retorted, turning around and showing some spark.

“They were funny cookies, though,” said James from deep in a blanket, his voice muffled by his cocoon. “They looked like they had dirt in ‘em.”

Or rhubarb leaves.

“I thought it looked like they had pepper in ‘em. But they tasted okay,” piped up the other small one in the back.

“They were probably good cookies,” I said. I didn't want them to worry about anything besides getting well. “It's all right if you ate a lot. You didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to know if all of you ate them.”

Kisha looked at me sheepishly, her dark curls falling forward when she bowed her head. “We all pigged out. ‘Specially Quaid and Esta. I knew if Mom or Dad found out they wouldn't like it. We're not supposed to pig out at other people's houses. It's not polite.”

I heard a horn behind me and saw Al swerve to the shoulder. A minivan heading southbound did a quick, skidding U-turn and pulled up behind him while I braked, then backed up on the shoulder.

A short, trim woman in a white uniform jumped out of the van and ran to Al's car. By the time I reached them, she had snatched up one of the little ones, her competent hands soothing, her low voice crooning a soft melody.

“Pat,” said Freddie. “This is Cressa Carraway, the one I was telling you about. Ida Miller's granddaughter.”

She turned and a weary smile softened her drawn face. She was slim and efficient-looking. “Thank you for making the phone call for us. Dr. McPherson told me they were coming in, but I knew Freddie didn't have a car or a phone.”

“But we can drive them on in, Pat.”

“No, I want to take them. I want to be with them. Besides, they need to be in their car seats. It'll only take a minute to get them into the van.”

I didn't want to argue; debating the matter would take more time than switching them. I helped Kisha out of my car. She had become more unsteady, so I supported her along the way back to the van.

“Did I do good?” she asked me.

“When, sweetheart?”

“When you asked that test.”

“You did a wonderful job, Kisha.” I kissed the top of her damp head and swung her up into the van.

“What was that all about?” asked Freddie as he and Pat buckled in the two little ones. I realized they were twins.

“I think they may have been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Pat looked horrified.

Al and Freddie stared at me.

“At Eve's?” asked Al, his voice soft.

“You think it was the cookies they ate at Eve's?” said Freddie.

“I'm not sure.”

Freddie and Pat glanced at each other and ran to my car and brought back the other two.

“What do you know about Eve's family history?” I asked as they whisked them into the van.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Are you from around here?”

“No,” answered Pat. “We've only been in this area a few months.”

“I got laid off at Deere and we thought the country air would be good for the kids,” said Freddie. “What a time for this to happen.”

“I know,” said Pat. “My insurance kicks in next week. Freddie, do you think Martha would loan us—”

“Forget it,” Freddie said. “After what we—”

“Hush, Freddie.” She shot me a sideways look.

“Mommy!” wailed one of the kids from the van.

“Let's go!” said Freddie. They both jumped into the van.

I stuck my head in the passenger window and quietly told Pat, “Tell the doctor the kids might have eaten rhubarb leaves.”

Al and I watched them disappear around a bend.

“Godspeed,” he murmured.

“Amen,” I answered.

I went home and decompressed after all the excitement. It was early for lunch, but my appetite was returning and I was hungry for the first time in a couple of days.

I pulled Martha's casserole out of the fridge and sniffed it. It had a strong smell; too many onions for me. I scraped the contents into my trash and set the dish to soak. I would return it to Martha and tell her I'd eaten it.

I found I wasn't that hungry, after all. After nibbling cheese and crackers I stopped by Al's on the way to Martha's. He was outside on his picnic bench fastening hooks onto a shiny silver lure, his long fingers working expertly.

“I hope those kids aren't as bad as they look,” I said, sitting on the other bench.

“Kids usually look a lot sicker than they are. They bounce back.”

“It's not right their dad should be here with them, without a car.”

“They're trying to get back on their feet after Freddie's layoff. They'll be okay. Freddie's not lazy, you know. He'll get work pretty soon. He's out hustling for odd jobs whenever his wife is home to baby-sit. Guess they can't really afford a sitter very often to job hunt.”

Al set his lure down and looked at me intently. “Strange how they're all sick at once, isn't it? You really think Eve poisoned them?”

“I don't know,” I answered vaguely.
Should I confide in Al? Should I confide in anybody? Better not spread further rumors about Eve until I know more. And how will I know more? The garbage truck probably just took away the evidence.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “It was just a hunch. They probably have some sort of stomach upset.” The back of my mind was concocting a plan to try and confirm my suspicions about Eve.

“You still going with me to get Grace's casket?” Al asked.

“Is one o'clock all right? I'd like to return this dish to Martha first,” I said. “I haven't seen her since… since her husband… died.”

“That's fine. I can't understand that Martha,” he said, picking up his lure again. “I understood his first wife, though. She left him right after they got married. That makes complete sense to me. But to stay with such an idiot all these years?”

“I don't think it's very easy to leave an abuser, Al. I've come close to a situation like that. It's like you're being brainwashed and you lose your will.”

“I still say it's a wonder Martha didn't kill him long ago. Her life has been miserable ever since she married him.”

He shook a metal rattle and snapped it onto his lure. “Of course, Martha didn't have it all that great with the guy before him, either. She was never good at picking men. Poor Martha.”

I rose and turned to go.

“Watch what you do when you're around those Toombses,” he warned as I left his cozy cottage and headed toward the cheerful-looking yellow house, both places of mourning. I glanced at Grace's sunbathed herbs and flowerbeds on my way past, and noticed that the Death Angel mushrooms had all been pulled up.

Chapter 29

Suivez: Continue, go on (Fr.)

I lifted my hand toward Martha's brass knocker, but a tap on my shoulder stopped me from reaching it. A short, young man in a police uniform gave me a stern look.

“Are you Cressa Carraway?”

I thought of answering “Guilty,” but thought again. Not a good word to use while I'm still a suspect. “Yes.”

“Captain Palmer. Need to ask you a few questions.”

I nodded.

“First of all, where have you been just now?” His eyes were narrowed to such small slits I couldn't tell what color they were.

“Nowhere… Well, I was driving to Moline, but I'm back,” I stammered. “I'm, um, returning this dish to Martha.”

He flipped his wallet open to his ID card, which told me he was Captain Palmer of the Cambridge County Sheriff's Office. “I understand you found the body.”

The word “body” gave me a chill and brought back the pitiful faces of both Gram and Grace. “Which one?” I asked. His pained squint was not friendly.
Are his eyes always scrunched up like that?
“I found all of them.”

“Sheriff Dobson only assigned me to the latest one.”

That would be, I assumed, Toombs. “Well, they're probably all tied together.” His piggy eyes scrunched even smaller. Did he think I was telling him how to do his job? “Don't you think they're connected?”

He changed the subject. “When did you last see the victim?”

“Uh… when did I last see Toombs? Alive?”

He didn't answer. I struggled to remember.

“I saw him coming out of Hayley's. I had just met him earlier that day.”

“What day was that?” He fished a small spiral-bound tablet from his jacket and made a big show of printing my name and the date at the top of a page.

“It was, let me see, two days ago, no… three days ago, I think.”

He scribbled in his notebook.
Aren't cops supposed to have tape recorders?

“No, wait.” Now I remembered. “I saw him day before yesterday.”

“The day he was killed?”

“I guess so.”

“Where was he and what was he doing?”

“He was by the road on top of the hill, talking with Sheila.”

“And where were you?”

“I was on the water, in Gram's boat.”
Do I sound like a suspect?
“I wasn't eavesdropping, but I could hear them talking.” I didn't want to say they were arguing. That might cast suspicion on Sheila. “It was probably around midmorning, say, ten o'clock.”

“What was their conversation about?” He tapped his pencil on the paper.

“I couldn't really hear.” Just one side, not both.

“And the last time you spoke with him?”

“That was when I saw him in front of Hayley's.”

“What did you talk about?” This man did not like me. He gritted his teeth and his eyes got still narrower. I wouldn't have thought it possible.

“Well, he talked about Hayley, his stepdaughter, and the two granddaughters.” Had Toombs been yelling at someone every time I'd encountered him?

“Let's move on to the crime scene.”

I remained contrite and polite for the rest of his questions, which were exactly the same ones Sheriff Dobson had asked me in his office. Except I did say I'd already answered all those questions. And I added the fact that I had thrown up near Toombs's body, in case they found the evidence and wondered what it was. I now knew I threw up when I encountered dead bodies.

He continued taking notes. Kept me waiting and fidgeting for a minute or so after we quit talking.

“Okay,” he said. He slapped his notebook shut and gave me another sharp, narrow look. “We won't bother you anymore for the time being. Stick around, though.”

“How far can I go?” The thought of being confined to the cabin, or even the resort, panicked me. “Into Alpha? What if I need groceries? And I need to go to the funeral home this afternoon.”

“Alpha is fine. But don't leave the area. You need to be available in case we have more questions.”

Different ones next time?
I wondered.

Captain Palmer drove away in one of the Henry County cars.

“Thanks for returning my casserole dish, Cressa. I'll have to apologize again for missing your grandmother's funeral. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Martha Toombs, in a housedress again today, took the dish from me and set it on a nearby end table. Her eyes were moist, troubled, underneath her knit eyebrows. “I'm having a hard time feeling sorry my husband is dead,” she said, her voice low and timid-sounding. She patted her pink foam rollers, then leaned down and scratched some nasty looking bites on her legs.

“It hasn't been an easy life I've had with him. But what I feel so bad about mostly, is what he's done to my sweet granddaughters, Rachel and Rebecca.” She stopped talking and pulled a very used tissue out of her pocket. “Have you met them?”

I nodded. We took seats in her shag-rugged early-American sitting room after Martha turned down the volume on
Days of Our Lives
.

I waited for her to continue. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. The whole business of incest, or child molesting, or whatever it was in this case, was completely out of the scope of my experience. Despite what I'd told Al, I didn't really, and never truly would, understand why Martha stayed married to such a man. Maybe she had never been able to afford leaving him. But she had spent many years with him, and was feeling nothing at his death. I could easily imagine her guilt.

She started talking again. Her husband's death had opened the floodgates of her emotions and as her anguish poured out, her voice grew stronger.

“He was my knight in shining armor a long, long time ago. Hayley's father left us, ran off with a farmer's wife. I wasn't sorry to see him go—he drank, you know—but we didn't have any support.” She dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes.

“Albert was older than me. He was so masterful and he didn't drink hard liquor the way my father and my first husband did. All he ever had was beer. I never thought it was so bad to drink beer. But he drank an awful lot of it, I guess.”

She stared at the silent television for a moment, then shook her head and plowed on as a wildly inappropriate ad for a sexual enhancement drug came on.

“Hayley tried to tell me a couple of months ago about him bothering her girls, that Pat Fiori told her she knew he was, but I didn't believe it. He was a hard man and had a bad temper—that's the only time he would ever hit me, when he lost his temper, or when he'd been drinking. But to abuse those beautiful children. I couldn't believe it. I thought having granddaughters was going to be easy after all we went through with Mo and his problems.”

Mo and his problems? What was that about? Other sexual attacks? Murder? Or just the jewelry-filching problem?
Instead, I asked, “How did Rebecca get the bruises on her face I saw the other day?”

Mrs. Toombs touched the bruise on her own cheek. “He gave it to her.” Her voice was soft, breathy. “And he gave me this one.” She bowed her head. Was she ashamed? “You can't see the ones where he punched me in the stomach.” She scraped her fingernails at more mosquito bites on her arms.

“And you're feeling guilty not to be mourning him. Does anyone expect you to?” I ventured, trying to give her comfort. Her anguish tugged at my heart.

“Well, I don't suppose so. I'm afraid to show it, but I'm very glad to be rid of him, even though I'm not sure what I'll do without him.”

She raised her head and looked me in the eye. “I don't dare tell that to the police.” Her frightened eyes pleaded. “Please don't tell them I said that.”

“Of course not, Martha.”

She straightened and patted my arm. “You're a nice girl.” Her voice strengthened. “And there are things you should know about your grandmother. A couple things I need to tell you. Unless… What bothers me the most is Mo. He's in a terrible state. I'm afraid he might …”

For this remarkable soliloquy she had begun to come out of her shell. She had even sounded the slightest bit belligerent. But the last statement was spoken
sotto voce
, in her habitual half-whisper. She even looked around as if her husband might be coming in from the kitchen any minute.

I jumped to my feet when he did. Then he turned, and I realized it was Mo.

“I, I didn't know you were here,” I stammered, a hot flush spreading up my face.

“Hello, Cressa,” he said, his voice low and even. I shivered with its menace, sounding as dark as his hair. “Mom, don't you think you ought to get some rest?” He turned to me. “She really shouldn't do too much for a few days. Doctor's orders.”

Martha gave him a strange expression. He returned her enigmatic look with a stony one.

I knew when I wasn't wanted, and I certainly didn't need to be in the same room with Mo. “Sorry to bother you. I came to return your mother's dish and report on the Fiori kids. They've been taken to the Moline hospital.”

I could tell Martha wanted to ask me about that, but Mo's deep frown followed me as I hustled off, glad to be leaving that house.

“I have to go into town with Al now. Bye,” I called over my shoulder on my way out, pausing momentarily as I wondered if I might be leaving Martha in danger.