Prodigal Son (20 page)

“You don’t know that,” the man said angrily. “I think he did.”

“You don’t know that either,” Peter shot back.

“Then we’ll let the police figure it out. I thought maybe you’d help me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Walt said he screwed you out of your inheritance too. You ought to know how I feel. Besides, he killed my daddy,” the man said with tears in his eyes. “I’m sure he did.” He looked overwrought to Peter. He just hoped the man didn’t have a gun and decide to shoot him instead. He hoped he didn’t go to Michael’s house and scare Maggie out of her wits, or Lisa.

“He didn’t screw me. He’s my brother. And he deserved what he got. That’s nobody’s business but ours.”

“Fine, then. Don’t help me. I’ll go to the police.” Peter said nothing as the man got into his car, revved the engine, and drove away, and he spat at Peter out the window as he drove past him, just missing Peter, who went into the house then to call Michael. He wanted to warn him that there was a nutcase on the loose. But Michael sounded unconcerned. He said he knew all about him and what he was saying. He was saying it all over town. Michael said he had already warned the police to keep an eye on the house. He told Peter that the man who had come to see him had a severe problem with alcohol and suffered from delusions, and his sister had had psychiatric problems for years. The whole family was nuts. And his father had been riddled with cancer before he died, “of natural causes,” Michael added.

“I’m sorry he bothered you. I’ll report it,” Michael said calmly,
sounding undisturbed. “It’s one of those things I told you about. People who come unhinged when they lose a loved one. I feel bad that the old man left me his money, but it was the wish of a dying man. If they were decent people, I’d give it back to them, but their father wouldn’t want that. They’ll just spend it on drugs and booze. They’re a bad lot, and their father knew it.” Peter could see that they were. “That’s why he left the money to me. He didn’t have anyone else responsible to leave it to.”

“Well, just be careful,” Peter said, sounding worried. “I don’t want them shooting you.”

“They won’t,” Michael said, laughing. “I move too fast. And the police chief is my friend. He’ll take care of me.”

“Lock your doors tonight,” Peter warned him.

“Thank you, brother,” Michael said, smiling, and Peter shook his head when he hung up the phone. The man who had come to see him had really unnerved him. And Michael was right. He looked nuts. Poor Michael, that was all he needed, Peter thought, being accused of murdering a patient. But like Michael, Peter knew the accusation would go nowhere. Michael really was a saint. He would never do a thing like that. The man’s accusations weren’t worth a second thought. He just hoped that Michael would be careful for a while, until the lunatic calmed down.

Peter didn’t go into town again for a few days, and when he did, he stopped at the diner for lunch and saw Vi. She was a kindly, motherly presence in his life, and insisted he have a slice of fresh apple pie. It was delicious. She was busy and didn’t have time to chat, and after lunch Peter stopped at the hardware store to pick up some things. He was replacing all the old screens before the summer. The house was looking better every day, and he wanted to finish all his little projects before the boys arrived. When he saw Walt, he was about to tell him about the irate man who had showed up at the lake, when Walt stopped him in his tracks with what he said.

“I’m sorry to hear about your sister-in-law,” he said, looking sad. Everybody had loved Maggie since she was a child. Peter’s blood ran cold at the words. If something had happened to her, surely Michael would have called him. He was suddenly terrified that she’d died, and she had looked so well the last time he saw her, on the new medication Michael had started her on.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked tersely, ready to grab Walt by
the throat and choke it out of him. Peter stood looking tense as he waited for Walt to explain.

“I hear she’s in the hospital, real bad. Pneumonia. She went in last night.” It was a small town, and everyone knew what went on. Vi must not have heard it yet or she would have said something to him at lunch and she hadn’t. And Peter knew just how serious pneumonia would be for Maggie. He literally ran out of the hardware store and called Michael from his truck. But the call went straight to voicemail. He drove to St. Mary’s Hospital instead to see what was going on. And when he checked at the desk, they told him she was there. She was in a private room as a courtesy to Michael. And Peter went straight upstairs. Michael was sitting next to her bed, and Maggie had an oxygen mask on her face and her eyes were closed.

“What happened?” Peter asked him in a hoarse whisper. His brother looked devastated. Her face was gray, and she was either unconscious or asleep. It reminded Peter instantly of when he’d visited her after her skating accident and she was in a coma. She looked almost as bad as that now.

“She had a reaction to the medication we tried,” Michael said in a whisper. “It paralyzed her breathing system. She did great on it for a few days. And now this.” Peter looked grim as he listened, and his brother looked worse than his wife. Peter reached out and squeezed his shoulder and sat with him for a long time. Michael checked her vital signs regularly. The head nurse stuck her head in the door, but she knew Michael was with Maggie, so she left immediately. Maggie was getting the best care she could, with Michael attending to her. It was a long time before she stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw both of them and looked groggy. She was sedated, and they had a breathing tube standing by in case she needed it.

“What are you two doing here?” she whispered weakly.

“Just hanging out, we had nothing else to do,” Peter said with a lopsided grin. “How do you feel?” He tried to look less worried about her than he felt. But all their fear was in Michael’s eyes.

“I feel weird. Sleepy.” She had taken the mask off to talk to them, and Michael gently put it back. She needed the oxygen, and there was a clip on her finger to check the oxygen level in her blood. It had been frighteningly low the night before. He had called an ambulance at midnight. He didn’t want to drive her himself in case her heart stopped on the way there. She had been in dire straits and barely able to breathe, which was hard on her heart. And her heart had been delicate for years. Lisa had been panicked when they left, but Michael hadn’t wanted her to come. It was too upsetting for her.

Maggie went back to sleep then, and at seven o’clock Peter looked at his watch and whispered to his brother, “Do you want to get something to eat?” Michael hesitated, glanced at Maggie, and nodded. He had called in a young doctor from Warren to cover his patients all day. He had used him a few times before, but it was rare for Michael to take a day off. He had been at Maggie’s side since midnight the night before, and only had some soup the nurses had given him. And he thought Maggie was stable enough for them to leave her for a short time now. And he knew Lisa was at a friend’s. He followed Peter out of the room, and they walked the few blocks to the diner. Vi saw them as soon as they walked in. She had heard that Maggie was in the hospital by then, and asked how she was. The look on Michael’s face said it all.

Michael’s friend Jack Nelson, the chief of police, was there too, having dinner with one of his deputies. Michael stopped to say hello
to him on their way to a booth. Jack looked instantly sorry. He stood up and shook Peter’s hand when Michael introduced them.

“I heard about Maggie,” he said with a look of concern. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s holding on for now,” Michael said with a hopeful look. He was visibly exhausted. “I think we got her to the hospital in time.” They lived from one crisis to the next, and Jack Nelson felt sorry for him. Peter thought he looked like a nice man, and he seemed genuinely fond of Michael and Maggie.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” the chief offered. “I’ll have the boys keep an eye on the house.” He knew Lisa would be there alone. “Tell Lisa to call if she needs anything, even a pizza.”

“Thanks, Jack. She’s staying with a friend,” Michael said gratefully, and then he and Peter went to their booth. Vi poured them each a cup of steaming coffee the moment they sat down, as they both slowly started to unwind.

They both ordered the daily special at Vi’s suggestion. She said it was good, and happened to be meat loaf and mashed potatoes that night. Peter figured Michael needed the food, and he was hungry too.

“If Maggie’s lungs give out, we’ll lose her,” Michael said, looking desperate. “The Parkinson’s complicates everything and is our worst enemy now. We have to wait and see how she does in the next day or two.”

“Have you called Bill?” Peter asked, and Michael shook his head. “I wanted to see how she did today. I don’t want to bring him home for a false alarm.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll sit with her if you want, so you can go home and get some sleep.” Michael had already told him that Lisa couldn’t
come to the hospital because she had a cold, and they couldn’t take the risk.

“I don’t want to leave her,” Michael said wearily. “They can set up a cot in the room. I want to keep an eye on her.” Peter understood, and he was suddenly reminded of his conversation in London with Bill. It was insane to think that this man would kill his wife. He looked like he was ready to give his own heart or lungs to save her life. He would have if he could. Peter could see that now.

They went back to the hospital after they ate, and Vi gave them a bag of snacks to take with them and a Thermos of coffee. Peter left him around eleven that night, with the admonition to call him if anything happened. Michael promised that he would. And then Peter drove back to the lake. It had been an interminable day, for everyone. At least Peter had slept the night before, Michael hadn’t and looked it.

He got back to the lake house at eleven-thirty, and checked his computer for e-mails. He saw that he had one from Bill in London and sat down to read it. He almost cried when he did, after the day they’d just been through. His nephew was insane. He had sent an article about a weed killer named paraquat, which, when ingested in minute quantities in liquid form, mimicked the symptoms of Parkinson’s, and all of Maggie’s other symptoms. It was used in underdeveloped countries for suicides. There were a few reports of poisonings, most of them fatal. It was sold in liquid form in the States with dye in it and a severe odor and vomiting agent added as safeguards, but in Canada and Europe it was sold without the additives, in pure form, with no color, taste, or smell. It was lethal if used in even small doses, and in minuscule doses, you could kill someone slowly over a
long period of time. The accompanying message said that Bill was wondering if his father was using it on his mother. Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His e-mail was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen, and reeked of paranoia.

He was asleep when Bill called him the next morning and woke him up.

“Did you see my e-mail?” were his first words, and Peter groaned. He was still half asleep, but Michael hadn’t called him during the night with bad news, which was a good sign.

“Yes, I did,” Peter said slowly. “Bill, you have to give this up. Your father isn’t using weed killer to kill your mother. He’s a doctor, for chrissake. If he wanted to kill her, which he doesn’t, he’d use something a lot simpler than a weed killer he’d have to go over the Canadian border to buy. You have to let go of this.” He had watched Michael’s desperation to save Maggie the day before, which made Bill’s suspicions seem even crazier now. Peter sat up in bed then and looked at the clock. It was seven o’clock in the morning, noon in London. Bill said he had been researching it for days, and the weed killer he’d found had to be it. All the symptoms described were his mother’s. “Are you listening to me?” Bill shouted at him. And then he lowered his voice again.

“Your mom’s sick, by the way. She’s in the hospital,” Peter interrupted. He hated to be the one to tell him, but he thought he might as well know. Peter had lost all patience with him and his insane delusions about his father.

“With what?” Bill sounded panicked about his mother.

“She had a reaction to a drug she was taking, for the Parkinson’s. It did something to her lungs. Your dad is afraid it’s pneumonia. But she’s hanging in so far. I was with them all day yesterday until late
last night. Believe me, he’s not killing her. He’s doing everything he can to save her. No one could do more.”

“If he’s been poisoning her all along, all he has to do now is sit there and cry and watch it happen. That’s the best alibi he’s got.”

“You need therapy,” Peter said seriously. “Or drugs. You’re hallucinating.”

“I know this is it. I know every poison on the Internet. I’ve been researching it for months. He’s poisoning her, I know it. This stuff has been used before.”

“Not by doctors on their wives,” Peter said, feeling desperate. He couldn’t get Bill to calm down. “Your mom’s been sick since she was twenty. You have to face that, no matter how hard it is. She may not live through this. And if she does, there will be other times like this in the future. Bill, you have to grow up.”

“You have to listen to me!” his nephew shouted back at him. “I know him. He’s a sociopath. He’s crazy. He has no conscience or morals.”

“I know my brother. He’s not as crazy as you think,” Peter said, fighting to sound calm, although he wasn’t. “He can be a jerk. I hated him just like you do. But I swear, he loves your mother. He’d give his life for her.”

“My father doesn’t give a shit about anyone. For all you know, he killed your parents, for their money.”

“It wasn’t enough to matter,” Peter said quietly.

“My grandfather left her ten million dollars. Believe me, he would do it for that. If she leaves him half of it, that’s enough. I swear he only married her for what he knew my grandfather would leave her. In the condition she was in then, no one else would have married her. She was an annuity for him.”

“That’s a cruel thing to say about your mother.”