Carried to the Grave and Other Stories Read online

  David Vogel. I had never met him, but from Lou Mary’s stories, it was clear they’d been a solid match.

  “Sometimes it takes a second try to get it right,” Tracy said, and she had reason to know.

  “We vacationed in the area a few times, and I moved here after I was widowed. I never imagined they’d become my neighbors.” Lou Mary added another tissue to the pile. “Still, it’s hard to watch him deteriorate. Sometimes I think it’s payback for what he put me through, but that’s not a very charitable thought.”

  “But a perfectly understandable one.” I straightened. “I’d better get back outside. Take as much time as you need. Head home, if you want.”

  I stepped around the counter into the kitchen—it was open to the shop floor so customers could watch while my mother rolled out her fresh pastas or Tracy made her chocolate truffles. The counters were covered with casseroles, many in the red-and-white dishes from Kitchenalia, and it took me a few tries to find another pan of elk medallions. The conversation with Lou Mary made me see Nan’s obsession with the cooking contest in a new light. Kitchen therapy.

  At the serving tables, I pulled the foil lid off Nan’s dish and began cutting. The rich aroma of the thyme-studded sauce struck my nostrils, and as I served the next batch of guests, I tried to ignore the rumblings in my tummy.

  Adam returned from his own volunteer duty, emptying trash cans. “Any chance you can break away for a bite?”

  The Easter twins had just arrived to work the table for the final hour. “Erin, go,” Bunny urged at the exact moment that Polly said, “Go, Erin.” They made shooing motions with their hands.

  And so we went, leaving them in charge. Mine isn’t the only family of bossy women in town.

  We were halfway up Front Street, halfway through slices of warm brioche spread with fresh butter from the creamery and raspberry jam that made the autumn day taste like summer, when I spotted Nan in the sculpture park next to the Playhouse. I followed her gaze to a tall bronze sculpture of a grizzly bear, ferocious even in still life. Joe darted out from behind the statue, raising his arms in a menacing imitation. I glanced at Nan, prepared to laugh with her at his antics. But as I watched, her expression turned from frustration to fear. A rock whizzed past her head and I glanced back at Joe, who had scooped up a handful of the egg-sized cobble surrounding the grizzly’s giant feet. He threw another rock at Nan, who stood, frozen, then another. I screamed and dropped my bread, rushing to drag her behind a bronze mountain goat. It didn’t give us full cover, but it helped, as Joe’s rocks pelted the statue and bounced off with a metallic twang.

  “Joe, stop,” I heard Adam say. “Stop.” I peered out. Adam had Joe’s arms pinned behind his back, while Chef Ray held him from the front. Joe looked dazed, almost limp, next to the two younger, stronger men. Beside me, Nan whimpered.

  I couldn’t leave Nan to hunt for Detective Bello. I pulled the phone out of my apron pocket.

  “No!” Nan cried. “Don’t call the sheriff. He can’t go to jail. Or the psych ward. He’s not crazy. He’s sick.”

  “He needs help, Nan. So do you.”

  “No,” she repeated and unfolded herself from her protective crouch. “I’m his wife and I will take care of him. Joe, it’s time to go home.”

  “If you leave now,” I said, “you’ll miss the announcement of the winners.” Not that you need to be present to win, but it’s more fun if you are. And from what I’d seen it seemed clear that Nan needed all the fun she could get.

  “I didn’t eat,” Joe said, whining like a cranky toddler. “I want to eat!”

  “I’ll take him,” Adam said. “We can snare a bite on our way.”

  “Better to take him straight home,” Nan said. “I left a pan of elk medallions on the kitchen counter. It’s a red-and-white dish, already baked. Just stick his plate in the microwave.”

  “Easy-peasy, as Erin would say,” Adam replied, and I smiled despite the awful situation.

  “Soon as he eats,” Nan continued, “he’ll fall asleep in his chair. Leave the TV on and come back downtown. He’ll never know.” She kissed Joe on the cheek, then turned to Ray. “Show time, Chef!”

  “You sure about this?” I asked Adam in a low voice. “Want me to come?” Whatever fight had gotten into Joe seemed to have left him, but for how long?

  “Nah. He can’t be worse than some of the campers I’ve dealt with. Just bigger.” He gave me that grin that made my toes warm. “You stay here. This is your deal.” Adam enjoyed the village festivities, but just as much, he wanted me to enjoy them, and he knew events like this were good for both the town and the Merc.

  “Okay. But don’t hesitate to call for help if he gets out of hand, despite what Nan said.”

  I watched them leave, the tall, lanky, capable man my friends had dubbed Wilderness Guy and the white-haired man whose mind was deep in the grip of an unseen enemy. You make big decisions in life, like marriage, with big hope, committing to the unknowable future. But you never really believe the terrible things will happen to you, do you?

  On the sidewalk lay my crumpled napkin and the bread I’d dropped. I knelt and scooped it up, not wanting someone to step in my mess.

  “The Playhouse restrooms are open,” Nan said, noticing my sticky palms. “Closer than the Merc.”

  “Perfect.”

  Fortunately, a woman on her way out held the door for me. I adore the Playhouse. The lobby had been remodeled since my days in the high school drama club, and the embossed ceiling tiles, mosaic-covered pillars, and painted benches give it a seriously whimsical mood. I washed the goo off my hands, then ducked into a stall. I learned long ago never to pass up the opportunity to pee in a clean, dry restroom.

  “At some point, she’s going to have to find a place that will take him,” a woman said.

  “Can you imagine?” another woman said. “She’s got to think about herself. Her”—the sound of the water drowned out the rest of her words.

  They had to be talking about Nan Crawford. I thought I’d heard the word “heart.” Heartbreaking? My heart goes out to her? All that and more, no doubt.

  The women were gone by the time I emerged and washed my hands a second time. Outside, on the sidewalk paved with bricks stamped with donors’ names, I glanced around. Adam and Joe were long gone, down the street and across the bridge to the condo by the bay.

  No sign of Nan. People were beginning to migrate toward the open area between Dragonfly Dry Goods and the Jewel Inn, the closest thing we have to a town square. Winners would be announced there.

  I was suddenly ravenous. The closest tables were for appetizers. Pickings were slim, but I managed to score some yummy crab puffs and a hot artichoke dip on bruschetta that was light on the Parm and heavy on the mayo. Donna from the liquor store handed me a paper cup of mulled wine.

  “Plenty more where that came from, darlin’,” she said, her tone sympathetic. Word of Joe’s tantrum had spread.

  “Erin, I saved you some blondies,” Margo Springer called from the cookie booth.

  “Ohmygosh. They are soo good.” She handed me a plastic bag and I slipped it into my apron pocket, then took the last lemon bar to eat now. “Perfect for later, after things quiet down.”

  She beamed. The staticky crackle of someone testing the sound system filled the air and we joined the crowd, eager to hear the results of both the scholarship drive and the cooking competition. My friend Kathy Jensen, chair of the event, climbed into the back of an old red farm truck, microphone in hand.

  “Of all the festivals in Jewel Bay, Autumn Fest might be my favorite,” she said. “This is the day when we come together as a community to celebrate the harvest and the great bounty of food, friendship, and generosity that has blessed our little town. Ticket sales and donations to our scholarship fund were more generous than ever, though we won’t know the exact total until next week. Merchants, I need your ticket sales by Monday, please.”

  That reminded me that I hadn’t yet turned in the proceed
s from tickets we’d sold at the Merc. The envelope sat in the drawer of the antique brass cash register at our front counter.

  Kathy went on to update us on previous years’ scholarship winners and to recognize the major donors to the festival. Volunteers might power an event, but the expenses add up anyway.

  “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Chef Ray, Chef Tony.” She handed off the microphone and Ray helped her down from the truck bed, then the two men hopped up.

  “The envelope, please.” Ray held out his hand. Tony pulled a long white envelope out of his hip pocket and brandished it before handing it over.

  The crowd laughed. The chefs paid the requisite compliments to the organizers and volunteers and proclaimed that Jewel Bay truly was a food lover’s village.

  Then they started down the categories. The crab puffs won the appetizer award, with the second place spoon going to a puff pastry tart that sounded delish, and third to honey-mustard chicken bites that had been gone by the time I’d reached the table. They moved on to soups.

  “Come on, come on,” I heard a woman mutter. Nan, a few feet away.

  The phone in my pocket buzzed and I pulled it out. Read Adam’s text. Courtyard. Need you NOW.

  I turned and ran.

  When I say Jewel Bay is small, I mean it. I made the block and a half to the Merc in record time. I shoved open the front door and glanced around. Empty. Past the shop floor, past the kitchen, a hallway leads to our back door and the courtyard behind the shop. I rushed to the open door and stopped on the threshold. Over the sound of my thumping heart, I heard a siren in the distance. They’d have to come the long way, across the bridge and up Back Street, a.k.a. Back Alley, to avoid the crowd and the blocked-off streets.

  Lou Mary lay on the cobblestones, Adam’s fleece quarter-zip under her head. He knelt beside her while a few feet away, a highly disheveled Gordon Springer paced, speaking urgently into his phone.

  I’d chalked her earlier pallor and imbalance up to the shock of seeing her former husband’s condition. Had she been seriously ill and none of us had noticed?

  “The EMTs are taking their time,” Gordon barked into the phone. “Is there nothing else we can do before then?”

  From the corner came the sound of someone choking back fear.

  “Tracy!” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. They finished serving and everyone went to hear the winners announced. Lou Mary stayed behind. She wanted to fix a plate, but the dishes out front were nearly empty, so she helped herself from what was left in the kitchen.”

  Where we’d stashed the extra pans. The town cooks had been generous this year.

  The siren was getting closer. Adam had two fingers on Lou Mary’s neck. For the first time, I noticed the vomit covering the front of her sweater and caught a whiff of the sour smell.

  “She came out here to eat.” Tracy gestured to the courtyard, a sweet little refuge dotted with bistro tables and chairs. “Then, a few minutes later, I heard someone yelling to call 911. I ran out and found Adam kneeling beside her. Gordon came in while I was on the phone. He called an ER doc he knows. Erin, is she going to make it?”

  That I couldn’t answer.

  “Stay here,” I said, “in case they need anything.” Tracy’s lower lip trembled and I dashed back into the shop. Locked the front door and turned the sign to closed. Cooks would come by to collect their dishes, and we’d need to tear down the tables out front, but all that could wait. I didn’t want to have to think about the shop until I could think again.

  In the kitchen, I grabbed several bottles of water. Casseroles, most in the familiar red-and-white dishes, littered the counters. Some were empty. One or two appeared undisturbed. Others, including my extra pan of rigatoni, had been opened and servings cut.

  By the time I got back to the courtyard, the EMTs had arrived. Adam was leaning against the Merc’s back wall next to Tracy. I handed them each a bottle of water. Adam took a long drink and pulled me close.

  “Thank God you found her,” I said. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice broke. “I just hope I found her in time.” Adam had oodles of experience treating backcountry ailments and injuries, but this was a far cry from a bee sting or a sprained ankle.

  Gordon sat at the nearest table, dwarfing the metal chair. I handed him a bottle and he took it gratefully. “The way the vomit smells—it could be poison.”

  “But from what? Everyone ate what she ate.”

  An EMT—his name escaped me—approached. “Her BP is stabilizing, and we got a line in. We’re about ready for transport.”

  “That’s good, right?” I asked.

  “It’s a good start,” he replied. “Can you tell me about her medications, any health problems?”

  Other than arthritis in her hands, I knew nothing about her medical history. I glanced at Gordon, who shook his head.

  “I’ll check her purse,” Tracy said.

  She was back in a flash with Lou Mary’s mahogany leather bag. We found nothing medical inside except a tube of the balm she used for her hands. We sell it in the Merc, and she was its great advertisement.

  “When the deputies arrive,” the EMT said, “you’ll want to give them her keys so they can search her home.”

  “The sheriff?” I asked. “You—you think there was a crime here?”

  “Not for me to decide, but when something looks like it isn’t natural causes . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

  We watched as the EMTs loaded Lou Mary into the ambulance. At the last moment, I rushed to the gurney and grabbed her hand. “We love you, Lou Mary. Get better. You have to get better.”

  “Ell,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Ell.”

  “Tell? Tell who?” She had no children, just a sister in another state. “Tell them what?”

  Her forehead wrinkled in frustration. With her impaired speech or my impaired comprehension?

  “The. Ell,” she repeated, as an EMT prepared to close the door. I backed away, wondering what the ell she’d been trying to tell me.

  I rejoined the others and turned to Adam.

  “You get Joe settled?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t eat much—got kinda dizzy, said his stomach hurt. Started talking about hunting and his first wife. About the only coherent thing he said was that Nan kept Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom, but I couldn’t find it. Tons of prescription bottles, but nothing for an upset stomach.”

  “That’s strange. He said he was hungry, and Nan said the elk was his favorite dish. Ohhh, my gosh.” I spun toward the alley but it was empty. The EMTs had left.

  Lou Mary hadn’t been saying “tell,” or even “hell.”

  She’d been saying “elk.”

  “Call 911 again. Ask them to send EMTs to Joe and Nan’s,” I told Tracy. Then, to Gordon, “Detective Bello is roaming the village somewhere. Send him to the condo, STAT. Then find Nan Crawford.”

  They all nodded, wide-eyed.

  “One more thing,” I told Tracy. “Don’t let anyone into the kitchen. Not even to collect a cooler or a dish. No one.”

  Our kitchen, I feared, had become a crime scene.

  I grabbed Adam’s hand and we sprinted down Back Street and across the bridge. When we got to the condos, he led the way to the Crawfords’ place, a large end unit with a balcony and a killer view.

  I wasn’t at all sure that Joe had been asking Adam for Alka-Seltzer. I feared he’d been telling Adam that Nan had put something in the elk. She’d been too eager to get him home and fed. Had she poisoned the dish she’d left for him, knowing he’d scarf it down? But with what?

  An image of Nan and that arm dripping with bracelets flashed into my mind. The easily-recognizable Tiffany silver links adorned with a simple heart. A Pandora bracelet dripping with beads and charms. And a medical alert bracelet. I could see it plain as day. A friend wore one for her bee allergy, another for diabetes.
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  And Nan’s? I was betting on a heart condition. That’s what Lou Mary had been referring to when she mentioned the toll Joe’s decline had taken on Nan, and what the women in the restroom had been talking about. But I wouldn’t know for sure until I saw those pill bottles.

  For the second time this afternoon, I listened for the wail of an ambulance and urged it to hurry. I followed Adam inside.

  “Joe?” he called. “It’s Adam Zimmerman. Joe?”

  We found Joe on the floor next to his recliner. I gagged at the smell. Like Lou Mary, he’d vomited heavily, and when Adam checked his pulse, it was dangerously fast and irregular.

  “Go watch for the EMTs,” he told me. “Joe doesn’t have time to lose.”

  My mission could wait. I ran down to the complex’s main entrance and directed the ambulance to the Crawfords’ condo. Then I slipped into the master bath. Covered my hand with the apron I was still wearing to sort through the bottles. Both Nan and Joe had a boatload of prescriptions, but one, for Nan, stood out. Three bottles, all empty.

  In the living room, the EMTs continued to work on Joe. They were serious, intent, but I could tell they weren’t holding out much hope. If—and it was a big if, but I’m not big on coincidence—Joe and Lou Mary had been poisoned by the same drug, had he gotten a bigger dose? Had the dementia weakened his system? Or was my beloved friend in as much trouble as her former husband?

  They were strapping Joe onto the gurney when Detective Bello arrived. I couldn’t hear his exchange with the crew chief, but the look on his face was grim. The EMTs wheeled Joe away, and moments later the siren began its cry. Bello finished stalking around the condo, then returned to the living room, where Adam and I huddled near the French doors overlooking the bay.

  “Tell me all about it,” he said. Adam went first, then Bello turned to me. “I presume you have a theory.”

  He may have been new in town, but my reputation had preceded me.

  “Nan’s specialty for the festival is a casserole. Elk medallions in cream sauce. She left a pan of them here for Joe, knowing he might want to come home before she was ready. She takes digoxin for a heart condition. There are three empty bottles in the master bath. I think she poisoned the dish, knowing Joe loved it. I don’t know if she meant to kill him, or just make him sick enough that she could put him in a nursing home. Memory care. He’s got dementia and it’s pretty bad.”