Part 6 (1/2)
”She didn't seem sick or anything, did she?” I asked. ”Mildred seems to have come down with something, and we aren't sure if it's a virus or something she ate.”
Willene laughed. ”I didn't see her turning down a second piece of lemon chess pie. Seemed fine when she left here.”
Edna Smith sounded hearty enough, as well. ”I can't imagine what it could be,” she said when I phoned her about Mildred. ”I ate the same things she did, and we only had light refreshments at UMW. Sounds like she's picked up a nasty germ somewhere. Tell you what-Hank left early this morning to go hunting, but I'm looking for him any minute. Soon as he gets back, I'll send him over to take a look.”
”He isn't going to find anything,” Mildred said when I told her. ”Whatever stuff was in me is gone now.”
Gatlin brought ginger ale and soda crackers and persuaded Mildred to take some liquid. ”What makes you think somebody put something in your drink, Mildred? It could be a virus, you know.”
”Then why am I the only one who got sick? And it made me feel like a zombie, like I'd been given some kind of drug. Remember when I had that gall bladder operation? It was like that. Felt just like I did when I came to-only worse!”
”But why?” I smiled. ”You don't have a stash of priceless gems somewhere, do you? What would they want?”
She bit into a cracker. ”There are things that might be worth more than that to certain people.”
”Like what?” Gatlin asked. But Mildred wasn't talking.
”I have to pick up Faye from a birthday party, and Lizzie will come home from Scouts at any minute,” Gatlin said, glancing at her watch. I nodded in reply to her questioning look. Now that we were reasonably sure Mildred wasn't going to bow out on us, I felt capable enough to stay until Hank Smith could get there.
The ginger ale and crackers seemed to have revived her some, for now Mildred began to fuss about her appearance. ”I want to wash my face, brush my teeth...andfor heaven's sake, let me change out of this gown.” She clasped a small, age-speckled hand to her bony chest as if to cover it. ”Why, Hank Smith could see everything I've got!”
It was a family joke that Mildred pinned handkerchiefs to the underside of her clothing so that no one would suspect she had a crease in that area. I could have told her she might save herself the trouble.
Gatlin stood, arms folded, in front of her. ”Consider it done,” she said, but I could tell by her voice something was up. It was. ”But first,” my cousin continued, ”you'll have to answer a question-just one!” She held upa warning finger to Mildred's silent protest. ”And you have to promise to tell the truth.”
”For goodness' sake, have you no shame? Bullying an old woman, and as sick as I am, too!...Oh, goon, then. What is it you want?” Apparently Mildred could see she was on the losing end of this one.
”Why didn't you tell us Otto had a girlfriend?” Gatlin asked.
”There was nothing to that.” Mildred should never play poker. It was clear she was holding something back.
”That's not what I heard,” I told her. ”And what would it matter if he did? Otto was a grown man. He had a right to some kind of love life.”
”Maybe so, but there are those who might not agree with you.”
”Mildred, we know he was seeing Sylvie Smith. Why are you being so mysterious?” Gatlin looked around for her bag as a prelude to leaving.
”I got the idea her parents disapproved,” she said. ”Our Otto wasn't good enough for their precious Sylvia.”
”What makes you think that?” Gatlin asked.
”You mean other than the fact that Edna told me she thought Sylvie was making a big mistake to put off going back to London?” Mildred looked almost as upset as she did that time I actually dried my hands on her freshly ironed guest towel.
”That doesn't mean she disapproved of Otto.” Gatlin kissed our patient on the cheek and started out the door. ”You behave now, and do as Minda says or I'll come back and bite you. I'll be home soon if you need me.”
The last was directed to me, but I hoped I wouldn't have to take advantage of it.
”Was Otto still seeing Sylvie when he died?” I asked as I brushed Mildred's thinning hair. She seemed stronger now, but I was afraid she might be too weak to walk down the hall to the bathroom, so we had done the best we could with a washrag and a basin of water.
”Hard to say, since he never brought her here.” Mildred fastened the top b.u.t.ton of her clean flannel gown, gave it a final pat, and held out her arms for her robe. ”He had something on his mind, though. I kind a thought it might've had something to do with that woman, but Otto didn't talk to me about things like that.”
”Maybe they had a quarrel or something,” I said. ”Her mother would know, wouldn't she? Did Edna ever mention it?”
”She was probably the cause of it.” Mildred made a face.
”Now, don't get me wrong... I've always liked Edna Smith. She's been a good friend to me, but I know for a fact Otto wasn't welcome in their home, and I can't help but hold that against her.”
I laid the hairbrush aside. ”How do you know?”
”Oh, just things he let slip-like once Sylvie had wanted to try her hand at cooking, have him over for dinner, but Edna decided to have the kitchen painted. And another time I think they had houseguests-relatives from out of town- and Otto said he felt like an intruder.”
It sounded to me like Otto needed to lighten up, but it was a little late for that. ”I don't remember seeing Sylvie at the funeral,” I said.
”That's because she wasn't there. Doesn't that make you curious, Arminda? Even if they weren't on the best of terms when he died, you'd think she'd at least pay her respects.”
”Maybe she was too broken up, couldn't handle it.
” Her look told me what she thought of that. ”If I live to see another day, I intend to find that out. And how do we know Sylvia Smith didn't have something to do with the way Otto died? I wouldn't be surprised!”
”Mildred! You can't be serious. She and Otto might have come to a parting of the ways, but it didn't have to be terminal.” Whatever bug had taken hold of Mildred had surely scrambled her brain, I thought. Before I could ask how she meant to go about investigating, the doorbell rang, and I hurried to admit Hank Smith, Sylvie's father.
”She seems some better,” I whispered as we stood in the hallway, ”but don't be surprised at what she might say. Mildred seems convinced somebody drugged her coffee at the UMW last night.”
Hank Smith shook his head and smiled. ”I don't suppose she gave you a reason?”
”Says they were after something,” I said. ”And she did sleep through most of the day. Whatever she had just about wiped her out, especially after losing Otto the way we did.”
He gave my shoulder a sympathetic pat. ”Given Mildred's age and emotional status, an illness of this sort might sometimes bring about delusions.”
But I wasn't having delusions a few minutes later when, to give Mildred a little privacy with our family doctor, I unlocked the connecting door to the bookshop and found the room looking like somebody had picked it up and shaken it.
Chapter Eight.
Looks like a stampede of elephants came through here,”the young policeman said, running a hand through unruly brown hair. He reminded me of Paddington Bear with his bright yellow slicker and rounded tummy. I later learned his name was Rusty Echols and he was Chief Mc Bride's nephew. Nepotism has never been a problem in Angel Heights. They just ignore it.
The lock to the front door had been forced, the chief told us later-although, according to him, a five-year-old could've done it. And as for fingerprints, the shop was covered in those of every book-lover in town.
On discovering the break-in, my first instinct had been to gather the books that littered the floor like scattered building blocks and put them back where they belonged before Mildred could see them. Thank goodness my few commonsense brain cells banded together to remind me this was not a good thing. Not only would I be destroying evidence, but I also had no idea where anything went. We didn't even tell Mildred what had happened until after Hank Smith s.h.i.+pped her off to County General for an overnight stay-just in case, he said.
”I told you somebody slipped me a Mickey,” she reminded us later from her hospital bed. ”Wanted me out of the way so they could search Papa's Armchair.”
”Search for what, Mildred?” my grandmother asked. ”If you'll tell us what you think they're looking for, we'll put it in a safe place.”
”Don't you worry, it is in a safe place. I've taken care of that.” In her white hospital bed, Mildred looked like a washed-out rag doll in need of stuffing. Beside her, Vesta, although close in age, seemed almost robust except for the worry in her eyes and the weariness in her face.
Vesta stood, drawing herself up to her full five feet ten inches, and gave Mildred a heaping taste of her frustration and displeasure. ”Mildred Parsons, need I remind you how Otto died? And he was probably killed for a reason-by somebody right here in this town. Do you think they would hesitate to do the same to you?”