Twisted Reason (3 page)

“No offense, Butler, but if you want to play pitiful, you’re going to have to take it elsewhere. I have work to do.”

Jumbo spun around, his whole face now burning bright. He nodded and mumbled at Marguerite as he passed her coming back to the porch.

“Whoa, Lieutenant,” Marguerite said with a laugh. “He looks a little worse for wear. You giving him a hard time?”

“No need, he was doing a fine job of beating himself up.”

They walked in the front door across the gleaming wood floors to the tiled surface of the kitchen. Vicki hadn’t moved from the position she’d assumed when Lucinda left her earlier. Her head bowed over the table rested on folded arms. Lucinda pointed to the tray by the toaster and as Marguerite followed the direction of her finger, Lucinda placed a hand on Vicki’s back. “Mrs. Humphries?”

Vicki raised her head and looked at Lucinda with red, wet and vacant eyes.

“Are those all the medications your father-in-law was taking?” Lucinda asked pointing to Marguerite who was bagging up the prescription bottles.

Vicki blinked her eyes several times, furrowed her brow and nodded her head.

“Did he have any spare bottles of any of those he could have taken with him?”

Again she made multiple blinks before answering with a shake of her head.

“Did he take those medications on his own or did you need to give them to him?”

“I . . .” Vicki struggled to force her tongue down from the roof of a dried mouth.

Realizing Vicki’s problem, Lucinda placed a hand on her shoulder and said,
“Wait. Let me get you a glass of water.” She pulled a tumbler off of an open shelf and filled it from the ice-water dispenser on the front of the stainless steel refrigerator.

Vicki took two greedy swallows before placing the half-empty glass on the table. “Sometimes he’d think to ask about his pills but he never could remember whether or not he’d already done so. I’m sure he wouldn’t have taken them with any regularity if I hadn’t given them to him.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Lucinda said, turning to leave the room. She spun back and asked, “Mrs. Humphries, can you think of any reason why your father-in-law would have dozens of acorns in his pockets.”

“Acorns?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Acorns? I have no idea.”

Lucinda and Marguerite were at the front door when they heard steps on the stairway behind them. The two women turned to greet the person descending. A corpulent man, in khaki pants, a brown tweed jacket, white shirt and golden tie, breathed heavily as he made his way down. A clump of blonde-gray hair straggled on his forehead, revealing a balding head. He clutched a black bag in his left hand.

“Were you the doctor caring for Mr. Humphries?”

“Yes.”

“Your name?” Lucinda asked.

“Dr. Nelson. Dr. Harry Nelson. And you?”

“Pierce, Lieutenant Pierce,” she said with a quick flash of her shield. “I’d like to speak to your patient.”

“You’re a bit late for that, Lieutenant. I gave him a strong sedative. Reverend Wrigley is sitting with him until he’s sure Eric is asleep. But even if he is awake, he’ll be too groggy for a grilling. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients waiting in my office.”

“Do you normally make house calls, Doctor?”

“No. This was an extraordinary circumstance, don’t you agree?”

“Certainly, Doctor. But why did you give him a sedative?”

Dr. Nelson pulled back his chin and looked at her as if she was a specimen. “He’s been through a rather traumatic experience, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“But why a sedative strong enough to knock him out, Doctor?”

“Because, in my medical opinion, that is what was called for. Are you questioning my professional judgment?”

“Just wondering if there was a reason why you didn’t want him to answer my questions.”

“You have a suspicious mind, Lieutenant.”

“And you have a diagnostic one. You still haven’t answered my question, Doctor.”

“I really need to go,” he said brushing past her.

She grabbed his arm. “Not yet. Were you Edgar Humphries’ primary physician?”

“Of course. I cared for the whole family.”

“What medications did you prescribe for him?”

“I’d have to check his file to know the specific names and doses.”

“Marguerite?” Lucinda asked.

The forensic supervisor stepped forward with the Baggie of pill bottles. “Doctor, are these the prescriptions you wrote for Edgar Humphries?”

“Yes, yes. You can see my name on them.”

“Is anything missing?” Lucinda asked.

“I don’t believe so.”

“Tell me, Doctor; are there any medicines in here that could be responsible for your patient’s death if he stopped taking them?”

“Well, stopping the Prozac abruptly could have made him suicidal. Did you see any water bottle near his body?”

“No.”

“He was on two blood pressure medications. That could have taken his life but, in all likelihood, it would take more than five months to do that. I say the mostly likely problem would be the Plavix. It’s a blood thinner and he had stents in his heart. Without that drug, the blockage in his stents could have induced a heart attack.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m sure I’ll be back in touch.”

“You want records, Lieutenant; make sure you bring a subpoena.”

It was one of those times when Lucinda wished she were still a child – she wanted to stick her tongue out at his retreating back.

When he closed the door behind him, Marguerite asked, “You think he might have had a reason to shut up his patient?”

“It was a stray thought, but who knows? And who knows why? Just the fact that he made a house call raises a red flag for me. But I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s a homicide yet.”

Five

Lucinda stepped into the living room where elegance struck a perfect balance with comfort. Broad, white crown molding ran around the space with an oak leaf and acorn motif carved into the center board at regularly spaced intervals. A marble fireplace with matching hearth and mantle stood at the end of the room flanked by a pair of built-in bookcases – the edge of each shelf adorned with the same design as the crown molding. The treatment applied to the walls looked more like watercolor than house paint – an abstract rendition of the shallow shoreline along the Caribbean Sea.

Gathered around the hearth, a love seat, sofa and a pair of chairs in a plump, rounded style threw splashes of ocean blue both in a solid color on some pieces and in a delicate floral pattern against an off-white background on others – inviting furniture that promised hours of cozy conversation and relaxation. In a corner of the room next to the hallway, an armless, slip-covered chair stood beside a walnut drop-leaf table with barley-twist legs.

Lucinda selected to settle in that spot because of its good view of the front door and hallway. She sat to an angle in the chair, plopped the file folder on the table and began to read. She’d finished with the statements of the three caregivers when she heard footsteps on the stairway once again. She rose, stepped into the hallway and looked up as Reverend Wrigley descended the stairs with a furrowed brow and a harsh frown. “Reverend?” she said.

He jerked to a stop with a gasp. “Lieutenant, you startled me.”

 “Sorry, sir. I do need to ask you a few questions.”

“You know, ma’am, as the family’s spiritual and marital counselor, I have to hold everything they told me in strictest confidence.”

“So, Vicki and Eric needed marriage counseling.”

“I didn’t say that,” Wrigley objected.

“Not exactly. But you did say, and I quote, that you were their ‘marital counselor’. Now, it seems to me, Reverend, that unless they needed help with their marriage, you wouldn’t be filling that role.”

“There was nothing wrong with their marriage, it was just that . . . I can’t say anything more. Please. No more questions,” he said, holding up open palms in front of his chest.

“Okay. Nothing more about their relationship. What about Edgar Humphries?”

“What about him?”

“Did he attend your church?”

“He did when he first moved in with his son.”

“When was that?”

“About two and a half years ago as I recall.”

“So he lived here for two years before he disappeared?”

“Something like that.”

“But then he stopped attending church?”

Wrigley sighed. “We allowed him to serve the same function in our church as he did in his former church in Nelson County. He was an usher. He was responsible for handing out the church bulletin before the church service and helping pass the collection plates to accept the gifts the congregation bestows upon us in exchange for my spiritually uplifting message. Then one Sunday after finishing the final pew, he just kept walking out the door. Eric found him a couple of blocks away. The collection plate was nearly empty – he’d been handing out the money to the people he met in the street as if it belonged to him and not to God.”

Lucinda swallowed hard to keep a spontaneous laugh from erupting. She didn’t think the good reverend would appreciate her sense of humor. “He stopped coming after that?”

“Not right away. At first, we just took away his responsibilities. But even though we welcomed him into the bosom of our church as a member, not participating as an usher seemed to agitate him. He complained about it each Sunday when he shook my hand after the service but he didn’t do anything more. Then during one service, he bolted out of his seat, ran up and down the aisles and tried to forcefully remove the collection plates out of ushers’ hands. Coins, bills and checks went everywhere. A couple of kids started crying when they got hit in the face by flying quarters, dimes and nickels. It was so disruptive and, of course, so terribly tragic. God bless that poor man.” He folded one palm across the other and bowed his head.

Something about the retelling of the event and his assumption of the pious pose seemed phoney to Lucinda. She suspected it was how he played his congregation to feed his own ego. Irritation scratched dissonance into her voice. “Well, did you at least minister to him here at home?”

“He never asked for me, the poor man, not once.”

“That’s lame, preacher man. He was a lost soul. You could have responded to that without an invitation,” she sneered. “Here’s my card. You think of anything that can help my investigation, give me a call.”

“I’ll pray for you,” he said in a meek tone of voice.

“Quite frankly, sir, a good lead would be far more productive.”

He stared at her with pity-filled eyes. Lucinda feared he’d fall to his knees and break into prayer for her immortal soul right where he stood. Instead, he broke his gaze with a sigh, turned and walked outside without saying another word. She mentally labeled and filed him under ‘hypocritical blowhard’.

The card she’d given him lay abandoned on the floor where he stood. She bent to pick it up and became aware of small sounds of movement in the kitchen. She walked into the doorway and spotted Vicki in front of the sink holding a glass carafe.

“Hello, Lieutenant. I’m getting ready to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Want a cup?” Vicki asked.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Have a seat at the table. I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready.”

Lucinda slid back into the chair she’d occupied earlier, but this time, in addition to observing Vicki, she absorbed the pleasant ambience of her surroundings. The kitchen design was different from that in the living room but had a soulful compatibility with it. It was warm, with a sort of south-west feel dominated by earth tones but with splashes of primary and secondary colors everywhere. “You have a lovely kitchen,” Lucinda said.

Vicki chuckled. “Thank you. We did this a few years ago after Jimmy, our youngest, went off to college. We were feeling our oats then – free at last, free at last. Just the two of us on our own, living our own life, making a schedule based on what we wanted to do. And being a bit more spontaneous. Sure, we had to accommodate the kids when they came home on break but the rest of the year was ours.

“The weekend after we took Jimmy to Maryland to school, we flew off to the Mexican Riviera to rekindle our old romance. And it worked – oh my, did it work. It was as passionate and intense as was when we first met.” Vicki closed her eyes; a small smile caressed her lips.

“That sounds very nice,” Lucinda said with a smile, reminding her of the weekend she spent with Jake last Fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Vicki opened her eyes, poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table. After sitting down, she continued, “While we were there, I bought all of these hand-painted door handles, drawer pulls and wall tiles you see scattered in the backsplash design, along with a few other odds and ends. I wanted to decorate the kitchen in a way that captured the feeling of Mexico and the magic of that weekend. I think I did a pretty good job of it. I love this room – it’s where I come when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed. It always helps restore my balance and serenity. Except maybe today. I don’t know if anything could work after the way this morning started.”