She was stunning. Not in the casual way that some women are pretty-but in a knock-you-down-dead level of beauty, the kind of loveliness that a man might see just once and remember for decades. She was Vietnamese-her eyes brown and softly almond-shaped, the brows naturally delicate, her skin perfect, her hair a long, dark lank that framed her impeccable face. Her lips were razor thin, but strangely erotic. She wore a simple T-shirt dress, with a stained apron. She didn't look at Sass, who glared at her with undisguised dislike.
“Lolly's not feeling well. Would you help get her up to bed?”
“Of course, Mutt,” Wendy answered. Her voice wasn't a musical one-but steely-strong, determined, intelligent. She glanced at me as I stood, supporting Lolly.
“I'll help you-” I offered, and Lolly moaned, collapsing against me-and vomiting. I didn't have time to react; the warm, sour effluence splashed over my clothes. Her hand struck the table, hard and spasmodic, and her wineglass tumbled over, spreading a stain as red as blood across the immaculate linen. I quickly lowered her to the floor, turning her on her side so she didn't choke on her bile. When the spasm was done, she tried to gasp an apology but couldn't. Deborah pushed me out of the way and knelt by her great-aunt. She elevated her aunt's head and yanked open Lolly's blouse and pressed her fingers against the older woman's chest. I cradled Lolly's head in my lap.
“Call 911! Hurry!” Deborah ordered. Wendy dashed for the phone. “Help me here, Jordan. Loosen her clothing, keep her head up. It's going to be okay, Aunt Lolly.”
“We're on an island, Deb. Remember?” Sass said softly. She turned to Mutt. “Surely you've got a first-aid kit…” Mutt nodded and hurried into the kitchen.
I watched, stunned while Deborah cleaned the bile from Lolly's mouth. Lolly jerked spasmodically, murmuring, “Oh, my sweet Charles, oh my God, oh, Deb, you get away from me…”
“Now, Aunt Lolly, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay-” Deb reassured her, but her eyes came up to mine and I saw a glint of panic behind the calm, professional facade. Heart attack. Maybe, her lips moved. I felt my own chest shudder. Tom, kneeling behind me, rose and rushed to Jake. They spoke softly, quickly, and then Tom bolted from the room.
“I know CPR.” Candace knelt beside us.
“We're not to that point yet,” Deborah whispered. “I'm an RN. Let's get her comfortable, see if we can calm her…”
I glanced at the others. Gretchen pressed against Bob Don, his arms wrapped around her. Philip and Aubrey stood together, stunned into stony silence. Sass stood apart, near the window, as though Lolly's condition might be contagious. Uncle Jake wavered on his cane, staring at Lolly with a mixture of shock and sorrow.
“Oh, God, oh, Charles, oh, where's Sweetie…?” Lolly Throckmorton moaned. “Oh, my blouse is open. Everyone will see my bra. Oh, dear.” Her hands painted figures in the air above her, pleadings with her fingers. Candace closed her hands around Lolly's and held them tightly.
The thudding of feet heralded Tom. He stumbled into the dining room, shock on his face, a pill bottle in his hand- and waved it back and forth.
“It's empty,” Tom panted. “It's gone. Where's the extra bottle, Uncle Jake?”
“No, that can't be.” Uncle Jake coughed. “It can't be gone-that's the only bottle.”
“What on earth-?” I began.
“Digoxin,” Jake called to Deb and me. “It's my heart medication-Tom thought it would help-”
“No, it won't. Too unpredictable,” Deb said. Lolly stopped breathing; I felt the shudder of her back against my knees. I moved back and Deb began the ritual of CPR.
Uncle Mutt and Wendy ran back into the room at the same time, her announcing that the Coast Guard was on its way from the station in Port O'Connor, him lugging a small satchel with a red cross on the side. He dumped the contents of the case open, fumbling madly through them, as though his sister's salvation lay among the scattered medications and bandages. I saw his hands shake above the spill.
“Do something!” he screamed at Deborah, who still concentrated on Lolly's still form. She did not look at her uncle and she pressed hard against Lolly's chest, counting out her own cadence to keep her aunt alive.
But the end came quickly. Louisa Goertz Throckmorton heaved and turned red. She spasmed and fell back against the floor, as though drifting into sleep.
I heard Gretchen murmur, “No. Oh, no,” behind me, and perhaps she was the next to realize that it was over. I felt numb to the bone and reached for the back of a chair to stand. I became aware that I reeked of Lolly's vomit.
Surprisingly, Aubrey helped me up, as though I were an old friend. A smile of disbelief played along his face.
Uncle Mutt kept repeating “No, no, no” as though it were some incantation to turn back time. Wendy drew close to him and took his hand. I looked over at Bob Don; he stared back at me, shock twisting his features into an empty glaze.
Deborah and Candace still worked feverishly over her, Deborah leaning on Lolly's chest. Only when Candace touched her shoulder and said, “I think she's gone,” did Deborah stop and listen to the silence in the throat and the chest. Despite the unpleasantness that had passed between them at dinner, Deborah began to cry softly over her aunt's body.
I sank into ray chair. A horrific quiet, like the still of the grave, permeated the house. It was as though we were all frozen into place. Except for Torn Bedrich, who quickly set down the empty Digoxin bottle as if it scalded his skin.
Nobody who has not been in the interior of a family can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be. -Jane Austen,
Emma
7
“You're suggesting murder?” Calhoun County Lieutenant Victor Mendez tented his fingers and looked at me. I felt a hot flush creep up my skin. “And just why would anyone want to kill Mrs. Throckmorton?”
“I'm not sure she was the target. I might have been.” My throat felt like dried papier-mache; I coughed and took a hard gulp of water.
Justice of the Peace Tricia Yarbrough, sitting behind Uncle Mutt's desk, frowned. “And why would anyone want to kill you, Mr. Poteet?” She was a good-looking woman, in her late fifties, chubby, with smart brown eyes and reddish hair laced with a shock of gray. I thought she seemed a tremendously good listener.
Lieutenant Mendez, Judge Yarbrough, and I sat in Uncle Mutt's private office, near the back of the sprawling house. Mendez and Judge Yarbrough had quickly appropriated the space from the stunned and grieving Mutt to get each of our statements. I was the last one to be questioned and apparently the first to suggest foul play. At least, that's how I read Mendez's expression-interested but slightly scoffing. Yarbrough seemed a tad more concerned.
Mendez was only a bit older than me, clean-cut, with night-dark eyes and rapidly receding hair. Otherwise, his face was boyish, a bit unformed, like a pudding that hadn't quite set. He was one of those men who never quite seem to shed their baby fat-some morsel of youth remains eternally on their face or frame. He was professional, to the point, and I felt thoroughly intimidated by him.
Not to mention my own emotional state at having had Aunt Lolly die right next to me. I should have been trembling and incoherent; instead I felt a vast numbness seep into my pores, anesthetizing my muscles, dulling my mind.
I realized suddenly, I hadn't answered Tricia Yarbrough's question.
“Mr. Poteet? Judge Yarbrough asked why would someone want to kill you.” Lieutenant Mendez decamped his tent of fingers and instead settled back further on Uncle Mutt's sofa. Yarbrough tapped her nails against the glass covering Uncle Mutt's desk.
“I've been receiving threatening cards ever since I agreed to come to this reunion,” I said, producing the cards and laying them on the desk in front of the justice of the peace. Mendez got up to eye them as well. I let them look through the malicious missives in silence. Mendez carefully handled them with a handkerchief, easing them out of the protective Baggies I kept them in.