Wednesday, 3:30 p.m.
Driving up Route 29 North, Lillian thought about home and the purple mums waiting to be planted. And the pumpkins in their small patch were ready to pick. Why had she offered to drive to Charlottesville?
She glanced in the rearview mirror at Estelle fidgeting in the back seat. She’s a nervous wreck, thought Lillian. I’m glad she couldn’t talk us into letting her drive. Mary Ann and I’ve ridden with her before. Under the best of circumstances, Estelle’s the worst driver I know.
She looked over at Mary Ann and smiled. Mary Ann smiled back. “How much longer, Lillian?”
“Depends on whether or not you and Estelle want to stop in Lovingston for a potty break and to get a quick bite to eat,” answered Lillian.
“Yes, yes! Let’s stop for a potty break. Lillian, can we stop? And I’m starving, too. No, I’m more than that. I’m absolutely famished. Really I am. If we don’t stop soon, I’ll wet my pants. You wouldn’t like that, would you, Lillian? What would that do to these nice leather seats anyhow? What do y’all think?” asked Estelle. “Maybe I should call Dave and ask him.” She dug in her purse for her cell phone.
Mary Ann and Lillian raised eyebrows at each other.
“I don’t think I’d call your husband and ask him that, Estelle,” said Mary Ann. “I bet you can find the answers to your questions at the information desk in the hospital when we get there.”
Lillian looked at Mary Ann and mouthed, “You’re awful.” Mary Ann grinned and nodded.
“Good idea, Mary Ann. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll ask the information desk to give me all the information they have on pee. They should be able to do that or they shouldn’t be called an information desk. Right?” She dropped the phone back in her purse.
“Right.”
“Estelle, how do you feel?” asked Lillian. “You seem more nervous today than I’ve ever seen you.”
“You don’t really know me, Lillian. You either, Mary Ann. Whenever you’re with me, Blanche is with us. I keep my nerves under control when I’m around Blanche. After all, her husband is Dave’s boss. I wouldn’t want Blanche to get mad at me and make Tom fire Dave. Dave needs this job and he’s good at it.”
“Tom wouldn’t fire Dave just because Blanche told him to,” said Lillian. “Tom’s a nice man.”
“Easy for you to say, Lillian. Your husband’s job isn’t dependent on Tom like our husbands’ jobs. Dave is Tom’s foreman. And Mary Ann is well aware that Tom buys all of Sweetwater Cove’s appliances from Carl. Right, Mary Ann?”
“Right.”
“I’ve really gotta go. If we don’t get to Lovingston—or whatever that town is—soon you’ll have to pull off the road and let me find a corn field or something. Or we’ll find out what pee does to leather before we get to that information desk.”
Lillian liked her leather seats just the way they were. She checked the rearview mirror for cops, and pushed on the accelerator.
In the hospital, Blanche tried at first to blot out the chaplain’s monotone voice and prayers. She knew he meant well, had her interests at heart, wanted her to “know the Lord” before it was too late. He’d asked if she was a Christian, a believer, if she went to church. She told him she’d studied different religions at Sweet Briar, that none of them had interested her, and that no, she did not attend church. “But I do believe in a higher power. I guess that qualifies me as agnostic.”
He’d sighed, nodded. Then he asked her the same questions about Tom. Her answers to those questions were more positive, answers the chaplain seemed to like. Yes, Tom was a Christian. No, she didn’t know when he became a believer, but she knew he was. Yes, he attended church regularly. What denomination or church, she had no clue. Either Episcopal, Presbyterian or Baptist, she thought. She never went to church with him. He asked if Tom’s parents were Christians. She didn’t know.
Wanda interrupted her thoughts. “Mrs. Southerland, you can see your husband now, but only for a minute.”
“Tom’s alive?” Blanche heaved herself up from the chair.
“He is. The doctors say it was touch and go there for a while. He’s still not out of the woods, however.”
Blanche pushed the door open to Tom’s room and stared at her husband lying in the hospital bed. He’s so still, so pale, she thought. She stood near the door while a nurse checked his tubes. A doctor watched the heart monitor, listened to Tom’s heart beat.
“Your husband’s a lucky man, Mrs. Southerland,” said Dr. Blackman. “He came real close to leaving us.”
“What happened? I thought he had improved, might come out of his coma any second.”
“So did we. He seemed to be doing reasonably well, but suddenly he stopped breathing. Where were you when it happened?”
“Me? I’d gone down to the cafeteria to get something to eat—hadn’t eaten a thing since early this morning—had finished, and was just stepping off the elevator down the hall when I heard the Code Blue alarm, saw medical people running to this room.”
“So you weren’t near your husband’s room when he stopped breathing?”
“No. I told you where I was. Weren’t you listening to me? And why are you asking me these questions?”
“One of the nurse’s aides got a glimpse of someone coming out of Mr. Southerland’s room seconds after the alarm sounded. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.” He took a deep breath.
“Sit down, Mrs. Southerland.” The doctor pointed to the chair, waited for Blanche to obey before he continued. “Mrs. Southerland, I think someone tried to kill your husband. That person almost succeeded. I’ve called the police.”
Blanche thought she might faint. She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, waited until the dizziness passed. In a barely audible voice she said, “I can’t believe that. What makes you think such a thing?”
“He has suspicious marks on his neck as though he’d been strangled. And the tube running down his throat was damaged. Ironically, I think the tube actually saved his life.”
“I can’t believe that someone would want Tom dead. Everybody likes him. Tom doesn’t have an enemy in the world. It’s me people don’t like.”
Dr. Blackman started to speak when he heard a light knock on the door. A man wearing a coat and tie entered the door, flashed his ID.
“I’m Detective S. Holmes. No, my first name isn’t Sherlock. Everybody tries to call me that. They think it’s funny. I don’t. So call me either Detective, Detective Holmes, or by my first name, Sid. Is that understood?”
Dr. Blackman, Blanche and the nurse nodded. Dr. Blackman stifled a grin.
“So what’s going on here?” asked Detective Holmes.
“I’m pretty sure someone tried to….
“Uh, Mrs. Southerland, would you mind stepping out of the room for a few minutes? I’ll let you know when it’s okay for you to come back.”
Wanda came in, took Blanche by the arm and led her back to the waiting room.
Lillian and Mary Ann stood in line at the fast-food eatery in Lovingston. “Did you see how Estelle galloped to the ladies’ room?” asked Lillian. “I don’t think she was kidding about needing to go.”
“I agree. I’m glad she made it.”
“Me, too. My car’s only two months old; I’d hate for the seats to get messed up so quickly.” They laughed.
“Lillian, do you think Estelle’s acting a little strange? I’ve never seen her like this. Today she seems to be a different person.”
“You know, Mary Ann, it’s almost like she’s on something.”
“On something? You mean like drugs?”
“Yeah, I….”
“Shh, here she comes,” whispered Mary Ann.
The three women picked up their orders and carried them to a booth by a window overlooking Route 29. As they ate their burgers and fries, Estelle pulled a small bottle from her purse, opened it and swallowed a pill. Mary Ann and Lillian looked at each other.
“What did you just take, Estelle?” asked Mary Ann.
“Oh, that was just an aspirin. I have a little headache,” said Estelle, smiling sweetly. She dropped the bottle back in her purse, leaned her head against the back of the booth and closed her eyes.