Authors: Charlotte Hinger
Deadly Descent (11 page)
Frustrated, Judy put the paper back in the box, and we turned our attention back to the trunk. I saw a pile of journals at the bottom and felt a rush of adrenaline. I opened one. “Clarissa Roubidoux. Judy, that’s your great grandmother. Her diary!” My hands trembled with excitement. “What a find!”
Eagerly, I removed them from the trunk. I glanced at another stack, which had been placed next to them, and looked inside. “These belonged to your grandmother, Melissa.” Quickly I checked to see if Zelda had kept journals and diaries also. She had.
My mind raced. In my head, I began writing articles based on the journals of three generations of Western Kansas women. Sociology. History. Women’s studies. And if Judy did this too, we were talking about four generations. The information would be priceless.
I sneezed, overwhelmed by the old dusty odor of decaying paper. A rectangle of faint light through a high window illuminated a hat stand holding a Victorian straw with a droopy mauve rose. Rain fell softly and our quiet voices echoed across the ancient collections.
Judy opened a baby book. “It’s mine,” she whispered. “Look at these pictures, just look. My hair, a little lock of my hair. And look what Mom wrote. See how happy she was.”
“Let me check her journal, Judy, for the same time period.” I looked through the old books. Zelda had dated them and used the same grey linen, maroon edged books throughout her life.
I would never withhold a journal or a diary from a family, but they can be a real can of worms. Descendents should read every word. Not just skim a couple of pages, decide their parents’ marriage was a sham, and good old mom was on the verge of leaving daddy most of the time. Or decide mother hated her life when she was simply premenstrual, and the dust was blowing that day.
I wanted to know if Zelda’s private journal matched the emotions depicted in her baby book. I located the entries clustered around Judy’s birth.
Judy reached to the bottom of the neat chronological stacks. I quickly calculated the dates.
“How wonderful. She started when she was in grade school,” I said. “Did you know this, Judy?”
“Yes. She always wanted me to keep a diary, too. I knew she did this, but I didn’t realize what having her diary would mean to me now.”
I skimmed over the early years but read enough to know that the twins had a troubled relationship. Clearly, Zelda had struggled all her life to keep from being run over by her manipulative sister. I read through Zelda’s early housekeeping entries and then found more emotional ones.
“Fiona is pregnant. I would give anything, anything to have a baby. I know she and Edgar have had their troubles getting pregnant, too, but I might have known she would be the first. I wish it were me. I wish it were me.”
There was a long gap between entries, as though she was ashamed of what she would be writing if she were honest.
Then:
“I got to see him, hold him. They’ve named him Brian and Fiona is acting like the Queen Mother. I don’t care. I just want to be around him. Count his little fingers and toes. She isn’t nursing him, says it isn’t “modern” and she wants her baby to have the very best, so I get to give him his bottle. Sometimes I think if I hear her say, ‘Poor Zelda’ to Edgar one more time I’m going to throw up. Nothing is good enough for her or her little boy. Not the clothes I’ve made for him, not the presents other people bring him. She always finds a flaw. She even had him out of town in a swanky hospital. She said she wanted to be someplace with the latest equipment just in case something went wrong, but I think it’s because she doesn’t want anyone to see her naked with her legs spread and strapped to a delivery table and then have to see them on the street later.”
Seven years later:
“It’s finally, finally came to pass. Max and I are going to have a baby. Thank God in Heaven.”
Then:
“When I told Fiona our good news, she looked at me as though I had slapped her. Like she was jealous. Why couldn’t she just be happy for me? Just once? ”
Then:
“I did not know it was possible for a human being to be so sick.”
Then:
“The doctor says I might lose the baby. I’m too wretched to think about it or write about it. He says it will help if I stay calm, but how can I?”
Then:
“They’ve put me to bed. Total bed rest. Max called Fiona to see if she could help. She said she had many, many other obligations but would do what she could. Poor Max. He’s worn out from the store, from trying to help me.”
Then:
“I cry all the time after she leaves. She comes to drop off the little meals, which her hired girl has fixed. Today she stared at my stomach, then shed a few tears. But not for one minute did I think she was sorry for me. I think she must want another baby herself. Then she flounced off after reminding me that her pregnancy wasn’t easy either. I know it wasn’t and we both had to spend a lot of time in bed, but Edgar is so rich. Fiona spent her last three months in California with Edgar’s aunt, being waited on hand and foot. She was in a town by the ocean where she got to breathe salt air, not dust. Her bed rest was entirely different than mine. I get to watch my husband work his fingers to the bone because of me.”
Then:
“This is the happiest day of my life. I brought my darling little girl home from the hospital. I’ve hoped and prayed for this moment. I can’t believe she’s finally, finally here. She’s so beautiful and perfect. My cup runneth over.”
Seven days later:
“I don’t understand why Fiona is being so hateful. I’ve had Judy home for a week now, and my own sister has not been over to see her yet.”
A week later:
“Max finally called Fiona and asked her to come over. He doesn’t know I know he did this, but I heard him making the call. I heard him telling Fiona how upset and unhappy I am. I’ve cried myself to sleep for a solid week. I just don’t understand.”
Three days later:
“I hate her. She finally came and was as stiff as a visiting archbishop. She stayed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! And acted like I had given birth to a yard cat, for no more importance than it seemed to have to her. This is her niece! Her only niece! She peered at my little Judy, said she was very nice, asked if I was breast-feeding, then had the nerve to say she looked sickly, like she wasn’t getting enough milk. She knew it would worry me to death. Why didn’t she stay? When she brought Brian home, I sat with him, rocked him, loved him. I know in a lot of ways, we’ve never been close, but I’m her only sister, and I just don’t understand how she can treat me this way.”
“Find something?” asked Judy, looking up from her baby book.
“Yes, I’ve found something very curious. When I have time, I want to start at the beginning of your mother’s journals. As early as she started keeping them. I think there was a lot of tension between Fiona and your mother from early childhood, and through the years it got worse.”
She reached for the book. I hesitated. I had to hand this journal over to Judy, of course, but she already hated Fiona. These entries would fan the flames. “Here,” I said with a sigh.
At first she skimmed. Her cheeks flamed. Her hands shook. Then she re-read very slowly all the entries from the time before Brian’s birth through her own arrival. She reeled, then steadied herself against the trunk as though she were absorbing a physical blow.
“Why would anyone snub a little baby?” she whispered. “I was just a little baby. She had her Brian. Her own wonderful perfect little boy.”
“There’s got to be something here we’re not seeing or not understanding.”
“There’s nothing to see. Nothing to understand. It’s just like I told you. Fiona hated my mother.”
It was not the time for me to go into nuances of feelings between sisters. I felt, hoped, that hate was too strong a word. This was, after all, just Zelda’s version of events. Fiona’s delay could be attributed to something as simple as a head cold. But that thought came from my objective historian side. In my gut, I doubted it. I suspected Zelda’s pregnancy affected Fiona at some very deep level. As to the crack about not getting enough milk, I knew it was a decade when nursing fell out of vogue and most babies were bottle fed.
“At least we know how your mother felt about Brian. So it wasn’t a payback.”
“Oh, Mom just loved Brian. She would have done anything for that little boy.”
“That’s clear. Page after page shows she just doted on him. What do you remember about Brian when you were growing up? Or Edgar? No one ever mentions Edgar. It’s like he’s a non-person. How did your mom feel about Edgar?”
“She didn’t like him,” Judy said. “She thought Fiona had married beneath herself. He was too crude for her tastes. Mom used to call Fiona and Edgar, ‘Beauty and the Beast.’”
“And you? Did you like him?”
“Quite a lot, actually.” She looked surprised at the memory. “We weren’t together all that much. Just on special occasions. Mom couldn’t stand the way Fiona always treated us. Like poor relation. Nevertheless, we all got together for Christmas and Thanksgiving.”
“So it wasn’t like your families didn’t see each other at all.”
“No, Mom and Fiona were hell-bent on presenting this weird appearance of family unity to outsiders. But I liked seeing Brian and Edgar. It’s funny how much is coming back to me. Uncle Edgar was always nice. I remember when Aunt Fiona would launch into her little digs, he would give her one of his looks, but it never shut her up. Then his jaw would tighten. He would ask me if I wanted to go outside and look at cows or something. Fiona wore him down. I know that now.”
“He’s obviously a good farmer.”
“You’d better believe it. Uncle Edgar built up a fortune. Mom may have thought he was stupid, but he’s a shrewd businessman. And go figure, he’s also a computer guru to half the farmers in this county.”
“And Brian? What do you remember about Brian.”
“He was absolutely wonderful. Like a big brother to me. That’s why I’m waiting until we find something concrete before I go to the police.”
“Honey, I am the police,” I reminded her gently.
“I wish you had been a deputy the first night, too.”
I bit back my opinions about Betty’s sloppy interrogation. “You said Fiona and Zelda had a terrible fight the night of the murder. I’ve assumed it was about withdrawing the story, but was there more to it than that?”
Ashamed, she looked away, then turned toward me. “I’m positive Mom asked the Hadleys for money. She was desperate to find help for Dad. I’m sure you know that.”
She sighed, her mouth tense with worry. “He needs an assisted living facility. And that takes big bucks.”
I held my arms open and she let me hug her like she was a fragile little doll while I patted her on the back.
She cried, then pulled away and stared at the trunk. “I don’t want to believe my mother was capable of blackmail, but from what she said in her phone call, I can’t put it out of my mind.”
“But you don’t know what she was holding over her sister?”
“Not a clue. Mom just said it was high time I knew some things about the family and Fiona should have to pay for everything she’s done.”
My mind raced. “Sam needs to know about this Judy, even if Zelda didn’t live to follow through.” Privately, I was beginning to think both sisters were a real piece of work. She nodded and moved to a box of toys. “Tell me more about your cousin.”
“Brian was seven years older than me. He showed me bird nests and flowers and took me for walks along the creek. He was kind. He’s the only one who’s ever been truly kind to me outside of my parents and Uncle Edgar.” She sneezed and reached for a Kleenex. “He wanted to be a botanist, you know.”
“No! I’ve never seen it mentioned once in any of his press material. What would make him decide to be a lawyer and a politician then?”
“He didn’t decide. Fiona decided for him. I remember there was a terrible hullabaloo over all this. Fiona would not have her darling boy going into a career where he couldn’t make any real money. Many of the Rubidoux men have been lawyers. She presented it to Brian as his sacred obligation to carry on the family tradition.”
“He’s a born natural for the limelight. I can’t imagine anyone better at politics.”
“Oh, he’s political all right,” Judy laughed. “Haven’t you heard of the Hadley Compromise?”
“No.”
“Gateway City has the finest system for choosing up Little League teams of any town around and it came about when Brian was just nine years old. Absolutely no one would pick him when teams were choosing up sides. He dropped every ball that came at him. Couldn’t bat either. He didn’t have much energy. He and a small cluster of other losers were always chosen last, so he decided to do something about it.”
“He was fighting the system when he was just nine years old?”
“Better believe it. He came up with a wonderful method. He asked the coaches to rank all the players, then each coach in turn got to select a number one player, then a number two, and so on. It was fair and merciful. That’s why our teams are so well balanced. Thirty-three years later, we’re still using his plan.
I smiled. It was the kind of thinking I had come to expect from Brian.
“But why did Brian play at all, if he didn’t like baseball and wasn’t any good at it?”
“His folks insisted, of course. Real all-American boys played ball. Little League is big here. But it was hard on Brian. Law school was hard on him, too.”
“But he made straight A’s, Judy.
Law Review
and all that.”
“He would be a success at anything he chose to do. I should know. I’ve had everything terrific he’s ever done thrown up to me from the time he was born. But physically, it was too hard on him. There’s a gray look about him when he’s pushing himself too hard. Look for it. You’ll see.”
I remembered William’s slam the day Brian and Fiona had come to the historical society together, that he looked like he had just come off a three-day drunk.
“He was sickly, growing up. I remember that, Lottie.”
“Anything in particular?”
“A bad case of measles. Food poisoning. Boy, do I remember the food poisoning. A bunch of us ate some bad potato salad at an after-school picnic. We all were sick, but he stayed sicker, longer. He was out of school for two weeks. When he was older, I remember him having a bout of yellow jaundice. He got over it, and I don’t remember it happening again. But he caught everything. Flu, colds, nothing passed him by.”
“He seems to be fine now. He’s become a runner, in fact.”
She snorted. “Not a chance. Have you seen him? I’ll bet if you were a little bird in the trees you would see him walking, not running. Walking slowly, looking at nature.”
I laughed. The expectations we have for our politicians!
“See for yourself,” Judy insisted. “He’s never in anything competitive. Not even golf. Do you know a politician who doesn’t play golf?”
I shook my head. I didn’t. I knew Brian took a ton of vitamins. The alternative medical people were crazy about him.
I nodded toward the stack of journals. “These are yours, Judy. But please! I would love to have access to them later.” I told her about the articles I had in mind.
Judy was unusually quiet the rest of the day, despite my attempts to draw her out. I caught one of her quick furtive glances in my direction. She was up to something.
***
On the drive home, I thought about the Hadleys. Despite Brian’s suspicions of early Alzheimer’s, I suspected Fiona was simply meaner than a snake and always had been. He was just now seeing it. Still, there were those mood shifts, and I had told him we would get the testing done.
There was just one problem. How did you get a grown woman tested for Alzheimer’s against her will?
***
The next morning, I went to the office early, grabbed an organizer tray from my desk drawer, punched the speaker button, and called Josie to see if her handwriting expert had any brilliant insights into Zelda St. John.
“He thinks Zelda was a very dramatic person.”
“Well, duh. I don’t need anyone to tell me that.” I sorted misplaced paper clips from thumbtacks. “Is there anything else there? Any mental illness? Physical illness?”
“No, none, and this was probably a very good sample. It was lengthy enough to provide a variety of shapes and letters. That’s always important.”
“I was hoping for something great. Just a minute, I want to shut the door.” There was a little movement in the corridor. Currents of air as employees came into the courthouse. The coffee gurgled. My favorite odor. I poured a cup. Just the way I liked it. Black, bitter, obscene. I had hoped the delay would give me time to figure out how to tackle Josie. It didn’t. I’d have to do it head on.
“Are you ready for another assignment?”
“Oh, terrific. I’ve always wanted to be a psychologist by proxy.”
“Brian Hadley thinks there’s something wrong with his mother.”
“From what I’ve seen, I think there’s something wrong with his whole loony family.”
I laughed. “He means organically wrong. I told him I would talk to you about having Fiona tested.”
“I can’t, Lottie. Not any kind of real physical or mental evaluation. It’s just not possible without her consent and her full cooperation. Any observations I make without an exam would be strictly guesswork. I leave that kind of voodoo to people on the street. They think they know everything about other people’s minds.”
“Brian’s worried about Alzheimer’s.”
“The reason he’s worried about Alzheimer’s is because that’s what he knows about,” she said flatly. “Everyone suspects Alzheimer’s, but there’s a number of the dementias or illnesses that produce the same symptoms. How long has it been since she had a complete physical? Brain scans and MRIs would point out anything organically wrong.”
“I wish Brian didn’t have this election hanging over him. It’s putting him in a terrible double bind.” I sorted rubber bands by size, then color. “I know he would like to arrange for his mother’s testing right away.”
“Lottie, have you had a chance to really observe Fiona?”
I recalled the day she first came into my office. “While she was reading her sister’s story, I looked at her like she was under a microscope. I watched her hands, her eyes, the way she moved, the way she held her mouth. Everything. I was trying to figure out why she was so upset.”
“Good. I know how much you know and see. There’re a few illnesses we may be able to eliminate. Not officially, you understand, but if you can remember certain symptoms being present, please have her get help right away. Don’t even think about putting tests off until after the election. The reason we’re all so frightened of Alzheimer’s is that it’s one of the dementias.”
“She doesn’t seem demented or crazy most of the time. I think she’s just a born meddler and trouble maker.”
Josie laughed. “Probably is. In that case she might have a character disorder. But medically speaking, dementia is simply defined as a decline in thinking function. The term is reserved for cognitive loss that is irreversible. If we can fix this slide and get the patient’s faculties back, we use other words.”
“I don’t want to hear all the other words. I just want to find out what’s wrong with Fiona.”
“Okay. That day, did she lurch? Wobble? Stumble?”
“Not at all. In fact, I knew it was Fiona coming down the hall by her footsteps. She has this high-toned clickety way about her. Like she’s absolutely sure of who she is, where she’s going.”
“Was there any one-sidedness to her?”
“Like in a stroke? No way.”
“Any tremors?”
“No.”
“Her eyes, Lottie. Did you notice anything at all about her eyes?”
“They were spectacular. Eyes to die for. Same as Zelda’s were, as Judy’s are. Blue as cornflowers. Long black lashes. Fiona’s lids have probably been done.”
“I’m looking for abnormalities here, not a Maybelline commercial. Were the whites discolored? Yellow or cloudy? Was there anything wrong you can remember?”
“Not one thing. I specifically remember her eyes that day.”
“Please ask Brian if she’s complained of headaches. If not, I would just bet whoever does this exam
won’t
find Huntington’s or Parkinson’s or a stroke. I think we can set Brian’s mind at ease a little. A very little, since nothing I’m suggesting is official. Nevertheless, I think you should urge him to get her checked out as soon as possible.”
“Based on what you’ve said, I know he’ll want to wait until after the election to have his mother examined.”
“Tell him to forget about the election for a while.”
“If it’s Alzheimer’s, he can forget about elections from now on,” I said grimly.
The other line rang. “Just a second, I need to put you on hold.”
“Sam here, Lottie. I just had a visitor.”