Dying for Chocolate

The abdominal pains in my stomach had turned to cramps. I felt hot. How I wanted this conversation to be over. How I wanted Schulz to come back. And most of all, how I wanted to know where Arch was, to be assured that he was all right.

Adele was talking. I struggled to focus on her voice.

“I’d just had the glaucoma test myself, so I knew they used anesthetic. And Bo had told me all about peroxide torture when he was researching sabotage. There are more nerve endings in the eye than anywhere else in the body. The more nerve endings, the more pain. Put peroxide on those nerve endings, and you’re going to do a lot of damage. Very quickly.”

I whispered, “How’d you do it?”

“I went into the eye doctor right after I saw Philip’s calendar. Pretended I was there to raise money for the pool, while I took the saline rinse bottle from beside the ultrasound machine. Right under their noses! Then I came home and emptied the saline rinse bottle and put in Julian’s peroxide. I called the headmaster and insisted that Philip be the one to bring more decals, that no one else could do it but Philip Miller, especially if they wanted me to give the last twenty thousand for the pool.” She cackled. “So right after his eye appointment, he’d have to drive out to the school, then drive back to town. I thought with any luck he would die on that road. I couldn’t afford for him to talk to anybody, least of all Brian Harrington or you. You see, he wanted to warn you about living here. That’s why he called so early that morning. He thought he was being so careful, saying to you, Not on the phone!”

I said, “So you were the one listening in on my calls. Then you told the general what was going on in my life.” She didn’t respond. I said, “You never gave up on Brian.”

She sniffed and moved her hands in a nervous motion. Then she looked at me, as if she were searching for something. She said, “Oh, yes I did. At that anniversary party, when he kept on and on with Sissy, I knew it was over.”

“How did you get him to take Spanish fly?”

She sighed, fluttered her hands again. “I told him to come back after the party. I wanted to invest in Flicker Ridge. I smoothed cantharidin on top of his fudge. He died for chocolate!” She laughed. A wave of nausea swept over me. “Your son saw us the last time we were together. That’s why I’m sorry to say that he’s going to drown, too.”

I screamed, “Where’s Arch?”

“Where you won’t be able to save him this time.”

I was going to throw up. I bolted for the hall bathroom. But I could hear Schulz in there. He was sick. I couldn’t listen to it. I held my stomach and lurched back to the living room.

“What have you done?” I yelled at her.

She said calmly, “The only thing I could be sure you would ever eat or drink was that damn espresso. So I put Spanish fly in your coffee can. I’m sorry, Goldy. You and the policeman should be dead in an hour.”

29.

I lunged toward her. “You bitch!” I screamed. “Where’s my son?”

Just before my hands reached Adele’s neck she grabbed her cane and whacked me across the stomach. I doubled over with pain. My stomach heaved. The cane lashed my back. The living room blurred as I crash-landed on the floor. Pain surged through my body. I vomited on the Oriental rug.

Adele stood over me and caned my arm. She screeched, “Get up!”

It was so hard. Everything hurt: my stomach, my back, my innards.

“Move!” she yelled. She flailed at my legs with the cane. “Get down to that bathroom!”

I moved. “Tom!” I cried as I limped, furious at my physical weakness. “Tom! Bo! Help me!”

“Shut up!” said Adele as she prodded my calves. “Bo can’t hear you. I put Valium in his scotch. And your policeman friend may be dead. One hopes.”

Desperately, I whirled to attack her. But she caught me across the shoulders with the cane. Pain shot through my body. I fell against the wall outside the bathroom. She poked the bathroom door open.

I peered in. Tom was on the floor. His big body was curled tightly in the fetal position. Prods from Adele elicited a few moans. He rolled over and lifted his face. It was pallid, an awful yellow. His eyes beseeched me.

“Get in there!” howled Adele as she cracked me across the ankles. The woman was strong. I lost my balance and put my hands out to avoid hitting my head on the tile floor.

Adele hovered overhead, a fuzzy-faced helicopter. “You just don’t understand,” she said as she closed the door. I heard her wedge something under the knob and then tap-step away.

I turned to Schulz. His eyes were glazed with pain.

He whispered, “I think I’m going to die.”