Bring Your Own Poison (4 page)

She saw several other men she vaguely recognized as cops, and there were at least two men she knew from the sheriff's department. There was some tension between the city police and the county deputies, and they didn't always socialize like this. Thinking of the sheriff's department brought to mind her nemesis, Chief Deputy Elmer Lee Johnson, who had been named acting sheriff a few months ago. He would fill in until the next election. She wasn't too surprised he wasn't here tonight. She couldn't see him as the bachelor party type.

Someone had brought a box of cigars, and several of the men were smoking them. Wanda Nell sniffed the air appreciatively. Her daddy had been a cigar smoker, and the smell of cigar smoke always reminded her of him.

The air was growing thick with smoke, because more of the men had discovered the cigar box and were lighting up. Wanda Nell had quit smoking over two years ago, before her grandson was born. Having the cigar smoke closing in around her only made her want a cigarette. She went to turn on one of the fans Melvin had put in the room. The resulting circulation of air cleared some of the smoke away.

Next Wanda Nell went to the kitchen for more roast beef and ham, and when she returned to the back room, she saw a few of the men gathered around a newcomer. They took turns thumping him on the back.

The guest of honor, Travis Blakeley, had finally arrived.

Wanda Nell glanced at her watch as she set down the tray of meats on the buffet. He was only fifteen minutes late to his own party.

From her vantage point behind the buffet table she examined him. No one was paying attention to her, so it didn't matter if she stared, she decided.

Blakeley was a big man, at least six-foot-three, she figured. He wore highly polished cowboy boots, tight jeans, and a sport shirt that strained across his broad shoulders. The sleeves of the shirt had been rolled up to expose his bulging biceps. His upper arms bore tattoos, but from this distance, Wanda Nell couldn't make out the designs. He had jet black hair, and when he turned in her direction and looked right at her, Wanda Nell discovered he had the coldest eyes she had ever seen.

He examined her for a moment, his lower lip twisting in a knowing smirk, before he turned back to talk to the men around him.

Wanda Nell shivered. Now that she'd had a good look at the man's face, she had no trouble believing the stories about him.

“Pipe down,” someone yelled. The person yelled again, and suddenly the noise faded away.

The man who had called for quiet was Dixon Vance, Wanda Nell noted. He was good looking, she decided, and she could see why Mayrene was attracted to him.

“Time for a toast,” Vance said. “Ol' Travis here's about to get hitched, and I reckon we better party while we can. After next Sunday, he's gonna be too busy with that young wife of his to wanna spend any time with us.”

Wanda Nell did her best to block out the lewd words and suggestions that followed Vance's little speech. Men could be such pigs, especially when the booze had been flowing as freely as it had so far tonight.

The men raised their glasses to Travis Blakeley and drank. Blakeley stood there smirking. So far, Wanda Nell hadn't seen him drink anything.

“Come on, now, Travis,” someone called out. “Speech!”

Blakeley smirked a bit more. He stepped over to a nearby table and picked up a glass, full of what looked like bourbon. “Y'all have seen Tiffany,” he said, “so I reckon you know what I'll be doing on the honeymoon.” He made a few very explicit remarks, and some of the men laughed with him. Wanda Nell could feel her face burning.

Of the ones who didn't laugh, one was the young man who seemed familiar to Wanda Nell. Another was the older man she didn't know, who still talking to the younger one. Even Dixon Vance, who had started it all, looked a little taken aback at Travis Blakeley's crudity. While she watched, the young man pushed his way to the front of the group to stand in front of Blakeley.

“Don't talk like that about her.” His voice was loud and slurred. “She's a nice girl, and you talk like she's some slut.”

“All women are, once you start giving them what they want,” Blakeley said, with a derisory laugh. “Man like me, they start begging for it. It ain't my fault, Gerald, you ain't got what it takes.”

The young man launched himself at Blakeley and managed to get in a punch to the bigger man's gut before Blakeley could react. The blow didn't appear to faze him that much, Wanda Nell noticed. She wished the younger man had knocked him cold. The name Gerald finally registered with her. He was Gerald Blakeley, and he must be Travis's brother.

Blakeley just shook his head at the younger man, now being held back by two of the cops. “Little man, you don't want me to pound you into the floor like I did when we were kids. Take a chill pill, or get your ass out of here.”

The two cops hustled Gerald into a chair several feet away from his brother, and he slumped into it, muttering and holding his head.

Wanda Nell shook her head. Men never changed. Or, at least, most of them. She couldn't imagine Jack acting like this.

The men started laughing and talking again, and after a moment, Gerald Blakeley got up from his chair and went to the bar. Wanda Nell watched him with concern. Maybe she ought to talk to him, try to get him out of here.

Travis spoke again, claiming her attention, and this time Wanda Nell knew enough to clap her hands over her ears as the first few words left his mouth. He was disgusting, and she hummed softly to block out the rest of what he had to say about his bride and their honeymoon. Gerald didn't react. When Wanda Nell looked for him, he was back in his chair, nursing a drink. He glared at his brother, but he remained silent.

After a moment, Blakeley shut up, and Wanda Nell took her hands away from her ears. Travis picked up his glass, full again, from a table behind him. He held it out in front of him, inviting everyone to raise their glasses. Then Blakeley put the glass to his lips and knocked the contents back in one gulp.

He swallowed, grinning broadly, and started to say something. His face contorted, and he dropped the glass to the floor, where it shattered. Clutching his throat and gasping for air, Blakeley stumbled against the table behind him. He went down, bringing the table with him.

As the horrified men and Wanda Nell watched, Blakeley's body twitched a few times, then stopped. He lay unmoving on the floor.

For a moment, no one did anything. Then the room erupted in noise and movement. The younger Dr. Crowell pushed his way to the front of the group that had collected around the fallen man.

“Get back,” he ordered, his voice loud. “Give me some room. Dad!”

The elder Dr. Crowell shambled forward, and the men stepped aside quickly to let him pass. The younger man knelt beside Blakeley, and from where Wanda Nell stood, she couldn't see what he was doing.

One of the cops had a cell phone out, and Wanda Nell figured he was calling for an ambulance. The hospital was only a few minutes away. Would they get there in time to save Travis Blakeley?

There was something odd about the whole thing, she thought. Why should Blakeley collapse after bolting down some bourbon? He had drunk at least one glass already without any visible effects. Why should this glass of bourbon affect him like that?

Wanda Nell didn't deliberate any longer. She slipped out of the back room, around the counter, through the kitchen, and back to Melvin's office. She dialed a number she knew all too well, thanks to the events of the past year. When the dispatcher at the sheriff's department answered, she asked for the acting sheriff, Elmer Lee Johnson.

“And don't tell me he's busy,” Wanda Nell snapped when the dispatcher started asking questions. “Tell him it's Wanda Nell, and that there's an emergency.”

The dispatcher didn't argue. “I'll patch you through to him, ma'am.”

Wanda Nell waited, precious seconds ticking by, and nearly a minute later Elmer Lee came on the line.

“What the hell do you want, Wanda Nell? Don't you know it's Saturday night? I'm trying to have a little peace and quiet here at home.”

“Oh, put a plug in it, Elmer Lee,” Wanda Nell said, her temper flaring from having to wait. “You get your scrawny butt over to the Kountry Kitchen, and do it now. Something bad just happened here, and you need to see to it.”

“What the hell happened?” Elmer Lee breathed heavily into the phone.

Wanda Nell resisted the urge to slam the phone down. Lord, but the man could be frustrating at the best of times.

“A cop named Travis Blakeley just collapsed during his bachelor party, and I think maybe somebody poisoned him.”

“Travis Blakeley?” Elmer Lee didn't wait for further confirmation. He muttered something that sounded like an obscenity before saying, “I'm on the way.” The phone clicked loudly in Wanda Nell's ear.

Setting the receiver in its cradle, Wanda Nell stared down at the phone.

What if she had overreacted? What if Travis Blakeley just had a weak heart or something like that?

Was she completely out of her mind? How could somebody poison a man in a roomful of people like that?

Wanda Nell shook her head. No, she trusted her instincts. Something was definitely fishy, and she was willing to bet that, if he was indeed dead, Travis Blakeley had been murdered.

The sound of approaching sirens brought Wanda Nell out of her daze. She hurried from the office back to the scene. By this time the few diners in the front of the restaurant were aware something was going on. The doors to the back room were wide open, and people were standing and staring.

As Wanda Nell slipped through to the back room, the front door opened. The emergency team had arrived.

Wanda Nell scuttled aside and turned to survey the room. The younger Dr. Crowell still knelt beside Travis Blakeley, but from what Wanda Nell could see, Blakeley wasn't moving, or even breathing. The elder Dr. Crowell stood a couple feet away, staring down at his son and the victim, an enigmatic look on his face.

Wanda Nell stiffened as someone stumbled against her. She turned slightly, frowning. Gerald Blakeley stared at her, his eyes blinking rapidly. He held out a hand. In it lay a glass vial.

“Whattaya think this is?” His words ran together, and from the fumes emanating from his mouth, Wanda Nell decided he was as drunk as Cooter Brown.

Without thinking, she reached out a hand to take the vial from him. Then she realized what she was about to do. Her hand dropped by her side.

“I don't know what it is,” Wanda Nell said. “Gerald, where did you find it?”

“You know who I am?” The young man gave her a drunken smile. “Everybody knows Travis, but nobody knows me.”

“Where did you find that?” Wanda Nell said, her voice stern.

Gerald wobbled his head at her. “Not sure.”

Sighing heavily, Wanda Nell grabbed a clean napkin from a nearby table. “Let me have it,” she said.

“Why do you want it?” Gerald asked, turning sullen. “It's mine. I found it.”

“I'm afraid you might drop it, and then it'll break all over the floor,” Wanda Nell said, hanging on to her patience by a mere thread. She held the napkin in her hand, ready for the vial. Before Gerald could react, she grabbed the vial out of his open hand, wrapping the napkin around it.

Gerald frowned at her as he swayed a bit. “Thass not nice.”

“We'll worry about that later,” Wanda Nell said. “I think we need to get you some coffee.” She pulled him over to a chair and pushed him down into it. “You sit there, and don't get up.”

The bartender had a carafe of coffee behind the bar, and Wanda Nell asked him for a cup, black. Without a word, he did as she asked and handed her the cup.

Wanda Nell turned back to Gerald Blakeley. He sat in the chair, staring off into space, a few tears trickling down his face. Wanda Nell touched his shoulder, and he tried to focus on her. She reached for a napkin and gave it to him. He wiped his face, but then his hand fell to his lap.

“You need to drink this,” Wanda Nell said, her voice gentle. She picked up his right hand and placed the cup in it. “Come on, now, start drinking the coffee for me.”

Gerald blinked up at her, but he did as she told him. He raised the cup to his face and started sipping. Wanda Nell watched him for a moment, and once she was satisfied he would be okay with the coffee, she stepped away to give him some space.

All the time she had been dealing with Gerald Blakeley, Wanda Nell heard the commotion continue over the supine body of Travis Blakeley. There was an oxygen mask on his face, but from what Wanda Nell could see, Blakeley wasn't responding.

As Wanda Nell watched, the EMTs bundled Blakeley onto a gurney and started moving him out of the room. The younger Dr. Crowell went with them. His father had found a chair and was sitting, staring into space.

“What the hell is going on here?” Melvin strode up to Wanda Nell and spoke in an urgent undertone. She started to reply, but before she could say anything, one of the cops spoke.

“Everybody stay calm,” Dixon Vance said, his voice carrying through the restaurant. He waited a moment, until all conversation had ceased.

The sirens sounded again, and Wanda Nell shivered. She doubted there was any help for Travis Blakeley now. He looked dead to her. Melvin slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders, and Wanda Nell leaned against him, grateful for the warmth.

“We're not sure what just happened here,” Vance continued, “but I need everybody to stay where they are. We're gonna have to start asking some questions, so y'all just be patient. We'll try to get you out of here before too long.”

“What happened?” Melvin whispered in Wanda Nell's ear.

She pulled away and looked up at him. “I think somebody murdered Travis Blakeley.”

Melvin's face twisted into a fierce scowl. He muttered something, shook his head, and strode away.

The buzz of conversation resumed. Wanda Nell glanced around the back room, examining the faces of the men attending the bachelor party. Most of them looked a bit stunned by what had happened, but none of them appeared to be really upset. The faces of Blakeley's fellow police officers revealed nothing. Most of them continued to smoke, but Wanda Nell noticed nobody was drinking now.

Elmer Lee ought to be here any second. He lived only a few blocks from the Kountry Kitchen, and for once, Wanda Nell would be glad to see him.

Right on cue, Elmer Lee walked into the back room. He stopped and looked around. His eyes raked over Wanda Nell, and she would have sworn he rolled them at her. Then his attention focused on Dixon Vance. He jerked his head, and Vance ambled over to him. The men began talking, but they were too far away for Wanda Nell to hear what they were saying.

Around them, the other men in the room had clustered in knots of three or four. There was a low buzz of conversation, and Wanda Nell could feel the tension in the room. She wished Elmer Lee would just get on with it, or she might start yelling. She couldn't take much more of this inaction.

A few moments later, Elmer Lee addressed the group. “I'm going to have to ask everybody to take a seat. I know this is inconvenient, but we're going to need to question everybody. We'll be as quick as we can, but this is going to take some time.” He glanced briefly over at Wanda Nell. “I'm sure if anybody wants some coffee”—his eyes skittered over the bar in the corner—“Miz Culpepper over there will be glad to make sure you have some.”

Wanda Nell nodded. The shock of what had happened to Travis Blakeley had sobered up a lot of the men, but some black coffee sure wouldn't hurt.

Elmer Lee's cell phone rang. He held up a hand to forestall the questions some of the men had begun firing at him, and the room went silent except for the chirping of the phone. Elmer Lee punched a button and spoke briefly. His face tightened as he listened.

He clicked the phone off and stuck it back in his uniform pocket. “Now, like I said, everybody just take a seat, and be calm. We'll get on with things in a minute. I'm waiting for an officer from the state police. He'll be conducting the investigation with my assistance.”

Wanda Nell was surprised. She had figured Elmer Lee would be in charge, but when she thought about it, having the state police investigate made sense. She knew they had a district office in Tullahoma, but she tended to forget about it most of the time. She wasn't even sure who the officer in charge was.

Moments later, that question was answered. A tall, blond man, dressed in a dark suit, walked into the back room. He had
cop
written all over him, and Wanda Nell would have known what he was right away.

“Sheriff Johnson,” he said, his voice deep and raspy.

Elmer Lee turned to face him. “Warren.”

“What's going on here?” the state cop asked. He and Elmer Lee moved a few feet away and conferred, their heads bent together.

Wanda Nell was staring at Warren. She hadn't seen him in over twenty years, but as soon as she realized who he was, her heart fluttered in her chest.

Back in high school, before Wanda Nell had fallen so hard for Bobby Ray Culpepper, she had briefly dated a nice boy in her class. That boy's name was Bill Warren. At the time he had been a nice-looking guy—tall, thin, a bit awkward, but cute in a goofy kind of way. Wanda Nell's parents had liked him, but her interest in him waned once she caught Bobby Ray's eye. She broke up with Bill and started dating Bobby Ray. Not the best decision she had ever made, she told herself ruefully.

So Bill Warren was a cop now. As she watched him and Elmer Lee, she couldn't help noticing that Bill was no longer thin and awkward. He had filled out nicely, and he stood with an ease and confidence he had lacked as a teenager. After Wanda Nell broke up with him, she lost track of him. She vaguely remembered that he had gone off to college, maybe Mississippi State, and after that she hadn't a clue what he had done.

Now he was a state police officer, and he was back in Tullahoma. She shook her head over the coincidence.

Warren and Elmer Lee turned to face the group. Warren spoke. “Gentlemen.” He glanced in Wanda Nell's direction, and his eyes widened in recognition. “And lady.” He nodded slightly at Wanda Nell. “Sheriff Johnson and I'll be conducting this investigation. It's my sad duty to inform you that Officer Blakeley is dead.” He paused a moment for the words to sink in. No one spoke.

“Because of the circumstances, we are treating this as a suspicious death,” Warren continued. “We appreciate your cooperation, and we'll try to get you out of here as soon as possible. For the moment, we're going to ask you all to move to the front of the restaurant so we can begin the investigation back here.”

The partygoers started moving out of the back room. Warren and Elmer Lee stood aside, as did Dixon Vance and the other police officers. Wanda Nell stayed where she was for the moment, keeping an eye on Gerald Blakeley. He hadn't moved from his chair, still nursing his cup of coffee. Wanda Nell didn't think he was aware of anything going on around him.

Elmer Lee came over to Wanda Nell. “You need to clear the room, too, Wanda Nell. We've got work to do back here, and we can't have you standing around in the way.”

“Nice to see you, too, Elmer Lee,” Wanda Nell said, giving him a sweet smile. She nodded toward Gerald Blakeley. “But I think somebody needs to look after him.”

Elmer Lee turned to stare at the young man. “Gerald.” He put his hand on Blakeley's shoulder. “I'm sure sorry about your brother.”