Honey and Leonard E-Book

Mark Paul Smith

• Herausgeber: BQB Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Honey and Leonard are in their seventies when they fall in love. Leonard is in the early stages of Alzheimer's and Honey thinks her love will cure him.

When their heirs try to keep them apart, they flee to France in violation of court orders. Pursued by police, press, and private investigators, they become an international media sensation. In a time just before cell phones and the Internet, they become the Bonnie and Clyde of love.

Their whirlwind romance encompasses arsenic poisoning, elder law, Alzheimer's, an Eiffel Tower arrest, and a Paris jail break.

And through it all Honey is in the middle of the difficult process of discovering that love does not conquer all. Or does it?

Leseprobe

Honey and Leonard

© 2019 Mark Paul Smith. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital, mechanical or photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except for inclusion in a review as permitted under Sections 107 and 108 of the United States Copyright Act, without either prior written permission from the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Previously published in 2016 by Christopher Matthews Publishing under ISBN 9781938985812

Published in 2019 in the United States by BQB Publishing

(an imprint of Boutique of Quality Book Publishing Company, Inc.)

www.bqbpublishing.com

978-1-945448-47-8 (p)

978-1-945448-48-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number 2019947818

Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com

Cover design by Rebecca Lown, www.rebeccalowndesign.com

Edited by Caleb Guard

Author photo by John Sorenson

This book is dedicated to my father, Maxwell Paul Smith, who died of Alzheimer’s Disease in 2006 at age 82.

SPECIAL THANKS

To my “Honey,” Jody Hemphill Smith. To my editors, Caleb Guard and Brenda Fishbaugh. And to Terri Leidich, founding mother of BQB and WriteLife Publishing.

OTHER BOOKS BY MARK PAUL SMITH

Rock and Roll Voodoo

The Hitchhike

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

HONEY REMOVED HER EYEGLASSES and blinked in disbelief.

The tree-lined street in front of her house was jammed with fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance and several governmental vans. Uniformed people were everywhere. Most of her neighbors had come out to see what was happening. Honey felt her heart begin to race as she noticed the yellow police tape being stretched around her two-story, brick home.

“Leonard!” she screamed as she began running toward her front door. “Leonard! Oh, no!”

She made it through the crowd and the yellow tape and halfway up her front steps before a burly detective in a brown suit grabbed her with both arms. “Oh, no you don’t, lady. This is a crime scene. You can’t just come charging in here.”

“But this is my house!” she cried as she realized the futility of her struggle.

The detective released her from his bear hug and held her by one wrist so he could get a better look at her. “Is that you, Mrs. Waldrop?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s me. You know it’s me, Davey. You delivered my newspapers for ten years. Now, let go of me,” she wiggled out of his grasp. “What’s happened to my Leonard?”

“He’s going to be fine. The medics are with him now. I’ll take you to him if you promise to stay with me and not rush in like you own the place.”

“I do own the place.”

“Bad choice of words on my part. It is a working crime scene at the moment. I’m still Davey but you’d better call me Detective Perkins for now. I’m in charge of the investigation.”

“Crime scene? Investigation?” Honey raised her voice. “What have they done to my Leonard?”

As she waited for the detective’s explanation, Honey noticed all activity around her home had come to an abrupt standstill. Everyone was staring at her. Detective Perkins offered her his arm and began escorting her into the home.

“Why is everybody staring at me?”

As if in answer to her question, the front door banged open and out came two medics carrying Leonard on a gurney. He looked quite pale and was strapped down for safety. He managed to raise his head slightly when he heard Honey calling his name.

“What happened?” Honey asked as the detective let her get close enough for conversation.

Leonard looked confused and alarmed as he shook his head and said, “I have no idea. They said I have to go with them.”

“Where are you taking him?” she demanded as the medics continued toward the ambulance. “You’ve got him all doped up. What’s going on here?”

The detective had to grab her arms again as she attempted to grab the gurney. “Come on now, Mrs. Waldrop. He’s going to be fine. You’ve got to let him go so they can take him to the hospital for testing and observation.”

“Don’t you ‘Mrs. Waldrop’ me. And take your hands off me, Davey. This is police brutality.”

The detective let her go as Leonard was taken away and loaded into the ambulance. Honey didn’t try to follow. A tight circle of uniforms had gathered to see if she was going to make enough of a fuss to get handcuffed. Being surrounded, Honey wisely decided to change her approach.

“Davey,” Honey said, “I mean Detective Perkins. Perhaps you and I could go inside so you could tell me exactly what is happening.”

The detective appeared relieved by Honey’s more cooperative attitude. “That is an excellent idea. Let’s do go inside. But let me warn you, there are quite a few folks in there and they’re searching your home.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. We’ve got a search warrant signed by the judge. Here it is. Take a look.”

“How can they take Leonard out of my house if he doesn’t want to go?”

“Adult Protective got a court order to have him removed. Here, look.”

Her eyes glazed over the documents in emotional shock.

Honey was glad the detective had warned her about the search. Once inside, she was devastated to see people in hazardous materials suits with masks and plastic gloves going through every drawer and cupboard. She was disoriented by the time she and the detective settled into the breakfast nook in the kitchen. It felt like aliens had invaded her home.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “this is all just too much.”

“No, no. There’s no need to apologize. I know how hard this must be for you, and let me start off by saying I don’t believe a word of it. Not one word.”

“Believe a word of what?”

Detective Perkins took a long look into Honey’s eyes and sighed deeply. “Okay. Here it is. Leonard went in for some blood tests recently, and it looks like he’s been poisoned. That’s why they sedated him and put him on a stretcher. Apparently, the doctors wanted him immobilized for the trip to the hospital.”

“What?” Honey’s eyes widened. “Who would poison Leonard? He doesn’t have any enemies. Neither one of us do. We’ve only been dating a year come Halloween. He’s been a farmer his whole life.”

The detective waited for her to continue with a look of sympathy in his eyes. Suddenly, Honey realized what was going on. “Oh, my God, you can’t think it was me.”

“No, I don’t think it was you,” the detective attempted to calm her. “I’ve known you and Doc Waldrop, rest his soul, my entire life. And I know you and Leonard have been having a wonderful time together these past few months.”

“All of North Manchester, Indiana, seems to know everything about us,” Honey scoffed. “My husband was the finest doctor this town ever saw. I loved him dearly, but he’s been dead nearly five years. And now, Leonard Atkins is the best thing that ever happened to me. You can put that in your report. Everybody else seems to be taking notes. You’d think people would have better things to do than gossip about a couple of old folks falling in love. It’s 1992 for heaven’s sake. Old people are taking over the world.”

“This isn’t about gossip, Mrs. Waldrop. Leonard’s been poisoned. The blood tests prove it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to arrest you today. I just need to ask a few routine questions.”

“Arrest me today?” Honey gasped. “That sounds like you might arrest me in the near future.”

“No, at this point, I’m not even saying you’re a suspect.”

“So what am I?”

“You’re what we call a person of interest.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Honey began to cry. She wasn’t one to break down easily because she’d seen a lot of sorrow in her day. But tears were getting the best of her at this point. It felt like everything she loved was being taken away. “This is like some terrible television program,” she said as she wiped her eyes with a cloth napkin.

As the detective took her hands in his to try to comfort her, a person in a hazmat suit came up and said, “Detective Perkins, we’ve searched the kitchen and the living room and the bathrooms. We’ve got samples.

“Better check the basement,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” Honey said, “by all means, check the basement. That’s where I keep all the poison.”

“Now, Mrs. Waldrop . . .” the detective began.

Honey removed her hands from his and began to regain her composure. “No, I’m fine. Go ahead. Search anywhere you like. I’ll help. This is preposterous. There is no poison in this house. Come on; let’s check my closet upstairs. That’s where I keep my makeup. If I had any poison, which I don’t, that’s where I would keep it.”

“Good idea,” said Perkins. “That’s more like it. We do appreciate your cooperation.”

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice,” Honey grumbled as she and the detective went up the carpeted steps with one of the hazmat suit people.

Her walk-in closet was the size of a large bedroom. It was filled with a long lifetime of a wealthy widow’s clothing and accessories. She had more than two hundred pairs of shoes and a hat for nearly every day of the year. Each side of the room had a vanity desk with a large mirror and drawers filled with make-up and lotions and perfumes and hairsprays.

“This ought to keep you and your boys busy for a good long time,” Honey said as she looked up to the detective. “I’ve got shoes in here older than you.”

“I’m sure you do,” Perkins said as he took Honey back downstairs to the kitchen nook.

“I know who’s behind all this,” she said once they sat down.

He waited for her to continue.

“It’s Gretchen. Gretchen Atkins, Leonard’s niece. She’s been taking care of his money. Or should I say stealing his money. He gave her Power of Attorney once he started having problems with his memory after his wife died. He’s rich as Croesus, you know.”

“I’ve heard that.”

Honey paused, catching herself. “Now don’t you dare think I would hurt my Leonard for his money. I’ve got more than enough of my own, thank you. The doctor left me well off when he died, and I’ve been doing quite fine by myself. You can ask my broker.”

“Why would Gretchen be behind this?”

“She doesn’t want me in the picture. I ask too many questions. I told Leonard he never should have signed over Power of Attorney to her. And I told Gretchen he could revoke it any time he wants. That’s why she’s trying to get guardianship on him. She wants him found mentally incompetent, so he can’t revoke her Power.”

“How do you know all this?” Perkins asked.

“Leonard’s at my house more than he’s at that pathetic nursing home she put him in. She calls it independent living. I call it independent dying. I know he has some problems with his memory, but he’s getting better. I’m taking good care of him.”

She looked at Perkins to make sure he was paying close enough attention. “Anyway, Leonard brings his mail over for me to help him go through it. I saw the petition to establish guardianship over Leonard that Gretchen filed with the court. Her lawyer sent him the legal notice.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“It wasn’t more than a week ago. And I’ll tell you what. Leonard’s prepared to fight it. He doesn’t need a guardian as long as he has me. And if he does need a guardian, it’ll be me, not her. She’s stealing his money. She doesn’t care about him. She just wants his money. Look at the car she’s driving. It’s a brand new Toyota. I’ve been told her big new house is paid for. She doesn’t make that kind of money teaching fifth grade.”

“So why would she want to poison Leonard?”

“He doesn’t have a will. Gretchen’s the only family he’s got left. If he dies, it all goes to her. Leonard and I were going to get a lawyer to do a will and revoke that Power of Attorney, but now she’s trying to say he’s not competent to sign anything.”

“Is he competent?”

Honey’s face lit up as she formulated her response. She was still a beautiful woman. She had Liz Taylor in her eyes and Katherine Hepburn in her shoulders and hips. Her family came from Mobile, Alabama, where she’d been the queen of her high school senior prom. It was a storybook life until she lost her only sibling, her brother, on a bombing run over Germany in World War II. After that terrible loss, she started volunteering in the hospital, treating many returning veterans. She was a good worker, but she got in trouble a time or two for flirting with the patients. The doctor was tall and handsome. He swept her off her feet at a time when she was looking for a hero. They married after the war and moved north to his home state, Indiana.

Honey could pour out Southern charm like maple syrup turns Southern grits into a decidedly Northern dish.

“I’ll tell you how competent Leonard is,” she told the detective. “Last Saturday night, he showed up at my door with a dozen roses and took me to dinner. His shirt was clean, his shoes were shined and his hair was strictly Valentino. We had a perfect, Italian night out.”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I let him drive my Cadillac. I hate to drive, and he’s still an excellent driver. He sold his Oldsmobile two weeks ago and he’s looking for a new one. He’s between cars.”

“How did he get to your house?”

“He walked. He’s in good shape, I’m telling you, mentally and physically. The nursing home is right down the street from my house, about a quarter mile.”

“I know he’s got a valid driver’s license,” Perkins said. “He got a ticket last month for running a red light.”

“That was that stupid light out on South Mill Road. I was with him. We were in his old car. There was nobody on the road. He always runs red lights when there’s nobody coming. He’s got a mind of his own.”

“There was somebody on the road.”

“If you want to say that policeman was on the road. He was hiding behind the gas station, just waiting for someone to run that light.”

Perkins laughed. “Let’s get back to the point. How do you suppose Gretchen would poison Leonard?”

“I have no idea.”

The detective waited patiently for her to continue. Honey knew what he was doing. He was waiting to see how she would attempt to incriminate Gretchen and unwittingly shine light on her own activities and motives. She wasn’t going down that road.

“What makes you think Leonard was even poisoned?” she asked. “He didn’t look that bad on the stretcher. He was fine last night and this morning when Dorothy Anderson picked me up for our Wednesday bridge luncheon.”

“We have blood test results that show he’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned with what?”

Perkins shook his head and said, “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Why, Davey Perkins. Don’t you Sherlock Holmes me. You can’t come in and tear my house apart and call me a murderer and then not tell me what kind of poison we’re talking about. Besides, if I did it, which I most definitely did not, and wouldn’t even think about even if I hated him, which I don’t—I love the man dearly . . . Now wait, where was I going with that?”

“You were saying, ‘If I did it.’”

“Oh, right. If I did poison Leonard, I would already know what the poison was, now wouldn’t I?”

The detective smiled slightly as he said, “I guess that’s right. And, anyway, I know you wouldn’t poison anybody. So I’ll tell you. It was arsenic.”

“Arsenic!” Honey was visibly shocked. “That sounds so positively evil. Where would I get arsenic?”

One of the hazmat suits interrupted to ask, “How much of the medicine cabinet do you want us to analyze?”

The detective got up to supervise the search and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Waldrop. It won’t take much longer. I’ll make sure we don’t take anything you need on a daily basis. By the way, are Leonard’s meds in the same cabinet as yours?”

“Mine are on the right, his are on the left. You can read the names on the bottles. And, Davey, please, stop calling me ‘Mrs. Waldrop.’ You make me feel as old as I am. You’re a full-grown man now. You may call me ‘Honey.’”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Waldrop . . . I mean, Honey.”

Perkins chuckled in embarrassment and went off with his people, leaving Honey alone with her thoughts. She was more than worried. She was being accused of trying to murder the man she loved. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, except maybe let too many people know she and Leonard were happily in love and living together.

What makes people so nosey? And why do they love a scandal? Oh, that’s right. It’s good old-fashioned entertainment.

How could she prove her innocence? And what about Leonard? She was more worried about Leonard than anything else. She kept seeing the confused look on his face as they took him out on the stretcher. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was only one thing she needed to do. Go find Leonard.

She got up to make some Earl Grey Tea for herself. She needed to think. Going to see Leonard might be problematic. For one thing, she hated driving. For another, there must be rules against attempted-murder suspects going to see their alleged victims in the hospital.

She could get in to see him. They would have taken him to Wabash County Hospital, fifteen miles away. She knew everybody there except the new folks. She had been president of the Women’s Auxiliary when her late husband had practically run the place. She got on the phone to call Dorothy, her bridge club friend.

Dorothy answered after the first ring and said, “My goodness, Honey, what’s going on over there? I had to drop you off a block away. I should have stayed with you. Now, I hear Leonard’s been murdered and you’re the number one suspect. How could anyone even suggest such a thing? Don’t worry. I’m your alibi. So are all the girls at bridge club.”

“Dorothy,” Honey said. “Leonard is not dead. The police say he’s been poisoned but they know it’s not me. They’re still here, searching the entire house.”

“Oh, thank God! Is he going to be okay?”

“I’m pretty sure he will,” Honey said. “Now, listen. I need a ride to the hospital right now. I’ve got to be with Leonard. He needs me.”

There was a long pause on the line.

“Honey, I’m not sure I can do that. I’m not sure you should do that. Are you under arrest or anything like that?”

As Honey was contemplating her status, Detective Perkins walked back into the room. “I’ll call you right back,” Honey said as she hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” Perkins asked.

“That was Dorothy.”

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to get a ride to the hospital.”

“How could you know that?” Honey was a little surprised the detective was such a master of the obvious.

Perkins was 6’3” tall and weighed 260 pounds. His last sixty pounds had landed in his belly. Now, Honey, at 5’4”, 115 pounds, was playfully poking her right fist into that belly. “How could you know that?” she repeated.

“Honey, please.” He backed up a step to avoid her poke and said, “You know I can’t let you go see Leonard. We’re in the middle of an investigation here.”

His denial stung like someone trying to slap some sense into her. Honey sat back down at the kitchen table, collapsing like a deflating blow-up doll. All the fight drained out of her. She put her arms on the table and put her head down and began to weep softly. “I need to go see him. I need to take care of him. He needs me. What will he do without me?” She raised her head. Tears had smeared her makeup. “Won’t you take me to him? Please. He’s all I’ve got.”

As Honey’s voice was approaching a wail, Karen Lindvall, the duly-elected and first female prosecutor in the history of Wabash County, walked in and informed Detective Perkins that she was taking over the crime scene investigation. The prosecutor was a blonde, tough-talking, 55-year-old woman of beautiful, Swedish descent. She paid no attention to Honey at first, electing to inform the detective of his many mistakes in gathering evidence. “You can’t have people running around from room to room like this,” she scolded. “We’ll have one team for each room. And, by the way, we’ll be focusing on the kitchen. This is a case of poisoning. All the food and liquid needs to be tested.”

The prosecutor virtually kicked Detective Perkins out of the room, then turned to Honey and softened considerably, “Come here, Honey, and give me a hug. I know how hard this must be. And don’t worry. I know you didn’t do it. We’ve known each other too long.”

“I helped you get elected,” Honey sobbed into her shoulder. “We had a big fund raiser right in this house.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” Lindvall said. “This is woman to woman. I know you and I know Leonard. It’s a small county. I know how much you love him. But you’ve got to admit, it does look bad, Leonard getting poisoned while he’s shacking up at your house.”

Honey backed away from the hug, dried her eyes and said with a sniffle, “I wouldn’t call it ‘shacking up.’”

“You can call it whatever you want,” Lindvall chuckled. “Now, listen, I know you want to go see him. And I’m going to authorize that, okay? I probably shouldn’t but I’m going to do it anyway. What are you going to do? Machine gun him to death in his hospital bed?”

Honey’s eyes turned hopeful. She couldn’t believe her ears.

Lindvall handed Honey a handkerchief. “In fact, I’m going to let Perkins escort you to the hospital. I need to get him out of here anyway. He’s like china in a bull shop.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Honey gushed as she threw her arms around the prosecutor.

“But you’ve got to promise me you’ll stay with the detective at all times. And don’t say anything to anyone about the case. I know you’ll cooperate with this investigation any way you can and I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need you. By the way, Leonard’s doing fine. They’re keeping him overnight for observation, but he’s showing no signs of trauma. So, go see him, and when you get back we’ll talk about what he’s been drinking and eating.”

“What about the arsenic?” Honey asked.

The prosecutor looked back with steel in her eyes, “Who said anything about arsenic?”

Honey looked like a little girl getting caught stealing candy.

Lindvall softened her stare. “Never mind. I know. Don’t you believe a word he says.”

With that, the prosecutor spun on her high heels and stormed out of the kitchen, shouting, “Perkins!”

Leonard was sitting up in bed, flirting with two young nurses, like everything was right with the world. The man looked many years younger than his age. He had a full head of silver hair and laughing blue eyes with bushy eyebrows Honey could never get him to trim. His jutting jaw and powerful forehead made him look tough and stubborn but he was mostly gentle and kind. He was an excellent dancer. Most of his best moves came from square dancing as a young man.

“Step aside, girls,” Honey said as she moved quickly to him. “This is my man.”

“Honey,” Leonard said as she buried herself in his embrace. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I can see how hard you’ve been looking for me,” Honey said, gesturing to the nurses. “Ladies,” she said as she disentangled herself from Leonard’s embrace, “could we have a little privacy?”

The nurses politely left the room. “Who’s this?” Leonard asked as he noticed Perkins for the first time.

“This is Detective Perkins. I’ve known him most of his life. We used to tip him the most of anybody on his paper route. Isn’t that right, Davey?”

Perkins nodded but said nothing. He was still smarting from Honey spilling the beans about the arsenic. He took out a note pad and pen and said to Leonard, “I’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Atkins, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re a detective, huh?” Leonard asked as the two men shook hands. “I’m glad to meet you, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got some questions for you. Starting with why the heck did you haul me out of Honey’s house on a stretcher? And what’s this about me being poisoned? I don’t feel poisoned. Look at me. I’ve been ready to get out of here since they drugged me up and brought me in. Now they say I’ve got to stay all night. What’s going on?”

“Funny you should ask that question,” Perkins said. “I can’t talk about the investigation but I do need to know if you are able to understand your situation.”

“He wants to know if you’re competent, mentally,” Honey interrupted.

“You sound like my niece, Gretchen,” Leonard said to Perkins. “She wants the court to declare me incompetent so I can’t revoke the Power of Attorney I gave her.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Okay,” Leonard began with a deep sigh. “My wife died two years ago, and I had a real rough go of it. She was all I had, so when she was gone I didn’t know what to do. I lost it for a while. I guess it’s what you call grieving.

“Gretchen is my niece, the only family I have left. She took over my finances after my wife died. I gave her what’s called a Power of Attorney. That means she can run my life any way she wants until I revoke that power. A Power of Attorney is something you can always revoke. That’s what her lawyer told us, anyway. Now that I want to revoke the Power, Gretchen and her lawyer are trying to get me declared mentally incompetent. They’ve petitioned the court to get a guardianship over me.”

“And you can’t sign anything or revoke anything if you’re not competent,” Perkins concluded.

“Absolutely,” Leonard said. “And that includes writing a will, which I have never done. Stupid of me, I know. I just never got around to it. Besides, I always thought my wife would live longer than me. Then she got the cancer and left me alone.

“My wife and I only had one child. Her name was Emma. She drowned back in 1942. She was only seven years old. Gretchen was at the pond when it happened. It wasn’t Gretchen’s fault, but I know she always blamed herself. She became like the daughter I lost after her mother and father died. Gretchen’s father was the only family I had left. When he died, Gretchen was all I had and I was all she had.”

“So how can she say you’re incompetent?” Perkins asked.

Leonard looked at Honey before answering. Honey nodded and he continued cautiously. “I do have a problem with my memory and the doctors at the nursing home are saying it’s Alzheimer’s. I don’t know if they’re right, but I do know I’ve been getting better since Honey and I got together.”

“What’s Gretchen doing with your money?” the detective asked, continuing his inquiry into Leonard’s competency.

“I’ve got a feeling she’s hiring lawyers and surveyors to help her sell off parts of the farm. I’ve heard some rumblings about a new housing addition coming in. Every time I ask Gretchen about it she won’t give me a straight answer. In fact, it seemed for a while there that nobody wanted me to know what was going on.”

“And then you found me,” Honey said.

“That’s right, pumpkin.”

“What about your brother? Once he died, didn’t his share of the family farm go to Gretchen?” Detective Perkins asked.

“Over the years, after our parents were gone, I gradually bought out my brother’s share. He and his wife were terrible with money and he was a pretty bad drinker,” Leonard said. “In the end, he didn’t own any part of the farm. I know Gretchen was never happy about any of that.”

“Well then,” Perkins began, “you sound pretty darned competent to me. But let’s start with the obvious. What is your date of birth?”

“That’s easy. August 12, 1916.”

“And that makes you how old?”

“75?”

“Leonard,” Honey tried to help.

“No helping please,” Perkins said.

“Okay,” Leonard said, “I might be a little older than 75. I’ll tell you, it’s 1992 now and I was born in 1916 so that would make me how old?”

“You want to borrow my pen and paper?”

Leonard took the paper and was able to determine he was 76, not 75. “That’s an honest mistake,” Leonard said. “The years go by so fast anymore I can’t keep track of them.”

“At least you know what year it is now. Can you tell me today’s date?”

Leonard looked helplessly at Honey, who shook her head to show she couldn’t help. Then he looked back at Perkins and said, “I’m afraid you’ve got me on that one. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s sometime in September.”

Honey said, “That’s right.”

“No helping,” Perkins warned. “What day in September?”

“That I couldn’t tell you. And before you ask, I don’t know what day of the week it is either. That doesn’t make me incompetent. It just means I’m not working, so keeping track of the days isn’t so important. I don’t get weekends off like you. Fact is, I never got weekends off. Farming keeps you busy seven days a week. Why don’t you ask me something important like who’s the president?”

“Okay.”

“It’s George Bush. But he won’t be president for long. There’s an election coming up, and I think this kid from I forget where, some southern state, is going to win.”

“What’s his name?”

“I think his name is Clinton, but don’t hold me to that.”

The questions went on until Perkins got a pretty good idea that Leonard was not only competent, but also quite clever at hiding his memory problems. Anything he couldn’t remember he wrote off as unimportant.

Leonard repeated his birth date three times over the course of the interview. The sooner he got to a competency hearing, the better off he would be. Repeating oneself is the first of many bad signs to come.

Honey was certain that Leonard’s memory problems were caused by grief over his wife’s death and the stress caused by Gretchen’s legal maneuverings. She was also convinced that the more time Leonard spent being in love with her, the better off he would be. Honey was in denial. She decided not to tell the detective about the time Leonard fell asleep watching television at her house and awakened to shout at her, “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

A nurse came in to say dinner was on the way and to ask if anybody else wanted a meal. Right behind her was a chunky woman in a business suit who announced in a Spanish accent, “I am Maria Gomez from Adult Protective. Are you Leonard Atkins?”

Before Leonard could answer, Ms. Gomez looked at Honey and said, “And you must be Honey Waldrop.”

“What’s this about?” Perkins asked.

“Who are you?” Ms. Gomez glared at Perkins.

“I am Detective David Perkins of the Wabash County Sheriff’s Department. I’m in charge here.”

“Not any more,” Ms. Gomez snarled. “Read this.”

Perkins took the document and reviewed it.

“It’s an emergency restraining order issued by Judge Jonathan Fee of the Wabash Circuit Court,” Ms. Gomez explained, “the court in charge of Gretchen Atkins’ petition to establish guardianship over Leonard Atkins. This order clearly states that Honey Waldrop shall have no contact with Leonard Atkins, either directly or indirectly, pending the outcome of the criminal investigation regarding the poisoning of Leonard Atkins.”

“What does this mean?” Honey asked.

“It means you must leave this hospital room immediately,” Ms. Gomez said. “If you choose to not comply, you will be charged with invasion of privacy, a Class D Felony, punishable by up to three years in jail.”

“You can’t do this,” Leonard said, struggling to get out of bed. “I know my rights. Tell her, detective. She can’t just march in here and tell me I can’t be with my woman.”

Perkins looked at Honey, who was beginning to lose her color, and said, “I’m afraid she can, Mr. Atkins. This court order is basically a no-contact order. Judge Fee has signed it. Honey, I’m afraid you and I are going to have to leave.”

Honey fainted on the spot. She hit the bed first, which broke her fall, then slid to the floor before anyone could catch her. Besides a few bruises that would show up later, she was not injured. Fifteen minutes later, she awoke on a gurney in the nurses’ station down the hall from Leonard’s room.

“Where am I?” she asked while trying to bring the ceiling into focus. Detective Perkins’ concerned face came into her view.

“You’re in the hospital. You fainted in Leonard’s room. Don’t try to sit up. You’ve got a tube in your arm. It’s an I.V. The doctor thinks you might be dehydrated.”

“I never got a chance to drink my tea,” Honey said, struggling to sit up. “Where’s my Leonard?” She flopped her head back down on the pillow, “Oh, yes, it all comes back to me now. They kicked me out of his room because they think I poisoned him. What am I going to do Davey? What can I do?”

“For now you need to rest and try not to worry.”

“Who was that woman who came in with the court order?”

“That was Maria Gomez, one of the toughest women you’ll ever meet. She works for adult protective and she’s seen enough abuse of the elderly to put her on the warpath forever.”

“Didn’t you tell her I would never hurt my Leonard?”

“I don’t think she much cares what I think,” Perkins said. “Don’t worry, the investigation will prove you’re innocent.”

“I thought I was innocent until proven guilty.”

TWO

THE FRONT PAGE banner headline of the North Manchester Herald screamed, “Waldrop Home Searched for Poison.” Beneath the headline was a four-column photo of Honey’s house, wrapped with yellow tape and surrounded by emergency vehicles.

Honey had spent a fitful night at her home after being released from the hospital. She was up and waiting for the paper when it arrived at 5:30 a.m. The news hit her so hard she nearly fainted again. Breathing deeply, she returned to her kitchen and drank a tall glass of water and took a blood pressure pill before sitting down to read the story. She was still in her robe.

“Oh, my goodness,” she cried out to the empty house, “this sounds like something out of The National Enquirer!”

The story read:

Leonard Atkins was rushed to Wabash Memorial Hospital yesterday as technicians searched the home of Honey Waldrop for clues in an apparent case of poisoning.

Mr. Atkins is a retired farmer from Wabash County and Ms. Waldrop is a highly regarded community leader in North Manchester. Mr. Atkins had been placed in the nursing home for memory issues, but The Herald has learned that the two have been living together in Ms. Waldrop’s home for several months. He is 76 years old; she is 77.

“They just had to put the ages in,” Honey grumbled. She had always loved to see her name in the paper and it had been printed many times over the past fifty years as she led one charity event after another. This was the first time anyone had revealed her age. She knew the whole town was atwitter over two older folks getting romantic, but this was really too much. Having the world know her age was almost as bad as being accused of attempted murder.

The story continued:

Wabash County Prosecutor, Karen Lindvall, said no charges have been filed in the case and stated Ms. Waldrop is not a suspect, but does remain a person of interest. Lab results from food and medicine and cosmetics removed from the home will not be available for at least two weeks, Lindvall stated.

Wabash County Detective David Perkins would not comment on what kind of poisoning is involved in the case, nor would he comment on any possible motive.

“Two weeks,” Honey howled at the newspaper. “I’ll be lynched in the town square by then. And Davey makes it sound like I’ve got some motive he can’t talk about.”

Honey threw down the newspaper and got up to make herself some tea and oatmeal. All she could think about was Leonard. His favorite saying was, “Be happy with what you got.” She could hear him saying it in her mind. She could see him too, handsome devil that he was. She could even smell him in her mind. He always smelled like Old Spice deodorant. Honey loved everything about that man.

“Be happy with what you got,” he loved to say. “That’s the only way to be happy. Some folks, you could give them a million dollars and all they’d want is another million dollars. They can never be happy. The only way to be happy is to be happy with what you got.”

“Well, I’m not happy with what I’ve got,” Honey said as she paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, wondering what in the world she was going to do.

She paced until 8 a.m., plotting her next move. She knew what it would have to be. It was probably too early, but she dialed the number anyway.

When the going gets tough, the wealthy call their stockbrokers.

Surprisingly, she got Jim Tech on the phone and immediately poured her story out, beginning with, “They took Leonard away,” and ending with, “I’ll do anything to get him back.”

Tech knew something was seriously wrong as soon as Honey launched into her tale of woe without the usual social small talk as an introduction. She was a misplaced Southern belle, after all. Somewhere in her rambling and excited story, he heard the words “police” and “search warrant” and “poison.”

“Honey, slow down, please,” he said. “Are you telling me the police got a warrant and searched your home because they think you might have poisoned Leonard?”

“Yes,” Honey sighed. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

There was a long pause on the line. Honey waited for Tech’s analysis, amazed he could so quickly get to the heart of her problem with one question.

“Did you read the paper this morning?” she asked.

“I don’t take the North Manchester paper,” he said. “Was it bad?”

“Was it bad?” Honey cried. “I’m front page news like some triple-ax murderer.”

“Honey, Honey,” Tech tried to calm her. “Settle down. It’s going to be okay. You didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“Jim, I can’t take this. After all I’ve done for this town. How can they treat me like this?”

“I’ll tell you what. I’m glad you called me. I know exactly what you need to do.”

“You do?”

“Yes, without a doubt. You just sit tight and wait by the phone. You’re going to be getting a call this morning from somebody I highly recommend. He’s a criminal defense attorney from Fort Wayne by the name of Robert Nimmo.”

“Good, I don’t want anybody from North Manchester handling this case.” Honey wrapped the phone chord around her hand several times. “The lawyers here believe everything they read in the paper.” Nearby Fort Wayne was definitely the big city compared to North Manchester.

“I’m innocent,” Honey said, trying to be brave as she swung open the front door to usher the forty-two-year-old attorney into her home. It was a little after noon. “Thank you for coming so quickly and on such short notice.”

“We got lucky,” Attorney Nimmo said. “I had a trial scheduled for today that was continued to a later date. I’ve got some time.”

“Good,” Honey said. “So, as I was saying, I really am innocent. Do all your clients say that?”

Nimmo laughed as he shook her hand and looked into her eyes with a confidence Honey found instantly reassuring. “I only represent the innocent.” He was as tall as Detective Perkins but much more trim. His hair and beard were a little long, but well-trimmed and with enough gray to show experience. His suit was expensive, and his dress boots with side zippers were well shined. She noticed his briefcase was Oleg Cassini with gold trim as he laid it on her dining room table and snapped it open to take out a writing tablet. He was handsome. He didn’t wear glasses.

“I usually don’t make house calls,” Nimmo joked, “but when Jim Tech told me about you I figured I might as well check out the scene of the crime.”

“There’s been no crime committed here.” Honey said.

Nimmo sat down, picked up his pen and continued in a more sober tone. “I know, I know. Sorry about that. I’m just using a little comic relief here to help you lighten up. I know how hard this must be for you. But let me tell you, everything’s going to be all right.”

Honey stepped into the kitchen as he spoke and returned with a dishtowel in her hands. She was wringing it so tight it looked like she might tear it in two. “Are you sure?”

Nimmo leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Yes I am sure. But listen, before I start asking you a bunch of questions like some cop, let me tell you where we are. No charges have been filed against you. It’s my job to make sure charges are never filed in this case. In other words, I’m here to nip this case in the bud. Good attorneys plea bargain, better attorneys charge bargain.”

Honey pulled out a chair and sat down across from the attorney. “What do you mean by that?”

Nimmo put down his pen and folded his hands in front of him with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “I mean we’re not going to sit around and wait for them to file a criminal charge against you so we can then negotiate a plea bargain. We’re going to do our homework now so they never file charges in the first place. Then we’ll make the newspaper print that news as big as today’s story.”

Honey clapped her hands and stifled a squeal of glee. “I like the way you think.”

Nimmo leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I know the prosecutor. That doesn’t mean she’ll bend the rules to give me special deals. She’s good that way. She doesn’t do favors for her friends. We’ve known each other for years. She’s a fair person. Apparently, you two know each other quite well?”

Honey began bouncing in her seat. “Oh, yes. I’ve known her since she was a young lawyer. She got mad when I knew it was arsenic they said poisoned Leonard.”

Nimmo picked up his pen and began writing. “Arsenic, huh? Sounds kind of old school, don’t you think? Who would want to poison Leonard Atkins?”

Honey stood up and walked around the table to put her hand on Nimmo’s shoulder. She smiled tightly and whispered. “Nobody would poison Leonard. In fact, I don’t think he was poisoned at all. I think Gretchen is making this up. And now she’s got a no-contact order or something that says I can’t even go see him even when he needs me.”

“Hold on, slow down. Who’s Gretchen?”

The attorney nodded and took notes as Honey told him the story of Leonard’s niece, Gretchen Atkins, trying to get him declared incompetent so she could maintain control over his estate.

“You know,” Nimmo said, “I do enough estate litigation to know the vultures often start circling long before anyone dies.”

“That’s the thing,” Honey said. “He’s not even close to dying. He’s only seventy-six. That’s young these days. It’s one year younger than me, and let me tell you, I got a lot of living left to do and so does Leonard. And we intend to do it together.”

Honey put both hands on the table. “Mr. Nimmo. I need you to do something for me right now, today. Something you might not want to do.”