Chapter 24

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It was late in the afternoon before Jenny could get there. They didn’t speak as Jenny wheeled Earl the whole way down the walk. His hands were trembling too much for him to roll himself.

At the door to the apartment, she stopped and looked at him tenderly, brushing the hair off his forehead. “Are you sure about this?”

“Go on.” Earl grunted. “You know what to do.”

She smiled uncertainly. “I can stick around if you want.”

He didn’t smile back. “I have to do this myself.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Well, you know where I’ll be.”

Jenny left him. As the echo of her steps drifted into the wind, Earl turned his attention to the convoy of movers. Primarily teens, by his reckoning, they carried, carted, and slid boxes, odds and ends, and small furniture out of the apartment and across the grass toward the parking lot.

One freckled kid in a striped shirt gave Earl a friendly grin. Earl tried to return the smile, but he didn’t feel up to it.

Alone in the courtyard, he was aware of how empty the complex had already become. Soon everyone would be scattered to the four winds. Sure, for some it would only mean a few miles in one direction or another. But for those residents of Candlewick who weren’t so mobile, it was almost like being transferred to Egypt or Antarctica.

He sat for long minutes, soaking up the world. The sun was warm. The air was cool. The smell of honeysuckle wafted to him. He would miss that most of all.

Turning his attention to the apartment in question, Earl heard sounds coming out through the open door—the clunking of objects, the scrunching of paper, the taping of boxes, the cursing at things not fitting as conveniently into boxes as hoped.

Earl heard a grunt, and out came a man carrying three stacked boxes. Struggling with the weight, the man had to look around his payload to see where he was going.

Earl rolled back out of the way. Even so, the man nearly stumbled into him. “Oh! Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t try to carry so much.” Earl hoped he didn’t come off as gruff as he thought he sounded. He added, trying a softer tone, “You’ll hurt your back.”

“Uh-huh.” The man just kept going, stumbling across the grass toward the parking lot.

Earl, hands still shaky, wheeled delicately toward the door. He heard voices from inside, belonging to a man and a woman. Reaching the threshold, he called out. “Hello!”

A woman whom Earl remembered as Conroy’s daughter came to the door, her hair tied back. She gripped a long lamp. “Hello! I guess you’re here to see Dad?”

Earl tried his best smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned and yelled. “Dad! One of your friends.” She smiled at Earl, holding out a hand. “Remember me? I’m Clara. We met at the rec center.”

“Earl.” He took the hand. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too.” She went back in, and the door was soon filled with Conroy in gray sweat clothes.

He looked at Earl and dropped his grin. “Oh. Come to see me off?”

“Something like that.”

“It’ll be a relief to get out of this place. I don’t know why any of us fought to stay.” He chuckled. “If it weren’t for my daughter and her family—”

“Yeah.” Earl glanced around and saw the kids and the man returning from the parking lot. He turned back to Conroy. “I was hoping we could have a few words.”

Conroy thought for a second then shrugged. “Why don’t you come in? I think I have some juice.”

Clara’s voice called out, “Dad, where do you want this?”

Conroy went back in. Earl wheeled inside, where father and daughter discussed a novelty plate of some sort. Earl never gave much thought to such knickknacks, so he couldn’t follow the conversation. To him a plate was a plate.

Finally, Conroy turned his attention back to the man in the wheelchair. “Look, I know it’s hard to let go and all, but we’ve got to get moving.”

“I really want to speak to you for a few minutes.” Earl glanced at the woman stuffing crumpled newspapers into a box of packed dishes. He looked back at Conroy. “Alone.”

Conroy eyed him. Finally he said coolly, “You’ll have to visit me at the new place. We can talk then.”

“Oh.” Earl reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a slip of folded paper. “I almost forgot.”

“What’s this?”

Earl shrugged. “A note.”

Smiling tentatively, Conroy unfolded the paper. He glanced at Earl before turning to the words in the brief message. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed.

The message was short. Conroy moved his lips silently as he read it to himself again and again. The blood drained from his face. His shoulders dropped several inches. Turning to the woman in the corner of the room, Conroy tried to speak. A croak came out. He tried again. “I have to step out.”

“Daddy? What’s wrong?” Clara stopped with the box. “Are you all right?”

“I think it’s just the move.” Conroy pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. He forced his shoulders back up. “The exertion is getting to me.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

He scooted around behind Earl’s wheelchair and gripped the handles. “Actually, we’re going out for some air.”

“Good. We’ll wrap things up in here. You go sit somewhere and relax.”

Conroy pushed Earl outside, across the courtyard, and down to the main hall. When they entered the recreation center, he shoved the chair hard across the room. Earl had to grab the wheels to stop from crashing into the card table. By the time he got turned around, Conroy was pacing the big room, making circuits across the red patterned carpet.

The empty room was silent. No card games. No billiards. No TV.

Earl stared at Conroy. He didn’t say anything.

Conroy, pacing, working his fingers together, stopped in front of the big glass doors leading back outside. Looking out over the lawn, he finally croaked, “How did you know?”

Earl opened his mouth but found it too dry. Until that moment he thought he had it all worked out. But he now realized he still didn’t quite know the words to say. So he started rambling, just to see where it led him. “You know, when we get to a certain age, we begin to think we understand death. We may not like it. We may not welcome it. But we think we understand it. After we watch our friends and loved ones pass on, we think we expect it.”

Conroy, forehead pressed against the window, didn’t say anything.

Earl continued. “We learn things about people. Like about Kent. None of us liked him, and it turned out some of us hated him. Heck, it turned out a lot of people hated him.”

Conroy turned. Nodded. “Sure.”

“We get so used to our routine. Every day we do things in a certain way, at a certain time. It’s been that way—exactly that way—for so long that you forget life isn’t really like that. This facility had a mission to protect us from life. To insulate us from it.” Earl stopped, locking his fingers together. “But life has a way of breaking through.”

Conroy stared down at the carpet.

Earl added, making sure he still had his audience, “You know?”

“Sure.” Conroy walked over to the pool table, his eyes glassy. He began putting the hard colored spheres on the felt table.

“Suddenly, this place we have all come to trust is going away. And, even more suddenly, one of our own is taken from us. Not by life or the elements or God or anything natural or normal or acceptable.” Earl cleared his throat. “The routine is broken.”

Conroy went over to a wall by the billiards table and picked out a cue from the rack hanging there.

Earl glanced around at the big empty room. Calculated how far he was from the exit. He began slowly rolling his chair, a little at a time, toward the glass door that led outside. Just in case. “At first, the sheriff and everyone else just saw another old man die. Nobody thought anything about it. After all, in a place like this, it happens all the time.”

“You thought something about it.”

Earl chuckled grimly. “Sure I did. But I didn’t want to get involved.”

“You got involved.”

“It’s a long story.”

Conroy started to make a shot then must have decided he didn’t want to play pool after all. Throwing the cue down, he giggled. “We seem to have the time.”

“The problem is that as we began to peel back the layers of George Kent, we discovered just how despicable a man he was. As each new thread presented itself, we tried to follow it to the logical conclusion. We tried to follow the money—both figuratively and literally. Everyone assumed that Kent’s career as a blackmailer was what got him killed.”

“Everyone? It seems to me that only you knew that George was murdered.”

“Well—”

“But blackmail seems as good a motive as any.” Conroy went over to the dartboard, collected the darts.

Earl nervously inched a little closer to the glass door. “But it turned out that it wasn’t about blackmail after all—it was about horse racing. Kent had a whole gambling operation running here, and he got his claws into all kinds of folks out here at the old retirement home.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised. With the old gang breaking up, maybe somebody panicked. Maybe somebody was worried about what would happen when George got to some new place. Whether he’d call in any outstanding debts.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what some thought. But you were the one who was poisoning him.”

Conroy sputtered indignantly. “Wh–what do you mean? How could I do that? I was never even alone with Kent. When would I have the chance?”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t a brilliant plan. You made sure you were always with other people. You arranged for a weekly dinner party. You arranged for Ray to make his fancy homemade chili in your kitchen.”

“Y–you’re saying I poisoned him that night? I wasn’t anywhere near him. Someone else gave him the chili.”

“But the poison wasn’t just in his bowl—it was in the whole batch.”

“We all ate it. Are you saying I poisoned myself?”

“That is exactly what I am saying. You poisoned everybody.” Earl locked his fingers together. “That was the brilliant part. The murder weapon was not the poison.”

“That’s crazy. Everybody else was—”

“Stop it, Conroy. I know what you did. And I know how you did it.”

“Fine. Tell me, if you’re so smart. What do you think I did?”

“You had a group over for dinner every week. Ray made his special chili. Gloria had special dietary needs, so you fixed a separate dish. It was Ray Stanton’s recipe, but it was your pot, on your stove—you added the ethylene glycol. Everybody at the party ate the poisoned chili together—that way, when George eventually got sick, you had an alibi. You were nowhere near the man.”

“But if—”

“The important part is that you always followed the chili with your secret stash of liquor. But George always had his grape juice. Of course, the significance is not what was in the grape juice—it’s what was not in it.”

Conroy trembled. His lips moved, but he didn’t say anything.

“According to the Internet, the thing about ethylene glycol is that its effects are evaporated by alcohol. Anyone who had the chili and drank alcohol was fine—one canceled out the other. But for anyone who had the chili and drank something nonalcoholic—for example, grape juice—the poison stayed in his system. In small amounts each time, of course, but it accumulated in him. You were taking a risk already, and you yourself certainly didn’t want to have to eat a lot each time. After all, the liquor—the antidote—could have killed you as easy as cure you.”

“You certainly have an imagination.”

“Gloria didn’t drink, but that wasn’t a problem—since she didn’t eat red meat, she never even tasted your chili. Hers was prepared separately.”

Conroy puffed himself up. “Let’s say you’re right; somebody was sneaking something into the chili. Maybe Ray put it in. Or Gloria.”

“You were the ringmaster in control of the situation. You made sure your guests always had alcohol after their chili, and you made sure that George Kent did not.”

“Fine, but if it was poisoned, why didn’t somebody taste it?”

“Because of Ray’s deadening taste buds, his recipe was extremely spicy. It covered the taste of anything foreign in it.”

Conroy didn’t say anything to that.

“And I should congratulate you on that little party trick here at the rec center.” Earl nodded toward the space in the wall where the knife had stuck. “You had Jenny running around looking for some idiot who’d be crazy enough to throw a knife across a crowded room. But the solution was so much simpler—you had the knife all along. You stuck it in the wall yourself.”

Conroy held out his hands, while he pouted his lower lip. “I’m no good with that kind of stuff. You saw how badly I did the illusion with the coasters.”

“You did it badly on purpose,” Earl replied. “That is, unless your grandson really does have quarters growing out of his ear.”

Conroy looked at his hands then folded his arms.

Earl continued. “But even after I figured out the means and the opportunity, I couldn’t really figure out the motive. Until I found this.” Earl reached under the blanket across his lap and pulled out Kent’s pewter ring. “Some of the others no doubt thought it was worth a lot of money. But you wanted it for a different reason, didn’t you?”

Conroy looked down at the note in his hand again. He read it again: Does Clara know that Kent is her father?

He looked up, his eyes moist. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. But I knew you must have thought it.” Earl leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “When did he tell you that she was his daughter and not yours?”

Conroy paused, choosing his words. Finally he said, “Early in our marriage, Kay and I had—difficulties. I was wrapped up in my work. I was never home. So then she came to me and told me she—” His voice broke up.

Earl let the silence hang in the empty room.

Conroy wiped his nose with his palm. “Kay had an affair. She told me. She never told me with who. I didn’t want to know.” He began breathing hard, fighting off sobs. “It was a wake-up call. We went to counseling. We decided to make it work. She said she never saw the man again.”

“But—”

“But we found out she was pregnant.”

“Clara.”

Conroy jerked his head then nodded. “We never knew for sure whose child she was. We never spoke of it.”

“So how does Kent come back into the picture?”

“I hadn’t seen him for years, until he showed up at Candlewick. Whenever Clara and her family came around, he always showed an interest. He was all smiles for her. Then one day, he dropped a bombshell on me.”

“He claimed she was his daughter.”

Conroy stopped pacing. He just nodded.

“Let me guess—her birthday is in August.” When Conroy looked at him, Earl held up the ring again. “This is the August birthstone, peridot. Kent’s file says his birthday is in May—so the stone represented her birthday. You and Sally both came around asking about the ring. She wanted it because she’s a—because she has a problem. But you wanted it because it was the source of so much pain every time Kent showed it to you.”

Conroy just nodded, so Earl continued. “And your daughter has the same blood type as Kent—even though you and Kent both needed kidneys, she was a match for him but not for you.”

The other man nodded slowly. “At first I refused to believe it. But too many things added up. And then he began squeezing me for money, or else he would tell her.”

“A blood type is hardly conclusive evidence,” Earl said. “It could be a coincidence.”

“I could just tell from his manner it wasn’t a bluff. And then last month, when Candlewick announced that it was going to shut down, he said he was going to go ahead and tell her. Maybe he was lying, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

“Couldn’t risk what?”

“Look at us! Look at what’s happening to us! All we have, all the people we even know anymore are here in this place. Here at Candlewick.”

“And outside is your daughter and her family.”

“They’re my only contact with the outside world. If Kent was suddenly her father and I was just some old man—”

“Clara would not abandon you,” Earl said. “Whether or not Kent turned out to be her biological father, you raised her. You should have trusted her.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.”

“So you started your weekly farewell parties. And each week you poisoned Kent just a little more.”

Conroy rolled the eight ball across the table. It fell in the corner pocket. “Why come to me? What do you hope to get out of it?”

“I didn’t think there should be a big scene in front of your daughter—or your grandchildren. This will be a big enough shock for them as it is.” Earl rolled his chair a couple of inches closer toward the door. “I thought we could just talk a little. Once you saw how things were, I was sure you could face it calmly. Then you could tell Clara in your own way.”

“Then the sheriff?”

“A deputy is outside. Waiting.” Earl nodded toward the door. “In the lobby.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t storm in.”

“All we told him is that you want to make a statement.” Earl regarded Conroy. “Don’t you?”

“So—he doesn’t know what you know?” Conroy seized a pool cue, sizing it up.

“You have a chance to turn yourself in.” Earl nervously reached for his wheels. “It’s the best way.”

“I don’t know about that.” Conroy was considering the weight of the stick in his hands. He flipped it around, so the thick end was up. He took a practice swing. “I wouldn’t let Kent ruin my life. I don’t know why I should let you.”

Earl’s hands stiffened on his wheels as he gauged the distance to the exit. How fast could he turn around? Did he even have a chance to get out? His thoughts were broken by a woman’s voice from the hall.

“Is everything okay in here?” It was Conroy’s daughter, Clara.

Conroy looked up, and all the menace drained from him. “Oh, um, sure, sweetheart.” He looked at Earl.

Earl said, “We were just talking. Your father is going out to the lobby now to speak to somebody.” He looked at the other man. “You have something to tell him, don’t you?”

Conroy set the stick on the table. Taking a deep breath, he stood up to his full height and adjusted his jacket. He exhaled and looked toward the hall. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

Earl handed him the ring.

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