Breakfast Time
"Like another cup of coffee, dear? How about you, Betty?" Jim asked, amiably. Jim Salisbury was always unfailingly polite to his wife and daughter, even though both had caused him much grief through the years.
"Yeah, thanks," Jackie answered, absentmindedly.
"Me, too," Betty said, looking at her father with wary eyes. His old-fashioned gentility had always made the 25-year old her feel slightly uncomfortable and she did not understood why.
Jim poured the steaming coffee all around. It was one of the few things that all three of them had in common: a love for fresh, hot coffee.
The women were obviously nervous. Jim was also, although he took pains not to show it. He asked, "Everyone enjoy breakfast?"
"Yes, it was good. Thanks, Dad."
"It was good, Jim." Jackie said, again with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
"We'll have to do this more often," he said, amicably, smiling at his wife and daughter."
"Yes, I suppose we should," Betty agreed, starting to feel perspiration beads in the palms of her hands. Jim noticed that she was beginning to rub them together nervously.
"Jim, lets get on with it," Jackie said, a sharp edge in her voice now that was missing earlier.
"All right, then," he answered, his tone changing to one of seriousness and formality. "Betty, you know why we invited you for breakfast. We need to talk this out."
Betty, who had not eaten a morning meal with her parents in years, nodded her head and said nothing.
"I still can't believe you want to have this conversation," Jackie said, crossly. She lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Oh, I think you can believe it well enough, dear," he answered, dryly, not taking his eyes off of her.
"Well, then get on with it. I'm certain Betty wishes to be somewhere else." It was one of the few things that mother and daughter had agreed on in quite some time.
"OK. Looking at his daughter, Jim said, "One of us is responsible for Mike's death."
"You think so?" Betty tried to remain calm but her voice was shaky and she continued to rub her palms,
"I think so, all right. One of us is a murderer."
"What makes you think that?" Jackie asked, defensively, "All of us got sick."
"True enough, but only one us died."
"Could have been any of us. You heard what the doctor said. We're lucky we lost only Mike."
"I don't think luck had anything to do with it." Jim said, a trace of anger now in his voice that frightened the two women.
"You think I killed Mike?" Betty asked, her face now white as chalk.
"I don't know."
"You think I killed him?" Jackie asked, with emphasis and in a shrill voice, anger welling up from her diseased lungs.
"Maybe I killed him," was her husband's sardonic answer.
"Maybe you did," she answered, without conviction.
"Maybe I did," he repeated, looking now at Betty.
As he looked at her, none of them said anything. He felt a curious combination of love and pity for both of them, and he took no satisfaction in having to do what he was about to do. He allowed the uncomfortable pause in the conversation to continue on a little longer. Finally, glancing at them, he asked, "What makes you think that it was anything but murder?"
"Jim," his wife said, with a forced weariness that impressed neither he nor their daughter, "We had dinner right here. Right here in this house, Here at this very table. All of us were ill; all of us spent several days in the hospital. I almost died. You and Betty are lucky you didn't die, too. We got food poisoning, Jim, a very serious case of food poisoning. But, it wasn't murder. What makes you think it was?"
It was one of the few times in recent years that his wife had said anything that required lucid thought and logical reasoning. Although he did not say so, Jim was impressed with his wife's comments and question. Patiently, he answered, "Because nobody else got sick from that shipment of poultry. Only us. Don't you think it odd that only we, of all the people who purchased from that shipment, should get ill, much less ill to the point of death? I think it's very odd, and so does Lieutenant Aldridge."
The women cringed, as both were aware of Jim's' lengthy conversation with the police inspector yesterday afternoon. Aldridge had wanted to question Mrs. Salisbury and their daughter, but Jim asked if he could speak with them first, due to his wife's poor health and Betty's emotional state. Aldridge, seeing no harm in it, agreed. Last evening, Jim briefed them on the inspector's suspicions and his wish to discuss them in more detail.
Betty, recently divorced from an abusive spouse, spent the night with them, the first time she had done so in many years. Her father thought of that as he looked at her. All those years in a bad marriage and never once did she come home for a peaceful night's sleep. Well, I bet she didn't get one last night, either. He looked back at Jackie and saw the same fear and disorientation on his wife's face as he had seen on his daughter's. Once again, he felt the curious combination of affection and pity and, noticing that she was about through with her cigarette, wondered, as he had many times, how can a person with emphysema continue to smoke? As he pondered his wife and daughter, his face gave away nothing. He said, "You're aware of the lieutenant's concerns. Neither of you can plead ignorance of that. The question still is, how come only we experienced poisoning from the roast turkey, and why did only Mike die? It had to be murder. Under these circumstances, there is no other explanation or answer. It was one of us three, and we were the only ones to come into contact with the turkey from the time it was purchased until the time it was consumed."
"You got it from the store, Dad. You could have added the salmonella before you got home." Betty Busby, although not particularly close to or fond of her father, felt a burning shame on her face as she uttered these words.
"That's true," he answered, seeming to take no offense, "but it's also true that you and your mother roasted the turkey and prepared the meal, and neither Mike nor I were around in the kitchen when you did so."
"So Betty and I killed Mike?" Jackie, beginning to feel an unfamiliar uneasiness with her husband, started to answer her own question before being racked by a violent cough.
"Well, I didn't add the poison," Betty said, with conviction and without the nervousness that marked her previous comments.
"I didn't, either," her mother added, weakly, still not recovered by her coughing fit.
"It wasn't me, either," Jim added, in the matter-of-fact manner that annoyed the two women.
"You're sure he was murdered?" Betty asked, weakly, not expecting the answer she wished.
"As certain as we can be of anything. If you have a different theory, I'm certain the lieutenant will be interested in hearing it."
"When does he want to talk to us?" his wife asked.
"As soon as we're done here."
Now looking and feeling as ill as she was, Jackie said, "So one of us is a murderer. A murderer of a close family member."
Jim, looking across the large breakfast room table and pondering the breakfast clean up, offered, "Yes, that's correct. In fact, Lieutenant Aldridge says that murders are usually committed by close friends or family."
"If I didn't do it, then that means one of you two did," Betty said, feeling sick to her stomach.
Jim, pained at what his daughter was going through, agreed, "I know, I have thought the same thought about you and you mother."
"So you both think it was me," Mrs. Salisbury said, weakly.
Betty answered quickly, "We didn't say that. If it wasn't you, then you feel the same way about us."
Jim was impressed. That was the most intelligent thing Betty had said to her mother in a long time.
Both women felt faint. The strain of the conversation was becoming too much for them. As Betty excused herself to go wash her face, the doorbell rang. It was the police lieutenant.
"Good Morning," he said to Jackie Salisbury as he entered the kitchen, Jim trailing only a step behind.
She quickly noted that he looked like a policeman. Aldridge was tall, dark and possessed an air of serious professionalism. She said, "Morning to you." Her disdain for the police lieutenant's presence was plainly obvious.
"Where is your daughter? I understood you to say she would be here?
Jim quickly answered, nervousness in his voice for the first time, "She's here. She's in the bathroom. Our conversation this morning has greatly disturbed her."
"I would imagine," the lieutenant answered, dryly, "I hope she's OK. How do you feel about this, Mrs. Salisbury?"
"I'm no killer."
"Perhaps not, but I'm here to find out who is." As he said this, Betty walked back towards the kitchen and heard this exchange. As she stood by the kitchen table, both she and her mother looked as if they may collapse. Jim wondered, it's incredible, but they could have done it together, but why? Mike got along well with both of them.
"Everyone take a seat. Mrs. Salisbury, would you rather sit here or in the living room?"
"Here is fine, thank you."
"OK, then. Like I said, I came to find out what happened. I am here to find the killer." As he said this, Aldridge felt like a character out of a cheap detective story.
Jackie said, "But Jim said you were going to talk to us."
"I am. We're talking now." Those words took the wind from Betty, who was at the point of hysteria. Her mother didn't look much better. Even Jim, who felt that the lieutenant was a bit melodramatic, winced at the inspector's bluntness.
He asked, "I take it that you know who the murderer is."
"Not really," the tall police lieutenant answered, softly.
"Who do you think it is," Jim said, impatiently. He hoped his nervousness didn't show.
"In a moment. First, let me explain a few things." He paused for a moment, but, not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary, continued as soon as the Salisbury's were seated at the kitchen table. He sat, also, to seem less intimidating. The lieutenant was aware of Jackie Salisbury's frail health and had no desire to agitate her any more than she already was. Looking around the table, he said, "Mike died, but not of food poisoning. The killer was clever to arrange for everyone to get sick and make it appear that Mike was the only one unfortunate to die from it. It was not until I asked for an autopsy that we found the real cause of death."
"Which was?" Betty asked, meekly.
"Potassium cyanide. It was found in the cranberry juice Mike drank." The lieutenant added, wryly, "The murderer used poison."
Jim felt ill. To think that Jackie or Betty killed Mike. Jim was as sad as he had ever been. To say that he wondered why would be a gross understatement.
But, as he looked at the women he didn't always like but still loved and pondered the unthinkable, the lieutenant said, "It's curious. We found traces of potassium cyanide in Mike's apartment."
Betty yelled out a blood-curdling shriek. "My God! I remember switching his glass of juice with Mom's. There was a smudge on hers, and, knowing Mom's affinity for cleanliness, swapped it for his. The glasses were the same and filled with the same amount. I traded them when I placed the turkey on the table, before everyone sat down."
"Did Mike place the glasses on the dining room table?" The inspector asked.
"Why, yes, he did. Then . . . he meant to kill Mom!" Betty sat back in her chair, glassy-eyed and dazed. Jackie didn't look much better.
"I hoped one of you would know something," Lieutenant Aldridge answered, softly. "Something important that you didn't realize was important. I figured Mike was the poisoner, but I wasn't certain. This explains how he was the one to die."
"He wanted to kill his own mother?" Jim could scarcely believe it.
"He wanted to put me out of my misery," Jackie said, softly. "He wanted to do me a favor and not be blamed for it." Jackie Salisbury wheezed and spent the next several minutes combating a violent coughing fit. The lieutenant felt pity for the entire family.
After a period of several minutes, during which an eerie silence permeated the area around the kitchen table, Jim asked, "So, now what?"
The policeman thought for a long moment. The revelation about the glasses of juice had answered the big question in his mind. Finally, he said, "So, now, I make my report. It's pretty obvious Mike's plan of mercy killing backfired tragically for him." Lieutenant Aldridge, not able to resist a bit of theater, rolled his eyes upward, as if not wanting to think or speak of this tragedy anymore. He continued, "We've done background checks on all of you. It is obvious none of you are the murdering kind. Betty's revelation of switching the glasses makes perfect sense of the whole sad mess. I suppose I will leave you in peace and say God Bless You." The police lieutenant rose and was anxious to leave. The last few minutes had been the most bizarre of his lengthy career in law enforcement. Jim quietly escorted him to the door.
As he returned to the breakfast table, where it seemed a lifetime had been lived in the last hour, he said, "Well, our family has had some stormy times, but at least we now know we are not killers."
Still weak from the coughing fit, Jackie said, "I sort of wish he had succeeded. Instead, I lost a son. I guess it doesn't matter. I probably will be with him soon enough. God rest his soul."
Betty, still in shock, managed, "Amen to that. At least, we can live with each other now with no doubts. I was horrified to think of Dad or you as a killer."
Jackie stared at her blankly as Jim just nodded his head, smiled slightly, and poured another cup of coffee. He hoped, with his wife not expected to live much longer and his daughter rebounding from a bad marriage, that the three of them could enjoy whatever time they had together in peace.