Shadows at the Fair (20 page)

The Rensselaer County Spring Antiques Fair was over, and 7,324 customers had paid their admission, looked over the wares of almost 250 dealers, and perhaps purchased a souvenir of their Memorial Day weekend in the country.

But to look at the fairgrounds now, at six-thirty Sunday night, an observer might think that no one had sold anything. Dollies laden with cartons, tables, and bookcases filled the aisles, as vans and trucks lined up two rows deep outside the buildings. The end walls of the exhibit buildings were opened to the late-spring evening, and all 250 dealers were trying to get inventories packed up and stacked in their vehicles before driving back to wherever home was. Few dealers could afford the time or money to stay an extra night and start for home Monday morning; most knew they’d have at least a four-to-six-hour drive after they’d loaded their vans or trucks.

Prints, books, and jewelry were three of the easiest inventories to pack. Fine crystal and china dealers were at the other end of the spectrum; each piece had to be carefully wrapped and cushioned before cartons could be loaded in vans.

True to their promise, Gussie’s sister and brother-in-law were packing out her booth, while Ben, seemingly none the worse for emotional wear, was beginning to load her van, under Gussie’s careful direction. Will was meandering about, keeping an eye on everyone, and packing his iron and tin wares sporadically. He was headed for Connecticut to visit an old friend and had only an hour’s drive to make tonight.

But Joe, Maggie, and the Wyndhams were already filling their vans. Joe’s books were heavy, so his cartons were small, but he didn’t have to wrap books individually, and half an hour after the show’s closing he had already packed and stowed half his inventory.

Maggie had filled her portfolios and was stacking them in her van between rows of the plastic boxes she used to display her prints. She moved more quickly and purposefully than usual, keeping her eyes on the vans around her. When Abe was inside the show building getting another load, she stopped Lydia next to her van.

“Lydia, may I talk with you?”

“Maggie dear, you know I’d love to talk with you. But Abe and I aren’t quite finished packing. And we have to get on the road. We have a show to do outside Boston on Tuesday. We’re headed there tonight, so we can set up tomorrow.”

“Lydia, I really need to talk with you.” Maggie looked her straight in the eye. “In private.”

“Well, if you must, dear, just step into my van. There’s nobody there, and Abe won’t be out for at least five or ten minutes. He’s packing the smalls on the back table, and he’s getting older, you know, and everything takes him twice as long as it used to. So, whatever you need to say, we’ll be quite private.” Lydia’s van was parked between Maggie’s and Gussie’s. “I don’t know what could be so important to talk about now when we’ve had all weekend to chat.”

Maggie hesitated. Then she followed Lydia through the open van door.

Despite the late-day sun, it was dark inside the van. Its few windows were covered by stacked boxes attached to the sides of the van with bungee cords. The living space wasn’t much larger than she’d remembered, and it smelled more. The Wyndhams must not stop at Laundromats too often, or at least not to wash their bedclothes. The folding bed they obviously slept on, sat on, and, to judge by the crumbs covering it, ate on, might once have been spread with white sheets and a striped red-and-black blanket, but now everything was a shade of dusty gray. With some pink in it, Maggie found herself thinking. Maybe they had washed all the bedclothes together. Several years ago.

Lydia gestured toward the bed, and Maggie reluctantly sat on its edge. Lydia stood by the door, which had slid shut, cutting off most of the available light. Maggie fought off the feeling that she was trapped in a small metal box and forced herself to say what had to be said.

“Lydia, I know what killed Susan.”

Lydia nodded, reaching over to adjust one of the cartons she had just placed in the van. “AIDS is a horrible disease, dear. Horrible. You have no idea.”

“Yes, it is.” Maggie watched her closely. “But people don’t just die of AIDS. They die of a disease that is able to take over their body because their immune system doesn’t work anymore.”

Lydia looked at her. “That’s right. But if it weren’t for AIDS, then they wouldn’t die. And they die horrible deaths. Sometimes pneumonia keeps them gasping for every breath. No matter what doctors write on the death certificates, or what families want to call it, people die of AIDS. Susan was dying of AIDS.”

“But she didn’t die of AIDS last night. She died because she was poisoned.”

“That’s what that policeman said, Maggie. But don’t you be getting yourself all turned round because of it. He didn’t know what could have caused her to die, all sudden like that. She was tired, and in shock. People with AIDS can collapse anytime.”

“You know a lot about AIDS.”

“Well, I read a lot, you know. In the van, when we’re on the road.”

“Lydia, didn’t you tell me you were a botany teacher back in Iowa?”

“I taught high school botany for twenty-seven years. And for seven years I taught at night, too, at the local college.”

“Iowa’s big farm country.”

“It’s beautiful country, Maggie, but this is not the time to talk about Iowa. We both have things to do. You’re upset about Susan, of course. We all are. But we have to get on with our lives. Which means packing up our vans and going wherever we’re supposed to go next.”

Lydia turned toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me?” She gestured toward Maggie.

“Lydia, I know how Susan died. So do you.” Maggie took a deep breath. Lydia turned toward her, and she saw the short woman’s eyes focus directly on hers. “If you don’t tell the police, then I’m going to.”

Lydia walked over to where Maggie was still sitting on the edge of the bed and sat down too close to her. An odor of sweat and stale air and the thick scent of Lydia’s perfume filled the narrow space between the two women. “Maggie, I don’t think that’s smart. You really don’t know anything; you’re guessing.”

Maggie looked straight back at her. “I mat a lot of prints. Most of the herbs and flower and tree prints come with botanical information. A lot of customers find that interesting, so I copy it or mount it on the back of the mat. While I was looking through my stock for the coffee and tea prints you wanted, I found a beautiful print of azaleas.”

Lydia put her head down, cradling it in her hands. Maggie paused a minute. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. Maybe Lydia was going to admit everything and give herself up.

Maggie continued, “Azaleas are poison. Especially to farm animals. In Iowa, azaleas are especially common, and the University of Iowa has published several studies pointing out the dangers to grazing animals. And, in particular circumstances, to people. Of course no one, except maybe a child or a cow, would eat azalea flowers or leaves. But azalea nectar, and honey made from the nectar, is toxic. In ancient Greece, soldiers were sometimes poisoned by eating too many cakes made with honey from azalea blossoms. And the only thing more toxic than the honey is a strong solution of azalea flowers. It looks just like a pale yellow herbal tea, and it takes a couple of hours to work. First it burns the mouth a little—not much if there is a lot of honey put in the solution. Then it numbs the tongue and lips. That makes it harder for the person poisoned—especially someone who is already weakened by another disease—to vomit. In a case like that, a victim can choke to death on their own vomit. Or they can go into a coma and die anytime up to six hours after ingesting the solution.”

Lydia hadn’t moved.

“The only thing I don’t understand, Lydia, is why you did it. Why kill Susan?”

Suddenly, there was a flash of light as the van door opened wide. Maggie felt herself thrown backward, toward a pile of racks and steel cases full of jewelry. The pain in the side of her head merged with the sensations of being off balance and unable to breathe.

As she pulled herself up, she watched a narrow red stream of blood dripping down onto her shoulder from the side of her forehead where she had hit the corner of the metal stands.

Lydia was standing over her. In her hand was a small gun. Abe was standing by the door he’d opened, staring at them both.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, Maggie. But you’re thinking too hard. Sometimes it’s not good to think too hard.”

“You can’t kill me, too.”

“Dear, I’m afraid I can. Guns are very simple to use, you know. And I grew up on a farm. I know how to use one.”

Maggie looked at her. It was hard to focus on the person standing directly over her without focusing on the small silver gun pointed directly at her head. It looked like a toy. It wasn’t.

Abe slowly put the open carton of silver miniatures he was carrying down on the front seat. “Lydia, why get her involved? There’s no reason.”

“There’s reason. She knows about Susan. Maybe she knows more.”

“There are people around. They’ll hear. We don’t use guns unless we have to.”

“We don’t have to kill her here.” Lydia’s voice was getting impatient, as Abe glanced with concern at the parking lot in back of him. “She’ll stay with us. You finish packing. How many more cartons?”

“Two or three.”

“Then you put that carton away and go get the rest, and we’ll be off. And somewhere between here and Massachusetts we’ll stop at a rest stop and leave her there.”

Lydia hadn’t taken her eyes off Maggie. “Dear, you won’t be able to tell them much with a bullet in your head. And we’ll get rid of the gun, too. I don’t need this one anyway. We have others.”

“Others?” Maggie tried to glance around the crowded van, but didn’t want to lose her view of the hand with the gun. Her head was throbbing, and if she lost her focus on the gun, she might lose her focus on Lydia.

“Two old people on the road all the time need protection, don’t you think?”

Maggie had no doubt that Lydia could use that gun. And at this close range there was no chance of missing. Her blood was staining the front of her silk blouse. Cold water would take out blood. She needed to get to a sink of cold water. She forced herself to focus on Lydia.

“Why, Lydia? Why did you do it?”

“Well, you might as well know that part; you figured out the rest.” Lydia almost relaxed her expression. But the hand holding the gun remained steady. “Susan was sick; she was dying. AIDS is a horrible way to die. It’s God’s way of punishing those who have sinned against His word. Its revenge is slow and painful. Susan was in pain. What happened was a kindness.”

“How can murder ever be a kindness?”

“You’re young, Maggie. Have you ever watched anyone die a slow and painful death?”

Maggie shook her head. Just keep her talking. “No. Never.”

“It’s not pretty. And AIDS takes everyone close to it down with the one who has sinned. That’s what happened with us, wasn’t it, Abe?”

Abe was still standing in the doorway. His height blocked the light. Maggie wished she could call out, but the gun was too close, and the way the bed was angled she couldn’t see through the windshield so she had no idea who might or might not be nearby. Her van was the nearest, she knew, and no one would be there. Gussie and Ben were loading on the other side of the Wyndhams’ van. Most people were still packing up inside the exhibit buildings.

Abe nodded his head, looking sadly at Maggie. “It comes like a sickness from hell, destroying all in its path. It took our Danny, and it took our life. It has to be stopped.”

Danny. Their son.

“Your son died of AIDS?”

“He left us to live in Chicago, and the forces of evil defeated him. He had always been a good boy, but he was contaminated by Satan. Then he returned to us, broken and ill of the plague. The wrath of God had brought him down.”

Lydia glanced back at Abe, who was still standing, almost like a statue, in the doorway. “That’s right, it did. And we nursed Danny and took care of him. It took two years for him to die. At the end his skin was covered with lesions, and he was blind, and he could hardly breathe without pain.” Lydia’s voice was full of anger, not sorrow.

“God sent all of the plagues against him.” Abe intoned the words as though he were in a pulpit.

“There was no place to turn. Danny had no health insurance. He was just twenty-four. He had no place to go but home. And the neighbors turned away from us. The people in the church said Danny had to repent. He was stubborn, that boy. He wouldn’t pray to the Lord.”

“He turned his face away from the face of the Lord.” Abe said it like an incantation.

“We had no friends to turn to. I had to leave my job because there was no one else to care for Danny, and then Abe’s supervisor told him they really needed a younger person at the bank, so we had no income. And all the time Danny was getting weaker, and weaker, and more in pain. Abe would sit by his bedside for hours, reading to him out of the Holy Book. But Danny wouldn’t repent and be saved.” The hand holding the gun wavered slightly. “The people we’d grown up with, the people who had been our friends, left us alone. They were afraid of being contaminated, by the AIDS, or maybe by Danny’s rejection of the Lord. But they stayed away. One July night, on the kind of dry, hot night when you leave all the windows open, hoping for a breeze or a shower to end the heat, we were in Danny’s room. Danny was pretty bad then. We were all together when we heard the cries and shouts.”