Evelyn Smythe

Retired detective Sean Malone sipped a seltzer from his perch beside the care home’s parlor room windows, waiting for a first glimpse of Ravenwood’s newest inmate. He feigned nonchalance to keep the gossipmongers off his scent, feeling a bit pathetic for his interest. Such was the monotony his regimented life had become.

The boorish tittering of Resident Tea Time faded into background noise as he watched a stormy procession march a tallish woman up the paved entryway. Sean maneuvered his wheelchair for a closer view and took note of her clenched teeth, tilted chin, and stiff back. She was accompanied on one side by a long-haired woman whose pinched face radiated smug satisfaction, and on the other by a well-dressed man scurrying to keep pace, talking nonstop like a lawyer arguing a case.

Sean’s pulse thumped. This was no common resident. Her trim figure was accentuated by a tailored pantsuit in the same tawny shade as her loose, shoulder-length hair. And she moved with a subtle grace — like a gazelle in stride. But most of all, it was the sharp intelligence in her honey-brown eyes that captivated him. This was a lady that could rule kingdoms.

What on earth did she need an old folk’s home for? She didn’t look a day over 50. And given her vigorous parade up the flagstone steps, she looked to be in the peak of health.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” Humphrey Bogart’s voice whispered from Sean’s memory. A warning perhaps? Or was something awakening. He felt the dull shroud of medicine bottles, patronizing nurses, and murky sunshine begin to lift as if a brisk autumn wind had lifted layers of dust from his dormant senses.

Call it professional intuition if you will, or the byproduct of experience gained from a lifelong career, but the street smarts he thought long since dead were making a grand return entrance. He couldn’t deny his gut response to this striking, self-possessed woman. Sean’s lips absently sought the ghost of his time-honored cigar as he considered this fact.

Sounds of arrival soon came from the front hallway, and Sean inched himself away from the windows into position by the room’s open double doors, conveniently located across the hall from the Administrator’s office.

Among the chaos of greetings and introductions, Sean watched the woman exhibit a stillness that belied the activity behind her eyes. She stood — as if forgotten — beside the paneled entrance door, mimicking the carved contours of wood as she scrutinized the forced joviality of the little group. Sean had recognized this same disparity in behavior after cornering many a suspect. And woe be to the officer in charge who is lured into that outward show of submission.

It’s always the eyes that tell the real story.

The young couple rudely turned their backs, blocking the woman from their conversation with the Administrator. The man oozed charm. He took control, sweet-talking, while his cohort with the long hair nodded encouragement, emitting small sounds in agreement.

Sean sensed undeniable tension building in the air. He shifted his attention, watched her eyes. Here it comes…

Without warning, the woman launched herself from the front door and interrupted them with an unmistakable tone of command. The young couple stepped aside, eyes sliding to each other. The woman held her head high and spoke directly to the Administrator.

“You must excuse me,” she said, in a richly cultured voice. “My name is Evelyn Smythe, and these people do not speak for me. This is my son, Brent, and his wife, but they do not speak for me. I am here thanks to the inauspicious wisdom of my late husband and the greedy betrayal of thankless children. Shall we step inside to finish the paperwork?”

Sean caught the stolen glance between the young couple’s murmured denials as the Administrator swept the small group into her office and closed the door behind them. An air of drama lingered in the empty hall like wisps of smoke.

Evelyn Smythe…

Sean scanned the room to see who he could scrounge more info from, caught sight of the young orderly coming down the hall and motioned him over. “Hey, Billy. What’s the story with the new dame?”

* * *

According to Sean’s gathered intel, the old girl was dumped here by her son and daughter-in-law, the same young couple he had witnessed on her arrival to Ravenwood. They claimed dear old mum suffered from dementia and could no longer care for herself — or more precisely, her vast estate.

Sean’s detective nose twitched with the smell of something wicked, and he couldn’t shake his interest in her circumstance, or in her shapely form. He had mistakenly thought that part of his life to be long over, but the woman’s soft brown eyes haunted his sleep with dreams of an impossible future.

Days passed into weeks and Sean sought Evelyn out at every opportunity. Despite Mrs. Smythe’s rocky initiation to Ravenwood, she seemed to settle in quickly to the Manor’s daily routine, and to Sean’s practiced eyes, he could detect no telltale signs of advanced dementia.

But as time wore on, Sean observed curious bouts of forgetfulness during her interaction with certain staff. And just the other day, Billy — after some expert grilling on Sean’s part — admitted that Mrs. Smythe did get confused at times, and he’d have to explain things to her like where she was, who he was, and why she was there.

It was certainly odd, but Sean, already smitten, reasoned it away. Who doesn’t have faulty memories at this stage of the game? Besides, Billy was just a young pup. What would he know about aging minds?

Still, Sean wrestled with unsettling thoughts about the lovely Mrs. Smythe. He tried convincing himself — just leave her alone, there’s nothing fishy. When that didn’t work, he scolded — I’m too old anyway … too old to have a shapely leg or twinkling eye turn his head. Did he really want to get involved? He was used to being alone and liked it that way. On and on he debated, but try as he might, his interest in Evelyn — Evie, as he came to call her — refused to go away, and they soon became fast friends.

In fact, it almost seemed as if she’d been the one seeking him out, but what did it matter? He liked the old girl. There was something special about her that he just couldn’t ignore.

So, in the end, Sean came to a conclusion. He would just retire his professional instincts and not pass up an opportunity for love. And if there were complications? Well, who doesn’t reach old age with shadows of a past that could use a little kindness from someone who cared?

* * *

Summer arrived. One of the great pleasures for Ravenwood Manor residents was Tea Time on the Manor’s wide covered porch. Duncan, a bit senile now, was parked in his customary spot beside the door, waiting the eternal wait for family that never arrived, and a few of the old biddies knitted bonnets, tsking at the noise erupting from the lower patio where orderlies played a clandestine game of poker behind the shrubs. Evelyn sat beside Sean in companionable silence — sipping sweet tea, listening to birdsong, and admiring the vast view.

Ravenwood Manor was a historic estate from the colonial era refurbished into a home for the aged, thanks to a generous legacy that also provided care for its extensive gardens. Flowers of every color were in profuse bloom, and ancient trees cast a canopy of towering shade across a lush green landscape. Sean could just make out the top of the greenhouse’s peaked roof beyond the east lawn.

“Sean, have I mentioned how much I value our friendship?” The ice clinked in Evelyn’s glass as she sipped without meeting his eyes. “These past weeks would have been torture without your support.”

Caught off guard, Sean sputtered. “Who me? Nah, what kind of support can a washed-up detective give. You’re just being nice. Taking pity on a crotchety old man.”

He watched her eyes twinkle as she laughed and laid a hand on his arm.

“Seriously. You’ve been a gem. It’s been so lovely having you on my side. Not to mention, a pleasant diversion.” Evie sighed. “Otherwise, I’m afraid I would have sunk into melancholia. How else does one come to terms with being cheated out of their life’s work.”

Sean let out a breath. Here we go. The game is afoot. He had been avoiding this moment for as long as possible, wanting to stay in the daydream of romance, dreading details and facts that would invoke — no, awaken — his consummate detective self he fought so hard to retire. But he was still a man.

Sean shifted in his wheelchair and silently cursed his frailty. He wanted to rescue this woman, his damsel in distress, his princess from the tower. He felt his blood rise in readiness for action, ready to slay the lady’s dragon.

“What happened, Evelyn?”

“Oh, it’s a sad story,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve heard it many times during your career. I was a stupid, trusting, old woman. I thought Brent loved me, the same as I’ve loved him for the entirety of my adult life. I’m a devoted mother.”

She gazed out, unseeing, past the idyllic, parklike lawn as she struggled to contain her emotions.

“Do you mean the man I saw you arrive here with? What’s his wife’s name?”

“That witch. I’m positive that she had a hand in manipulating Brent to act against me. I’m sure of it.” Anger flashed from her eyes, yet her whole demeanor remained calm and in control. No one else on the porch even raised an eyebrow.

Sean leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me, Evie. What did they do?”

Tears pooled in her lovely eyes. She turned to him and said, “Betrayal. Greed. Slander. Lies. All from the one person who is supposed to love me best. What did they do? My son stole my house and, for all intents and purposes, had me committed.” Evelyn pressed a white linen hankie daintily against her eye and politely excused herself.

Sean watched her disappear in the direction of the greenhouse, and all he could think of was: What a classy broad.

A few days later, Sean found himself in Evelyn’s hallway and noticed the door to her room slightly ajar. He wheeled over and peered inside. A quick glance showed Evie not at home, but the furnishings were highbrow compared to Sean’s limited means. Heavily carved furniture, polished to a sheen, flaunted lustrous grains of an exotic wood. Billy was setting up a ladder near one of the tall windows covered in Victorian lace.

Out of habit, Sean scanned the room like a detective looking over a crime scene. Everything in the room was exquisite, magazine perfect. Something flashed in the room’s interior, a reflection of sunlight perhaps.

Sean wheeled himself inside and spotted a strange array of dark colored bottles lined up on top of a glossy, mahogany sideboard. Among the bottles were largish jars filled with what looked like chopped-up plants floating in a viscous liquid. He was about to reach for one when Billy noticed him.

“Ah, Mr. Malone. What are you doing here?” Billy nervously looked toward the open hallway door. “I don’t think you should be in here. I could get in trouble.”

“Nah, I was just stopping by to say hello, see if you needed any help with that ladder. What ya working on over there?” Sean nodded toward the window.

Billy looked over his shoulder. “Oh, just some minor maintenance. Mrs. Smythe wanted thicker blinds installed, seeing as how too much sunshine comin’ in makes the room too hot, and something about the light fading color? Or was it wood?” Billy scratched his ear trying to remember.

Sean picked up one of the jars. “Maybe too hot for whatever these are?” He held a mason jar filled with a thorny-looking plant. It smelled slightly of alcohol, and the liquid looked greener than the actual plant. “What is this?”

“Oh please Mr. Malone, put it back,” Billy whispered, sighing with relief as Sean replaced the jar. “It’s something Mrs. Smythe is into. She spends a lot of time in the greenhouse. She told me it’s medicine that she makes from plants. Or was it for cleaning stuff? Something like that.”

Not wanting to push his luck, Sean wheeled his way back to the door and said, “Well, later. Wish I could stay and climb that ladder for you though.” Sean barely heard Billy’s chuckle as he headed back down the hall, thinking about Evie’s strange hobby.

* * *

Family day at Ravenwood always arrived after anxious days of preparation, with much fluttering and sputtering by both residents and Ravenwood staff alike. Sean usually stayed out of the way, parking himself in some shady corner where he could better watch the circus of activity unfold before him. Having no family of his own, and the hard experience of a police detective, it was difficult for Sean to not be cynical about human motivation.

Was little Johnny being prodded to kiss dear old Grandpappy for a stake in the almost certain inheritance? After all, how many more years can dear old Dad hang on? Then there’s poor, sickly Aunt Betty, whose sister secretly relishes in her superior health and status, assuaging her fleeting moment of guilt by showing everyone how wonderful she was to visit poor Betty on every holiday.

But Family Day this year was different. Sean had no other choice but to join the frenzied anticipation of families that would be arriving in waves of feigned care. Brent and his wife were coming… Would that push Evelyn over the edge? He’d become increasingly worried about Evelyn’s state of mind. He tried to think back to when it had started, remembering the look on Evelyn’s face when the date for Family Day was announced. How her eyes shifted emotion like a slide projector — disgust to fury to contemplation and then peace, all within milliseconds.

Sean knew it would take time for Evelyn’s broken heart to mend. Bad enough to lose a husband, but to have your own kids swindle you out of an estate and then kick you to the curb — well, he’d leave that one to the experts. No, he didn’t get concerned until he noticed Evelyn withdraw, becoming increasingly quiet, spending long hours behind the shut door of her room. Other times she’d disappear at odd intervals of the day, escaping she said, to her beloved greenhouse, arriving to dinner with dirt beneath fingernails and green stains on her slacks.

He wasn’t sure when his brain planted the word suicide into his mind, but he had to admit to the possibility. She’d suffered the harshest of betrayals; victimized by her own family. Yeah, Evelyn was a strong lady, but come on — that would mess with anybody’s head.

Sean chewed on his fictional cigar and thought through the facts, searched his gut instincts, then his mental file cabinet of previous cases. Things just didn’t add up. He decided to give it more time to play out.

Family Day arrived with its customary pomp and circumstance. Residents, dressed in their Sunday finest, wore expectant smiles that turned into joy as they greeted their arriving guests. Evelyn’s son and daughter-in-law were scheduled to arrive by Tea Time … their only visit since Evelyn’s arrival at Ravenwood.

Sean tried to relieve some of Evie’s disquiet, but his attempts to draw her into conversation fizzled into polite silence, her hand fidgeting with something buried deep inside her blazer pocket. When he questioned her, she pulled out a small brown bottle. It was unlabeled and had a dropper screwed into the top. She held it up to the light and smiled.

“Just a tonic for my nerves. I make it from plants and things.” She deftly slipped it back into her pocket and patted his arm. “Nothing to worry about, dear.”

It must’ve worked too because Evelyn’s mood turned bright and cheerful, even after her daughter-in-law swept into the room, sniffing the air as if the residents emitted a stench of lowered status, closely followed by Brent, strutting about like an arrogant rooster, secure in his rise to power.

Sean made sure to stay close but unobserved by her guests. Just in case Evie needed him. However, the visit went off without issue. Her kids might’ve been a bit standoffish, but Evelyn refused to be minimized. She remained gracious and self-confident. Same as she did on that first day of her arrival at Ravenwood — politely seeing them to the door in a round of stiff-lipped farewells.

Almost immediately Evelyn seemed like her old self again, and Sean relaxed into a happiness he hadn’t felt in years. Evie said she’d made peace with her son’s betrayal, and it freed her from the burden of pain that’d been dragging her down. Then she giggled like a lighthearted school girl, leaned down, and kissed him.

Sean’s instincts sent up cautionary flags. But he didn’t listen. He instead told his gut to shut the hell up, preferring a magical world bright with newfound hope.

They spent the next couple of days finding pleasure in the simplest of things. They watched birds from the comfort of the Manor’s shady porch, played gin rummy in the parlor’s warm lamplight after dinner, and Evie gave him a tour of the gardens, laughing together as she pushed his wheelchair along paved walkways. Sean caught himself daring to dream of a possible future.

In early morning, reality arrived at Ravenwood Manor’s front door. Sean was waiting for Evelyn in the parlor downstairs. They had planned on having a picnic of sorts under the large oak tree on the west lawn.

Two uniformed policemen and a plainclothes detective arrived at the reception desk in the front hall. He heard them speak to Nurse Fléchette, and moments later, she showed them into the parlor to wait while she fetched the Administrator.

Sean introduced himself, pleased to receive a nod of respect from the uniforms and Detective Boyles’ solid handshake.

“So, what calls you to Ravenwood?” Sean said. “Have to admit, it’s a pretty quiet group out here.”

Detective Boyles took a seat. His eyes scanned every detail of the room. “It’s a bad business for sure, Malone,” he said. “Hate these kinds of calls, but I’m sure you can remember only too well. We’re here for a Mrs. Smythe.”

Sean’s stomach lurched and his breath caught; he felt sucker-punched. Was this the end? Please God, no. Previous suspicions raced through his mind and guilt crawled into his veins. Suicide? Was this why her behavior changed so radically, back to normal? It’s those bottles of hers, filled with God knows what. Why didn’t he warn someone? He should have trusted his gut. His fault, his fault! Too late, he saw that Boyles had caught his reaction.

“You know her, Malone?”

Sean forced himself to not fidget. “Of course. She’s a fellow resident here. A gentlewoman.”

His mind searched for reason because his heart rejected fear. It couldn’t be suicide. There would’ve been a disturbance, staff running about, an ambulance, something. …

Boyles nodded and gave a look to the uniforms. He was about to reply when the Administrator came into the room with Evelyn close by her side.

Sean’s heart thudded into life and he silently recited a prayer of thanks. But ever true to his inner detective, his immediate relief was quickly replaced with questions. What did the police want with Evie? Perhaps they found evidence of her son swindling her. Or what if Brent had a bad car wreck? He hoped against hope that whatever it was, it would cause Evie no further grief. Evelyn Smythe didn’t deserve to have such bad things happen to her. Sean couldn’t help but think fate might spare her from any more heartache.

He searched Evie’s face for a hint of what was to come, but she had turned into polished stone. She stood unmoving with glazed eyes wide and unseeing. The officers briefly explained the reason for their visit. She allowed herself to be led, childlike, to the office, rousing herself only long enough to request Sean’s presence during her interview.

Mystified, Sean quickly seized the opportunity and wheeled himself toward the door, wondering if he really saw Evelyn wink before turning to follow the officers into the Administrator’s room across the hall.

* * *

Later that evening, Sean sequestered himself in a dark corner of the front porch, needing its solitude and fresh air to clear his mind. The other residents were safely tucked inside, following nightly rituals; an episode of Matlock droned on a TV. It wouldn’t be long before folks retired to their individual rooms. He listened to the katydids and crickets, their summer song loud in Ravenwood’s vast nightscape — and waited.

Never before had he felt so conflicted. Sean struggled to sort fact from desire. Boyles’ words echoed in his mind, over and over, on continuous instant replay:

“Mrs. Smythe, we regret to inform you that your son, Brent Smythe, and his wife Danielle were found dead at your former residence. The coroner has confirmed cause of death by poison. … deadly nightshade … a common weed but highly concentrated … or suicide … You were the last person to see them alive.”

Suicide. The word kept banging around inside him. The same sticky end that only moments before he feared to be Evelyn’s. How coincidental that her children, who callously kicked her out of her own home, stole all her worldly goods, stuck her in an old folk’s home way before her prime, have instead suffered the very fate he suspected Evie of devising for herself.

And then there was Evelyn’s behavior. Throughout the entire interview, she exhibited so many signs of dementia that he, as a layman, would’ve diagnosed her as a classic case. He remembered Billy telling him how forgetful and confused she could become. Yet Sean never witnessed even a hint that her mind wasn’t needle sharp. But there she was, repeatedly mixing up facts or confusing who she was addressing or why.

… foul play … poison … concentrated …

Even more astounding was Evelyn’s submission, allowing the Administrator to answer Boyles’ leading questions in her stead. Where was the strong, self-possessed woman that he’d known — the woman he loved?

And then Evie’s calm, motionless expression as her dementia was explained to the Detective as one that rendered Evelyn incapable of foul play since her mind prevented her from remembering her own name let alone the focus required to plan out a scheme that would cause the type of harm such as he described. Besides, the Administrator had reasoned, even if she was capable, what possible motive could she have?

In the end, Detective Boyles took one final look at Evelyn’s flaccid expression and closed his notepad. “Well, I guess that wraps this up. Looks like a ruling of death by suicide. Although there was no note. So maybe accidental death. Shame we’ll never know for sure.”

A fraction of a second passed, but Sean caught Evelyn’s sharp look of victory and her quick smile in his direction before she turned herself back into polished stone. He remembered Evelyn holding up the small brown bottle with a dropper, and the weird jars sitting atop her bedroom sideboard.

Sean’s head spun with the realization that he’d been played. Did he still love her? Could that be the reason he’d kept his mouth shut?

His instincts sizzled with knowledge. She was guilty. But of what — cold-blooded murder? It was outrageous to even contemplate. Maybe he was wrong. After all, he didn’t see her drop anything in their tea that day so how could she be responsible for their deaths? Maybe he was just too close, letting his emotions interfere with reason. Or, what if he was only reading imaginary signs that his retired savvy cooked up as a remedy to its forced exile. Whatever the case may be, the burning question remained. What to do now?

All around him, night settled in. One by one, interior lights blinked out and the moon rose high in the dark sky, casting shadows along the manicured lawn. A gentle breeze rustled through treetops, creating a symphony of leaves that strangely sounded like an ocean tide. He heard a footfall, and Evelyn Smythe sat down in the deck chair beside him.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he said. “Remember who I am? Then again, do you know who you are?”

She sighed. “Aw, don’t be cross with me, Sean. I only beat them at their own game. I tried and tried to prove how sane and rational I was, all during the court hearings when Brent sought to invoke ownership of my husband’s estate. You see there was a trust, that only upon my death — or if I became mentally incapacitated — would the estate fall to my son. In its entirety. Brent had manipulated me for years prior, professing his love and devotion by offering to take care of simple maintenance chores or taking over the task of managing my accounts so that I could have more time to enjoy my sunset years. Instead, he cleverly documented a progressive history of supposed mental decline, showing the courts that I was no longer capable of taking care of myself, or my extensive properties. I tried to prove otherwise. I hired doctors, lawyers — but no one believed me. Brent had the paper trail and dementia is very hard to diagnose.”

“But murder, Evelyn? You committed murder!”

“No, I don’t believe I did. Besides, it all depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it?” she said. “After all, wasn’t it Brent — with his wife as accomplice — that set the stage? He very systematically, and quite brilliantly if I might add, set out and succeeded in killing me. Think about it. My whole life was taken away from me. Gone within the blink of an eye. My social status, friends, business, money — gone. Everything I owned was confiscated. The only item left, my body, was then dumped into an old age home to slowly rot, even though I’m barely sixty years old. Isn’t that death, Sean? No, I’d argue that Brent and Danielle murdered me.”

“So, you just decided to get even? Is that it, Evelyn?”

“Sean, there is no getting even. It’s a simple case of accidental death. You heard Detective Boyles. Why complicate matters by acting sane when the entire legal system is convinced of my dementia?”

“But they said poison. Deadly nightshade. A weed! What about all those bottles of plants and things in your room? I saw you with that brown dropper bottle on Family Day, right before Brent and Danielle arrived for tea.”

“A simple mistake, wouldn’t you say? Anyone can mistake one plant for another. I never claimed to be an expert. Perhaps I got confused and harvested wild nightshade berries instead of the blueberries my recipe called for. They look very much alike. It was supposed to be a health tonic. I never meant to kill them. How could I? Brent was my only son.”

Sean felt more conflicted than ever. It would be impossible to prove that Evelyn Smythe knowingly committed the premeditated murder of both her son and his wife. He studied her soft brown eyes. “Where is the bottle now, Evie?”

“Oh, not to worry.” She patted his arm and sat back into the chair’s comfortable cushions. “Long gone. We wouldn’t want anyone else to take it by mistake, now, would we?” Evelyn’s chuckle wafted away on a sudden gentle breeze.

Sean took Evie’s hand into his own and sighed into the darkening night. “No, honey. We wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would we.”