Waiting

¶ She had always hated the smell of hospitals. The way it plugged your nose, cloying in its sterility. There was no smell of life in hospitals. Only death.

Elizabeth sat in the waiting area, peeling her orange. Her sister had gone into the maternity ward hours ago, deep into her contractions. Elizabeth had wanted to follow. Wanted to be there. But pandemic restrictions only permitted one person in with Clarice, and her husband Henry had beaten them to the hospital.

Clarice had had a difficult pregnancy. But Elizabeth had been there, even the times her brother in law hadn't been. She had taken her to the appointments. Had helped with the chores and errands. And yet she was the one out here.

Waiting. And waiting. And waiting...

But in the end, Elizabeth couldn't really be too upset about being snubbed. Henry did truly and deeply love her sister. She knew that. And when she had called him to say the baby was coming, he had sped there from work in record time!

It wasn't just the medical issues, however. She and Clarice had gotten into a terrible fight a few months ago. Their estranged father had died, and the funeral date had been set.

Elizabeth hadn't gone. The man had been a monster, and the world was a better place without him. But Clarice had always loved "Daddy," even if she didn't like him. They had fought, and there had been harsh names and accusations thrown around the room.

Clarice had gone to the funeral. So had their mother, cousin, and uncle. Elizabeth hadn't spoken to any of them until the reading of the will, where the monster had distributed his silver to all of his Judases. Even Clarice. He'd left his wealth to be distributed equally among those at the reading. But due to some legal jargon Elizabeth didn't understand, it wouldn't be awarded for some time.

It had caused more arguments. Her uncle and cousin wanted their share right away for their debts. Mother had wanted to renovate her house. And of course, Clarice desperately wanted a bit of a financial buffer, since she'd learned she was pregnant.

Elizabeth had wanted to decline her own share, at first. But after some time, she simply decided to donate it to a charity she knew Father would have hated.

A small tear welled at the corner of her eye, as she remembered the conversation she and her sister had had after the will reading. Things seemed so simple, then.

And then the deaths began.

First, it was their mother. She had been home alone, and a bookcase had toppled onto her. She wasn't found until it was too late. At first, people thought it was an accident. Clarice, however, had insisted upon contacting a private investigator she'd been referred to.

Some time later, Clarice had received a bottle of champagne as an anonymous condolence. Having recently learned she was pregnant, she had given it to Elizabeth, who'd nearly been killed by the rat-poison laced contents. They'd gotten her help in time, and she'd only needed a week or so of bed-rest. But by then, everyone's suspicions were up.

A few months later, their cousin Derrick had died from anaphylactic shock, due to some tainted takeout they'd been eating at Clarice's house. The restaurant had denied any responsibility, claiming there was no chance of cross contamination. She wasn't quite sure how that investigation was going.

And only a few days later, her uncle had been found asphixiated in his garage, apparently by suicide.

As if on cue, the doors to the waiting room burst open, jolting her back to the present. She glanced up, and sighed in disgust as the fat detective wobbled over to the desk. She couldn't hear the whispered conversation between him and the receptionist, but he seemed agitated. Probably wanted to question Clarice again. After one last heated exchange, the receptionist, pointed him to a chair. Wheezing, he wobbled over to it.

He wasn't an old man, but he was already beginning to bald. His jowls rippled with each wheeze, as he seemed unable to breathe properly through his nose. He wore black khakis, and a stained gray T-Shirt, over which he wore a plaid button-down shirt that he hadn't even bothered to fasten. All this he wore under a ridiculous looking trench-coat, which kept snagging on furniture as he walked past. He actually knocked her purse off the side-table, and he returned it to her apologetically, not seeming to recognize her. As he sat down across from her in the too-small chair, a gust of fowl-smelling wind wafted from him, and Elizabeth almost wished for the hospital smell again. Rancid sweat and fermented farts, she guessed. Probably trapped in his obese folds since he'd been in highschool. She looked away from the gross man, trying to ignore him.

"Elizabeth, right?"

"Yes," she sighed. "We've met."

"Just making sure." He shrugged, as if his presence wasn't an imposition upon everyone in a thirty-foot radius. "When you work as many projects as I do, sometimes the names get mixed up."

"How reassuring."

He didn't respond, instead excavating his phone from his back pocket. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the case," he grunted.

"Please don't."

"It won't take long. I'd much rather talk to your sister, of course. But, well, obviously that isn't possible." He glanced over at the receptionist. "So, you're the next best thing I have for now. I can make do."

"Then make do with nothing!" Elizabeth started gathered up her purse. "My sister is giving birth, and I won't be interrogated by a tub of rancid lard while I wait!"

"'Investigator' will suffice." The man seemed untroubled by her attitude. She supposed he was probably used to it. "And I'm not going to hold you against your will. If you don't want to answer, you're free to decline. All I ask is that you permit me to speak. I'll be more than happy to leave you alone when this business is finished."

"If by 'business,' you mean the...." Elizabeth caught herself. There were eyes all around, clearly interested in their raised voices. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "If by 'business,' you mean the 'incidents' that my family has been suffering, I'm sure it would be over much more quickly if you went back to investigating it!"

"Oh, my investigation is nearly done, I think." He whispered, matching her volume, but remaining firm. Elizabeth couldn't help but jerk in surprise at his blunt statement. She'd been so caught up in her sister's labor, the investigation had fallen to the wayside of her mind.

The detective... rather, the "investigator" continued. "Please, for your sister's sake. All that I ask is you let me ask some questions. You can choose to answer them, or not. This isn't a holding cell. You can't be held in contempt for not cooperating with someone not on the force. I'll just be here five minutes, then I'm gone." He looked down at his phone, an extra chin bulging out from his neck as he scrolled. "Or, I could simply sit here for the next few hours in friendly, comfortable silence." He glanced up. "If you prefer."

Elizabeth glared at him. She considered calling his bluff, and simply ignoring him. But there was something in his face that made her realize he wasn't bluffing. And with everything that had happened, today and all the other days, she supposed a few questions were a small price to pay. "Fine then. Mr..."

"Mr. Gleese." The investigator offered his hand. She shook it reluctantly, before wiping off her own hand on her chair's armrest. "Now, Miss Elizabeth, could you please tell me where you were when your sister discovered your mother."

"At my apartment. I'd been out late at a bar the previous night, and was sleeping in." A stiff reply to a rude question. She shifted her legs under her chair to let past someone who'd been called up by the receptionist.

"I see." Mr. Gleese typed something into his phone. "Now, Clarice claims to have seen her that morning, but had been at her own home all day. I don't suppose you could verify her alibi?"

"Alibi? Um, no. I didn't see her until she told me about Mom."

"Of course. Now, your uncle. He was with all of you at dinner, when Derrick died?"

"Yes..." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed at his unspoken accusation. "But I can't see him doing anything to his own son. He was screaming bloody murder about suing the restaurant. It was all Clarice and Henry could do to try to calm him!"

"Yes, I heard as much." Mr. Gleese tapped some more into his phone. "Your cousin Derrick died due to exposure to peanut oil. And the epinephrine injector he had on him had been one he'd previously used, and thus empty. Though oddly enough, there were traces of citrus on the applicator..."

Elizabeth shrugged, not really listening. She didn't much like thinking about that night. Her uncle's screams still haunted her. "So far as I know."

"And they still haven't located your uncle's suicide note, right?"

"I'm not the one investigating, am I?" Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. She glanced up as the doors opened, but was disappointed not to see anyone she recognized. "Look, I'm sure the police, or the lawyers, or whoever is actually working on this stuff can help you. I'm not involved in this!"

"Oh, don't say that!" Mr. Gleese smiled kindly. "After all, you nearly died yourself! You were very lucky to have been taken to the hospital when you were."

"I guess..."

"Of course, you sister was quite lucky too," he continued. "After all, someone in her condition could have fared much worse. Even had she survived, the baby might not have. Tell me, who else knew your sister was pregnant?"

Elizabeth blinked, thinking back to previously dismissed conversations. "A few of her close friends, I think. And our mother, of course. But I don't know about the rest of the family." She shifted in her seat, letting another patient pass. "I didn't really keep in touch after I left home. And my sister has set her own boundaries."

"I see. Excuse me for prying, but could you tell me exactly why you hate your father so much?"

The waiting room went ice cold, as she glared at him. "No. It would take too long to explain, and if you're anything like my last therapist, you won't care anyway."

"Fair." He glanced down at his phone again. "You said you didn't keep in touch after you left. But you still attended the dinner with your cousin and uncle at your sister's house, correct? What was the occasion?"

"There was no occasion. They just wanted to talk."

"Your sister told me they tried to convince the two of you to give up your shares of the inheritance, yes?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "That's how the conversation started. But things kinda broke down when Derrick stopped breathing."

"You're rather blasé about all of this, aren't you?"

"I don't like thinking about that night, okay? Look, Clarice invited me to dinner at her place. I saw that car my uncle brags... bragged about parked out front. I walked in, hung up my stuff in the hall closet, and sat down to a very uncomfortable meal. And then Derrick stopped breathing... I don't like thinking about it."

"Maybe not. Of course, Derrick's epipen was also in the closet. In his jacket pocket."

Elizabeth blinked. "What?"

"I'm just saying, your sister had motive and opportunity. You don't deny that, surely."

Elizabeth said nothing.

"Well, I suggested to the police that they check for prints on the epipen. Your uncle and Derrick's prints were found, of course, due to their priors. But there was a third set of unidentified prints that hadn't been entered into the system."

"What..." someone else moved past them, and Elizabeth dropped her voice to an indignant whisper. "What does that have to do with my sister?"

"Well, they happened to match the fingerprints found on the champagne bottle. The one with the rat poison. And in spite of it being purchased from a big box liquor store, it only had three sets. Interesting, don't you think?"

Elizabeth felt face begin to heat. "So, you're saying my sister murdered Derrick? And tried to poison me?"

"Oh, not at all!" Mr. Gleese chuckled. "You see, when you were in the ER, I suggested they submit their prints to the police, to deduct them from any found on the bottle, and they gladly obliged. After all, their dear sister and in-law had nearly died by their own hands. It seemed only right to help.

"But as I said, that bottle only had three sets of prints. So, whoever had gifted your sister that bottle must have wiped theirs off. And yet..." As if by magic, that pallid blubbery face turned hard as marble. "The third set of fingerprints perfectly match the mystery set found on your cousin's epipen. And we know you handled the bottle when your sister gave it to you. After you were taken to the hospital, it was bagged into evidence. So, even before you submit your prints to the police, because they will ask you to, it can be safely assumed that you are at least partially responsible for the death of your cousin. And moreover, this deed was planned ahead even before they made their demands at the dinner!"

His wheezing had stopped. And he never raised his voice. The words came out slow, and deliberate. Each one a bullet loaded, aimed, and fired.

Elizabeth swallowed. "I had nothing to do with his pen. And the restaurant killed him, not me. They weren't careful enough, that's all!"

"Unfortunately, that's not the problem. You see, they didn't have any peanut oil that night. In fact, they haven't used any peanut oil that week. There'd been a shortage, so the chef had been substituting plain old vegetable oil." He glanced at his phone. "You, on the other hand have no such allergy. But peanuts and peanut oil aren't exactly controlled substances. Even a civillian can buy some, and sprinkle it over their cousin's fries when no one is looking. And I'm sure if the police had been involved at the time, they would have found the lime, or lemon..." He stared at the orange in Elizabeth's hand. "Or the orange, filled to the brim with epinephrine. A murder of opportunity, but a planned one, nonetheless."

"...so, you're a fraud who's hit too many dead ends, and is just throwing out wild accusations?" Elizabeth laughed. "Why'd you come here, then? You wanted to rile me up and get me to blurt something out? Break down and confess to a crime I never committed. Well, I'm very sorry Mr. Gleese, but you're wasting both of our times." She leaned back, sneering at him. "You could wait here, though. Maybe after my sister gives birth, you can nag her with stupid questions. Maybe she'll even confess to all of the killings just to shut you up!"

Mr. Gleese shook his head, smiling. "Oh, I don't have any questions for your sister. I just came to warn her not to be alone with you. Not even for a second." He leaned forward. "These murders have nothing to do with the inheritance, do they? You're targeting people who attended the funeral. You're killing people who said goodbye to a monster. And that includes your sister."

Elizabeth leaped up, looking for security.

The room was empty.

There were no patients waiting to be called. No receptionist behind the desk. And she saw now that the swinging doors to the ward had been barred.

"The police are outside with a warrant. I'm just here to distract you long enough to get everyone out of harm's way. You've killed at least two people so far. Who knows how far you'd go?"

She glared at him. "I don't see you wearing any protection, seeing as I'm such a 'dangerous threat.'"

Mr. Gleese barked a harsh, loud laugh, his rolls tumbling. "They don't have a vest that can fit me. Besides..."

And he withdrew a small revolver from his pocket. Her revolver, that she'd kept in her purse. He held it gingerly in his gloved hand, its cylinder clearly empty. "I don't think you're in any position to shoot anyone, are you, miss Elizabeth..."

She stood there, her mind racing and stumbling as it tried to catch up with her senses. Then, heart hammering and legs as weak as if she'd run a marathon, she sank into her chair. Her eyes remained glued to the floor.

"I've been with my sister for most of a year. I've had plenty of opportunity to kill her, so you claim. Why would I wait until now?"

"Only you know. But I think, you didn't want to hurt the baby. I don't know, or want to know, those twisted excuses for morals you have in your head. But if I follow the logic that you killed the people who attended your father's funeral, then that logic dictates that your sister's child had no say in the matter. Is that right?"

Elizabeth sat nothing. Her eyes had never left the black and white checkered floor.

"What about my uncle's suicide? You can't possibly pin that on me, can you?"

"Well, aside from the lack of a note, we did find that the calendar on his phone was full up for the next few weeks, including meetings regarding his suit against the restaurant. I doubt a man who loved his son that much would be satisfied to simply leave this world with no closure. But if someone besides the restaurant was responsible for his son's death, then they had reason to keep the suit from going forward. And in spite of the fact that he refused to allow anyone to drive his precious car, those same 'mystery' prints were found on the keys and emergency brake. So, you see, it all comes back to you again."

Now that she noticed it, the silence in the waiting room pressed in on her. Mr. Gleese continued. "If the champagne was meant for your sister, they would have picked something more innocuous, even if they didn't know she was pregnant. But if they did know, then that would be the perfect camouflage to poison you, her beloved sister. Or rather, pretend to poison you. You piqued my suspicions when, after only drinking enough to get sick, doing it close enough to your sister for her to get help, and it just so happening to be something not intended for you, you somehow managed to get by more or less unscathed, with no more attempts upon you or her."

"And my mother?"

Mr. Gleese sighed. "Alas, that's the only one that's stumped me. Maybe the police will fare better than I, but I found nothing concrete to link you to her death. But considering the anger you hold towards everyone else at your father's funeral, it seems elementary. I'm sure the police will find a connection."

"They won't." Elizabeth sighed. "They won't find a single thing linking me to her. Because I didn't do it. I was just as shocked as everyone when I heard. And a little sad, maybe. But... oddly relieved. It felt like permission, you know? Like, I'd actually had the right idea all along.

There was a long pause as the repulsive man stared at her, his eyes hard as flint. When he spoke, his voice was soft again "Miss Elizabeth... Did you actually think you would get away with it?"

"No," she sighed. "It would've been nice. But I'd never planned on it. Sort of a plan B. When you came in and started spouting wild ideas that maybe she was responsible for all of this, I considered just letting her live, and suffer with those consequences..." She looked up as something finally clicked into place. "That's it, isn't it? That's how you decided it was me. Because I didn't jump to her defense?"

Mr. Gleese smiled sheepishly. "A bit underhanded, but I wanted to gauge your reaction." His smile faltered. "I really thought you might at least try, though..."

Elizabeth snorted. "Never! Five months ago, she proved that she will always love that monster we called father more than she would ever love me. That his memory mattered more than my present! She deserves what she had coming..."

She stopped, choking back an angry sob.

"But not her child. Not her baby. It's not their fault their mother failed. I hoped to save them from her. But I guess I failed, too!" She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "I presume you'll tell her all of this?"

"I'm recording, actually." Mr. Gleese held up the phone. "Single party consent, after all."

"Good enough. Clarice, if you're listening to this, I don't forgive you. And I never will. Burn in hell with 'Daddy.'"

And that was the last thing she said. She sat their, ignoring Mr. Gleese's presence. Eyes staring at the floor until, finally, a pair of officers entered to take her away.

All that waiting. For nothing.