Page 12 of Murder Will Out
The room andeveryone in it stood frozen in time, as though some child had created a life-size diorama and sprinkled cookie crumbs over it like glitter.
The stillness broke. Rina pulled herself up from the floor and lunged in Geralt Talbot’s direction, her hands clawed as though to gouge his eyes out. Diana was able to snake an arm around Rina’s torso, holding her back and out of scratching distance; atthe same time, Naomi Talbot and her assistant moved forward as well, trying to pull Geralt away from the furious little woman.
Then the shouting began.
“You horrible, evil troll of a man, I will have you clapped in jail, I’ll have you charged with assault, how dare you, howdareyou—” Rina spit at him, struggling against Diana’s arm.
“Assault, my ass!” Geralt spit back, still waving his glass-topped cane, “If you touch me, you unhinged shrew, I swear to God you will be out of business and off this island so fast—”
Willow could see spittle coming from Rina’s mouth. “Unhinged? Go to hell, you disgusting misogynistic scumbag—”
Geralt was inching forward, shaking off his wife’s arm. “And if you believe for one second that you can intimidate me into letting your woke lefty friends take over that house—”
Their voices were overlapping now as Rina continued her tirade. “I don’t care how much money you have or how long you’ve been on this island or what property youthinkyou’re entitled to—”
“It’s going to be my house, and when I tell you to get out, thenout you will go!”
“I’ll see you dead first, old man!”
Silence fell as Rina’s last words rang out into the room—even Geralt stopped his stream of invective before her fury. Her face was livid, twisted with rage; Willow, standing in the kitchen doorway, understood in that instant what the expressionhad murder in her eyeslooked like.
Into the thrumming silence, Geralt drew himself up to his considerable height, jaw clenched with anger. He curled his lip and growled menacingly, “Now you listen here, and listen good, you unhinged harpy, if you know what’s—” And he stopped.
His complexion suddenly turned gray; the blood left his face, and he sagged onto his cane. Audra, ever the efficient assistant, quickly pulled over a chair, and Naomi helped Geralt ease down into it. She worriedly checked his pulse as he gasped for air, andshe murmured, “Geralt, honey, we talked about this; you need to try to stay calm. This isn’t good for you.”
His face contorted as if he were trying to muster the strength to start shouting again. Instead, he sank back into the chair, defeated.
His left hand sagged toward the floor, still clutching one of Rina’s handmade cups. Audra slipped it out of his hand and said, tension radiating from her voice, “He needs water. Or juice, or—can someone please get him something to drink?” She held the cup out to no one in particular, her eyes darting around the room.
It was Rina who stepped forward. The fury had left her face, which was now numb and stunned and pale as unglazed ceramic. “I’ll get some lemonade,” she said as she took the cup from Audra. She brushed by Willow and into the kitchen.
The tableau remained, a circle of staring faces, all directed at the old man in the chair. Some of the onlooking gazes were sympathetic or worried; others had a satisfied air of self-righteous complacency—just deserts, reaping what he had sown, and so on—and a few looked nearly gleeful at the old man’s misfortune.
Willow slipped out of the kitchen to join a terrified Naomi by Geralt’s side. The old man glared up at her and muttered, “For God’s sake, Sue’s girl, no need to gaze down on me like I’m some sad, pathetic, weak old man. I’m fine. It’s probably that Mexican woman’s cooking making me sick; everyone else in here is next, I’ll be bound.” His voice slurred a little, and he let out a violent belch.
It was enough to break the spell; the tableau broke, and people shifted, returning—or pretending to return—to their own conversations. A few took their cue that the gathering was starting to dissolve and slipped out quietly; others followed.
Naomi murmured to Willow, “This has been happening over the past few weeks, a little at a time and getting worse—the tremors, the slurring, the stomach upset… And he keeps refusing to go see a doctor.”
“Christ Almighty, woman, I’m eighty-three years old, and all those doctors do is tell me to stop doing the few things I have left that make life vaguely enjoyable. I’mfine.” But even as he said it, Willow noticed the quiver in the hand clutching his cane, the slight wobble of his head.
Naomi shook her head. “You’renotfine, and you know it,” she retorted, trying to keep her voice low. “Your kidneys are shot, you’re early-stage diabetic, your heart is doing things it shouldn’t, your liver isn’t doing what it should, and your blood pressure is through the roof. You’re a mess.”
“And you’re a meddling witch, and it’s none of your business.”
“I’m yourwife, for God’s sake, and I have enough of a medical background to know this isnotplain-old aging. Something’s—”
Geralt shushed her with a quelling glare as Rina came back into the room with the cup; without looking at him, she held it out. He snatched it from her hands, downed it in two gulps, and held it back out to her. “What’s the matter? Too cheap to make reasonably sized cups for the party? Clay too expensive for you?”
Seeing the rage begin to build in Rina’s face again, Diana swiftly moved in with a lemonade pitcher from one of the tables, took the cup from Rina, and refilled it for him. He gulped down the second cup, and a third. Diana eased Rina away, her arm around the trembling woman’s shoulders.
Naomi shook her head. “For God’s sake, Geralt, once or twice in the course of a day, youcouldsimply decide not to say the most awful thing you can think of in a given moment.”
“Humph.” Geralt pried himself out of the chair into a standing position, irritably waving Naomi away as she tried to help him. “Oh, piss off, woman. I’m taking myself out of here on my own steam.” He set the ceramic cup down on the nearest table and walked out of the restaurant in a fair imitation of his usual swagger, though Willow noticed he was still using his cane for balance. Audra, after a quick shared glance with Naomi, slipped out after him.
Naomi shook her head, letting the worry fully cloud her face. “I don’t know what’s happening; he won’t slow down or listen or even call his doctor. I’m afraid there’s something seriously wrong, but he absolutely refuses to—” She broke off before finishing the sentence.
Outside the restaurant, people started shouting; an air horn’s imperious honk cut through the voices. Naomi and Willow ran out of the café to see Geralt in the driver’s seat of his luxury golf cart, peeling out onto the green toward the road away from the village. Audra vainly attempted pursuit but quickly fell behind; before Naomi or Willow could even shout after him, he was halfway across the green, chugging from a plastic water bottle and tossing the empty out onto the grass behind him.
