Ladies at Table

Written by Tom Fowler, Published on 6/19/2009

Four elderly ladies sat at the dining room table in Ruth Hoskins’s home. Ruth was ninety years old but still lived alone with the assistance of her son, who came over twice a week. Ruth was clear-minded but failing physically. She could only move around slowly and with the aid of a cane. With difficulty, she entered from the kitchen to join the others at her beautiful cherry wood table. Ruth always made it a point to make certain her guests were seated before joining them from the kitchen. It was common practice at their gatherings that the tea service would stay in the kitchen, self-served. Ruth, very much a person of old school social graces, was ashamed and embarrassed that she was so weak in her hands that she could not pour the tea in the dining room from a pitcher.

The women sat in silence, all of them keenly aware that, at this time last week, there had been six of them. But not now, for Vera Waller had died suddenly shortly after their last meeting. Seventy-five-year old Mary considered it a blessing that they had almost a week to recover from the shock.

But Ruth had another shock for the gathered ladies. After settling in her chair, she looked straight at Leona and said bluntly, “One of us murdered Vera. I don’t appreciate that it was done in my home, right under our noses. One of us laced her tea with enough arsenic to drop a horse.”

It was no accident that Ruth directed her comments toward Leona, for Leona, eighty years old and almost deaf, was the most obnoxious person in their unofficial club. Ruth had very little patience with her, and didn’t want to have to repeat herself.

The ladies looked stunned.

Ruth glanced at Frances. She detested how Frances dressed when visiting her home. Frances always wore a brightly colored, tight-fitting sweatsuit, though unlike last week, this week she brought a matching purse with her. While Frances was still trim and svelte at sixty-nine, Ruth thought her many years too old for this but said nothing, for all of them liked Frances for her kindness and thoughtfulness.

Frances asked, “How do you know she was murdered? Has anyone spoken to the police?

Ruth said, “There was a pool of pungent liquid left on my kitchen counter. The killer must have been in a hurry and spilled it. It’s a good thing I suspected something and had it tested or I may be dead, too. As for the police, yes, they are waiting to arrest the murderer when our meeting is over.”

The high-strung Mary spoke. In a shaky voice, she said, “I didn’t have tea last week and never entered the kitchen.” Mary was on the verge of tears. Ruth merely nodded her head; she remembered Mary hadn’t been in the kitchen at all the week before. She hated it that the quiet, soft-spoken Mary had to endure this.

Ruth thought briefly that she was surprised that Alice had so far said nothing. Normally, Alice wouldn’t shut up. Before Ruth could continue that sour line of thought, Leona said, shrilly, “I don’t know why you looked at me like you did. I didn’t kill her!” Ruth remained quiet for a long moment before answering. Leona was a difficult woman to like. Among other things was her slovenly demeanor. She was not a well-coordinated person and her advanced age had not helped. She always seemed on the verge of stumbling. Her jerky hand and arm movements combined with her loose clothes, oversize handbag, and sun hat made her look like a down-and-out bag lady. Worse was that she often acted as if she was. Still, Ruth and the others put up with her, even if she sometimes got on their nerves. Ruth sighed. “Nobody said you did, so just relax.”

Facing Ruth, Alice finally spoke up. “I poured your tea along with mine.” She added, wryly, “And we’re both still alive.” Alice was sixty-eight years old and very spry for her age. Ruth considered that she observed all of Alice’s movements when in the kitchen with her the previous week—she liked her tea a certain way, and wanted to make sure Alice got it right. Indeed, watching others was something she was good at. It was her compensation for being old and mostly immobile.

What the ladies did not know was that Ruth’s nephew, Lt. Danny Hoskins of the local police department, waited silently in her bedroom with a uniformed officer, listening carefully for signs of trouble and waiting to arrest the murderer when his Aunt Ruth pointed her out. Hoskins knew that, although Aunt Ruth’s body may be failing, there was nothing wrong with her keen mind. He knew this would be over in a few minutes.

As if on cue, Ruth pointed a shaky finger at the murderer and said, loud as she could, “Come out, Danny.”