Death by Eggnog by Lee Hollis

Author:Lee Hollis [Hollis, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781496743954
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2016-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

When Hayley walked up on the front porch of the late-nineteenth-century Victorian-style Van Dam house nestled on a hilltop clearing surrounded by woods off Eagle Lake Road on the way out of town, she hesitated to knock on the door because of all the yelling coming from inside. It was Fannie and she did not sound happy. Hayley pressed her ear to the door and strained to hear what Fannie was screaming at the top of her lungs, but a stiff wind and some chirping birds in the trees near the side of the house made it virtually impossible. Finally giving up, she sighed and rapped her fist on the door.

The yelling stopped suddenly and all was quiet for a few moments before the door opened a crack and Fannie poked her head out.

She looked relieved at the sight of Hayley. “Oh, Hayley, it’s you.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Good gosh no. I’m glad you’re here. Please, come in.”

Fannie opened the door wide enough for Hayley to enter.

Hayley was shocked at the sight of the house. On the outside it looked grand and pristine, but on the inside it was as if a category five hurricane had swept through.

Papers strewn everywhere.

Dust balls on the floor.

Scraps of food on the floor.

It was downright disgusting.

“I hope you’ll excuse the mess,” Fannie said, suddenly self-conscious. We’ve been without a housekeeper for about a month now and I haven’t had time to do it since looking after Dutch is a full-time job these days.”

“It looks fine,” Hayley lied.

“I’m just trying to get Dutch to eat his breakfast. I’ll be done in a minute,” Fannie said, wiping sweat from her brow as she marched into the kitchen. Hayley quietly followed and nearly gasped at the piles of dirty dishes in the sink and Dutch Van Dam, his hunched-over body in his wheelchair, parked at a breakfast nook. There was jam from a half-eaten English muffin all over his face and a fork had been awkwardly placed in his bony fingers. Although his face was a frozen mask from the massive stroke he had suffered, it was still obvious he was angry and pouting.

Fannie took the fork out of his hand and stabbed at some scrambled egg left on his plate. “One more bite. Do it for me, okay, Dutch?”

Fannie raised the fork to Dutch’s crooked mouth, and he managed to turn his head slightly away from her, his eyes wide with rage. “Come on, Dutch, don’t fight me. Just finish your breakfast and then you can go watch the game.”

Dutch had no intention of cooperating.

“He’s perfectly capable of feeding himself. He’s just being obstinate,” Fannie sighed.

Dutch let loose with some angry grunts and snorts like a wild horse cornered in the barn determined not to be broken.

Fannie tried forcing the forkful of eggs past his lips, but he fought and struggled mightily; then he lifted a glass of milk in his right hand and hurled it at Fannie’s face. It splashed her in the eyes and she yelped, nearly bursting into tears as the white milk dripped down her face.

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