“Too bad,” Uncle Homer said. “She never quite recovered from Father’s death. Grieved constantly, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. In fact, I don’t believe it. Not for an instant.”
“It’s quite true. Literally wasted away. Mrs. Crump, I believe, was considering a diet of sex and oatmeal.”
“Homer, you’re an unmitigated ass. Always were and always will be. Who in tarnation are you talking about?”
“Who’s dead?” said Uncle Homer, suddenly wary.
“Mrs. Crump.”
“Mrs. Crump!”
“Certainly. I keep telling you. Went instantly. Dropped over like that.” Dr. Quinn snapped his fingers to illustrate the way Mrs. Crump had dropped over. “She and Crump were having tea at the time.”
Uncle Homer, who had gone cold with the thought of an unfortunate possibility, felt himself warming up again. After all, one did not, whatever else one did with it, put oatmeal into a cup of tea.
“How sad,” he said. “And what a shock to poor old Crump, having her go just when they were having tea.”
“Tea,” said Dr. Quinn, “and oatmeal cookies.”
Uncle Homer, now having hot and cold flashes, wished desperately that he had his stick back to lean upon.
“Did Crump,” he said, “have oatmeal cookies too?”
“I think not. Crump is a man of low tastes, admittedly, but he hardly shared Mrs. Crump’s depravity in such matters.” Dr. Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he leaned toward Uncle Homer as if he were going to ask him to stick out his tongue. “Are you suggesting foul play on Crump’s part?”
The last thing Uncle Homer wanted was to suggest foul play on the part of anyone, and so he made haste to deny it.
“No, no. Nothing of the sort Where is Crump, by the way?”
“In the library. I’ve been trying to talk some sense into him. The man’s a mule, that’s what. An absolute mule.”
“Crump’s an obstinate old devil. I’ve always said so. What’s got his back up now?”
“The autopsy. He absolutely will not listen to reason on the subject.”
“Autopsy!” The horror of that prospect was instantly discernible in Uncle Homer’s voice. “What’s this about an autopsy?”
“I want one. A woman drops dead, you want to know why. Especially if she’s as big as a circus horse and twice as strong. I suspect her liver. I’d give a farm for a good look at that woman’s liver.”
“Well, I’m not a doctor and have no professional opinion, but it seems to me that dropping dead over a tea cup would make you suspicious of her heart.”
“Nonsense! That’s just the kind of addleheaded assumption I should have expected from you, Homer. There’s far too much of that sort of thing. Everything’s blamed on the heart. Someone drops dead, blame it on the heart. Doctors are expected to scratch out a death certificate and forget it. Take the easy way out. I maintain that the heart is often innocent. Something else is frequently to blame. Frequently.”
“Crump refuses his permission?”
“Adamantly. He’s balking like a mule, I tell you. Do you think you could make him listen to reason?”
“No, no. No chance. Crump and I are not on easy terms.”
“Try. Come on in the library and give it a try. Weight of opinion, you know. It might have some effect.”
“My opinion would weigh on the other side.”
“What’s that? Homer, I hope you are not even a bigger ass than I thought.”
“Crump’s right. Why do you want to butcher the damn woman?”
“Damn it, Homer, an operating room is not a slaughter house. We’d patch her up as neat as hemstitching.”
“Nevertheless, I can’t see any justification for your morbid desire to go poking around inside of her. It’s abnormal.”
“I just told you. I want a close look at her liver.”
“Leave her liver in peace. That’s my advice.”
“You know what you can do with your advice, Homer. Why the devil am I standing here wasting time with you? What do you want? Tell me immediately why you are here.”
“I came to call on the Crumps, that’s why.”
“Nonsense. Why should you call on a dead woman?”
“How the hell would I know Mrs. Crump was dead? To the best of my knowledge, she was in top condition.”
“Did you come here to create trouble, Homer? I warn you that it won’t work.”
“Well, I can see that there is no use in talking any longer with you. You’re as obstinate as Crump himself. I’ll just go into the library and offer my condolences and be on my way.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Crump is contrary enough without your support. I am in authority here, Homer. If you know what’s good for you, you will leave at once without causing further dissension.”
So saying, Dr. Quinn turned and scurried down the hall to the library, slamming the door behind him. Uncle Homer, relieved at having his escape forced upon him, recovered his stick and scurried the other way. On the street, he turned without hesitation in the direction of Hester’s apartment. There was no doubt in his mind that Hester’s cyanide peanuts had gone astray, winding up by way of Mrs. Crump’s oatmeal cookies in Mrs. Crump’s stomach, and it was therefore fair and imperative for Hester to be informed of events with all dispatch. He had a strong and uneasy feeling that things were getting out of hand. If old Quinn were allowed access to Mrs. Crump’s liver, he might decide in the process to have an incidental look at Mrs. Crump’s stomach, and that could be troublesome, to say the least. Everything depended, indeed, upon Crump’s mulish qualities. The man must be encouraged to stand firmly on his convictions, and that was all there was to it. Unless, of course, old Quinn could persuade the proper authorities to secure a court order or something. Uncle Homer had a vague notion that this was quite possible, but it seemed to him an extreme action just to insure a look at a liver, however unusual.
At Hester’s apartment building, he took the stairs and arrived panting at Hester’s door. The response to his imperious ringing was so long delayed that he was about to give up and go away when the door was opened to reveal Hester on the other side. It was immediately obvious why Hester had been so late in reaching the door, for she had had to wake up and put on something, though not much, before coming. It was also obvious that she was not in the best of humors.
“Is that you, Uncle Homer?” she said. “I’m all out of gin, and so you had just as well go away.”
She started to close the door, but Uncle Homer neatly inserted a foot in the crack.
“Let me in, Hester. Something dreadful has happened.”
“Don’t try any tricks, Uncle Homer. You are always exaggerating and upsetting people over nothing.”
“It’s no trick, Hester. Please let me in.”
“First, tell me what has happened.”
“Mrs. Crump is dead.”
“You see? You are exaggerating as usual. What is so dreadful about Mrs. Crump’s being dead?”
“She died,” said Uncle Homer, “while eating an oatmeal cookie.”
Hester peered at Uncle Homer closely, to see if this was just an elaboration of the trick, and then she stepped back from the door, making way for Uncle Homer to enter.
“That’s different,” she said, “and may justify prompt consideration. How do you know?”
“Because I’ve just come from Father’s house,” Uncle Homer said, clearing a chair and collapsing in it. “Old Dr. Quinn let me in and told me all about it. Is it true that you have no gin?”
“Never mind the gin, damn it. Just tell me about the oatmeal cookies.”
“Mrs. Crump was eating one with her tea, and she dropped over dead.”
“Well, if that’s not the most unpredictable and absurd thing I’ve ever heard of! Who would have expected her to share the damn dog’s oatmeal? How’s Crump?”