Page 81 of Bad Seed

“Do you know how to do CPR?” she asked.

Justine was sobbing. “Yes, but her tongue. Her tongue. It’s…it’s…it’s so swollen that it’s sticking out of her mouth.”

And that’s when the dispatcher guessed it wasn’t food the woman had choked on. She’d eaten something she was allergic to.

“An EpiPen. Does your mother have an EpiPen? Does she have allergies?”

“Uh, nuts…some kind of nuts. I don’t know about the pen. I’ve been living with my father for the past four years and just moved home. Should I go look?” And then she began hearing sirens. “Oh wait, I hear sirens. I need to unlock the door!” she cried, and jumped uprunning, still talking to the dispatcher as she opened the door. “In here! In here!” she cried, and then ran back to where her mother was lying.

It was obvious to the EMTs that the woman was dead, even though one of them immediately jabbed an EpiPen into her arm before they loaded her onto a gurney. They were putting an IV into her arm when the ambulance took off. It would be up to a doctor to pronounce time of death.

Police were already arriving on the scene and Justine was in hysterics, barely able to answer their questions, but volunteering all the information to the detective on the scene.

“How was your mother when she came home?” he asked.

“She was good. I made Hamburger Helper and salad. She was happy. Went to change her shoes. We both started eating. We both had seconds.”

“Is she allergic to anything?” the detective asked.

Justine wiped her eyes and blew her nose as she nodded. “Some kind of nuts, but I forget if it’s all of them or a certain kind. I thought she choked on a bite of food. I began doing the Heimlich maneuver.” She shuddered. “I kept doing it and doing it, but nothing came up. And she got heavy and I couldn’t hold her up. We both fell on the floor. And that’s when I saw her face!”

“You didn’t go look for an EpiPen then?”

Justine was rocking back and forth, staring off into space as she shook her head. “I didn’t connect that…that…Oh God, her eyes!” Snot was mixing with tears until the detective handed her his handkerchief. She wiped and blew. “I thought she looked like that from choking. Like I told the dispatcher, I’ve been living with my father for the past four years. I just moved home a couple of weeks ago. Online job hunting.” She took a slow breath and then looked up, straight into the detective’s face, and shuddered. “She’s dead, isn’t she? My mommy is dead.”

He didn’t answer, but he kept asking questions.

“You said you made the food. Can you show me everything?”

She nodded. “It’s all either in the trash or still on the kitchen counter.”

“Who does the shopping?” he asked.

“Mostly Mom. I don’t have a car. Sometimes I went with her, but not often. She shops for the cheap stuff. We’re watching…were watching how we spend the money. It’s tight right now.”

She got up and led the way to the kitchen.

“Don’t touch anything. Just point out what you used. The forensic team will deal with gathering it,” the detective said.

She nodded, still trembling, staring blankly at everything for a moment, then pointed to the open trash can.

“That’s the box the Hamburger Helper came in. That’s the tray the hamburger meat was on. And the wrapper with the seasonings. I’m no cook, so I just followed directions. The pan in the sink is the one I cooked it in. Theleftovers are still in the casserole dish. The empty bowl is where the salad was. The rest of the head of lettuce is in the refrigerator, and the handful of cherry tomatoes I put in the salad are from the container in the refrigerator. The open bag of croutons on the counter are the ones I used on top of the salad. The bottle of dressing on the table is the one we used. One of Mom’s purchases. They’re all her purchases. I just used them. We drank sweet tea. The rest is in the pitcher in the refrigerator.” She stopped, swaying where she stood. “We were eating and laughing, and then we weren’t.” Her eyes rolled back in her head.

She fainted.

The detective caught her before she hit the floor.

When she came to, there was a cold, wet cloth on her forehead and a female policewoman sitting in the chair beside her. The house was full of people she didn’t know.

And Justine was playing it to the hilt.

“Is there anyone you can call?” the policewoman asked.

“Not anymore,” she said.

“You mentioned living with your father prior to this.”

Tears rolled again. “He didn’t want me. Mom came and got me. It was temporary. Until I could find work and get my own place.”

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