When a film crew discovered magic
mushrooms at Buckingham Palace, I remembered when I found mushrooms in my yard.
They were light brown, not red and white like the hallucinogenic mushrooms
popping up in the Queen’s garden.
I chose not to eat the mushrooms I
found. But what if I’d eaten them or put them in a dish that called for mushrooms? This “what if” question, led me to write the following short story:
~~~~~~
It hurts like a bullet in the chest to see Rosy, scared and fragile, on trial for her life. She looks much too thin in a grey suit, her long blonde hair pulled back in a French twist.
I’d give my life
to free her from this nightmare. So far, I’ve used every legal resource as
sheriff of this county to try to help her beat this bum rap.
I cashed in my savings for her
bail money. Rosy has no idea I did this. Only Father Windford knows. He’s the
priest at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.
Father Windford and his congregation have
contributed also. Their show of support made the front page of The Daily Sun,
where Rosy used to work as news editor.
Most everyone in the community
believes she’s innocent, except the friends and family of Michael Hofstadter and
Prosecutor Sammy Prescott.
“Rosy could never kill anyone and you
know it,” I told Sammy.
“Love has made you blind, Sheriff,”
Sammy said. “Rosemary not only poisoned her husband with mushrooms grown in her
back yard, but she killed her first husband and made it look like an
accident.”
“You know damn well she didn’t kill Hofstadter, nor Canter. John Canter was an
alcoholic. No surprise he passed out in a Jacuzzi and drowned. This whole case is a farse. And Judge Biggs shouldn’t be allowed to sit in judgment at Rosy’s trial due
to his association with Hofstadter.”
Biggs was featured in
Hofstadter’s last documentary: My Fat is
not who I am. His Honor weighs four hundred pounds.
I’m shaking with anger as I watch Mary
Lee Hofstadter being sworn in. She's Hofstadter's daughter from his first marriage and his only offspring. Mary Lee acts like a child, but she’s almost
thirty. Sammy hasn’t even opened his month to ask her a question when
she blurts out, “Daddy was a loving and generous man, and she killed him.” Mary
Lee stabs a finger at Rosy.
Rosy’s attorney, Darrell Lincoln,
shoots up out of his chair and shouts. “Objection, your Honor. Not
evidentiary.”
I’m hoping to hell the jury understands
the significance of “not evidentiary.” Lincoln likes to spout ten-dollar words
when a five-cent one would serve better. He has a reputation for being the
best lawyer in Florida, but he’s pretentious as hell, doesn’t want anyone to
call him by his first name, including his wife and mama.
Prior to taking Rosy’s case, Lincoln
represented an elderly man who fell on a banana peel in a grocery store and
broke his hip. A jury awarded Lincoln and his client a ten-million-dollar
settlement.
Judge Biggs hammers his gavel and yells, “Sustained.”
Sammy gives a sobbing Mary Lee a
tissue. She looks like an orphan in her faded jeans and yellowing white
t-shirt. Her hair is greasy and uncombed. I’d feel sorry for her if I didn’t
know she’s the biggest kleptomaniac in this county.
I’m hoping the jurors are privy to
Mary Lee’s background, but regardless, her accusation against Rosy can
never be erased from the jury’s memory.
As Hofstadter’s only offspring, Mary
Lee is in line, after Rosy, to inherit everything: the million-dollar life
insurance payout and all of Hofstadter’s property and film residuals, which
knowing Rosy, she would have gladly shared with Mary Lee.
After Sammy asks Mary Lee a few more
questions, he gives Lincoln the floor. Lincoln approaches the witness stand,
smiling sympathetically, probably thinking Mary Lee can’t help but smile back,
and she does.
Lincoln runs a hand through his thick
blonde hair. “Ms. Hofstadter, the night your daddy died, he and Rosemary had a
luncheon at their home, is that right?”
“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to
do with anything.”
“Ms. Hofstadter, to make this as
painless for you as possible, you need only answer yes or no.” Lincoln flashes
a smile, showing off his white teeth.
Mary Lee pouts. “I did.”
Lincoln nods at Mary Lee and then
faces the jury. “Those who attended the luncheon were asked to bring food or a dish, because it was a pot luck lunch, isn’t that right?”
Mary Lee glances at the judge as if
he’d asked the question. “I’m not sure what kind of a thing it was.”
Lincoln walks to the jury box. “Your Honor, please instruct the witness to answer the question yes or no.”
“I’m trying, your Honor.” Mary Lee
gives Biggs a wide-eyed stare. Her big, blue eyes are her best feature. She uses
them to appear guileless and dumb.
“She’s trying,” Biggs says. Two
members of the jury--Owen Taylor, a teacher at the high school and Faye Nell Krause,
a nurse at the hospital—laugh, along with several in the courtroom.
Biggs hammers the gavel. “Try harder.
Okay, Mary Lee? Repeat the question, Counsel.”
“Isn’t it true that everyone invited
to the luncheon at your daddy and Rosemary’s house the day your daddy died was
asked to bring a dish or something?”
“I wasn’t asked to bring anything.”
Lincoln sighs. “Your Honor, please,
instruct the witness to answer the question yes or no.”
Biggs glares at Mary Lee. “Can you
answer that question ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
“I’m not sure, your honor.”
“You heard her, Counsel.” Biggs pounds
the gavel. “She’s not sure. Can we move on or can you rephrase the question?”
“Yes, your Honor. Okay, Ms.
Hofstadter, did you see guests bring in food to the luncheon that was held the
day your daddy died?”
“I suppose so.”
“Answer yes or no, please.”
“Yes.”
“And would you agree that when guests
bring a dish to a get together this is traditionally known as pot luck?”
“I guess.”
“Yes or no.”
“Okay, yes, but I don’t see…”
“And wouldn’t you also agree that
someone at the luncheon, and that includes you, might have brought into the
house the mushrooms that the prosecution claims killed your daddy?”
“Objection,” Sammy shouts.
“I’ll answer that your Honor,” Mary
Lee says, while glaring at Rosy. “Rosemary was the one who cooked the beef
stroganoff.”
Mary Lee turns around to face the
jury. “Daddy was hungry. He hadn’t eaten much that day. You see, he was forced
to eat small portions, because of his stomach stapling surgery. He’d lost close
to a hundred pounds in just a few months.”
Lincoln leans toward Mary Lee, his
white-knuckled hands gripping the sides of the witness stand. “Ms. Hofstadter,
please stick to the question. Now, I’m going to try again, and I would
appreciate it if you would answer yes or no.”
Mary Lee nods in agreement.
“Your daddy and Rosemary had a pot
luck luncheon and guests brought in food. That we have agreed upon. Isn’t it
possible that anyone attending the luncheon could have brought those mushrooms
into that house?”
Mary Lee shrugs her shoulders while
shaking her head, no.
“Even you, Mary Lee Hofstadter, could
have brought the mushrooms into the house, which makes me wonder why you didn’t
eat any of the beef stroganoff. Is it because you’ll gain financially from your
daddy’s death if Rosemary is found guilty?”
Sammy stands. “Objection, your Honor.”
Lincoln points at Rosy. “Rosemary
Hofstadter is a vegetarian, but you are not. So, why didn’t you eat the beef
stroganoff, Mary Lee?”
Sammy hops up and down, as if he’s on
a trampoline. “Objection, Counsel is badgering this young woman. He’s
persecuting her, which is unconscionable. She’s not the one on trial here.”
Bigg's face turns red, almost as red
as Lincoln’s tie. He hammers his gavel with such force his jowls shake.
“Lincoln, one more outburst before I’ve had a chance to rule, and I’ll hold you
in contempt.”
“Sorry, your honor,” Lincoln says. “I
have no further questions for this witness.”
“I hate beef stroganoff,” Mary Lee
says, storming off.
Next up is Michael Hofstadter’s former
mistress, a budding actress who reminds me of a blonde model I’d seen in one of
those Victoria’s Secret catalogues. Only this gal, Ginger Pandino, doesn’t
appear to have any secrets. She’s has on a black slip that looks like a nighty.
No bra.
As if on cue, Ginger Pandino dabs at
her eyes and swears to tell the “whole truth and nothing but.”
Sammy walks up, looking sympathetic as
if Ginger is the real widow here. I’m surprised Sammy didn’t ask Ginger to
dress more conservatively. “How long have you known the deceased Michael
Hofstadter?”
Ginger wipes her eyes. “We had been
dating off and on for…oh…ten years.”
Sammy turns on his heels to stare at
Rosy. “Are you saying you started dating him before he met and married the
defendant?”
“Yes. I was in the first documentary
Michael did. It was on date rape, filmed at UCLA. I was a freshman at the
time.”
“Did you love Michael Hofstadter?”
“Yes,” she sobs. “Very much.”
“Did the two of you ever talk about
getting married?”
“He wanted to back then, but I was only eighteen, younger than his daughter, and my folks didn’t approve. I later married a guy they
approved of, but it didn’t work out.”
A large woman in front of me says,
“Hussy,” loud enough to be heard.
Biggs glares in her direction and
hammers his gavel. “Be quiet or remove yourself.”
Sammy continues. “So you’re saying
your first marriage ended in divorce, is that right?”
“Yes, and I needed a job to support
myself, so I asked Michael if he had any work for me to do.”
Sammy points to Rosy. “Was he married
to the defendant at that time?”
“Yes.”
“And did Michael Hofstadter give you a
job?”
“Yes, I became his assistant.”
“How would you describe your
relationship with Michael Hofstadter?”
“I fought my feelings as he did, but
our love was too strong, and he eventually told me he would ask his wife for a
divorce.”
Rosy whispers something to Lincoln. He
whispers back. Rosy shakes her head, no.
“And did Michael Hofstadter ask his
wife for a divorce?”
Lincoln jumps up. “Hearsay, your Honor.”
Biggs hammers his gavel. “I’ll allow
it as to what Mr. Hofstadter told this witness.”
“I’ll rephrase your honor. Ms.
Pandino, did Michael Hofstadter tell you he asked his wife, the defendant, for
a divorce?”
“Yes. Michael said she was furious and
told him that the prenuptial she signed wasn’t worth the weeds in his garden.”
“Objection,” Lincoln shouts.
“Hearsay.”
“No further questions, your Honor,”
Sammy says, smiling.
Lincoln acts fidgety. His hands shake as
he approaches the witness stand. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s
attracted to this Barbie femme fatale. He flashes his toothy smile.
“Ms. Pandino, what if I told you that
Michael Hofstadter’s wife, Rosemary, honestly believed her husband was true to
her? She believed him when he told her he was intimate with only her. She
believed him when he said he loved only her. And she is prepared to testify to
that in this courtroom.”
Sammy stood. “Conjecture and improper
questioning of this witness, your Honor.”
“Sustained.” Biggs hammers the gavel.
“If the defendant is prepared to testify, then let her.”
Lincoln tries again. “Ms. Pandino, you
have admitted you entered into an adulterous affair with Mr. Hofstadter, is
that correct?”
“He was married and I knew it and I
dated him anyway. That is true. I let my heart rule my head, but I eventually
told Michael if he loved me the way I loved him, he should get a divorce, and
until Michael actually took that step, I told him I wasn’t going to see him
anymore. So, I broke it off until the night Michael assured me he had asked his
wife for a divorce.”
“How many months did you have an
affair with Michael Hofstadter before you broke it off?”
Ginger sighs and closes her eyes. “I
don’t know. As I said, I dated him way back when I was at UCLA.”
“Ms. Pandino, I need you to tell this
court how many months you had an affair with Michael Hofstadter while he was
married to his wife, Rosemary?”
“Six months maybe.”
“It took you six months to realize you
were doing the wrong thing by entering into an adulterous affair with a married
man, six months before you, all of a sudden, decided to break off your
relationship with him unless he got a divorce. Come now, Ms. Pandino, do you
expect this court to believe you?”
Sammy raises his arms above his head
like a winning fighter. “Objection, your Honor. Counsel is badgering the
witness. She has already testified as to her relationship with the victim,
Michael Hoftstader.”
Biggs hammers the gavel. “Sustained,
move on, Lincoln. If you don’t have anything new to offer, please conclude with
this witness.”
“One last question, your Honor. Ms.
Pandino, did you actually hear Michael Hofstadter ask his wife Rosemary for a
divorce?”
“No, Mr. Lincoln, but he recounted the
conversation to me, and knowing him as well as I did, I knew he was telling me
the truth.”
“So, what you’re saying is, Michael
Hofstadter told you he asked his wife for a divorce. You didn’t actually hear
him ask her, and he didn’t actually swear on a Bible that he asked his wife for
a divorce, isn’t that right?”
Sammy huffs like a quack less duck.
“Objection, your Honor, the defendant has already answered that question.”
Biggs hammers his gavel. “Sustained.”
Lincoln props his hands on his hips.
“Who knows? Maybe you did believe Michael Hofstadter was telling you the truth,
Ms. Pandino. His wife Rosemary certainly believed him when he told her he was
faithful to her.”
Sammy stood and approached the bench.
“Ojection and should be stricken from the record.”
“Sustained.” Biggs hammers the gavel.
“Have you finished with this witness, Counsel.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
All eyes seem to follow Ginger as she
steps down and sashays up the aisle and out through the double doors behind me.
“Prosecution rests,” Sammy says.
Biggs hammers his gavel, and we break
for lunch.
When Rosy’s trial resumes, Lincoln
calls Dr. Jason Franken to the stand.
Franken is a medical doctor, a
horticulturist and expert witness. His last case involved a six-year-old boy
who almost died from eating “Amanita Phalloides mushrooms also known as Death
Caps,” he says.
Lincoln puts a photo of Death Caps on
an easel for the jury to see. To my eyes, they look like normal mushrooms,
except they have white ridges on their undersides.
“One mushroom can contain enough
poison to kill an adult,” Franken says. “And cooking them doesn’t neutralize
the toxins.”
Lincoln offers a zip bag filled with
these mushrooms into exhibition for the jury to examine. “Would you say, Dr.
Franken, that someone could easily mistake these Death Cap mushrooms with those
purchased in a grocery store?”
“Yes.”
“In your experience, have other adults
made this mistake?”
“Yes.”
“How many adults would you say have
mistaken these poisonous mushrooms from eatable ones?”
“There’s really no way of accurately
estimating how many deaths and accidental poisonings occur each year from
eating these things. Often the symptoms mimic the flu.”
On cross examination, Sammy tries to
confuse the expert witness, but Dr. Franken appears unflappable.
After Franken steps down, Lincoln
calls Towsend Wallace, the owner of Towsend’s Garden Spot. Towsend has
transformed many a brown thumb into a green one with his guidance and his own
brand of potting soil. More importantly, Michael Hofstadter was one of
Towsend’s customers.
Lincoln asks Towsend about
Hofstadter’s love of gardening.
“Michael used to say, ‘Getting my
hands in dirt is therapy,’” Towsend testifies.
“Did Rosemary Hofstadter share her
husband’s gift of gardening?”
“No, Rosy never seemed interested.
Michael once joked she didn’t know a tomato plant from a corn stalk.”
Lincoln smiles and turns Towsend over
to Sammy, who asks only one question. “With your vast knowledge of plants,
wouldn’t you agree most intelligent adults would be afraid to eat a wild
mushroom from their yard?”
“I eat wild mushrooms all the time,”
Towsend says. “But I know the difference between one that is good for me and
one that might kill me.”
As soon as Towsend leaves the witness
stand, Lincoln calls Rosy’s daughter Candy to testify. Candy is Rosy’s daughter
from her first marriage to John Canter. Candy was supposed to arrive earlier,
but she was in the middle of her college finals.
“Thank God I made it,” she whispers to
me on her way to being sworn in. Candy is wearing a simple black dress, no makeup
on her face. She could be Rosy’s twin. Today she looks more fragile than her
mother, if that’s possible.
As she is being sworn in, I zone out and
daydream about the day I first met Rosy. I’d stopped in to say hello to Bob Messer.
Bob and his wife Gladys own a dry cleaners and repair shop.
Rosy rushed in. The heel of her shoe had
popped off. She handed Bob both pieces of it. The shoe looked like a glass
slipper.
“I should be able to glue it and screw
it,” Bob said.
“You want to screw my shoe?” Rosy
asks.
To make matters worse, Gladys said,
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to walk after he screws it.”
I snap back to the courtroom scene
when I hear Candy sobbing. “Mother is the kindest, sweetest woman in the
whole world, everyone who knows her, loves her. She wouldn’t kill a fly.” She
turns to the jury. “Please, stop this persecution of my mother.”
I cringe when it's Sammy's turn to
cross examine. “My condolences for the loss of your step father Candy,"
Sammy says. "I know you’ve suffered a great deal in your young life. You
lost your own father to a tragic unexplained accident, didn’t you? Was your
father’s death happenstance or something more sinister?”
Lincoln jumps up. “Objection,
irrelevant and cruel, your Honor.”
Biggs hammers the gavel. “Sustained.”
“I’ll withdraw the question.”
I exhale a relieved sign when Sammy finally
releases Candy. Before she leaves the courtroom, she whispers to me, "I wish
I could stay. But I have to hurry back and take another test."
Andrea Quiller, Rosy’s next-door neighbor, is
called to the stand. Andrea plays the piano at Saint Paul’s Episcopal. She
testifies about the luncheon at the Hofstadter home the day in question.
“There must have been at least fifty
guests. Most everybody brought a dish or something. I remember thinking Michael
didn’t look well. Rosy told me she thought he was losing weight too fast. She
was worried about his health after he had that stomach surgery.”
On cross, Sammy asks, “Did you
actually see any of the guests at the party bring in Death Cap mushrooms?”
“No, but I arrived at Rosy and Michael’s
late. I brought a bean casserole.”
“Ms. Quiller, have you ever been to a
pot luck lunch or supper where one of the guests brought in strange-looking
mushrooms?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Ms. Quiller, did Rosemary Hofstadter
tell you her husband, Michael Hofstadter abused her and she was miserable in
that relationship?”
Andrea bites her bottom lip, but
doesn’t respond.
“Ms. Quiller, do I need to repeat the
question?”
Again, she hesitates and glances at
Rosy. “Rosy once said Michael slapped her when he was drunk, but I think she
set him straight after that.”
“What do you mean by ‘set him
straight’?”
Andrea bites her lip again and turned
toward the jury. “Rosy said she threatened to leave Michael if he ever hit her
a second time.”
“Was Rosemary Hofstadter unhappy in
her marriage?”
“No more than any of us.”
The courtroom erupts in laughter.
Biggs hammers the gavel. “Silence.”
After Andrea steps down from the stand,
Lincoln calls Rosy to be sworn in. My heart hammers faster than a woodpecker in
a hurry.
Tears stream down her lovely face as
she clutches the oak banister in front of the witness chair. Lincoln puts his
hands over hers in a touching display of compassion. “Rosemary, did you
intentionally hurt Michael Hofstadter?”
“No, no, no.” Rosy swipes her tears
with the backs of her hands. “I almost can’t live with myself knowing I might
have cooked something for him that could have….” Rosy’s body convulses in sobs.
Lincoln hands her a box of Kleenex and
says, “Do you need to take a break, Rosemary.”
Rosy shakes her head, no.
Lincoln continues. “Rosemary, I know
this is difficult for you, but I need to ask you how you came to prepare the
beef Stroganoff with those mushrooms that the prosecution alleges killed your
husband.”
“Michael loved Beef Stroganoff. He’d
been craving it. He actually stopped and picked up the sirloin the day before.
I had not fixed Beef Stroganoff for him in, oh, I can’t remember when. It had
been a long time. I had to refer to an old cookbook and check to see if I had
all of the ingredients. I didn’t know if I had mushrooms or not, and then I
happened to see them on the counter in a plastic grocery bag.”
“What time was this?”
“About six-thirty, seven.”
“Did the mushrooms look strange to
you?”
“No.”
“Tell us what happened after you fixed
the Stroganoff.”
Rosy covers her mouth with her trembling
hands and looks down at the floor, as if gathering her thoughts. “After the
luncheon, Michael went up to his study to catch up on work. I didn’t want to
disturb him by calling him downstairs to eat. So, I took him a plate.”
“Did you eat with your husband while
he ate?”
“I don’t eat meat, but we did have a
glass of merlot together. And afterwards, I went downstairs to clean up the mess
from our luncheon.”
“Did your husband complain about being
sick after he ate the Stroganoff?”
“After I cleaned up the kitchen, I
went back upstairs. I had a terrible headache and wanted to go to bed. I called
out to Michael. He didn’t answer, but I heard the commode flush in the bathroom
next to his study. The bathroom door was closed. So I knocked on the door and told
him I was going to bed. I asked him if he was okay. He said he didn’t feel
well. He thought he might have a bug. I asked him if he wanted me to call the
doctor. He said no. I asked him if I could do anything or get him anything. He
said no.”
Rosy breaks into sobs again and
Lincoln waits a moment. When Rosy regains her composure, he asks, “And can you
tell us what else you remember?”
“I took two Excedrin PM as I sometimes
do when I have a headache and can’t sleep. I didn’t wake up until seven the
next morning.”
“Where was your husband then?”
“He wasn’t in bed with me, and I
thought maybe he’d fallen asleep in his lounger. When he’s working on a project
at home, he often falls asleep in his study in the lounge chair.” Rosy covers
her face with her hands. “But I didn’t find him in the lounger. I found him on
the bathroom floor. His body felt like stone. I immediately called 911."
The faces of the jurors look sad, as
if afflicted with grief. Juror Faye Nell Krause is wiping her tears.
In an effort to appear compassionate, Sammy
whispers his first question to Rosy. “Isn’t it true, Rosemary, that you were
angry with you husband, Michael Hofstadter? And who could blame you? He asked
you for a divorce after you were forced to put up with his unacceptable
behavior?”
Rosy's baby blues, swollen from
crying, widen. “Michael never asked me for a divorce.”
“Do you expect this court to believe
that you did not know or suspect your husband was having an affair?”
Rosy wipes her eyes. “I wanted to
believe he was true to me, and I guess I believed what I wanted to believe.”
“What about those strange looking
mushrooms? Do you expect this court to believe that an intelligent woman, such
as yourself, would not know, or at least suspect, those Death Caps were
poisonous and profoundly lethal, and especially to someone like your husband
who'd had stomach surgery?”
“If I had known I never would have
given them to Michael or to anyone.” Rosy’s body trembles, and she starts
sobbing again.
I ball up my fists. They’re itching to
punch Sammy.
To keep from hitting him, I walk outside.
The cool air feels good. I take deep breaths and try to meditate. I’m out longer
than I intended. By the time I make it back inside, the summations and charges
to the jury have concluded.
I expect a long and tortuous wait for a
judgment, but in forty-five minutes, we get word there’s a verdict. Rosy is
trembling as she stands to receive it.
The bailiff hands Judge Biggs the
paper with Rosy’s fate. Biggs shows no expression as he glances at it and hands
the verdict to foreman Owen Taylor to read aloud.
“Not guilty on all counts,” Owen
announces.
The courtroom erupts in cheers. One
woman yells, "Oh, my God."
I run over, grab Rosy and swing her
around.
She says, "Don't squeeze me to
death, Phil," and laughs.
Lincoln makes a victory sign with his
fingers.
Rosy says she needs to go to the
Ladies room. Lincoln and I wait for her.
After a few moments, she walks out,
looking renewed and happy. She’s put on fresh pink lipstick and her eyes look
clearer.
“The media circus is waiting,” she
says. “Let get this over with.”
As we walk out to face the mob of
flashing cameras and reporters, Rosy’s cell phone rings. She grabs the phone
from her purse. Caller I.D. says, “Candy.”
"Hi Sweetie, the jury found me
innocent," Rosy answers. "I know...but right now I have to feed the
media."
A cameraman bumps Rosy. The cell phone
flies from her hand. I catch it before it hits the concrete steps.
I hear Candy, still talking on the other
end. Obviously, she’s unaware her Mom dropped the phone.
“I’m glad you killed that son of a
bitch, Mama,” Candy says.
Sandy Semerad has worked as a newspaper reporter, broadcaster, columnist and editor, mostly in Atlanta, where she lived for many years. Since moving to Florida, she has written three novels, SEX, LOVE, AND MURDER (previously titled MARDI GRAVESTONE), HURRICANE HOUSE and her latest, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES--loosely based on a murder trial she covered as a reporter. All of Sandy’s books have received rave reviews. Alabama born, she now lives in Santa Rosa Beach with husband Larry, their spoiled Shih Tzu P-Nut and wayward cat Miss Kitty. Sandy has two daughters and a granddaughter.
