Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries) (14 page)

“Did what?”

The group all look at one another, except for Bubba who simply chuckles.

“Someone killed Bernard Chase,” Randolph says. “We all know what happened. What we don’t know is who did it.”

“How about
why
someone did it?” I ask. “Do any of you know the answer to that?”

Once again they exchange looks, except for Bubba. After several long seconds, Bubba says, “Bernard wasn’t a nice man. He was killing off patients who cost him too much.”

Richmond was right. No one is holding back. “Why do you think that?”

Bubba shrugs. “It happened too regularly and too consistently to be a coincidence. One day you’re bedbound and a week later you’re dead. No one questions nursing home deaths. We’re old, we’re feeble, and no one cares. Good riddance.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” I say.

“Well, it’s true,” Randolph says. “We’re the last pariahs in modern society. If we start costing too much, people think we should just be put down like a dog.”

Though no one in the group is smoking at the moment, there’s a lingering scent of spicy smoke in the air and I wave my hand in front of my face and lower my voice. “What are you guys smoking?”

Bubba coughs, Betty and Randolph exchange wary looks, Tom starts chewing on a fingernail, and Aileen chuckles.

Randolph says, “What? You think we made up the thing about Chase killing off patients? Do you think the idea is nothing more than a figment of our drug-addled imaginations?”

“You’re not going to turn us in, are you?” Tom asks.

“I don’t care what you do unless it relates to Bernard’s murder. And no, I don’t think the idea about Chase killing off patients is some drug-induced paranoia, though I’m not sure I believe it’s true, either. As to what you’re smoking, I’m just curious.”

Randolph extends an arm toward me and says, “Mattie, would you walk with me for a minute. I need to ask you something.”

Though I’m certain I’m being handled, I decide to
go with the flow
as Emily said, and see where it leads me. I take Randolph’s arm and let him steer me down a small walkway to a bench on the far side of the garden. The bench, which is metal, feels icy cold against my legs when I sit, despite my pants.

“Here’s the deal, Mattie,” Randolph says. “As you might imagine, life in this place can be pretty boring. All of us here are in the twilight of our lives, which makes the name of the place quite fitting, don’t you think?” I start to answer, but he doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word out. “Our time is limited and our years are numbered. We are stricken with infirmities and indignities that remind us of that ever-ticking clock. When you get right down to it, there isn’t a lot left for us to look forward to. So sometimes we create our own fun.”

“By smoking pot?”

Randolph chuckles. “There isn’t any pot here. That stuff they’re smoking is a mix of herbal tea and oregano with a hint of dried mint. I grow the oregano and mint right here in my room.”

“Seriously?”

“I swear. I mix it myself. Then I sell it to them at a price so reasonable they feel like they’re getting a steal of a deal. Betty’s grandson buys the real stuff and he’s told her what it costs, so they know.”

“You’re selling it to them?” I ask, wondering who I’m more in shock over, Randolph for duping the others, or the others for being so gullible.

“I’m not breaking any laws, and neither are they. Nothing in that stuff is illegal.”

“They have no idea?”

Randolph smirks. “I don’t think so. They think it’s the real stuff.”

“So why do it?”

“Because it gives them an edge. It makes them feel like they’re doing something a little naughty. It’s an illusion that makes them feel alive. Where’s the harm in that?”

I think about it for a few seconds and then shrug. “Is it safe to smoke that stuff?”

“It hasn’t hurt anyone yet. Besides, most of them don’t even inhale. I think Aileen suspects it isn’t real, but she’s having so much fun playing into it that she won’t say anything. No one wants to burst the bubble. Life here is boring and stagnant. Anything that counters that is something they will embrace. To be honest, I think Bernard’s murder is going to be the most exciting thing that’s ever happened for most of the folks here. That’s why everyone is so eager to talk to the cops while the employees and board members are all busy covering their asses. The patients want to be involved. They want to help you solve the case if they can, and do their own investigations. Some of them have already started asking questions and grilling one another. They all look more alive right now than they have in months, maybe years.”

Death does have a way of making one feel alive. “One of them might have killed Chase,” I remind him.

His ethereal smile disappears and after a moment he nods slowly. “I doubt it, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“If you were to pick someone here, a resident, who you think is capable of something like that, who would it be?”

Randolph ponders this a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. Finally he says, “I don’t know how Bernard died, but I would say Frank Dudley. Or Ruth Waldheim.”

I commit the two names to memory. “Why them?”

Randolph flashes a brief, sly smile that suggests he knows something juicy. “Frank hates this place. His family dumped him here after he got the sugar diabetes and ended up having his left leg amputated below the knee. He was a farmer and the leg thing made it impossible for him to run the place anymore. No one in his family was interested in running the farm. All they wanted was the money it might bring in if they could sell it. So they tricked Frank into coming here to live by saying they’d run the farm. Then they sold the place and took off with the money. Frank is pretty bitter about it and blames Bernard for helping his family with what he calls ‘duping me into becoming a prisoner here.’ ”

“Would Frank have the strength to overpower someone else?”

“Oh, yeah,” Randolph says with a roll of his eyes. “The guy is built like a Mack truck. And I’ve seen him swing that prosthetic leg of his. Let me tell you, one good whack with that thing and you’re going down. If Bernard has a dent in his head that looks like a heel or a toe, I’d be looking at Frank as the culprit.”

I make a mental note to ask Izzy about any bruises, though I’m certain if he had found anything critical he would have told us. “Why Ruth Waldheim?”

“She’s a small woman, but she has three boys who are all well over six feet tall, drunk much of the time, and always looking for a fight.”

This is nothing new; most people in town know about the Waldheim family. “But why would Ruth want Bernard dead?”

“Technically, it’s not Bernard she wants dead, but Ruth is senile as all get out and doesn’t know who or where she is most of the time. She was sexually abused by a cousin when she was a teenager and in her confusion, she relives that on a regular basis. Apparently, Bernard bears a physical resemblance to the cousin so every time Ruth sees him, she starts to cry and accuse him of molesting her. The sons know about the past abuse, but are more testosterone and muscle than brains. They tend to want to lash out and protect their mother, even though the staff here is constantly reminding them that Ruth is confused.”

“Interesting.” I know the Waldheim boys. They look like backwoods hillbillies with long, scraggly hair and beards that look like they should be trimmed with a weed whacker. I’ve heard rumors about them in town from time to time, and the owner of the local hardware store swears the boys have the best recipes for squirrel and possum this side of the Rockies. None of them finished high school and I’d wager their combined IQ is probably lower than their mother’s body weight.

Dr. Maggie suddenly pops into my head, wagging a finger at my use of the word
wager.
I shake off the image and tune in to what Randolph is saying.

“You should probably focus on the A, B, and C wing patients,” Randolph says. I give him a questioning look and he explains further. “This facility is set up as two squares. The first one is where you came in. It houses the administrative offices, a laundry, a hair salon, a gym that serves as the PT and OT area, the dining room, and a few other rooms. The patient rooms make up the second square. The top of that square, which is the hallway you see straight ahead when you turn left at the entrance, is called the A wing. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not but it’s where most of the Alzheimer and other dementia patients are roomed if they are relatively stable physically. The first hall to the right is B wing and the hallway that goes left at the entrance to the dayroom is C wing. B and C wings house the patients who are relatively stable and somewhat independent. It’s also home to the temporary rehab patients, the ones who need to come here for a couple months after their hip or knee replacement because they can’t manage on their own yet and don’t have anyone at home to help them. I’m pretty sure those are . . .
were
Chase’s favorite type of patient. I heard him say once that the reimbursement for acute rehab is better. That leaves the D wing. That’s where all the severely disabled people live and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they are stashed away in the hall farthest from the main door and the public areas.”

I nod my understanding.

“I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that that’s where all the deaths have been lately,” he adds in an ominous but hushed tone. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

He’s starting to sound like Arnie.

“Thanks for your insight,” I tell him. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of, but if something comes to me I’ll let you know.” Randolph gets up from the bench and offers me a hand.

I take it, smiling at his womanizing ways. I have to admit, the guy is a charmer.

“You won’t squeal to the others, will you?” he asks me.

“You mean about the fake pot?”

He nods. “They’re just looking for a few final thrills to enjoy before their life journeys come to an end. Where’s the harm?”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I assure him.

“Thanks. Shall we?” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand back toward the rest of his group.

“You go ahead. I want to talk to that guy over there.” The guy I’m referring to is Arnie, who I’ve spied over the fence in the side parking lot standing next to a shiny blue BMW, dusting the driver’s side door for prints. He sees me and waves me over.

Randolph returns to his group of clandestine smokers and I head for Arnie. I start to go through the same gate I used earlier, but it is locked on the other side. Fortunately, my baboon arms leave me well equipped for such a problem. I stand on tiptoe and reach way over the fence, and slide the bolt. I go through, lock the gate again, and make my way to Arnie. “How’s it going?”

“Tedious, to be honest,” he says. “All I’ve really done so far is lift prints and they’re all over the place. Brenda Joiner and I must have lifted a hundred or more in the men’s room and then she went home. Now I’m out here checking Bernard’s car. When I’m done, I’m supposed to go into Bernie’s office and start dusting in there.”

“Have you done any employee interviews?”

Arnie shakes his head. “Hurley spent an hour or so arguing with the board members about whether or not he could talk to the employees, but when he realized no one would speak to him out of fear of losing their jobs until they got the go ahead from administration, he gave in. I guess there’s a bunch of lawyers on their way, and until they arrive, none of the employees are to talk to anyone. They tried to convince the patients to wait, too, but most of them are talking.”

“So I heard from Richmond. Apparently, they’ve been quite forthcoming. Do you know where Hurley is now?”

“Last I saw him, he was inside snooping around in the mail room. He said he was going to get started searching the administrative offices, but the only one that is unlocked is Bernie’s.”

“Let me guess. The board isn’t going to open them until the lawyers get here.”

“You got it,” Arnie says. “It’s almost as if they’re trying to hide something, isn’t it?” There is a light in his eyes I know all too well. He gestures toward the administrative wing exit. “If you want to hook up with Hurley, I stuck a rock in that door over there so it wouldn’t close all the way and lock.”

“Oh, good.”

Arnie beams. “I have my moments.”

I leave him to his fingerprint dust and let myself into the administrative wing. The lights in the hallway are on, but the area is quiet and appears empty except for the police tape and barricades at the other end marking off the crime scene. I can see the entrance to the mail room at the far end of the hall and though the door is open, the lights are turned off. All the office doors are closed and the rooms are dark. The eerie quiet along with the darkened rooms spooks me. I stop just inside the exit door and holler, “Hurley?”

I get no response. I walk up to the door of Bernard Chase’s office and lean into it to listen, to see if I can hear anyone on the other side. Just as my ear touches the door it’s yanked open and someone charges out of the room, knocking me backward.

I
flail my arms and try to catch my balance just as I hit the back door. I jar it hard enough to knock the rock out of place and the door shuts. I lean against it, my arm in front of my face in a defensive gesture against whoever is there. Then I hear Hurley’s voice say, “Mattie? What the hell are you doing?”

I lower my arms as I realize the person who mowed me down is Hurley. “I hollered for you and no one answered. I was spooked so I leaned in against the door to listen and you opened it just as I did.” I try to look more dignified than I feel. “Why the hell were you in there in the dark? And what’s the big hurry?” I add irritably.

Hurley reaches over, grabs my hand, and starts pulling me down the hallway. “I was using a black light to look for body secretions on that couch in there. And the big hurry is Emily. Why the hell is she at your place? And who’s snooping around your place scaring the crap out of her?”

“Who? What? Wait!” I can’t wrap my mind around all his questions that fast, and his tone of voice is irritating me. “First off, she’s at my place because she doesn’t have a house key and we couldn’t get in to your place.”

“Oh, right. Hell, I didn’t even think—”

“As for the rest of it, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I didn’t hear you yell. Sorry. I was on the phone with Dom. I’ll explain as we go.” Hurley turns and I stumble along behind him as we make a mad dash out of the administration wing and into the waiting room, then out into the parking lot. “Dom just called me and said that Emily is crying and scared. Some man was looking in the windows of your cottage at her. Apparently, Hoover started to growl and that’s how she saw the guy. She called Dom, who called me.”

We climb into Hurley’s car and he sticks his police light on the roof. We make the trip to my place in just over three minutes and, when we pull up outside my cottage, all the outdoor lights are on, illuminating the backside of Izzy’s house, the front and sides of my cottage, and a good portion of the woods surrounding us. All the indoor lights are on in both houses, too. As we get out of the car, the back door to Izzy’s house opens.

Dom hollers out to us. “I have her over here.”

I head that way, but Hurley hesitates, moving toward my cottage and taking a cursory look around the front porch and door area.

Emily bursts out of Izzy and Dom’s house and runs over to Hurley. She flings her arms around him and hugs him tight. Her face is turned my way and I can see it clearly in the bright lights; it’s tear-stained and terrified.

“I was so scared,” she says, her voice breaking.

Hurley wraps one arm around her and strokes her head with the hand of the other. As I watch, I feel a pang of jealousy, but not the kind I usually feel when it comes to Hurley. This is different. It’s that fatherly protector thing that has me jealous. That sort of attention is something I’ve never had and often yearned for.

Hurley looks over at Dom, who has been joined by Izzy. “What can you tell me?”

Izzy says, “Talk to Dom. I wasn’t here when it happened. I just got home from the office.”

Dom, whose big eyes, fair skin, and reddish-blond hair can make him look frightened to death on a normal day, has a hand splayed protectively over his heart. He sashays over to Hurley looking like he’s just seen a ghost. “There was somebody there all right. Emily called me because Hoover started growling and wouldn’t stop. It was making her nervous so I told her I’d come over and check things out. As soon as I flipped the lights on and stepped outside, I saw a man standing by the front window. He heard me and ran off into the woods, over that way.” He points in the direction of my old house, the one I used to share with my ex-husband David. It burned nearly to the ground last November and as soon as the weather warms up enough to start construction, David plans to rebuild. Coincidentally, he’s being helped in this endeavor by Patty Volker, our insurance agent and his new girlfriend.

“Could it have been David?” I ask Dom.

He shakes his head. “No, he was taller than David, and stocky. And the hair was dark.”

Hurley takes Emily by the shoulders and pushes her back, looking down at her. “Did you see this man’s face?”

Emily nods. “Not for long, but when Dom turned the outside lights on it made me look over toward the window and for a second I saw him there. Then he was gone.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark, scruffy, older I think. Like I said, I only saw him for a second.”

“You didn’t see him until after you called Dom?”

Emily nods.

“What made you call Dom in the first place?”

“Hoover,” Emily says, and my dog, who is sitting at her feet, thumps his tail when he hears his name. “I was on the couch watching TV and he was lying at my feet when all of a sudden he started growling. He got up and went into the bedroom so I figured he was just messing with the cats. I tried calling to him, but he stayed in there for several minutes and kept growling. He finally stopped and came out, but then he started walking around the house, whining and sniffing at the air. He went into the kitchen and started growling again, staring at the window. I still thought it might be the cats, but when I got up I saw both of them asleep in the bedroom on top of the bed. When Hoover came into the living room and started growling is when I called Dom.”

Hurley leaves Emily to stand alone and walks over to the window, then around to the side and back of the cottage, shining his flashlight along the ground. “There are footprints that track around the house from the back. Whoever was out here was probably at the rear of the house first. That’s why Hoover was growling in the bedroom.” He looks over at me with a worried expression. “Who would be spying on you? And why?”

“I have no idea,” I say, suppressing a chill.

“The obvious culprit would be David,” Hurley says, “though he strikes me more as the in-your-face type, not the skulking type.”

“What reason would he have to skulk in the first place?” I say.

Hurley takes out his cell phone and says, “I’m going to have some guys come over here and take a look around. Check out the woods and your old place.”

As he makes his call, I start searching my mind, trying to think of someone who would want to spy on me. I have been avoiding people for the past couple months, but I can’t think of anyone who would come to see me who fits the description.

Hurley ends his call and immediately places another. But this one gets no answer. When he disconnects, he stands there a moment, tapping his chin with the phone. Finally he says, “A couple guys will be out here shortly to see if they can find anything.” He looks at Emily. “In the meantime, I suppose I should take you back to my place. Do you have stuff you need to get?”

She nods and heads inside my cottage to get her purse and jacket. To my amusement, Hoover goes with her.

With a nod, Hurley steers me over to where Izzy and Dom are standing and addresses us in a low voice. “I just tried to call Kate and she isn’t answering. I have to consider that whoever was out here may have been spying on Emily rather than Mattie.” He fills Izzy and Dom in on Kate and her brother and the situation there. “If these guys who are after Kate’s brother somehow managed to track Kate to Sorenson in hopes of finding Brent, they could be watching Emily to see if he shows up.”

“Then you can’t take her to your place and leave her there alone,” I say. “Not after this.”

Hurley emits a sigh of exasperation and runs a hand through his hair. “I suppose not. But I can’t stay with her, either. I need to keep working on this case.”

“Why don’t we just bring her along for tonight?” I suggest. “She wanted to come with me to the nursing home, anyway. She’ll be fine in the dayroom with Richmond and the patients.”

Hurley frowns at the suggestion, but before he can say anything, Emily rejoins our group, Hoover at her feet. She looks at the group of us and smiles. “What?”

“Are you comfortable with me leaving you alone at my place for a few hours tonight?” Hurley asks.

Emily squares her shoulders and after the briefest hesitation says, “Sure.” But there is no conviction behind the word.

I give Hurley a look and he says, “Okay, you can come with Mattie and me for tonight, but just this once, okay?”

Emily smiles, looking immensely relieved. “Understood.”

Two on-duty cops arrive to scour the area around my cottage and Hurley has us wait so he can check things out with them. Emily settles herself inside Hurley’s car, and Hoover jumps in beside her. I shake my head and smile, and when Emily shoots me a pleading look, I say, “Fine. You can be the therapy dog trainer at the nursing home.”

I leave the two of them and go inside my cottage to make sure all the windows are latched. I also look at my diary, which appears undisturbed on the table where I left it, and tuck it away inside a drawer. The cats, who apparently could care less that someone was lurking about outside, are still asleep on my bed. I top off the food and water bowls, still pondering the night’s events.

Why would a man be spying through my windows? I think about the casino and all the money I’ve lost there, recently. But since I don’t owe anyone any money and the casino has made plenty from me, I can’t imagine a reason they would want to spy on me. There were a few men at the casino who I’d flirted with casually from time to time. Had I perhaps attracted a stalker? I thought back to the men I’d befriended while playing the tables, but no one I could recall fit the descriptions Dom and Emily had provided.

I realize Hurley’s theory might be right. Maybe it’s Emily who is being watched. Had we been followed earlier tonight when I was driving her around? If so, why would they follow her rather than Kate? Then it hit me. Maybe they had followed Kate. Hurley said she hadn’t answered her phone when he tried to call her earlier. Had something happened to her?

I’m feeling spooked and full of questions, so when Hurley comes in a few minutes later, I’m eager to hear what he and the cops outside might have determined. “Find anything significant?”

He shakes his head and sighs.

“How did this person come and go? He must have had a car somewhere. Were there any signs of one over at my old place?”

“Hard to tell,” Hurley says. “The driveway is concrete and the roads are dry so there aren’t any tire tracks to see. There isn’t anywhere for a car to park along the road near here because it’s too narrow. If someone had tried, I think we would have been called on it. I remember when someone broke down not far from here. We were flooded with complaint calls within minutes of the car being left at the side of the road.

“We didn’t see any footprints in the woods, but the ground is pretty hard and covered with leaves. In fact, if it wasn’t for those plant beds around your cottage, we wouldn’t have any prints at all.”

“Are the prints you do have of any help?”

Hurley shrugs. “Maybe. It’s a large size and I think one or two of the prints have enough detail for us to identify the specific type of shoe. But unless we find a shoe to match it, that’s about all we’ll be able to know. I’m going to try to get a sketch artist to come in tonight to see if Dom can work on what he saw, although I don’t know if I’ll be able to find one this late.”

“You might not need to.” I tell him about Emily’s drawing from earlier. “Let Emily be her own sketch artist.”

“Can’t hurt I suppose,” he says, looking thoughtful. “It will give her something to do while we’re at the nursing home.”

“Have you tried to reach Kate again?”

Hurley nods and scowls. “I did. Still no answer. That worries me.”

It worries me too, but I don’t say so. A few minutes later, after locking the cottage up tight and some last-minute instructions Hurley gives to the officers on site, he, Emily, and I all head back to the nursing home.

It’s close to nine o’clock by the time we get there and we’re all tired. The person seated at the sign-in desk is a nursing assistant by the name of Anne, who asks us to sign in.

Hurley grumbles, “We already did,” and walks on past her toward the dayroom.

The assistant casts a wary eye at Hoover and looks like she wants to insist, but in the end her timidity wins out and she says nothing.

Hurley sets Emily up in the dayroom with some pencils and paper and gives her instructions on what to do. She appears eager to get to it, but several of the patients, intrigued by the young newcomer and happy to see Hoover again, start chatting with her.

Richmond is still here, and after we fill him in on Emily’s presence and why she’s here, he informs us that the lawyers still haven’t arrived. He also tells us that the patient room searches are ongoing and haven’t turned up anything of interest except some cigarette papers and some stuff the cops thought might be pot.

“It’s not pot,” I tell them. “It’s a mix of oregano, mint, and tea.”

The two men look at me with puzzled expressions.

“And you know this how?” Hurley asks.

“I had a little chat with the guy who’s making it.” I fill them in on my discussion with Randolph, including his theories about Frank Dudley and Ruth Waldheim’s boys.

“Have you talked to this Dudley guy yet?” Hurley asks Richmond, who consults his list and then shakes his head. “All right, Mattie and I will do that next. What room is he in?”

Richmond finds the room number and tells us it’s in the C wing. Hurley takes the fingerprint scanner, and he and I head for room number forty-four. We run into Larry Johnson and his helpers still conducting room searches in room forty-three—one room away from Frank Dudley’s and only five rooms away from being finished, with the exception of the D wing, which is where all the bedbound patients are housed. Hurley has Larry come with us to Mr. Dudley’s room to conduct a search while we talk to the man.