Deadly Descent (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“A
what
?” The term was quaint, ancient. Startling in this day and age.

“An enemy,” she repeated. “You know how I feel about gossip. I do not, will not, pass it on. But you need to know that Christine Julep has been telling people she will have your job. She says, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

“Who is Christine Julep?”

I was astonished that someone I didn’t even know was determined to take my job from me. Or jobs. I wondered which one she had in mind.

“She’s the lady you got fired at the nursing home.”

“The aide?” I said blankly.

“She says what you did wasn’t right. She’s been talking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “She doesn’t have any power over me. No one will pay a bit of attention to her, and Connie Simmons will certainly back me. She knows the real story.”

“Lottie, you’re my friend. You need to understand something, and I don’t think you do. You’re making enemies. Back off. Quit poking around.”

“Zelda’s murder? You think I should back off of Zelda’s murder?”

“Zelda’s and Judy’s, and all the other research you’re doing right now. I hear things. People are talking.”

I looked at her carefully. There were things I wanted, needed to know. For instance, just who, specifically, was so critical of my research and just what research did she have in mind? Were the Hadleys causing trouble again? But there was no point in quizzing Minerva when was sick and upset.

Her face was white and strained. It could have been her guilt over passing along trouble as much as her flu. I reminded myself that when one is ill, the head is sick too. In fact, if she hadn’t been coming down with something, I doubted she would have made so much of Julep’s ridiculous threat. Things that seem normal and manageable by day loom ominous at night.

“I’ll think about this, Minerva.”

I left quietly, called Keith to meet me, and decided to pop in on Herman Swenson while I waited.

***

He sat in the dark, slumped in his wheelchair. Slack-jawed and miserable, tied in with cloth restraints.

“I think you need a little bit of re-arranging again,” I said brightly.

I got behind him and pulled him up in the chair. He grunted his thanks.

“I thought you might be watching the game tonight. Or do you still follow football?”

His eyes flashed. I looked around the room.

“Guess it would be a little hard, wouldn’t it? Without a TV. Sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

Ashamed of having prodded a wound, I sat trying to think of something to say. I was probably the only one here who knew he was once a marvelous athlete. Certainly the only one who knew he enjoyed football. Nursing homes are populated mostly by old women.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I went to the central activity room. A dozen women were watching a romance movie on the only TV.

I went back to Herman’s room. Behind him on the panel of lights and switches was a cable hook-up.

“We have an extra TV at home. It even has a VCR. It belonged to Keith’s dad. I’ll bring it in. No point in just letting it set.”

The look on that man’s face. It will stay with me until I die. Like I had offered him a cup of water in the desert. I stared at his restraints, longed to cut him free. But I knew restraints were for the protection of patients.

Still, I was suddenly depressed. Whether from the sadness of seeing the loneliness of Minerva’s life or this man’s profound misery or my bewilderment at the sheer hostility of the forces gathered against me, I couldn’t say. Tears welled up in my eyes.

He saw.

“I don’t know what’s come over me. Mind if I borrow a Kleenex?”

I blew my nose and sat back down. “There’s folks who think I’m doing things I didn’t do. Worse, I don’t understand any of this. I just don’t understand.”

If I had wanted compassion, a sympathetic ear, someone who truly understood, I had it. All the sorrow of the world was there in his face. All the empathy I needed.

“I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this, it’s inexcusable. My troubles are nothing compared to what you’ve been through. I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry. For all that’s happened to you, Mr. Swenson. That you are here. That you lost your wife and your darling boy. That you lost your baby.”

Tears trickled down his cheeks. I rose, grabbed another Kleenex, and dabbed at them gently. “Just look at us,” I tried to smile. “Aren’t we a sight? Don’t we make a pair?”

I stroked his withered old cheek, and he tried to kiss the palm of my hand. This gentle old man liked women. Was at home with them. Not a violent person. I knew in my gut, my heart, my brain, that this man would not have committed those terrible murders.

His face twisted. “Ba…ba…ba…” Puzzled, I strained at the guttural sounds. “Ba…ba…ba…” They were followed by a click, then a gush of air. Shaking, his face reddened. “Ba…ba…ba…” Then the click again. It didn’t make sense. “Oh please,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He stiffened. “Ba…ba…ba…” Then he made a half circle motion with his hand, his index and ring fingers pressed against his thumb. I looked at him dumbly, tried to understand. He breathed in harsh puffs. I whirled around to call the nurse.

She came running in, took one look, and asked, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll get a shot.” She rushed out of the room.

He slumped, defeated, back into his usual slack posture. I pulled up a chair and patted his hand. “She’s just going to get something to help you relax. You’ll be just fine. I know you were trying to tell me something. Something important.”

He groaned, tried to make the sound again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow up on my promise to get those speech tapes, but I will. I’ve been busy,” I said drily. “A wee bit preoccupied. When we get your TV hooked up, we can watch them together. Until you learn to make the sounds, you can at least point at them.”

I waited for the nurse to come back, then rose to leave.

He clung to my hand as long as possible. No mistaking what he was trying to communicate through that.

It was naked hope.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When we returned Minerva’s pickup there were no lights visible in her house. Not wanting to wake her, we left the keys in the ignition and drove the Suburban on home.

Keith drove me to my Tahoe the next morning. “Thanks, honey,” I said, when we reached Sunny Rest. This was his second trip to town in less than twelve hours. His face was grave and he had hardly spoken on the way in.

“Is something bothering you? Other than me expecting you to act like a taxi driver, I mean?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about how selfish I am with my time. It wouldn’t hurt me to visit old man Swenson. Or watch a game with him from time to time. I would hate to be his age and never see another man.”

“He’d love it. Absolutely love it. Thanks, darling.” I fished for my keys, and waved as he drove on to the feed store. I loved being married to a kind man. Totally open, he operated in the sunlight.

Minerva’s pickup wasn’t there when I swung into my parking spot at the courthouse. I ran up to the third floor. Elsie Spodes, the elderly lady Minerva called on to help out from time to time, sat at her desk.

“Is Minerva doing all right? I told her I would check on her this morning. I tried my best to get her to a doctor.”

“She says she is fine,” Elsie rolled her eyes. “Fine enough to dictate a bunch of instructions at any rate.”

We both laughed. Reassured, I went back down to my office. My curiosity about the rumors Minerva had heard could wait a couple of days until she recovered.

Mail Call. Priscilla Ramsey was taking care of the distribution, and I saw the letter at once. I waited until she finished talking about Martha Stewart’s latest decorating advice before I eased her out the door.

I used gloves this time.

I closed my eyes, swallowed, called Sam Abbott.

“We have another letter, Sam. Get over here right away.” I slammed down the phone.

Minutes later, he walked through the door.

“The postmark? What about the postmark?”

“Denver, this time.”

“Go some place, Lottie,” he said. “Just leave.”

I looked at him incredulously, then gestured at all the work I needed to do. I started to speak, but he gave me the look, then cut me off.

“Leave all this to the KBI. They’re the pros. We’re not. This should get them in gear again. Don’t want to hear none of your long smart reasons why you can’t leave. Just want you to get the hell out of Dodge.” He left.

I reached for the phone, called Josie, told her about the latest letter and Sam’s order.

“Well, good for him,” she said. “He’s finally seen the light. The letters have changed, Lottie. In the beginning, the writer went to a lot of trouble, using mail drops, disguising the point of origin. Now they’re losing it, and getting a lot more dangerous. It all adds up to the same thing. You’re seriously over your head. Got that?”

I winced at the anger in her voice.

“So what do you want me to do? Roll over and play dead?”

“It’s where you’re going to be, if you don’t watch your step. Someone is threatening to kill you. Has that sunk in yet?”

Soberly, I stared at a stain on the ceiling. Curiously enough, it hadn’t. Zelda and Judy had been murdered. But it didn’t seem real to me that my own life was in danger.

“You’re overdue for a visit. You need a break.”

“I know I do.”

“I’ll pamper you,” Josie coaxed. “Breakfast in bed. You can stay up all night and watch old movies. Eat bon-bons. Get drunk. Read trashy novels. Anything.”

Despite her attempts to keep it light, I was touched by her fretting.

“I’ll need to round up help.” I sighed, thinking of the burden this would put on the volunteers. After rising to my defense, William had become increasingly gruff. As though he resented being forced into showing me kindness. However, I knew I could count on him. Duty, you know.

“When are you coming?”

“Right away. Be there day after tomorrow.”

***

As I packed, I felt cheated out of the pleasure I usually took in the onset of winter. The leisure of holing up in our wonderful house, with a warm fire, the odor of bread baking, good music, Keith next to me in his oversized leather chair. We could go all afternoon, buried in our books, barely speaking, just smiling foolishly over the deep peace we felt in one another’s presence.

This evening, however, there was no peace to be found anywhere. Grimly, conscientiously, like a child forced to confess her sins, I told Keith about the newest letter and the personal threat. I told him of Josie’s fears we were dealing with a very dangerous person. I looked away from his sharp glance and the sick anguish on his face. For the first time since we had been married, I felt like fleeing from my husband. Not from his rage, but from his pain.

“Well,” I said brightly, “any questions?”

“Nope. When are you leaving?”

“Right away. Tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Good.” The word came out in a puffy little explosion of relief. “I want you out of this town.”

I melted. “Oh, Keith, try not to worry. I am sorry. About everything.”

He reached for me and pulled me against his giant chest. He stroked my hair like I was a puppy, then suddenly tightened his hold so fiercely I struggled to breathe. We swayed from side to side.

“If anything happens to you.”

“I’m not quitting, Keith.” The words gushed from me. Hung between us. Astonished, I recalled the words of E.M. Forester. “How do I know what I think until I say it?” “Sam needs me. This county needs me.”

He stiffened, then relaxed his hold on me and stepped back. Abruptly, rudely. Almost as though he was pushing me away.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to do.” He looked at his hands. “Just what am I supposed to do?”

“Just love me,” I said simply.

He nodded, but his eyes were haunted.

“You don’t have to like any of this, Keith, but I’m not quitting.”

“Got that the first time. You don’t have to draw me a picture.”

“You’ll get over it, Keith.” But I knew by the sudden fury in his eyes, he would not.

We weren’t going to talk. No point in it. Thinking couples can work it out is for the very young. We both knew better. This marriage would never work very well for either one of us. It would have if I had stayed the same person. But I had not. I had changed.

Not blinking once, I met his gaze and held it. Knowing he was not seeing me as a woman, or his wife, but simply as a human being. We lived a lifetime in that glance, and came to know the mature secret joy to be had in a marriage when one stops trying to make it work.

He nodded so slightly I nearly missed the movement. My heart leaped with joy at the quiet pride in his eyes. We were bound by devotion to our thoroughly unworkable unreasonable lovely marriage.

“You win,” he said softly.

“I’ll finish packing.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Josie has two homes: a townhouse near the University in Manhattan, and a large A-frame on Tuttle Creek. I pulled into town early the next afternoon and retrieved the key to her apartment from over the door. She had a two o’clock class to teach and had told me to let myself in.

I quieted Tosca, who barked frantically at the intrusion. The foyer opened into an elegant living room. Creamy white woodwork accented an exquisite array of art objects. Oriental rugs gleamed on oak floors. An enormous bay window overlooked a small patio. However, one’s eyes were immediately drawn to a majestic black grand piano, where my sister kept her heart.

Once inside, I hauled my suitcases and my briefcase into her guest bedroom, changed into sweats, and poured myself a very large glass of wine. I flopped into her best reading chair, picked up the latest issue of
Opera News
and fell deeply asleep.

When I awoke, it was early evening. I heard her moving around and sat up abruptly.

She looked at me and lit a cigarette.

“It’s my own home,” she said crossly, shoving her lighter back in her pocket.

“I didn’t say anything. Besides, they’re thinking of legalizing suicide here in Kansas. Shall we start over? Hello, Josie.”

“Hello, Lottie.”

“You look wonderful. Is that new?” I eyed her cinnamon-colored silk suit.

Amused, she let smoke drift from her nostrils. It would be impossible to keep track of Josie’s new clothes.

“You look like something the cat drug in, and by the way you’ve been sleeping, I’d say you got here just in the nick of time.”

“For what? A lecture?”

“No, for me to save your life.”

“Not you, too.”

“Keith been giving you a hard time?”

“No more than I deserve. I really am in somewhat of a pickle.”

“I would say that’s the understatement of the year. You’ve lost weight, Lottie. Ten pounds? Fifteen?”

“Not that much, surely.” I looked at my body, surprised I hadn’t noticed. For the first time in five years, we were exactly the same size.

“I had planned to take you out, but I’ve changed my mind. You don’t have the energy to move. I’ll order a pizza. Do you want to go back to sleep or talk? It’s up to you.”

“I want to talk. I’ve got to talk to someone besides Keith. It worries him too much. And God forgive me, last week, I even bared my soul to a poor old man in a nursing home. I need to talk to you as my sister, and I need to talk to you professionally.”

“So you’re finally willing to admit you need a shrink.”

“Oh, please. Spare me. But I’m starting to think half the county is out to get me and I don’t know if I’m cracking up or if it’s the truth. I’ve got so much to tell you I don’t know where to start. I’m so glad to see you, Josie.”

We smiled at one another in pure delight.

“Oh, goody, I get to tell you what to do for once,” she said. “You’re going to start with a long bath in my Jacuzzi. The pizza will be here by the time you’re finished. After I get some food in you and you’ve settled down, you can tell me everything.”

***

After we’d eaten, Josie put on a Chopin CD.

“Why don’t I start with murder number one? Zelda St. John.”

“Have you made any progress at all on that?”

“None. Judy swore Fiona Hadley was responsible. She claimed to have proof. But whoever killed Judy took any proof she had. Fiona had alibis for both Zelda’s murder and Judy’s murder. She was home with her son and her husband for the first murder; she was at a women’s club meeting during the second.”

“That doesn’t preclude her hiring someone.”

“That’s true, Josie, but you said yourself Zelda’s murder was a crime of passion and so poorly done that it couldn’t possibly have been a murder for hire. Fiona knows how to find good people for whatever she wants. I’m betting any murder she arranged would be professional.”

“What a smashing testimonial to someone’s abilities,” Josie said drily.

“Yes, isn’t it? But it’s the truth. The woman is phenomenal.”

“Who does the KBI think did it?”

“At first they thought Zelda’s murder was a random act of violence during a burglary. But two murders? The same family? During a senatorial campaign? Now they’re forming a task force.”

“And Sam. What does he think?”

“Sam thinks it’s someone she knew. He never did believe it was a burglary, because there was no forced entry and no signs of disturbance at the doorway and a person couldn’t get past their two German shepherds unless Zelda called them off. They usually ran loose.”

“Do you think there’s any basis at all for Judy’s accusations?”

“Yes. Because she was so very, very sure. That’s what’s driving me crazy. I know Judy believed she had something that implicated Fiona in Zelda’s murder. However, Fiona couldn’t have been involved in Judy’s. That’s one fact I’m dead sure of. She was in full view of thirteen women until she left, and I was already at St. Johns when she arrived. No one would have had time to arrange a darn thing from the time they knew I was supposed to meet Judy and the time I got there.”

“How did Fiona look? Act?”

I told Josie everything I could remember about that terrible day. Fiona’s rage, her grief, my and Agent Mendoza’s search for the mysterious letter.

Thoughtfully, Josie swirled the wine in her glass, then rose to insert new CDs in the changer. When she sat back down, I could see a subtle change in her scrutiny from that of my sister, to that of Josie Albright, clinical psychologist. She was now watching, evaluating, measuring.

Attempting to deaden her professional attention, I blurted, “Did I tell you about the old Swenson murder, Josie? I’m working on that, too. For the sake of this darling old man.”

“Now that’s entertainment. What else do you do for fun nowadays? Read forensic journals?”

“I know. I can’t believe the turn my life has taken.”

“I have questions, and there’s one I want to clear up right now. Could anyone have known you were meeting Judy St. John the day she was murdered? Overheard you?”

“Maybe, by lurking outside the office with an ear pressed to the door. It would be the only way. Besides, a person wouldn’t have had the time to arrange anything. It wasn’t twenty minutes from the time Judy called until I got there.” Tosca raised her head from Josie’s lap and looked at me with interest.

I laughed. “All ears, aren’t you, precious?” Disarmed by the wine, the beautiful room, a full belly, the rich tones of her stereo system, my wariness melted and I leaned back into the lush sofa.

“Judy didn’t have my cell number, and even if she’d had it, you know what service is like on the farm. But it worried me when she said she’d called before the courthouse opened that morning and left me a message. I never got it.”

Her eyes brightened. “What did she say in the message?”

“She said she’d told me about a letter.” Jolted, I shot upright. “She said she’d called early because she didn’t want to risk a volunteer overhearing.”

“We’re going to start with one little mystery at a time. We’ll work up to the real stuff gradually. What kind of answering machine do you have?”

“AT & T.”

“So do I. Let me try something.” She reached for the phone and dialed the number of the courthouse. “Testing. Just checking.” She replaced the receiver, then went to her bedroom and got her purse from the closet. She dug out her wallet and flipped through cards until she found the AT & T instructions.

“The default access code is #10. Have you ever changed it?”

“No.”

She re-dialed the courthouse number and put her own phone on speaker so I could listen. When my voice instructed the caller to leave a message at the sound of the beep, she punched in #10. A mechanical voice announced, “You have one message.” Then it continued with, “Testing. Just checking.”

Shocked, I stood and reached for the code card. I hadn’t changed the default retrieval code. I studied all the enhancements. “Anyone, at anytime could listen to my messages from any phone anywhere,” I said. “Anyone. If they knew the access code.”

Josie dialed once again with her cell speaker on, read the menu on the card, punched in a new series of numbers, and deleted the message she had just left.

“So that’s how. At least three people have told me they left messages I never got.”

“Now we can clear up mystery number two,” Josie said. “You’re not cracking up. Half the county really is out to get you.”