Deadly Devotion (29 page)
Authors: Sandra Orchard
Tags: #FIC022040, #FIC042060, #Female friendship—Fiction, #Herbalists—Crimes against—Fiction, #Suicide—Fiction
Kate led the way across her yard to Verna Nagy’s. The front door sat open with only a flimsy screen door between a possible intruder and the inside. A black-and-white cat met them on the porch and twined his way between their legs, purring loudly. Kate lifted the cat into her arms. “What are you doing outside, Whiskers?”
Tom rubbed the feline’s neck. “Is this the cat that was cured by Grandma Brewster’s herbal brew?”
“He sure is.” Kate nuzzled her cheek against the cat’s fur. “You can’t chalk up his recovery to mind over matter. Can you, Mr. Skeptic?”
“Hey, I never said the stuff doesn’t work.”
She dropped the cat to the ground and rang the bell. “You didn’t have to.” She winked.
At least she didn’t take his skepticism about her cure-all teas personally. He admired her work as an herbal researcher. He really did. It was the spin-off industries that preyed on people’s quick-fix mentalities that caused him concern. In his FBI days, he’d had one partner who’d overindulged on a diet tea that stripped him not only of a few pounds but also of a few other things that landed him in the hospital.
A sprightly, white-haired woman peered at them through the screen door and pierced Tom with a glare. “I already have a vacuum. The no-good, overpriced one you sold me ten years ago.”
“Excuse me?” Tom glanced at Kate. She should’ve told him the woman was senile.
Kate laughed. “Verna, it’s me, Kate. Your neighbor. I
brought your groceries. And this is my friend Tom. Detective Parker. He needs to ask you a couple of questions.”
Verna’s eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “You’re not selling vacuums?”
“No ma’am.”
She swung the door wide. “Come in, then.”
The cat leapt through the open door, leading the way inside the tidy little house. The narrow-planked hardwood gleamed. Sunshine filtered through the lace curtains, playing hide-and-seek with the elaborately gowned china dolls adorning the fancy Victorian furniture.
No sign of counterfeiting equipment, not even a computer printer. With no garage outside, that left the basement and bedrooms.
“You have a lovely house, Mrs. Nagy. May I have a tour?” Brazen, he knew, but it saved him the hassle of a search warrant.
The woman glowed. “Of course, of course.”
“I’ll just put away your groceries while you show him around,” Kate said and fired him a warning scowl before slipping into the kitchen.
Photographs lined the hallway. “These your children?” Tom asked.
She peered at the pictures as if she’d never noticed them before. “My son and grandson. My husband passed on two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Must be lonely for you. Does your son visit often?”
“Once a week. He’s a good boy.”
Tom made a mental note to check into her son’s finances, make sure he was as good as his mother believed.
The bedroom housed nothing more than a bed and dresser. The spare room had a sewing machine and piles of fabric and half-finished articles. Mrs. Nagy squinted into the room and swayed a little. Then, as if she’d forgotten Tom, she strolled back to the living room, sank into her recliner, and clicked on the TV with her remote.
Tom trailed her, wondering how to wrangle his way into the basement without raising any suspicions, because from the looks of Mrs. Nagy, she’d make an easy front for a counterfeiter to exploit.
Kate came in waving a package of frozen fish. “Did you want this in the downstairs freezer?”
“Huh?” Mrs. Nagy looked up from the TV. “Oh, hello dear. When did you get here? Staying for tea?”
Kate paled. “Yes. I’ll make us some.” To Tom, she whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, she’s forgetful sometimes, but never like this.”
Tom relieved Kate of the package of fish. “I’ll take this to the freezer. You make her a cup of tea and then we’ll chat.”
Kate nodded, thankfully oblivious to his motive for offering to take care of the fish. He took his time walking across the basement to the freezer, being careful not to move anything so any discovery couldn’t be thrown out of court. The basement was void of furniture. Instead, shelves of home canning, stacked in a thick layer of dust—must be more than a decade old—lined one long cement wall. The boxes stacked along the adjacent wall likewise looked as though they hadn’t been touched in years.
He tossed the fish into the freezer and circled behind the stairs. A dust-free workout gym dominated the space. Her son’s?
A large patch of dust was scraped from the floor beyond the workout area, as if something had recently been moved. Not likely by Verna, as frail as she seemed, but not without her knowledge either. With no outside exit on this level, no one could easily sneak into the basement undetected.
By the time Tom returned to the main floor, Kate was sitting next to Verna in the living room. The teacup in her hand filled the air with a spicy scent. From the TV a theatrical judge lambasted a defendant for his overly trusting nature. Tom turned down the volume, debating how to interrogate Kate’s neighbor. Showing signs of dementia, she wasn’t likely the kingpin of a counterfeiting operation. But if she repeated his questions to the wrong people, he might lose his trail before he found it. Of course, she could be faking. Kate had said she’d never seemed this bad before.
“Do you get out much?” he asked the woman.
“My ladies’ mission sewing circle on Thursday mornings and church on Sundays.”
A religious woman. More reason to doubt her as a viable suspect. Or it could be a front. He’d known plenty of criminals to hide behind a facade of uprightness. “Who takes you?”
She waved her hand in the direction of Kate’s house. “The neighbor.”
Kate looked at him and frowned, shaking her head that it wasn’t her. “What about your groceries?” Kate asked. “Who usually picks them up?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to put you out.”
Kate patted the woman’s bony hand. “I don’t mind shopping for you. I was just curious. I want to know you’re being taken care of.”
“My son hired a housekeeper who comes in. She’ll pick up my groceries, or sometimes my son or grandson will.”
“Do they go to the bank for you too?”
Verna’s attention drifted back to the TV as a red sports car veered into the driveway. Verna upped the volume on the remote.
Tom strode to the TV and hit the Off button. He wasn’t buying the doddering routine. It was too convenient. “Mrs. Nagy, I’m Detective Parker. We need to know where you got the money you gave Miss Adams.”
“Detective?” She turned her attention to Kate. “Are you in trouble?”
“Who’s in trouble?” the lanky, fair-skinned sports car driver said through the screen, then pushed his way inside.
Tom recognized him from the photos in the hallway. From the rumpled suit, the man looked as if he’d been on the road for hours. Tom extended a hand. “You must be Verna’s son.”
“Brian Nagy.” The man clasped Tom’s hand in an iron grip. “And you are?”
“Detective Tom Parker.”
Nagy dropped Tom’s hand like a hot potato and knelt at his mom’s side. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Your mother came into possession of some counterfeit bills, and we are trying to trace their source.”
“Oh Mom, I told you we need to get you into a nursing home. Things like this wouldn’t happen.” He glanced up at Tom as if Tom might convince her. “She doesn’t want to go. I worry so much about her. But I never imagined anything like this. Where did it happen? What are you going to do?”
“Your mother gave Miss Adams several counterfeit bills
with which to purchase her groceries. We’re simply trying to ascertain where they came from.”
Nagy surged to his feet and pointed at Kate. “How do you know she’s not responsible and trying to lay the blame on my mother?”
Kate gasped.
Tom patted the air in a calming gesture. “We’re not blaming anyone, just trying to get some answers.”
Verna’s son gave a stiff nod and knelt next to his mother again. “Mom, do you remember where you got the money?”
Verna shook her head, but the frightened look in her eyes told Tom she was lying. The question was—why?
Sandra Orchard
is an award-winning Canadian author of inspirational romantic suspense whose novels include
Deep Cover
,
Shades of Truth
, and
Critical Condition
. She enjoys doing research for her books, such as attending the Writers’ Police Academy for hands-on training and simulations at a police training facility, almost as much as she enjoys writing them. When not playing cops and robbers, she lives with her husband of more than twenty-five years in Niagara, Ontario, Canada, where their favorite pastime is playing with their first grandchild. Learn more and find special bonus features for her books, such as deleted scene
s and location pictures, at
www.SandraOrchard.com
, or connect with Sandra at
www.facebook.com/SandraOrchard
.
