License to Dill (23 page)

T
he door to the hospital's main lobby was locked, with a sign advising visitors to use the emergency room entrance after ten
P.M
. Piper led the way there and entered a softly lit waiting room half filled with coughing, feverish children on their parents' laps and adults sporting makeshift bandages.

“How do we find him?” Scott asked, following Piper through the waiting room to the bank of elevators beyond.

“I know where he is.”

“And if he's sleeping?” Scott asked.

“We'll wait till he wakes up.” The doors of one elevator opened, and Piper picked up her pace as a white-jacketed woman exited, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Piper held the door for Scott, then pushed the button for an upper floor. “I really appreciate your coming with me. I know it's a huge imposition.”

“Not at all,” Scott said, then looked at her speculatively. “You know, you've changed.”

“I have?”

“Uh-huh. You never used to be so determined or get so involved in other people's problems.”

“Maybe that's what small-town living does to a person.”

“I guess,” Scott said, glancing up at the blinking numbers. “I like it.”

The elevator stopped and an orderly got on. The three of them rode silently up one more floor. When it stopped again, the orderly hurried off. Piper and Scott followed and paused at the directional sign on the wall.

“The observation unit is this way,” Piper said and turned right.

They walked down a short hall and pushed through double doors that led to a nurses' station. Several yards ahead, Piper spotted someone seated on a metal chair outside one of the rooms; he was wearing a blue auxiliary officer uniform. “There's Ben,” she said.

When Ben saw them approaching he stood, dropping the book he'd been reading onto his chair. Piper noticed a thermos on the floor, not surprised to see that Ben had planned ahead.

Frederico's room had a large window, as did the several other rooms on the observation unit. Piper could see Frederico apparently asleep, drip bag lines and monitoring cords still attached, although fewer than on Piper's first visit. The sides of his bed were raised and bolstered with pillows.

“How is he?” she asked Ben.

“Stable and improving, from what I'm hearing. Things have been quiet for the last couple of hours. I guess they'll stay that way until morning.”

“Any visitors?”

“A few of his teammates came by. I kept them out with no problem. Being able to see their friend through the window seemed to satisfy them. The only people who get past me are hospital staff. The nurse has been in and out, and a lab person came once to draw blood. I checked her badge before I let her in.” Ben paused. “Would you, uh, mind waiting while I take a quick break?” He gestured in the direction of a restroom. “I brought coffee to keep alert, and, well . . .”

“Go ahead.”

Ben hurried off gratefully, leaving Piper to wonder what he would have done if she and Scott hadn't appeared. Ben was nothing if not conscientious. That night she fully appreciated it.

When he returned, Piper explained their intention to look in on Don Tucker.

“I heard about what happened,” Ben said. “They think it was poison?”

“That's what I've been told.” Piper thought about the fruit basket left surreptitiously at her shop and shuddered. Where might she have ended up if she'd tasted that tempting pear?

“We'd better go,” Scott said, and Piper nodded.

“Thanks for being here, Ben,” she said, and Ben made a brisk head bob. He remained standing, hands on hips and shoulders squared, at least until she glanced back at the double doors.

Since it was only one flight up, Piper and Scott took the stairs instead of the elevator. The door of room 618 was closed, so Piper knocked softly. When there was no answer, she eased it open. The single bed in the room was rumpled but unoccupied.

“He's not here.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asked. “Maybe he's in the bathroom.” He slipped past Piper into the room and tapped on the closed bathroom door. Getting no response, he cracked it open, showing a darkened room beyond. “Empty.”

“Maybe we have the wrong room.” Piper went back to the nurses' station. One nurse was on the phone and another deep in conversation with a doctor. Piper waited, her impatience growing until finally the first woman, middle-aged and wearing flower-printed scrubs, hung up her phone.

“We're looking for Mr. Don Tucker,” Piper said.

The woman glanced at a list. “Room 618.”

“That's where we looked. He's not there. Was he moved? Or taken somewhere for tests?”

“Not at this hour. Are you sure he's not just in the bathroom?”

“We checked.”

Apparently that wasn't good enough for the serious-looking woman. She got up to see for herself but was caught by another phone call, which lasted longer than Piper would have liked at that point. Finishing her conversation, the nurse rounded her station to lead the way down the hall to room 618. She made two sharp knocks on the door before pushing it open. Seeing the empty bed, she called, “Mr. Tucker?” then checked the bathroom. Frowning, she asked, “Have you checked the patients' lounge at the end of the hall?”

“No. At this hour, I doubt—” Piper began but was interrupted by someone calling the woman's name from the desk.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Gotta go. The lounge is that way and to the right,” she said, pointing to the far end of the hall before scurrying off.

Scott shrugged at Piper and turned that way. Piper had a sinking feeling as she followed him down the hall. Why would someone who'd just gone through what Don Tucker had be wandering around at that time of night? As she'd expected, the patients' lounge was dark and, when Scott switched on the light, empty.

“Let's get back to Frederico's room,” Piper said, turning on her heel.

“Shouldn't we keep looking for Tucker?”

“I don't think we'll find him here,” she said over her shoulder, picking up her pace. She reached the stairwell and shoved through the door, not waiting for Scott as she trotted briskly down the stairs. When she came out on the fifth floor, the double doors to the observation unit were again closed, but she could see down the hallway through the small windows. Ben Schaeffer was not there.

“Where is he?” she asked, grabbing a nurse who came through the doors at that moment. “Where's the guard for Frederico?”

“Mr. Schaeffer? Oh, he was called away.”

“Called away? To where?”

“Why, uh, someone from the sheriff's office called with a message that Mr. Schaeffer was needed elsewhere. Apparently there was a big accident somewhere near Cloverdale.”

The nurse continued on her way, and Piper called, “Come on!” to Scott, who had caught up by then. She pushed through to the long hallway and took off at a run.

Her instant reaction when she reached the room's window was relief. Frederico was okay. A doctor was with him. The white-coated man, who had his back to the window, turned slightly, and Piper saw he was filling a syringe. She also caught sight of part of his face. “It's him!” she cried and rushed into the room. “Stop!”

Don Tucker spun around, holding the filled syringe before him. They locked eyes, and Piper watched a dozen thoughts race through his head as he obviously weighed his options. To erase all but one, Piper said, “It's over, Don. You can't kill Frederico. Just put the syringe down.”

Tucker remained motionless—and silent.

“Think of Robin,” Piper said.

Tucker's head jerked at the mention of his daughter. Anger and pain shot from his eyes. “You think I haven't been?”

“Hasn't she suffered enough?” Piper asked, as Scott eased in beside her.

“Yes, she's suffered, for years, because of Conti! And I'm not about to leave her alone. So don't think I'm going to meekly hand myself over.” Tucker waved his syringe. “Back away, both of you—or the boy gets this.” Reading their faces, he added, “You think I won't do it? Try me. With what's in this, believe me, he'll die instantly. It's what I came here to do anyway. But now he gets a chance—if you don't try to be heroes.”

Piper eyed the syringe uneasily. “What did he ever do to you?” she asked. “I can understand killing Raffaele Conti. But why Frederico?”

Tucker's eyes narrowed, his expression hard and one Piper had never seen before on the usually genial man. “He saw me leave the hotel desk that night,” he said. “Yes, I was on duty, despite what I told you. That is, until Conti called about his flat tire. Now back up! And don't try to sound an alarm. The first person who comes near me gets this.” He held up his syringe.

Piper nudged Scott to step away and inched along with him. Tucker edged toward them, holding his deadly needle out menacingly. He gestured toward an electrical cord hanging from a silent, blank monitor. Its excess loops coiled on the floor as the plug end lay unused beneath a wall outlet.

“Pull that out of the monitor and tie her hands behind her with it,” he told Scott. “Then your ankles.”

“Tucker, you can't—” Scott began.

“Do it!” Tucker ordered. Piper saw Scott's jaw clench tightly. He disconnected the cord from its monitor and reached down for the loops.

Piper felt her wrists being tied. Playing for time, she said, “Robin hasn't been working all these years in Baltimore, has she? I spoke to her myself tonight. She's been getting treatment at Sheppard Pratt. A mental hospital in Baltimore.”

“It was his fault,” Tucker said, his eyes steely. “Conti's. She was perfect—a gentle, sensitive girl, and happy—until he came along. She fell for his line, when the whole time he'd been laughing at her. It destroyed her.”

“It was hard seeing him again at the hotel, wasn't it?” Piper asked, keeping her tone as calm as she could manage.

Tucker snorted bitterly. “He was the same coldhearted monster he'd been thirty years ago, playing the same games with every woman he encountered. I could barely stand it. Then he got stranded out on the highway by Standley's farm. He called the hotel desk and screamed at me, blaming me for getting him a faulty rental. Like I was his menial. The father of the girl he ruined. It was too much. I told him I'd come pick him up, but I stopped at my house first for my gun.”

Scott had wound the cord around his ankles, and Tucker reached for the remaining loops. “Give it to me, and hold your hands out.”

Scott did, but when Tucker glanced down, Scott thrust his hands upward, catching Tucker's jaw hard and knocking him backward.

“Scott, no!” Piper cried. She saw that Tucker hadn't dropped his syringe, and though he'd fallen against a cart that rolled backward, he was scrambling to regain his balance.

Scott quickly freed his feet and stepped in front of Piper, whose hands were still tied, though not tightly. As she struggled to free them, Tucker rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Watch out!” Piper cried.

“Stay back,” Scott ordered her as he snatched one of the pillow bolsters from the side of Frederico's bed and held it in front of him. Tucker lunged, but Scott managed to block the attack. Piper shook off the last of her bindings and glanced worriedly at Frederico, whose bed had been jostled.

“I'll kill you with this if you don't get out of my way,” Tucker cried, brandishing his needle.

In response, Scott thrust hard with his bolster, pushing Tucker toward the wall. He couldn't hope to pin him there, Piper knew. Not without something solid. Something that would keep that deadly needle out of reach of them all. But what? They were in a hospital room, not an armory.

Tucker, leaning backward against the wall, kicked out wildly. He caught one of Scott's knees, knocking him off balance. Taking his advantage, he shoved forward, knocking Scott to the floor.

Seeing Tucker raise his syringe, Piper reached for the monitor whose cord Scott used and hurled it at Tucker. It caught him in the head, hard, and he fell to the side, the two men becoming a tangle of limbs. But Tucker kept hold of his syringe and he twisted toward Scott, ready to strike.

“No!” Piper cried. But the needle sank into Scott's arm.

“W
hat's going on here?” two hospital security guards demanded from the doorway, a fleet of nurses and orderlies gathered behind them.

“This man needs help!” Piper cried, pointing to Scott. “Quick! That syringe in his arm. He's been stabbed with something deadly by the man in the white coat. I don't know with what.”

Scott looked woozy but alive, thank goodness. But for how long?

The guards acted quickly, rushing in and restraining Don Tucker, who seemed to have run out of fight. Scott, on the other hand, looked, to Piper's eyes, worse by the second. “What did you inject him with?” she begged of Tucker. “Tell me.”

Tucker, on his feet with his arms held behind him, looked at her. He said nothing for excruciating seconds, then exhaled, a defeated man. “Thorazine. He'll be okay. It would have killed the soccer player with the sedation that was already in his system. But your friend will sleep it off.”

Relief flooded Piper, and she stepped aside as nurses hurried in to attend to Scott and to Frederico. The guards walked Tucker out, and she followed, unanswered questions still nagging at her.

“What did you do with the gun?” she asked when they stopped to lock handcuffs on Tucker's wrists.

“Tossed it in Warren's Pond. Along with Conti's cell phone.” He laughed humorlessly. “The phone was a disposable.”

Piper remembered Warren's Pond as the location where Denise said Conti had attacked her. Ironic that his murder weapon ended up there.

“I didn't intend to shoot him, you know,” Tucker said. “Not at first. I wanted to make him listen as I spelled out exactly what kind of a fiend I thought he was. But when I said Robin's name, I could see he didn't even remember her. He'd wrecked my little girl's life and her name meant nothing to him? That did it. When I took aim, he turned and ran into the dill field. Like the rabbit he really was.”

The guards urged him forward, and Piper stayed put. Over his shoulder Tucker said, “Tell Robin I love her.”

Piper shook her head, thinking what a horrible, twisted way he had of showing love. She pitied Tucker's daughter, who now had one more thing to deal with in an already unhappy life.

“R
obin Tucker was in a mental hospital?” Emma Leahy asked, struggling to wrap her head around the events of the night before. She'd shown up at Piper's Picklings first thing Tuesday morning.

“She started inpatient treatment at Sheppard Pratt in Baltimore,” Piper said, “the summer after high school graduation. Don Tucker and his wife told everyone she'd gone off to college early, hoping that would truly be the case in time. Robin told me it was a tougher battle than any of them expected. She also said her problems had begun before Raffaele Conti, but that she'd been in a very vulnerable place when she became involved with him. Her father totally blamed Conti.”

Emma drew herself up with a huff, clearly blaming Conti as well. “I had no idea. Joanie, either. The poor thing. And Don and Lois feeling they needed to keep it secret all these years.” She shook her head.

“Robin stayed in Baltimore to continue treatment on an outpatient basis and even got a job, so that much was true. But the job was minimum wage, and she needed financial help. She also was mugged on the streets once, ending up in the hospital, which only added to her needs. That might be why Don went back to work after initially retiring. She said her father blamed Conti for the mugging, too, since she wouldn't have been where she was if not for him.”

“Don did go down to visit her,” Emma said, “but he always claimed Robin's work wouldn't allow her time to come to Cloverdale. We all thought she must be doing some really high-end corporate job. You know, one of those eighteen-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week careers. When anyone asked for details, Don would just laugh and claim he never understood it well enough to explain. That should have clued us in, right there. Don was a professional man, a pharmacist. He would have understood.”

“It was because he was a pharmacist that he was able to fool everyone about being poisoned,” Gil Williams said, stepping out of Piper's back room with a fresh mug of coffee. He'd arrived at Piper's Picklings earlier than Emma and already knew the full story. “Don knew what and how much to ingest to make himself sick enough to be taken to the hospital but not sick enough to be incapacitated. Having worked at the hospital, he knew its routines and how to slip around unnoticed.”

“Thank heavens you figured it out, Piper, in time to stop Don from committing another murder. I suppose he was the one who caused that boy's terrible accident out on the road?”

“I'm sure he was,” Piper said. “Don told me Frederico had seen him leave the hotel desk at the time Conti would have been stranded with his flat tire. Don had lied to me earlier, claiming he hadn't worked the late shift at the hotel the night of the murder. But Phil contradicted that when I spoke to him last night. He said Don had been stuck on that third shift for weeks. Luckily, I managed to connect those two statements in time and catch Don's lie.

“I don't know,” she added, “why Frederico would have been in the hotel lobby so late that night—”

“Freddy went down looking for something to eat,” Miranda said, having come into the shop at that moment. “He told me so himself.”

“How is he?” Piper asked, surprised but pleased to see her.

“Much better. When I heard what happened, I rushed over first thing this morning to check on him myself. Freddy was awake and talking.”

“Wonderful!” Emma cried.

“He's still not up to speed,” Miranda said. “And he was totally oblivious to what went on in his room last night. But he did know it was Mr. Tucker who tried to kill him on the road. Frederico is a real car buff. He had a long talk with Mr. Tucker, once, about his ten-year-old Dodge Caliber, checking it inside and out. He knew that car.”

“That's the second reason Tucker had for getting into the hospital and silencing the young man,” Gil said. “Before Frederico could recover enough to tell anyone. I'm sure the sheriff is checking Tucker's car for evidence.”

“That must have been why Don was walking everywhere lately,” Piper said. “He couldn't take a chance that his car would be identified. Josiah Borkman saw the vehicle that ran Frederico off the road and told me he'd heard a definite whine coming from worn wheel bearings. And I,” she said, grimacing, “passed that information on to Tucker.”

“Worse than that,” Emma said, “I was the one that told Don that Frederico was improving and where he'd been moved to.”

“We all trusted him,” Piper said. “We had no reason not to.”

“Well, it's over now,” Miranda said. “And my dad is no longer a suspect, thanks to you, Piper.”

“It was a group effort, definitely,” Piper said. “If Amy hadn't tracked down a way to contact Robin . . .” She trailed off, unwilling to voice the awful “might have been.” A glance at the others, though, told her they all realized that Frederico would be dead, Gerald Standley might have gone to prison, and who knew how many others Don Tucker would have felt the need to eliminate in order to keep his secret.

Emma, Miranda, and Gil took off, heading their separate ways, but Piper's shop didn't simply settle down to a normal business day. Besides multiple townspeople stopping in for firsthand accounts, Aunt Judy popped in later in the morning, loaded with home-cooked food. Piper had spoken with her aunt and uncle the night before, explaining all that had happened and assuring them she was fine. By the looks of it, her aunt had stayed up the rest of the night cooking. Piper shook her head at the stack of foil-wrapped casserole dishes she carried in with her.

“They're not all for you,” Aunt Judy said, laughing. “One is for Gerald and Denise. I was going to drop it at their place, but Denise said they were heading to the hospital to see Frederico. They planned to stop here afterward, so I said I'd leave it with you.”

“They're
both
going to the hospital?”

“Yes, isn't that nice? Gerald seems to have unbent with regards to Frederico.”

“I'm so glad. Who gets the other casserole?”

“Scott. I checked, and he's in his office. Since it's so nearby—”

“He's at his office?” Piper asked, shocked. “I left him at the hospital last night and thought he'd still be there.”

“Oh no. Scott said he got a very good sleep—the sedative, you know—and checked himself out first thing this morning. He grabbed a taxi to get back. He said to tell you he'll pick up his car keys sometime today. Anyway, I thought he might appreciate a little home-cooked food. He certainly deserves much more for what he did last night.”

“He acted very courageously,” Piper said. “He quite surprised me.”

“Have you, um, spoken to Will yet about it all?”

Piper knew what her aunt was asking. How was Will going to feel about Scott getting the chance to play the hero? “Only briefly. We're going to talk more later.”

“Oh good. In the meantime, let me take one of these dishes up to your refrigerator. It's one of your favorites. Turkey tetrazzini.”

“Thanks, Aunt Judy.” Piper gave her aunt a peck on the cheek as she took the dish from her. “I'll do it.”

Piper was rearranging things in her refrigerator to make room for Aunt Judy's turkey tetrazzini when she heard familiar voices from downstairs. Denise and Gerald Standley had arrived. Quickly slipping the casserole into the fridge, she hurried back down.

“There she is!” Denise Standley said. Denise looked wonderful, her hair fluffed and the bloom back in her face. She rushed over and threw her arms around Piper. “How can we thank you?”

Gerald joined her, taking Piper's hand and pumping it. “We owe you a great debt.”

“Not at all,” Piper said, happy to see the deep shadows gone from the dill farmer's eyes. “I'll just be glad to get your lovely dill again. My supply is running low.”

“You got it.”

“The sheriff's team dragged Warren's Pond this morning,” Denise said. “They found the gun. Or, rather, they found
a
gun. They'll have to check to see if it's the one that fired the fatal shot. But Sheriff Carlyle said he can see it hasn't been in the water long. And the serial number will show if it was Don's.”

“Excellent!” Aunt Judy cried. “Now you can take down those barricades from your driveway and just get back to your everyday work.”

“You don't know how good that sounds,” Gerald said. “Getting back to work. I'll never grumble again about getting up at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh yes you will,” Denise said, laughing, and Gerald joined in. It sounded wonderful to Piper, who not that long ago had witnessed the couple's grim low point.

“I still don't know what happened to my own gun,” Gerald said, “which was careless of me in the extreme. I'm determined to find it.”

“And when you do, we'll lock it up safely,” Denise said.

“How is Frederico doing?” Aunt Judy asked.

“Getting better by the minute,” Denise said. Her smile faded. “I can't believe Don Tucker was ready to kill him.”

“The boy's been through a lot,” Gerald said. “But he's managed to stay positive. I give him a lot of credit.”

Well, that's encouraging
, Piper thought. A glance at Aunt Judy told her she felt the same.

“He'll need plenty of therapy,” Denise added. “We've invited him to stay with us once he's released from the hospital, to continue his recovery.”

Even more encouraging.

Gerald nodded but didn't add more. Piper predicted, though, that he'd be kicking a soccer ball around the field with Frederico when the time came. And who knew what would develop after that?

The Standleys left, taking Aunt Judy's casserole and calling out more thanks to both her and Piper.

“I'll take this last dish over to Scott,” Aunt Judy said. “It's the smallest because it has to fit in his little office refrigerator.” At that point Amy walked in, ready for her regular shift.