Better Off Thread, page 15
“Please.” She sat on the sofa.
Angus sat by her side, tail thumping, as she continued petting his head and telling him what a good boy he was.
I went into the office and made us up a coffee tray. When I returned to the sit-and-stitch square, I put the tray on the table and sat on the sofa across from Dani.
As she helped herself to her coffee, she said, “I guess I’m still kinda numb, you know?”
I nodded. Actually, I didn’t know. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to Mom and had no idea how I’d deal with it.
“I mean, we were sort of prepared for it,” she continued. “But we were also thinking that any day that donor would come through, and Mom would have the transplant and get better.”
“I saw Charlie—one of the hospital security guards—at your Mom’s visitation. He said you two had bonded over your mothers both awaiting transplants.”
“Yeah. Charlie’s mom was on the list for a heart transplant, I believe. She died just a few weeks ago.”
“That’s what he told me,” I said.
“Wanna hear the saddest part? The day she died, the heart came through for her. Of course, she was dead, and the heart went to the next person on the list. But to be that close . . .” She shrugged. “I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Is there some sort of support group at the hospital for people whose loved ones are on the transplant list?”
“Yes. The group meets at the hospital. It’s for people on the list and for their families, too,” she said. “The people on the list who are well enough to attend meetings get to share their fears and concerns with those who have the same feelings, as well as with those who’ve undergone successful transplants.”
“Oh, that’s good. I didn’t realize people who’d already had transplants were part of the group.”
“They are. And they’re terrific. They give those on the wait lists—and their family members—hope that everything will work out. Or, you know, that it can.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t in your mother’s case,” I said.
“So am I.”
* * *
I’d gotten in a shipment of cross-stitch kits and was hanging them up when Ted arrived with lunch. He’d brought us chicken tikka masala from a nearby Indian restaurant. Since we didn’t want to give Angus any of the spicy food, Ted had stopped at the pet store first and got Angus a bag of beefy treats.
“You think of everything.” I kissed Ted before putting the clock on the door.
He and Angus went on back to my office. Ted was taking our food out of the bag when I got there.
“Tiffany, Jackson, and Mark stopped by on their way through town this morning,” I said, as I took two sodas from the mini fridge.
“Did they?”
“Uh-huh. Sadie was here when they arrived, and she took Mark and Jackson down to the coffee shop to load up on food for the drive back to Seattle. Tiffany told Sadie to cut Mark off at two bags.”
Ted grinned. “Let me guess—he brought back two bags filled to the brim.”
“Yes, he did.” I laughed. “And he also had a small, disposable cooler that Blake had fixed up for him. Mark said that the cooler didn’t count because it wasn’t a bag and that, besides, he didn’t want to have to stop for lunch.”
“Oh, of course not. I mean, they’ll be trekking across the wilderness for days, right?”
“Tiffany said you told her about John Martin. That surprised me.”
He shrugged and took out his plastic utensils. “It was on my mind. You haven’t seen or heard from him, have you?”
“No. It’s like I told Tiffany—he isn’t going to do anything. He just wanted to scare me.”
“And my Inch-High Private Eye doesn’t scare easily.” He winked.
“That’s right. Especially when I have a patrolman driving by my shop every twenty minutes or so.”
“You noticed that?”
“Um, yeah. I noticed that. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did Tiffany or Mark say anything else to you about possibly moving closer to Tallulah Falls?” I asked.
He arched a brow. “No. Why? Is their moving to Oregon something you’d like or totally hate?”
“I think I’d like it,” I said. “I believe that although we started out on rocky ground, Tiffany and I are starting to hit it off. How about you? Would you like for them to live closer?”
“I would. It’d be good for Mom, for Jackson, for Tiffany. And I wouldn’t mind seeing more of Tiff, now that she’s older and has more sense.”
I laughed and shook my head. From what I knew of siblings, this was typical of the banter between brothers and sisters.
Ted’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw that it was Manu. He answered using the speaker.
“Hey, Manu, what’s up?”
“I know you’re having lunch with Marcy, but I need you to take care of something as soon as you’re finished.”
“Sure. We’re about to finish up. I can take off in a couple of minutes. What’s going on?”
“Someone threw a brick through Melanie Carstairs’s windshield,” said Manu.
I drew in a breath. “Oh, my gosh. Is she hurt?”
“Luckily, she wasn’t driving the car at the time, Marcy. She was inside the bank. The car is still there. There is a unit there, but they’re waiting for someone else to get there before they start to canvass the area to see if anyone saw anything. You’re the closest person I have to the bank right now.”
“I’m on my way.”
Ted ended the call, gave me a quick kiss, and left me to wonder who was trying to send Melanie Carstairs a message.
Chapter Twenty
Angus and I were coming back from his after-lunch potty break when Vera pulled into a parking spot near the Stitch. She got out and waited for us.
“Paul heard about the incident with Melanie Carstairs’s car,” she said, pushing the button on her key fob to lock her BMW. “He’s gone over to the bank to get the full story. So, do you think it was random or that she was targeted?”
“I have no idea. Manu called Ted during lunch, and he went over to talk with Melanie.” I pushed open the door and took the leash off Angus.
He trotted to the office to get a drink of water. I put the leash under the counter.
“May I get you some water or coffee or something?” I asked Vera.
“No, hon, I’m fine. How’d it go yesterday?”
“It went fine. I really like Melanie. And Brendan is precious. You should’ve seen him and Angus cuddled up on the love seat. But Dr. Carstairs seems to be a weird control freak.”
“Hmm. Makes you wonder how he and Melanie wound up together, doesn’t it? I mean, was he always that way? Was she always the way she is now? Maybe she was as nasty a person as her husband until she had a child.”
“Could be.” I went over to the red club chair where I’d left my current Christmas ornament project. “I just wonder if throwing a brick through Melanie Carstairs’s windshield isn’t the kind of thing John Martin might do to warn her off of reapplying for the hospital-administrator job.”
“That’s right. They’ll have to fill the position fairly quickly,” she said. “And I imagine Mr. Martin would want to eliminate the competition. . . . And that he has plenty of bricks lying around.”
“Plus, scaring people seems to be right up his alley.”
“Still, I don’t know how he could get away with throwing a brick through someone’s windshield in a bank parking lot in the middle of the day. Someone is bound to have seen him.”
“Yeah. I’d imagine lots of people saw him and that the security cameras did, too. How in the world did he get away?”
“I’m looking forward to hearing what Paul finds out. I mean, surely in this age of cell phones and viral videos and whatnot, someone captured the incident—or at least got the guy’s license plate.”
“You’d think,” I agreed. “I hope it was John Martin and that he was dumb enough to have thrown that brick himself rather than hiring someone else to do it. At least that would give Ted a reason to haul him in and question him.”
“Yeah. We need to find Sandra Vincent’s killer quick. If we don’t, poor Captain Moe is going to be sunk. So, in addition to John Martin, who else might’ve wanted to bump off Sandra Vincent?”
“I might say Carrie Monahan, except she seems genuinely sweet. Also, I’d imagine a nurse would use some sort of medication rather than a knife to the chest to kill someone.”
Vera turned down the corners of her mouth. “Maybe if the murder was premeditated, but what if she acted in the moment?”
“But why would a pediatric nurse be carrying around a butcher knife from the hospital’s kitchen?”
She gave this some thought. “One of the kids could’ve had a birthday cake they needed to have cut.”
“I guess that’s a possibility.” I stretched my legs out on the ottoman and examined the toes of the wingtip flats I’d worn today. “What about the people on the transplant list? From what I’ve heard, Sandra Vincent had either the authority or the means—or both—to manipulate that list.”
“Having the power to basically decide who lives and who dies is going to make you a few enemies. Do they have some sort of support group for patients and their families?”
“They do. Dani—the woman whose mother died last week—told me about it earlier. She and Charlie, the security guard, met at a support-group meeting. Charlie’s mother was awaiting an organ transplant, too.”
“We should go to the next meeting.”
I frowned. “And do what? Stand up and say, ‘Hi, we’re Marcy and Vera, and we’re here to find out if any of you killed Sandra Vincent’?”
“No, of course not. Who’d volunteer any information if we did that? We can pretend we’re there gathering information for Paul for an upcoming article.” She shrugged. “I mean, he might really do the article if I supply enough good information.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Find out when the next meeting is,” I said at last. “You know I can’t possibly go on Wednesday.”
“I know that, dear.” She took out her phone and called the hospital. After being transferred what must’ve been ninety-two times, she asked about the support-group meetings and then turned to me with a triumphant smile. “The meeting is this evening at seven o’clock. We’re going.”
After Vera left, I called Ted.
“Hey, babe,” he answered.
“Hi. Any chance you caught John Martin with the smoking brick?”
“Considering that the smoking brick was in the driver’s seat of Melanie Carstairs’s station wagon, that would be a no. Furthermore, nobody saw anything except a big guy wearing a ski mask. After throwing the brick, the man drove off in an older-model pickup truck that had mud obscuring the license plates.”
“Oh no. You’ve got basically nothing, then.”
“Right. And the bank’s surveillance footage backs up the witnesses. Burly guy wearing a ski mask drives an old pickup truck right up to Mrs. Carstairs’s car, gets out, hurls the brick, and drives away.”
“But at least you know now that it wasn’t a random act. He deliberately chose Melanie’s car. Is she scared?”
“She seemed to be handling it fairly well, all things considered. Officer Moore drove her home, and we had her car towed to the closest body shop to be repaired.”
“Do we have any plans this evening?” I asked.
“Actually, I meant to talk with you about that over lunch. I’ve promised Mom I’d take her Christmas shopping this evening. You’re welcome to come along.”
“I’d like to, but I kinda made plans with Vera.”
“Why do you sound so uncertain about these plans, Inch-High?”
“Well, I think you just hit that nail right on the head with your nickname, because we’re going snooping.” I told Ted about Vera’s idea for us to infiltrate the organ-transplant support group as reporters.
* * *
I’d fed Angus and allowed him to go out into the backyard. When Vera arrived, I was having trouble getting him to come back inside.
“Bear with me,” I said. “Angus is enjoying his off-the-leash freedom, and I can’t get him back inside.”
“Let me try.” She flung open the back door, bent over, and put her hands on her knees. “Come see me, my sweet boy!”
Angus galloped inside and nearly knocked her down in his enthusiasm. I quickly rescued Vera and then shut the door before Angus could run back out.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure,” she said with a laugh. “I could probably use a lint roller before we head out, though.”
I fished a lint roller out of one of the kitchen drawers, and she got the dog hair off her slacks and sweater.
“There.” She smiled. “Good as new.”
I locked up, leaving lights as well as the television on again.
“Still afraid that nasty John Martin might come calling?” she asked.
“Yeah. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“I don’t blame you. Paul said they weren’t able to narrow down a suspect in the vandalism on Melanie Carstairs’s car.”
“Ted said the same thing.”
“What’s he doing tonight? I hope you didn’t have to break a date so we could attend this support-group meeting.”
“He’s taking his mother Christmas shopping,” I said. “He invited me along, but I told him what we were doing.”
“Did he strongly encourage you to go shopping, or did he say something along the lines of you can come with us if you’d like?”
“Um, it was more like that last thing, but since I’d already asked him about his plans, he probably knew I had something in mind that I wanted to do.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. He’s shopping for you, and so he didn’t really want you to come along.”
“I think had that been the case, he’d have said so.”
She looked smug. “We’ll see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I bet he’ll get you a fabulous gift.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said. “He knows me very well. Anything he picks out for me will be perfect.”
* * *
We walked into the conference room. It was a different room from the one that had served as the North Pole. Of course, that room would probably be out of commission for a long time. This was a smaller room on the first floor.
There was a table against one wall with Styrofoam cups, hot water, instant coffee, tea, and sweetener. A few people were gathered around that table, and others were sitting in metal chairs that formed a circle.
Vera and I went over to the chairs and sat down.
“When are you going to tell them what we’re doing here?” I whispered.
“As soon as everyone gets here.”
Charlie, the security guard, burst into the room. “Sorry I’m late, folks. If everybody’s ready, we’ll get started.”
He sat down on the middle chair at the top of the circle. “I believe we all know each other.” He looked surprised when his gaze fell on me. “Marcy?”
“Hi, Charlie.”
“What’re you doing here?”
Vera stretched her hand out to Charlie. “I’m Vera Langhorne. My boyfriend, Paul Samms, is with the newspaper. He couldn’t be with you this evening, so I’m here to do an article on your group and the plight of organ recipients and their families. Hopefully, it will bring more awareness to the community about organ donation and how people can help.”
Charlie shook her hand. “Thank you.”
“I hope we can help,” she said.
“Just pretend we aren’t here,” I said.
“Right,” said Vera. “I hope you don’t mind Marcy bringing me. She’s the one who told me about your group.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Charlie said. “I just ask that you don’t use anyone’s actual name.”
“Of course not. We’ll certainly respect everyone’s privacy.”
Charlie introduced us to the rest of the group and then got on with the meeting. “I imagine most, if not all, of you have heard about Ms. Vincent’s passing.”
There was a murmur of consent from the group.
“I’m sorry for what happened to her,” said a young woman with her red hair in a fishtail braid. “But I’m not sorry that woman is through meddling in our lives. Grandpa was moved down on the list three times thanks to her. He’d have had a heart by now if she hadn’t been overseeing the transplant list.”
Vera and I shared a glance as other members of the group said the same types of things.
“I think the main thing we need to do as a group is petition the board of directors to make Carrie Monahan the new hospital administrator,” said Charlie. “She’s a good, caring person. She’s worked with children for years. She’s compassionate. And she’ll be our advocate.”
I wondered why Charlie was so adamantly going to bat for Carrie Monahan, especially since any decisions she might or might not make were too late to help his mother.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ted came over later that evening. He brought a pint of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and peanuts. Was it any wonder that I adored this man?
We went into the kitchen, where I scooped the ice cream into two glass dessert bowls. I put a spoonful into Angus’s bowl, and he gobbled it up before I could get back to the table. Ted and I sat down and added the extra goodies to ours before digging in.
“So, how’d it go?” he asked. “Did you and Vera have an enlightening time at the support-group meeting?”
“Well, the main thing we learned was that the people in that group didn’t care for Sandra Vincent. I don’t know whether it was truly her fault or not, but they all blamed her for their loved ones getting knocked down the list. One woman said her grandfather was bumped three times in favor of someone else.”
