Murder on the Bluffs, page 18
She said, “Stop by in a couple of days and we’ll work on pruning technique. Wednesday, maybe?” She headed down the steps. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.”
I waved, then stuck my hands in my pockets and leaned against the doorframe, watching her turn her Jaguar and head down the hill at a sedate pace. What a strange woman. I hadn’t learned much new, except that she was licensed to carry a small handgun. And that she could explode out of character when it came to family loyalty and small-town rivalries.
I mused on what I knew. Mary was tall and strong. She could have easily killed Charles. And stuck Bobby with the clamming fork. But why? And was Dan now at risk of being shot? And why did Mary say Dan killed Charles, anyway? I shook my head at what I didn’t know.
Behind me, Wulu barked twice and butted my leg with his head.
“Walk time?”
Wulu turned and ran for his leash.
I had locked the door from the outside when the house phone rang from inside. I tied Wulu’s leash to the landing railing, unlocked, and dashed back in.
I said hello in a breathless voice.
Dan greeted me. “How’s your ankle?”
How did he know about my ankle? “It’s okay. I won’t be in class this afternoon, though. Supposed to stay off it.”
“No problem. Just thought I’d check in on you.” Dan’s resonant tones broadcast nothing but caring and concern.
“Thanks. Oops, have to go. My cell’s ringing,” I lied.
We said our goodbyes and I hung up. I stared at the phone. I started when Wulu yipped from the porch.
“Well, it’s a small town. Iris probably blabbed to him,” I told myself as I untied Wulu. “That must be it.”
I strolled slowly up the hill. I let Wulu poke his nose everywhere in the border of the woods and wondered about Dan poking his nose too far into my life.
• • •
I gave a little knock on Bobby’s hospital room door an hour later. I held a double bunch of yellow daffodils in a cellophane sleeve in one hand. With my other I cradled my purse, extra heavy because of the simple vase I’d added to it. I peered into the room. “Bobby?” I called.
A young woman with a cast on her arm looked up from the hospital bed.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I thought, well, never mind. Wrong room, I guess.” I backed out, then rechecked the number next to the door. This was definitely the room Bobby had been in on Friday. Today was Monday. Had he already gone home? I should have called first. I turned, nearly colliding with a nurse.
As I excused myself, I looked up into the face of the same man who had been caring for Bobby earlier.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Bobby Spirokis. He was in this room. He had a wound in his arm, and—”
“Rehab.”
“Rehab? He’s been transferred?”
The nurse nodded.
“Can you tell me where?”
“Next door. Emerson Skilled Nursing.”
I thanked him and found the elevator. That had to be good, that he was well enough for rehabilitation, to receive some physical therapy, to be up and around with assistance.
I made my way to the low building that was, in fact, next door to the hospital. Once inside, I was directed by a goth-looking teen at the front desk to Room 107. I walked down a long hallway, checking room numbers. An elderly woman leaned on a walker. A burly man in scrubs hovered behind her as she placed one foot in front of the other in slow motion. Several rooms were empty. One held a man with waxen skin lying on his back in bed. His roommate was slumped over in a wheelchair near the window. The air smelled medicinal with overtones of urine.
I shook my head. Was this a rehabilitation center or the proverbial nursing home, where elders without family to care for them were housed until they died?
I arrived at 107, but it was empty. A small picture sat on one of the two nightstands. I walked over and leaned down to examine it. A man and a woman stood with Bobby on a dock. The man was a little taller than Bobby, and the woman several inches shorter, but they were clearly his siblings. They shared his sturdy build and ruddy complexion. The three, arms linked, looked windblown, happy. I didn’t think I’d seen that picture in his hospital room. At least he had family, and someone had visited. A bit of white poked out from behind the frame. I shifted the frame. It was my business card. Bobby hadn’t called me, but he’d kept the card.
I looked around the room. It looked clean, but the flowered wallpaper was slightly faded and some of the woodwork was chipped. A five-star hotel this was not. I shrugged. I dug the vase out of my bag and filled it with water at the bathroom sink. I had started to arrange the flowers in it when a male voice at the door made me turn.
“I don’t need your damn help,” Bobby said over his shoulder. He clumped into the room. He leaned on a cane with his right hand. The other one poked out from a blue sling supporting his left arm. The bandages had been replaced by a simple Band-Aid. He wore jeans with a navy Red Sox sweatshirt.
Why did he need a cane? Maybe he had another condition I didn’t know about.
A curvy young nurse in deep pink scrubs followed close behind him. In a low, firm voice with a trace of accent, she said, “Mr. Spirokis, I need to make sure you stay safe. You’re doing very well, but you’re my patient. I am responsible for you.” She cocked her head and smiled despite standing behind him.
Bobby stopped when he caught sight of me. “What are you doing here?” His voice was gruff as he drew his eyebrows together. He stared at me, then sank into the chair next to the bed, his face pale and glistening with sweat.
“I wanted to see how you were. I brought you these.” I gestured at the flowers. Their bright buttery petals glowed in the utilitarian room.
“Those are beautiful.” The nurse turned her thousand-watt smile on me. “Aren’t they, Mr. Spirokis?” She winked at me as if we were caregiver coconspirators.
“I guess. Thanks.” Bobby nodded at me. “Sorry, I’m beat. They’re working me like a dog in that therapy room. And then Majgone here has to follow me around like I’m a kid or something.”
I checked the nurse’s nametag. Mojgan. Bobby hadn’t pronounced the Iranian name quite right. “Shoma chetur hastin?” I’d now tried out my rusty Farsi twice in a week. I wondered if Dan knew Mojgan.
“Man khoobam, mamnoon! Khali khoob—that’s very good,” Mojgan said with a laugh. “Where did you learn to speak Farsi?”
“I studied it in college. But that was a long time ago,” I said. “I’m Lauren Rousseau.”
As we shook hands, Bobby looked back and forth between us with a look of confusion on his face, then he shook his head. “What, you’re from Iran?” He pronounced it “eye-ran.”
Mojgan said she was, but that she’d lived in this country for fifteen years. She poured a cup of water for Bobby and handed it to him. “I’ll be back with your meds. Nice meeting you, Lauren.”
“Likewise.” I waved, then said to Bobby, “May I sit?”
Bobby gestured at the bed. He took a sip of the water. He closed his eyes.
I watched him. He didn’t look well, but then the attack had been very recent. I really wanted to ask him about who had attacked him, but I couldn’t with him not yet well.
“I’ll leave you to your rest, then,” I said. “I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
He opened his eyes. He narrowed them and gazed at me. “Any gossip around town about who did this to me?”
I shook my head. “Not that I have heard. You didn’t see who did it?”
Bobby closed his eyes again. He didn’t answer. He opened them again.
“Hey, I’m sorry I almost ran you down last week.”
I cocked my head. “Ran me down?”
“In my truck. On Upper Summer Street. I was late for work.”
“So that was you. No problem. I walk my dog along there, though. You might try to be more careful. It’s a small street.” I smiled, hoping it would buffer my response.
Bobby nodded. “I will.”
“Funny thing happened at the Dodd Pub last night,” I said.
“Oh?” He seemed to perk up at that.
“Mary Heard attacked Dan Talbot. Said he killed her brother.”
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
I waited. Bobby had been on the estate the night of the murder. He might be the killer, himself. Or was he just surprised to hear that Mary Heard would attack anyone?
He began to sweat again and wiped his forehead with his free sleeve. His hand shook, and he breathed in and out too fast for a man sitting in a chair.
Mojgan bustled in wheeling a cart with a laptop computer open on top, a tiny white paper cup next to it, and several wire drawers holding supplies below. She lifted the cup but took one look at Bobby and set it back down. She pressed her fingers to his wrist to take his pulse, keeping her eyes on the analog clock on the wall, which read five thirty. A look of alarm came over her previously smooth, warm face.
“You’re going to have to go, Lauren.” Her tone was brisk. She handed Bobby the water and the pills, then tapped an intercom button. “I have a Code 23 in 107. Code 23 in 107.” She grabbed a blood pressure cuff from the cart, pushed up his sleeve, and started to wrap it around his arm. Without looking up, she said, “Lauren. Out.”
I rose and squeezed around them, and then flattened myself against the wall to avoid colliding with a second nurse who rushed into the room. I looked back at Bobby. He was in good hands, and it looked like he was going to need them. The mention of Mary’s attack on Dan had shocked him into some kind of episode. I hoped it wasn’t a heart attack. Had I brought it on by mentioning the murder? What did Bobby know? I closed my eyes and held him in the Light for a moment. I walked slowly down the hall. Why had the news shocked him so? I wished I knew what he knew.
I left the building and headed for the hospital lot. I’d had to park in the back of the lot again, where the only available spaces were when I’d arrived.
Someone stood next to my truck. The person was backlit by the slanting near-solstice sunlight. Who was that? If they thought they were going to stab my tires again, they were about to have a big surprise.
“Hey!” I called, striding toward the truck despite the pain in my ankle. “What are you doing?”
The person turned to face me.
I slowed, the light dawning. “Hi, Orlene. We meet again.”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “I recognized your truck. Thought I should keep an eye on it.”
“Thanks.”
Orlene nodded. “How you doing, anyway? The police find who messed with your tires?”
I shook my head. “But I hope they will.”
Orlene shrugged. “Ought to try to find a place closer to the front next time.”
Chapter Sixteen
Favoring my ankle as I trudged up the steps to my condo, I raised my eyes to the top step. A fishbowl-shaped vase filled with flowers and greenery greeted me. Sitting down next to the vase, I plucked the little envelope out of its plastic florist’s holder and opened it.
Missed you in class. Feel better soon. From your secret admirer, Carpenter Dan
I examined the arrangement. It was a lovely spray of white rosebuds and miniature pink carnations with tiny purple flowers tucked into the fernlike greens. I sighed. My not-so-secret admirer. I brought it into the house. I had to admit it was a sweet gesture, sending me flowers. I didn’t think I’d been encouraging him. On the contrary, I’d done my best not to let this thing turn romantic. He obviously wasn’t hearing the message. Although, I mused, I had gone with him on the mansion tour just a couple days earlier. Which felt like half a lifetime ago.
I opened the refrigerator and stared. Slim pickings. Stomach growling, I sighed and closed it again. Wulu gave a little bark.
“You have dinner fixings, anyway. Here you go, buddy.” I filled his dinner dish with kibble and freshened his water dish, then grabbed my purse and keys again. “We’ll walk when I get back from the pub, Wu.” I locked the door and headed slowly down the hill.
A Prius honked as it turned up my street.
“Jackie,” I called. The Prius backed down, and Jackie leaned her head out the window.
“How about dinner at the pub? Wanted to kind of make amends after Saturday,” Jackie said with a sheepish smile.
“This sister reads my mind. That’s right where I was headed.”
Jackie slid out of her seat and locked the car. We headed for the river.
“Are you limping?” Jackie asked. “What happened?”
I nodded. “Twisted it running.”
“Want to drive down?”
“No, it’s getting better. And I need some fresh air. But that’s not all that’s happened.” As we strolled, I filled Jackie in on the recent events. I didn’t leave anything out, not even the bits with Mary, Dan’s flirting, how Bobby reacted in his rehab room.
“How do you get involved in this crazy stuff?” Jackie said. She gently elbowed me.
“I have no idea. And it’s not my idea of a good time, believe me.”
We wandered down Town Hill and made it across the insanely dangerous main intersection of town. Drivers going up and down the hill and coming into and out of town had to stop and then cross or turn onto the state route, whose drivers did not have to stop. Small town not withstanding, it was a crazy crossroads. Every time I made it across safely I counted my blessings. And after witnessing the car crash, I was even more nervous.
“Bar or dining room?” I asked.
“Dining room, I think. It’s quieter. Listen to me. I sound like an old fart.”
“Hey, I’m good with quiet at any age.” I returned Jackie’s elbowing. “Besides, aren’t you almost forty? That’s totally old fart territory.”
“Not until Friday, I’m not.”
I was about to reach for the door to the dining area of the pub when it swung open. Mark Pulcifer held the door for a young woman about his age. She laughed. His face reflected her joy.
“Hi, Ms. Rousseau,” he said when he caught sight of me.
“Hi, Mark. Nice to see you again. Hey, did you hear yet what’s going to happen to the agency?”
He shook his head. “I decided I don’t care. I want to be a chef, not an insurance salesman.”
“How are your uncles, by the way? I mean your great-uncles, of course.”
“They’re fine. Samuel is doing better.”
“Good. You know, I think you take after Phillip. You look so much like him, or what he must have looked like at your age.”
“No way, Ms. Rousseau.” Mark laughed. “I’m adopted.” The girl pulled at his elbow, and he said goodbye.
“Who’s that kid?” Jackie said as we slid into opposite sides of a straight-backed wooden booth that was surely older than both of us. Probably even older than our parents, I reflected. The Dodd Bridge Pub wasn’t one to update itself with the times.
“Mark Pulcifer. He worked for Charles Heard.”
“Pulcifer. Isn’t that the name of the boat shop that burned down a few months ago?”
I nodded. “It’s interesting that Mark is adopted.”
“Why? Lots of people are adopted.”
“Never mind. It’s a long story.” Could Mark be Mary’s birth son? Mary had been giving him such a look on Friday night. And she knew exactly how old he was. Something to talk with Iris about, for sure.
James Wojinski, his wife, and their daughter sat across the aisle. Their table was filled with half-eaten plates of fried clams, onion rings, and French fries, plus wineglasses. Fiona’s plate was still nearly full, as was her glass. Her fingers tapped the table. I smiled at them and said hello.
A little girl approached our booth. She pulled at her mother’s hand.
“See, Mommy? I told you, it’s the new student at karate.”
“Hey, Maddie,” I said, smiling at my fellow karateka. “How are you?”
“Good.” Maddie bounced on tiny yellow sandals. She wore a yellow and green striped dress over green stretchy shorts. “You didn’t come to class.”
“I know, I couldn’t make it.”
“How are you liking it?” she asked.
I laughed. “I like it. It’s hard work. I studied karate in Japan, but that was a long time ago. My muscles get sore.”
“Just keep practicing. It’ll get easier.” Maddie nodded with the wisdom of an elder. “Oh, this is my mom. Mommy, this is Lauren.”
Maddie’s mother introduced herself and then said, “Come on, honey. Your fries are getting cold.” To me she murmured, “She’s running for mayor,” and rolled her eyes.
“See you in the dojo!” Maddie skipped back to her table followed by her mother.
“Wow. I wouldn’t talk to anybody in public when I was that age,” I said with a smile.
“She’s cute, all right.”
Katie came by and took our orders. As she left, Jackie leaned across the table.
“I know this is going to sound like preaching, Lauren. But one of these days you might want to look at how much you drink.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m having a tall IPA with my dinner. I don’t have vodka for breakfast. What exactly do you want me to look at?” Of course, I’d had the same thoughts. But wasn’t quite ready to look at the issue, as Jackie put it.
“All right. I had to say it. So, you talked to Mom lately?”
“Stuff going on there, too.” I exhaled. “But you already know it.”
At Jackie’s nod, I began in a low voice. “It’s hard for me to believe that Daddy didn’t disappear. He left us because he was gay.”
“I know he was gay.”
I nodded. “Yeah, Mom told me you knew. Thanks loads for keeping it from me. Anyway, I wonder if some of the crazy stuff that’s going on around here is related to what happened to him all those years ago.”
Katie brought my beer and Jackie’s white wine.
Jackie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me but waited for me to speak.
