Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “Burnett. Ben Burnett.”

  Her eyes widened and her voice leaped an octave. “Not the Ben Burnett? L.A.’s illustrious criminal attorney? I was under the impression you’d retired a few years ago.”

  Ben edged into her personal space. “Katy is family and my license is up to date, detective.”

  Murphy stepped back and held out her hand to shake his. “Well, Mr. Burnett, it is a…” She paused with a rueful smile. “…mixed pleasure to meet you. I can’t say I’m thrilled by all your courtroom successes considering who some of your clients were, but I am impressed.” She glanced at me. “You’re in excellent hands with your grandfather, Ms. McKenna. He’s a rock star in the legal world.

  My last thought as I drifted off to the Land of Nod was, When did Ruby marry Ben?

  Chapter Forty-Five

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  SUNDAY • AUGUST 18

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Wednesday, August 14

  I woke at dawn with no idea where I was until I shifted on the hard, narrow hospital bed, and my left leg clunked the metal rail. The resulting shock wave of agony jolted me into instant clarity. Clenching my teeth while tears dribbled down my face, I fumbled in the bed linens for the buzzer and pinned it down with my thumb, thinking that would make a nurse come faster. It didn’t.

  After the miraculous meds had kicked in, a sense of soothing bliss engulfed me. I was floating back to dreamland when Detective Murphy’s smug smile popped into my head and fizzled my bliss.

  As I reviewed the bizarre events of the day before, I realized how it might look to the police. Me, the jilted ex, found in Chad’s bedroom standing over his nearly dead body with a syringe. Okay, the syringe wasn’t actually in my hand, but by the time the entire scene played out, it had my prints on it.

  And who knew what Lisa may have already told Detective Murphy: “She broke into my house, and when I came home I found her jamming the needle into him, cackling evilly, ‘This is what you get for leaving me.’ I tried to warn her off with the gun, but she grabbed my arm and forced me to shoot Chad. That’s why I had to shoot her before she could get the gun away from me and kill me.”

  The only one who could clear up this convoluted mess was Chad, and he was inconveniently comatose. But that was last night. Maybe by now he’s awake.

  I needed to check out this so-called coma for myself. From my bed I spied a wheelchair idling in the hallway and decided to take it for a spin up to Chad’s room in the ICU.

  “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I grunted, easing my legs over the side of the bed. Full disclosure: “Ouch” wasn’t what I said.

  Putting weight on the leg wasn’t an option. But I wasn’t giving up, so I hopped on my right foot to the wall, then worked my way to the open door. I peeked out, scanning the hall both ways, then crossed over to the wheelchair.

  Voices from down the hall were heading my way, so I rolled in the other direction, searching for an elevator. This was my first wheelchair experience and along the way I crashed into a laundry cart, a recycling bin, and a wall.

  Inside the elevator, I spent two minutes doing a three-point turn before I could press the button. At that point, I would’ve sold my darling Daisy for another Vicodin.

  Ding. Third floor.

  The doors opened and I rolled out, passing a sitting area and a long, U-shaped nurses’ station, surrounded on every side by hospital rooms. No one paid me any attention when I wheeled by. I slowed at every room, peeking through the sliding glass doors until I found Chad. His bed was on the far side of the room, next to the window.

  He was hooked up to a respirator, a heart monitor, and an IV, but other than that he looked like he was napping. He was clean-shaven and not a hair out of place. It upset me to see him like that. It’s not like it was scary or gory. Just surreal.

  “Chad?” I whispered, rolling closer. “It’s Katy. Can you hear me? If you can…” I took his pudgy, manicured hand. “…squeeze my hand.”

  I waited for a response, but all I got was the rhythmic whoosh of the respirator. “Chad, I know you’re in there. It’s time to stop screwing around and wake up.”

  They say it’s important to talk to coma patients. That they can hear you even if they don’t respond. I didn’t have anything pleasant or inspirational to say to him so I turned the TV on to his favorite station. The Golf Channel.

  “Oh look, Chad. A golf tournament is on. Woo-hoo!” I nudged his arm. “So who’re you going for?” I’m not a golfer, so the only golfer names I could think of were Arnold Palmer and Tiger Woods. “I’m betting on Tiger.”

  The respirator continued to pump, the monitor beeped, the IV dripped, but Chad just lay there like a big lump. Typical.

  After staring at him for an hour or so, I caught the heavenly scent of eggs and bacon as the breakfast carts clattered through the halls, and my stomach growled its need for sustenance.

  After breakfast, I returned to Chad’s room. The curtain was drawn across the glass wall facing the nurse’s station, and Debra stood at his bedside checking his IV with her back to me.

  “Hi,” I said softly, trying not to startle her. “I don’t want to disturb you. I’ll come back later.”

  Debra jerked and spun around. “Katy.” She gave me a motherly scowl. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? You were next on my visit list.” She looked sicker than the last time I’d seen her.

  “You don’t look well at all,” I blurted, my mouth running ahead of my brain.

  “I know.” Her voice sounded wheezy and hoarse. “Even he looks better than me, huh?” She frowned, leaning into me, and tilted my chin. “What happened to your face?”

  “His girlfriend smacked me around before she shot me.”

  She shook her head with a grim smile. “You need to pick a better class of people to hang out with, Katy.”

  “Is Chad a patient of yours?” I paused. “Oh, sorry. Doctor-patient privilege, right? But I thought you were on leave.”

  “I am, but I can’t walk away from my patients entirely.” Her gaze shifted back to Chad. “I’ve only seen him as a patient a few times, and that was a couple of years ago, long before I met you. But I thought I should check in. And I have to admit, after hearing all your stories about this guy, I was more than a little curious.” She chuckled. “That doesn’t sound very professional, does it?”

  I laughed. “Who knew doctors are human?”

  “Believe me, most of us are.” Debra sat on the bedside chair. “How are you doing? The leg very painful?”

  “I think I may have overdone it.”

  “You think? Mind if I take a peek at it?”

  I rolled closer. “Be my guest. But it’s all bandaged up, so I don’t know what you’ll see.”

  She gently lifted my hospital gown. The bandages were stained with blood, and it frightened me.

  “Uh-oh. That can’t be good,” I said.

  “It’s dry, which means you’re not bleeding now.” She set the gown back down. “But you’re overdoing it, and you need to keep it elevated.”

  “I will.” I gazed at Chad’s peaceful face. “Hard to believe how much misery that guy has caused. Lying there, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “Right now he can’t,” she said.

  “This will probably sound crazy, but I thought maybe I could talk him out of his coma.”

  Debra patted my knee. “That’s very noble of you, dear. But why, after everything he’s done to you, would you care?”

  “Believe me, I’m no Mother Teresa.” I glanced toward the door to make sure no one was coming. “But I think I may be under suspicion of attempted murder.”

  “You’re kidding! Why you?”

  “Somebody injected him with some kind of drug. And I was the one who found him. Do you know what it was?”

  “Potassium chloride. Really bad news if you get too much. Mimics a heart attack. Frankly, I’m amazed he survived,” she snorted. “And then he gets shot and survives that too. Incredible. Clearly it
’s not his time. Hopefully, he’ll make better use of the next chapter in his charmed life. But why would you be under suspicion?”

  “Because my prints are on the syringe. Mine and his sleazy girlfriend’s.”

  “You found the syringe? Where?”

  “In the bedroom where I found him tied to the bed. It fell on the floor while I was untying him.” I thunked my forehead. “Why did I think I could talk sense into him?”

  “Did you go there because of what Justin said the other day about giving Chad one more chance to do the right thing?”

  “Uh-huh. But I never had a chance to talk to him.” I waved at the respirator. “And I’m not responsible for this.”

  “I can’t believe the police will go after you.”

  “I certainly had motive. And desire. Extreme desire, although they don’t know that. Even now I’d love to yank that pillow out from under his head and… But wanting to and actually doing it are two different things. We’ve all wanted to kill someone at one time or another, but most of us never do.”

  Debra laughed. “If we did, the morgues would be overflowing with corpses.” Her expression changed to an empathetic, doctorly look. “Katy. Try not to worry. There’s no way you’re going to jail for this.” She stood, leaning in for a quick squeeze. “I’m leaving now. You want me to push you back to your room?”

  “I’m here, so I might as well keep trying for a while. I’ll be checking out this afternoon, so this is my last chance.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  SUNDAY • AUGUST 18

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Thursday, August 15

  There are days when I don’t feel like blogging (lots of days), but when Samantha talked me into blogging several months ago, she said it would be cathartic.

  At the time, I was not dealing well with Chad’s betrayal, the divorce, his instant remarriage, and his pregnant wife. It was all just too much, and Sam was afraid I would slip into a deep depression. I was depressed, no doubt about that, but who wouldn’t have been under the circumstances?

  Before I post about last Thursday, I decided to look up the word “cathartic” to make sure I fully understand what she meant.

  Cathartic: 1. A purification that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension (the catharsis of tears). 2. Purgative, laxative.

  I don’t know about spiritual renewal, but it does seem to help me make sense of all the bizarre things that happen in my life.

  And Ruby was right about Vicodin and constipation, but I don’t think my cathartic blogging is gonna relieve that problem.

  My go-to-sleep position is on my left side, curled up, face planted into my down pillow. That’s not been happening with this damned gunshot wound. My leg has to be propped on top of the bedding with a big wooly sock on my foot and a light comforter draped over it.

  The Vicodin I took at bedtime on Wednesday night knocked me out initially, but in the wee hours of Thursday morning, I must have tried to turn over. On a scale of one to ten, the pain was an easy eleven. I desperately needed another pill but didn’t want to wake up the folks. So I lay there, being a martyr to my misery. I hate martyrs.

  I must have finally dozed because the next thing I knew, Pop’s voice was booming through the house. “Does Katy need an attorney present?”

  “Why does he always have to shout when he’s on his cell?” I grumbled, jerking the comforter over my head. And then thought, Oh crap. Why is he asking if I need an attorney? Did Chad die?

  Now fully coherent, I seized the crutch propped against the wall by the daybed and hobbled to the living room at the other end of the house. “Pop! Did Chad die?”

  “Hold on, Ben,” he said. “No, honey. Samantha called from the hospital a little while ago, and there’s been no change.”

  Mom hollered from the kitchen. “Is that my sleepyhead girl? About time you got up. Do you need a pain pill, or is that a stupid question?”

  “Yes to both.” The throbbing pain in my leg had me trembling and nauseated.

  Pop saw my distress. “Ben, I have to go. See you later.” He climbed out of his power recliner and held my arm. “Let’s get you into the recliner and elevate your leg before you fall on your face.”

  Getting me settled in the chair was brutal, but once he pushed the button to raise my legs, I felt some relief.

  Mom brought me water and a pill. “Here ya go, sweetie.” She finger-combed the hair out of my face. “Can you stomach a cup of coffee?”

  I wiped a trickle of sweat from my brow. “Maybe I should go back to bed. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “Not an option, Katydid.” Pop gently draped a teal chenille throw over my lap. “The detectives are on the way to go over some things with you.”

  Mom was still hovering. “I’ll get you a cup of tea. Easier on the tummy. Is Ben coming over, Kurt?”

  “Yes. He thinks he should be here.”

  Not what I wanted to hear. “Am I in serious trouble, Pop?”

  “I’m sure it’s just a routine call.” He smiled what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, but it sure looked forced to me.

  Mom returned with a steaming mug. “Three teaspoons of sugar and milk. Just the way you like it. Be careful, it’s hot.”

  I sipped the rejuvenating elixir and decided I might live.

  The doorbell rang. “Omigod, Mom. I don’t want to see anybody. I’m a total mess.”

  “This visitor won’t mind how you look.” She peeked through the sidelight. “Kurt, better grab her tea.”

  “Mom! Do not open the door.”

  “No can do.” She turned the handle and was forced aside as Daisy barreled through, dragging Emily behind her. “Don’t let her jump on Katy.” Pop blocked Daisy from hurtling into my lap.

  My girl quieted as she sensed my injury. She snuffled my thigh with little whimpers, while I gritted my teeth, then bathed my outstretched arm with sweet, sloppy kisses, and finally settled down beside my chair.

  During my police “chat” (PC for “grilling”), I went through the scenario at Chad’s house over and over. Why I went there. Why I went in the house. Why I thought he was dying. Even I thought my answers sounded bogus.

  Ben’s presence during the interview gave me a measure of reassurance. Who knows what trouble I might have talked my way into without him monitoring my answers.

  Detective Murphy’s parting shot was: “That’s it for now, Katy. But as we sort through all of this, you may be asked down to the station for more questions.”

  I’m thinking that meant, “Don’t leave town.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  TUESDAY • AUGUST 20

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Monday, August 19

  Yesterday I was back in my cozy bungalow chilling on the couch, leg propped, and about to do a little online shopping when my phone buzzed on the tile counter in the kitchen.

  “Want me to answer it?” yelled Emily.

  “No.” There was a reason the phone was on vibrate. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  “Too late.” She entered the living room. “No, this isn’t Katy. This is her sister, Emily. Hold on a sec and I’ll get her.” She was standing over me, holding out the phone. “It’s Heather’s mother.”

  “Hello, Judy.” I glared at my sister. “Sorry I haven’t called.” Been busy recovering from a gunshot wound. Thanks a lot for not asking. “How’s Heather doing?”

  “Oh, not so good.”

  “Why? She didn’t have another stroke, did she?”

  “No, no. The thing is, she’s not taking the news about Chad well. She’s home now and wants to see you.”

  “Why?” I knew that sounded whiny, but I didn’t want to see Heather. Or anyone for that matter.

  “She wants to hear what happened. You know. When you found Chad. Can you blame her?”

  “Hardly. But am I going to be brutally honest about everything? Like
the part about him moving in with Lisa?”

  “She knows about that. I had to tell her since it’s on all the local news, including how you got shot. I’m so sorry, I should have asked how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I’m coming along.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “We’ve been so worried about you. I really don’t want to bother you about this, but Heather needs to know if Chad was suffering when you found him. I hate to say it, but she still cares about him.”

  Mental sigh. “When do you want me over?”

  “Oh no, you can’t come here. Not with your injury. We’ll come there if that’s all right.”

  I thought it would be far harder on Heather coming to my house than me going there, so I fibbed a little. “You know, I was thinking I need to get out and get some fresh air, so this will give me the push I need. What time is good for you?”

  “You poor thing,” Heather said, patting the cushion. “Come sit by me.”

  I crutched my crocs to the love seat and eased myself down with her mother’s help.

  Heather pulled me in for a bear hug, not realizing how much it hurt my leg. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”

  “You should’ve let us come to your house,” said Judy, setting my leg on an ottoman. “You look done in.”

  “I’ve been lying around for days. First at my folks’ and now at home, and I needed a change.”

  “I just brewed a pot of coffee,” said Judy. “Would you like a cup?”

  “I would love it.” My outing was already proving to be too much, too soon, and what I really needed was a double shot of espresso injected in my arm.