No Grater Danger

by Victoria Hamilton

  “Okay. And you’re worried about leaving her alone?”

  “You bet I am. I’m really worried. Miss Perry and I have talked a lot over the last couple of days. I like to get to know my patients. Jaymie, by my estimation, in the last four months there have been at least three attempts on her life.”

  Fifteen

  “THREE ATTEMPTS ON HER LIFE?” Horrified and stunned, Jaymie was rocked back on her heels. “Skip, what do you mean?”

  “Skip?” Miss Perry’s voice, sounding hale and hardy, floated down the hall to them at the door. “Where’s lunch? I thought you were making eggs.”

  “I can’t tell you now,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder and down the hall toward her sitting room. “I’ll be right there, Lois!” he called out. Turning back to Jaymie he said, “I’m not sure what to do. Maybe you can help me decide. But right now . . .” He straightened and took a deep breath. “Morgan can’t cook to save her life, so I promised my patient soft-boiled eggs. It’s one of the many things I learned while I was living with my grandmother when I was a teenager: how to boil the perfect egg. Everything I know I learned from my grandmother and the Marines, and I don’t know who the more severe taskmaster was.” He flashed a brilliant smile and retreated down the hall.

  Mystified and alarmed by what she had learned, Jaymie followed Skip to the sitting room.

  “Look who popped in, Lois. It’s Jaymie.”

  “Excellent!” she said, twisting in her chair, staring up at Jaymie. “Did you come to get the graters? I’ve got a list made up. Skip’s been helping me.”

  Jaymie moved the low stool over and sat on it in front of Miss Perry. “I’d be glad to. I wasn’t sure you’d be up to it, but Skip says you’re doing so much better. You sure look better!” And she did; the bruises weren’t fading yet, but the color had sunk down to her neck and the large bandage was gone from her forehead, replaced by a smaller one for the contusion where she had hit the newel post. Her appearance was still alarming, but the brightness was back in her eyes and she had regained her vivacity. Her tightly permed and curled gray hair had been cleaned and brushed so it stood in a poofy halo around her head. “Miss Perry, have you remembered who else you were meeting that morning? You definitely told me you were seeing Estelle Arden and someone else.”

  She shook her head. “The only place I would mark it would be my appointment calendar, if it was business. I had Skip check it to see if I had any doctors’ appointments that needed to be canceled or postponed, and the only person on there for that day was that Arden woman.”

  “But if there was a friend or relative coming you wouldn’t include it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I do, but not if it’s Morgan.”

  But she had said “appointment.” Jaymie decided to leave it alone for the moment. “So did you make that list of graters we can use for the display?”

  She brightened and reached over to the small table on the other side of her chair—it was a new table since Jaymie last visited, a hospital-style one that could be swung around for her to use sitting in her chair—picked up a spiral-bound notebook opened to a page, and handed it to Jaymie. In neat block printing that had to be Skip’s there was a list of ten graters. She recognized them all from the descriptions as being ones she had seen the first day she visited.

  “So, what graters were stolen by the thieves who broke in?”

  She scrunched her face into a puzzled look. “There weren’t any graters stolen.”

  Jaymie blinked. No graters stolen. “So . . . what about the missing acorn-shaped one?”

  “I’d forgotten that. I don’t know where it is.”

  “But you’re sure it wasn’t stolen with the other silver?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” she said, her tone full of her usual asperity. “I had to go through everything I own for insurance. I told you what was stolen: a set of sterling silver flatware, Savoy by Buccellati; a silver epergne; one silver tray and a fruit bowl.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” she asked stoutly. “The insurance evaluator gave an estimate of over twenty thousand for the silverware alone. The other items are worth another twenty.”

  Jaymie quailed at the valuations. What wouldn’t someone do to get forty thousand dollars’ worth of stuff? Would they try to kill someone? But the theft had happened months ago. And killing Miss Perry wouldn’t get anyone anything except . . . Morgan Perry Wallace, who inherited. Was it as simple as that? She shook her head; it didn’t add up. Why bring the police’s attention to the wire across the stairs? “You went to Queensville Fine Antiques about the flatware set they had there. I don’t think I mentioned this, but it’s owned by my sister and brother-in-law.”

  “That starchy Englishwoman they have working for them complained about me to you, I suppose.”

  “A little,” Jaymie said, smiling. “Georgina is my brother-in-law’s older sister. She is very knowledgeable. I’m taking lessons from her. She was offended because she says she’s careful about that kind of thing, provenance and all that.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have been so accusatory, but Morgan was doing research for me after the robbery and saw the silver set online. So I went in to ask her. She got huffy . . . very, very huffy. They got the police involved, not me. They wouldn’t tell me who they bought it from, but the police apparently investigated and it was solved to their satisfaction. Not to mine. I still think it’s my set.”

  Jaymie secretly agreed with her. So . . . Miss Perry didn’t know it was Bev Hastings who sold it to the antiques store. Interesting. If the Hastings did steal the silver, what had they done with the other things? Wouldn’t it be dumb to sell the flatware to a store in the same town as the woman they stole it from? Desperation could make people do dumb things, though.

  She went back to the most interesting and troubling revelation, though: if the acorn grater wasn’t stolen with the silver, and it was not the one jammed in Fergus Baird’s throat, where was it? And what about the grater choking Baird? That was definitely one detail she needed to make sure the police knew about, that the nutmeg grater was not Miss Perry’s. They would already know if they referenced the list of stolen silver from the robbery of her home, but perhaps they hadn’t gotten that far. It was a small department with limited resources; they’d follow up on every detail but it would take time.

  To be absolutely sure, and to cover all possibilities, she asked, “Miss Perry, are you saying there are no graters missing from your collection at all?”

  She frowned. “Well, now, I couldn’t say that. There’s that acorn one Morgan says is missing. I haven’t looked since I showed them to you, but there weren’t any missing then. I said none were stolen in that robbery.”

  Skip brought in a tray with two eggs in egg cups, a rosebud-patterned saucer filled with buttered toast points, silver salt and pepper shakers, and some odd-looking tool alongside the spoon. He unburdened the tray onto the hospital-style table, which he swung around over her lap, and handed her a linen napkin. Her eyes were alight with hunger.

  Jaymie smiled; a good appetite was a great sign. “Do you mind if I take the list and have a look through the graters while you eat your lunch?”

  “You go ahead, dear,” she said, focused on her soft-boiled eggs. She had already used the odd scissors-like silver tool that snipped the tops off the eggs, and was salting the yolk, murmuring at the perfection of the golden runny goodness.

  Jaymie took the book and exited the sitting room, motioning for Skip to follow her to the front room, where the cases of graters were mounted. He nodded but headed to the kitchen first with the empty tray. She examined the cases, which were locked and sitting on bespoke tables. Everything was perfectly lined up, and Jaymie remembered that when Miss Perry returned a grater to a case, each had a spot that was equidistant from the others on the dark blue velvet case lining. A gap in the collection would be noticed.

  Or would it? A clever thief would simpl
y realign the rest of the graters to disguise the gap. That would take time, though. A robber who broke a window to get in couldn’t take that much time and care. Skip joined her and shut the door behind him.

  “What did you mean when you said there had been three attempts on Miss Perry’s life?”

  He paced to a front window and looked out, then returned. His dark eyes were clouded with worry. “Okay, she and I have talked. A lot. Especially as she’s feeling so much better. I’ve written this all down and have it stashed in with the file I keep on her meds. So . . . first: Lois takes several medications on a daily basis. She has a plastic dosette that is delivered to her by the pharmacy already stocked. Some of my patients have no idea what they’re taking, but she does. One day she noticed a pill she didn’t recognize in her night pills section, and in every night compartment for the rest of the week, five days more, she tells me. She didn’t take it, and dumped them. She thought the pharmacist had made a mistake and didn’t want to get her in trouble, but you know Valetta Nibley even better than I do; she does not make mistakes.”

  “I agree,” Jaymie said. “When was this?”

  “Just the week before her accident.”

  “And she didn’t tell anyone and just got rid of the pills?”

  He nodded and sighed. “Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it wasn’t a murder attempt. Maybe Miss Perry is gaga at times, but if that’s the case I’ve never noticed it. I don’t know what else to think. I have had patients who were convinced that the doctor or pharmacist was trying to kill them, but Miss Perry isn’t one of them. She thought an error had been made.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “Second: she was in the backyard in September talking on the phone—she has a cordless handset, not a cell phone—to her yard guy, who was supposed to come out and do some work but hadn’t, a mix-up in the days. Someone tried to shoot her. She was winged, but only her jacket was torn. I’ve seen the jacket but you can’t tell much, it looks like a small tear. So I went out to look around and I found a hole in the vinyl siding of the shed. Looks like a small caliber, maybe a twenty-two.”

  “How do you know it was from a twenty-two?”

  “I don’t. It’s an educated guess. I took my medical training in the Marines, so I understand guns and ammunition.”

  This was serious. She met his gaze but was silent. She was going to have to tell the police. “And the third attempt? I’m assuming you don’t mean the wire across the stairs that caused her fall?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not positive about the third one, but it’s worth mentioning, given what happened with the wire. She was alone, coming out of the medical building in Wolverhampton from an appointment. She doesn’t drive anymore, so she was meeting the car service in the parking lot. Someone tried to run her down. The police were called and a report was filed, but she was so frightened she couldn’t describe the car.” He sighed. “The police thought it was random, and maybe it was. Someone almost ran me down once on my motorcycle. But Jaymie, I’m worried. This was a bad one, the wire across the stairs. Someone is getting damn close to killing her.”

  Sixteen

  JAYMIE SPENT A LITTLE MORE TIME in the sitting room, examining the cases and thinking. Where had Miss Perry stored the silver flatware and dishes that had been stolen? She headed across the hall to the unused dining room and the answer was right there; by the formal dining table was a hutch and china cabinet. The silver flatware would have been stored in there. The silver bowl and epergne would have been in the upper display case. There were empty spaces among other, larger pieces—maybe too large for the thief to handle: an ornate candelabra and a champagne bucket.

  She returned to her hostess’s sitting room. Miss Perry was exhausted after the visit and her lunch. She needed a nap, but like most folks of her generation she had made a commitment about the nutmeg graters and was intent on fulfilling it. Jaymie had more pressing concerns, given what she had learned. She made an excuse to come back another day to get the graters, saying she had an emergency. She hugged her new friend. “I’ll be back. You get some rest.”

  Skip followed her to the door. “I don’t want to leave her alone, but she’s so much better already. I think I can say she needs at least two more days of around-the-clock nursing care, but if she keeps improving at this rate . . .” He shrugged. “I’m worried about her safety more than her health at this point.”

  “I’m relieved you said two more days. Has Morgan been back so far?”

  “She was yesterday. I have to say, she’s a nice girl. After she got over her snit about me, she seemed relieved, actually, to not have to stay around the clock. I think she truly loves her aunt. She thanked me for taking such good care of her.”

  “That’s what I would do if I had been unsuccessful at trying to murder someone,” Jaymie said. “I’d make sure everyone saw me being super caring and loving toward them.”

  Skip’s eyes widened and he stifled a laugh. “You are sassy, aren’t you? I like it.”

  “I’m becoming cynical, I guess. I think I’ll fight that tendency. Most people are good, if not always easy.” Smiling, she exited to the porch. “Oh, and Skip?” she said, turning back. “I’ve learned that Miss Perry is being sued for an incident that happened on her property down by the dock. Bev Hastings, who co-owns the bait shop with her husband, apparently was injured when her leg went through a broken section of the decking. I don’t know how long it will be before papers are served on her, but I thought I’d warn you.”

  “I’ve nursed people injured in accidents and thinking about suing. They have something like ninety days to serve after a lawsuit is filed, but it’s good to be aware.”

  Jaymie sighed. “It’s like the universe has it out for the poor woman, all of this stuff happening.”

  He shook his head. “Not the universe, Jaymie; it’s all about greedy, nasty people.”

  Jaymie got into the SUV, checked her watch, texted her best friend, and headed into town. Valetta was awaiting her with a steaming cup of tea on the top step of the Queensville Emporium. She was watching with interest as her brother showed the big house that faced the village green, a home that was kind of the centerpiece of the village. It had been used as a vacation home for quite a long time, before being put up for sale.

  Valetta handed her a mug of tea but didn’t take her eyes off the house. “Brock’s got a hot one on the hook,” she murmured. “He thinks he’s got the right client, an older couple.”

  “Good!” Jaymie said. “A solid resident in that house will be great. We need access to that land for Dickens Days,” she said, speaking of their annual Queensville tradition, a December festival that used the Victorian appearance of the village and often snowy blanket in December to host strolling Victorian Christmas carolers, selling baked goods and cider to benefit the heritage society. Because wind was sometimes a problem, they used anchor lines to keep the little cider house from blowing over, and the only place to run them was onto the land of the house on the green. No owner had so far objected.

  “The Watsons next door to us are selling, too. I’m going to miss them. Their daughter, Crystal, was a good friend of mine, but she left town years ago.”

  “I remember her; nice girl.”

  Jaymie sighed. “Everything is changing.” There was no one in the world Jaymie trusted more than Valetta, and no one in Queensville who knew more about what was going on, and who was who. She told her what she had learned, finishing with Skip’s discovery of the three past attempts on Miss Perry’s life.

  Of course Valetta latched on to the tale of the medications. “Did she say what the pills looked like?”

  Jaymie frowned. “I don’t know, just . . . pills. Why?”

  “If I knew something about the color, shape, and size I could narrow down what kind of pill it was. If it’s diamond shape and blue, that’s Viagra; she’s on nitrates for angina, so the combination could kill her. If the pill was small, round, and pastel in color—green, peach, blue—it could be
Coumadin, otherwise known as warfarin. She does take a blood thinner because of her DVT, deep vein thrombosis; additional warfarin could cause fatal internal bleeding, especially in the case of a fall.”

  “Like the fall down the stairs,” Jaymie said, her voice weak.

  “She was extremely lucky in that case that the bleeding wasn’t worse. She could have died. And she was smart to not take the mystery pill. But I wish she had told me—or someone!—about it.”

  “It would take some knowledge to do that, and access to the pills.”

  “It would take a little planning ahead of time, in the case of warfarin, but it’s not hard. In fact, it’s simple to look up online, and easy to buy online even without a prescription. That goes for both ED drugs and the blood thinners.”

  Jaymie sighed. “Unfortunately she got rid of the pills, thinking you’d made a mistake.”

  “Oh, no!” Valetta cried, horrified. “You mean all this time she’s been thinking I made a mistake and yet she didn’t say anything?” She set her mug down and took off her glasses with one shaking hand. “That’s terrible, Jaymie! This is serious. I know I didn’t make a mistake.”

  “Skip knows it wasn’t you. I have to tell the police about this, Val. Are you okay with that?”

  “Please do!” Swallowing hard, Valetta nodded and put her glasses back on. “And tell them that I want to talk to them, to explain my delivery methods. I need my clients to know they can trust me and ask me anything. Our delivery guy, Arlo, takes the dosettes from my hands directly to the client, and takes them inside the house. I never entrust them to anyone else. If pills were put in her dosette, it happened after Arlo left it there.”

  “It’s okay, hon,” Jaymie said, patting her friend’s back, then rubbed in comforting circles. “It wasn’t you, we all know that.”

  “If there is ever a problem again I want her to call me and have the dosette brought back in. I’ll check it over and call the police, if need be. Please, Jaymie, tell the police soon, or I’ll worry about it.” She was deeply shaken. There was nothing she took more seriously than her commitment to her clients: their safety, their privacy, and their wellness.