Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “Any idea how long she’d been out here?”

  “I got a rough timeline from the victim’s nephew,” I began. “He reports going to bed around ten thirty last night. He heard the victim moving around the house before he fell asleep. A neighbor found her around eight forty-five this morning.”

  “Ten-hour time of death window,” Dr. B mumbled and stood straight again. “After that long and with as little as she weighed, she’s likely frozen all the way through. Body temperature won’t tell us anything.”

  When he gave us the okay, Reed removed the blanket from her legs. Thibodeaux’s legs below her knees were purple blue. Her feet were covered with a pair of ankle socks, but they were likely the same color.

  “Lividity in her lower legs,” Dr. Bundy said as though doing the recording for an autopsy. He checked her arms. “Also in her arms below elbows. I’m guessing I’ll find some in her lower back as well. I’ll check the pattern and get a solid answer when we get her back to the office, but my initial assumption is that she either died in her wheelchair or was placed in her chair shortly after death. Lividity is changeable up to six hours after death, meaning the blood will drift.”

  “In other words,” Reed began, “if she died lying down, blood would have started pooling in her back. If she was moved within six hours, blood would flow to her legs like we see here.”

  Dr. B nodded and looked at me. “Told you before, if he ever wants to become a coroner, he’d be great.”

  “No, thanks,” Reed replied with a grimace. “I prefer to be hands-off when it comes to dead people.”

  “I’m leaning toward the died in bed theory.” When the men looked expectantly at me, I explained, “She’s not wearing her slippers. Her nephew told me she raved about her warm slippers and never took them off.”

  Reed’s eyes went to her feet. Dr. B looked impressed with the detail.

  “How long until you can do the autopsy, Doc?” I asked while Reed snapped a few pictures of her legs and arms.

  “That’s going to be a while.” Dr. Bundy motioned to the EMTs to come and retrieve the body. “Rule of thumb is that, at zero degrees, meat freezes at about an inch per hour.” Reed winced and turned a little green at that description. “When I tried to check her carotid for a pulse, I found her neck solid as I expected it would be. Regardless of whether she’s frozen through, she’s solid enough that she’ll need to thaw before I can do anything with her.”

  Curious, I wondered, “How long will that take?”

  “It has to be slow and controlled or evidence can be lost,” Dr. B explained. “Too quickly and the outside will start to decompose while her insides are still frozen. Think about how long it takes a twenty-pound turkey to thaw in the refrigerator.”

  I blinked at him.

  “Oh, right. You don’t cook. According to my wife, a twenty-pounder will take days. A body will take a week or so.”

  My turn to wince. Reed stepped away to collect himself. My deputy was a queasy one, but to his credit he’d never lost his lunch at a scene.

  “Sorry.” Dr. Bundy gave an apologetic shrug. “You know I don’t mean any disrespect.”

  “I do know that,” I acknowledged. “I may have a hard time with Thanksgiving dinner now, though.”

  Reed rejoined us and, as always, we stood silently and respectfully when the EMTs passed by with the victim on the gurney.

  “Crappy thing to happen going into Christmas,” Dr. Bundy muttered. “I’ll get to her as soon as possible, but that will be a while.”

  “We appreciate that,” I said. “Sorry to make you come so far for such a quick visit.”

  “In this temperature, I prefer quick to standing around for hours.”

  “I hear you.” Reed shot a sideways glance at me. “Drive safe.”

  He assured us he would and left with his EMTs in tow.

  “Time to check inside.” Reed handed me the camera bag and then grabbed the crime scene kit from the van while I checked on Meeka. As I thought, she had burrowed beneath her blanket and was soundly asleep. The sun had indeed warmed up the interior nicely. Still, I took a few minutes to blast the heater and warm up the Cherokee even more. Then I met Reed inside to investigate the kitchen.

  We pulled on gloves, and I took the camera out of the bag. “Since I was already over there, I’ll take pictures of the footprints. We don’t need to add your prints to the mix.”

  “The linoleum is patterned,” he noted, “but we could lift prints using an electrostatic charge or make them visible with Luminol.”

  “Learn that at school?”

  “Yep.”

  “That would be sweet, but we don’t have that kind of equipment. And Luminol will only help if there’s blood, and neither of us saw a wound. We’ll have to go the low-tech way.” I held up the camera. “Digital photographs.”

  “I’ll search the counters and cupboards.”

  I took dozens of pictures of the kitchen as a whole before he started searching and then moved over to the wood entry square by the door. I laid markers on the floor near the footprints and took pictures from multiple angles and of multiple prints.

  “Find anything?” I asked when I’d finished.

  “Possibly. You want to grab some closeups over here?”

  He pointed out a powdery substance on the counter. It was in a distinct line rather than in a pile or scattered. My first thought, naturally, was cocaine. But on second look, it appeared to be more of an outline of an object.

  Reed looked in the dishwasher and found a rectangular cutting board with a long handle. About fourteen inches long from tip of handle to the end. He waited for me to snap a picture of it in the washer then pulled it out and held it over the powder mark on the cupboard.

  “It matches,” I told him and took a picture.

  He scraped the powder from the counter into a small paper envelope. “What do you suppose it is?”

  “Since it’s a kitchen, it could be a number of things. Flour or powdered sugar. Baking powder or soda.” I thought. “What else is white and powdery in a kitchen?”

  “Ask Tripp,” he said. “I can cook but can’t bake. I get my desserts at Sundry or Treat Me Sweetly.”

  “You should take a lesson from your aunt. Have you been in Hearth & Cauldron yet?”

  “Not yet. She agonized over every detail. Asking my opinions on floorplans and colors and building materials. After all that, I have a pretty good idea of what it looks like but am curious to see how it all came together.”

  Did Flavia know he’d been that involved with his aunt? And why did Reeva ask for Reed’s opinions instead of a girlfriend’s? Then again, for as well-liked as Reeva was around here, she didn’t have many friends. That I knew of, at least.

  Returning my focus to the counter, I suggested, “If it’s not an ingredient of some kind, it could be medication. Suzette had to be taking pain killers and cancer drugs and who knows what else. Maybe she crushed them for easier swallowing.”

  I stepped into the doorway, and Alan, sitting as still as a statue on the sofa, leapt to his feet when he saw me. “Any news?”

  I debated for a second telling him about the lividity. Where Suzette died or whether she was moved to her chair after death was something the killer would know. If there was a killer, and it seemed likely there was. Best to hold on to that information for a while. “No, sorry. We’re curious, what kinds of medications was your aunt taking?”

  He frowned. “Nothing for the cancer. She said there was no point. She did take pain medication, though.”

  “Do you know where she kept the pills?”

  “Right here.” He reached for a small rectangular lidded plastic container near the coffee machine, and I stopped him before he touched it.

  “Fingerprints,” I cautioned and retrieved the box myself. It looked like the kind lunch meat came in. I squinted at the pills through the plastic. There weren’t many in total, maybe two dozen, but they were all different shapes. “She kept her medication in here? No
t pharmacy containers?”

  “She said that lid was easier to deal with than a vial.” He bent his fingers into a claw. “She had arthritis pretty badly too.” He sighed. “So much pain.”

  “There appears to be different kinds of pills in here. They’re all pain pills?”

  Alan shrugged a shoulder. “I assume so. Couldn’t tell you what kinds they are. All I know is that she took meds for pain.”

  “I’d think it would be easy to take the wrong thing this way.”

  “If they were for different symptoms, I’d agree with you. These are all for pain, though. She didn’t care what she took as long as it helped.”

  Back in the kitchen, I put the container of pills into an evidence bag, held it up to the light so Reed could see, and explained briefly about Suzette’s earlier pill habit. “She may have been addicted again. Look at all these.”

  “Wow. Amazing she didn’t take all of them and end it.” He froze the second the words were out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. That was an awful thing to say.”

  “Alan said she was in a tremendous amount of pain. I’m sure she thought of it a time or two. In fact, I overheard LaVonne telling April and Lorena that Suzette wanted to ‘end it all.’”

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Maybe Alan helped her end her suffering.”

  “A mercy killing?” My turn to freeze. I hadn’t considered that. “We can’t dismiss the possibility, but Alan seems to be in shock over her death.”

  “He could be a really good actor.”

  I looked at the pills through the container again, then checked to see that Alan was still on the couch and not standing by the door listening to us. “He said something a minute ago that feels odd to me. That Suzette didn’t care what medication she took as long as it eased her pain.”

  Reed started to reply then pondered the statement further. “It could simply mean she accepted whatever script her doctor wrote. Or she could have been getting them from another source.”

  We were on the same page. “And she was happy with whatever that source could supply. This fits as an explanation for the blackmailing.”

  “Demand pills from some and money to get pills from others.”

  “Let’s say you’re right about this being a mercy killing. Alan crushed up pills and put them in her tea last night, but why take her outside? Why not leave her in her bed and make it look like she died in her sleep?”

  We stared at each other for a beat, both at a loss for that part.

  “So wait for the autopsy but start investigating it as a murder?” Reed confirmed.

  “That’s our normal MO.” Unfortunately, we were getting far too good at investigating deaths. In the seven months I’d been here, there had been one suicide, one death via secondary drowning, six murders, and now this. “I’ll send Dr. B an email to test for drugs.”

  We did a final sweep of the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty except for condiments that were way past their expiration dates and a half dozen takeout containers filled with food from the celebration last night. Alan must have brought them back with him since the restaurants and shops would all be closed until Wednesday, and Suzette’s cupboards were otherwise bare.

  “This could be something.” Reed pointed at a small zip-top bag in the garbage can. It was half the size of a standard sandwich bag and twice as thick. I snapped a picture and then he held the bag up to the light. “There might be a bit of powder inside. Hard to tell for sure.”

  He put the little bag inside an evidence bag. Other than that, we didn’t find anything else of interest in the kitchen.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked Alan as we prepared to leave.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I wasn’t so sure I believed that. “If you’re uncomfortable here, you’re welcome to come stay at Pine Time. You can take the room your wife is vacating.”

  He looked at me and blinked. The shock must have been starting to wear off and reality setting in.

  “I promise, we’ll leave you alone. No one will ask you any questions about your aunt.” I thought about that statement then amended it. “Well, as sheriff, I might have a few more questions.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he agreed. “I really don’t want to stay here. I’ll go with Nina to get the rental car and come back to your B&B. Thanks, Sheriff.”

  Outside, after loading everything into the van, Reed said, “I’ll head over to the station and start on the paperwork. I’ll call about bringing that powder, the pills, and the baggie over to the lab for analysis too.”

  “Good. I’ll stop and talk with LaVonne then I’ll be right there.”

  Although, with as much as LaVonne LeBeau liked to talk, I might be at her place for a while.

  Chapter 14

  Stopping at the LeBeaus’ house was more for LaVonne’s state of mind than the investigation. Until we knew how Suzette died and what that powder on the kitchen counter was, we didn’t have much to go on. LaVonne had practically been hyperventilating over the death, and I worried that if she didn’t talk to someone about it, she might implode. Better I be that someone than a random villager. The rumors surrounding Suzette were plentiful enough.

  Although Meeka had been perfectly content in her down parka and wool blanket nest, I felt guilty leaving her in the back of the SUV. I roused her and brought her to LaVonne’s cottage with me.

  “Biscuits when we get to the station,” I promised when she shot a scowl at me. There were tons of warnings about leaving animals in cars. That was mostly for warmer months but . . . “My conscience won’t let me leave you out here any longer.”

  As we approached the LeBeaus’, I couldn’t help but stare at Flavia’s tall, thin, creepy cottage next door. What was she up to? She made that grand entrance at Treat Me Sweetly the day Dad got here and then went dark. Well, she went off the grid. Flavia’s shriveled little soul couldn’t get much darker. I was sure I saw a curtain in a window facing the LeBeaus’ move. Was she in there? Was she watching the morning’s goings-on? I’d put money on it. Flavia Reed couldn’t stand not knowing everything that went on in this village.

  We climbed the steps at LaVonne’s place, and I lifted my hand to press the doorbell button. I hadn’t even made contact with it when the door opened.

  “I saw you coming.” LaVonne stood back, holding the door wide. “Please, come in out of the cold.”

  “Is it okay for Meeka to come in?”

  LaVonne bent at the waist and in a deep singsong said, “Of course she’s welcome. Such a good little deputy. You must be freezing out there, you poor little thing. Let me get you some water and a treat.”

  “No, LaVonne, really,” I began, but she’d already left us standing in the entryway.

  Meeka looked up at me, unsure if she should like this or not. Treats were always welcome in Meeka’s world, but she was in working mode right now.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” LaVonne called from what I assumed was the kitchen, “would you kick off your boots, please? Then go ahead and have a seat in the living room. It’s to your right.”

  We followed her instructions and entered a room that looked like a 1990s country house on steroids that was also decorated for the holidays. Everything was covered in either red and white buffalo-check fabric or a seasonal red-, green-, and white-plaid.

  LaVonne appeared through a doorway at the far-left side of the living room, carrying a large tray. I had no idea where she was going to set it since every horizontal surface was covered with greenery. Then I remembered this offering was for Meeka. She set it on the floor. My K-9 rushed over, unsure which to do first, get a drink from the Yule-patterned bowl or take one of the dog bone-shaped biscuits from the Yule-patterned plate.

  “It’s very cute in here,” I commented, not quite sure if I meant it or not. Then I decided, yes, it was throwback cute.

  She put a hand to her heart. “Thank you. Decorating is sort of a hobby of mine. Since I’m on the comp
uter all day long, sometimes eighteen hours a day, it’s a release for me.”

  That’s right. I’d forgotten the LeBeaus were both programmers. That fact combined with the flowery, very girly decorating scheme and the sweet-as-pie woman with the deep voice slammed together in a pileup of confusion in my brain.

  LaVonne held a hand out to the sofa. “Have a seat. I’d say we should sit in the kitchen, but it’s a bit cluttered right now. I’ve been baking.”

  After seeing the living room, I couldn’t imagine what “cluttered” meant to her.

  I sat, and LaVonne’s butt was halfway to the chair when she sprang back up. “How rude of me. I didn’t get anything for you.”

  She turned, and I raised my voice a bit to get her attention. “LaVonne, please don’t. Meeka did need some water, and I appreciate the offer, but this isn’t a social call.”

  She folded her hands in front of her. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry. We never know how we’ll react when something upsetting like this happens to us.”

  This seemed to confuse her, and I realized her behavior had nothing to do with discovering Suzette’s body. This was how LaVonne acted whenever someone came to her home. The hospitable thing was to offer a beverage and snack, simple as that. If she wasn’t already so busy with her programming, I’d say she’d be the perfect assistant for Reeva at Hearth & Cauldron.

  “Okay,” I began, my notebook in hand, “tell me what happened this morning.”

  She eased back in her chair, then popped up again. “Sorry. I can’t do it this way.”

  Two minutes later, she handed me a Yule-patterned mug filled with coffee and somehow managed to squeeze a plate of cookies onto the coffee table. I had to admit the caffeine boost was welcome.

  “I left the Midwinter Celebration around midnight,” she began. “I had a nice time catching up with the other villagers but had some work I needed to get done. I came home and finished my project.” She raised her arms triumphantly into the air. “Now I have the rest of the year off. Anyway, I went to bed around three thirty but couldn’t fall asleep. You know how that can be? You’ve been up for hours and hours, finally get into bed, and you can’t fall asleep to save your soul.”