Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “Better,” he said. “Good.”

  He moved as though releasing the hug and I pulled him back, wrapping my arms tightly around him. “Not yet.”

  We stayed that way—me on the stool, him standing in front of me—with our arms around each other until I felt the rest of the world fade away. Then I was able to let go.

  He stood arm’s length from me. “I understand why you’re so upset. Donovan’s threats are nothing to mess around with.”

  “The thing is,” I lowered my voice so only he could hear, “I’m not even positive it’s Donovan. Chances are, it is. But maybe it’s Flavia. Or someone I don’t even know about who’s copycatting him.”

  “Relax.”

  “And then there’s Alan and Nina.”

  “They’re not in the village anymore. They’re out of your jurisdiction. You put out the APB on them so there’s nothing more you can do about the Thibodeauxes.”

  He was right about that. I had to let something go, so I gave my brain permission to be done with them. That helped.

  “I think you’re trying to force a solution. Let’s relax tonight. We’ll have dinner with your dad and sister and then watch a movie or two. I’d say go for a walk, but it’s too cold and it’s dark already.”

  That was part of my problem. I’d gotten used to walking all around the village over the summer, exercising out the stress. In comparison, I’d barely moved during the last two months, and my body didn’t like it. I tried wandering the B&B instead. That was one benefit to having a large home. I started by taking my jacket up to the apartment and walked laps around the second floor until Tripp called up that dinner was ready. Physically, I felt better, but I was still trying to force an answer.

  Dinner was great, as I knew it would be. Dad told us more stories about his time overseas and about some of the amazing places he’d been. It was easy to see from the way he lit up as he talked that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do. His enthusiasm helped me relax a little more.

  Once the dishes were cleaned, dried, and put away, the four of us gathered in the great room for apple crisp and movies. The first was an action-adventure I couldn’t look away from, so I was able to clear my head and get lost in it. The second, though, was a fantasy quest something-or-other that lost me in the first fifteen minutes. It must’ve been good because Tripp, Dad, and Rosalyn were glued to it, but my mind drifted to the Pack members. I should’ve had them all come stay here. That way I at least wouldn’t have to wonder if they were okay.

  Then I played through possibilities of where Donovan could be. No place in the village made sense. He couldn’t be at his grandmother’s cottage, which she had left him along with the former Quin’s clothing store when she died, because the cottage had been leased to someone else after he was arrested. His former assistant Ivy took over the shop. Even though he’d escaped before a judge could formally charge him, the village council voted twelve to one, the one being Flavia, that he be kicked out of the village. There were potential legal ramifications of basically stealing his property, but we’d deal with that when the time came.

  “Jayne?” Tripp pushed my hair behind my shoulder, trying to get my attention. “Do you have any idea what’s going on in this movie?”

  “Movie?” I grinned guiltily at him. “I saw all of the first one, I swear. It was good. This one, not so much.”

  “You look exhausted. There’s still an hour left of this. Why don’t you go on up to bed?”

  I shook my head, arranged a pillow on his lap, and covered up with a blanket. “I want to stay with you guys.”

  The next thing I knew, Tripp was waking me up. “Movie’s over. Time to go upstairs.”

  Problem was, my hour-long nap was just enough to keep me awake once I crawled in beneath the covers with him. Thoughts of Donovan started all over again.

  Then I thought I heard the front door open, which wasn’t possible from two stories up. Then I was sure I heard someone walking in the hallway on the second floor. Then footsteps on the stairs to our apartment. Meeka was out cold, though, and didn’t even twitch an ear. It was my imagination, I knew that, but as I lay there, trying every trick I knew to help me fall asleep, I was sure I heard noises again. Maybe Alan finally returned. His keycard would allow him access without setting off the alarm.

  But what if Donovan got past the alarm? Rosalyn was alone on the first floor.

  I grabbed my Glock and cleared every room I passed as I made my way downstairs to check, for the third time that night, that we’d engaged the system.

  He’s messing with you, Logical Jayne said in my head.

  Maybe, Paranoid Jayne agreed. Or maybe he’s stalking around outside the house, looking for a way to get in.

  You’ve got an alarm system. Sirens would blare on the first floor, and that light River rigged in the attic apartment would flash if he tried to get in.

  The alarm was indeed activated. That didn’t satisfy Paranoid Jayne, though.

  The other Pack members don’t have alarms.

  I glanced toward the pantry where we kept a phone. The other on this floor was in the den.

  You are not, Logical Jayne scolded, going to start calling people in the middle of the night. You need to get some sleep.

  I agreed with that. There was no way I’d be able to sleep clear up on the third floor, though, so I curled up on the couch that allowed me a view of the entryway, great room, and Rosalyn’s bedroom door at the same time. At least this way, I’d be right here if anything did happen.

  A minute later, I heard the familiar clack, clack, clack of Meeka’s claws on the hardwood. She stood next to the couch and tilted her head in question.

  “Donovan,” I whispered. “I’m worried he’s going to break in.”

  She yawned big, jumped up on the couch with me, and snuggled in by my belly. My stress level dropped as I ran my fingers through her fur. It was good to have a partner on a stakeout.

  ~~~

  I woke on the sofa to the house phone ringing. A minute later, Tripp handed me the extension. “It’s Deputy Atkins.”

  “What time is it?” I asked through a yawn.

  “Seven. Any reason, in particular, you slept on the couch?”

  “I heard a noise.” I smiled and took the phone from him.

  “Hope it’s okay that I called the B&B,” Atkins apologized.

  “One hundred percent okay. Tell me you’ve got good news.”

  “Seems Mr. and Mrs. Thibodeaux thought hugging the Lake Superior shoreline up to Canada was a safe route. They were outside of Covill, Minnesota, about fifty miles from the Grand Portage Port of Entry when a Cook County deputy spotted them around one this morning. He dropped them off at the station here a few minutes ago.”

  “Already?” My mind tried to calculate the number of hours from Cook County to Deputy Atkins’ station, but I wasn’t awake enough yet.

  “He’s got family coming for Christmas. His wife wants him to wrap some gifts, so he’s letting me deal with the booking and all that. I’m getting ready to interview the Thibodeauxes. You interested in listening to the feed?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  “You won’t be able to ask any questions, only watch and listen. I sent a link for the feed to your station email.”

  “Give me ten minutes to get some coffee and figure out the link. I’ll give you a call back when I’m good to go.”

  I returned the phone to its cradle in the pantry and then filled a big mug with coffee.

  “You heard a noise?” Tripp asked.

  “I know we have a security system. Alarms will go off if someone breaks in, blah, blah, blah. That was little comfort at three in the morning when I was worrying about Rozzie all by herself two floors below.”

  Tripp wasn’t amused. “The whole point of a security system is for you to sleep better. I’m going to suggest to River that they include a house-wide aromatherapy option along with the security system. Lavender, maybe.”

  “I like that idea. Except
lavender will make me have dreams about Gran.”

  Still not amused.

  “I’ll be fine once we catch Donovan,” I promised.

  He topped off his own coffee. “Did Deputy Atkins have good news?”

  I nodded while taking my first sip. “They caught the Thibodeauxes in Minnesota, in the tip of the Arrowhead, heading for the border.”

  “They really thought escaping to Canada would solve their problems?”

  I grinned. “I’m sure they thought their plan was bulletproof. More often than not, however, the term ‘criminal mastermind’ is an oxymoron.” I pointed toward the den. “Atkins sent me a link so I can watch and listen to the interview.”

  Tripp placed a kiss on my temple. “Good. This will check one thing off your list and quiet your mind a little.”

  By the time I’d signed on to the computer in the den and got the feed working, Atkins had a nervous-looking Alan Thibodeaux sitting at a utilitarian steel table in an interview room. I called Atkins and told him I was ready.

  “As you can see, I’m doing Alan first. Nina is sitting in a cell stewing.”

  A few seconds later, Atkins entered the room.

  “I didn’t do this,” Alan said immediately. “I didn’t kill my aunt.”

  Atkins took the chair across from him. “The medical examiner found an unusually large quantity of prescription drugs in her system—morphine, diazepam, and propranolol. We checked with her doctor. She hadn’t prescribed any of these medications for your aunt.” He paused. “Any idea how she got them?”

  The feed was grainy, so it was hard to tell for sure, but Alan seemed to pale.

  He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “What does your wife do for a living, Mr. Thibodeaux?”

  “Nina’s a pharmacist.” It took a second for the implication to hit him. “You think she . . . no, Nina wouldn’t do that.”

  There was a distinct lack of passion behind his claim.

  “Have you ever heard of physician-assisted death, Mr. Thibodeaux?”

  Alan shifted in his chair. “I have.”

  Atkins remained silent. My favorite tactic for getting an interviewee to offer information.

  “We—” Alan shifted again. “Nina and I were talking about that recently.”

  “Is this a common topic of discussion between the two of you?”

  “Not common. Whenever it comes up in the news, usually during election times, Nina gets worked up about it. As a pharmacist, she feels the option is more humane for someone with no chance of recovering from a fatal disease.”

  “Like your aunt?”

  Alan cleared his throat. “We talked about it once. Nina asked if I would be in favor of Aunt Suzette dying with less pain. Of course I’d prefer she have less pain. I’m not a fan of the physician-assisted option, though.”

  “Are you aware of which drugs are administered in an assisted death situation, Mr. Thibodeaux?”

  After a moment of silence, “No, but I’m assuming morphine, diazepam, and propranolol would be a safe bet.” He sounded almost cocky. “Are you saying my wife gave my aunt a lethal dose of drugs?”

  Atkins opened a folder on the table in front of him. “You told Sheriff O’Shea in Whispering Pines that you had tea with your aunt and wife the night your aunt died. You further stated that ‘between the warm tea and the hot temperature inside the house’ you were ready for bed by ten forty-five. And then you slept until a neighbor woke you the next morning around eight thirty. You claimed it was unusual for you to sleep that long.”

  “It was. It’s almost like I’d been—” Alan rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Oh, God. You think Nina put something in my tea.”

  “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

  Alan leaned his head in his hands, elbows on the table. “It was a tea blend Nina had gotten from a woman at the Midwinter Celebration. Sheriff O’Shea said her name was Morgan something. I thought it had an odd, bitter flavor. Nina claimed the bitterness had to be something in the blend.” Alan’s head dropped forward. “You think my wife drugged me with sleeping pills and then gave pills to my aunt?”

  Again, Atkins kept quiet.

  Alan was doing a good job acting like a victim, but my gut told me he was in on all of this. The two of them made such a big deal about getting something for Suzette when they first got here. It couldn’t be anything to eat, but a drink would work. Something different. Something Suzette wouldn’t have in the house. Because that way she wouldn’t have been able to tell if something had been mixed into it?

  “I was worried about getting Aunt Suzette to bed,” Alan continued. “She let me help her the night before. That night, she insisted on doing it herself. I didn’t push it because I was falling asleep on my feet.” Pause. “I guess Nina could have put something in Suzette’s tea.”

  “According to the pharmacists we spoke with, a physician-assisted death situation requires a great deal of medication. More than could be mixed into a cup of tea, at least.”

  So much for my theory.

  “What are you saying?” Shock and confusion were clear in Alan’s voice. “That Nina forced my aunt to take a handful of pills?”

  “Either that,” Atkins said, “or your wife supplied them, and your aunt took them willingly.”

  My vision narrowed as a scene from the night of the celebration came to me. Nina and Suzette were in the lobby. Laurel had kicked everyone else out, and Alan stepped away for a few minutes, leaving his wife and aunt alone together. Suzette grabbed Nina’s hand hard enough to make her wince.

  “But it wasn’t just a hand grab,” I called out as though they could hear me. “Nina was giving her a baggie of pills.”

  I couldn’t prove it, but my instincts were assuring me that was the case. It must have been planned. Why else would Nina have them with her at The Inn? Nina would give Suzette the pills when they were together, and Suzette would take them when she was ready.

  Then, referring to notes in his folder again, Atkins asked, “Do you recall having a conversation with April O’Connor in the Whispering Pines village commons the day before your aunt died?”

  Alan’s head tilted in thought. “The day of the Midwinter Celebration. I remember. April was very upset over some things my aunt had said.”

  “Your aunt was blackmailing some of the residents of Whispering Pines, wasn’t she?”

  Alan nodded. “Yes.”

  “Was your aunt blackmailing you and your wife as well?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  Quickly, without allowing him to say more, “Do you recall telling Mrs. O’Connor, ‘this is almost over for all of us’?”

  Ten seconds passed, then twenty while Alan formed his response. “I meant that Aunt Suzette was growing weaker by the day. That she wouldn’t be alive much longer.”

  “Interesting way to phrase that. Not ‘she’s not expected to live much longer’ but ‘she won’t be alive much longer.’ Because she had help with that decision, didn’t she?”

  Thank God Rosalyn had been standing next to me that day. Alan’s statement had gone right past me. I’d never complain about her being nosey again.

  “If all those drugs were found in her system,” Alan began, “I guess she must have had help.”

  “Was your wife supplying your aunt with painkillers, Mr. Thibodeaux?”

  “What? She wouldn’t do that.”

  Not much passion behind the declaration.

  “Sheriff O’Shea found a container at your aunt’s house that held a number of different prescription pain killers. Can’t imagine a doctor prescribing that many different meds. Unless your aunt was seeing multiple different doctors. Or had a supplier.” He waited a beat before asking, “Did your wife supply your aunt with pain meds?”

  “I don’t know,” Alan stated flatly. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  Deputy Atkins would be able to do exactly that shortly. After another question or two for Alan, it was Nina Thibodeaux’s turn in the chair.


  Chapter 27

  While Atkins got set up for Nina’s interview, I ran to the kitchen for a refill on coffee. Other than the fact Alan might have known about Nina supplying the medications, one big question raced through my mind: Had Nina murdered Suzette with an overdose or had Suzette requested the drugs and blackmailed Nina to get them? Regardless of who did what, if Nina supplied the pills, she’d be charged with a crime and go to prison.

  “Nina Thibodeaux killed Suzette, and Alan was in on it,” I blurted to Tripp as I filled my mug.

  “Together?” Tripp asked, surprised. “How? Why?”

  “Tell you later.” I flung a hand toward the den. “Nina’s interview is next. I don’t want to miss a word.”

  When I got back to the den, Nina was sitting in the chair Alan had vacated. About a minute later, Atkins walked in with coffee in hand. I glanced at the cup clutched in my own hands and chuckled at how cops worked the same way. Take a break from interviewing to run to the bathroom and then get a fresh cup of joe. If putting the interviewee at ease would help with the interview, offer them a cup as well. But not too hot because hot coffee could be thrown in an officer’s face and do significant damage.

  Unlike her husband’s immediate plea of innocence upon the deputy entering the room, Nina sat silently and still as a statue.

  After the preliminary questions about name and address for the recording, Atkins started right in. “Tell me what’s involved with compounding medications.”

  Nina cleared her throat, as though about to give a presentation to colleagues, but didn’t otherwise react to the question. “On occasion, patients require doses or combinations of medication beyond what the pharmaceutical companies offer. A drug might not be available for various reasons. For example, a drug is discontinued, or a limited quantity of a medication might sell out. Perhaps a patient is allergic to what is commercially available and an alternative is required. Either way, we create the prescription according to the physician’s directive.”

  “This requires specialized training?”

  Maintaining her business-like manner, Nina explained, “University pharmacological programs include compounding coursework. Extra training is available for those who wish to focus specifically on compounding.”