Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “This is what you did?”

  “Yes. The option to be able to continue helping patients beyond the norm appealed to me greatly.”

  “Was there anything in particular that sparked this interest for you?”

  She paused. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

  Atkins flipped a page in his folder. “Did you have a neighbor when you were young, a Mrs. Brodsky?”

  Nina’s voice became tinged with emotion. “Mrs. Brodsky lived in the house across our backyard.”

  “She was sick?”

  Nina nodded. “She had ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease. It was awful watching her fade away.”

  I had to say, I was impressed with the amount of information Atkins and his people were able to gather so quickly. Although, one carefully placed phone call could reveal everything required. Such as to Nina’s mother in Winnipeg if that’s where she really lived.

  “Is it true that Mrs. Brodsky begged your mother and the other neighbors to kill her?”

  Nina sat tall, almost regally. “She knew she was going to die. Mrs. Brodsky was a proud woman and didn’t want the disease to take her. Of course, no one honored her request. The neighbors created a schedule so she was never alone. Her husband had died shortly before her diagnosis. Her children lived across the country and couldn’t get to her. The rest of her family lived in Ukraine.”

  “How old were you when all of this happened?” Atkins remained neutral as Nina grew more emotional.

  “Eleven or twelve. Old enough to remember.”

  “It made a big impact on you, didn’t it?”

  She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Brodsky was the reason I went into pharmacology.”

  “Compounding in particular?”

  “I suppose. Hadn’t really thought it through to its origins.”

  “I understand you are passionately in favor of physician-assisted suicide.”

  Her body visibly shuddered. “That term is vulgar. It’s one that the media uses to insinuate that death with dignity is somehow immoral. The proper term, Deputy Atkins, is ‘physician-assisted death.’”

  “I’d say that’s a yes to the passionately in favor question.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Are you aware of the currently recommended combination of drugs used in physician-assisted death?”

  Nina hesitated before answering. “I am.”

  “Did you supply that combination of drugs for your husband’s aunt?”

  Again, she didn’t respond.

  “Did you kill your husband’s aunt, Mrs. Thibodeaux?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did you help her kill herself?”

  “That’s an offensive question.” She turned away.

  “Did you help her die with dignity?”

  Once again, Atkins employed the remain mute tactic that inevitably worked if the questioner remained patient long enough. On this occasion, patience required him to wait three and a half minutes.

  “Suzette obviously knew I’m a pharmacist. It started out innocently enough. She was in a great deal of pain, and I wanted to help her for Alan’s sake. He couldn’t stand to see her suffering. She’d already received the diagnosis of incurable cancer, so I didn’t see the harm in helping her be more comfortable.”

  “So you slipped her a little oxy now and then,” Atkins concluded.

  Rather than simply not responding, her silence this time felt more like Nina debating whether she should tell the truth. For whatever reason, probably realizing we’d catch her regardless of the truthfulness of her reply, she decided to unburden herself.

  “Yes. I provided Suzette with pain medications.”

  “Without your pharmacy catching on?”

  She shrugged. “With enough advanced planning, it’s not as difficult as you might think. The loss of large quantities would obviously be easier to catch. A missing case most certainly. A full bottle most likely. We always do double counts on every prescription. Meaning, the technician fills the prescription and then the pharmacist verifies that it was filled properly. Skim a pill or two here and there and before long you’ve got a baggie full.”

  “How long had you been supplying Suzette Thibodeaux with the pills?”

  “She was diagnosed about a year ago.” Nina’s tone said she was going through the timeline. “I guess I gave her the first batch six months ago.”

  “How did you get them to her?”

  She shrugged as though that should have been obvious. “Sent them in the mail.”

  “Physician-assisted death is illegal in Wisconsin and Minnesota. How did you obtain the prescription?”

  She laughed a little at this question and sounded almost proud as she explained, “Same as getting her the Oxycodone, Codeine, and Hydrocodone. A pill here and a pill there and you’ve got what you need. Especially when the person isn’t choosey about what they take.”

  “How long did it take you to obtain this last batch of pills? The ones to end her life.”

  “As I said, not as long as you’d think. I work for a fairly large pharmacy. I also had motivation.”

  “Motivation?” This caught Atkins’ attention. “In what way?”

  “Suzette Thibodeaux was a master at the art of blackmail. After two shipments of pain killers, she threatened to tell Alan what I’d been doing.” Her voice broke, and she needed a moment to compose herself. “My husband is the love of my life. From the start, I did what I did so he wouldn’t have to see his aunt suffering.”

  “Touching. Are you aware of the details of Suzette’s will, Mrs. Thibodeaux?”

  Her posture stiffened. “That’s not why I did it.”

  “According to statements your husband gave Sheriff O’Shea, he learned months ago that his aunt named him executor of her will. He claimed that he found out when he arrived in Whispering Pines a few days ago that she left her cottage and all of her possessions to him.” He paused, leaving the unsaid statement, seems unlikely he didn’t already know that, hanging out there. “Are you aware of Suzette Thibodeaux’s net worth?”

  “That’s not why I did it,” Nina repeated.

  “Over three-quarters of a million dollars. That’s not including the value of the cottage in Whispering Pines and its contents. That would easily push it over a million.” He waited, then asked, “You’re sure that didn’t influence you a little bit?”

  Once again, Deputy Atkins’ skill at uncovering facts was impressive. It made me happy to have him on my team.

  After five minutes of no response from Nina, he moved on. “Sheriff O’Shea has video evidence of you arriving at Pine Time Bed-and-Breakfast shortly after eleven o’clock the night Suzette died. You then left the B&B at nine minutes after four in the morning and returned again an hour and eleven minutes later. Where did you go?”

  “For a drive.”

  “A neighbor of Suzette’s went over to her home at approximately eight thirty Saturday morning with a coffee cake for Alan and Suzette. She reported seeing fresh tire tracks on the driveway and footprints on the sidewalk. It had stopped snowing sometime between one and two in the morning, so the tracks and prints were uncovered.”

  She didn’t respond. Of course, he hadn’t asked a question.

  “Did your ‘drive’ take you back to Suzette’s cottage?”

  After two minutes, “Yes. I went back to see if Suzette had gone through with taking the pills. Many times, patients will change their mind when the time comes to actually go through with ending their suffering.”

  “Had she gone through with it?”

  “I found the bag I had given her. It was empty and lying on the kitchen counter. It appeared she had consumed all of the pills.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I threw the bag in the trash.” This said with the arrogance of a middle schooler. She knew what he was asking.

  “Let me rephrase that question. Did you place Suzette Thibodeaux in her wheelchair and push her outside onto the patio at the back of her cott
age?”

  Thirty seconds later, “I thought I detected a faint pulse. I couldn’t be sure.”

  “And your solution was to put her outside in the below-freezing temperature to finish the job?”

  “I knew the drugs should end her life, but I panicked. What if I hadn’t given her enough and she survived? I didn’t want there to be any possibility Alan would be accused of this.”

  “Your concern for your husband is very sweet, but I think you were protecting yourself. If he stopped you or Suzette didn’t die, it could all come back on you, couldn’t it? Among other charges, you’d go to prison for attempted murder. So you dosed your husband with enough sleeping pills in his bedtime tea to ensure he would stay asleep while you dealt with his dying aunt.”

  Nina started crying softly. “He took the sleeping pills himself.”

  I gasped and stood straight out of my chair, sloshing coffee on my desk. “In case we tested his blood? I was right. He was in on it the whole time.”

  “Here’s something you may not be aware of, Mrs. Thibodeaux. Since Suzette had received that diagnosis of incurable cancer, the medical examiner would not have done an autopsy. They would have assumed she died from her illness and taken her straight to the funeral home where she was scheduled to be cremated.”

  Nina’s breath caught and then her crying grew stronger.

  “Is that why you were running for Canada? Your minivan was packed to the ceiling with your possessions. Did you and your husband figure you’d be safe over the border?”

  She remained mute.

  “Shame that you love your husband so much. If you hadn’t been so worried about him being accused, or so you claim, you would have gotten away with it. Or you would have until your pharmacy caught on to what you were doing and discovered the missing drugs.”

  Once Atkins concluded the interview, I looked online to learn a little more about Nina’s pharmacy. Next to the pharmacy’s name on the website was an image of a chalice with a snake winding up the handle. A sort of logo for pharmacists. It was also the patch I’d seen on the bag in their van the day Rosalyn peeked through the back window. Nina Thibodeaux and her crime had been hiding in plain sight all along.

  Chapter 28

  I waited a few minutes for Atkins to take Nina back to her cell and then called to congratulate him on wrapping that up so efficiently. As we spoke, I debated about filling him in on the Donovan situation but decided not to rain on his celebration. If I needed him, I knew one phone call would bring him here with a team in tow. I didn’t have anything for him to work off of at this point anyway. We’d be shooting in the dark.

  “Stay positive for a minute,” I told myself after hanging up with him. “Celebrate when you can.”

  Meeka, burning off energy by running laps up and down the stairs and around each floor, appeared in the doorway, panting, and came over to my side.

  I scratched her ears. “We caught the killer.”

  She barked happily, and I went in search of Tripp to share the news with him. He was in the kitchen on the phone.

  “She slept on the couch . . . I don’t know. We went to bed around eleven thirty, and I found her there when I woke up this morning.” He locked eyes with me. “She’s standing in front of me looking somewhat happy. I assume that means she has good news.”

  I held out my hand, expecting he’d give me the phone so I could talk to whoever he was speaking to, but he kept on with his conversation.

  “Great idea. I’ll make a breakfast casserole. Bring whatever you think will go with that . . . No, chorizo. We’ve got tons of it.”

  He pressed the off button and turned his focus to me. “Good news?”

  “They were in on it together.” I told him what I’d heard during the interview and how impressed I was with the way Atkins had handled the whole thing.

  “You sound surprised. Did you doubt his ability?”

  “No, it’s not that. You know how when you see someone doing something you’ve never seen them do before and it’s kind of odd?” He nodded. “That’s all it was. Who were you talking to?”

  “Morgan.”

  Speaking of being surprised. “And you’ve perfectly illustrated my point.”

  “It’s not like you’ve got dibs on her as a friend. I can talk to her too.”

  I sort of figured I did have dibs, though.

  “She, Briar, and River are coming over for brunch. They’ll be here in about half an hour. You may want to go shower.”

  “Brunch?” I stretched. “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten.”

  The interviews had taken longer than I’d realized.

  By the time I was showered and dressed, the buzz from resolving Suzette’s death had shifted into worry over Donovan again. Since no one had called to report any more harlequin deliveries, I assumed that phase of his plan was complete. What would his next move be? Figuring out where he was shouldn’t be this hard. Maybe now that I didn’t have to worry about the Thibodeaux situation, my mind would focus on this and an answer would present itself.

  The doorbell rang right around ten thirty as Tripp said it would.

  “I understand you slept on the couch last night.” Briar handed me her coat.

  “I was too worried about Donovan. Being way up on the top floor like that, I have no idea what was going on down here.”

  Tripp looked at River. “She doesn’t trust the security system.”

  River put a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “You wound me, Proprietress.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust it.” I wasn’t convincing anyone of that. “Okay, the thing is, I’m clear up on the third floor. Rosalyn was down here by herself. If he got in, it would be too late by the time I got to her.”

  Rosalyn clutched our father’s arm dramatically. “Daddy, I’m coming to sleep in your room tonight.”

  “Very funny.” I made a face at her.

  “Trust the system,” River said calmly.

  “We’re the test rats,” I objected. “You’re having us test it because it’s not a hundred percent yet.”

  “We were having difficulties with the voice command module of the video system,” he corrected. “There was a bug in that portion, but once activated, the rest of the system is solid.”

  “Okay, so we were safe,” I conceded. “Am I the only one worried about the others? The other Pack members don’t have alarm systems.” I looked at Morgan. “You weren’t concerned about your mother’s safety at all?”

  “Only in that she received one of those awful things.” Morgan took on a familiar I handled things look. “I made a fresh batch of black salt last night. We were quite secure.”

  I blinked at her. “What’s black salt?”

  “Two-parts sea salt and one-part ash from the fireplace,” she explained. “I added a little black pepper as well for an extra boost. Then I sprinkled it around the perimeter of the house.”

  “Salt, pepper, and ash?” I repeated.

  “Sounds like a recipe gone bad,” Tripp teased Morgan with a wink. “Guess you could blow it in an intruder’s face.”

  We took our places around the dining room table for Tripp’s breakfast casserole, Canadian bacon, and fruit salad. Briar was in the process of making homemade buttermilk biscuits when brunch plans were made, so we had those as well as her homemade apricot preserves. With the exception of Mom not being there, we felt like one big family gathered together. We laughed and talked, and I couldn’t help but think Gran would love this. She always wanted a house full of family.

  We were nearing the end of the meal when the clouds broke and the sun shone through brightly, glistening off the snow.

  Briar shielded her eyes from the glare that came through the dining room window. Tripp jumped up to tilt the blinds as she said, “It’s so white out there. White yards. White trees. White gardens. Everything is covered in a blanket of white.”

  As she spoke, I got a flash of Donovan so strong I had to get up from the table.

&
nbsp; “Jayne?” Tripp asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Everyone was looking at me, and all I could do was shake my head in reply. Something was trying to break through, and I didn’t want to lose it.

  River guided me back to my seat and murmured, “Tell us what’s happening.”

  I paused, straining to grab on to the message on the tip of my brain. “Donovan . . .” I shook my head. The thought wouldn’t come together.

  “Don’t worry about full thoughts,” River encouraged in that soothing, hypnotic baritone. “Use single words.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes. “Harlequins . . . Pack . . .”

  Rosalyn started to say something, but River silenced her.

  “Revenge . . . White.” I opened my eyes and looked blankly at Briar. “White.”

  “What about white?” River prodded. “Follow that thought.”

  “White snow. White blanket.” I was repeating Briar’s words since something about them set this off. “Blue the white cat . . .” That was closer. But why? I closed my eyes again, straining to catch the thought in my mind. “Not Blue. White hair.” My eyes popped open. “White hair!”

  “Whose?” River asked. “Where?”

  “In the window.” I gasped. “Oh my God. I know where Donovan is.” I pulled the walkie talkie from my waistband. “Sheriff O’Shea for Deputy Reed.”

  Ten seconds later, I was about to repeat my call, when he said, “Deputy Reed here. Over.”

  “Meet me at the start of the driveway to the un-church. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  ~~~

  About a quarter mile past the bridge—where I waited while Reed searched his mother’s cottage yesterday—was the start of a long driveway. The driveway led to the un-church where Sister Agnes lived. That’s where Reed and I met, out of sight of the building, to plan our attack.

  “Deputy Atkins is on the way with a team,” I told him. “They should be here in half an hour, forty-five minutes tops. We’re going to wait for them to arrive and get in position surrounding the building before we approach. With only the two of us and Meeka, I’m afraid Page will sneak out a window and we’ll lose him.”