by JL Wilson
"What happened?" Dan asked. "It must not have been illegal since Mr. Bennington is still walking around, a free man."
"Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn't." Penny nodded, looking like a wise Buddha with a smug smile. She was enjoying her little spot of gossip. "The way both Ike and Portia describe it, Michael suggested they invest in a business that was not strictly legal."
I almost dropped my coffee mug. "What?"
"I can tell you, I'm glad I didn't join that club. There's nothing wrong with a few good bonds and solid stocks." Penny regarded Dan with polite curiosity. "I suppose your retirement funds are managed by a pension group?"
I almost rolled my eyes. Trust my mother to try to evaluate Dan's financial stability.
"Part pension, part investment," Dan said. His lips twitched and I could tell he had seen through her politeness. After all, he was a parent, too. He probably knew all the tricks a parent used to evaluate a potential mate.
Mate? My eyes bugged open slightly. Where did that thought come from? Dan and I exchanged a kiss and nothing more. I wasn't going to climb into bed with the guy no matter how sexy he was.
My eyes bugged open even wider. Where did that thought come from? Sexy? I mean, okay, he had a great body. The leg...I hadn't even thought about it much in the last day. I suppose a lost leg didn't mean a man couldn't--it might be awkward, but--when were his kids born? I frowned in thought. No, they were already born when he was injured, so I couldn't take their existence as proof that he could, well, he could, you know...
I sat back in my chair, stunned at the turn my brain had taken. Good Lord, if this is what menopause did to a woman, why weren't middle-aged women running around having sex with all and sundry? Probably because not everyone wants to have sex with them, I decided. After all, as I told Dan, it's not as though--
"Earth calling Genny," Dan said with a laugh, his hand covering mine on the table. He squeezed gently and a rush of warmth went through me.
"Sorry," I said, my face getting hot. "I was daydreaming."
He regarded me with his head tilted to one side, his reddish brown hair curling slightly around his temples. Once again I was struck by his luxurious eyelashes, framing his warm brown eyes, eyes that regarded me with speculation.
I pulled my gaze away from his and turned my attention to my mother. "Hmm?"
Penny continued, her eyes straying to my hand. "As I was saying, Michael suggested they invest in a company that appeared to be fine on the surface. But you know Portia. She decided to do her homework."
"What did she do?" I asked.
Dan's index finger slowly stroked the back of my hand, running over the bones in a faint, tantalizing touch. It was one of the most delicate sensations I've ever felt, like a warm, soft, feather playing with my skin or a little caterpillar gently nudging his way along my skin.
"She googled them," Penny said.
Dan's stroking continued, the very tip of his fingernail running in between my fingers as though questing, probing. "What did she find when she googled?" His voice seemed lower, more husky than usual.
I swallowed hard again. Unaccustomed warmth was starting to make me tingle in places that hadn't tingled for a long, long time.
"At first she thought it was a legitimate company, but she found a few old news articles about it." Penny glanced at my hand being fondled by Dan and one gray eyebrow quirked upward. "The articles suggested that one of those awful motorcycle gang had ties to a man on the board of directors of the company. The man resigned from the board, but Portia still didn't feel comfortable investing with a company that might have ties to organized crime."
Dan's hand had stilled on mine. "Really? Do you recall when this happened?"
Penny looked thoughtfully at the window where sunlight was starting to inch into the room, shadows dancing on the floor from the trees outside. "It was a few years ago. They disbanded the club four years ago, I think." She frowned. "Yes, about four years. It was the same year Amy's son, poor Mark Nimmer, died."
Dan resumed his delicate touching. The calluses on his palm rasped on my hand and I shivered suddenly as I thought of how his hands would feel on my body. "Is that why you wouldn't trust Mr. Bennington?" he asked. "Because of the club?"
"No, I tend to be charitable about such things. I don't think he deliberately tried to fool the investors. I don't trust Michael because I don't trust anyone who forgets where they come from. He and John grew up middle-class, and John never forgot it. But Michael loves to flaunt his fancy car and his pretty house. I don't trust Michael because appearances are so very important to him. Anyone who cares that much about what someone else thinks is unstable." She raised one finger when I started to interrupt. "Perhaps unstable is the incorrect word. I think Michael would be prone to do anything to preserve the image he presents to the world."
I started to scoff but I remembered Michael's hard, cold stare the previous night when he talked about Aunt Portia's land. "I heard a developer is interested in Portia's farm."
"Where did you hear that?" Penny asked sharply.
I straightened at her tone. "Michael."
She muttered something under her breath that sounded like asshole. "Someone's been calling Portia, badgering her about selling. The nurse mentioned that it was bothering her."
"A nurse? At the hospital?" Dan removed his hand from mine and picked up his coffee mug. I longed to look at him but didn't dare for fear I'd blush so much I'd ignite.
"No, one of the home health care nurses."
"What nurses?" To my surprise, I managed to raise my own mug to my lips without spilling any coffee.
"The doctor suggested that a nurse stop in and see her three times a day."
"If a nurse was visiting her, why did you want me to talk to her about having someone move in to help her?"
"Having someone drop in three times a day isn't the same as having real live-in help. When the doctor examined her the other day he felt she should at least have someone check in on her." Penny regarded me with a frown. "That's why this whole thing with the medication is such a surprise. If a nurse was there to check on her and make sure her medication was correct, how did Portia wind up in the hospital?"
Dan nodded calmly but I saw the excitement in his eyes. "Good question."
Chapter 12
"That changes things," I said. "If someone was there, checking on her medication, then how could something go wrong?"
"Those insulin syringes are preloaded," Dan said. He gazed at my mother, raising his face so he could gauge her reaction. At least, I guess that's what he was doing. I wasn't sure. "I wonder if they checked to see if there was any insulin in the drain pipes."
"In the drain?" I looked from him to my mother, who was nodding thoughtfully.
"Maybe she lowered her own dosage," Dan said.
His meaning soaked in. "Suicide? Portia? No way."
"Maybe," Penny said immediately.
"That's ridiculous." I sat up straight in my chair, glaring from Penny to Dan then back to my mother. "Portia would never kill herself."
Dan put his hand over mine again. "You can't be sure," he said softly.
"You don't know what it's like," Penny said with a tremulous sigh. "It's so hard to get old. Sometimes you hurt and there's nothing the doctor can do to make it better. Memory starts to fade and friends die. Tasks that used to be easy are hard now and you hate to ask people for help because you don't want to be a burden."
"Portia isn't a burden to anyone," I protested. "And neither are you," I added, in case that's where Penny's mind was heading.
Dan's hand tightened on mine. "It's something the police will have to consider," he said quietly. "Of course, if she committed suicide, her insurance would be null and void." He glanced at me. "That would affect your inheritance. Would she care about that?"
Penny snorted. "The insurance is the least of it. The property is what's important. And a suicide wouldn't affect that. Portia could leave the land to anyone whether she killed herself
or not." She evaluated Dan with sharp, assessing green eyes. "So you know about that?"
He nodded, releasing my hand again. "I read about it in John's notebook."
"What?" I had completely forgotten about that notebook but now I had a clear picture of it in my mind's eye. "You didn't tell me that. What else was in there?"
"What notebook?" Penny demanded.
Dan spoke before I could. "Genny's husband left a few belongings at the station house. She and I went through them yesterday."
"Yesterday? It was..." My voice faded as I realized Dan was right. It was a day ago. It was yesterday we kissed. "Yesterday," I finished lamely.
"I'm glad we've established the timeframe," Penny said dryly. "What did you find?"
"I'm not really sure," Dan said, taking quick sip of his coffee. He stared fixedly at my mother, as though avoiding my eyes. "There were figures on various pages, and on one page he wrote 'Genny inheritance' and something like 'farm, buildings, stock, Portia.' I assumed that meant he talked to Genny's aunt about it."
"John told me he talked to Aunt Portia before he died," I said. "Maybe that's what they talked about."
My mother tilted her head and regarded me with alert curiosity. "John told you? When?"
Oops. I was getting my who told what to who mixed up again. "Paul told me," I amended. "He told me he came in to the station house and John was on the phone. I wonder what John and Portia discussed." I pushed my chair back. "Speaking of which, I'd like to get to the hospital and see her before lunch." I looked at Dan, who still avoided my eyes. "Do you want to join me?"
He nodded. "I'll visit with you this morning and this afternoon we can go to her farm. Maybe there are things I can do to help around the house." He smiled apologetically at Penny. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for an all-day hospital visit."
"Portia wouldn't want you spending your whole vacation sitting by her bed," Penny said. "Now that you mention it, I know Portia is worried about that oak tree near the garage. She's afraid one of the limbs is too low and needs trimming. And the barbeque grill needs a new leg or something. I'm sure once you get to the farm you'll find plenty to keep you busy."
Dan appeared so relieved I almost laughed. I suppose he had entertained visions of us sitting in a hospital next to an elderly woman for five days. I knew Portia wouldn't stand for that, though, and the thought hadn't crossed my mind. "What time do you need us back here for lunch?" I asked as I put my used coffee mug into the sink.
"Any time. It's only sandwiches. We can put it together in a few minutes." Penny rose when Dan did and went with us to the front door. "Take your time. I know Portia is looking forward to your visit, but don't feel you need to stay there and keep her company."
I hugged Mom, the fragile bones under her lightweight sweater giving me a pang. How much longer would I have her with me? I hugged her tighter. "Will do," I said, inhaling her fragrance of powder and shampoo.
"Thanks again for letting me barge in like this," Dan said as he opened the door for me. "I appreciate a chance to get out of the city and relax."
Penny laughed. "You may not relax once you get to the farm and see all that needs to be done. Pick and choose your projects and try to enjoy yourself."
She closed the door behind us and the warmth of the moist, humid morning surrounded us. I sniffed, inhaling the heady aroma of cut grass from the next door neighbor's yard. "You don't have to do any chores," I said as I backed the car down the driveway. "Really."
"I meant what I said." Dan slid his cane next to the door and leaned back in his seat. "I'd like to get a chance to go to the house and poke around. I need to call Chief McCord and touch base with him, too. Maybe he can come to the farm. That might attract less attention than if I go to his office."
I thought of the police station, smack in the middle of town and next to the Clip Joint Beauty Salon, a hub of gossip and news. "Good idea," I said.
We drove to the hospital, which was six blocks away from our house, with me pointing out various sights along the way such as the high school, swimming pool, and rec center. "Open for roller skating and weightlifting," I said. We pulled in to the small parking lot at the equally small hospital, which was down the street from the rec center.
"Not simultaneous activities, I hope," Dan said, as he examined the one-story brick structure in front of us. "A town this size is lucky to have a hospital."
"It's small but adequate," I agreed. "Most people are transferred to Mankato or the Twin Cities for extensive care, but this place can handle the rest." We went into the front entrance and I went immediately to the hall that branched off the lobby, on the right. I sniffed cautiously, but it didn't smell too much like hospital. The recent remodeling had gone a long way to making it a more hospitable hospital. I remembered when Dad was in here and we spent hours by his bedside. Since then, the smells and sounds of a hospital always creeped me out.
After a second's startled hesitation, Dan followed me. "How do you know where she is?" he asked, glancing at the Information Desk behind us and the two elderly gentlemen who sat behind the Volunteer sign there, one reading the newspaper and the other peering at his computer screen where a Scrabble game was in progress.
"All patient rooms are this way," I said. "There's only a dozen. I'm sure she's here somewhere." I glanced into a room as we passed, but it was empty, as were the two next to it. But in the next room on the left I saw a familiar white-haired woman. "There she is." I veered into the room, almost colliding with a young nurse in a pink and white uniform who was leaving, tray in hand.
"Perfect timing, we just got done with a bath." The woman's gaze ricocheted past me to Dan. "If you need anything, press the button." As she sashayed past us, I noticed that her uniform wasn't the usual baggy sweatsuit-like design but was more fitted, showing off her curves. I also noticed the design on her pants was a coy looking bunny on a pink background, complete with tall ears and fluffy tail. Was she an escapee from pediatrics or was she trying to be cheerful?
I went further into the room, glancing back at a shuffling noise. Dan and the nurse were facing each other in the doorway, Dan leaning on his cane and the nurse moving sideways, holding the tray high to make room for Dan. There was ample space for him to pass her, but holding the tray that way highlighted her shape.
Dan smiled politely and joined me at the bedside. I raised an eyebrow and glanced back at the nurse, who watched us from the doorway. "You've made a friend," I said in a low voice.
Dan tilted his head toward me. "Now, now," he murmured. "Be nice." He turned his gaze to Portia, who had missed this little exchange while she was struggling to sit up in the bed. "Can I help you?" he asked, leaning forward.
"I've got it," Portia said, punching the button on the side of the bed that raised the back upward. "Genny, when did you get to town? I thought you were coming tomorrow." She stared pointedly at Dan, who nodded politely.
"We came a day early when I heard you were in here." I eyed my aunt, relieved to see she appeared better than I anticipated, although she still seemed like a small, frail child. Portia's white hair was loosely permed and fly-away, slightly matted from lying down. Her skin, parchment-thin and wrinkled, was pale except for the spots of color on her high, round cheeks. She still had an impish look in her faded blue eyes and her smile was as broad as ever, reminding me of the old lady in the movie Titanic who so charmed people on the salvage ship. "This is Dan Steele, a friend of mine," I said. "He wanted to come here and see a real small-town Fourth of July."
Portia extended her hand and Dan took it, giving it a gentle shake. As he drew a chair near the bed, Portia watched him closely, her eyes flickering to his cane before she focused on his face.
"Genny told me about your illness," he said. "I hope you're feeling better."
"I feel a hell of a lot better today than I did yesterday, that's for sure." Portia patted the side of the bed. "Have a seat, Genny. Sit awhile." She gestured to the chair. "Have a seat, Dan. Please."
I sat, pushing
the rolling cart-tray out of my way. "What happened, Portia? How did your medication get goofed up? Any ideas?"
She waved one blue-veined hand. "That's not important. I'm so glad you're here. I hope you'll go to the farm for me and handle something."
"Of course we will." I exchanged a glance with Dan, who looked as surprised as I felt. "But aren't you worried about the medication mix-up? That's dangerous, Portia."
Once again, she waved it away. "This illness isn't a bad thing." Portia peered around the room as though inspecting it for wiretaps. "I need to stall them," she said in a loud whisper. "They're trying to take the farm. With me here in the hospital, they can't do it."
"Okay," I said uncertainly.
"You go read for yourself. It's at home, in the drawer of that table next to my chair. You get the letter and read it, Eugenia. We need to make a plan." She balanced on her elbows and peered over the foot of the bed at Dan. "You, too. You seem smart enough. You can help." One of her bony hands shot out and clasped my wrist. "Promise me you'll stay at the farm. Promise. Don't let them get the farm."
I saw the fear in her eyes. "I promise," I said automatically.
Dan leaned forward, sunlight from the window targeting the reddish highlights in his hair. "Who's after your farm?"
"They've been sending me letters and calling me. They want the land."
I clasped Portia's hand. Her fingers were so frail and cold. "Don't worry. You don't have to sell the land unless you want to."
That seemed to relax her somewhat. She lay back on her rumpled pillows, her hand still in mine. "You read that letter and make sure Amy sees it. We all need to talk. She's coming home tonight, you know." Portia didn't wait for me to speak, but focused on Dan. "Amy is Genny's sister-in-law. She's my niece, too."
"Yes, ma'am, I know." Dan tilted his head slightly toward Portia. Ask her, he mouthed.
Oh, yeah. I was supposed to ask her about John. "Did Mom tell you that the fire officials are re-opening the investigation into John's death?" I paused, suddenly unsure. Who had reopened the investigation? Was it the police? The FBI? I shelved that question for later. "The people in charge may want to talk to you because you talked to John on the night he died."