by GP Gardner
“Jim!” Nita’s eyelids fluttered like she might faint.
I took another sip of coffee. “I learned something else since we talked. Lee didn’t run the business. Travis does.”
Jim seemed stunned. He put down his fork. “Did he marry the boss and then bump her off? It’s an old formula, but he had to work fast. Only been married a couple of months.”
“He’s been CEO of Harbor Health Services for three years.”
There was half a minute of silence as everyone digested the news.
Then Riley interrupted it. “Tell us about that girl who worked with Jamie. The little one with all the funny business going on.”
Did he mean Michelle? She was close to Jamie’s age, not what I’d call a girl.
Jim was agreeing with him. “Sneaking around, wanting to empty people’s trash. Got people cruising the parking lot in the middle of the night.”
I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I didn’t like the sound of it.
“Don’t forget Dolly’s ring,” Nita reminded him.
“Twelve thousand dollars, according to her, but that was her fault, leaving it in a drawer.”
“And she might’ve dropped it anywhere,” Nita added.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said finally. “You’re losing me. Is this Michelle you’re talking about?”
“See what you can find out about her, Cleo.” Nita was frowning. “She’s worth a closer look.”
“And it’s all rumors. But let’s correct another thing.” Riley looked at Jim. “It’s not a family business, it’s a corporation, like GE or Regions Bank. Marrying the founder’s daughter, or being engaged to her, didn’t give Travis control. That came from stockholders and the board of directors.”
“And about Jamie,” I said, “she didn’t just leave. Lee sent out a message Thursday night, promoting her to director of the Harbor Village in Charleston. It was a job she’d wanted for a long time.”
“She wanted away from Lee,” Jim said, and Nita nodded agreement.
“And why shouldn’t she go immediately? It’s not as if the funeral will be here.” Nita seemed to be growing more sympathetic. “The body’s not even here. Maybe Fairhope is just too negative a place for her under the circumstances. Maybe she needed to get away.”
“Now about Travis McKenzie.” Jim looked at me. “I’d have more questions about him if you weren’t vouching for him.”
“But I’m not vouching for him. I don’t really know him now. I just can’t imagine that he…” I wasn’t sure what to call murder, if the word was off limits. “The truth is, I hope he’s not involved because of the impact on Stephanie and Barry. Totally selfish, I admit it.”
“And perfectly natural,” Nita said. “I hope so, too. Will you go to Houston for the memorial service?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know her. And I’ve got a job to do here. Did you hear that Mr. Levine is arranging a political forum for Thursday night?”
They had heard and were interested.
“We need things like that, Cleo,” Nita said. “To keep our minds working.”
“Murder does that, too.” He ignored a dirty look from Nita. “Well, I wouldn’t want it to become a regular event.”
Jim had brought a handicap placard for Riley’s car, so we didn’t have a long walk, which was good since a drizzle had started while we were in the steakhouse. The parking lot was black and shiny.
The rainfall increased as we drove back to Harbor Village.
Nita watched it out the side window. “We need rain so badly. Some summers it rains every day, but the farmers are hurting this year.”
Jim swiveled partway around. “It wasn’t supposed to be heavy until morning. I just brought the little umbrella.”
We got back to Harbor Village and Riley stopped at the curb in front of their building. “Take your umbrella and go, Jim. I’ve got a big umbrella and I’ll walk with Nita. You wait right where you are, Cleo.”
“I can walk from here.” But I made no move to get out of the car.
He left the flashers going while he helped Nita out of the car and walked her to her door. Then he jogged back to the car, made a U-turn through the intersection and parked in front of his building. “Just wait. I’m going to walk you to your door.”
We took the sidewalk that ran between buildings. I entered the screened porch and held the door open.
“Have you used this porch at all?”
“About five minutes the first night I was here. But it’ll be nice in a few weeks, with cooler weather.” I turned the lamp on and stepped back. Its glow was a welcoming sight on a wet night.
“Very nice. I’ll come join you some evening if you invite me.”
“I will.” I unlocked the door to the living room. “Do you think we need more security here? Is that why Jim is always patrolling the premises? I admit I haven’t met a security guard yet.”
“Better safe than sorry, Jim would say. And he’d still do his patrols even if you had a dozen watchmen.”
I flicked the lights on inside.
“Very nice.” Riley looked in, apparently not eager to depart. “You’re already settled.”
“Would you like something? A glass of wine, a cup of tea?”
“Rain check.”
We laughed, since it really was raining.
“See you tomorrow. Well, hello, kitty.”
The cat was rubbing against the coffee table. She gave a soft little brrrp and trotted to him, and he bent over to rub one finger against her black and orange cheek.
“She likes you.”
“Did you find out what her name is?”
“Not yet, but I haven’t given up.”
Riley said good night to the cat and to me, and I locked up behind him.
I loved rain, but the drone of the bathroom exhaust fan obscured any sound from outside while I had a long, steamy shower. I put on a cozy, terry cloth robe and went into the bedroom. Rain splatted on the shrubs and the sidewalk outside. I attended to my clothes, putting dirty things into the bathroom hamper and selecting an outfit for the next day. And I set out the closed-toe shoes I wore on rainy days. It would rain most of the week, according to Jim.
Stephanie called but didn’t talk long. “Dad was here. He took us out to dinner.”
“Oh, he’s in Birmingham?”
“Just passing through. He was going to Tuscaloosa for the night. He asked me to ride to Houston with him, but I can’t be gone all week. We went to Highlands Grill for dinner. Have you had rabbit roulade with rice grits?”
“Ugh. What kind of car does your father drive?” The question occurred to me out of the blue, or out of the drizzle, to be more accurate.
“A Lexus. Wish I had one exactly like it. A black SUV with tan leather.”
Uh-oh. A black SUV? My heart sank. “Was it a rental, do you think?” Fingers crossed.
“I didn’t ask. Do rentals have regular tags?”
“I think so. What state was the tag from?”
“Alabama.”
Maybe it was a rental. Someone who lived in Houston wouldn’t have an Alabama tag. But I pushed the whole topic into mental storage for the moment.
I wished her a good night and sent a hug to Barry. Then I made a circuit of the apartment, turning off lights and checking door locks. When I returned to the bedroom, I propped up pillows to make myself a comfortable nest and picked up my book about Fairhope. I’d been captivated from the first page and could’ve read all night, if not for my thoughts about morning. At least I didn’t have to dread a commute.
I turned the bedside lamp off and eased out of bed without disturbing the cat. A rainy night always guaranteed good sleeping, but I wanted to open the window just a bit so I could hear the rain better. I pulled the curtain back, reached for the window lock and froze.
A man was outside,
standing on the sidewalk.
I dropped the curtain into place, leaving a slit to watch through. He had a flashlight in one hand and a small umbrella in the other, and it took only a moment for me to recognize Jim Bergen. I watched him swing the flashlight in a wide arc, side to side, then fix the beam on my screened porch. After a few seconds, he turned and went slowly, carefully, toward his building. I supposed my apartment had been added to his nightly security round. And I decided to leave the window closed, after all.
It was still raining Tuesday morning, a light, misty rain that put a slight chill in the air and gave the impression it could go on for days. In Atlanta I would’ve said it was a sign fall was approaching.
I put on a short raincoat, opened my folding umbrella and dodged puddles on the way to the Assisted Living building. If the police were coming early to interview our temporary nurse about missing drugs, I wanted to be there. It was the police department’s responsibility to find out who had taken the missing pills, but it was my job to ensure it didn’t happen again.
The aroma coming from the dining room just inside the door worked like a magnet, and the staff treated me like a royal visitor. All except Michelle, who wasn’t there yet.
“What time does she come in?” I asked one of the CNAs.
The aide—Rutie, her name tag said—shrugged. “Whenever she feels like it. You know that girl. She works for Jamie, not like us.” I loved Rutie’s New Orleans accent. “Jamie keeps her own hours, too. Makes it hard for us. This a good one we got now.” She took a step toward Ivy and gave her a hip bump, like a high five when your hands were occupied.
Ivy gave her a grin but kept working. She was quite efficient, bringing residents to the dining room, giving every arrival a cheery greeting, consulting a seating chart and getting people into their assigned places. “Makes it easier to be sure everybody gets the right meds. She gave me a wink and directed a resident to an empty seat. “Just change the chart up every month for social stimulation.”
When a critical mass of residents was reached, she began passing out the little pill containers and watching the pills go down.
Other staff members were rounding up late risers. “Miss Amy don’ wanna get up,” Rutie reported to Ivy.
Ivy wasn’t bothered. “It’s so nice to sleep in when it’s raining. I’ll take her meds in later. Tell Goldie to put aside a muffin for her, too.”
Concierge service, and why not? The residents were paying customers, not inmates conforming to the warden’s schedule.
When everyone was in place and the food had been served, I got a cup of coffee and a cranberry muffin and sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows, at a table with three residents and a vacant chair. The topic of conversation was pets, and I told them about my three-colored cat.
“What’s her name,” one of my tablemates asked.
“I’d like a cat,” another said.
“Does anybody here have one?” I was certain I’d read or heard pets were allowed, even in assisted living.
The women at my table shook their heads. “I haven’t seen a cat in years.” She sounded so sad. I felt a little stab of sympathy before I considered she might have a memory problem.
“Maybe we can find one for you to pet.”
“We have a bird feeder, but it’s empty. Haven’t seen a bird in years, either.”
“Maybe the cats ate the birds,” the other woman said.
“What cats? There aren’t any.”
I’d read about pets in nursing homes and assisted living. Research said they had strong therapeutic benefits. I got out a note card and wrote myself a reminder to check on a pet for the residents. When I looked up again, Officer Montgomery was running through the rain, heading for the front door.
I got her a muffin while she prepped her coffee, then we headed for the office Jamie had used. Ivy followed us with the drug cart. And whom should we find in the office but Michelle, sitting idle with the lights off.
“Oh, Michelle! I didn’t know you were here. Would you mind letting us use this office for a few minutes?”
She left, giving a passing glance at the drug cart and trailing a sullen air in her wake. I flipped the lights on and closed the door.
Ivy had wedged her cart into the tight space, so I sat in the doorway to the back office. “I’ll just listen, if you don’t mind.”
Ivy told about doing the pill count the previous day, gave the name of the CNA who’d served as observer and showed us the bubble wraps in which pills were delivered.
Montgomery asked, “And they were all opened?”
“No, pain pills are in their own little bubbles.” She showed us one of the damaged pill packs, as well as the replacement pain meds sent in yesterday by the pharmacy service.
“Any idea how long residents went without pain meds?”
“There were fourteen residents whose meds were taken. I didn’t ask all of them. Some wouldn’t be able to give an accurate report. But three said they didn’t get all their pills on Sunday and one said she didn’t get the usual meds Saturday, either. I asked if this had happened before and she said it had.”
“So your best guess would be the theft occurred . . . when?”
“Friday night or Saturday.”
Montgomery looked at me. “Who would have records of the staff members on duty then?”
“I’m not really sure, since Jamie’s gone. Michelle, maybe. She’s the woman who just left. I haven’t figured out what she does here, but recordkeeping for this program is a possibility. Ivy, what are the symptoms of drug abuse?”
“For Percocet? Depends on how much they take, and for how long. Let’s look it up.” She whipped out her phone and pressed a few buttons then read aloud. “Sleepiness, sweating, headaches, confusion, tiny pupils—that’s interesting—vomiting, lowered respiration.”
“And have you noticed anything of that nature?” I wished I had noticed Michelle’s pupils and wondered if drug use made someone want to sit in the dark.
“We’re all sweating,” Ivy said. “Or were, before the rain started. Let’s see what they say about Norco.” She read the results of a new search. “Malaise, dizziness, mental clouding.”
I had a question for the two of them. “Do you think we have adequate drug security here?”
Montgomery answered, “When did you last drug test this building?”
Of course I didn’t know.
“Just tell all the employees they have to take a drug test within twenty-four hours.”
Ivy agreed. “Some may quit rather than take it, so be prepared.”
“There are two or three labs within a few blocks of here that can do it. Pick one and give them a list of everybody who’s supposed to come in.”
It sounded like a good idea.
Ivy put the meds back into the cart, locked it and removed the key. “There’s a drug test policy posted in the front office, so staff members are on notice they can be tested.”
Officer Montgomery asked for Ivy’s contact information, and we seemed to be finished.
“I thought you were doing a fine job, working with the residents this morning,” I told Ivy.
“It’s second nature by now.” She smiled and pushed the cart out into the hallway.
When I got out to the porch a few minutes later, Officer Montgomery was still there, talking on her phone. I stopped nearby and watched the rain until she disconnected.
“Did you learn anything about that phone I turned in?”
“Learned all we’re going to.” She dropped her phone back into a case attached to her belt. “Which is basically nothing. We may never know who owned it.”
“What about Lee’s phone. Did you find it?”
She shook her head. She was a large woman, 5’10” maybe. The uniform and cop gear made her look like a big round pumpkin on stilts.
“She sent a
message Thursday evening to Travis McKenzie and the HR office in Houston, reassigning Jamie Barnes to head the Charleston facility. Probably one of the last times she used her phone.”
“What time?”
“I can find out. Will you be able to tell from the message where she was when she sent it?”
She shrugged. “That’s not my specialty.”
Both of us were staring across the garden, watching the gusting rain. A green plastic bucket came tumbling out of the garden, bounced across the street and crashed into a UPS truck stopped in front of the condos.
“Come have lunch with me one day,” I said. “I might know something without realizing it’s important. We can do a little brainstorming.”
She nodded absently. “Lots of dead spots for cell service in this town. Only works about half the time down at the pier. So she might’ve waited to make her calls from here.”
“Chief Boozer said she had dinner at the pier.”
“Autopsy said so, or some other place with crawfish and fried green tomatoes, which is their house specialty. And died within two hours.”
“Hmm.” I imagined the analysis of stomach contents and got a little queasy. “Well, I’ll ask Houston for a copy of that final message. I’m not sure why I brought it up. I’d better get to work.” I opened my umbrella and set off for the big house.
Chapter 11
My office looked like a different place.
Even on a gray, rainy day, it glowed with the new paint. It was actually a shock and a pleasure to enter the room. The carpet was clean, there was a six-foot tall tree with a braided trunk sitting at the window and the file cabinets were now a matched pair, painted a subtle lime green color.
“I cannot believe it,” I said over and over, as I circled around looking at everything.
Stewart and Patti were lurking to see my reaction, beaming from the doorway.
“The tree’s on approval,” Stewart said. “It’s a hundred nine dollars plus tax if you decide to keep it.”
“It even smells good in here.”
“That’s the tree, cranking out oxygen and improving your thinking ability. You’re getting healthier already.”