Your Eight O'clock is Dead

by Kat Jorgensen

  “She killed Robert! She didn’t love him. But she couldn’t lose him. So she killed him.” Anna fought the two men holding her with superhuman strength, bucking and kicking.

  Dr. Dick’s partner, Marcy Palmer, appeared out of nowhere, or so it seemed. She carried a hypodermic in her hand and while my granddad and Dr. Dick tried to hold Anna still, Marcy administered the shot. Within seconds Anna’s body relaxed. Wow! Wonder what Marcy had given her. I was willing to bet Emily would pay good money for whatever that hypo contained.

  It had to be better than pot.

  “Dick, help me get her over to my car.” Marcy gestured to a dark blue BMW double-parked in front of the house.

  “Becca, would you please help us?”

  Reacting instantly to the request, I sprang into action. Anna’s head drooped forward, and it was obvious to me that she was out cold. I made a mental note to stay away from Marcy when she was carrying needles. That was some powerful stuff.

  “Is she going to be all right?” I asked as I huffed and puffed my way to the Beemer.

  Marcy raced ahead of us and threw open the passenger door. “Yes, she’ll be fine. I gave her a sedative, but due to the alcohol in her system it reacted quite fast.” Marcy looked at me with gratitude. It made a nice change from Dr. Dick’s usual attitude toward me.

  “I’ve got it from here, Miss Reynolds,” Dr. Dick said.

  His comment came grudgingly, making it clear I was merely the hired help. Or pond scum. In other words, no thanks necessary. He positioned Anna into the BMW’s front seat and strapped her in with the seat belt and shoulder harness. Making sure she was settled in, he carefully shut the door. Dr. Palmer hurried to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

  “Marcy, are you going to need help?” Dr. D. asked his partner.

  “What do you think, Dick? Follow me.”

  And with that, she sped off.

  I hoped to heck that Dr. Dick knew where Anna Blake lived. Without so much as a thank you, Becca, he ran for his car.

  I turned back toward the house.

  Most of the guests had gathered on the porch or the lawn to watch the spectacle unfold before their eyes. The one person noticeably absent was Edna St. Vincent O’Malley.

  Granddad joined me where I’d become rooted to the lawn. “You okay, baby?”

  “Just peachy. How about you, Granddad?”

  “Well, not the most typical after-funeral gathering I’ve ever been to. Do you know that woman?” Granddad jerked his head toward the street where Marcy’s car had been illegally parked.

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the doctor or her patient.

  “The woman driving was my other boss, Dr. Palmer.”

  Granddad had heard me mention Marcy. She was my bud. All “first names” and “just us girls.” She respected my ideas for making the office run more efficiently and regularly remarked on my comfort and ease with the patients and how they tended to open up to me, sometimes even more than with their therapist. As much as Dr. D. bitched about me, Dr. P. defended me.

  So to my way of thinking, it all evened out.

  “And the woman who made the scene, that was one of our patients.” Granddad peered over his glasses at me like I hadn’t needed to clarify that. I continued to search the crowd for Edna. Not seeing her, I edged my way through the mourners and reentered the house.

  Emily and Louisa were comforting a tearful Edna. When Louisa saw me, she left her daughter and came toward me.

  “My daughter did not kill her husband.”

  Wow! I hadn’t given that any thought. “Of course not.”

  “Edna needs her rest. Emily and I are going to get her settled upstairs before everyone comes back inside. Please keep people out, if you’d be so kind. I’m sure Ezra and the twins will help you if you can find them.”

  With that Mrs. Smith left me with my jaw hanging slack. Crowd control? I don’t think so. I can’t even control my granddad or Higgins. The first person to try to come through the front door was Jack. Oh, great.

  I marched over to him.

  “The family has asked that everyone remain outside.” Jack peered past me, watching the three women leave the room.

  “What’s up?” he asked with that ingratiating voice he used when he was sniffing out details. Most people considered it sympathetic. I considered it slimy.

  “None of your concern. This has been very upsetting to Mrs. O’Malley.”

  Jack tried to move past me.

  I held my ground.

  “Becca, I’m her husband’s attorney. I can provide her with sound legal advice during this time of need.”

  “She doesn’t need legal advice, sound or otherwise. She needs rest. Now make yourself useful for once and go find the rest of the Smiths.”

  Jack winked at me. “For you, anything.” Jack stepped closer to me. Too close. The man was invading my space. I knew his moves all too well. When he leaned in for a kiss, I almost lost it but turned my face in time for him to connect with my cheek and not my lips. Still, I felt like I’d been slimed and thought I was going to throw up on the Oriental runner. How could I have ever thought his boyish good looks were attractive or his charm genuine?

  We had a history and that history probably colored any ability I had to be objective where he was concerned.

  Truth was, women did find Jack both attractive and charming. Gross.

  Thank goodness I was now immune.

  “Becca, you need some help here?” God bless my granddad. He glowered at Jack who had the good sense to make himself scarce.

  “Once we find the rest of the Smiths, we’re done here.” I needed some time to myself. Time to think about all I’d learned regarding Robert O’Malley’s death and the people who had a grudge against him. Who had killed Robert O’Malley? And why?

  I had a feeling that not only my job depended on the answer, but the survival of Daley & Palmer.

  Chapter 8

  The offices of Daley & Palmer remained closed. It had been four days since Robert O’Malley’s funeral, and for me, that meant four more days without pay. And four more days with Granddad and Higgins. For most of that time I’d been ready to pull my short blonde hair out by its dark roots, roots I couldn’t afford to touch up. If I didn’t get back to work soon, I was going to have to find a temporary job to tide me over. Just the thought made me shudder.

  In my short life, I’d held what seemed like a multitude of ill-suited jobs. For instance, in college, I’d done a brief, very brief, stint as a waitress, something I didn’t want to repeat. Ever. Not that I thought there was anything wrong with serving the public. I just shouldn’t be serving the public. Spilled drinks, wrong orders, and customers who were never satisfied.

  Add in the jerks who tried to pinch my butt while I carried a heavy tray I invariably dropped and it was about as far away from my dream job as I could get.

  But I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I was older now, and hopefully less clumsy and more adept at dealing with men. I repressed the involuntary snort that threatened and pushed the thought of server to the back burner of my brain.

  Slashing through the job section of the classifieds, I drew a big red X through listing after part-time listing. My stomach gave that crazy flip it did whenever I got really nervous. At this point, I refused to consider the full-time listings. My gut instinct told me that Daley & Palmer was where I belonged. Even if Drs. Daley & Palmer didn’t realize it.

  Yet.

  “Becca, where are you?”

  Only my granddad could lose me in a two-bedroom Cape Cod. “In the den, Granddad.”

  “Oh, there you are.”

  Granddad hurried in with Higgins close on his heels.

  “What’s up?” I set aside the classified section of the newspaper glad for the reprieve.

  “Just got a call from that man you work for. He said they had enough clients lined up tomorrow for you to go to the office.”

  I jumped up off of the sofa and hugged Grandd
ad and planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

  He stilled my bouncing body.

  “Save your energy for those nutcases.”

  “Granddad! That’s no way to talk about our patients. These are people who are seeking treatment for the things that are wrong in their lives. I love our patients, well most of them. And I applaud them for getting help with their problems.”

  “Not the patients, honey. Those two weirdoes you work for. Now talk about strange.” Granddad picked up the discarded newspaper I had so carelessly flung aside and proceeded to refold it in half and smooth it out.

  He then folded it in quarters and placed it in a special bin he kept near the door for recycling. I loved Granddad, but he was definitely a neat freak, especially for a man.

  “Most therapists are a bit strange. It’s the nature of their business. They have to deal with all types of people, so they make a career out of studying behavior and all kinds of weird stuff.” My defense of my employers lost some of its steam as I watched Granddad take out a cloth from his back pocket and dust the tables on either side of the couch. I couldn’t see a speck of dust before he started, but the way he worked the wood, it was clear he thought he’d seen a bunch.

  “All I’m saying, honey, is that your doctors aren’t normal.”

  This from a man dusting non-existent dust.

  “I can’t wait to get back to my job. I wonder if they’ll count these days off as part of my probation?”

  Granddad shook his head and kept dusting imaginary particles from the furniture. “Don’t know why they want their office manager to go through a probationary period. Seems damn stupid if you ask me. They’re lucky to have you.” He rubbed vigorously at a small spot on the coffee table. Maybe dusting was his form of therapy.

  I knew I had to come clean sooner or later about my real title at work, but I sensed now wasn’t the time.

  Nor was it the right time to tell him that although Marcy appreciated me, Dr. Dick didn’t consider himself in any way, shape or form lucky to have me as an employee. He barely knew I was alive unless he needed something. As far as he was concerned, I was office equipment.

  No longer feeling quite so cheery about returning to work thanks to my Granddad planting a heavy dose of reality into my brain, I reminded myself that the money I earned at D & P would move me one step closer to an apartment of my own.

  “Isn’t that Higgins’ toy over there poking out from under the edge of the rug?” I asked, figuring Granddad would be right on it, picking it up and acting all neat-freaky about the cat’s stuff. It would be a great way to change the subject of my employment and my employers.

  “Becca, he’s just a baby. He’s going to leave his toys around.

  I wish you wouldn’t worry so much about how the place looks.”

  I rolled my eyes so violently I gave myself the equivalent of an ice cream headache. Baby, my Aunt Esther. By human years, that cat was eligible for Medicare. Deciding it was a losing battle to argue with Granddad where his beloved cat was concerned, I decided to go pick out my outfit for tomorrow.

  The sudden ringing of the phone caused both of us to jump.

  “I’ve got it.” I snatched the portable phone off of the table by my Granddad’s leather recliner. “Yes, he’s here. Hold on just a minute.” A crying female for my grandfather.

  Granddad took the receiver from me. Shamelessly, I stayed in the room and eavesdropped. I couldn’t get much out of his end of the conversation, so I waited until he hung up the phone.

  “Who was that?” I asked trying to sound conversational and not inquisitive.

  Granddad turned back to me, his normally pink cheeks pale. “Edna O’Malley has been arrested for the murder of her husband.”

  “What?” I blurted out with definitely an outside voice.

  Granddad wasn’t paying attention to me. Instead, he removed the comfortable and holey hand-knit sweater my gram had lovingly made for him and headed to his bedroom. I followed in his wake.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to the jail. This is ridiculous. That woman could no more kill someone than you or I.”

  What Granddad said was the truth. Edna O’Malley struck me as a gentle soul. But why was my grandfather getting involved in this?

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go to the jail?” I asked him. “They probably won’t even let you see Mrs. O.”

  Granddad speared me with a look that said I’m doing it my way. Now I knew where I got my stubborn streak.

  “Edna’s like a daughter to me. Of course, I’m going.”

  “Well, if you’re going, then I am, too.” I shot him what I hoped passed for the same look he’d given me. By his reaction, he recognized the expression and knew there was no reasoning with me, either. Good. We understood each other.

  Without consulting each other, both of us quickly changed into khaki slacks and blue shirts - something more suitable for jail visitation, which by the way isn’t covered in any etiquette book I’ve read, and hurried off to the Henrico County pokey.

  “Marty, Becca, I’m so glad you came.” Edna entered the windowless room and walked over to a small wooden table. Her gray prison jumpsuit reminded me of the one Martha Stewart wore during her incarceration. It was hideous, especially on someone as stylish as Edna O’Malley.

  Edna motioned for us to sit across from her as if she were seating guests at a dinner party instead of receiving visitors at a prison. Lest we forget where we were, a guard stationed at the door observed our every move. I forced myself to breathe in and out through my mouth and placed a hand on my mid-section trying to center my breathing. Once I got back to work, I’d borrow one of Dr. Dick’s medical books and reread that chapter on panic attacks. This deep breathing thing wasn’t doing a whole lot for me. Dead bodies, police station interrogation rooms, funerals, prisons. It was all more than a little depressing.

  Granddad reached out to hug Edna. The guard stepped forward. “No contact with the prisoner.”

  I swallowed hard. That was harsh. I would think being in a place like this you’d need all the hugs you could get. Except maybe from a cellmate named Bertha.

  Granddad stepped back.

  “What can we do, Edna?” he asked, the lines on his face deepening.

  “Nothing, Marty. I’ve called an attorney. He should be here shortly. I’m innocent. I swear I am. Sure, Robert and I had a few problems, but I would never have sought violence as a solution. You do believe me, don’t you?” Edna implored, desperation seeping into her words.

  Granddad and I nodded yes in unison. “It’s going to be all right. The police are way off base. They always go for the spouse. In this case, they’ve missed the mark,” Granddad said.

  “Oh, Marty.” A single tear rolled down Edna’s pallid face before she collected herself and regained her composure. “You’re a good friend.”

  I was about to say something encouraging when the officer spoke. “Time’s up.”

  Edna rose and stepped toward the door that led back into the prison population, her normally perfect posture marred by the slump to her shoulders. My heart broke for her.

  “Come on, Becca. Let’s get out of here.”

  We left the jail in silence.

  Once outside, I gulped in huge amounts of fresh air and my mood lightened somewhat. That is until I spotted my ex-husband striding straight toward us. Uh-oh.

  It had been hard enough to diffuse the hostility between my grandfather and Jack just days ago at the O’Malley home, and granddad had been on his best behavior then. Right now he was still all fired up from the visit with Edna and the injustice of her incarceration. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  “Small world, Becca,” Jack smiled at me like I was a member of a jury he was trying to impress.

  “Certainly smaller than I’d like,” I replied while unlocking the door for my grandfather and trying to stuff him into the car before he could get into it with Jack.
“Visiting one of your less-than-stellar clients?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help Edna O’Malley.” Jack dropped his well-placed bomb at our feet and stood there obviously waiting for our reactions.

  Granddad jumped up so fast he hit his head on the top of the doorframe. “You stay away from that woman!” he growled and rubbed his scalp where I could see the start of a goose egg cropping up. At least there was no blood.

  I put my hand out to hold him back and inserted myself between the two men. “What are you talking about? You’re a corporate attorney, not a criminal defense lawyer.”

  “Yes, but I worked for the family. I can help Edna.”

  Well, that was news to me.

  At least the part about being the O’Malleys’ corporate attorney. I could have sworn Jack said that he had worked for Robert, not Robert and Edna.

  Winking at me before snaking past us, Jack strolled toward the jail’s entrance.

  I continued to restrain my grandfather. “Let him go. He’s just trying to get to us. You know Jack.”

  “One of the worst days in my life was when you told me you were marrying that creep. I wish he’d just slink back under a rock.”

  Couldn’t argue with him there.

  “C’mon, let’s go home. There’s nothing else we can do here. Mrs. O. has made her choice.”

  Granddad grumbled something I couldn’t make out. He was doing that a lot lately. I didn’t want to know what it translated into. Burning rubber, I got us out of the county parking lot and headed home.

  My mind was stuck on who had wanted Robert O’Malley dead and why.

  “Becca, take your own advice. There’s nothing we can do,” Granddad said still rubbing the ever-growing bump on his head.

  Damn, but he was getting good at mind reading. I needed to develop a better poker face. Maybe Jack could give me some pointers. Or maybe not.

  “Leave that bump alone. You’re just making it worse,” I admonished and was relieved to see that he took his hand away from the alien-like mass that covered a good portion of his scalp. “We’ll put some ice on it when we get home.”