by Cathy Tully
“And?”
“She thinks you are a flight risk.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s mighty suspicious.”
“It’s a last-minute vacation. An old friend talked me into coming along on a family fishing trip. He had already chartered a boat, and I wanted to get there fast, so I decided to fly. I paid for a one-way ticket because I was going to rent a car to meet up with my friend and drive it back.”
“Ummm,” he said noncommittally. “Do you have your car rental agreement?”
“I thought this was off the record. Why are you asking me this?”
Randy said nothing for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper. “Detective Withers is new in town and doesn’t have a dog in this fight, which is why she’s in charge.”
Susannah’s brow tightened. Even thinking about the woman gave her a headache. “I was only going to be gone a few days. I have patients scheduled next week.” She heard her voice getting louder but didn’t care. In fact, it felt good.
Randy put up his hand in a “lower your voice” gesture. “Can’t you see that it might look suspicious?”
“Someone taking a vacation looks suspicious? I rarely leave my practice. I’m overdue for a vacation.”
“That’s not what the detective sees. She sees someone who is deviating from her normal pattern.”
“The only reason I’m not already out of town is because whoever attacked Anita almost killed me.” Her hand flew to the bandage on her head. “I’m a victim too.”
Randy’s eyes widened. “Then act like it.”
Susannah was stunned. “What does that mean?”
His face flushed, turning his nose a deep shade of pink. “Go to the hospital. Refusing to be treated makes it look like you’re hiding something. Withers thought you were more worried about going on your trip than the dead woman in your parking lot.”
“I didn’t know anyone was in my parking lot!” Susannah snapped, stepping back, wobbling as her heel settled into a patch of soft Bermuda grass. Randy reached out to steady her, but she waved his hand away. She heard a squeak and glanced at the truck to see Bitsy’s elbow slide down the door panel as she leaned her upper body out the window. “Keith and the detective withheld that information from me.”
“Susannah, I have to be objective here.” He turned away, rubbing a thick forefinger over his lip. When he turned back, there was a determination in his eyes that frightened her. “Keith is off the case because his wife works for you. It’s Detective Withers’s case now. I can’t stand in the way of her investigation, but I’m giving you a little friendly advice.”
Susannah’s shoulders sagged, and a weight pulled on a spot behind her breastbone that turned her words to dust. Perhaps she should be grateful for the warning, but she was angry. “That would be?” Her voice sounded rough.
“Get your affairs in order at home and in your office.”
Susannah opened her mouth to object but said nothing. His words struck her to the core. Why was she a suspect? She thought back to her encounter with Detective Withers. The woman seemed to dislike her immediately. If two women were attacked in the same way, what would make one of them a suspect?
Randy jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Bitsy. “Have her bring you to the hospital. The EMT thought you had a concussion. Let a doctor make the diagnosis official, then go home and stay there.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Randy nosed his black-and-white out of the drive, and Susannah watched him speed away. She chewed on her lip, reviewing the day’s events in her mind: the call from the alarm company, the drive to the office, and the terrible mistake she made by not going around the building immediately. Anita’s killer had been hiding. If she had driven straight into the back parking lot, might Anita be alive right now? And what about the alarm? Rusty had not been locked inside the office; he was not the wrongdoer this time. So who was? Had Anita been banging on the door, hoping someone was inside the building? Surely she already knew the building was empty.
“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” Randy had said before he left. “I believe our new detective is barkin’ up the wrong tree. But you’re going to have to prove it to her before she moves on.”
Susannah felt weary. It took all her strength to climb into Bitsy’s truck and shut the door. The clicking of Bitsy’s nails on the steering wheel got her attention.
“So, what did you learn?” Bitsy asked.
“Nothing.” Susannah grasped the door handle to steady herself. “Except Randy thinks I should go to the hospital. He’s doing me a favor by telling me what I already know.”
“Well...” She peered at Susannah, a clear I told you so expression on her face. “Let’s go.” She put the truck in gear and headed toward the hospital. “What else did he say?”
“You mean, besides that Detective Withers suspects me?”
“Uh-huh, besides that.”
“He wouldn’t give me any more information.” Susannah sighed.
“So let’s go over what we know,” Bitsy said.
Susannah inhaled and then nodded. She held up a finger. “I know the office was closed and locked, and a lot of people knew it. I know Anita was in the back parking lot, and someone, maybe Anita, tripped the alarm.”
“And we know you showed up and made someone mad, so they clocked you,” Bitsy offered. “But we don’t know who or with what.”
“Right. The detective wouldn’t give me any information. Neither would Randy or Keith. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been very big.” She flinched as her fingers massaged the spot on her head. “Or I would have been a goner.”
“What else do we know?”
Susannah paused, not wanting to divulge her suspicions about Tina and Keith. She gazed out the window, letting the scenery calm her. They passed stands of evergreens, a staple of the Georgia landscape. Puffy white clouds dotted an azure sky. A beautiful June day, ruined by a horrible incident. She closed her eyes and dozed off. The car stopped, and she looked up, surprised to find herself at Henry County Hospital.
“I’ll meet you inside,” Bitsy said.
Susannah made her way to the admissions desk, where a young woman with straight brown hair handed her a clipboard stacked with forms and pointed to a seating area. Susannah retreated to a plastic chair, sitting next to a five-year-old covered in grass stains who jabbered to himself. He and a little girl, presumably his sister, appeared to have been dragged across a wet lawn. The girl wailed, fat teardrops sliding down her dirt-streaked cheeks.
Susannah put her head down and went to work, ignoring the boy, who waved as he danced toward the entrance, his tongue touching his top lip.
“Tommy,” his mother called, “come here.”
“Mama, that lady in the orange cape is waving at me.”
“Come back here before I give you a lickin’.”
“Mama,” the boy said, “the lady is waving at the policeman now.”
Susannah looked up and saw the boy pointing at Bitsy, who stood outside the automatic glass doors, gesticulating at a security guard. He pulled his nightstick from its holster as Bitsy shook her finger at him.
“Mama, is she a superhero? She has a cape.”
The boy’s mother grabbed his hand and pulled him across the room, a look of alarm spreading across her face. Susannah rushed through the doors and was ready to drag Bitsy away from her own brush with police brutality when the guard sheathed his stick and let out a bark of laughter. Bitsy beamed and threw her arms around the guard’s neck. She broke off the hug when she saw Susannah.
“This here is my old friend, Roman Broady.” Roman turned to face Susannah. Deep-set eyes and a stubbly beard gave him a gruff, forbidding look, but a broad smile illuminated his long face. His complexion was a few shades darker than Bitsy’s, and he sported a few freckles in almost the same pattern. He could have been one of her many cousins, but the twinkle in his light brown eyes testified to a different relationship. Bitsy said, “We’ve known each other since we
were kids. When he gets a break, he’s gonna give me a tour of the campus.”
“Nice to meet you, Roman.” Susannah smiled.
“I better get you inside,” Bitsy said, and she waved her fingers at him and shooed Susannah into the waiting room.
“A tour?”
“Don’t worry. I’m here to help you as much as you need.” She perched on the chair that the little boy had vacated. He stood nearby, wide-eyed, enthralled by her every move.
Susannah lifted the clipboard. “I’m fine. I eat paperwork like this for lunch.”
Bitsy rubbernecked while Susannah wrote. “You missed one.” She tapped the page with an orange fingernail, and the clipboard clattered to the floor. The admittance clerk looked over at them with a scowl. “You need to hold on to this.” Bitsy handed Susannah the clipboard, frowning. “Your grip strength is going.”
“So is my patience,” Susannah said. It was her turn to shoo.
Bitsy stood tentatively. “Well, maybe I’ll run to the restroom.”
“Go on your tour, please. That would help me.”
“Only if you’re sure,” she said, already three feet away. “Roman will be so excited. This is his first real job since he got out.”
“Out?” Susannah said, absentmindedly.
“Discharged from the Marines.”
“Uh-huh,” she said without looking up. Bitsy disappeared, and Susannah finished the forms and returned them to the clerk, who pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and took her time reading each page.
Susannah turned away, making room for an enormous man with a bloody neckerchief wrapped around his hand. He leaned forward, raising his hand at the clerk, and asked, “How much longer do I have to wait?”
“The doctors are working as fast as they can,” the clerk said. Susannah gave him a sympathetic shrug and headed to her chair, but before she could reach it, Bitsy intercepted her.
“That was a quick tour,” Susannah commented.
“I think you should take it too.” She guided Susannah away from the admissions area and down a hall past the restrooms. Roman leaned against the wall next to an elevator bank. He straightened up and mashed the call button. The door slid open, and he got in. Bitsy followed. She turned to face Susannah. “Come on, you want to see this.”
The elevator descended one floor, and the doors slid open. Roman motioned for Susannah to go first and held the door while Bitsy followed. The hall was brightly lit and smelled of disinfectant. “Dr. Shine,” Roman began, “Bitsy tells me how much you’ve supported her over the years.”
“Well, that’s what friends are for,” Susannah said.
“You got that right, girlfriend.” Bitsy lifted her upturned palm for a high five and Susannah tapped her hand.
“I agree one hundred percent.” Roman nodded, indicating they should proceed down the hall, which ended at double doors. His eyes sparkled, “My girl Bitsy had my back when we was young’uns. Kept me from a hide whipping, a time or two.”
Susannah laughed, and he continued, “Now it’s time for me to return the favor,” he said, patting Bitsy on the shoulder.
“Oh, you on the right track,” Bitsy said, leaning into his shoulder and nudging him with her elbow.
Susannah observed their behavior, amused. Suddenly Bitsy straightened and looked past Susannah’s head. A tall, muscular woman stood before the double doors. Her black hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, and her scrubs were smudged. She held a surgical mask in her left hand, and her black eyes bored into Susannah’s skull.
Susannah stepped back. She hadn’t heard the door open.
“This is Iris Duncan,” Roman said. “We served in Iraq together. She helped me get this job.”
“I told him there was an opening.” She turned her gaze to Roman, who stood with his feet apart and hands flexed. “He got the job on his own. It was the least I could do. He saved my life.”
Roman shook his head dismissively, and his full lips flattened. “Tell the doc what you told me about the lady who was found down in Peach Grove today.”
Iris glanced down the hall. “Preliminary findings are unremarkable. Cause of death is pending.”
Susannah gasped. “I thought she was bludgeoned.”
Iris shook her head. The muscles around her eyes tightened as she replaced the face mask. “No signs of trauma. The ME sent blood labs out with some detective looking over his shoulder. Never seen her around here before.” She snapped the elastic band over her ponytail and turned to Roman. “I have to get back. Don’t come here again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Susannah, a bag of frozen peas balanced on her head, scooped Ben & Jerry’s nondairy Cherry Garcia into her mouth with a tablespoon. Thankful that her treatment for a mild concussion had gone smoothly, she had rebuffed Bitsy’s offer to spend the night. Instead, she wrapped herself in a blanket and sprawled on the couch, watching Turner Classic Movies. When she was a child, her Nana had instilled a love of old action movies and film noir in her, and Murder, My Sweet played in black and white. She let the twisted tale play out as she pondered the questions that had been swirling around her mind all day.
Why was Anita at Peach Grove Chiropractic? Because of the many PGBA meetings at the Cantina Caliente, Susannah knew that Anita opened the restaurant on certain weekdays, arriving before anyone else. By 9:30 a.m., she should have been in the kitchen, drinking espresso, arguing with Tomás, and prepping for the Cantina’s lunch crowd. Had she left the restaurant, or was she on her way there when she stopped off at Peach Grove Chiropractic? She wasn’t a patient, so she would not have known that the office was closed on this particular Friday. Did her car act up, causing her to detour to the office, hoping for help? Had she banged on the door and set off the alarm, or had something more nefarious happened? Surely, she would have noticed if someone was following her and called the police instead of parking in the back lot, hidden from view.
In her mind’s eye, Susannah imagined an assailant—a mugger or carjacker—attacking Anita. Susannah saw her pleading for help, beating on the window. She shook off the image; it could not be right. The medical examiner had found no trauma. Could Anita have died of natural causes? If she had, how long would it take a medical examiner to reveal this information? Susannah stretched her neck. Most likely, they would wait until those toxicology tests returned. That could take weeks.
She licked the last bit of cherry off her spoon. Detective Withers suspected Susannah because it was logical to think an encounter had taken place. True, there might have been a meeting, but it had not been with Susannah. She clenched the spoon, knowing that she could not mention her suspicion of Tina or Keith to anyone until she spoke to them first. Just because Tina had a key to the office did not mean that she’d been there.
It was with a deadly seriousness that she realized it was up to her to find out who Anita had been with—and why. Finally, comforted with the knowledge of what she had to do, she punched the remote, placed Ben & Jerry in the freezer, and went to bed.
THE NEXT MORNING, SUSANNAH stood at the rear entrance to her office. A sense of foreignness came over her, as if this were the first time she had been there. Rusty lay on the bench and lifted his head, then rolled over. She scratched his chin and checked to see that he had food in the blue plastic dish.
The door opened, and Tina pushed past Larraine and rushed out. Her round, wide-set eyes lent her face an innocence that disappeared as her hand flew up to her short-cropped hair in the exact place where Susannah’s head throbbed. “Dr. Shine, why aren’t you home resting? Keith told me you had some knot on your head when he found you.”
Susannah felt her face burning with guilt. Much as she did not believe Tina or Keith could be involved, she couldn’t be certain until she had more information.
Larraine put her hand on Susannah’s shoulder. “Dr. S.,” Larraine said. Her pale, sinewy fingers held Susannah tight. “Lord have mercy. Look at that bump.”
Susannah imagined what she must look like: her
hair was modified bed head, her eyes were red from lack of sleep, and she was bloated from too much Cherry Garcia. But Larraine wasn’t looking at her waist. Susannah touched her head for the hundredth time. This bump was no badge of honor; it was a badge of stupidity. “I’m fine, really. I’d rather not hear any more about it.”
Larraine opened her mouth as if to speak and then seemed to think better of it. She touched Tina’s arm, and something unspoken passed between them. “Do you want to work today?” Larraine asked. “I’ve had two new patients call in for appointments. Everyone else still thinks you’re on vacation.”
“Yes, I’ll need something to do,” Susannah said, too late realizing that she should pay a visit to the Cantina.
She saw concern in Larraine’s icy blue eyes; Larraine knew that a murder in her parking lot could be a harbinger of bad times for her chiropractic practice. “Good. Tina and I were going to purge the files.”
“Sure.” Susannah nodded. It was probably best for all of them to keep busy. “Purge away.”
The two women headed for the file room, but Susannah interrupted them with a question. “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” she said, making eye contact with each woman in turn. “Is there some way Anita Alvarez would have known that the office was closed?”
Speaking Anita’s name seemed to release the tension from the room, and Larraine wiggled her shoulders, fingered the buttons on her cardigan, and exhaled.
“Well, it wasn’t a secret,” she said, thinking aloud. “I called everyone who had been in last week to remind them.” She waved a hand in Tina’s direction and gave her a thoughtful look. “And Tina sent a blast email out to our entire list of patients.”
“But she wasn’t on our list,” Tina said. “Was she?” Her brown eyes shone with flecks of gold as she looked at Larraine for clarification. “I don’t remember seeing her name.”
“No,” Larraine said, “she was never a patient.”
Susannah steadied her gaze. “Did she call here that morning? Contact either of you?”