Dr. Shine Cracks the Case (A ChiroCozy Mystery, #1)

by Cathy Tully

  “I only tapped the horn.”

  “Well, tap the gas, and let’s get out of here.”

  Bitsy flew to the end of the parking lot, which abutted the Peach Grove Community Church, and bounced onto one of the small paved paths that ran through its cemetery. She eyeballed Susannah. “Girl,” she said, “maybe we shouldn’t drive through the cemetery because you already look like you seen a ghost.” Reaching deep into her console, she grabbed a bottle of soda and a four-pack of Oreos and handed them to Susannah. “Here’s my emergency low blood sugar supplies. My Auntie Natasha says you take orange juice, but Coke works faster if you ask me.”

  Susannah waved her away.

  “Don’t give me any of that health martyr stuff. This ain’t no frivolous, recreational use of sugar. I can see that you need to replenish your energy pathways.”

  Susannah laughed. It felt good to let it out, even if it was halfhearted. Bitsy churned up some grass as she turned onto Little Peach Creek Road, winding her way into the south side of town. Susannah clutched the door, and the Coke slipped from her fingers and bounced onto the orange floor mat.

  “Don’t make me regret entrusting you with my last Coke.”

  Susannah picked it up and then twisted the cap off and rushed the bottle to her lips. The foam that rose from the neck of the bottle swept into her mouth and settled on her tongue, introducing itself to taste buds that were more used to kale smoothies than carbonated drinks. The liquid was syrupy and sweet, and the foam spilled down her chin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d drunk a cola, but right now it tasted wonderful.

  She glanced at her watch. She hadn’t eaten all day. “How did you know I was here?” she asked, pushing a few strands of hair off her forehead.

  “Oh, my phone’s been buzzin’. Little Junior called me as soon as he saw Officer Young bring you in. Ms. Larraine called me as soon as Detective Weathers stopped harassing her.”

  “Withers,” Susannah corrected, staring out the window. “Nice to have family looking out for me.”

  “You got that right. Now, don’t go spilling no Coke on my upholstery.”

  Susannah put the bottle in the cup holder. “How’s Tina doing?”

  “No word yet, but don’t worry. I got Andrea on it. Now tell me what happened in there? Little Junior only told me they put you in one of them interview rooms. Did they beat you?” She pulled her phone out of a pocket in the door. “Do you have any bruises? I can take pictures for our police brutality claim.”

  “They left me alone for a long time. I should have left instead of waiting.”

  “Trying to make you sweat.” Bitsy kept her grip on the phone.

  “That’s what I assume.”

  “So, no beating?”

  Susannah shook her head. “No.”

  Bitsy looked almost disappointed and put the phone down. “Did they bring in the good cop and the bad cop?”

  “Only Detective Withers.”

  “Just the crazy cop, then.”

  “Yes, I guess you could say that.” Susannah examined the package of cookies. They were tempting. She bit her lip and ignored them. “Do you remember the day that Anita died, you told me that the detective tried to convince Keith that I was dangerous?”

  Bitsy nodded, her eyes without their usual sparkle. “That’s what Little Junior said.”

  “She still thinks that. She believes I sold Anita an herbal tonic that killed her. She interrogated me like I purposely poisoned her.”

  “How did you poison her?”

  Susannah glowered at her, snatching the Coke bottle up and taking another sugary sip.

  “Allegedly poison her, I mean?”

  “I didn’t poison her.”

  “I know you didn’t poison her. I’m prepping you for the trial.”

  Susannah blanched, her knuckles turning white around the neck of the plastic bottle.

  “You’re getting paler by the minute! I told you, you need to eat them cookies, for Krebs cycle support.”

  Susannah tried to relax, but the word trial had her heart pumping. Still, she was grateful for Bitsy’s weird sense of humor. “Krebs cycle support,” she repeated, shaking her head. “How do you know about the Krebs cycle?”

  “I read your blog,” she said with a huff.

  Susannah nodded, distracted by the enormity of the situation. Tina had to be all right. She couldn’t bear any more awful news.

  When they finally bounced into her two-track drive, Bitsy was silent. She shut off the engine, and they sat facing her garden, composed of several raised beds for vegetables. The trials of keeping dry rot and termites at bay would normally elicit a flurry of complaints from Bitsy, but she said nothing.

  After a few moments, Bitsy reached over and gently patted her arm. “Andrea’s cooking tonight, but first you got to tell me why Detective Weathers thinks you poisoned Anita.”

  Andrea, Bitsy’s niece, often cooked as a way of thanking Bitsy for letting her live rent-free while she attended college. Susannah had often enjoyed her country cooking style.

  “I don’t know why she thinks I did it, but she has some theory on how. She thinks I sold her some herbs that interfered with her heart medication.”

  “Hmmmm.” Bitsy moved the truck closer to a magnolia tree. “Tomás said she was healthy, except for migraines.”

  “Yes, that’s what I told the detective, but she thinks I’m hiding something.”

  “Like all those nasty protein bars?”

  “No, she means I have a special computer account designed to hide the names of people who buy things.”

  “You do?”

  “Kind of, but that’s not how it works.”

  Bitsy turned in her seat, her hands still gripping the wheel, and examined Susannah. There was a look of respect in her eyes. “Are you holding out on me? Are you a master villain? I never heard of a bad guy who only drinks water and follows a gluten-free diet.”

  Susannah rolled her eyes. “I drink coffee, too.” She hopped out of the truck, her legs feeling as if she hadn’t stood up for days.

  Bitsy got out of the truck as well and hurried to the front door, jiggling her key in the old lock. “I suppose you could use all that health food and working out as a super disguise.” She looked over her shoulder at Susannah as if expecting confirmation that she was indeed a clean-eating evil mastermind. When she got no reply, she kicked the door, which shimmied but remained stuck.

  Then the door sprang open, and Andrea’s smiling face met them. She wore blue jeans with an orange-and-black Clayton State University T-shirt. She waved at Susannah with an oven mitt in one hand. The aroma of food cooking met Susannah’s nose, and her stomach rumbled.

  “Auntie Bitsy told me you had some trouble at your office again.” Her large brown eyes were tinged with concern. “I’m sorry to hear it. I thought you might be hungry.”

  “See how smart my girl is?” Bitsy hugged her while glancing into the kitchen.

  Andrea chuckled. “It’s not hard to figure out. If she’s with you, then she must be hungry.”

  “You got that right, baby.” Bitsy threw her bag on a counter and made a beeline for the stove. “How was school today?”

  “Fine.” Andrea grabbed a spoon from the garishly painted peach-shaped ceramic spoon holder. Bitsy’s kitchen was an old-fashioned farm kitchen with a deep sink and solid oak cabinets, heavy on the peachy accents. The table was long enough to accommodate the passel of Long family members who showed up for Bitsy’s after-service luncheons. Susannah chose a chair and sank into it. The smell of chicken and roasting potatoes filled the air. She leaned back and looked around the room. “I’m starving,” Susannah said, remembering the phone call at her desk, which seemed like days ago.

  Bitsy’s eyes widened. “See, it was a good thing I gave you my emergency pack.”

  “Did she try to foist off that old package of Oreos on you?” Andrea grinned, stirring the pot.

  Susannah matched her grin. “She did.” She looked sideways
at Bitsy, who had her hands on her hips as she bent peering into the oven. “But it was for the good of my energy pathway.”

  Andrea burst out laughing. “Auntie Bitsy, you’re crazy.” She shooed her away from the oven by waving the orange-and-green oven mitt and opened the door. “I hope you like roasted chicken.”

  “I prefer fried,” Bitsy replied.

  “I know you prefer fried,” Andrea said, removing the pan from the oven and placing it on the stovetop. She picked up a fork and knife and sliced into it. “But roasted is healthier. Besides, I was talking to our guest.”

  “Oh,” Bitsy said, taken aback. She glanced at Susannah as if noticing her for the first time and then waved her fingers, tapping Andrea good-naturedly on the nose. “She’s not a guest, she’s family, so don’t get carried away trying to please her with no specialized cauliflower mashed potatoes or gluten-free biscuits. This here is a traditional cooking household.”

  “Don’t worry, I roasted the potatoes with the chicken, like my mama does.” She turned and winked at Susannah. “They’re both naturally gluten-free.”

  Bitsy inspected the contents of the roasting pan. “Well, it smells good enough, so let’s eat.”

  Andrea placed the chicken on a platter and spooned the potatoes next to it. Susannah watched the juices run from the bird, and her stomach rumbled. The food looked and smelled enticing.

  Andrea dug a spoon into a bowl of black-eyed peas and handed it to Susannah. Bitsy rummaged around in the refrigerator, found a bottle of sparkling water, and placed it in front of Susannah.

  “I see you remember me when you do your shopping,” Susannah said, tilting the contents of the bottle into her glass.

  Bitsy smiled with a chicken wing already hanging out of her mouth. Andrea and Susannah laughed, and Bitsy chuckled as she cleaned the bones and placed them on her plate. A banging sound stopped the laughter as the three women listened, and Andrea froze in place, a spoon full of black-eyed peas hovering over her plate.

  “What’s that?” Susannah asked.

  It came again, this time louder.

  “There’s someone at the front door.”

  Andrea put the spoon down, a sheepish look on her face. She cleared her throat. “I was fixin’ to tell you,” she whispered, cutting her eyes in the direction of the front door, “Roman stopped by before. He said he’s been trying to get in touch with you and—”

  Before she could finish, Bitsy was out of her chair. She grabbed a dish towel and wrung it with both hands as she stalked out of the room. Andrea looked at Susannah, who silently placed her fork on the table, raised an eyebrow, and mouthed, What’s going on?

  Andrea shrugged. “Auntie Bitsy’s been acting weird about Roman.”

  Susannah stood and crept to the kitchen entrance, listening as the front door opened. She pictured Bitsy striding through the small hall and into the living room with one hand on her hip, swinging the dish towel like a lasso. The door opened, and she strained to hear; Bitsy had muted her normally loud timbre. “You have some nerve stopping here, Roman Broady.”

  “I wanted to see you before I leave.”

  “Well, you saw me. Good-bye.”

  “Bitsy, please. I don’t want to leave with things like this between us. We been knowing each other too long to stay angry like this.”

  Susannah imagined Bitsy had both hands on her hips now. “What do you want from me? I thought we were having a good time together. I was respectful of your medical condition. I tried to dial back my natural-born exuberance and give you the room you need. You’re the one who brought it to the next level when you asked me to go to Phoenix with you. Now, look at us.”

  Susannah peeked around the corner. Roman stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped and head bowed. A streetlight shone behind him, obscuring his face. Susannah caught Andrea’s eye and drew back, feeling guilty at her intrusion. Andrea opened her mouth to say something, but Roman’s voice stopped her cold.

  “Bitsy, I love you, but I don’t know if I can live with you!”

  Susannah’s guilt could not hold her back. She swiveled around the corner, bumping into Andrea as they both watched Bitsy fling the door shut and turn, one hand still on her hip, and head through the sitting room toward them.

  “Hnnh,” Bitsy exhaled, the noise a challenge to anyone in the vicinity. “As if I’m gonna let some man control me and make me his puppet.” She slid an ottoman out of the way with her foot. Susannah retreated to her seat and busied herself eating. She shot Bitsy a “Who, me?” look and chewed ostentatiously as she entered. “Don’t bother pretending, I know you heard everything.”

  Andrea gave her a hug. “Auntie Bitsy, I’m so sorry.”

  Bitsy kissed the side of her head. “Don’t you fret, little one. He’ll make up his mind, one way or the other.”

  Susannah eyed her friend. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “No,” she said, digging into the black-eyed peas. “That man don’t know what he wants. I’m giving him some space to figure it out.”

  Susannah tasted a piece of chicken. “Mmm, delicious,” she said, pointing her fork at Andrea.

  Andrea blushed, smiling proudly. Then she took a deep breath and said, “What’s this about going to Phoenix?”

  Bitsy waved her hand. “He’s been job hunting. Looks like he got an offer in Phoenix, and he asked if I’d be interested in going with him.”

  “Going to Phoenix?” Andrea squawked and began to choke. Black-eyed peas bounced off her plate.

  Bitsy stood and slapped her on the back, then handed her Susannah’s sparkling water. “Don’t get upset. He doesn’t even know for sure he wants to live in Phoenix. And he’s all fixated on our personality issues.”

  “Personality issues?”

  “Baby, Roman and I go way back. He’s what you call an introspective person, and I am outwardly motivated.”

  “Outwardly motivated?”

  She sat back and spread her arms, raising her hands as if to confess. “You know me. I am a people person. I love making a house a home, but I don’t want to stay in it all day. I need to get out and make things happen.”

  Andrea nodded, and Susannah used the pause to spoon up more black-eyed peas.

  “Me and Roman are completely different. Look at our jobs. I am open to new concepts and ideas. I love fashion and color, and I reach out to bring in-vogue items into my shop. I make friends everywhere, even on the phone hunting down inventory, bargaining for a price, or working with a client.” She pointed at various items that added splashes of color to the kitchen. “I surround myself with beautiful, stylish things and help people who want to buy them.”

  Andrea was nodding as she spoke. Bitsy lowered her arms and picked up her fork. “Now look at his job. He stands quietly while wearing all black.”

  “I see,” Andrea giggled, “but those things shouldn’t keep you apart. I thought you liked him.”

  “I do, sugar cube.” She grinned at Andrea and tapped the table. “Come on, this food is getting cold.”

  “I want you to be happy. You don’t want to turn someone down because your personalities are different.”

  “I’m not turning him down. At least not yet. The first thing he has to do is figure out if his PTSD can stand him living with my high-energy, voluptuous-woman-type personality.”

  Andrea’s mouth dropped open. “He has PTSD?” She sat for a moment, letting this sink in. “Well, I guess this makes some kinda sense now.”

  Susannah swallowed a mouthful of potato. “Have you even talked to him about what he wants?”

  “He’s not sure what he wants. He says he wants kids, but he has to make sure this”—she indicated herself with both hands—“is what he wants. And then he has to understand I ain’t giving up my career to raise him no Broady Bunch!” Bitsy looked down her nose at Susannah and then Andrea. “Now, no more about Roman. Did you make those calls?”

  Andrea nodded. “Yes, I used my phone so they wouldn’t see your name on caller ID and hang
up.”

  “You talked to Little Junior?”

  She nodded several times in succession. “He says that the detectives have gone home for the night, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Worry about what?”

  Andrea looked down and poked a roasted potato with her fork.

  “Junior heard that Detective Weathers was trying to get another search warrant from Judge Gantner, but it’s after hours. She already left for home.”

  Susannah swallowed what was in her mouth. “A search warrant for what?”

  Neither Long woman said a word.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Susannah couldn’t move. She didn’t want to ask the next question, but she knew she had to. “How is Tina?”

  Bitsy looked at Andrea.

  “I have a friend who’s doing a nursing rotation at the county hospital, and she found out that she is in ‘serious but stable’ condition.”

  Bitsy paused with a speared potato halfway to her mouth.

  “Stable is good,” Andrea assured her. “It’s still serious because she hasn’t regained consciousness.”

  Bitsy nodded and bit into the potato.

  Susannah exhaled. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath.

  “She could get in trouble for snooping into a patient chart because of the privacy laws and all,” Andrea continued, “but she overheard a nurse talking to Tina’s husband, so she thought it was okay to tell me that much.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Andrea shook her head, the glass of mineral water at her lips. She swallowed and said, “Ceily overheard one other thing.” She placed the glass on the table carefully. “Miss Tina’s husband was in the ER with her, and so was that new detective. They got into an argument. She said they got super loud.”

  “Child, what were they arguing about?”

  “The husband—I didn’t get his name—”

  “Keith,” Susannah said.

  Andrea nodded. “Keith told the detective that she was investigating the wrong people. He told her they were missing the big picture.”