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

by Cathy Tully

  “What else?” Bitsy urged.

  “That’s it. Ceily was in the supply room across from where they were talking, and they couldn’t see her, so she stayed and listened. After a minute, her clinical supervisor came looking for her and she had to leave.”

  Bitsy leaned across the table and gave Andrea a hug. “You did good.” She squeezed her. “You’re a true Long.”

  The girl blushed.

  Susannah raised her brow at Bitsy.

  “This one was easy,” Andrea said, her brown eyes, which were rimmed with the tiniest layer of green, sparkling. “Ceily is smart and caring, but she’s a bit of a busybody too. I think she wants to be a nurse so she can help people, but she don’t mind being all up in their business.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a good combination for a nurse,” Bitsy mused, sucking at a morsel of chicken lodged between her teeth. “She might make a better hairdresser, though.”

  “Speaking of that,” Susannah said, “did your cousin who owns the nail salon ever find out anything about Anita?”

  Bitsy looked up. “As a matter of fact, she did. Denise knew Anita, and she told me that sometimes a man came to pick her up from her appointments.”

  “Did she ever notice his car?”

  “She did. She said he had a big white truck.”

  Susannah’s shoulders drooped.

  “Is that bad?” Andrea asked.

  “No, not bad. I want to find out who owns the blue sedan.”

  Bitsy put her plate in the sink as Andrea cleared the dishes, handing them off to her. “Where else have I heard of a blue sedan?” she asked, twisting the tap and rinsing the plates.

  “Colin saw Anita get into a blue sedan. I thought it might be important because there was a blue sedan at the Cantina when we were there for Anita’s memorial.”

  Bitsy leaned against the sink, frowning. “I don’t remember seeing no blue sedan.”

  “You didn’t, but I did. Remember when you picked me up by the dumpster?”

  Andrea paused with dirty utensils in her hand. “The dumpster?”

  “It’s a long story,” Bitsy told her, depositing the flatware in the dishwasher. “Dr. Shine here was playing detective.”

  Andrea assessed Susannah, pursing her lips and placing one hand on her hip. Susannah smiled at the mannerism she had noted so frequently in Bitsy. “You really are part of the Long family,” Andrea said with a giggle.

  “She could do worse,” Bitsy commented.

  Susannah said, “The blue sedan practically ran me down in the alley before you rescued me.”

  “Hunnh. That seems important. Why didn’t I remember that?”

  “Probably because you were concentrating on your NASCAR driving. Anyway, I hoped someone else might have seen that car.”

  Bitsy considered this, but the issue was dropped as the women tidied the kitchen. When they finished, she drove Susannah back to her office and waited while she unlocked the door and went inside.

  Susannah stood in the shadows of her office, watching from the door as Bitsy drove out of sight. She scanned the lot for Rusty, but he was nowhere to be seen. The alarm had not been set, and she double-checked that the doors were bolted and windows locked. The charts Tina had been working on were shelved. Larraine and her busy hands.

  In her office, she bypassed the overhead light and switched on the lamp to Henry’s aquarium. She dropped in a few food pellets and watched them fall slowly to the bottom of the tank. She remembered the first day she opened for business, after all the permits and renovations had been taken care of. She had chosen exactly the right spot for her desk and splurged on an expensive chair for herself and the best ten-gallon tank for Henry. Over the years, she had lost that sense of newness and triumph, but never the sense of being at home.

  Until today.

  In the dark, everything seemed foreign and forbidding. Even the joy she normally experienced watching Henry the Eighth had evaporated.

  An oppressive sense of failure weighed down on her. She knew she had waited long enough. She picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Dr. Shine, thank goodness,” Larraine answered. “I’m here with Keith and Tina. The doctors are taking good care of her.”

  Susannah nodded to herself. The staff at Henry County Hospital was top notch. She heard voices in the background, and Larraine said, “It’s Dr. Shine.”

  The raspy baritone of Keith Cawthorn came on the line. “Dr. Shine? I’m glad to hear your voice.” He sounded relieved.

  Susannah felt as if someone had lifted a thousand pounds of rock off her shoulders. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Keith had lost his temper and gone into a rage at the sound of her voice.

  He asked, “They didn’t hold you?”

  “I got up and left about two hours ago.”

  There was a pause. “I reckon you did the right thing. I want you to know that I don’t think you had anything to do with this.”

  Another thousand-pound boulder left her back. “I appreciate that, Keith. I’m so sorry this happened.”

  “Not your fault.” He paused, and Susannah heard him inhale. “I have to get back to Tina.”

  There was a rustling sound as Larraine retrieved the phone. Susannah could hear Larraine scolding Keith before she returned. “I’m back,” Larraine said. “Tina’s doing as good as can be expected. The doctors are running tests.” She lowered her voice, “They’re saying she had an electrolyte imbalance that caused a heart arrhythmia, but they don’t know why she won’t wake up, and Keith is worried sick. He doesn’t say much, but I see it in his eyes. Thank the Lord we got her here quick.”

  Susannah murmured her agreement.

  “I think we’re going to need to enlist some extra help with this new detective. She kept me in the office asking questions for so long, I thought she wanted me to confess.”

  Susannah exhaled. The rage in her skull broke loose, and her mind slipped into gear. When she’d left the NYPD, she swore she would never be put in a position where her inaction might harm someone she cared about. The fear of making the wrong move, of not being in control and losing her balance or falling down another flight of stairs, was a career-ending glitch in her brain. She had become a doctor because she wanted her life and career to have predictable outcomes. But her life had somehow gone out of control, and her loved ones were getting hurt.

  “When I saw her put you in that police car, I was worried sick.” Larraine lowered her voice. “I think that woman has gone off the deep end. How did you get back to the office?”

  “Bitsy picked me up. She brought me to her house first and fed me.”

  “Well, hallelujah. At least someone can think straight. I knew you wouldn’t mind that I called her.”

  “Of course not.” Susannah blinked back tears. At least no one would see her meltdown. Larraine, a sixty-four-year-old church lady, with soft white hair and even softer skin, was proving to be her rock. Susannah was the boss. She always tried to keep a thin layer of professionalism between her and her employees, but at this moment it was cracking. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t think nothin’ of it,” she said, and then inhaled. Susannah knew that storm clouds were brewing above her soft white ’do. “If this woman thinks she can come to our town and point the finger at our folk and let a maniac roam free, she has another thing coming.”

  Susannah thought she heard a man’s voice grunt in agreement.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Susannah nodded to Billy as she and Bitsy made their way to a corner table in the small dining room of the Wing Shack. Marcie had called a special meeting of the PGBA to deal with some preparations for the Independence Day Festival. No one appeared to mind that they were meeting here instead of at the Cantina. She heard no mention of Anita’s death or of the Cantina Caliente. Maybe Anita’s ghost did reside in the restaurant, Susannah mused, observing how her fellow members were avoiding the topic. She turned her attention to Bitsy, reminding herself not to mention the notion of Anita’s
ghost or they would never have Mexican food together again.

  Bitsy had pressed Susannah into accompanying her for the vote on the peach pie-eating contest. Since her interrogation at the police station, Susannah had felt shaky and nauseated and in no mood for club politics. She steadied the table as Bitsy bumped it with her purse, a swath of peach-colored fabric spilling out and covering the salt and pepper shakers. Susannah tried to get out of the way, and her elbow hit the wall with a smack. She wished again that she was home, working on putting together the clues she, Larraine, and Tina had collected. The Independence Day Festival had lost its charm, and she wondered if she would have the energy to staff a booth or if she should just take a mental health day. It all seemed meaningless.

  Bitsy nudged her back to the present. “I smell biscuits,” she said, dropping her bag and heading for the counter, squeezing past other association members. The Wing Shack was less a full-service restaurant than a takeout place with tables, and Susannah wondered how all the PGBA would fit.

  Billy stood at the counter, his red apron spread across his massive belly, pouring coffee into Styrofoam cups. Susannah longed for one of Anita’s special espresso blends but wore her most polite smile as she queued for a cup. But she was too slow, and Bitsy grabbed the last cup.

  Susannah smiled at Billy. “Busy this morning, huh?”

  Marcie pushed past Billy, her hair plastered to her forehead. Her usual skirt suit was gone, and she was dressed for work in khakis and a red polo shirt. She frowned at the drips of liquid and spilled sugar. “Why don’t we have them come back and pour their own coffee?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s not very hospitable, is it?”

  Marcie lowered her voice and leaned into him; Susannah noticed that her apron, also red and covering the lower half of her body, was speckled with white splotches while Billy’s apron was spotless. “They’re not our house guests. Besides, it would free us up to do other things.”

  Billy smiled. “Zach’s got the tray of biscuits in the oven. We’re good for now.”

  Marcie faced Billy, twisting a portion of her apron through her fingers as she wiped her hands clean. She glanced at Susannah and gave her a surprisingly warm smile. Then she told Billy, “Anita’s delivery is here. I need your help.”

  Susannah looked away, forcing a disinterested attitude. If Anita had a supply order sent to the Wing Shack, she had to get a look at it.

  “Yes, dear.” Billy nodded and waved Susannah around the counter. “Last but not least,” he said, pointing at the coffeemaker and a stack of Styrofoam cups.

  Susannah entered the kitchen, feeling like a trespasser in their inner sanctum. This was the second professional kitchen she had entered in as many weeks. She fixed her coffee, surreptitiously taking in her surroundings. As in Anita’s kitchen, long stainless steel countertops held cooking equipment with a secondary shelf piled high with supplies, including stacks of takeout boxes. Unlike the Cantina, which used Styrofoam containers for takeout, the Wing Shack used cardboard boxes, some of which Marcie wrapped with red-and-white baker’s twine, a large spool of which sat on the shelf near the boxes.

  Zach peered into the oven where dozens of biscuits rose on baking trays. Billy and Marcie had stepped outside the back door, and Susannah heard them continue their squabble, which ended with the slam of a car door. She leaned back to get a better vantage to spy on them. They stood with their backs to her, facing a large white truck.

  The wall phone rang. Zach reached past her to answer it, blocking her view. He spoke in the rushed manner that all takeout joints seemed to share, loud enough to drown out Billy and Marcie’s spat. Susannah wondered who would be calling for wings so early in the morning, but the thought disappeared as Zach hung up the phone and stepped out of her way. Curiosity drove her a few steps deeper into the kitchen. Marcie said they were getting Anita’s delivery. The Cantina Caliente was open. Why wouldn’t they take the delivery there?

  Another half step, and the name on the truck came into view: Southern Charm Distributors. The same name on one of the invoices she had found in Anita’s office. She leaned back and stirred her coffee with a thin stirrer, then popped the red plastic into her mouth. A timer sounded, and Zach opened the upright baking unit and picked up a towel, sliding two trays out. He glanced at her and smiled.

  “Nice and hot.” He grinned. “Just what you’ve been waiting for, right?”

  Susannah forced a smile. “Sure, I love biscuits.”

  “They have to cool a minute.” He turned and shut the oven doors.

  “Working at a restaurant must be hard.” She removed the mangled stirrer from her mouth and forced a yawn. “Do you always get deliveries this early?”

  “No.” He wiped his flour-coated fingers on his apron. “We usually aren’t open for breakfast. Miss Marcie decided to have the Business Association meeting here at the last minute.”

  “Oh, I thought Mr. Billy was more involved with the group,” she said, practicing her best poker face. She didn’t want to give away the fib, but she felt a touch guilty. After all, Zach was still in high school, and she was supposed to set an example for younger people. But she pressed on—something seemed odd about this delivery, and she was sure this boy picked up inside information.

  “Oh, no,” Zach said. “No. Mr. Billy hated those meetings.” He wielded the spatula, making a game of removing biscuits from the baking tray. “He always says that Miss Marcie is the master of marketing. He likes to stay in the background cooking.”

  “Oh,” Susannah replied, trying to look thoughtful as if she were searching her memory. “I thought I saw him at the Cantina. I guess I was wrong.”

  Zach nodded. “Maybe not.” He placed the final biscuit on a waxed paper–lined serving tray. “He used to go over to pick up our order.” He pointed at the back door with the spatula. “Maybe you saw him doing that.”

  “Your order?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled a flat rectangle of cardboard off a shelf behind him. He manipulated it with his fingers, shifting tabs into place and popping it open with his thumbs. “Miss Anita and Mr. Billy use the same wholesaler. She used to take delivery of our chicken order and store it in her freezer because it’s bigger.”

  “Well, that was generous of her.”

  “I guess.” Zach handed her the closed box, which was warm to the touch. She took it mechanically, all the while mulling over this turn of events.

  “But then he would have to go over there all the time to get the wings,” she said, more to herself than to Zach.

  “That’s what Miss Marcie would complain about too.” He lowered his voice. “They argued about it sometimes.” He shook his head. “But I agreed with Mr. Billy.”

  “You did?” Susannah asked, conspiratorially.

  “Yes.” He wiped his hand on his apron again, flour falling in small powdery clumps. Susannah backed away slightly. “He could place bigger orders and use their freezer as a kind of warehouse. Miss Marcie didn’t like it, but it made sense to me. The Cantina is only two minutes away. They could store a much larger order than our freezer can handle, and then Mr. Billy could go get what we need for a few days.”

  “But why would he bother?” Susannah whispered, leaning toward the boy. “Isn’t that extra work?”

  He rolled his eyes and then tilted his head to meet hers. “That’s exactly what Miss Marcie would say.”

  Susannah was chagrined to learn that she thought like Marcie. Though his explanation sounded logical on the surface, it made little sense when she thought about it. Even if the Cantina could store more frozen goods, Billy had to find the time to get over there regularly. Didn’t that negate the whole point of placing bigger orders? Instead of taking delivery of several smaller orders at his store, he stored the food at the Cantina and then shuttled it over. That seemed like even more work. No wonder Marcie and he argued about it.

  Susannah said nothing, hoping that Zach would continue. He glanced at the back door and then said, “
It also gave us space to store other things. You should see it around here when Miss Marcie orders those watermelons.” He rolled his eyes, obviously unaware that the watermelon-eating contest had been canceled.

  Susannah chuckled, but her mind worked furiously. Anita and Billy had a business arrangement that Marcie didn’t agree with. Could that have made her angry? Marcie certainly seemed like someone who liked to be in control. But angry enough to poison Anita? Susannah walked back to the coffee maker and topped off her cup. Marcie would have had easy access to the Cantina. As the president of the Peach Grove Business Association, she was always the first one to arrive at the meetings and usually the last to leave. With access to her own professional kitchen, she could have prepared the poison out of sight of her family and hidden it.

  The wall opposite the back door held the walk-in refrigeration unit. Susannah knew little about restaurant management, but from what she had seen in the Cantina, she knew there should be ample space in those commercial units. She swished the misshapen stirrer around her cup, watching Billy as he loaded boxes onto a red steel hand truck. Marcie, wearing her trademark Marcie frown, reviewed an invoice with the driver.

  Susannah rounded the counter and bumped into Bitsy, who had her eyes on the box of biscuits in her hand. Bitsy asked, “What have you got there?”

  Susannah opened the lid on the cardboard container and felt the heat rise.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Susannah pointed her chin at Zach, who carried the serving tray of biscuits toward them. Susannah watched Billy maneuver the rubber wheels over the doorjamb and then stop and reach for the latch on the cooler. She shoved the box of biscuits into Bitsy’s hands and made a dash through the kitchen, hoping that Marcie would be busy with the driver for a few more minutes. She wanted a look in the freezer.

  “Hey,” she said to Billy, “let me give you a hand.”

  Before he could protest, she pulled the handle and the door opened easily. Billy retreated, lowering the loaded hand truck and rolling it backward as the door swung toward him. He brushed past Susannah, puffing.