The Prune Pit Murder

by Renee George

  “Pearl drives, right? So, she can go visit her sister.”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.” I’d only ever seen Opal behind the wheel of their older model Mercury. “We’re going to visit Opal after the Meyers leave. I’ll make sure and ask.” If Pearl didn’t drive, then we would have to make sure she had someone to take her to see Opal daily until she was discharged.

  “Well, if you need any help taking up the slack either here or with the Dixon sisters, you let me know.”

  “I’ll take you up on it.” My throat tightened. This was the longest conversation I’d had with Theresa since everything had gone down in May. I tried not to show too much excitement about the fact that she was having a real conversation with me because I was afraid that if I made any kind of deal about it, I’d remind her that she was still unhappy with me.

  “Good,” Theresa said. “I hope you will.” She scooted away from us and back to the desk. She wiggled her computer mouse to wake up the screen.

  Parker gently squeezed my shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. “Let’s go check on Dave before they get here.”

  Dave was sitting at the far end of one of our isolation kennels for sick pups, on the large, blanket-covered cot. He’d cleaned his food bowl and was low on water. “His appetite is back,” I said with no small amount of satisfaction. “That’s a good sign.” Dave had been reluctant to eat when he’d first arrived. Ryan had found an abscessed tooth on his initial exam, so he’d removed it. Dave’s mouth had been sore for a few days, but the fact that he was eating now meant he was on the mend.

  “Yeah,” Parker agreed. “But his eye is still about the same. No improvement since we put him on antibiotics two days ago.” We’d been putting it in his food, and he’d been too hungry to care.

  Dave’s swollen right eye was crusty with matter. It needed cleaning, but that wasn’t going to happen until Dave trusted us to get close. “He’ll probably need surgery.”

  “I hate for him to lose his eye,” Parker said. “But I think you’re right.”

  I opened the door to his kennel and ducked inside. Parker closed it behind me. I sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet from Dave, held out a treat, and waited for him to respond. He whimpered at first, his way of saying drop the tasty and leave, but I shook my head. “It’s all right, boy. No one’s going to hurt you. Not anymore.”

  Dave was having a hard time trusting people, and who could blame him. Ryan had guesstimated his age to be around four years, which meant he’d most likely suffered for four years before some asshole had tied him to that tree to starve to death.

  “He’ll get there, Lils,” Parker said.

  “I know.” Even though I didn’t. Some animals, like some people, were too broken to fix, but I comforted myself with the fact that Dave would never want for a meal, a safe place to run, and a roof over his head for the rest of his life.

  I froze as Dave gingerly stepped down from the cot and held my breath as he stretched his neck until his lips moved against the edge of the dog biscuit. I couldn’t see Parker, but I could feel his stillness behind me.

  The biscuit fell from my hand, and with a quickness I hadn’t seen in the dog, he snatched it from the ground and chomped it like a last meal on his way back to the safety of his cot. I looked back at Parker, whose grin mirrored my own.

  “Progress,” he said.

  I cast my gaze back to Dave. “You’re a good boy. Such a good boy.” His tail didn’t flicker, and his eyes still held suspicion, but he’d taken food from my hand, and I counted that a win.

  A rap on the window to the isolation room drew our attention. It was Keith. “The Meyers are here,” he said through the door.

  Chapter 3

  Geri and Frank Meyer were a married middle-aged couple. Geri was a pharmacist and Frank, a retired naval officer. It was a second marriage for both of them. Geri’s daughter worked in financing in St. Louis, and Frank’s boys lived with their mother in California, but he had moved back to Moonrise after his divorce because his father had fallen ill. They’d been married for two years, and, until recently, Geri had owned a pit bull female named Bizzy, who had died of heart failure at the age of thirteen.

  I knew all this in the first ten minutes of their arrival because Geri liked to talk. I didn’t discount the fact that my inherited witch gifts made me more susceptible to TMI from friends and strangers.

  Parker had vetted them a week ago before approving their adoption. They’d lost Bizzy eight months earlier, and Geri was ready to love again.

  Dot, a brown American bully type—which meant she had a stocky, muscular body, and a head nearly as wide as her chest—barreled into the room, nearly knocking me over to hug against my leg. Unfortunately, she was more interested in Parker and me than the Meyers. Bean Blossom was a pit bull-beagle mix, and she was more attentive to the couple. Carly, another bully, with a light caramel-colored coat, also showed herself to be a sweet cuddle-monkey.

  But when Sweet Pea, a black and white French bulldog-pit mix, got her turn, I knew it was over. Geri and Frank both lit up when they saw her, and Sweet Pea quickly squirmed her way onto their laps and into their hearts.

  After all the paperwork had been filled out, adoption fees collected, and pictures for the website and social media taken, it was after two-thirty.

  “We should get going to Moonrise Manor,” I said to Parker.

  Frank overheard me. “Moonrise Manor? Do you have family there?”

  “A friend. She broke her leg and needs some physical therapy.”

  “My father is a resident over there,” Frank said. “He’s been there for the past two years.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a difficult decision, but in the end, the best one for the family.”

  “So, you like the place?”

  “They do a good job.” He hesitated, then said, “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Well, there was an incident three months ago. Some of his pain pills went missing. We probably wouldn’t have known anything about it, but Geri’s pharmacy supplies the nursing home. They had to order Dad’s pills early. Insurance wouldn’t pay on an early refill, so we ended up having to cover the cost out of pocket.”

  “What did the manor say about the discrepancy?”

  Frank shrugged. “Improper disposal. One of the nurses came forward and said she’d dropped the pills on a dirty floor after I complained. She said she disposed of them and meant to chart it after her med pass but forgot. Needless to say, the manor footed the final bill on the replacements.”

  “Wow.”

  “It happens,” he said.

  An excited bark from Sweet Pea drew his attention. She and his wife Geri were standing in the open front door, waiting on Frank. “I better go,” he said. “I hope your friend recovers quickly.”

  When they left out the front, Parker came over and put his arm around me. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “I am.”

  The nursing home was solemn when we arrived at a little after three in the afternoon, not the hub of activity it had been on Friday. I heard televisions on in several rooms, some quiet whispers, too far and too low for me to make out the conversation, along with sniffling that accompanied tears.

  All the joy I’d felt about the adoption seeped out of me.

  Parker nudged my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Opal. I can hear her…I think she’s crying.”

  We picked up our pace, passing the abandoned nurses’ station at a fast clip. Her door was open, and I grazed the wood, an attempted knock, as I barreled inside the room.

  Opal was in a wheelchair, a box of tissues in her lap. Her roommate’s bed was empty.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She glanced up at me, her red-rimmed eyes filled with pain. “She’s gone.”

  I looked at Jane Davidson’s bed. The nurse had wanted to get bloodwork on the woman. She had suspected something and now the old woman was dead. “I’m so sorry, Opal.
Did you know her well?”

  “I’ve known Abby her whole life,” she said.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts. Opal and Pearl had come to Moonrise a little over thirty years ago. Jane Davidson had easily been in her seventies. Opal couldn’t have known her that long, unless Jane had known them when they were in Vegas.

  Just as I was about to ask, Mariah, the CNA from the day before, wheeled Jane into the room.

  I blinked as if seeing a ghost. I knelt down in front of Opal and placed my hand over hers. “Who died?” It certainly hadn’t been Jane Davidson.

  Opal stared at me. “Abby.”

  My heart did a double flip. “The nurse?”

  “Ella loved her. I loved her. She was like my very own granddaughter.”

  “Was she in an accident?”

  Opal shook her head. She pulled a tissue out of the box and blew her nose. “They say she killed herself.” She shook her head even harder. “She wouldn’t.”

  I’d met Abby the day before. She didn’t seem like a woman on the edge, but I knew what it was like to act as if everything was right as rain in public while falling apart in private. I’d done it enough trying to raise my brother after my parents died. I’d never seriously considered suicide, but it had crossed my mind, fleetingly, once or twice as a way out of my circumstances.

  “Sometimes people put on a brave face,” I said.

  “How did she do it?” Parker asked. I gazed up at him; his expression was bleak.

  “The police wouldn’t tell me, but I overheard one of the aides say that she took an overdose of pills. Pills they said she might have stolen from patients.” Opal shredded the tissue between her fingertips. “She wasn’t that way, Lily.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have to believe me. She wasn’t that way.” Her voice choked. “I just won’t believe it.”

  “The police were out here?”

  “This morning. They wanted to talk to anyone who worked with her yesterday. Someone told them that I was a family friend.”

  I knew it couldn’t have been Nadine who took the call. She hadn’t gone back to work yet after her return from California, but I knew she was scheduled to start again on Monday. And Buzz had finally returned to full-time cooking duties at The Cat’s Meow. During his non-shifting months, Buzz had hired another waitress and a part-time cook at the diner to cover for the days when his shifter side got a little too raw for public consumption. Freda took on a more supervisory position, with a raise, to manage those days when Buzz couldn’t make it in. She didn’t know the circumstances behind his sudden mood swings and such, but she was willing to accept that he was going through something, and she would do what she could to help him. Still, neither Buzz nor Nadine had been acting right since their return.

  “Was it Bobby Morris who talked to you?” Bobby Morris was still the acting sheriff until the coming elections. He’d stepped into Sheriff Avery’s shoes without a lot of fuss, and he was a damn sight better than Avery had ever been at the job. He might have an uphill battle winning an election, but I planned to vote for him when the time came.

  * * *

  “No.” She shook her head. “Larry Shobe was the deputy who talked to me,” Opal said. “He asked me if Abby had been upset about anything personal. Abby was a happy person.”

  “I’m sure she was,” I said. And she had seemed happy for the most part, except for when she’d been talking to the doctor, or while on the phone with whoever she’d been on the phone with. But from what little I’d seen, none of it added up to suicide. Maybe she’d been addicted to drugs and accidentally overdosed. I didn’t say that out loud because it would just add to Opal’s misery.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Opal. It’s hard to lose people you love.”

  “You can find out for me, right? You know how awful the cops are around here. They’ll say Abby’s death is open and shut, and no one will try to find the truth.”

  “Is there a reason you suspect someone might have done this to her? Did she say something to you?” I asked.

  Opal knocked her tissue box onto the floor. “I know Abby! She wasn’t the kind of girl to steal drugs, and she wasn’t the kind of girl to kill herself.”

  A knock outside the door drew our attention. Annie Blankenship, the activity director, stepped into the room. “I’m going to have a group bereavement session today at two if you would like to come, Ms. Dixon.” Annie gave the briefest of acknowledgements to Mrs. Davidson. “You too, Jane. Abby was loved by a lot of people, and we’re all going to miss her.”

  Opal grabbed an empty plastic pudding container from her bedside stand and flung it in Annie’s direction. “Get out of here, you ghoul!”

  “Opal!” I said. “This isn’t Annie’s fault.” I looked at the activity director, who’d gone several shades pale. “Please don’t be angry with her. Opal has known Abby for a long time. She’s just in shock.”

  Annie nodded quickly. “I’ll check back later.” She glanced over at Mrs. Davidson. “What about you, Jane?”

  “I don’t want to go,” the elderly woman said. She gave Annie a baleful stare. “Please don’t ask again.”

  “I understand,” Annie said. She gave me a nod then left.

  I felt bad for her. The activity director was basically the morale police in a place, trying to bring joy and a sense of well-being to folks who were often miserable. It wasn’t the care center’s fault. It was just a byproduct of aging in humans. Sometimes, a person got to a point where they just couldn’t take care of themselves anymore. That loss of independence would be enough to depress anyone. Something like losing a beloved caregiver was bound to make her job with the residents a thousand times harder.

  I took Opal’s hands. “What can I do for you? Just tell me, and I’ll try my best to help you through this,” I said as a helplessness filled me. Abby’s death had taken a toll on Opal, and she looked ten years older than she had the day before.

  She gave me a sharp-eyed stare. “You can do what you do. Nose around. Investigate. You’ve solved several murders in this town before. What’s one more?”

  “This isn’t a murder,” I said gently. Even if it had been, I was out of the tracking-down-killers business.

  “Then it won’t cost you anything to ask around,” she said bluntly. “I’ll pay you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. “You know I have the money.”

  “I couldn’t and wouldn’t take your money, Opal.” I glanced at Parker. His thoughts looked far off, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were reliving an unpleasant memory. I stood up and ran my hand down his arm. His stare became less wild, more present. But his reaction, along with Opal’s assertations, prompted me to do something I’d sworn I’d stop doing. Getting involved.

  Finally, I nodded. “What’s Abby’s last name?”

  “Rogers,” Opal said.

  “I’ll ask around,” I promised.

  The relief in her eyes worried me. Chances were Abby committed suicide. If it walked like a duck, simplest explanation is usually the right one, and all that. “I can’t make this into something it’s not,” I told her. “If it turns out she really did kill herself, are you going to be able to accept that as an answer?”

  Opal nodded, then said, “Probably not.”

  My back stiffened until Parker laced his fingers with mine. This was the kind of thing that could sever a friendship. Opal wanted the answer she wanted, whether evidence supported her beliefs or not. Most people, I found, were like that. “I can only go where evidence and facts take me.”

  Opal frowned. “I know that.” She glanced at the door. “I’m going to go stir-crazy sitting around here. How about if you bust me out of this place, and I can do a little digging around myself?”

  “How about if we save the digging for Smooshie?” I softened my words with a sympathetic smile. “Besides, it seems to me you’re in the perfect place to find out stuff about what happened to Abby. You can conduct your own investigation here at the manor, and I’ll see what I c
an learn on the outside. I’ll come back on Monday or Tuesday and we’ll compare notes.”

  Opal fake-spat in her hand and held it out to me. “Deal,” she said.

  I nodded, faked spitting in my own hand, and we shook on it. “Deal.”

  “You should talk to my Michael,” Jane Davidson said. “He and Abby dated sometimes.”

  “Your son?” I asked.

  “Grandson,” she said. “He’s a good boy, and he was fond of Abby.”

  I remembered Opal saying the day before that Abby had terrible taste in men. I wondered if Michael was one of those men. I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to upset Jane. Instead, I nodded. “Do you have his details? I’ll see if he’s willing to talk to me.”

  “I have his card.” Jane used her feet to propel her to the candy drawer. Inside were a slew of empty wrappers. She dug around until she found what she was looking for. A small, worn business card with frayed sides. “Here.”

  I took it from her. “Michael Lowell,” I read. “Website Consultant.” A phone number and email address were under the job title.

  “He teaches kindergarten full-time, but he has always been good with computers,” Jane said. “He does the consulting part-time.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked the card in my back pocket and looked at Opal. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Just find out what happened to Abby,” she said.

  Before we left the room, I remembered Theresa’s question. “Can Pearl drive, or do we need to arrange rides for her to visit you?”

  “Pearl can drive, but she doesn’t like to.”

  “Then we’ll get a carpool going for her,” I said.

  “You really are thoughtful, Lily,” Opal said as fresh tears fell down her cheeks.

  Parker’s fingers clinched around mine. He was not handling the visit well at all. We probably should have brought Elvis along.

  I wrapped my arm around his waist, touching him with as much of my body as the position would allow. Unconsciously, he began stroking my hair with his other hand. I could hear his heartbeat and breathing slow.