***
“Clara, what happened? Are you okay?” Dayne asked without preamble when her friend opened the door.
Clara regarded her with surprise, and opened the door so that she could come in.
“Of course I’m okay… why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, sitting down on the sofa in the living room.
“Well, clearly something happened… with Walter being moved and all…” Dayne trailed off uncertainly.
A look appeared in Clara’s eyes unlike any her friend had ever seen before.
“I had to do what I had to do. Warren Metzler and the rest of the board are trying their best to destroy my business, so I’m having to cut costs. Moving Walter was one of the ways that I could do that,” she replied, her light blue eyes like chips of ice.
“How bad is it? Are you going to lose the house?”
“Heavens, no. I’d never allow that to happen, I’m just having to cut back a bit. Tighten my belt in certain areas,” Clara waved a hand dismissively.
“But… Farmstead? Have you thought about maybe bringing Walter home and having a nurse come by? Surely he’d be more comfortable that way,” Dayne suggested.
“I cannot run a business and keep track of a dementia patient. I’m old and I’m tired and I’m just barely keeping my head above water. Half the time, Walter doesn’t even know who I am,” Clara said decisively. “He won’t even realize that he’s in a new place. Besides, I leave for Europe next week and won’t be back for a couple of months—who would take care of him while I’m gone? A full-time nurse would be way more expensive than Farmstead will be.”
Dayne was dismayed. “But he’s your husband….” she whispered, sad for Walter.
“That’s right, dear, he’s my husband, and I know what’s best for him,” Clara became catty with her old friend.
“Could you maybe cancel your trip?”
“No, I couldn’t. It’s been planned for months, and there’s no reason that I shouldn’t go.”
“But if money is…” Dayne began.
“Enough. My money is my business, Dayne. I appreciate your concern, but I have a meeting with Warren Metzler in ten minutes that I need to finish preparing for,” Clara said firmly, standing and walking to the door, with her friend trailing numbly after her.
CHAPTER 7
“Hey, Timmy, we’ve got another stiff,” Fiona’s voice rang through the hall from her office to that of her boss, who was studying an article on the effects of salt water immersion on corpses.
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled.
His assistant knew that it rankled when she called him Timmy, and she persisted in doing it anyway. She appeared in his doorway, a few seconds later, a piece of paper in hand.
“At least it’s a hooty-snooty address this time, so you probably won’t have to work around stacks of newspapers, mouse droppings, and old pizza boxes,” Fiona shuddered.
One of their recent pick-ups had been in the home of a hoarder, and they’d had to dig a path to get to the partially decomposed body. The stench in the home before its owner died had most likely been profound, and with the addition of a body, even seasoned police officers had been overcome to the point of vomiting. Tim had merely tiptoed his way through the mess and performed his initial assessment, determining that no foul play was involved. Fiona had borrowed a respirator from the hazmat team that showed up, and still barely managed to keep her lunch down.
“Police call or family call?” Tim asked, looking up from his article.
“Police. Detective Tall-Dark-and-Handsome called personally, so whoever it is must be pretty high-profile,” his assistant replied, raising her eyebrows.
“Did you…” the mortician began.
“I gathered all of the equipment and put it in the wagon,” she anticipated his question.
“Is the…” he tried again.
“Yup, it’s out front, filled with gas, and ready to go.”
Tim stared at Fiona, nonplussed. She was excited about work that most folks couldn’t stomach, she shared his passion for perfectionism in the preparation of the deceased, and was the most efficient worker he’d ever seen, anticipating his every move, handling clients like a pro, and keeping every bit of his paperwork in order. He couldn’t have asked for a better assistant.
“Well, let’s lock up and go then,” the mortician blinked at her, rising from his desk and grabbing his crime scene bag.
***
“Mr. Eckels,” Detective Chas Beckett shook Tim’s hand when he and Fiona arrived on the scene.
“Detective,” Tim nodded. “Where is the deceased?”
“Back here, in the bedroom,” Chas led the way down the hall, and Tim followed, taking in the better than average décor.
The victim was laid out in her bed, looking, at first glance as if she were merely sleeping. Tim moved closer, and the police department techs who were taking samples and collecting evidence stepped aside to give the Interim Medical Examiner room to work. The mortician peered closely at the victim’s face and nodded.
“Find something?” Chas asked, noting the change in Tim’s expression.
The mortician turned slowly, giving the detective a mildly exasperated look which clearly communicated his desire to be uninterrupted. Chas took the hint and put both hands in the air, backing off.
“Take as much time as you need. I have a potential witness to question,” he said, heading out of the bedroom.
Picking up first one frail arm, then the other, Tim examined the wrists and fingers thoroughly, taking scrapings from under each of the victim’s nails. He pushed back the high collar of her flannel nightgown, and examined her neck, behind her ears, and the back of the head. Taking photos of the body, he wrapped up his on-scene investigation, and had the body transported to the county morgue for further, more extensive testing.
“Any preliminary findings that you’d like to share with me?” Chas asked, when Tim came to let him know that the body could be transported.
“She was suffocated,” the mortician answered simply.
The detective sighed. He’d been hoping that the woman had merely died in her sleep.
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“There is a pronounced whiteness of the skin around the lips and nose, with a bit of bruising around the mouth, as though someone exerted too much pressure when holding the blanket, pillow, or whatever they used, over her face. The way her tongue is protruding a bit, along with the high degree of cyanosis in her face are also indications, and I’m betting that the full autopsy will show signs of suffocation as well. I would have your techs check her pillow for signs of saliva and skin cells, as well as pick up every hair they see. I’ve taken scrapings from under her nails to check for skin and blood, and I’ll finish taking the rest of my samples at the morgue.”
Chas nodded. “I appreciate your diligence in this, Eckels. When can we expect your report?”
“The preliminary report will be out in a couple of days, unless I get multiple bodies coming in, but DNA takes much longer,” Tim shrugged.
“Let me know when the full report is in,” the detective requested.
Tim nodded.
“Will do,” Fiona assured Chas with a smile.
CHAPTER 8
“I seem to have become a bit of an addict,” Dayne Baker confided with her trademark grin, as Missy handed her a box of cupcakes.
“Happens to the best of us, dear lady,” Kel piped up from his usual seat at the bistro table.
“You’re early today,” Missy observed, having let Dayne in during coffee time with her friends. “Special occasion?”
Dayne nodded. “Oh yes. A very special friend is having a birthday, and he’s been a bit down lately, so I wanted to bring him some of your edible sunshine,” she beamed.
“Edible sunshine… I love it,” Echo grinned. “I think you need to come up with a recipe for that.”
“It seems I already have,” Missy chuckled. “But it does give me some inspiration
.”
“Thanks so much,” Dayne handed over a stack of bills and told Missy to keep the change.
“Always a pleasure. Tell your friend ‘Happy Birthday’ from the edible sunshine lady.”
***
“Where’s the birthday boy?” Dayne trilled at the Farmstead floor nurse.
“Excuse me?” the woman drawled in a bored, nasal voice, looking at the visitor like she was daft.
“Oh, sorry,” Dayne was momentarily deflated. Farmstead wasn’t even remotely like Havenwood, where everyone knew both her and Walter. “I’m here to see Walter Schenkman,” she said quietly.
The nurse flipped through a paper directory, running her finger down the pages, finally landing on the information that she needed.
“Are you on the approved list?”
“There’s a list?” Dayne blinked at the woman, not having anticipated this. Since she volunteered at Havenwood, she’d had access to all of the residents. She hoped that Clara had thought to put her on the approved visitor’s list.
“Name?” the nurse sighed.
Dayne gave her name and held her breath while the woman tap-tapped on her computer.
“Okay,” she nodded, not even bothering to fake a smile. “It’s his recreation time. He’ll be in the community room, down the hall and to the left.”
“Thank you,” Dayne beamed, relieved that Clara had remembered to put her on the list, even though she hadn’t told her about the move.
She carried her box of cupcakes down the hall and turned left into a wide open room with craft tables, shelves with books and games, a television, and lots of floor-to-ceiling windows along one side. Despite the shiny clean linoleum on the floor that reflected the sunlight streaming in the windows, the place had an definite air of hopelessness about it, so Dayne took a breath, gearing up to be cheerful, no matter how unhappy the surroundings.
She spotted Walter sitting in a wheelchair in front of one of the windows, staring out vacantly, and her heart sank to her knees. He looked so lost and alone that she had to quickly blink back tears before approaching him.
“Hey, Walt,” she said softly, moving to kneel beside his chair.
His cloudy green eyes registered nothing as he turned to gaze at her. Clearly, it wasn’t a good day for Walter, and Dayne’s heart broke that she wouldn’t be able to give him the kind of birthday celebration that he deserved.
“How are you feeling today, sweetie?” she asked, pasting a smile on her face, for his sake.
Walter looked at her for a long moment—not confused, but seemingly disinterested—then shrugged and resumed staring out the window.
“It’s your birthday, dear. I brought you some cupcakes if you’d like one. Would you like a cupcake?” she held up the box hopefully.
Even if he didn’t know who she was, she still wanted him to at least enjoy a small treat, but there was no response. She moved around so that she could see his face better, and it broke her heart when she noticed what looked like a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
“Walter, honey? Sweetie, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and wishing that she could bridge the mental abyss that seemed to stretch between them at the moment.
“There you are,” an annoyed voice sighed, as the clip-clop of approaching high heels disturbed the low hum in the recreation room.
Dayne looked up in surprise, seeing Sharlene Schenkman-Wilkins, Clara and Walter’s daughter, striding toward them, her face a dark cloud.
“Sharlene, how lovely to see you,” Dayne lied, wondering what had caused the perpetually spoiled little diva to leave Chicago long enough to come visit her ailing father. “Are you in town for a visit?”
Clara’s daughter stared at her for a moment, confused.
“I can’t believe that you, of all people, don’t know why I’m here. You always seem to know everything about my family long before I do,” the young woman snipped. “If you don’t mind, I need a moment with my father.”
“Oh, of course, but you should know that today isn’t one of his good days, and…” Dayne tried to explain.
“A moment please,” Sharlene raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the door.
A storm raged, but Dayne pasted on a plastic smile to match Sharlene’s, and excused herself to get a cup of water. The water cooler was far enough away that it seemed she was being discreet, but not so far that she couldn’t hear Sharlene addressing her father.
“Daddy, can you look at me please?” she demanded.
No response.
“Daddy? Daddy!” she waved her fingers in front of his face, but he sat, staring silently out the window.
“Fine, if that’s how you want to play it,” Sharlene snapped. “I had hoped we could have an actual conversation, but if you’re going to insist on acting like this, I’ll just come out with it.”
Dayne was horrified, and could no longer just stand by and watch Walter being mistreated, so she rushed over.
“Sharlene, you don’t understand… your father isn’t giving you an attitude, his dementia just takes him away from reality at times. This kind of thing happens all the time, it’s not personal, honey, and there’s nothing that he can do to prevent it from happening,” she explained in a rush, touching Walter’s shoulder unconsciously.
Walter’s daughter glared at her. “Sure, take his side. Whatever, you always have. Since you’re here and poking your nose into my family business, where it definitely doesn’t belong, you might as well hear this too. The reason I’m here…” Sharlene’s lower lip trembled slightly, her iron bravado wavering for the first time.
Dayne looked at her curiously, never having seen a vulnerable side to the strong-willed young woman.
“My mother was murdered last night. Maybe when he snaps out of his… whatever… you’ll want to let him know that,” she snarled, wheeling around to leave.
Dayne swayed in shock, grief overwhelming her. She sank down to her knees beside Walter’s wheelchair and clutched at his hand blindly, tears streaming down her face.
CHAPTER 9
The mood at the three friends’ morning coffee and cupcake get-together was somber. Dayne had stopped back briefly to tell the gang about the suspicious death of her best friend, and had left crying, with a free box of cupcakes.
“That poor dear,” Missy shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like to lose a best friend,” she reached over and took Echo’s hand.
“Particularly when you consider the callous way that the daughter sprung the news on her. That’s just awful,” Echo agreed, giving Missy’s hand a comforting squeeze.
“I have an idea as to who the culprit might be. A couple of ideas, actually,” Kel mused.
“Really? Who?” Missy asked. She and Echo leaned forward, eyes on Kel.
“Well, I was at the Club late last week, and heard some of the board members talking about Walter’s business, and the terrible way that Clara had been mismanaging it, despite all of the advice that the other board members tried to give her. Warren Metzler, in particular, was quite vocal about it.”
“So you think he murdered Clara?” Echo asked.
“Possibly, but it could also have been Melvin Chandler.”
“Who’s Melvin Chandler?” Missy asked.
“I’m not quite certain, but whoever he is, he apparently had some rather unpleasant business dealings with Mrs. Schenkman recently, from what I overheard, and it sounds like he would be justified in being very upset with her. I think I’ll have lunch with Sal Benson either later today or tomorrow, and find out what’s going on. He’s on the board at Walter’s company.”
“What about the daughter?” Echo said quietly.
“Not a pleasant young woman, if the stories are to be believed,” Kel commented, sipping his coffee.
Echo persisted, “do you think that she could have anything to do with her mother’s death?” Missy’s eyes widened at the thought.
“Anything’s possib
le, I suppose. I’ll do some checking around. There’s only one hotel in Calgon that Sharlene would deign to stay in, so I’ll sweet-talk Madge, the desk clerk at the Berkshire, to find out when Sharlene checked in. If she’s been here for a bit, it might be worth taking a closer look at her activities since she’s been in town,” the artist nodded to himself.
“Are you going to have time for this?” Echo asked reasonably. “You have a show coming up,” she reminded him.
“Dearest, I always have time to solve a mystery, and besides, the show isn’t for two weeks. If I can help bring some sense of closure to Dayne and Walter, I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he vowed.
“Just be careful, darlin,” Missy admonished him, her southern accent profound.
“Dear lady, I am nothing if not careful,” Kel assured her.
CHAPTER 10
“Spencer! Spencer!” Izzy Gillmore came dashing into the garage workshop, where the Marine was tinkering with the engine on the riding lawnmower that he used to take care of the vast lawn surrounding the inn.
“Hey, what’s up?” he grinned, always pleased to see the author.
Since he’d followed Chas’s advice and just enjoyed her company whenever their paths crossed, he’d been spending quite a bit of time with the auburn-haired beauty.
“A new guest checked into the inn,” she said, sounding dismal.
“Oh, does Maggie need me?” he asked, grabbing a rag and starting to clean his hands.
“I have no idea, but this means that there’ll be someone else staying here, and I don’t know what I should do,” Izzy fretted, twisting her fingers.
“What do you mean? Why do you have to do anything?”
“There’ll be someone else around. What if he comes down for breakfast at the same time that I do? Am I supposed to talk to him? Because I’ll feel totally rude if I don’t. So, is it better to feel rude or awkward? Uuuuugh, I’m so not good at this whole human interaction thing,” she sighed.
Caramel Creme Killer: Book 3 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 3