Grace Sees Red

by Julie Hyzy

  I held my breath, but before Percy or Kyle had a chance to answer, Frances said, “They believe Gus was murdered, and they think I did it.”

  Anton’s grief-stricken expression shifted from bewilderment to surprise before settling on outrage. “They are mistaken,” he said. There was a trace of Eastern Europe in his manner of speaking. “This is not possible.”

  “Frances and Gus had another blow-up this morning,” Kyle said. “That makes her Suspect Number One.”

  Anton reached a furry hand across the checkerboard to rest it atop Frances’s. “But of course you didn’t hurt Gus,” he said. “Why would anyone? He had no enemies.”

  Frances looked ready to argue the point, but my swift kick under the table warned her off.

  Anton evidently hadn’t expected an answer. He sat back again and turned to the group. “Why do the police suspect murder? What don’t I know?”

  Under the table, Frances returned my kick before getting to her feet. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.” She turned to me. “You probably ought to come along so you know where it is. We may be here a while.”

  Nothing like a subtle hint. “Sure,” I said. “Good idea.”

  Frances took off out of the room at a speedy pace. I caught up with her in the hallway. She didn’t break stride even when I fell into step next to her. Her hands were fisted, her brow tight. “Not a word. Not yet.”

  Three-quarters of the way down the long corridor, she made a sharp left and pushed her way into a door marked WOMEN.

  Three cream-colored stalls lined the right side of the utilitarian room. Frances placed her hands on her knees and half-bent, half-crouched to check under each of the closed doors.

  I pushed at all three doors, one at a time, satisfied when each of them swung wide open before banging shut once again. “No one here.”

  “You do it your way, and I’ll do it mine.” Frances’s face was red when she righted herself. “Can’t be too careful.”

  “What’s going on, Frances?” I asked.

  She scanned the tops of the walls as though looking for security cameras.

  “We’re in a washroom,” I reminded her. “Nobody’s going to spy on us in here.”

  “You’re so naïve.” Satisfied with her scrutiny, she folded her thick arms across her chest and positioned herself in the middle of the room. “First things first: Out with it. What did Percy tell you about me?”

  “Nothing at all. It’s all been about Gustave,” I said. “Talk to me, Frances. Bennett and I are completely in the dark here. What couldn’t you tell me at the table?”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “They’re being careful not to tell me much, but you and I know how these things work.” She dug one hand out from its perch inside her elbow to wag a finger between us. “We’ve been through this before. Police making foolish mistakes. Bad information. Pheh. That busybody nurse is the one I’m mad at. When he found Gus dead, he should have called the morgue attendants, not the police.”

  “You don’t believe Gus was murdered?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. But now, because that nosy Santiago found a cap in Gus’s room, everybody’s all hysterical, thinking that I dosed Gus with Percy’s medication.”

  “Wait. What are you talking about? You said that the police didn’t tell you anything.”

  Frances’s brows jumped so far up her face I thought they might spring off the top of her head. “You think I’m going to spill everything I know the first time somebody asks?” She harrumphed. “Give me a little more credit than that. I lied when we were at the table.”

  I brought my hands to my head. “Frances, we aren’t playing a game here. If the police suspect you, we have to take this seriously.”

  “It’s pretty clear to me that I’m taking this far more seriously than you are.” She lifted her chin. “Why do you think I pulled you in here? Why do you think I’m telling you about the insulin syringe cap? It’s purple, by the way.” She raised her hands in the air. “It’s purple. Of course it is.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  Frances’s voice had begun to rise as she spoke and she gave a self-conscious glance around the room before continuing in a quieter tone. “On top of all his other health issues, Percy’s a diabetic. We keep insulin in his room for when he needs it.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Stop right there. Why is Percy allowed to keep medication in the apartment? He clearly can’t self-administer.”

  “Don’t let him fool you; he’s fully capable,” Frances said. “He can’t manipulate his hands as well as you and I do, but he’s not as weak as he tries to pretend.” She muttered something about Percy’s predilection for enlisting help from attractive young women before adding, “You probably didn’t notice that he keeps an injector in the chair next to his leg. We tuck one in there for emergencies. The rest are in his room.”

  “That doesn’t explain why the facility allows patients to keep their own medication. Isn’t it their job to deliver dosages?”

  “Just because he’s disabled doesn’t mean he’s helpless.” Frances ran her fingers up both sides of her head, clearly losing patience. “Percy’s here for assisted living, not critical care. There’s a difference. He needs help getting in and out of bed sometimes and he can’t prepare his own food, but mostly he manages on his own. Indwell provides him a measure of autonomy, but help is here if he needs it. That’s the whole point: to allow residents to live as normal a life as possible. That’s why it costs so much to get into this place. And don’t even get me started on the monthly fees.”

  “Got it. I’m sorry. Go on.”

  Jamming a finger into her chest, she said, “I didn’t kill the old geezer, but if somebody did, it looks like they used Percy’s insulin.”

  “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way to know that before lab results come in. They haven’t even taken the body away yet.”

  “The police are speculating,” she said with an emphatic lilt to the word. “Nosy boy Santiago found a bright purple cap rolling around under Gus’s bed when he went in there to do the heparin lock flush. He picked the cap up, recognized it, and planned to ask us about it later. But when he saw Gus was dead, he freaked out and called the police instead.”

  “That’s hardly proof.”

  “Yes, but he was quick to alert the authorities about the individual who’d argued with Gus this morning—a person who conveniently has access to Percy’s medicine. Guess who he was talking about?” She hit herself in the chest again, this time with both hands. “Me. That’s who.”

  “What did you argue about?”

  “Does it matter?” A moment later, she added, “Like usual, he started complaining about the ‘mess’ I made. All I did was leave my purse and coat on the sofa. It’s where I always leave them. But I guess he wanted to sit there right at that very moment. I told him if he didn’t shut up, I’d give him a whole lot more to complain about.”

  I winced. “Couldn’t the cap they found have been accidentally dropped by another nurse visiting Gus’s room? I’m sure they deal with insulin every day for plenty of patients.”

  “Percy’s the only diabetic in that section, apparently.” Frances shook her head. “But, more than that, Gus was a whack job about cleanliness. Nothing ever out of place. And he was completely ambulatory. Believe me, if he’d seen that cap on the floor, he would have pitched a fit you’d have heard back in Emberstowne.”

  “Still, that’s circumstantial.”

  She started to pace the tile floor. “Yeah, until you get to the part where you find out that one of Percy’s insulin syringes is missing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She stopped pacing to glare at me. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  There had to be another answer. “Could Gus have taken the insulin himself?”

  “You m
ean could he have committed suicide?” She shrugged. “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it. The guy may have been a lousy lunkhead, but he firmly believed in his right to be here.”

  “So how did the cap get there?”

  “That’s the million-dollar-bail question,” she said. “And when they find the syringe, guess whose fingerprints will be all over it?”

  My heart sank. “Yours.”

  She pursed her lips. “Yesterday, I realized I hadn’t checked the expiration on Percy’s meds for quite some time, so I pulled everything out. None of it was out-of-date, so I put everything back.”

  “Who knew you did that?” I asked.

  “I know where you’re going,” she said, waving the air between us. “Nobody’s trying to frame me.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Nobody knew I handled the insulin. Not yesterday specifically, at least. Everyone here knows that I take care of Percy’s share of the apartment and make certain his room is clean and his supplies are in place. I’ve done that since he moved in. Yesterday’s inventory was nothing special. Nothing missing.”

  “How long has Percy been a resident?”

  She pulled her mouth to one side. “A little short of ten years. He was one of the first residents when Indwell opened.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked. “I mean, what brought him here in the first place?”

  “I brought him here,” she said with a fiery spark in her eyes. “After he lost control of his motorcycle and slammed his spine into a cement barrier.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That had to be devastating.”

  “I don’t know what hurts him worse: not being able to move his legs or the fact that there was no one willing to help him. No one but me, that is.”

  “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “Too bad he didn’t realize that when we were still married.” Her eyes still blazing, she added, “Where were all those swooning women when he needed them? Not one of them stuck around when his life fell apart. Took a life-threatening accident to wake him up.”

  “I’m sorry, Frances,” I said.

  She glared again. “Don’t you dare pity me. I made my bed, I’m lying in it. Nobody’s business but my own, you understand?”

  “Yes. Got it.”

  “If it weren’t for that stupid nurse sounding the alarm, I’d have been able to keep you and the Mister out of all this. Now everyone in Emberstowne will know that I’m stuck taking care of the jerk who broke my heart all those years ago.”

  “No one has to know,” I said. “Bennett and I won’t tell a soul.”

  Her mouth turned down sharply. “This news will get out. Mark my words.”

  Chapter 7

  When Frances and I returned to the Sun Gallery, only Percy and Kyle remained at the table.

  “Where’s Bennett?” I asked as Frances and I reclaimed our seats.

  “The lawyer showed up; they’re talking.” Kyle twisted to look around the room. “Don’t know where they went.”

  “What about Anton?”

  “Police are questioning him,” Percy said.

  I pointed to the bag Anton had thunked onto the table when he’d arrived. “Looks like he forgot something.”

  “Yeah, right.” Kyle laughed. “I’m sure that was no oversight.” He grinned across the table until he caught Percy’s eye. “What do you think the police would make of his contraband?”

  Percy wore a thoughtful look. “Maybe we should tell them about Anton’s regular deliveries.”

  “No, I was just kidding,” Kyle said. “There’s no way Anton killed Gus.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Percy sent an exaggerated loving gaze to Frances. “All I care about is getting the focus off my sweetie.”

  She rolled her eyes but her cheeks warmed.

  Not understanding the conversation, I decided to find out exactly what contraband they were talking about. I picked up the heavy brown bag and wrapped my fingers around the neck of the bottle inside. “You’re kidding me,” I said when I pulled out a factory-sealed fifth of scotch. “Anton brought this for Gus?”

  Percy and Kyle were unfazed.

  “He brings in a bottle at least twice a week,” Kyle said. “They share whatever it is. But they’re not very picky, are they, Percy?” Without giving his roommate a chance to answer, he continued. “Scotch, gin, bourbon, you name it, Anton brought it in. Sometimes—if Gus was in a good mood—they’d even share.”

  “With you,” Percy said. “Gus didn’t like me.”

  Appalled, I turned on Frances. “We should tell the police.”

  She waved the air. “Anton wouldn’t kill Gus.”

  “Neither would you, but that isn’t stopping them from suspecting you.” I hefted the bottle. “What if he died from something he drank?”

  Percy fidgeted in his chair. “Gus kept the liquor in a cabinet so that the nurses wouldn’t see it and dump it out.” He blinked a couple of times, as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “But that doesn’t mean Anton couldn’t have added something to one of the open bottles when Gus wasn’t looking.” He locked eyes with Kyle. “You know how Gus liked to start every morning with a healthy swig.”

  “Healthy?” I asked. “Hardly.”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said, twisting his mouth. “Anton’s a heck of a good guy. I can’t see him doing anything to hurt Gus. Besides, that bottle hasn’t even been opened.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The cops need to know about his habits.” Percy curled his fingers around the wheelchair’s joystick. “Put the bottle on my lap,” he said to Frances. “I’ll take it with me.”

  Just then, Bennett returned. A short, heavyset woman wearing a plum skirt suit accompanied him. Though Bennett took his customary long-legged strides to cross the room, the diminutive woman managed to keep pace.

  She sharply scrutinized our little group, her deep-set eyes missing nothing. Agewise I assumed she fell between Frances and me, but whether she’d hit forty or fifty at her last milestone birthday was impossible to tell. Her bob-length hair was a rich auburn, her skin smooth.

  “This is Lillandra Holland,” Bennett said without preamble when they reached us. He then introduced me, Percy, and Kyle. “Frances,” he said, “Ms. Holland will be representing you in this matter.”

  The lawyer held up two pillowy palms. “Call me Lily, please,” she said. “Makes life much easier for everyone.” Turning to Frances, she extended a hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Sliwa.”

  The quick seconds it took for the two women to shake provided Frances ample opportunity to invite the lawyer to call her by her first name. She didn’t.

  Unruffled, Lily continued. “I’ve spoken with the detectives in charge and convinced them to allow you to return to Emberstowne. You may have to make yourself available for further questioning at some point, but we’ll worry about that when it happens.”

  Frances gave a satisfied nod. “It’s about time they realized they were wasting their efforts.”

  Lily waved a chubby finger. “So that there are no misunderstandings, let me assure you that while you’re free to go now—and I do mean that we ought to leave right now—the police have not completely eliminated you as a suspect. You’re not in the clear. Not yet.”

  Frances looked away. “Stupid cops.”

  Lily shot Bennett a glance. I had no doubt he’d forewarned the attorney about Frances’s prickly nature.

  “I’d like you out of here before they change their minds.” Lily gestured Frances to follow. “We can talk on the way back to Emberstowne.”

  “What about my car?” Frances asked. “I’m not leaving it here.”

  “Gracie or I can drive your vehicle back,” Bennett said. “We’ll drop it off in front of your house.”

  Grudgingly, Frances reached into her cavernous vinyl
purse and dug out keys. “You can keep this set until I come in tomorrow. I have spares at home.”

  She then shot a look to Percy, who still waited with the bottle on his lap. He lifted his chin. “Go,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  * * *

  I would have preferred to drive back to Marshfield with Bennett so that we could compare notes along the way, but he took off in Frances’s Buick, while the two women left in Lily’s Lexus, and I drove home alone.

  Surprised to find both my roommates’ cars in our driveway, I parked behind Scott’s and let myself in through the back door.

  “What are you guys doing home so early?” I asked.

  They both looked up at me. I took in the papers strewn across our kitchen table, the open laptop, and their wan, distraught faces and got the impression that my arrival had jolted them both out of a dream. From the looks of it, a nightmare.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Bootsie curled around the doorway, saw it was me, and hurried back out of the room. Neither Bruce nor Scott noticed her.

  “We’re done.” Scott’s voice was lifeless, flat.

  I pulled out a chair and sat across from them, not even bothering to peel off my jacket. “What happened to the thirty days?”

  “Thirty days turned into zero days,” Bruce said, making a circle with his fingers, “today, when the village inspector shut us down.”

  “But . . . it’s Sunday,” I said, as though that solved anything. “Village inspectors don’t work on weekends.”

  “They do when a building collapses,” Scott said. He pantomimed the sky falling. “You know our second floor? Where we kept office supplies and stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  He smashed his hands together. “All part of the first floor now.” Anticipating my next question, he hurried to add, “No one was hurt, thank goodness. Most of the damage is at the rear of the building. But we lost a lot of our inventory underneath it.”

  “A lot,” Bruce said. “There’s wine everywhere.”

  “Everywhere,” Scott echoed. “There’s a river of wine winding across the floor. Like that scene from A Tale of Two Cities, but without all the people lapping it up off the ground.” He turned to Bruce: “It’s a good thing we never utilized that second floor fully, the way we talked about. Can you imagine how much worse it would have been with extra weight up there?”