by Julie Hyzy
She flicked a glance down at the trifold brochure. “Wait until you see what they found in Gus’s room today.”
“What is it?” I turned my head in an attempt to read the brochure upside down. “Who found it? Harland and Joslyn?”
“We found it,” Cathy said, snatching the paper up from the desk. “Harland and Joslyn hadn’t gotten to cleaning the bathroom yet.” Waving the brochure near my face, she said, “You’re going to love this. Frances is going to love this. It’s the answer to her prayers.” Grinning at Debbie, she added, “I only wish Santiago was here today. I’d love to see the look on his face when we show it to him.”
My patience was thinner than the flimsy sheet Cathy flapped between us. “I give,” I said. “What is it?”
A chime dinged softly behind Debbie. She turned to silence it. “Mrs. Anderson’s occupational therapist will be here in five minutes.” She focused on the other nurse. “Would you please get her ready?”
Looking disappointed to be kicked out of the conversation, the woman scuttled away.
“What did you find?” I asked again.
“Take a look,” Cathy said with more than a little pride. “Won’t Santiago be disappointed.”
She handed me the trifold brochure. It wasn’t the sort of glossy, high-quality handout used to promote everything from day trips to home security systems. This looked more like it had been downloaded from the Internet and produced on an ordinary inkjet printer.
The lack of weight and professionalism wasn’t what drew my attention most, however. What made me gasp a little was the crisp blue title on the front of the fold-out page: Your Life, Your Decision. A Helpful Guide to Death When You Choose.
“What is this?” I didn’t really expect an answer. From its bullet-point list offering links to assisted-suicide centers in Oregon, to the gentle words of support for the patient who prefers to “chart his or her own course through the end of life,” I could tell precisely what it was.
Cathy and Debbie didn’t say a word as I flipped the printout back and forth. “You say you found this in Gus’s room?”
“Today,” Cathy said.
“It looks as though Gus may have committed suicide after all,” Debbie said. “I never would have expected that of him.” She held up both hands and shrugged. “But we never really know what another person is thinking, do we?”
I listened only absentmindedly. “How did Harland and Joslyn miss this?” I asked.
“Like I said,” Cathy said, “they hadn’t finished clearing out the bathroom yet.”
“Cathy called the police,” Debbie said. “They’re coming by to pick it up.”
“I’m sure they’ll dust it for fingerprints,” I said, disappointed in myself for touching it without thinking. “Unfortunately, our prints will be all over it.”
“They can dust paper for fingerprints?” Debbie asked.
“Definitely,” I said. “I wish I would have thought of that sooner.” Pinching the upper right corner, I asked, “Could you make a copy for me?”
Cathy’s eyes widened. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“I’ll read it over,” I said. “This feels odd. I want a chance to study it.”
As Cathy turned away to make the requested copy, Debbie’s attention was drawn to something behind me. Her face registered surprise. “Dan,” she called.
I glanced up to see him on a purposeful path to his father’s former apartment. He wore a vexed expression and carried a small, empty cardboard box in one hand.
“Dan,” she called again as she waved him over, “come see what we found in your father’s room.”
Dan halted midstride, then trotted over. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking as surprised by my presence as Cathy and Debbie had been. “Nice to see you again, Grace.”
“You’re here to clean out more of your father’s things?” I directed my gaze to the box.
“Yeah,” he said. “We still have a long way to go.”
“Wait until you see this,” Cathy said.
She started to hand him the folded sheet.
“Give him the copy,” I said. “Put the original in a plastic bag until the police get here.”
She rolled her eyes but acquiesced, handing him the reproduction.
Agitated, probably by my directive, Dan grabbed the proffered sheet with both hands. “What is this?”
“Good news,” Cathy said. Her brow furrowed. “Or maybe not good news. I guess it depends on your perspective. Your dad had it in his room. Hidden in the bathroom.”
It didn’t take long for Dan to grasp the obvious. “This is ridiculous. My father didn’t commit suicide.”
Cathy seemed pleased as punch. “That probably doesn’t help with your dad’s insurance policy, does it? But at least he wasn’t murdered.”
Dan pulled in his lips.
“This isn’t proof,” I said.
“But it could help Frances,” Debbie said. “Maybe even enough to get the charges dropped.”
“Who found this?” I asked.
Cathy raised a tiny pink hand. “Me and Debbie. We found it together.”
“You found it together?” Dan asked.
Debbie shrugged. “The administration wanted us to assess how much longer we thought you and your family might need to clear the room out. Cathy and I went in to take a look around.”
Dan kept turning the paper over and over as though he couldn’t believe what it said. “This looks like it was printed from a computer,” he said. “My dad didn’t use computers.”
“Maybe he had someone print it for him? Maybe Kyle did it?” Cathy said helpfully. “That kid is always messing with technology.”
Dan frowned.
“Where did you find it?” I asked. “Would you mind showing me?”
Another chime sounded. Debbie silenced it. “I have to take care of a patient.”
“I’ll show you,” Cathy said. “Follow me.”
Dan and I fell into step behind her, and I was surprised that she didn’t bother knocking before entering the apartment. She did, however, call out, “Yoo-hoo, anyone here?” before allowing us in. “Percy and Kyle must be out,” she said with a careless shrug. “Not surprising.”
“Any idea where Percy could be?” I asked. “I have a couple of questions for him.”
Cathy wrinkled her nose. “Either playing cards in the Sun Gallery or out at one of the other buildings. Flirting with the ladies, most likely.”
“He does that?”
She laughed. “He’s a hoot, that one.”
As we followed Cathy into Gus’s room, Dan asked, “What kind of questions do you have for Percy? Does it have to do with my dad’s death?”
“A couple of tangential issues,” I answered vaguely. “Probably nothing. I hope to find out for sure today.”
I got the impression Dan intended to press the issue. I shook my head with a pointed look at Cathy. She missed the silent interchange entirely. He gave a quick nod.
Cathy led us into Gus’s bathroom. “It was in here,” she said, tapping the cabinet beneath the sink. She crouched in front of the vanity doors and opened them. “Right there.”
She pointed to the stack of toilet paper I’d sorted through on Monday. I knelt down next to her and peered in. “Where, exactly?” I asked.
She picked up the two top rolls of toilet paper and rested her hand on the two that remained. “In between these rolls,” she said. “Like he was trying to hide it so nobody would notice.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“I saw it myself. I’m the one who found it,” she said with a hint of defensiveness. “Of course I’m sure.”
“This doesn’t seem at all like something my dad would look into,” Dan said again. His tone had taken on a quality that suggested stating something enough times would
somehow make it true.
As we returned to Gus’s bedroom, Cathy’s pager went off. She took a look at its display. “Oops, gotta run,” she said. “One of our patients is going home today. Almost forgot.” Pointing at Dan, she said, “You can stay, because you’re still cleaning out your dad’s room.” She waved her extended finger at me. “But you have to go. I can’t allow you in here unsupervised when the residents aren’t home.”
“I’d like to stay a minute and talk with Dan,” I said.
He startled. “You do?”
“You have to take responsibility for her, then,” Cathy said. “Do you?”
“Grace? Are you in there? Debbie said you were looking for me.”
Percy. Perfect timing. “In here,” I called.
Cathy grinned. “I guess it’s okay for you to stay now.”
“Give me a minute,” Percy shouted when she was gone. “I need to go to my room.”
Dan wore a guarded expression. “What did you want to talk with me about?”
“That pamphlet you’re holding.”
“My dad didn’t commit suicide.” The paper made whoppy noises as he shook it. “This is wrong.”
“Someone put it there,” I said. “After your father died.”
His mouth opened. Then closed. “How do you know that?” He tilted his head. “Do you know who put it there?”
“No idea,” I said. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. If your father committed suicide, his insurance policy is invalid, right?”
“He didn’t commit suicide. Not my dad.” He shook the paper again. “How do you know someone put this here?”
“Remember when you caught me looking around in your father’s bathroom on Monday?”
He rubbed his shar-pei face looking like a man who had lost all patience. “I remember.”
“I had already gone through that cabinet,” I said. “I emptied its entire contents onto the floor and poked through it all before replacing it. I’d planned to do the same thing with his linen closet but you walked in and interrupted me before I could get started.”
“Are you saying that this pamphlet wasn’t there?” he asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He blinked several times as he digested that information. “What do you suppose is going on?” he asked.
“I see two possibilities,” I said. “Either someone wants to invalidate your insurance claim, or someone wants the police to believe Gus wasn’t murdered.”
At that moment, Percy rolled in. “Why were you looking for me?” he asked. “How’s Frances? Is she coming out to see me tomorrow? Do you know?”
Dan looked like someone who’d been smacked upside the head with a two-by-four. I decided to give him time to process my theories before I asked him about likely pamphlet-planting suspects. But I had my own suspicions in that matter.
“Percy,” I said. “Just the man I’m looking for.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Do you remember when Dan caught me digging through his father’s toiletries on Monday?” I asked as I pointed toward the bathroom. “Of course you do. The minute Dan showed up, you scurried back in here.”
“What of it?”
I waited.
Percy squirmed in his wheelchair.
“Where is it, Percy?” I asked.
Next to me, Dan looked utterly befuddled.
Percy raised his chin defiantly. “Where’s what?”
“You know what I’m looking for,” I said. “Gus’s moonshine. The jar Anton brought him last week.”
Obviously dumbfounded, Dan pointed at Percy. “He has it?” To Percy: “You have it?”
Percy’s mouth twitched and he looked away.
Dan started to pace again. “Anton’s been bugging me and Harland about that.” Still holding the brochure copy, he raised both hands to hold his head. “I don’t know what’s going on around here anymore. Everybody’s got secrets.”
“What difference does it make?” Percy asked me. “Gus didn’t need it anymore.”
“Where is it?” I asked again. “In your room? That’s why you didn’t want me following you in there on Monday, isn’t it? While Dan cornered me in here, you were busy hiding it in your room, weren’t you?”
“I guess I can’t pull anything over on you, Miss Detective.”
“Let’s go,” I said. “Show me where it is.”
We followed Percy across the man-cave and into his bedroom. Although he groused mightily, he led us to a pile of books on a shelf next to his refrigerator. The jar of moonshine was tucked behind the small stack.
“Why?” I asked.
The jar’s contents sloshed as he heaved it onto the windowsill. “Why shouldn’t I take it? Kyle and I both had to put up with having Gus as a roommate, but he always invited Kyle—never me—to share his stash. I deserved some, too.”
The jar appeared to be three-quarters full. “How much have you had?”
“Only one shot a night since Monday.”
“Any ill effects?” I asked. “Any unexplained reactions?”
“Worried about me, are you?” A corner of Percy’s mouth quirked up. “Nah, I’m fine. Same as always.”
“How did the police miss this?” I asked.
“Beats me,” Percy said. “I heard this was their first homicide. They’ve probably got a lot to learn.”
Dan stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to make of this.”
“What’s with him?” Percy asked.
I stepped closer to Dan and slid the pamphlet out of his hand. Dan regarded me curiously, but didn’t stop me.
I dropped the paper onto Percy’s lap. “Now tell me about this.”
He edged his hand close to the edge of the page, tapping to straighten it. Squinting down at it, he asked, “What are you talking about? What is this?”
“Cathy found this in Gus’s bathroom.”
I gave him a moment to absorb its meaning. When he finished, he used the side of his hand to shove it away, as though wanting to distance himself from it. “Gus wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of assisted suicide. Not for a minute. Besides, this looks like it was printed off a computer. Gus didn’t use computers.”
“I don’t believe Gus left it there,” I said. “It wasn’t there on Monday when I went through the cabinet.”
“So why are you showing it to me?”
“Why did you leave it in Gus’s bathroom cabinet?”
Percy’s reaction—surprised confusion—seemed genuine. “I’ve never seen that paper before.”
“Really?” Although I believed him, I decided to press to be certain. “You didn’t think that planting seeds of doubt by making the police believe Gus had considered suicide would help take the heat off Frances?”
Sudden comprehension dawned, suffusing his face with stunned delight. “It could, couldn’t it?” he said. “Wish I’d thought of it. But no, sorry to say. I didn’t.”
I took it back. “If you didn’t plant it there, who did?”
We both turned to Dan.
“Do you have any ideas?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m fresh out of them.”
Chapter 32
As I prepared to leave the apartment, I hoisted my purse onto my shoulder and tied my spring jacket around its straps. I’d wrapped one of Percy’s hand towels around the jar of moonshine so as not to add my fingerprints to whatever evidence lingered there, and tucked the toweled burden into the crook of my elbow.
I’d gotten as far as the man-cave with my parcels when the apartment door opened and Debbie walked in. With her were the two detectives, Nieman and Madigan. Madigan held the clear plastic bag containing the trifold brochure.
“Oh good, you found Percy,” Debbie sai
d to me before turning to Dan. “I was about to show these two officers where Cathy and I found your father’s brochure.”
“My father didn’t commit suicide,” Dan said to the two detectives. “Ask Grace here. She’ll tell you.” He nudged my arm. “Tell them what you told me. That this paper was planted in his room.”
Madigan blew out an exasperated sigh. “What now, Ms. Wheaton?”
As I explained the situation, Nieman took notes.
“Could you have missed it when you were here Monday?” Madigan asked.
“Not a chance,” I said. “I took that cabinet’s contents out and put each item back one at a time. It wasn’t there.”
“Why were you going through Mr. Westburg’s belongings?” Nieman asked.
I hesitated. “I thought I’d see if anything had been overlooked.”
“You mean by us?” Madigan asked.
“Or the evidence techs. Whoever searched Gus’s room.”
“That would be us,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter why she was in there,” Nieman said. “What matters is that she says this paper wasn’t there Monday. Would you swear to that?” she asked me.
“Absolutely.”
Madigan frowned. “I don’t get you. This is the first inkling we have that Mr. Westburg may have contemplated suicide. If he did, then your friend Frances is off the hook. Why volunteer information that can’t help her?”
“Because it’s the truth,” I said. “And the more truth we all have, the quicker we’ll find out how Gus really died.” Before Madigan could dismiss me, I said, “And then there’s this.” I held up the towel-wrapped jar of moonshine.
The two detectives exchanged a look.
“Care to explain?” Madigan asked.
I did, finishing with “Now that we’ve recovered it, I assume you’ll want to take it to the lab to have the contents tested for poison.”
Nieman scratched the side of her head. “Are you saying we missed this when we removed items from the victim’s room on Sunday?”
“Apparently so.”
Madigan glared at Percy. “Does the term ‘tampering with evidence’ mean anything to you?”
Percy looked away.