Hawkman let out a whistle. “My goodness, you look spiffy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hawkman. Doesn't our Mr. Kevin look handsome?”
“Yes, you two make a charming couple. Does George mind you being escorted by this strange man?”
“Are you kidding?” she smirked. “He's so relieved he doesn't have to go. Social events are not my hubby's thing.” She motioned for Kevin. “Come on, we've got to get going or we won't get a good seat.”
Hawkman accompanied them down to the main floor, where he zigzagged through the crowd and departed out the front door. He drove toward his office with Maggie on his mind. There'd been several negative remarks about her, and he came to the conclusion she was definitely headstrong. If the truth be known, he imagined few people really got along with her. It made him wonder what she might be capable of doing. However, the people who'd passed on were supposedly dear friends of the Hamptons. He couldn't imagine her murdering them. But one really never knows.
When he reached the office, he immediately sat down at his desk and jotted down a few pertinent points, closed the file and decided to wrap it up for the day. A cold breeze snapped at his ears as he stepped outside. He hooked up his collar and jogged down the stairs where he met Clyde the baker coming around the corner of the building, bundled in a heavy coat.
“Good evening, Mr. Casey. I think winter is upon us,” he said, hurrying to his vehicle.
“I believe you're right. The northerner the meteorologist warned us about has hit,” Hawkman said, as he hastened to the SUV. A gust of icy wind slammed into him before he could get the door closed and vibrated the whole 4x4. He quickly inserted the key, turned on the heater, and headed home.
When he arrived, he immediately went to Pretty Girl's cage, lowered the wooden window and buckled down the tarp so she'd be protected from the cold weather. Jennifer had pulled on a sweatshirt and had the fireplace going. Miss Marple lay curled up on one side of the hearth.
“I think old man winter has arrived,” she said, as he stepped inside.
“Yeah, with a vengeance.”
* * * *
Saturday morning, Hawkman crawled out of bed and shivered. He immediately flipped on the furnace and glanced out the kitchen window. A light layer of snow feathered the ground and flakes were slowly drifting from the heavens. The overcast appeared heavy, which would make for a dreary day.
He dressed, had breakfast with Jennifer, then slid into his sheepskin jacket and left for Medford to do his turn of chaperoning Maggie. The roads weren't icy yet, but if rain mixed with the snow, it wouldn't take long. Very treacherous driving under those circumstances, because even the four-wheel drive wouldn't do much good on slick pavement.
Driving more cautiously than usual, he made it into Medford without incident and drove to Morning Glory Haven. When he walked down the halls, he noticed there weren't many walking the frigid corridor, and those who were had bundled in sweaters and heavy coats. When he approached Maggie's apartment, George stood outside the door with a cup of coffee.
“What are you doing out here in this breezy hallway?” Hawkman asked.
“Waiting for Maggie to get over her tirade.”
“What's her problem today?”
“She's fussing at me about not keeping track of my blood sugar. No big deal, I'm used to her nagging.” George turned and opened the door. “Come on in, I'll let her know you're here.”
They stepped into the living room and Maggie sat on the couch with her arms folded across her chest. “Hello, Mr. Hawkman. I'm actually glad to see you. George, go and run your errands. Don't forget to get the list of items I gave you.”
He gave her a peck on the cheek, winked at Hawkman and limped into the hallway.
As the door slid shut, Hawkman felt the cell phone vibrate against his waist. He pulled it from the pouch on his belt and noted the call came from Jennifer. Quickly answering, he laughed. “Okay, I'll put it on my grocery list.” After returning the phone, he slapped his shirt pocket and realized he'd forgotten to carry a pen. He reached down on the small coffee table, snatched up the one lying there and started to write on the paper pad. When he punched the top, instead of the end of an ink end protruding, a needle emerged, and dripped liquid over the paper. “What the hell is this?”
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* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maggie jerked her head toward Hawkman, then held out her hand. “Oh, for crying out loud, give me that. George must have left it on the table. I don't know what I'm going to do with my absent minded husband.”
Hawkman turned the instrument in his hand as he studied it. “What is this?”
She dropped her uplifted arm to her lap. “It's an insulin pen. Haven't you seen them before?”
“No, but I see the needle, and this one seems full of liquid. So this is what your doctor kept referring to when he talked about George's diabetes. I never got the chance to ask him.” Hawkman handed it to her. “I don't think it's a good idea to leave it out in the open.”
“Of course it isn't. I'll put it away. I filled the vial with George's dosage and told him to stick it in his pocket before he left. We were watching a program on the television and he was so engrossed, he must have completely forgotten about it.”
“I could probably catch him before he gets to his car.”
She flipped her hand in the air. “He's got a supply at home and can take care of himself. For crying out loud, he's a grown man and should do a better job of keeping tabs on his medications. I get so frustrated because he's always losing these pens. It surprises me Dr. Bunker keeps filling the prescription.”
“Maybe you should change places with him,” Hawkman said. “Or better yet, you both live in Morning Glory Haven.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? George would go nuts.”
He shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”
“Who'd take care of our property and Pesky?”
“Sell it, and bring your dog here.”
She threw back her shoulders, and glared at Hawkman. “I'd never give up my home or confine my precious pet to such close living quarters. She loves to run outside and play.”
“Do you intend to move back to your real home soon?”
Her face fell, and she clutched her hands in her lap. “Not unless I improve. Right now my condition is staying much the same, and there's no way George can take care of me, the house, and Pesky. It would just be too much. At least I can go visit, even spend the night, if I so desire. However, I don't dare leave here overnight.”
Hawkman frowned. “Why?”
“Some things have gone missing. Unfortunately, I can't prove it.”
“What items?”
She lifted a finger in the air. “A pair of earrings, a necklace, a porcelain coffee cup, stuff that doesn't really amount to anything, but it's mine.”
Both glanced toward the door when it opened.
“Hey, what's the big conference about?” George asked, as he strolled back into the room.
Hawkman stepped back. “You forget something?”
“Thought you might need a break from my other half,” George chuckled. Then he turned to Maggie. “My sweetheart. I thought if you were up to it, we'd go for a ride and out to lunch?”
“Wonderful idea. I need a breath of fresh air. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right with you.”
He helped her up so she could get a good grasp on her walker. Once she'd scooted into the bedroom and closed the door, George spoke to Hawkman, “What was the big confab about when I walked in?”
“Maggie said you forgot your insulin pen. She also told me about some items missing from her room.”
George frowned. “Oh dear, yes, I completely forgot the pen and she'd fixed it all up for me too. As far as the little items she thinks have been stolen, could be anywhere in this apartment. I'm not the only one who misplaces stuff.”
“You seem to be feeling good and in fine spirits, even after forgetti
ng your medication,” Hawkman commented.
George automatically put his hand to his chest. “I didn't have a pocket in this shirt, and put the pen on the table. It's no big deal. I have plenty of insulin at the house. Maggie just makes it easier, as she fixes the dosage and I don't have to worry about it.”
“You like the pens?”
“Yeah, they're not as conspicuous as a syringe.”
“Understood.” Hawkman said. “If you're leaving for the afternoon, I might as well get out of your way and let you handle your feisty spouse.”
Hawkman left relieved he didn't have to stay with Maggie. He headed out of the building to the parking lot, and drove to the grocery store to pick up the items on Jennifer's list.
* * * *
Sunday morning, Hawkman decided to stay home, and take Pretty Girl for a hunt. He bundled up, as the wind blew in cold gusts and whistled around the corners of the house, shaking the window panes. The falcon wouldn't mind the frigid weather with the excitement of a hunt on her mind.
Loading the portable perch into his SUV, he slipped on the leather glove, then walked around the house and fetched her from the cage. She flapped her wings, almost knocking off his hat.
“Hey, girl, take it easy. I know you're excited. We'll get there shortly.”
He tethered her to the perch, then drove across the bridge and made a left on Ager Beswick Road. Bucking the wind and a smattering of moisture hitting the windshield, he decided to stop at an open field instead of driving all the way to Richard's place.
Pulling to the side on a wide spot in the road, he got out and went around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He released Pretty Girl's leg, then carried her on his protected arm to the edge of the field, and let her go. The beauty of her flight never ceased to amaze him, as she soared high in the sky. The wind only showed her strength as she circled, never faltering. Soon, she straightened out and headed toward the river, then dove into a grove of trees where she disappeared.
Hawkman pulled up the collar of his sheepherder's coat and thrust his hands into the fur-lined pockets. “Think I'll wait in the 4X4,” he mumbled
Once inside, protected from the freezing wind, he took his binoculars from the glove compartment and searched the landscape for his beloved pet. She hadn't been gone long, but he always worried on each hunt she'd take off and leave him forever. Several minutes passed when out of the clump of trees two birds rose into the air. His heart sunk; this is what he'd feared could happen. A male falcon pursuing his beautiful female.
Hawkman quickly jumped out of the vehicle and headed for the center of the field. His lips cold, it took him a few seconds to whistle the familiar tune Pretty Girl would recognize. He watched the two playing in the currents above him. Scared the wind carried his sound away, he let forth the signal as loud as he could. It appeared she was ignoring him, but he didn't give up. About the time he thought he'd lost his falcon, one of the birds broke away from the circled flight and headed down in a dive. He stretched out his leather clad arm and prayed she wasn't teasing.
Holding his breath as she flew above him, he called her name over and over. Then she set her wings and made a perfect landing on the glove.
“You beautiful falcon. I thought I'd lost you to a handsome guy.”
She let out a squawk and settled on his arm as he headed back to the 4X4. He cooed to her all the way home, so thankful he still had his wonderful pet.
When Hawkman arrived at the house, he placed Pretty Girl in her cage, then went inside and told Jennifer what had happened.
“You had a close call. Maybe you shouldn't use that area anymore for her hunting. There may be a group of hawks and falcons congregating by the river.”
“Think you're right. I won't risk it again.”
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* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Monday morning, when Hawkman reached the office, he flipped on the answering machine to hear Dr. Grahm's voice requesting a meeting, and asked him to call to set up a time.
Hawkman quickly placed the small sack with the bear claw pastry on the desk, sat down and punched in the number recited on the message. When a female answered, he recognized the voice of Dr. Grahm's receptionist. He identified himself, then listened to her instructions.
“Yes, I can be there at eleven thirty.”
After hanging up, he put on the coffee pot, then stared out the window overlooking the parking lot. He figured Dr. Grahm had received more of the autopsy reports on Gladys Owens.
In deep thought, Hawkman meandered over to the counter, poured himself a cup of the hot brew and returned to the desk. He wondered if the good doctor would confide the results, or just take great pleasure informing him her death was due to natural causes. Considering this man's type of personality, he could picture the satisfied expression on his face to report such news. If the report showed a suspicious cause, which Hawkman felt in his gut, would Grahm tell him?
These thoughts plagued Hawkman's mind as he feasted on the pastry, and again, read through the notes he'd filed in the Morning Glory folder. He felt he'd surely missed something, but nothing jumped out at him. After underlining several items to pursue, he closed the folder and booted up the computer. He Googled ‘insulin pens', and ran across several interesting descriptions and pictures of the small instrument and could see how they could be a very popular item among diabetics. They could inject their insulin without feeling people were scrutinizing them when they plunged a syringe into their body.
Hawkman bookmarked the sites, thinking he'd ask George if he or Maggie knew how to use a computer, and pass the urls over. Then he chuckled to himself and shook his head, “You're dreaming,” he mumbled. “George doesn't even like to calculate his own medication, he doesn't have a cell phone, so why in heaven's name would you think he could use a complicated machine.”
He checked his watch and shut down the computer. After turning off the coffee urn, he slipped the file into his briefcase, the recorder into his shirt pocket and left the office for the meeting with Dr. Grahm.
When he walked into the empty waiting room, the receptionist acknowledged him.
“Hello, Mr. Casey. Dr. Grahm is with his last patient before the lunch hour, so you shouldn't have to wait long.”
Hawkman gave a small salute and took a seat. Within a few minutes, a short, thin man, assisted by a cane, limped into view, and stopped at the receptionist's desk. His hands trembled as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
“Hello, Mr. Taylor. I understand you're doing real well on your new medication.”
Despite the hearing aids hooked on each ear, he cupped a hand over one. “Whatcha say?”
She repeated her statement and told him the fee.
“Yeah, I feel much better. Thanks to the doc.” He paid in cash, waited for the receipt, then hobbled out the door.
She wrote in her journal, stood and said, “Follow me, Mr. Casey.”
Hawkman rose, flipped on the recorder and trailed her down the hallway to the same door she'd led him to at the last meeting.
She knocked softly, then poked her head inside. “Mr. Casey's here.”
“Good, have him come in.”
When Hawkman entered, the door closed softly and the doctor motioned at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Hawkman noted the man looked extremely tired; deep, creased worry lines crossed his forehead, and dark circles had formed under his eyes.
He let out a loud sigh, then spoke. “I could get into a lot of trouble for confiding in you about this report. Mrs. Owens’ physician is on vacation for a month and I do have the authority to take care of any serious business at hand. I felt this important.”
“I'm game. If you didn't give it to me, I'm sure I could get permission from her daughter to receive a copy.”
“The report came early this morning, and it's disturbing. They're also doing more tests.” He opened the file in front of him and rattled off medical terms.
Hawkman interrupted. “Doctor, hold it. Could you give me this information in lay terms? I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about.”
Grahm ran a hand across his face. “Sorry, my fault. These items are so familiar to me, I don't even think about it.” He leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Owens died of an insulin overdose.”
Hawkman came forward in his seat. “Was she diabetic?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn't there be some pre-warning before the person died?”
“Not necessarily. If she'd been sedated and someone wasn't available at the time it happened to observe a problem, the person would usually die.”
“Why is there more testing being done, if they know why she succumbed?”
“They're trying to determine the type of insulin, the brand, and what other drugs are present in her body.”
“Have you called the police?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I needed to talk to you first. This could have been an accident. It does happen. I wondered if you'd come up with other incidents at Morning Glory Haven like this one?”
“This is the first autopsy that's been conducted. So I have no idea about the other deaths except from what the doctor reports indicated. I still question why autopsies weren't done.”
Grahm bowed his head, then glanced up at Hawkman. “You have to understand; this is an old folk's home. These people have all kinds of medical problems and really aren't expected to live much longer after being put in there.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “When the sickly die, I can honestly tell you, in most cases their hearts simply give out. However, after Mrs. Owens’ death, I thought something askew, because after reviewing her file, I discovered she didn't have any real bad health issues that would cause her sudden demise, except for the diabetes.”
“What would you look for that would make you request one?”
“There is the possibility an older person might ingest a poison without even knowing what he's doing. If a person dies of toxic poisoning, there are signs, such as facial contortions or limbs drawn up, and usually they could call for help before death. With insulin overdose the patient may not be aware they need help, especially if they've taken a sleep aid.”
Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12] Page 12