Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones

by Terry Odell

  “You’re clear, Chief.”

  “Thanks. Can you get me a list of everyone who’s lived in Mapleton for more than thirty years? Start with property tax rolls, voter registration records, and anything else you can think of.”

  “Will do.”

  That’s what he liked about Laurie. Not only was she competent, but she didn’t ask questions.

  Next, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until he knew more about Rose’s condition, he called Davey Gilman and asked the paramedic if he had any news.

  “No significant change,” Gilman said. “The antibiotics aren’t kicking in fast enough, so the doctors are reevaluating. I’ll let you know if I can tease any other information out of the staff.”

  No change. So maybe Rose had remembered whatever had been nagging at her, and it wasn’t anything worth mentioning. Fever dreams. “Don’t get in trouble,” Gordon said. “You or anyone else.”

  “Me? Never.”

  Gordon visualized Gilman’s white-toothed smile and his own lips curved upward. “Catch you later. Be safe.”

  After requesting that Connie go through the dispatch calls Irv handled, Gordon glanced at his inbox. Making a silent promise to get to its contents soon, he pulled out a stack of index cards and the notes he’d already made from his earlier database searches. To those, he added the notes he’d taken when he’d spoken to Rose and Sam. Maybe he could cheer Rose up if he uncovered some information about the whereabouts of Benny and Zannah. Plus, he admitted to himself, he was curious. According to his notes, they’d retired and left Mapleton twenty-seven years ago, which was close enough to Asel’s thirty year approximation to warrant a little digging. And if the bones turned out to belong to one of them?

  Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head?

  Chapter 13

  Megan rubbed her palms on her slacks, then grasped Justin’s hand. “Upbeat, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Wait.” Megan pushed Justin against the wall and smothered him with a kiss. His surprise shifted to tenderness, and she absorbed his strength. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

  Justin pushed Rose’s door open. Megan took a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t. As soon as she stepped inside, hospital smells—disinfectant mixed with something she could only describe as “sickness” assaulted her. Her stomach lurched.

  Rose, looking tinier than ever, and barely a shade darker than the white hospital sheets, lay propped up in the bed, her eyes closed. IV tubing in the back of her hand connected her to a stand with hanging bags of liquids. More tubing went into her nostrils. A machine behind her head bleeped and displayed numbers. Megan gripped Justin’s hand even more tightly. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Sure you can.” Justin took her hand in both of his and approached the bed. “Hi, Oma. We’re here to say hello.”

  Rose’s eyes flickered open. She turned her head away. “You shouldn’t have come.” Her voice was hoarse, and cracked as she worked to speak. The bleeping sped up.

  Megan couldn’t get words beyond the tightness in her throat. Thankfully, Justin covered for her.

  “Oma, of course we’re going to come. You’re family, and family is always there for each other.”

  “I don’t like being this way,” Rose said. “I want to go home.”

  Megan blinked back tears. “You’ll be well soon. You need to get plenty of rest and do what the doctors say.”

  “Sam?” she said, as if just realizing he was missing. A pained expression crossed her face. “The bones. I need to tell Sam.”

  “You already did, Oma,” Justin said. “Remember? Yesterday, when Gordon was at the house. He knows all about them.”

  “Where is he?” Rose asked.

  “The nurses didn’t want more than two of us in the room.” Justin took her fingertips in his. “He’s getting some tea for you. While he’s gone, you’ll have to put up with us.”

  “Then sit.”

  Megan sat in Sam’s vacated chair and noticed a paperback on the night table. “Was Sam reading this to you?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Megan started reading. Speaking words from a page was so much easier than trying to make conversation when all she could think about was how frail Rose looked, and how she wasn’t sure the doctors were doing enough, and what might happen if the antibiotics didn’t take hold.

  Within two pages, Rose’s eyes closed again, and the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen filled the room. The bleeping slowed to a sedate, almost reassuring pace. Megan kept reading. Justin stepped from behind her and took the book from her hand. “She’s asleep.” He replaced the bookmark and set the book on the nightstand.

  Megan rose. “You can sit with her. I’m going to find a restroom.”

  “Megan—”

  She rushed from the room. Even if Rose was asleep, Megan wouldn’t cry in her presence.

  * * * * *

  After indulging herself in a brief meltdown in the relative privacy of a ladies room stall, Megan splashed cold water on her face, trying to erase the evidence that she’d come apart. She reapplied her makeup, fluffed her hair, and practiced smiling into the mirror. If she didn’t get any closer than the foot of Rose’s bed, and if Rose didn’t have her glasses on, she might get away with looking upbeat. Lots of ifs and mights, and Rose rarely missed anything.

  Still, Megan had to try. She gathered her composure with a few deep breaths and kept the smile on her face as she trudged down the hall. A few steps before reaching Rose’s room, Megan straightened her spine and tried for a little bounce in her step.

  Justin looked up when she entered Rose’s room. His quiet nod reassured her the way no doctor’s medical-speak could. “Her breathing seems steadier. How about you? Are you all right?”

  Megan’s smile switched from forced to genuine. “Yes, I am.” She dragged a second chair over beside Justin, who still held Rose’s hand. Megan dovetailed her fingers with Justin’s other hand, and it was as if the two of them projected their strength to Rose. Thoughts of Angie’s feelings trickled through. Maybe there was some sort of indefinable power, and it manifested itself differently to different people. Whatever it was, she felt… connected.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when a nurse came into the room. The nurse checked the IV, the oxygen, and after looking at the bleep machine, wrote something on a chart.

  “Is she improving?” Megan asked.

  The nurse consulted the chart. “She’s holding steady.”

  Which wasn’t as good as improving, but was a lot better than hearing Rose was getting worse.

  Sam returned, sporting clean clothes and smelling like soap and Old Spice. “She sleeps, ja?”

  “Yes,” Justin said. “The nurse was in a few minutes ago and said she’s stable.”

  “Gut. I will call Katya and let her know her mother is doing well. She and Paul do not need to come back.” Sam set one of the two travel mugs he carried onto the nightstand, along with a small paper bag. “Herbal tea. The doctor said she could have some, but the hospital has none. I went home and brought her favorite tea bags for her.”

  “She’ll like that,” Megan said. She untangled her fingers from Justin’s and gestured Sam to her chair.

  “No, Opa, you sit here.” Justin jumped up. “We’ll go get some coffee in the cafeteria, and take turns sitting with her.”

  “I am not a baby needing someone to sit with me.” Rose’s voice was a croak, followed by a cough. Her eyes didn’t open.

  Sam reached for the travel mug from the nightstand. “Have some tea. It should help your throat.” The bed made a grinding noise as Sam adjusted the height. He slid one hand behind her pillow to elevate her further, and held the mug to her lips.

  Rose sipped, still keeping her eyes closed. Megan remembered being a young child and thinking if her eyes were closed, then nobody could see her. Was Rose hiding?

  “Rose.” Megan stepped closer. No response. “Next trip I’m g
oing to bring you some nicer things. I’m sure you’ll feel better wearing one of your own nightgowns. What else would you like?”

  Finally, Rose’s blue eyes—red-rimmed and watery—opened. “Meggie, you don’t need to do anything. Shouldn’t you be getting back to work? And you, too, Justin. The gazebo is finished, the party is over. You both have important jobs. People depend on you.”

  “I have two more days,” Justin said. “I can use the time to finish that grant proposal.”

  “Nothing’s as important as you are, Rose,” Megan said. “I’m taking a few more days off myself. I asked my boss, and he said there was nothing critical—they can do without me for a bit.” She forced a laugh. “Let them see how much work I do around there. Besides, I can do a lot from my laptop.”

  This was not the time to tell Rose about her job. The truth wasn’t going to help her get well any faster.

  The door opened, and Doctor Evans poked his head inside. “Ah, everybody’s here.”

  “Sorry,” Megan said. “We know we’re not all supposed to be in here at once. Justin and I were just leaving.”

  Doctor Evans waved a hand in front of his face. “That rule doesn’t apply now that she’s stable. As long as you don’t tire her out, you can all stay.”

  “Would it be asking too much to consult the patient about who she wants in her room?” Rose muttered, followed by another fit of coughing, along with some labored gasps for breath. Doctor Evans unwrapped the stethoscope from his neck and plugged it into his ears, approaching the bed. Sam jerked to his feet.

  Megan saw the concern filling Doctor Evans’ face. She reached for Justin—again. He was definitely becoming her anchor. Justin squeezed her hand and drew closer. “That didn’t sound good,” she whispered. The bleep machine picked up the tempo, and Megan’s heart raced, as if trying to match the rhythm.

  “Good thing the doctor was already in the room,” Justin said.

  Megan kept her voice low. “I shouldn’t have said anything about not going home. I’m sure it upset her.”

  Justin gave her another squeeze. “And I’m sure it’s the infection, not anything you said.”

  While Doctor Evans listened to Rose’s chest, Sam stood on the other side of the bed, his age-spotted hands clenched into fists. Megan slipped away from Justin and looped her arm around Sam’s waist, trying to share what little strength she had left.

  After what seemed like hours, Doctor Evans removed the ear pieces and tucked the stethoscope around his neck again. Megan saw his frown. “What?”

  The doctor quickly schooled his features into a more neutral expression. “More congestion than what I’d like to hear. A modification of her medications is likely all that’s needed, but I’m going to consult a colleague.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always wise to get a second opinion, you know.”

  “You will tell us what you find?” Sam said. Although he voiced it as a question, it was clearly a command.

  * * * * *

  Megan left the men at the hospital. She’d already discovered that waiting—especially for something involving someone she loved—wasn’t her strong suit. Back at Rose’s house, she found a small overnight case and began filling it with things that would make Rose feel more at home. According to Doctor Evans’ prediction, Rose would be in the hospital at least three more days.

  She resisted the feeling of voyeurism as she searched Rose’s dresser for a nightgown. Heat flooded her face as she found a red silk negligee. And an even more risqué sheer black lace-trimmed gown. She shoved them both back into the drawer. Didn’t Rose have any modest cotton nightgowns? Or a long-sleeved nightshirt? Or flannel pajamas? Good grief. Rose’s lingerie was sexier than anything Megan owned. She couldn’t imagine Rose wearing these, much less wearing them in front of the hospital staff.

  She opened the next drawer and—thank goodness—was relieved to find more… suitable… nightwear. With a sigh of relief, she chose two knee-length nightgowns, one cotton with sprigs of flowers, one checked flannel. Slippers? She found Rose’s blue mules at the foot of the bed.

  Toiletries next. Megan went into the bathroom, which bore steamy traces of Sam’s recent shower mingled with the scent of Old Spice, so she opened the window to air out the room. Pine-scented air wafted in on a refreshing breeze.

  She gathered Rose’s 4711 perfume, a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and, on a whim, some of Rose’s cosmetics. Nothing elaborate—some powder, blush, and lip gloss. And a jar of Rose’s favorite face cream. Rose’s robe hung on a hook behind the bathroom door, and Megan added that as well. She was looking to see if Rose had any travel-size shampoo containers when voices filtered in through the open window. Frowning, Megan strained to make out what they were saying. Something about digging. The bones, she remembered. Was someone burying more? She abandoned her packing and raced to fetch her cell phone. Fingers trembling, she found Gordon’s number.

  Chapter 14

  Gordon checked his cell phone’s display. Seeing Megan’s name spiked his heart rate. Had something happened to Rose? “It’s Gordon.”

  “Gordon. Help. I think the killer might be here.”

  Not Rose, then. But her gasps said she was clearly frantic. “Slow down, Megan. Can you see them? Are you in danger?”

  Her breathing steadied. “No, not right now. I’m in the house. I can hear them talking about digging. They’re too far away to see, but there are at least two different voices. Do you think the killer heard that the bones were found, and he’s coming back to move them? Or maybe he’s killed someone else?”

  “Slow down. What you’re probably hearing is some of my officers who are excavating some places where the search dog indicated there were more bones. They should have checked in with you to let you know they were going to be digging.”

  “I just got here, so I wouldn’t have heard.”

  “To be safe, I’m going to call my people and have them check around to make sure there’s nobody else around. Don’t hang up.” Putting Megan on hold, he used the office land line to call Solomon.

  “Had a call from Megan Wyatt at the Kretzer house. She heard voices, and I’m verifying they’re yours. Any possibility you’re not alone?”

  “Not likely, but I’ll have Titch check. We can’t see the house from here, so there’s a slim chance she heard someone else. Very slim.”

  “Assuming you’re clear, have McDermott let her know, please. And if you’re not, let Dispatch know, and get Ms. Wyatt out of the house immediately.”

  “Ten-four.”

  He reconnected with Megan. “ My officers don’t think there’s anyone else there, but they’re checking. One of them will be by in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. I guess I’m on edge. I overreacted. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No apology necessary. You did the right thing.” And since he hadn’t heard from Sam or Gilman, he added, “How’s Rose doing?”

  Distress filled her voice. “I don’t know. She seemed to be doing all right when Justin and I visited. The nurse said she was stable, but then Rose started having trouble breathing. Dr. Evans was there, and he said he was going to get a second opinion. I came home to get some of Rose’s things—you know, to make her feel more at home.”

  Gordon made a mental note to call Gilman again. “Rose is a fighter. She survived the Holocaust. She’s not going to let some little bug defeat her.”

  “I know. But—what if she’s out of fight?”

  “I can’t imagine that ever happening.” His office phone rang. “Hang on. That could be my officers.”

  “All clear,” Solomon said. “McDermott’s on her way to talk to Miss Wyatt.”

  “Thanks.” Gordon hung up and got Megan back on the line. “Everything’s okay. One of my officers, Vicky McDermott, should be showing up at your door any minute.”

  “I really appreciate it, Gordon. Thanks.”

  “All part of the job.” Gordon ended the call. Knowing everything was under control, he tried to keep his fo
cus on emptying his inbox, but too much of his attention was tuned in to the radio traffic.

  You could turn it off, you know. They’ll keep you in the loop.

  But he knew he still wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

  He leafed through his inbox looking for calls and paperwork he could deal with while leaving half his brain tuned to radio traffic. He pulled the folder Laurie left with papers for his signature. Skimming them—not because he thought she’d ever try to sneak anything by him, but because he didn’t like signing anything without having some idea what it was about—he affixed his signature everywhere she’d stuck a little red arrow. He approved next month’s schedule, then glanced at the equipment requests. Those he set aside to deal with later, when he could juggle the approvals and rejections so the bean counters wouldn’t think he was being greedy. Laurie had flagged a few of those as well—outrageous requests, or things far enough over the line that he could point to and tell the council how much money he’d saved Mapleton.

  He’d started leafing through his message slips when Solomon called back. “Figured you wanted a sitrep, Chief.”

  Did he ever. “What have you found in the bone department?”

  “We’re about eighteen inches down at the first site. Nothing but roots and rocks so far.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Hey, come here!” Titch’s voice bellowed in the background.

  “Gotta’ go, Chief. I’ll be in touch.”

  Gordon stared at the dead phone. “You damn well better be,” he grumbled.

  Laurie tapped on the door and came in, carrying a stack of paper over an inch thick. She dropped it on his desk with an assertive plop. “This is what I’ve got so far. Property records going back forty-five years.”

  “I said thirty, didn’t I?”

  “Might as well be thorough. Some long-timers have been here longer than that, but I figured you’d eventually want more, or at least know who held the property before they did. They’re organized by decade, then alphabetically.” She turned to leave, stopped, and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll check the voter registrations next. Oh, and would you like me to order flowers for Rose Kretzer?”