“Um, anyone? They're one of the richest families in the area. I’m sure quite a few people have a stake in their will. One of their three children, for example. Or a distant cousin. Or the mailman, who knows?”
“Okay Bee, but I don't see anything suspicious about their deaths. They were both older and had a lot of health problems. Maybe it was just their time.”
Beatrice really was tired of people saying it was their time. Still, Zoe was young—she didn’t get this stuff.
“But for both of them to go so suddenly and within such a short time span of each other?” Beatrice said. “And I told you about the plane tickets. They couldn’t have been as sick as I thought, not so sick that they would pass away all of a sudden. I don’t know Zoe. I can’t get the whole thing out of my head.”
“What does Matthew say about it?” Zoe hedged.
Beatrice threw her a suspicious look. “Why? He thinks I’m right. Or at least he will. Okay, let’s just say that he’s coming around to the idea. You know Matt. He’s such a worrier.”
Suddenly, the armoire creaked and then tipped forward dangerously. Lucky started back as his pipe cleaners finally shot out from underneath. The armoire teetered in place and thankfully rested back on four solid feet. Close call.
“When are you and Matt going to go on that date?” Zoe smiled knowingly. Beatrice and Matthew had been dancing around the idea of re–kindling their old relationship. So far they hadn’t decided on any particular course of action except remaining friends, which alternatively made Beatrice immensely relieved and bitterly anxious.
“Last time we talked about it we pretty much decided that we were great friends. Who love each other. And spend way too much time at each other’s house. And basically act like a married couple in almost every way. Almost.”
Zoe smiled. “Well, you’ll never know if you’re supposed to be together again if you don’t try. You’re not getting any younger.”
“Gee thanks, just what I needed to hear after going to two funerals in two weeks. Really the sensitive type, aren’t you?”
Zoe shrugged. “People say I’m a great listener.” And she walked out of the room.
Beatrice decided that what she needed was a hot cup of coffee and an extremely decadent snack. Abandoning her work, she strolled into the main café area. Beatrice had been the owner for decades and was extremely proud of the place.
She had built up the café all by herself, only hiring Zoe in the last couple of years. She’d had the place renovated, designed the menu, and did all the marketing and bookkeeping. All of that hard work had paid off. The café was exactly how she always wanted it to be. It was a cozy place where people felt comfortable congregating and gossiping—both locals and tourists.
And Beatrice liked nothing better than to be in the center of all the action. People often told her to retire, to slow down, but that wasn’t her style. She planned to work until she couldn’t anymore and then she was hoping Matthew wouldn’t mind pushing her around in a wheelchair all day, a box of chocolates open on her lap, and maybe a flask of scotch for good measure at her side. She never planned to go out quietly. It wasn’t in her personality.
It was lunchtime and the café was full. High school students studied by the sunny windows, office workers took a break from cubicle life to check their phones and check out each other. Groups of moms gathered to gossip, strollers at their sides. Retired folks had newspapers spread in front of them, the last crumbs of their lunch on a plate. Beatrice loved that all types of people came to her café—young, old, rich, not so rich, and everyone in between.
She strolled by the glass casing, checking out that day’s goods. There were delicious strawberry tarts with lemon custard, raspberry lemon sticky buns, strawberry mascarpone layer cake, peanut butter brownies, and chocolate–covered cherry magic bars. She eventually fell back on an old standby: salted caramel chocolate fudge cake. She asked one of the serving girls to put it on a plate for her when the doorbell rang. She turned around, too curious not to see who was.
A young blonde entered in a pencil shirt and heels, her designer bag slung over one arm.
“Beatrice Young, just the person I wanted to see,” she said.
“Hey Hannah! Looking for your caffeine fix?” Hannah Moore worked at the local law office and they’d taken a shine to each other after they’d worked on Beatrice’s very first case together.
“Wouldn’t mind a coffee. But I’m actually here to talk about the Robinsons.”
“Okay then. Take a seat, I’ll get us both something to drink,” Beatrice said.
They sat down in a little nook with two armchairs squished between overflowing bookshelves. It was more private there. A waitress brought them cake and coffee. Beatrice noticed that Hannah looked on edge. Her fingers clutched her bag tightly and one foot tapped impatiently on the floor.
“Janet, the Robinsons’ eldest daughter, is very ill.”
Beatrice started. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Our firm’s handling the will and the family’s asked us to keep things quiet. Obviously it’s very distressing that both of her parents just passed away and now she’s sick too. I mean, she’s had her problems—she inherited her father’s heart condition. She’s never been very strong and she’s in her early fifties now. But lately she’s taken a turn for the worse. I get that grief can do terrible things to people but it’s gone beyond that. She actually seems really, really sick. We don’t know what’s going to happen. I didn’t know what to do … I thought of you.”
Beatrice considered her words. “Well, you know me—suspicious of everything and everybody. But, be honest with me: what do you really think is going on? I’ve been thinking a lot about Anita and Rich lately and what happened to them. I know they’ve been in bad health. But…”
“So, something doesn’t sit right with you. Well, that’s exactly how I feel about Janet. Her sickness doesn’t seem right or natural to me. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something going on with Dr. Saunders.
Beatrice started. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! But I’ve got this suspicious feeling too about that nurse Ann.”
“Ann?” Hannah frowned. “I don’t see how she has anything to do with any of this. I mean she’s only been taking care of the Robinsons for a short while. And what motive would she have?”
“What motive would Dr. Saunders have? Whatever the case, I definitely think there’s something else going on and I plan on finding out what it is.”
“Well, I’ll help you any way I can. I’ll keep you posted.”
3
The sheriff looked up from his paperwork, one eyebrow raised, when Beatrice came into his office later that day. “Who died now?” he asked, putting down his pen.
“Wow, that’s dark. Anyway, do I need a reason to come and visit you?” Beatrice asked. “After all, you are one of my oldest and dearest friends.” She placed a large paper bag on his desk, which was overflowing with files. The yeasty scent of fresh baked bread and the creamy smell of chowder wafted through the room.
“Now I really know you want something,” the sheriff said, peeking into the bag.
Beatrice shrugged and sat down in the chair opposite his desk. The cats curled up in their designated cat beds. Now that the sheriff had accepted Hamish and company’s talent at finding clues, he’d got over his old grudge against the idea of crime–solving cats.
“I’ve got a new case,” she said bluntly.
“Well, what do you need me for? I thought you were opening your own detective agency,” he said, looking a bit disgruntled.
“Oh now you want to work with me. My how things have changed. Well, the problem is I don’t really have a client yet. I’m not even sure I have a case. It’s more like a hunch. I have a strange feeling about Ann Smith, the nurse.”
“Strange feelings aren’t usually considered evidence in this office,” the sheriff said dryly. “Still, I know you have an uncanny ability to sniff out trouble. That goes for your cats as wel
l.” He directed a sharp gaze down at Lucky, who was fixated on the telephone cord that tangled over the side of the desk. The phone handle rattled in its cradle and then fell down with a bump on to the floor. There was the faint sound of the line buzzing. Lucky stared at it as if he didn’t quite know how it got there and then marched off, looking for a new source of amusement.
“It all started at Anita’s funeral,” Beatrice said, ignoring Lucky. “Listen, you haven’t been looking into her and Rich’s deaths, have you?”
“No, why would we? As far as I remember, the deaths were from natural causes. Complications from diabetes and heart trouble. Nothing to investigate.”
“Yes, well, Hannah came to see me today with the news that the Robinsons’ daughter, Janet, is seriously ill now. I know it’s common knowledge that she has heart trouble as well, but even Hannah thinks that there’s something else going on. She said Janet’s taken a turn for the worse quite suddenly, just like her parents did. I know this is a delicate thing, but is there a way we can get a proper autopsy of the Robinsons?”
The sheriff sighed, as if he expected such an audacious request. “Can’t go around ordering people to dig up bodies. Not without very good reason. You’re going to have to bring me something first.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what you’re looking for. Evidence that someone wished the Robinsons harm, I suppose.”
“I could do that,” Beatrice replied. “In fact, I already have a suspect: Ann Smith. Now, I see that look you’re giving me. It’s the very same look that Hannah gave me earlier. It’s about how Ann was acting at the funeral. I spoke to her and she seemed almost dismissive of Anita’s death. She said that it was Anita’s time and even hinted that her husband might not be able to deal with her death, that he might not survive it. And look what happened minutes later. He died! Why would she be so cavalier about their deaths? I mean she’s been renting from them for years, so they’ve been good to her. You’d think she’d afford them a bit more respect.”
“I did hear that Ann was in debt to them,” the sheriff mused. “She’s been behind on her rent payments on the cottage. Usually Rich wouldn’t stand for such a thing, but he obviously hasn’t been in great health. Not keeping up with things the way he used to. You know, Anita started getting really sick when she was in Manchester. She had gone down there to see Ann. Word is she wanted to see her in person to try to figure out the rent payments before Ann showed up for another summer. Anita felt sick while she was there and ended up staying with Ann when she took a turn for the worst. That’s when Ann brought Anita back to Ashbrook.”
“And that doesn’t seem suspicious at all to you?” Beatrice asked, aware that her voice was getting louder. She thought her brain was going to explode from this new information.
“I just never thought of it,” the sheriff said. “Ann’s got such a great reputation. Everyone says what a top–notch nurse she is.”
“Yes, I know all about her reputation. I’ve been doing some digging. She worked at Manchester General at the beginning of her career and she was so loved there she quit to take on private clients. She’s always been considered an outstanding nurse. I’ve heard people say that she’s considerate, compassionate, that she really gets people. She tells them stories to cheer them up and she has a great sense of humor. People haven’t thought twice about moving her into their homes to care for them or their loved ones. That takes a lot of trust.”
“That’s exactly it,” the sheriff said, tapping his pen on a stack of paper. “If she’s done so well for herself, why would she try to kill her own patients? I’ve never heard of any complaints against her anyway. You’d think there’d be something.”
“Well maybe we haven’t dug far enough,” Beatrice said. “I think it’s time I learned a little bit more about her background and some of the patients she’s worked with. It’s amazing, even in this Internet age things can still get buried. I bet if we do more digging we’ll see there’s more to the story.”
“There always is,” the sheriff replied.
That night, Bee didn’t bother going out for her usual glass of wine with Zoe or for dinner with Matthew. Instead, she headed to her barn house outside town. She plopped down on one of the leather couches in the lofty main living space and cracked open her laptop. A quick Internet search revealed nothing she didn’t already know, just lots of photos of Ann with her patients and glowing recommendations. She even had her own website with testimonials.
“Nothing,” Beatrice said in frustration. She looked over at Hamish, who was sitting at on coffee table in front of her. He cocked his head to the side. “Yes, I do need help, Hammy. What’ve you got?”
The big Maine Coon scampered off and returned moments later with a photo clenched between his teeth. It was a pic of him when he was young, one of the first she’d taken. Beatrice considered the photo for a moment. “Of course, I need to talk to somebody who knew Ann as a child.” She picked up her phone and, pushing aside her previous suspicions, called the one person she thought might be able to help—Dr. Saunders.
“Nothing wrong is there?” he asked as soon as he picked up. Beatrice realized that he probably got these calls all the time, except that they were much more serious in nature.
“No, please, nothing to worry about. I just had a question for you. It’s about Ann. I know you’ve worked with her over the years and I was wondering if perhaps you could give me the name of somebody who might have known her since she was young?”
The doctor paused. “Is everything okay?”
“I think so. I know that you trust her, but frankly there have been some questions raised about her. About her involvement with the Robinsons. All I want to do is talk to somebody who really knows her.”
“I’m guessing you’ve been chatting with Hannah. I know she doesn’t feel comfortable with Janet’s illness. Well, I have nothing to hide. If something is going on I want to know about it. Listen, Ann had a friend in medical school who she mentions from time to time. I imagine they’re still in touch. I remember that her name’s Betty, but I can’t give you any other details.”
“That should be fine,” Beatrice said. “I should be able to rustle her up in no time.”
The next morning at the office, Beatrice called the nursing school in Manchester. Sure enough, the kindly receptionist was able to trace Ann’s class and graduating year and even someone named Betty, the only one in that year. The woman gave her a phone number and Beatrice wasted no time in ringing her up.
Betty answered almost immediately. She agreed to an interview and suggested that they meet in person, as she was looking for an excuse to spend a couple of days in Ashbrook. Beatrice suggested that they meet at a lodge just outside of town, a nice restaurant with a view of the forest where she and Matthew went to have dinner on special occasions. It was private there, so they could talk freely.
Beatrice waited impatiently for the day to be over so that she could conduct the interview. She had a lot of questions and was excited to finally get answers. The people who knew Ann in Ashbrook seemed to only have a very superficial relationship with her. Everyone agreed she was pleasant and excellent at what she did, but no one knew anything about her background or what she was really like.
Bee showed up early for the interview at the lodge. It was a beautiful spring day—finally. Purple crocuses were poking up in the impeccably maintained gardens as well as yellow daffodils and the beginnings of tulips. Buds had not yet formed on the trees but there was a smell in the air—pure and sweet—that promised green growth and maybe a long warm summer.
Beatrice loved winter, as she was a fan of snowshoeing and cross–country skiing, but like everybody else in New England she was ready for a change of the seasons. Since she was early, she took a little turn around the grounds to admire the flowers and the views of the surrounding mountains. The fir trees in the distance gave an impression of greenery and the blue sky was filled with woolly clouds floating high a
bove. There was a light wind and birds twittered in the trees. Beatrice spotted a red–breasted robin sitting on the ground, the surest sign of spring there could be.
She took a deep breath and instantly felt relaxed. She’d felt very tense over the past couple of months. First off, she’d been wondering about her and Matthew’s future and whether they would ever try dating each other. He’d told her he felt something for her, but he hadn’t suggested moving forward.
She was also worried about setting up her own detective agency, something she’d previously been totally gung–ho about. She wasn’t sure that she was ready frankly, though everyone else kept asking her about it and assuring her that she would do an amazing job.
The thing that held her back was the worry that she already had so many responsibilities. The café was no small operation. She basically ran it on her own and it required a lot of her time. Then there were the cats and her community and her friends. And there was the irrefutable fact that she had faced danger many a time when she was solving her cases.
Beatrice was never one to dwell on her age. She always said that sixty was the new thirty and that there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do that younger people could. She was also aware that she was in a time of her life when she had to choose very carefully what she was going to put her energy into. She couldn’t spend all her time making other people happy. She had to think seriously about what she wanted.
These were some pretty serious thoughts for Beatrice, who usually preferred to keep things light–hearted. She always thought that she had done exactly she wanted in her life and so there was no reason to complain or be unhappy.
But, she was beginning to think that maybe she had over–committed herself and that it was time for her to do something different—to pay attention to what she really wanted and needed to do. It was all very confusing and she wanted to speak to someone about it (namely Matthew) but she hadn’t been able to put these thoughts into words yet. They seemed unnecessary, selfish even.
Beatrice Young 7- The Paw-sitively Cheerful Poisoner Page 2