She turned the napkin over in her hand. “Any fingerprints on the cup?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, only smudges. But I gave the cups to Doc Emerson to test.”
“Interesting.” She bit on her lower lip. “What did the lab test show about the contents?”
He shuffled from one foot to the other and glanced back at Marc’s door. “As the chief said, she’d been drinking, but that’s all I can say. You’d have to ask Doc Emerson about anything else.”
“Okay, I will. How long till the DNA results come back?”
He shrugged. “It takes a few weeks, but I thought you might be interested to know that your relative wasn’t the only one there, and his cup did only contain coffee and a lot of sugar.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” She laid a hand on his upper arm. “I hope you don’t get into trouble on my account.”
His neck above his collar turned red. “It’s no trouble.” But his gaze flicked to Marc’s office door.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a smile from forming. “How often does the housekeeping staff clean the offices? Is there any chance the cups might have been in the trash can for a few days?”
“Nope”—he rocked back on his heels and tucked his thumbs in his belt—“they’re cleaned every night. So that means—”
“Besides Jonathan, she had a female visitor bearing alcohol yesterday.” Her eyes lit up. “Thanks, Jerry, for everything.” She kissed his cheek, shoved the napkin in her pocket, and dashed out the door.
Chapter 7
Addie checked her phone clock, sent a quick text to Paige, and made her way through the slush across Main Street to Fielding’s department store. The scent of a pungent perfume cocktail assaulted her nose, even before she saw the COSMETIC DEPARTMENT sign. She made her way past the jewelry department and smiled at the familiar face behind the counter. It was refreshing to see Ida in her natural work environment. Usually, Addie was only exposed to her birdlike features peering at her over the top of a book at one of their monthly book club meetings. “Good morning.” Addie pulled off her gloves, rubbing her chilled hands together.
“Addie, what a nice surprise.” Ida glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be at your store? Is everything okay?”
“I’m just running a few errands. Paige is there. All’s fine.”
“Good, with this storm brewing, one never knows. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m interested in some lipstick.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” She reached under the counter and produced a sample tray of lipstick shades.
“Excellent.” Addie scanned the color palette tray. “I’m thinking this one.” She pointed to the Dark Honey-Peach shade Jerry had smeared on a napkin. She put her hand in her coat pocket and fingered the scrap of paper and hoped her hunch was right.
Ida shook her head. “That’s not really a good one for your coloring. Can I suggest something in a muted plum or wine shade?”
“Thanks, but”—Addie tapped her finger on the palette—“I’m just interested in this one.”
“I know it’s a popular shade right now. Everyone is wearing it . . . even those who shouldn’t.” She pinned Addie with a knowing look.
“I didn’t realize it was the season’s hottest color.”
“Yes, and it’s perfect on Serena with her skin tone, Catherine, too, in fact. They both bought some recently, but trust me. It’s not the right shade for you. Try this one.” She dipped a brush into the pale strawberry-wine shade and held it up. “It’s made for a cooler skin tone, like yours.”
“That is very nice, but I really want to buy the peach one. It’s . . . ah . . . for . . . Serena.”
Ida’s brow creased. “But she just bought one.”
“Yeah . . . but she dropped it in the gutter slush and asked me to pick her up a new one while I was out.” Addie pasted a smile on her face.
“Okay.” Ida shrugged. “I’ll ring it up. Are you sure I can’t interest you in the—”
“No, I have lots at home, but thanks.” Addie’s cheeks began to ache from grinning.
“Here you go.” Ida handed her a small bag. “See you at the next book club meeting.”
“Yes, right after Christmas, isn’t it?”
“Is it that far away? I thought it was next week?” Ida’s short, graying cropped hair lay as motionless as a helmet even through her chicken-like head bob. “Silly me, I remember now. We changed the date. So, I guess if I don’t see you before then, have a wonderful Christmas.”
“You, too, and thanks for this.” Addie held up the bag and then stuffed it in her purse.
She made a mental note to tell Serena about the lipstick ploy. She had to cover her bases in case Ida said anything to her. Addie tiptoed across the road through the rapidly building snow back to the hospital entrance and made her way to the elevator. Her eyes focused in on the lips of every woman she passed. Ida was right: It was the season’s most popular shade. Then Addie remembered what it was like after she’d bought her Mini Cooper. All she saw were Minis on the road. Perhaps this lipstick shade was acting in the same way, where the mind sees what is familiar and personal, or was everyone actually wearing it?
On her way down the corridor to Simon’s office, she passed two nurses and swore they were both wearing the lipstick shade in question. It seemed finding the woman who had been in Teresa’s office with her was going to be a much larger task than she’d thought.
Simon’s office door flew open. He stepped out and crashed into her. “Addie”—he grabbed her arm to steady to her—“I’ve told you before we have to stop meeting like this.”
“I think you have it planned,” she mocked. “Do you have a camera out here so you can see when I’m coming?”
“Hardly, I think all these collisions we have are your way of getting my attention.” His warm hand remained on her forearm. Stillness surrounded them. He was the first to break it. “Look, I just have to run this down to the mail room in the basement.” He held up a shipping box in his free hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Go in and have a seat.” He gestured toward his office and disappeared down the hall.
Her arm still tingling from the glow of his touch, she rubbed it, smiling, and made herself comfortable in one of the two leather chairs facing his desk. Simon’s office was exactly as he was. Warm and comfortable, sophisticated but not pretentious, and held just the faint hint of his aftershave. The wall behind his desk was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She walked toward it and examined the titles. Naturally, most were medical journals and textbooks. She patted a book spine and shuffled back to her chair. Her gaze fell to a file folder on his desk. Teresa Lang Preliminary Autopsy Report. She took a quick look at the door, inched sideways toward the document, and flipped it open. Her eyes focused on the entries that had been highlighted.
Blood Alcohol Level: 0. 045 – Low
Stomach Contents: There was a long list of chemical and scientific terminology that Addie could make neither heads nor tails of, but the final words she understood clearly. Probable Sushi Ingestion.
Cause of Death: Due to blood anomalies and multiple trauma fractures evident on the skeleton, Undetermined at this time.
Addie continued to scan down the page. The office door creaked. The fine hairs on her arms stood upright, and she sprinted around the desk back to a chair, glancing at the door, and noticed her purse propped against the leg of the chair beside her.
Simon’s voice echoed from the hallway, the door remaining partially open. “Sounds good, Walter, we can go over it then, thanks.”
Addie slipped over to the chair beside her, strummed her fingers on the arms, squelching the guilt manifesting itself as acid rising in the back of her throat.
“Sorry about the delay.” Simon stepped inside and closed the door. “The hospital chairman caught me in the corridor and wants to discuss department budgets later.” He kissed her cheek on his way to his desk chair. “What do I owe this surprise visit to?”
Addie shifted in her seat. “It’s just that after this morning’s incredible breakfast, I wanted to see you, and thank you again.” Her gaze flicked to the open folder on his desk. Had it been open before or had she opened it before snooping? She couldn’t remember. Panic caused her tongue to trip. “And . . . and . . . ah . . . I was just in the neighborhood.”
“You already thanked me, numerous times, and you work a block away and rarely drop in for a visit. So I’m guessing this is really about the case.” He rested his elbows on the desk. “Am I wrong?”
She let out a deep breath and shook her head. “You’re like Serena. You know me too well.” Her cheeks grew warm.
“Okay.” He cupped his chin in his hand. “What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering if you have the results of Teresa’s blood work.” Her eyes dropped to the open folder and quickly back to his.
“I hope you made yourself comfortable while you waited for me.” His eyes narrowed as he closed the folder, tapping his fingers on the cover.
She swallowed hard. The heat from her neck crept up to her face. Tiny beads of perspiration formed on her brow.
“Have you been officially consulted in this case?”
“No.” Her chin jutted out. “But I found the body. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“And . . . your fingerprints were all over the office.”
“I know, but I have a witness that I was in my shop all morning and with Serena right up until I found the body.”
“Yes.” He sat back, his eyes narrowing. “But there is still the case of the missing book.”
“Really? You think I stole my book from her?” When he remained silent, she blurted, “If I’d changed my mind about donating it, I’d just have asked for it back and given her another book instead for the auction.”
His eyes held fast on hers. “As you are obviously aware”—his cheeks sucked in like he’d just bitten into a lemon—“I have my preliminary results right here.”
“Why preliminary? It says . . .” Her voice faded at her blunder. Well, when one stumbles, one must make it look good at least. “Her blood alcohol level was low, wasn’t it? Which means it’s highly unlikely that she fell, at least on her own.”
He tapped the corner of the folder on the desk. “But as I’m sure you read, it’s what else I found that stumps me.”
She gave her most winning smile. “You couldn’t understand the words, either?” She stifled a giggle and stopped when she saw the glacial look in his eyes.
“I’m familiar with the words, but they don’t make sense in this context.”
“I see.” She pursed her lips. “Could it be a poison? You know, from the sushi?”
“I don’t think so, at best an early case of food poisoning. However, and this is what has me stumped, if it was contaminated sushi, any symptoms would have taken hours to develop not minutes.”
“Would early food poisoning symptoms like dizziness have caused her to trip on the stairs?”
He shook his head. “Not that soon after consuming tainted food. The autopsy indicates she had only recently ingested the fish, and her time of death wasn’t long after that. You yourself said her skin was still warm when you took her pulse. At that stage, she might have had very mild stomach discomfort or indigestion, but that’s all.”
“Hum.” She shifted in her seat. “I was told that two cups were found in her trash can. Any chance her coffee was spiked?”
“Didn’t you read that?” He shoved the folder to the side. She dropped his gaze and shook her head. “They didn’t contain coffee. The contents of the cups showed a common whiskey.”
“What about the lipstick markings on the rims?”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“A friend.” And his unknowing wife. She pressed her lips together.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve sent the cups for DNA analysis to the lab in Salem.”
“What about the color of lipstick? I know the red one was Teresa’s because she always wears the same shade, and it was on the ceramic cup”—she pulled the small bag out of her purse—“but the other one is closer to this shade from what I was told. Is this any help?” She held up the tube of lipstick.
“Unless it’s a custom-made shade, it doesn’t tell us much.”
“Yeah, it seems it’s the hottest color this season.” She shoved the lipstick back in her handbag. “So, with all this, we still don’t know if she slipped or miscalculated the landing on the lower level or—”
“It all takes time, but time will help determine the actual cause and not speculation.”
“I know, but there’re just so many weird coincidences that don’t add up. It makes me feel there’s more to this than her opening the exit door, her shoe heel catching on the top basement step, and falling backward.”
“And that’s a good possibility, except I have scientific proof”—he tapped the folder—“that the angle and placement of her injuries suggests a face-first fall before her neck was broken.”
“Which means she had to have been pushed, right?”
“Not necessarily.” He rubbed his eyes. “In this report there are too many other anomalies. So, I can’t make a final determination right now on the exact cause of death.”
“What’s next, then?”
“I’ve just couriered her blood and tissue samples to an old colleague of mine at the major crime’s lab in New York to see if he can find something I can’t.” He shrugged. “Now we wait and see.”
She let out a sharp breath. “That means I remain on the suspect list.”
He grinned. “You might be on the list, but I don’t think the chief sees you as much of a suspect.”
“I hope not.” She looked at him. “Do you?”
“Addie.” He got up and came around the desk. “Of course not.” His lips swept lightly over hers. “I think you are way too smart to kill someone and then be the one to find the body.”
He sidestepped her playful jab. Chuckling, she picked up her purse and looped it over her shoulder.
“Where are you off to now? Your store, I hope? I think you’ve done enough sleuthing around here for one day, don’t you?” His narrowed eyes fixed on hers.
“Not quite yet, I have one more stop to make.”
He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger. “You aren’t going against the chief’s orders, are you?”
“What orders?”
“The orders he’s decreed about you not doing any investigating?”
“Moi? ” She patted her chest and fluttered her lashes. “Not at all, I’m just going to see a man about a book.” She pawed at his chest and traipsed to the door.
“Addie? Stay out of trouble.”
“Really, how much trouble can I get into at the hospital?” She glanced back over her shoulder, grinning.
Chapter 8
Addie poked her head into the event room in the south wing and spotted Patrick chatting with the ginger-haired woman she remembered seeing at the reception desk on Teresa’s floor. He handed her a clipboard and made his way in Addie’s direction. “Good morning. As you can see, we’re in the final throes here.”
“Yes, it looks like you have your hands full.”
“You have no idea.” A low whistle escaped through his puffed-out cheeks. “So, what can I help you with today?”
“I was hoping to chat for a minute.” She glanced around the room swarming with volunteers adding final touches to the setup and decorations.
He swept past her. “Sure, but it’ll have to be up in my office. I have a few minor crises to work out.”
“No problem.” She quickened her pace to keep step with him as he lunged through the stairwell exit door and took the steps up two at a time.
When they reached the third-floor landing, Addie seized the railing, gasping for air. For a stocky man, his short legs could really fly up the stairs. He flung the door open, stepped back, and bumped against her. She teetered backward on the
top step, one hand clinging to the rail, her other arm flailing through the air. His hand caught her wrist, and he pulled her safely toward him.
“Now, now.” His dark eyes narrowed. His hot, sour breath wafted across her cheek. “We don’t need someone else taking a tumble, do we?” His thin lips twitched at the corners as he squeezed her wrist and then let go.
“We certainly don’t.” She glanced down to the landing below and shivered. She straightened her jacket, took a deep breath. Willing her shaking legs to behave, she followed Patrick down the hall to the offices.
They made their way past the door with the nameplate with PATRICK BARTON – ASSISTANT FOUNDATION COORDINATOR engraved on it and stopped at the end of the hall. He fished a set of keys out of his trouser pocket and swung Teresa’s office door open. “Come in.” He waved toward a chair as he made his way around the desk and took a seat. He sat back, stretched his short neck, and locked his fingers behind his head. “So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Addie gave a tight-lipped smile and perched on the edge of a chair. “I wanted to talk to you about the missing book if you have a few minutes.”
“Sure, but I’ve told the police everything I know.”
“I know you have, but I was wondering”—she glanced around the room, noting a change in the decorations since she was last in here—“in your change of office locations, have you come across A Christmas Carol?”
He shook his head. “Teresa probably took it home. I know she was concerned about keeping it here after you told her the estimated value of it.”
“But didn’t you tell the police you’d last seen it in the case the morning she died?”
“I don’t remember. It might have been the day before.” He started to stand. “Is that it?”
“Not quite.” She narrowed her gaze. He returned to his seat. “You told Chief Chandler’s men that she always wore the key to the bookcase on a stretch-coiled wristband, is that right?”
“Yes, I saw it on her wrist yesterday morning. Why?”
Addie absently tapped her fingers on her purse. “Well, when I saw the ring, there were two other keys on it aside from the one for the case. Do you happen to know what they were for?”
Murder in the First Edition Page 6