by Joan Hess
“Very commendable. Who told you about what happened to Molly?”
“That repulsive diet guru in the first suite. He wants me to be a spokeswoman for his next publicity push. I told him to talk to my agent.” Dawn picked up her notebook. “If you’re quite finished, why don’t you run along and bother somebody else. I’d like to work on my tan in peace and quiet.”
I wasn’t quite finished, not by a long shot. “Did you like Molly?”
“Did you mean to ask if I murdered her? There’s a difference, you know. I thought she was a scheming little bitch who’d dig up her grandmother’s grave to get the gold fillings. She would have made a good Hollywood agent, she was always so eager to negotiate. I might not have braked for her if she ran out in front of my Jaguar X-L, but I didn’t kill her. Like I’d chip a nail over some tractor-pull princess? I don’t think so. You might have better luck with Toby. He’s so horny that he’d screw anybody who wasn’t technically dead. One of the maids had to fight him off with a mop a couple of days ago. They leave his trays outside his door. He hung around the reception room a lot, dimpling and winking like he had a facial tic. It was too pathetic.”
“How did Molly respond?”
“She giggled and wiggled her tits and did everything else short of giving him a blow job on her desk. As soon as she spotted someone coming, she’d pretend to be all stern and remind him where he was supposed to be. She was such a lousy actress that she couldn’t have sold water in the middle of the desert. Shit, she probably couldn’t have given it away. Water, that is. She was probably spreading her legs in elementary school. Stupid little slut.”
Dawn’s opinion of Molly did not exactly coincide with Randall’s, and although it was likely to be motivated by jealousy, I wasn’t ready to dismiss it quite yet. I told her I’d see her later, then went into the garden and found the marble fountain. If I dropped to my knees and crawled around the fountain, all I’d end up with would be grass stains on my knees (and a red face if someone caught me in the act). Les was not a graduate of the Sherlockian School of Detection, but he would have done a thorough search.
The cherub smiled benignly as I approached him. There were scuff marks in the sod where presumably the killer had grappled with Molly—unless they’d been left by Harve, deputies, or the coroner and his flunkies when they removed the body. I examined the edge of the basin and the base below it for blood, but found nothing. Molly could have been easily overpowered. One hand on the back of her neck, holding her face under the water until she went limp. A few minutes longer to make sure she was dead. And then the killer had found a way to clamber back over the fence, or had simply gone inside the building and climbed into bed.
I wanted to talk to the orderly who’d discovered the body, as well as the guard. There was the language problem, however, and I wasn’t skilled enough in charades to get anywhere. I sat down on the bench and glared at the cherub, who’d seen it all. Odds were not good that he would enlighten me anytime soon. And if he did, it would be time to check myself into the Stonebridge Foundation. Maybe they’d let me wax floors and wash windows to pay for my Prozac.
It would have been nice to sit there until the middle of the afternoon, then call Harve and tell him that I’d get right back on the case first thing Monday morning. I’d dump off Ruby Bee’s car, toss a bag into my own backseat, and hightail it to Springfield. Jack would be waiting at the curb and insist on carrying my bag inside. Once the front door was closed, we’d be out of our clothes in no time flat. Much fooling around would take place until we reluctantly got dressed and went out to the backyard to grill steaks and drink wine. I could get used to it, I thought. And to him.
“Arly!” called Dr. Stonebridge, advancing briskly. “We’ve been worried about you. Brenda said you had some sort of emergency that required you to leave suddenly. I do hope the situation was not dire. If I can be of help…?”
“No, everything’s under control,” I said, presuming he wasn’t referring to my libido, which was working overtime at the moment. “A family situation, that’s all.”
“Have you made any progress in determining who did this dreadful thing?”
I wasn’t inclined to keep him up to date unless he wanted to hire me and triple my salary, which still wouldn’t have paid for a month’s stay at his fancy rehab. “I need to speak to the orderly and to the guard on duty last night. Are you sure none of the Mexicans speak English?”
“Not a word,” he said complacently. “I personally hired each one of them. They follow instructions when they’re here, and stay together when they’re off duty. I think of them as my burros—passive, uncomplaining, grateful for the opportunity to earn money for their families. And they’ve been warned that if they become ill or refuse to work, they will be fired and left to make their way home.”
“It’s a relief to know you’re not exploiting them. I’m still going to have to talk to the two that I mentioned.”
“Do your best, my dear, although you’ll find out quickly that they’re likely not to cooperate.” He went to the fountain and let his fingers dangle in the water. “I understand you’ve spoken to several of our patients.”
“I call it interviewing potential witnesses,” I said coldly. “Have you noticed anything odd in the last day or two? Someone prowling around in unauthorized places or even searching the offices and apartments?”
“Absolutely not. We are all very conscious of the need for security. We have a large quantity of drugs on the premises, including narcotics. Randall, Brenda, and I are always careful to keep cabinets and doors locked to prevent theft. Several of our patients are heavy drug users who would love to get hold of medications like Pondimin, Adipex, Seconal, and Nembutal. If one of them were to overdose, we’d be liable.”
“Don’t the maids have access to a master key so they can clean?” I asked.
Dr. Stonebridge peered down at me. “The medications are kept in a storage room in the surgical suite that cannot be unlocked with the master room key. We keep a very tight inventory list so that we can account for every milligram that’s dispensed.”
If someone had searched his rooms, he obviously wasn’t going to tell me. I decided not to push it any further for the moment. “I’ll contact the sheriff’s office to get a translator, but I doubt they can find anyone until Monday. It might be best if I put the investigation on hold until then. I suggest that you double your security measures for the next two nights, maybe have someone patrol the inside of the building as well as the grounds.”
“Then you don’t believe that someone from outside found a way to breach security? I know Randall and Brenda, and I can vouch for both of them. I met Walter for the first time a week ago, but he seems harmless. As you’ve been told, the patients are sedated for the night, so none of them could be responsible.” He paused. “That leaves the Mexicans, but Brenda handles them. I would be very surprised if Molly knew their names, or if they knew hers. The coroner ruled out sexual assault.”
“Just because she wasn’t molested doesn’t mean someone didn’t attempt it,” I pointed out. “And I don’t know where she was between nine o’clock last night and four this morning, when her body was found.”
“Hmm.” He leaned against the edge of the fountain and regarded me with the same blank stare as the cherub behind him. “A very intriguing point, Arly. Do you think she might have hidden herself until the rest of us retired, then attempted to steal drugs? I’ve been told that the narcotics like OxyContin and Percocet sell for upwards of five dollars per tablet on the street.”
“Would Molly have done something like that?”
“It’s impossible to say. I certainly would never have hired her if I suspected she might. She seemed like a reasonably bright girl, personable and eager to learn. I had hopes that we might be able to increase her responsibilities. As we expand, we’ll have to hire more office staff. She could have ended up in a supervisory position.”
Not if Brenda Skiller had any voice in the matter, I thought.
“You’re probably right,” I said cautiously, “but we need to dispel the possibility that she was a little bit too interested in the drugs. I’m going to arrange for a deputy to come out here later today and take everybody’s fingerprints. That way we can determine if anyone has been in an unauthorized area like the surgical suite.”
“Including mine?”
“Just for purposes of elimination.” I knew this seemed like a glib explanation, but I didn’t want to tell him about Randall’s claim that his personal papers had been pawed through. Dr. Stonebridge was as likely a suspect as any of his colleagues, patients, and employees. I prefer to characterize myself as an equal opportunity investigator.
Dr. Stonebridge cleared his throat. “I thought I made it clear that the patients cannot be subjected to stress. The whole point of having you here undercover is to keep them unaware of this unfortunate incident. How am I supposed to ask them to submit to being fingerprinted?”
“They all know what happened,” I said, “but if you’d like to maintain the pretense, the deputy can get prints off their drinking glasses. Tell the kitchen aides to label the trays with names and set them aside.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“The reasonably bright girl you hoped to promote to supervisor one of these days is dead. I’m going to do everything I can to find her killer. If you have a problem with this, call the state attorney general or whomever and complain. I doubt you can get me kicked off the case until Monday, though. The sheriff’s spending the weekend in a boat in the middle of some lake, drinking whiskey and cussing at the bass for not taking his bait.” I stood up and headed toward the parking lot. “Come Monday morning, you’ll see either me or someone else. Don’t count on my replacement being a real sensitive guy. It’s not part of the job description.”
If he had a reply, I didn’t hear it. I drove back to the PD and called LaBelle, who was too busy giving herself a manicure to run me through the wringer. I gave her a detailed request for a fingerprint technician and a translator, then reluctantly included a certain telephone number in Springfield. The only message on the answering machine was from Ruby Bee, who had a few choice remarks about grand theft auto. I didn’t bother to call her back, since I’d left the keys in the ignition and she could fetch her car when she got around to it.
There remained only one thing to do before I packed a bag and hit the road. I unfolded the note I’d stuck in my pocket and reread it. It was hard to imagine Eileen running away to become a cowboy—or running away with a cowboy, for that matter. Unless she changed course, she would bump into the Canadian border within a week. And then what?
I called the SuperSaver and asked to speak to Kevin. Idalupino agreed to chase him down, but warned me it might take a while, since he’d left a case of ice cream on the loading dock all morning and was still hiding out from Jim Bob. When he finally came to the phone, I told him about the credit card and the list of cities.
“Oh, my gawd,” he gurgled. “So where is she now?”
“My best guess is still in Wyoming,” I said. “It’s a big state.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Beats me. You’d better tell your pa.”
“He’s been drunk so long he won’t hear a word I say, except the part about Wyoming. You should be the one to tell him, Arly. You’re the chief of police.”
“If you’re too scared to tell him, then don’t.”
Fifteen minutes later I was on the road—and not to Wyoming.
10
“I can’t believe Arly left town without so much as a word,” said Estelle, having heard about it from Bordella Buchanon, who’d been picking up beer cans along the side of the road. “Especially after the way she spoke to you earlier this afternoon. If I was you, I wouldn’t give her the time of day after she comes skulking back from wherever she went.”
Ruby Bee finished washing a couple of mugs and set them on the draining board. “She doesn’t have to account to me, as she’s so fond of claiming. After all, I’m just her mother. It’s not like I worked my fingers to the bone to buy her new shoes for school and ruffled dresses for Easter. One year I stayed up all night sewing feathers on her costume for a school play. She was a bluebird, or maybe a blue jay—I disremember which. I nearly sneezed my head off.”
Estelle toyed with her sherry glass. “You know, I find it real interesting that these so-called patients are famous. I wonder who they are.”
“I don’t see how we can find out, short of climbing over the fence and peeking in windows. Arly said we wouldn’t have heard of them, anyway.”
“I don’t see how she can be so sure,” Estelle continued, her eyes narrowed. “Just because she doesn’t read People magazine doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. Britney Spears and Brad Pitt could be there, and Arly wouldn’t recognize them.”
Ruby Bee couldn’t help but agree. “Movie stars are all the time going to expensive private hospitals on account of alcohol or drug problems. It’s amazing any of them ever actually finds time to make a movie, what with the way they keep getting engaged, married, divorced—sometimes all on the same day. Wouldn’t it be something if a really famous celebrity was hiding out not even a mile away from here?”
“I can think of a way we might find out.”
“I’m not about to sit in that persimmon tree, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Ruby Bee. “I got better things to do, and so do you.”
“What about the Mexicans in the motel out back? They must know who the patients are.”
“Are you forgetting they don’t speak English?”
Estelle pulled out her ace in the hole, which in this case turned out to be a book in her handbag. “I dropped by the high school yesterday to ask Lottie for her lemon pound cake recipe. While she was hunting it down for me, I went across the hall to the library and found this Spanish book for beginners.”
“You stole it? I am shocked, Estelle Oppers. Stealing books from a library is worse than—than filching money from the collection plate!”
“I did no such thing. I simply borrowed it, and I’ll make sure it’s back on the shelf before school starts at the end of the summer. No one will even notice it’s missing.”
“Let me see it.” Ruby Bee opened the book and flipped through a couple of pages. “This might come in handy if you want to find the train station or order ham ’n eggs for breakfast, but I don’t see where it says how to ask about celebrities’ names.”
“We can patch together some questions from the vocabulary list at the back,” Estelle said. “All we need are Spanish words for name, patient, movie star, and so on.”
“Why on God’s green earth would they tell us? If you recollect, we ate the guacamole while we were talking about your old flame in Little Rock. You gonna go all the way to Farberville and buy some more avocados—or are you planning to bribe ’em with pretzels?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a fresh apple pie. They eat more than tacos and tamales in Mexico.” She pulled the book back across the bar. “You fetch a pencil and a piece of paper, and we’ll make a list of words they’ll understand. It may not be easy, but that ain’t never stopped us yet.”
Ruby Bee could think of a lot of things that should have stopped them, and Arly could probably reel off a lot more. But asking the maids a few questions wasn’t near the same as getting arrested for trespassing at the Stonebridge Foundation. All she and Estelle were gonna do was satisfy their curiosity, for pity’s sake.
On that note, she opened a drawer and found a stubby pencil. “See if you can find out how to say ‘Brad Pitt’ in Spanish,” she suggested while she tore off a page from the order pad and turned it over.
Kevin sat on the loading dock behind the SuperSaver, so slumped over he was in danger of tumbling off. He felt like he was strapped to two mules, each of them determined to go in a different direction. If he went to his pa’s house and told him that his ma was in Wyoming, he’d get his ass whupped something awful. If he went hom
e and told Dahlia, he’d spend the rest of the night listening to her bawl him out like it was his fault. Little Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie would get all scared and start screaming, and he didn’t even want to think what Dahlia’s granny might do. The last time she’d gotten spooked, she’d spent half the day on the roof, gnawin’ shingles.
He darn near jumped out of his skin when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Before he could turn around, Jim Bob sat down next to him and said, “Shouldn’t you be at home, boy?”
“I was just sittin’ here for a minute,” he said, hoping he wasn’t gonna get chewed out again about the ice cream. There were sticky patches at the end of the dock, although it was hard to see ’em under the swarm of yellow jackets and flies. “You want me to hose it down before I leave? I could get a scrub brush and—”
”Naw, it can wait till tomorrow.” Jim Bob took a pint bottle of whiskey out of his pocket. “Wanna snort?”
Kevin gaped at him. “No, sir. I mean, it’s right kindly of you to offer, but if I go home and Dahlia smells it, she’ll smack me across the room. She’s got a nose like a bloodhound.”
“Women,” Jim Bob muttered. “Sometimes they get too big for their britches. You got to remind ’em of their place before they get so uppity that ain’t no one can tell them what to do. Am I right, boy?”
“Oh, yeah, Jim Bob, right as rain. Jest this morning Dahlia—”
”The only thing we can do is stop ’em before they start screeching about how they’re better than us men. The minute they start bossing us around, we might as well put on their pantyhose and start scrubbing toilets.” He took a gulp of whiskey and offered the bottle to Kevin. “Don’t sit there like you’re already pussy-whipped. If you want to have a snort after work, it ain’t none of Dahlia’s business. You ain’t no little sissy in short pants. Go on, take it.”