She gave information the dispatcher asked for, then hung up. Max dug a plastic bag out of her purse. She’d learned to keep some tools of the trade with her over the years, other than pen and paper. Latex gloves, plastic bags, tweezers—they had all helped in the course of previous investigations. Now, she collected a small amount of the vomit, trying not to disturb the mess. It was a distasteful job, but if this woman had been poisoned, the vomit might hold a clue.
Lois stepped into the threshold and gasped.
“What happened to Rachel? I heard you talking.”
“She was like this when I walked in, I called 9-1-1. I don’t know how much time we have before the paramedics arrive, but I need to search this place.”
“Is Rachel going to be okay?”
“She’s alive. Go outside and wait for the paramedics.”
“Are you sure—?”
“Lois, please go.”
Lois took a long look at Rachel, then went outside.
Max took the opportunity to search Rachel’s house. The bathroom cabinets were filled with drugs. The paramedics would need them for her doctor, so Max took a photo. Then she went into the kitchen.
If she were a killer, she’d poison someone in their food.
Lois’s soup was still covered in the refrigerator. The container was half full—Flo said she’d prepared a bowl for Rachel, who’d eaten it earlier.
There were bottles of water in the refrigerator -- the “enhanced” water that everyone at Del Sol seemed to drink. They bottled it in the kitchen, with sugar and fruit flavors. What had Lois told her earlier? It was to ensure that everyone stayed hydrated because too many elderly people didn’t drink enough water. The flavoring and sugar made the water tasty, plus added calories for those seniors who weren’t eating enough.
One of the bottles was half full. Max took the half-empty bottle and one of the full bottles, put them in her purse, and zipped it up.
Just in time, because she saw the lights of the ambulance before she heard it. They came in without sirens.
Max had a friend who could help with the evidence.
She opened the door to the paramedics. “Ms. Brock is in the bedroom. My grandmother and I came to check on her because she’s been sick.”
“We’ll take care of her,” the first paramedic said.
“What hospital are you taking her to?”
“The closest is General. It’s only three miles away.”
Max stepped out of the way, standing next to Lois, so that the paramedics could do their job.
Almost as soon as they went into the bedroom, Jennifer Markson ran up the walkway and into the house.
She stared at Max. “What happened?” Jennifer demanded.
“My grandmother and I came to check on Ms. Brock. She was unconscious and vomited in her sleep.”
“You broke in?”
“The door was unlocked.”
“The doors automatically lock. They can’t be left unlocked.”
“It was open. Maybe it hadn’t closed all the way.” Why was Jennifer so suspicious?
“I need you to leave,” Jennifer said.
“I’ll stay.”
Jennifer was stunned that Max defied her. Dammit, Max needed to be wimpier. Maxine Revere didn’t take shit from anyone, but Maxine Adler wouldn’t be confrontational.
Lois seemed to pick up on the tension.
“I’ve been worried about Rachel,” she said. “Flo brought her soup today. She seemed to be getting better.”
“Mrs. Kershaw,” Jennifer said with forced calm, “Rachel is an eighty-one-year-old woman who has the flu. That in itself is dangerous. I heard Mrs. Riley visited today. She could have been infected, the flu is highly contagious. I’ve told you, Mrs. Kershaw, and everyone else time and time again that when someone is ill, you need to steer clear.”
How had Jennifer heard Flo was here with Rachel? Had Rachel told her?
“She’s been sick for a while. Maybe she should have been in the hospital,” Lois snapped.
“I come by twice a day to check on her and everyone else who’s bedridden. It’s a time-intensive job, but it must be done.”
She certainly didn’t sound like she enjoyed it.
Jennifer glanced from Lois to Max. “She was doing better until now.”
Max didn’t think the accusatory tone was warranted. But Jennifer Markson was a high-strung woman, and if she was a killer, she’d do anything to protect her perfect structured life.
One of the paramedics came out. “We’re taking Mrs. Brock to the hospital.”
“I’ll call her doctor,” Jennifer said. “Let him know.”
“She appears severely dehydrated,” the paramedic said. “Her pupils are unfocused and the sclera is yellowed. She’s lucky she was on her side when she vomited, otherwise she may have choked to death.”
Max touched Lois’s arm, and they both slipped out while Jennifer was on the phone, ostensibly with Rachel’s doctor.
“Is she going to be okay?” Lois asked as they climbed into her golf cart.
“I don’t know,” Max admitted.
Chapter Nine
“It’s Saturday,” Iris Torres said. “The sun isn’t even up.”
Iris was still in her pajamas, her dark hair a mess, her mascara smeared under her eyes. She didn’t look like the brilliant forensic scientist she was.
“You’re hung over.” Max walked in without an invitation. She’d known Iris far too long for formalities. “And sunrise was nearly an hour ago.”
Iris glared at her as she started a pot of coffee. “It’s Saturday,” she repeated. “But of course you don’t know the meaning of the phrase, day off.”
Max placed a paper bag on Iris’s table. Her curiosity got the better of her and she looked inside. “Is that vomit?”
“Vomit and labeled bottles of water from Del Sol. Where they came from. One is open, that should get priority.”
“God, I hate you, Max.”
Max didn’t say anything. Iris didn’t really hate her—most of the time. They’d met six years ago when Iris worked in the Miami crime lab. She’d helped prove that the police had screwed up the initial investigation into the disappearance and probable murder of Max’s college roommate. Unfortunately, Iris was eventually forced out of the department when the cops who’d screwed up made her life miserable. Max never forgot the good Iris had done, and helped her get a job in a private forensic lab. It also paid better.
“You know,” Iris said as she stared at the brewing coffee, “you’re a shitty friend.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You only visit when you need something.”
“That’s true.”
Iris opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. “Fuck,” she mumbled. “I really, really hate it when you know you’re a bitch.”
“I’m a shitty friend, but I’ve always kept my promises.”
Iris grunted. She couldn’t argue with that point, so she just kept her mouth shut.
“Your boss has been begging me to interview him and get it in a national magazine. I’ll let you talk me into it, and make sure he knows it’s because of you. Though it’s still my rules.”
“Really? You’d do that? Dr. Graves has been frantic about getting recognition for our facility. It’s all about money—working for the county lab sucked because of government cuts and restrictions, but working for a private lab is sometimes worse. It’s feast or famine.”
“I have the contacts, and it’s right up my alley—especially if I can use this case I’m working as a lead-in. I’ve hired Graves & McNally Science Institute before so I can use any of those cases in my article, get it in something big. But I need the results ASAP.”
“It’s Saturday,” Iris repeated with a sigh. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then poured another for Max and put it in front of her. She sat down. “What am I looking for?”
“I don’t know. Something that kills slowly.”
“How slowly?”
/>
“Two to four weeks.”
“It can be anything. Are you sure there’s something here?” She gestured to the bag.
“An eighty-one-year-old woman may have been poisoned. She likely would have died if I hadn’t found her last night, unconscious. I scooped up some of her vomit before the paramedics arrived. Put it in the fridge all night, and there’s an ice pack in there.”
“You remembered.”
Max had collected evidence in the past, and learned a lot from her friend Iris on how to do it right with little to no contamination.
“Something is going on at Del Sol, and I’m going to figure it out.”
“Del Sol?” Iris’s eyebrows raised so high Max thought they’d fly off her forehead. “That’s like the premiere retirement community. They have like a huge waiting list and it costs a fortune to get on it.”
“Not always—those who bought in early got in cheap. And those are the people who are dying.” Max still didn’t know how Jennifer profited. She’d tried to find a connection between Jennifer and one of the owners of Premiere. Nothing. The only connection she found at all was confirmed what Rich Warren told her—that he and Peter were old friends and belonged to the same golf club for years. If there wasn’t a profit motive, proving Jennifer was merely a psychopath who enjoyed poisoning the elderly was going to be much, much harder.
Iris shrugged. “It’s, well, old people die.”
“Trust me.”
“I do—but, shit.” Iris sipped her coffee. “You really think someone is poisoning them?”
“Selectively. I labeled each bottle where I got it. I put a note in there with a list of meds in Rachel’s bathroom. If there’s nothing in there, then it’s not the enhanced water, it’s something else in her house. Her vomit will most certainly come back positive for whatever was in her system. Oh—the paramedic said she may be dehydrated and that her sclera was yellowed? I don’t know what that means.”
“The whites of her eyes. Yellow indicates possible jaundice. Hmm.”
Iris was thinking, and that was always a good thing.
Movement behind Max startled her. She turned and saw an attractive, mostly naked man walk into the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Max said with a half-grin.
“Bart, meet my nemesis, Max Revere. Max, Bart.”
“Boyfriend?”
Iris shrugged. “Maybe.”
Bart poured coffee and kissed Iris on the head. “Will that change if I make you breakfast?”
“You cook?” Iris asked with a smile.
“Love to cook.”
“Okay, you’re working your way up to boyfriend. And no, Max, you can’t stay for breakfast. I’ll go into the lab after I eat, take a shower, and have sex—not necessarily in that order.” Iris got up, kissed her not-quite-boyfriend, and picked up the paper bag. She motioned for Max to follow her to the door.
“Thanks, Iris.”
“I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Sooner—”
“Rather than later, yada yada, I’ve heard it all before from you. I’ll go in today.”
“Bart’s … a fine specimen. Does he have a brain to go with that body?”
“I don’t know yet. I just met him last weekend, but so far he’s a keeper. Not an idiot. Until he pisses me off, which seems to be par for the course.”
Iris went through boyfriends faster than Max.
“You staying with your hunky Fed while you’re in town?” Iris asked. “Or did you dump him again?”
“Last time he walked away. Right now, things are working. But I’m undercover at Del Sol.”
“You have anything other than bottles of enhanced water and vomit that may or may not be poisoned?”
“Nothing I can take to Marco.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“Flu-like symptoms. Fatigue. Lack of appetite. Diarrhea.”
“Cough? Congestion?”
Max thought back to what Flo had said about Rachel, and what Beau had said about Dotty. “No—but most of what I’ve heard is second hand. I’ve only seen one of the potential victims. During the day a witness said the victim claimed to feel flu-like symptoms, start feeling better for a couple days, then they return. Never completely better.”
“That gives me something—if anything changes, text me. Oh—you said paramedic? Give me the patient’s name and hospital and I’ll see if I can get anything else.”
Max wrote down the information. “Thanks, Iris. I really do appreciate your help.”
“You may be a totally shitty friend sometimes, but other times? Not so bad.”
Max rolled her eyes.
#
Max was halfway back to Del Sol when Kerry Osaka called her with information about an orderly who worked at Suncrest. He’d agreed to meet with Max.
On the weekends the orderly, Pedro Chavez, worked as a lifeguard at a resort hotel on the beach. Max changed course and twenty minutes later drove up to the valet. She tipped him well and said, “I’ll be an hour,” then went in to track down Pedro. The concierge told her she would have to wait for his scheduled break.
“Have him meet me in the bar,” she said. It was early and the bar would afford them privacy.
Max ordered a Bloody Mary and sat in a booth along the back wall. She consolidated her notes and all the facts of the case. There were few facts and mostly conjecture.
Thirty minutes later Pedro came in and sat down across from her. “I only have fifteen minutes,” he said.
“I have easy questions. I need information about Jennifer Wesley O’Neal Markson.”
“Kerry Osaka told me you’re a reporter investigating her. Maybe the police should be.”
“Maybe they should. But they need evidence of a crime, and that’s what I’m looking for. You worked with her at Suncrest.”
He nodded once. “I can tell you a dozen stories, but nothing is going to help you. Suncrest signed a non-disclosure agreement to settle the lawsuit. So did Jennifer. It’s sealed and that’s that.”
“What do you know about the lawsuit?”
“I filed multiple complaints against her since she started—I’d only been working there a few months when she began, I was really young—just got my AA. It was my first orderly job.”
“You’re still there?”
“I quit at the time, but came back after they got a new administator. Now I supervise all orderlies and volunteers. Work here on the weekends because my wife is expecting a baby and we need the extra money.”
“What kind of complaints did you file against her?”
“Negligence. Insensitivity. Nothing the administration would do anything about. I learned that Jennifer was in the middle of a divorce and suing her ex-husband for a boatload of money, but she hadn’t gotten it yet. I thought as soon as she did she’d be gone, but it took forever—and the longer it took, the angrier she became.”
“Did she talk about her divorce?”
“No. She had no friends at Suncrest, other than the head administrator, and I swear she was sleeping with the guy, so he’d believe anything she said. I stopped complaining and focused on my job—I like working with old people. Suncrest isn’t like Del Sol—most of the people don’t have family, they don’t have people who visit, they have cancer, serious illnesses, dementia—they need constant care. Jennifer was there for nearly three years. I began to notice bruises on some of the patients. That’s not unheard of—seniors bruise easily. But I started tracking them because they were all patients in Jennifer’s wing.
“I caught her in the act. She was squeezing this old man’s wrist so hard I thought his bone would break. She left marks. I immediately reported the incident. She claimed he was delusional and hit her, she was trying to protect herself. From a hundred-twenty-pound, ninety-year-old man?” He shook his head.
“And?”
“I followed her, documented everything I could. Finally had enough to go back to the administration, but I brought in the head nurse as well. T
hey ended up firing her. And get this—she said I made it all up, took situations out of context, then she sued them for wrongful termination. She already had her divorce settlement, it wasn’t like she needed the money or the job. What irks me is that I wasn’t even consulted or questioned—the police weren’t brought in, even though it was clearly criminal abuse. I was thrilled when I heard that Suncrest was counter-suing, then they settled. I asked why, they refused to say, and I quit. About six months later, the entire administration and several staff members were fired, and the head nurse—the only one who was still around from my time there—asked me to return.”
“Would this nurse know anything more about the lawsuit or Jennifer?”
“I don’t know, but she won’t talk to you. She can’t—and Suncrest is good today. I don’t want to shine a bad light on them. They take in patients who have nowhere else to go.”
Be that as it may, Max planned to deeply research Suncrest. But that was later, after she stopped Jennifer Markson from hurting anyone else.
Max needed more. “If I find solid evidence, would the nurse be willing to make a statement?”
“To who? For what?”
“Me. As a reporter. If Jennifer is guilty of elder abuse, I’m going to nail her.”
“Good luck—and I mean that. Jennifer O’Neal—I mean Jennifer Markson—is dangerous. I had a video of her slapping a patient and that didn’t seem to help with the lawsuit.”
Max’s ears perked up. “Do you still have it?”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I gave my only copy to the corrupt administration. I thought they were using it in their lawsuit, but then they settled.”
Max handed him her business card. “Please talk to the head nurse and tell her I want to speak with her, off the record, about Jennifer.”
“I will, but she had to sign the non-disclosure agreement because she was Jennifer’s direct supervisor. I don’t think she’ll talk to you.”
“Try, but you’ve already been a huge help.”
TWO TO DIE FOR Page 21