by T. Doyle
I understood his disbelief, but someone was selling drugs. “We’re putting up more security cameras so they’ll be found.”
“Not if they do it in their room,” Jenny said. “And Mr. Nelson was in Evie’s room for quite some time yesterday.” She waved a bony finger at Ray. “Does your father know she’s two-timing him?”
“He was helping her assemble some furniture,” I said.
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She gave me a weak stink eye. “Who’s to say he didn’t plant the drugs?”
“Me. I say,” Ray grumbled.
“The cameras aren’t going to help you,” Jenny said.
“But we’ll see who is going in and out of the rooms,” I said.
“Pfft. And then what? Drug dogs won’t help you, because everyone here is on some kind of narcotic.” Jenny spoke attitude and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Much like it had when she talked about Burking.
“Thought about this, have you Ma?” Ray placed ‘OOTED’ under Jenny’s ‘H’. “Fifteen points.”
“The police will physically search the rooms, probably with drug dogs, too,” I said. “And then with the cameras we’ll track who is bringing the pills in and distributing them.”
Jenny blinked at me a few times. “Hmm. I like dogs.” She stared at her Scrabble tiles. “To answer your original question, Charlie, I have not seen anyone suspicious. I heard a rumor about Johnny’s kids, but they’re selling sunglasses and purses, not drugs.”
“You’re sure?” A ball of tension deflated in my chest.
“Yes. Rosemary won’t stop bragging about the Michael Kors backpack she bought.” She rolled her shoulders. “Ray, I’m ready for lunch.”
“Okay, Ma.” He cleaned up the game. “Who do you think has the best opportunity to sell pills?”
Jenny looked over at the barista. “Her.” Jenny sniffed. “I heard she’s adding Viagra to the espressos.”
Ray coughed. “There’s a picture I don’t need.”
Today’s barista was Marabel’s niece. I was pretty sure Melby was more likely to add Vitamin C than Cialis.
And maybe, just maybe, Jenny hadn’t put a baggie full of narcotics in Evie’s room. Maybe Jenny was being set up.
But why?
Chapter Sixteen
I bought groceries on my way home from work and now stood in front of my fridge, door open and playing a real-life game of Tetris. I wedged the quart of half-and-half next to the block of cheese and the hummus, hoping nothing would fall. The sell-by date on the turkey was six weeks ago. Before I found Oscar. Pre-impromptu pot luck. Pre-Ray and his challenging mom. Life had been easier.
Even after clearing out the dubious leftovers, I had a hard time finding a spot for the rotisserie chicken and a bag of salad.
My phone rang and I ignored it because Joe was operating today and rarely called me between cases.
The yogurt cups tilted and threatened a domino effect that would result with cottage cheese on my kitchen floor.
My phone beeped alerting a message had been left. I abandoned the jug of orange juice to the counter, shifted the pound of Monterey Jack on top of the yogurt to hold them in place, and closed the fridge door.
Ray had called. “Hey, it’s Ray. Call me.”
I poured myself a glass of juice and called Ray. “What’s up?”
“I have an appointment with Tyler Rigby at four o’clock to discuss Mom’s power of attorney paperwork. I thought you could drop by at the same time and chat up the receptionist with questions about Oscar while I distract Tyler with Mom,” he said.
“How is your mom?” I asked.
I heard his gusty sigh. “Well, if she put the drugs in Evie’s room, I don’t think she remembers it.”
“That’s possible. Jenny’s short-term memory isn’t great.” I gulped down more juice. One more glass and I wouldn’t have to find a place for the juice jug in the fridge.
“I talked to the cops. They think it’s more likely someone has been stealing from the residents and selling to someone who distributes the drugs elsewhere. When I left, the cops suggested locking up all the drugs. Even for the patients in the retirement condos.”
“That’s not good. The retirement condos are supposed to be private. Having to ask for their own medication won’t go over well.”
“Nobody’s complained about missing meds?” Ray asked.
“No. But if the thief targets patients who get confused, they’d be less likely to complain or maybe believe they took the pills and forgot.” I drained my glass, refilled it, and recycled the juice jug. “I mean, if your mom said a couple of pills were missing, unfortunately, we’d believe she took the medicine and then forgot.”
“Well, the cops sound pissed. Do you know Brett Newsome? He’s a cop now.”
“Yeah, he plays guitar sometimes at church.” I pictured the brown-haired man with a friendly smile, about Ray’s age.
“Brett goes to church?” Ray sounded skeptical.
“He married the deacon’s daughter, so yeah, he goes to church.” I was rolling my eyes for my own benefit. “Lots of people go to church, Ray.”
“Yeah, but Brett Newsome…”
“He’s a great guy, happily married to Faith and has two kids, and–”
“He was my wingman…” Ray’s voice trailed off like he was witnessing the train wreck of his past and future colliding.
“You okay, Ray?”
“Yeah. Anyway, I only talked to Brett for a couple of minutes. We’re gonna grab a drink at the Pickle later. Jeez. Married to the deacon’s daughter. I had no idea.” He said ‘married’ like it was a terminal disease.
“Speaking of the Pickle, that rude vending machine guy was filling the machines at Sunnyview today,” I said.
“Really? Because Brett mentioned a Fentanyl overdose in the Pickle’s parking lot last weekend.”
“Could the vending guy be the dealer?” I asked.
“Maybe. He could be the thief, too. I’ll mention it to Brett. I picked up more of Oscar’s mail today. It was overflowing his mailbox. I figured you could use that as your opener with the receptionist.”
“How’s that?” I sucked down more OJ, my stomach full and burbling with sweet-acidy goodness.
“Ask her how to stop Oscar’s mail. And then ask if he and Tyler got along, and what Oscar was working on. Also, see if you can find out what’s on Tyler’s calendar. Does the receptionist use the computer for the calendar or a book, and where she keeps the client list?” Ray suggested.
I ticked off on my fingers: mail, relationship, case, calendar, clients. “That’s quite the list but I’ll try. The receptionist is Polly Cassidy, she’s not exactly chatty.”
“Gwen Cassidy’s sister-in-law?” Ray asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m not sure, but it feels weird. Oscar played poker at The Pickle. The vending machine guy has both Sunnyview and The Pickle on his route. And Tyler’s receptionist is related to the owner of The Pickle. I know Forest Forks is a small town, but that’s a lot of coincidences. Don’t you think it’s weird that Polly and Sawyer are connected to Oscar and Tyler and Sawyer never mentioned it when we were there?”
The acid in my stomach burbled more. “But Sawyer isn’t super chatty. Why don’t you talk to Gwen later?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Anyway, be at Tyler’s a little after four, and I’ll keep him busy in his office for as long as I can while you find out about Oscar’s relationship with Tyler, what he was working on, and where Tyler keeps his calendar and client list.”
“Okay. And Ray?” My over-filled stomach churned with OJ acid.
“Yeah?”
“Marabel swears Tyler’s a competent lawyer, but if you decide to use someone else, you need to get the power of attorney stuff handled soon.” I rubbed my stomach, calming it, or maybe just burping the food baby.
“I will.” He sounded defeated.
I left a note for Joe about dinner being the rotisserie chicken and sala
d and warning him to open the fridge door carefully. Contents may have shifted in my attempt to fit everything inside. I loved the man with all my heart, but unless I told him where dinner was, he ate cereal.
Tyler’s office was located near the courthouse in a renovated Victorian home. After his divorce, he lived on the second floor. The hand-painted wood sign in the front yard caught my eye and I parked in front of the two-story gothic and gingerbread beast. Ray had parked his car across the street and a large SUV sat behind it, practically kissing Ray’s bumper.
I crossed the street, pulling my coat tighter around me against the crisp autumn air. Tyler maintained the cement walkway, not an easy feat with the tall Silver Maples in his front yard. I stepped into the vestibule. On one side of the hall behind Tyler’s closed office door I heard Ray’s low grumble. On the other side of the hall, a parlor room, now renovated into a beautiful reception area was decorated with hunter green walls and cherry wood bookshelves, and comfortable burgundy leather club chairs.
Polly Cassidy totally pulled off a 40’s pin-up girl vibe with her bright red lipstick and all-American-girl beauty. She sat behind an antique desk with her laptop open on a leather blotter, and a coffee cup off to the right. I guess that meant yes to the computer calendar. Her fabulous dark blonde curls swung around her shoulders. She smiled and pulled one of her curls. “I heard you found Sam and her CurlyGirl revolution.”
I patted my head, careful not to start a frizz event. “Yes, she’s amazing.”
“You look great.” She waved me closer. “What did Joe say when he saw you?”
“Wowza.” I felt my cheeks heat.
“Oh, good for you.” Polly winked.
I waved Oscar’s mail. “I had a quick question I was hoping you could help me with?”
Her smile faded. “Of course, Charlie. Anything.”
I put the mail on her desk. “I’m not sure how to stop Oscar’s mail. You know, his parents and I aren’t…” I rolled my eyes. “Basically, Margarita hates me and I don’t know what to do about his mail.”
Polly flipped through the mail. She glanced up at me. “Oscar loved you. He was so appreciative of everything your family did to help him.” She frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I blinked fast to ward off tears and regret about not being there more often for him.
Polly rested her hand on his mail. A melancholy smile crossed her face. “I miss him.”
“Me, too.”
She patted the mail. “As far as the mail goes, it’s best to return to sender. You might want to print off a sheet of ‘return to sender’ stickers with a note to remove him from the mailing list because he’s deceased.”
I cringed at the word deceased. “Okay. I’m sure Tyler told you I’m not convinced Oscar’s death was accidental.” I stuffed the mail back into my purse.
She leaned forward. “Tyler hasn’t said anything. What do you mean, not an accident?”
I couldn’t tell if she loved to gossip and wanted my side or was polite and curious. It didn’t matter, either way, I needed information from her. “Oscar was vigilant about his diabetes and his health.” I looked behind me as if checking for an eavesdropper. “Did anyone threaten him at work?”
Polly shook off that idea, her curls bouncing. “Everyone loved Oscar.”
You’re preaching to the choir, sister. “What about any new friends? Oscar hadn’t told us if he was dating someone new, and the last breakup seemed to be amicable.”
Polly leaned back in her chair. “He was acting strange the last few weeks.” She looked over my shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “Tyler’s friend, Peter, was here and Oscar asked me about him.”
Anticipation hummed in my veins. “When was this?”
“It was after the Bias’s adoption.” She pointed to the wall behind me.
I turned. There was a large display of five by eight-inch framed photographs covering the wall. There had to be a hundred pictures of children.
I stepped closer.
“Their adoption may have even been a month ago. Their photograph is on the bottom row, third from the right.” Polly pointed to the wall.
I walked over to the wall. There were ten pictures per column and nine rows. I pointed to the picture of an infant and a toddler. “These two are the Bias’s?”
“Yes.”
“What did Oscar ask you?”
“How long they’ve been friends. I honestly didn’t know. I think they’ve been friends since college.” Polly clucked her tongue. “And then, Oscar left and the next day he was weird. He stopped joking and talking, just kept to himself. I asked him what was wrong, but he said everything was fine. He spent most of his time in the file room after that.”
I studied the photos, but they were two ordinary looking Hispanic babies. I stepped back and noticed most of the babies were Hispanic, more than half. “How long has Tyler been working with adoptions?”
Polly hummed a little noise. “The top row were his first adoptions, but about five years ago he started to specialize and he’s done eighty adoptions since then.”
Five years. Eighty kids. “Wow, that’s amazing.” I kept the disbelief out of my tone but the number seemed high. And lucrative, probably. I scanned the pictures. There were a few toddlers, but the rest were infants.
The middle of the top row, I recognized the brightly colored quilt… because I’d bought it. I stepped closer. “That’s Paul.” I pointed to my nephew’s picture. “I’d forgotten that Angela and Christopher used Tyler for the adoption.” He looked adorable, happy, and so small. “He’s twelve, now, all elbows and knees and crashing into everything.” I stepped back and scanned the rest of the pictures. “And all the others were from the last five years?”
“He’s definitely found a niche. We get calls from all over the country for adoptions,” she said with pride.
I rummaged in my purse and took out my phone. “Ugh. Joe’s texting. I’m sorry, he’s in between cases.” I pretended to text Joe back, but took a picture of the Bias’s adoption photo and a couple of rows above it.
Where did Tyler find all these babies available for adoption? Was there such a thing as a baby-farm?
I turned to face Polly and remembered Ray’s list. I’d handled almost everything: Oscar’s mail, his relationship with Tyler, when he changed. Tyler’s calendar and clients appeared to be on Polly’s laptop. My eye caught a large photo between the windows. Brightly colored fish swam around a reef, and I saw the shadow of the photographer against the sea floor. “Who’s the photographer?”
“Tyler. And he took pictures of the babies, too. The man has some expensive hobbies, SCUBA, flying, and photography. But the rest of the time he’s working like a dog.”
“Must be hard for him to get away.” I pushed sympathy in my voice.
“I think that’s actually why he learned to fly. It allowed him to take three-day weekends even with his busy schedule.” She pointed to a picture of him standing next to an airplane.
“Who took that picture?”
Polly rolled her eyes. “His friend, Peter. He handled Tyler’s divorce. I swear, that man gives me the creeps. But he goes with Tyler SCUBA diving all the time.” She tapped her laptop. “I schedule him out every five weeks. He leaves Thursday and usually isn’t back until early Monday morning. I think even the judges have memorized his schedule.”
I grinned. “Must be nice.”
“For him. I’m stuck here answering phones and calming clients down with promises that everything’s handled for Monday at court.” She didn’t seem too upset, a chagrined smile and maybe a touch of jealousy at Tyler’s traveling habits.
“Tyler’s attorney was Peter who?” I tossed the question trying for a careless tone.
“Peter Adkins.” Polly leaned forward. “Are you and Joe okay?” she whispered.
“Absolutely, but a coworker is having some issues…” I frowned and added a shrug and hoped she’d believe my acting.
“Well, he’s
creepy and I’m not sure he practices law anymore. Tyler does divorces.” She swiped a card from the drawer and handed it to me.
“Thanks, I’ll pass this along.”
Polly stared at me. Waiting. Any more questions from me and she’d get suspicious.
“Well, thanks for your advice. I’ll make up those return-to-sender stickers.” I waved good bye and left. Outside I texted Ray, inviting him to dinner at my house to discuss developments. I didn’t want to stay and risk Polly seeing Ray and I talking.
Movement across the street caught my eye. Someone sat in the SUV behind Ray’s car. The side was shaded. The driver moved, but I couldn’t see him. I drove off, looking in my rear-view mirror for the license plate.
It wasn’t there.
But he did have a TapOut and deer antler stickers on the back window. Could it be the same SUV that pulled up to the cabin? Was the driver the person who stole our picture?
He didn’t follow me. What was he doing outside Tyler’s?
Chapter Seventeen
Ray and Joe entered the kitchen through the garage door. Joe swept me into his arms and kissed me. He tilted me back over his arm. “Wench, bring us ale and vittles.”
My grip tightened on his shoulders and I wrinkled my nose. “Did you get too much second-hand anesthesia, today?”
My ravenous rogue winked. “I slept well last night and I’m home before dark.”
“I noticed.” I kissed his cheek. “I picked up a chicken. Get your own ale.”
He righted me. “Yes, ma’am.” He opened the fridge, pulled out the milk carton, the hummus, the creamer, and then two beers. He replaced all the food, with the finesse of an all-star Tetris player. “Seems like with just the two of us there should be more room in the fridge. Right?” Joe handed a beer to Ray and twisted the top off his.
“I think because there’s just the two of us, it doesn’t empty as fast.” I added a vinaigrette to the steamed green beans and placed them on the table.
Joe poured a glass of wine for me and grabbed plates, silverware, and the roll of paper towels for napkins. He nodded to Ray. “Have a seat.”