Nearly Dead in Iowa

by Wendy Byrne

  I huffed mainly because I couldn't think of anything else to say to break through Nate's thick skull. The man took stubborn to a whole other level. He should at least consider Dr. Hunter as a suspect.

  "How about the trouble he got into at the hospital about over-prescribing opioids?" I threw the question out there and hoped he'd have a valid reason to investigate further. If I told him what I'd found in the medical bag, he'd probably dismiss that as well—after he no doubt lectured me for snooping again. But that didn't mean I couldn't plant the seed of doubt.

  "He denied the allegation, and the investigation was dropped. Besides, don't you think it's a little too obvious?"

  As long as I'd already stepped into the fire, I figured I might as well jump in feet first. "Did you or your officers go into my father's attic when you scoured for evidence?" If that was a hint of sarcasm in my tone it was completely unintended. Okay, not really.

  "There was nothing up there but some paintings." He shifted his posture towards me to amp up the police intimidation look without saying another word. He was daring me to contradict his information, and I was the gal to do it.

  "If you happened to look at the artist's name, you would see that it was Ike T."

  "So what?" He shrugged, doing little to decrease my ticked-off vibe. "There's not much in the way of art theft around here, so I didn't pay too much attention. Are you telling me they were stolen?"

  I shook my head. Should I? Shouldn't I? While I couldn't confirm definitively it was my father's stuff, I was pretty much 99.9 percent sure. Maybe I'd just let him wonder. But sitting back quietly had never worked for me before, and it wasn't working for me now.

  "My father is the artist Ike T. That has been his source of income, so he's not the scam artist you think he is. And Dr. Hunter is hoarding those paintings for some unknown reason. And he has access to prescription drugs on a daily basis. In fact, he probably has some stashed in his car." Hint. Hint.

  He held up his hand. "I'm not sure what one has to do with the other. If your father is Ike T, that only adds another layer to the puzzle. It doesn't point the finger at Dr. Hunter unless he thinks his disappearance will jack up the prices dramatically."

  "But if you add all that to the fact that he and his wife might be leaving the country, or she had plans to leave the country, it adds to the questions. In fact, maybe she should be put on your suspect list as well."

  He tilted his head to the side and gave me a droll look. "It seems like if she wanted to run away with your father, she wouldn't have killed his best friend."

  He had me on a technicality. "Excuse me, but I need to make the rounds." Without another word I walked away from the two of them, knowing they were speculating about what I wasn't saying. If he chose to ignore my thoughts as to the investigation, that was his prerogative.

  I moseyed back towards the ladies who were gathered around a fairly eccentric looking guy with bright yellow hair sticking up at all angles around his head. His work was interesting, I guess you might say—if you considered finger painting interesting. And that wasn't me being catty, only stating the obvious.

  I pulled them towards the corner. "You can't breathe a word of this to anyone." That caught their attention immediately. "I'm pretty sure Dr. Hunter killed Stan." I hadn't tied together all the loose strings, but it made sense. "I'm going to try to trip him up somehow."

  "I say we should do it as a joint effort," Alice offered.

  "Safety in numbers," Dolly added.

  "I haven't thought through anything just yet. I'm in the planning stage." I was probably premature in mentioning something I wasn't quite ready for.

  "We're a good sounding board for ideas," Ramona said.

  Viola remained quiet as she studied me. "It goes without saying we have to be careful."

  "Between Gabe and Nate, they practically have us on house arrest. The only reason they let us come tonight is because they would be along for the ride," Alice said.

  "And spoil all our fun," Ramona added.

  "Here's what I know so far. Sally's jailbird husband was in jail the night Stan was killed but released early because of some kind of frat party that got out of hand and they needed room in the jail."

  Viola held up her finger. "I knew that was a possibility. But you're not seeing him as the murderer?"

  "It's the smoking thing that keeps sticking with me. The house didn't smell of smoke when I got there, and that man reeks of it. Even if he wasn't there long, there'd be some kind of residue. If the timeline of the death occurred as the medical examiner said, I should have arrived less than a half hour afterward." I suppressed the shudder. "I'm highly allergic and would have been coughing the minute I walked inside for sure."

  "How about the day of the fair? Was he around then?" Alice asked. "Was he the guy who attacked you?"

  "I might have smelled cologne, but not smoke. Then again, we were outdoors."

  "What if Sally did the deed while he had the alibi?" Dolly asked.

  "I talked to her yesterday morning. I don't think she has it in her."

  "How about the other suspects?" Ramona asked.

  "I'm still focusing on Dr. Hunter mostly because he's a scuz bucket."

  "Let me guess. He hit on you?" Ramona asked.

  "He hits on everyone with the right body parts," Alice said.

  "I heard he can be aggressive," Dolly said.

  "Oh yeah." I shivered thinking about how aggressive he'd been in his approach. "Cornered me in the bathroom."

  "Probably shouldn't let Gabe know about that. I have a feeling there might be some words or maybe something more if he hears about it," Viola commented as she tsked.

  "Nate arranged for us to go on a senior trip to the casinos for a couple of days. It should be fun, but we'll be raring to go when we come back. Maybe we should meet up on Tuesday and set a trap?" Alice asked.

  I didn't want to involve them, but I didn't want them to know that I wasn't going to involve them. I was walking a tightrope. "Tuesday sounds good. I'm going to work on a plan after I'm done with this art show and I get back to town. Did you find out any more information about that name I gave to you?"

  "Oh dear, I almost forgot the most important part." Viola dug into her pocket. "There was a hit on a property ownership under the name of Exquisite Art Services. I jotted down the address for you." She handed me a slip of paper.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "I heard Dr. Hunter gave you a hard time." Gabe moseyed up to me by the shrimp cocktail. I needed sustenance ASAP if I hoped to survive the evening as well as the increased scrutiny by both Gabe and Nate. Add to that the knowledge that Exquisite Art Services owned what I believed to be my father's cabin and I had more questions than answers. There had to be clues there. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to investigate.

  "Nothing I couldn't handle."

  He slid his arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear. "Are you at least enjoying your first official art showing?"

  "Yes and no. With all that's been going on, it's hard for me to get into the spirit of things."

  He moved so that he faced me and placed his forearms on my shoulders. "Speaking as an impartial observer, I do believe you're the most talented artist here."

  I couldn't help but smile. This charming side of Gabe was irresistible. "That's sweet of you." I slid my hands onto his waist and kissed him. And it felt so right—until I heard the squeals.

  "Hate to interrupt you two, but we're ready to go," Viola said as a hint of pink peppered her cheeks, complimenting the broad smile on her face.

  Alice patted my arm. "Too bad he's got to drive us home or you'd be getting lucky tonight."

  Gabe smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "See you tomorrow when you get back."

  "Sounds good." I had no idea what that might mean, but I definitely liked the sound of it. After waiving them good-bye, I decided to take one more stroll around the gallery to see how many of my paintings had been sold. Before I got too far, I spotted Claire Hunter sneaking do
wn one of the hallways leading to the kitchen area. I couldn't stop myself from tiptoeing behind her.

  The hallway led to a set of double doors with a small window on the top, so I peeked inside. I spotted her on the counter with her hands on the shoulders of a man in a black tux. While his back was to me, I knew it wasn't Dr. Hunter as this man had dark hair.

  She kissed him. He kissed her. Things heated up between them going from PG to R-rated within seconds. Maybe this was the guy she planned on leaving Dr. Hunter for. Afraid of what I might see if I stayed too long, I rushed down the hall and back to the hotel.

  * * *

  By the time I'd gotten back to my room that night, exhaustion had set in like I'd been run over by a truck. I bolted the door, put a chair under the lock for good measure, flopped onto the bed, and promptly fell asleep.

  I wasn't sure how long I'd been sleeping when somebody pounded on my door. "I need help," a female voice called from the hall. Nerves jangled while I got up on shaky legs and glanced out the peephole. Somebody must have blocked it with a finger because I couldn't see a thing. Then they jiggled the lock and attempted to get in. Feeling trapped, I wanted to jump off the balcony, but I was on the third floor and figured I'd be lucky if I only broke a leg or two. Instead, I picked up the phone, dialed 9-1-1, and hoped they'd come quick.

  The pounding and pleading continued. Officially scared out of my frickin' mind, I glanced around for a potential weapon and came up with pepper spray and a letter opener. I should have asked Alice for one of her nephew's stun guns when I had the chance.

  Somebody crashed against the door, making the entire wall shake. Then a round of shouting and swearing ensued—with the same female voice screeching. I might hyperventilate before the police arrived. I adopted a defensive stance and waited.

  But then silence. That's when all the bad stuff happened in the movies. I heard footsteps racing down the hall, but were they coming or going? Uh oh, coming based on the sounds of a keycard sliding in and out of the slot. The lock clicked. But the door wouldn't open as I'd slid that bolt lock thing in place. The door strained against that tiny nob of metal and the chair I'd propped against it.

  I had the pepper spray in one hand and the letter opener in the other when there was a loud knock on the door followed by, "Hotel security, ma'am. The police are on their way. Are you alright?"

  "I've got pepper spray and intend to use it unless I see a badge."

  He opened the door as far as allowable and slipped a laminated card hooked onto a chain. A lingering odor of cologne filtered inside.

  I grabbed the card and examined the picture along with the hotel emblem across the top. From a superficial glance, it looked legit even if the picture showed a scrawny kid barely into his twenties. This was my protector?

  "Why are you here? Where are the police?" I asked.

  As if on cue, the wail of a siren and the screeching of tires had me rushing to the window. A giant sigh of relief followed.

  "The police just pulled up. I think I'll wait for them." Not that I didn't trust hotel security—but yeah, I didn't trust hotel security—especially one who might still need a babysitter.

  Seconds later, another knock sounded at the door. "Ma'am, Iowa City Police. Please disengage the slide bolt if you still have it in place. We need to get in and make sure you're alright."

  I complied within seconds and was greeted by two police officers and the hotel security guard who, like his picture, looked like he might be right out of high school and scared out of his mind. At least the police officers looked to be thirty-five or so, making me feel more confident.

  The threesome walked inside, and the room suddenly felt very small. I sat down on the bed in order to hide the adrenaline-laced shakes playing havoc with my body.

  "I'm Officer Gaines." He pointed to his partner. "And this is Officer Simon. Could you tell us what happened?"

  "I fell asleep right after I came back from the art show. Someone began pounding on my door and saying they needed help. But when I looked out the peephole, it was blocked, so I couldn't tell if somebody really needed assistance or it was a ploy."

  "Good thinking, ma'am," Officer Simon said.

  I tunneled through my thoughts and shook my head. Little by little, my pulse rate slowed. While I couldn't say a sense of peace followed, I felt less anxious by the minute. "They kept trying to get in."

  "Did you put the chair under the door before or after that happened?" Officer Gaines asked.

  "Before I went to bed as a precaution." I didn't want to seem paranoid, but I also didn't want to tell them about the recent developments in my life that might make them think I'd gone off the deep end.

  "What happened next?" All three men glanced around the room before they focused on me.

  I related what had happened. They turned their attention to the security guy. "What did you see when you came upstairs?"

  The security guy glanced from one officer to the other and gulped. "I heard some noise as I got off the elevator, but by the time I got here, there was no one outside the door. I used my key pass to unlock her door, but she had the slide bolt in place. She asked to see my badge. But then opted to wait until you arrived to open the door."

  Officer Simon jotted notes into a pad. "I noticed you have security cameras in the hallway. Did you check them before you came upstairs?"

  His eyes went wide. "They don't work. They're more for show." He whispered the last of his confession.

  My heart sunk inside my chest. Nothing like a false sense of security. In the past I hadn't thought too much about security, but seeing the little black things in the ceiling made me feel so much better about catching the person who did this. But now I had no proof, and to make matters worse, all three of them were now looking at me like I'd made the whole thing up.

  I cleared my throat. "Didn't anyone complain about the noise?"

  "The only other guest on this floor is in a room around the corner. Chances are he wouldn't hear anything from that far away. This isn't our busy season, so the hotel is not at full capacity. Security is a tricky…." He rambled on. The guy seemed to have the same problem I did when he was anxious and kept blabbing until everyone in the room had mentally left the building.

  Finally Officer Gaines interrupted. "Do you have any reason to believe somebody might have tried to break into your room? Did you spend any time at the hotel bar?"

  I saw where he was going with this, and I steeled my spine. "I'm an artist so was at the showing at the City Center Gallery like I stated earlier. I stayed there until eleven and then went straight to bed. As you can see I didn't even change into PJs."

  Officer Simon chuckled and smiled. "I didn't think you dressed up for us."

  "Did you have any altercation at the gallery with anyone? Another artist? I understand there's a lot of competition in the art field. Any ideas who might have come here to harm you or maybe intimidate you?" Gaines asked.

  What I was about to say would diminish my credibility, but I said it anyway. "Dr. Hunter didn't take kindly when I turned down his pass."

  "The Dr. Hunter?" the security guard asked.

  I gritted my teeth, weary of the high esteem people had for the jerk of a human being. "The one and only."

  "Describe what exactly happened," Officer Gaines asked.

  "He…" How could I accurately describe the creepiness of the encounter? "He accosted me in the ladies' room."

  "Did he assault you?" Simon asked.

  I shook my head. "No. It didn't go that far." Describing what happened was a lesson in frustration.

  The officers exchanged looks. It was pretty clear they wouldn't do much about that. "We'll check into it," Gaines said.

  I shrugged. Everyone in the room knew that was man-speak for nothing was going to happen.

  "Do you think it could possibly have been a vivid dream?" Officer Simon asked.

  "You did not just ask me that." Tired and cranky after the last couple of days, I'd reached my limit of frustration.r />
  He held up his hands. "Don't mean to offend you, ma'am, but it sounds like you were pretty tired. Sometimes that kind of stuff happens."

  My jaw clenched. "It was not a dream."

  "We can dust for fingerprints and see if we come up with anything, but I'm not making any promises," Gaines said. No doubt, more code for I was losing my mind, and he and everyone knew it but me.

  And maybe they were right. But I wasn't about to admit it.

  * * *

  I should have gone home after the fiasco last night because I couldn't sleep anyway. The only thing that kept me from checking out was that I didn't want to drive home at two in the morning and come home to a dark house and get creeped out all over again. And which house would I go to? My father's? Viola's? Or Gabe's? The whole thing was way too complicated.

  Instead, I stayed awake doing sketches and thinking about the money from the three paintings I'd sold. While the three thousand dollars I'd received wasn't a fortune, it was enough for me to believe that maybe I could make a go of this art thing after all.

  But first things first—I had to find Stan's murderer. Once that fell together, I'd also know the fate of my father.

  Besides, I wanted to check out that property and see if I could find more clues. I dressed in designer sweatpants, my New York T-shirt, and a matching designer hoodie and went downstairs about ten. After ordering the largest cup of to-go coffee I could, I passed by the Greek yogurt and instead snagged two fresh doughnuts and a cheese Danish from the breakfast bar and took off in my car.

  Somehow I knew I was close to solving the mystery or I wouldn't have gotten my middle-of-the-night visitor. I'd flip-flopped back and forth about Dr. Hunter after his obnoxious behavior. I could definitely see him pounding on my hotel room door in the middle of the night expecting me to let him in. The idea that his wife Claire could have been with him was too ick to think about. But could he be a murderer? That was the real question.

  I needed to get to the bottom of this, and there was no time like the present.