by Lauren Carr
The server, whose nameplate read, “Annette,” arrived with a carafe filled to the top with coffee. While she filled each of their cups, Chris searched the breakfast menu to decide what to order.
“Sorry for the wait,” Annette said, “but with the power out all over the place, we got a lot of caffeine addicts in here who couldn’t get their fix at home. One guy is threatening to lay down with his mouth open under the coffee maker and drink it as it brews.”
She flashed Chris a grin while filling his cup. “You look kind of young to be a retiree? Whatcha reading this month?” She leaned over to study the book cover. “Hey, I heard of that. Is it any good?”
“The protagonist’s brains are in his pants,” Jacqui said, “which is how he ends up in his predicament. As stupid as he is to get himself into that situation, it’s totally unbelievable that he’s intelligent enough to escape it.”
The server’s painted eyebrows rose high up on her forehead.
“Hey, did you ever go out with that guy your mother was trying to fix you up with?” Francine asked. “The songwriter?”
“Poet,” Annette corrected her with a roll of her eyes. “He was a poet. Has written quite a few books. He teaches at Shepherd University.”
“A professor?” Jacqui said with a grin. “Sounds promising. If he’s a poet, I’ll bet he’s a romantic.”
“Maybe.” With a frown, Annette took out her notepad. “I’m not sticking around long enough to find out.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Francine asked.
“For one, he lives with his mother.”
With a cringe, Chris focused on the menu he had spread out in front of him.
“Snap,” Elliott said with a chuckle.
“Did I say something?” Annette asked about Elliott’s low laughter.
“I… I live with my mother.” Chris closed his menu.
“Well, he’s like forty.”
“I’m forty-six.”
Annette’s face turned red. Clearing her throat, she pressed her pen to her notepad. “What will y’all be having this morning?”
“Get the cheese omelet and home fries with a side of bacon,” Francine whispered to Chris after giving her order.
Anxious to put in his order so that they could discuss Sandy Lipton, Chris followed her instructions. As soon as Annette was gone, he said, “Out with it. What did you uncover and how did you do it?”
“Why didn’t you tell us that Ethel Lipton got gunned down the other night?” Jacqui asked. “We had to find out from Francine.”
“Good thing I still maintain my sources from my AP days.”
“I was a little busy getting drilled by the deputy sheriff, who’s convinced I was behind it,” Chris said. “He thinks I hired the thugs who killed her and then killed them in what looked like self-defense to cover my tracks.”
“Did you?” Jacqui asked.
“No!”
“That would be a very clever plan if you had,” Elliott said.
“Was it a professional hit?” Francine asked.
“I think so,” Chris said.
“Who are our suspects?” Elliott asked.
“This isn’t your case.”
“But it’s yours?”
“Yes,” Chris said. “My old boss was assigned the case to investigate a body that I found at our farm yesterday—”
“You found a body on your farm?” Francine said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because—”
“So you’re investigating two murders and you left us out in the cold?” Jacqui turned to Elliott. “He’s not a team player.”
Her bottom lip sticking out, Francine folded her arms. “Not at all.”
Elliott picked up his coffee. He turned away from Chris while taking a sip from the cup. “If you’re not going to share with us, then why should we share with you what we’ve uncovered?”
They turned their backs to him. Even Francine scooted toward the far corner of the table — away from him.
“Seriously?”
Elliott turned back to him. “You’re too young and haven’t been retired long enough to know what it’s like, Chris. This may seem like a game to you, but it’s real for us. We were all extremely good at what we did—just like you.” He tapped his temple. “Mentally, we were like athletes. The mind needs to be exercised—wants to exercise—otherwise you lose it, just like with every other muscle in your body.”
“You get so bored that you feel like you’re going to go crazy,” Francine said.
“That’s why we work as a team,” Elliott said. “We’re all in the same boat. Feeling bored and useless.”
“While mentally, we still have a lot to offer,” Jacqui said.
“When one of us gets a case, we share with the rest of the team,” Francine said.
“And you’d be surprised what your team members can offer,” Elliott said.
Chris looked around the table.
Annette arrived with a tray laden down with plates. In silence, he studied each member of the squad one by one. He felt like a child who had received a fabulous new toy that he had hidden to keep to himself—only to have it discovered by his friends.
Guilt washed over him.
“I’m sorry,” he said after Annette had left. “I didn’t realize. You’re right, Elliott. I’m still mourning my wife—and now losing Winston. I’ve been so busy adjusting to coming back home that I haven’t really had time to get settled and bored yet. But that’s no excuse. You invited me to join the Geezer—”
The three of them shushed him while glancing around to make sure no one heard him.
Grinning, Chris corrected himself. “Your book club. I’m sorry. Please give me another chance.”
The three of them looked at each other.
“Okay,” Elliott said. “On two conditions.”
“What?”
“One, you tell us everything about Ethel Lipton’s murder and the body you found at the farm.”
“I’ll share everything I know,” Chris said. “What’s the other condition?”
“You pick up the check for breakfast.”
Chris saw the corners of each of their mouths turn up while they awaited his response. Slowly, he nodded his head.
Francine let out a laugh and moved in close to him. “Now that that’s done, time for you to brief us.”
“What about Sandy Lipton?” Chris asked.
“You go first,” Jacqui said. “Tell us about this hot federal case that you managed to snag.”
“And why haven’t any of my sources found out about a body being found yesterday?” Francine asked. “I usually learn about that type of stuff before it hits the media.”
“Because the feds want to keep it quiet,” Chris said. “They don’t want the victim’s boss, who is being investigated for organized crime, to realize that the body had been discovered—just in case he’s involved. The body was taken to Washington for the autopsy and only one member of local law enforcement knows about it.”
“Who?” Elliott asked.
“Lieutenant Helen Clarke.”
Letting out an “ooh” Elliott and Jacqui exchanged smirks.
“What?” Francine asked them.
“You were late the other night,” Elliott said. “When Chris saw Sierra’s mother…” He gave a wicked chuckle at the flush that rose on Chris’s cheeks.
“There were actual sparks between them,” Jacqui said.
“We’re old friends,” Chris said.
“Did you date her?” Francine asked.
Chris sighed. “Yes.”
“Who broke it off?”
The question made his chest ache at the memory. “To get back to what we were talking about—”
“Who called Helen?” Jacqui asked with an arched eyebrow.
/> “I-I did.” He added, “Out of professional courtesy.”
“Yeah, right,” Jacqui said.
“Saturday is Valentine’s Day,” Francine said.
“We’re just friends,” Chris said.
“Oh, but you want to be so much more,” Jacqui said.
“Say it with flowers,” Francine said.
Changing the subject, Chris rattled on about the shooting, Rodney Bell’s interrogation and revelation of Ethel’s claim to know something about a murder, and the discovery of Tommy Bukowski’s body on his farm.
He finished up by telling them about Regina Patterson’s false labor pains.
“The thing is,” Chris explained, “Regina is up for a big promotion. If Tommy’s murder is connected to the Krawford family, then she would be a shoo-in for the promotion. So she’s still working on the case while bedridden and she asked me to be her leg man.”
“Even though you’re retired, and the body was found on your farm, which makes you a suspect?” Elliott asked.
“She’s keeping as much under wraps as possible,” Chris said.
“And what do you get for this?” Jacqui asked.
“To be on the inside of the case.”
Elliott grinned. “You’re curious. Even if she didn’t ask you to help, you’d be all over this case. You’re just like your old man.”
“Rodney Bell thinks the murder Ethel Lipton was talking about was her daughter’s,” Chris said. “I think it was Tommy’s because Ethel was a regular at the casino and Tommy was a gambler. I’m going to have to prove it because Rodney has his sights on me and he’s not going to look at any other suspects.”
“If he’s any good as a detective, he’d be more interested in evidence than rumors,” Elliott said.
“It’s not so much rumor as it is a personal grudge,” Chris said. “We used to be friends.”
“Used to be?” Francine asked. “What happened?”
“Life,” Chris said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Childhood rivalries got in the way. I grew up and moved on. Based on how quick he was to put me at the top of his suspect list, he hasn’t.”
Chris shoved his breakfast aside. He had been so busy reporting on Ethel Lipton and Tommy Bukowski, that he didn’t have a chance to eat his omelet before it turned cold. “Okay, I spilled my guts. Now it’s your turn. Did you find a murder victim whose description matches Sandy?”
“Not a murder victim.” Jacqui opened her tablet and scrolled through the screens. “I got together with Ray yesterday—” She let out a sigh in an exasperated tone. “I hate going to Ray’s place when his daughter is home.”
“Why?” Elliott asked. “I think Sheena’s nice.”
“Yes, but…” Her voice trailing off, Jacqui narrowed her eyes. “I go over to see Ray pretty regularly because he’s got the whole setup—computers and databases. Well, Sheena noticed me visiting him all the time and got suspicious. She started asking Ray about what was going on—”
“He didn’t tell her, did he?” Francine covered her mouth with her hand. She lowered her tone to a whisper. “Why, if Sheena found out about the Geezer Squad, Ray would be toast.”
“No,” Jacqui said. “But Ray had to tell her something.”
“What’d he tell her?”
“That we were having an affair.”
Their eyes wide, Elliott and Francine jumped back in their seats. While Chris had only seen Ray on the computer monitor, he could not picture the older, plump man with a scruffy beard with the elegant woman sitting across from him.
“Sheena is thrilled about her father finally having a social life,” Jacqui said. “All yesterday, she kept smiling at me and giggling when she saw the two of us together.”
Francine covered her mouth and giggled.
“Just like that.” Jacqui pointed her finger at the journalist.
“Ray must be getting better at this lying stuff,” Elliott said. “Last time he had to cover up what he was doing on the computer, he told Sheena that he was watching porn.”
Jacqui uttered a growl before turning her attention back to Chris. “Anyway—Ray and I went through the national database, plus the state records here in West Virginia, and Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. We searched everywhere for a Jane Doe matching Sandy’s description who could have been killed around that timeframe.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Chris slumped.
Francine grabbed his elbow. “Then Jacqui thought of something.” She gestured at her. “Tell him.”
“I remembered you saying that she was pregnant—only a few days from her due date. So I did a search of hospitals—”
“Been there. Done that.” Chris held up his hand. “The police did a search of all the surrounding hospitals during that time period for an unidentified pregnant woman or woman who had just given birth. One of our first theories was that she’d been kidnapped in order to steal the baby. The police found nothing.”
“Maybe because they were looking for an unidentified woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did a search of local hospital records around that time period of all Caucasian women between sixteen and twenty-one years of age who gave birth during the week of Sandy’s disappearance.”
“It wasn’t that big a number,” Francine said. “So it was a cakewalk to follow up on each one.”
“You’ve lost me,” Chris said.
“If someone had abducted Sandy to steal her baby, then they would have had to have taken her someplace to have the baby delivered,” Jacqui said.
“Unless the baby was delivered at home with a doctor or midwife,” Chris said.
“Don’t rain on my parade until I’ve finished,” Jacqui said. “If Sandy had been taken to a hospital to deliver her baby, her abductors couldn’t have used Sandy’s name. The authorities would’ve found her and the baby immediately.”
“Assuming they cared enough about Sandy to want her to have medical care,” Chris said. “I once investigated the case of a couple wanting to steal a woman’s baby. They just slit her throat and then cut her stomach open to take the baby.”
“Hear me out,” Jacqui said. “Suppose her abductors did care enough about Sandy to want medical care and took her to the hospital to have her baby delivered. They would have had to check her in under a different name.”
“In which case, she wouldn’t have been a Jane Doe,” Elliott said.
“And back when Sandy went missing, hospital security was not so tight about checking identifications and keeping records so secure,” Francine said.
“They could have used the name of the mother stealing the baby,” Chris said.
“That’s a thought,” Elliott said.
“During her pregnancy, Sandy was being treated by her own doctor under her own name,” Jacqui said. “I was thinking that it’s unlikely that the woman stealing Sandy’s baby, if that’s the motive, had any record of pregnancy before the delivery. That’s what I was looking for—records of a young woman who gave birth who had no prior arrangements or connections with the hospital and I found one.” She handed the tablet to Chris. “Tamara Wilcox. Eighteen years old. She arrived at Jefferson Medical—”
“That’s only one block from Sandy’s house,” Chris said.
“According to the hospital records,” Jacqui said, “Dr. Frederic Poole was walking into the hospital when a car, driven by a young man, pulled up in front of him and the driver begged him to help his wife who was in labor. The doctor found her unconscious in the back seat.”
While Jacqui continued, Chris’s brow furrowed.
“Dr. Poole grabbed a couple of nurses and they took her straight into the operating room to deliver the baby by caesarian. Tamara never regained consciousness and died on the operating table. After the smoke had cleared, it was discovered
that the young man never checked the woman in. He had disappeared. Later on, someone found her purse with her Maryland driver’s license. She had a Baltimore address. Both proved to be phony.”
“What happened to the baby?” Chris asked in a soft voice.
“A girl,” Jacqui said. “But she only lived an hour before she died.”
Chris felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. “Doesn’t make sense,” he murmured.
Francine said, “If the motive for kidnapping Sandy was to steal the baby—”
“I’m thinking the kidnappers didn’t plan for Sandy to have a cardiac arrest,” Jacqui said. “They abducted her to steal the baby, but she had a heart attack during labor.”
“They panicked and took her to the hospital—giving a phony name,” Elliott said. “Unfortunately, both Sandy and the baby died.” Noticing that Chris was deep in thought, he reached across the table and snapped his fingers in Chris’s face. “What are you thinking, Chris?”
“Dr. Frederic Poole was Sandy’s doctor,” Chris said. “He’s the chairman of the board for the pregnancy center here in town. He treated Sandy through her pregnancy.” He shook his head. “If it was Sandy who he’d found unconscious in that car, then he’d know who it was immediately.”
Jacqui let out a deep breath mixed with a groan of disappointment. “Then Tamara Wilcox couldn’t have been Sandy Lipton.”
“Unless…” As he pieced it together, Chris sat up in his seat. “Unless Dr. Poole was in on her disappearance.”
“Why would Sandy’s doctor be in on it?” Francine asked. “What would he have to gain?”
“Steal her baby to sell on the black market,” Elliott said.
“But he’s a doctor,” Francine said.
“I’ve put more than one doctor away for murder,” Elliott said.
Francine uttered a sigh. “What I mean is, if the intention was to steal the baby, and this guy was a doctor, and he treated Sandy through her pregnancy, why bother taking her into the hospital?”
“Tamara Wilcox went into cardiac arrest,” Jacqui said. “Let’s just suppose Dr. Poole was in on it. He knew that Sandy was a young single girl and the alleged father of the baby wanted nothing to do with it.”