Scry Me A River: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (Blood Visions Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Donna White Glaser

  She cleared her throat. "I guess it would make sense to check the corners and the lower edges."

  Grumpa took one side and Arie the other, but they couldn't identify any signs of blood.

  "Did it rain last night?" Arie asked.

  Grumpa shrugged but kept his back to her. His shoulders were shaking, and she heard him sniffle.

  He was crying.

  Arie's eyes filled immediately. "That's enough, Grumpa. It's time to get you home."

  Grumpa wiped his face with his sleeve before turning back. "Let's go." His voice was a gravelly rasp.

  Arie followed him, feeling more helpless than she'd ever felt in her life. They'd only gone a few feet from the dumpster when the rec-center door opened and Jane Clarkson came out.

  The director's eyes met Arie's, and even though they were separated by at least fifty feet, Arie could see her face set in a frown. She'd obviously heard about the paintbrush incident, or perhaps it was because she'd caught them in the ghoulish business of examining the area where a woman had unexpectedly died.

  Either way, Arie didn't want to wait around to find out. Picking up her pace, she snagged Grumpa's arm and hustled him back to the Caddy. They both pretended not to hear the director calling their names, first one then the other.

  Grumpa tapped on his nonexistent hearing aid. Arie had no such excuse, fake or otherwise, so she simply hurried.

  The next morning, Arie tried hard to convince Grumpa to stay home, but he wouldn't hear of it.

  "You don't have to go, but I am," he said. "Somebody has to do something."

  "Somebody is doing something, Grumpa. Connor knows everything we do, and he's going to find out what's going on there."

  "Most of what he knows is from us. He's got to do things a certain way, and that takes time. Whoever is doing this is getting more desperate."

  "That's exactly my point. It's getting dangerous."

  Arie's cell phone rang. Her stomach clenched when she read the caller ID, but she answered it anyway. After stuttering through an extremely brief conversation, Arie hung up.

  "Who was that?" Grumpa asked.

  "Jane Clarkson," Arie said. "She wants to meet with me this morning."

  Grumpa smirked and turned to the door. "Well, let's go."

  "No.” Arie put a restraining hand on his arm. “I mean... not you. She wants to meet with me. Alone."

  Grumpa's face hardened, and Arie braced herself for an argument.

  It didn't come. Instead, Grumpa took a deep, shuddering breath then shook her hand off.

  "Grumpa..."

  But the old man was already shuffling into the living room. He gave a "good riddance" flip of his hand, but Arie knew he was heartbroken over Belinda's death. Although taking a day at home would probably be a good thing, Arie was worried about leaving him alone.

  Still... it couldn't be helped, and Arie was left to face the director by herself.

  The morning was chilly and overcast, exactly reflecting Arie's mood. When she reached the center, she hung her jacket on the hook in the entryway then walked over to the group to say hello. She was just stalling, but the detour ended up being worth it. She had expected an attitude from Viv and wasn't disappointed. The woman had pinched her lips shut and was busy slapping paint on a birdhouse. Arie was surprised at how ill at ease Kathy and Marilee were. Their returned greeting seemed strained, and their eyes darted away from hers. Larry mumbled something and stomped off to his chair near the window. Arie also thought it strange that nobody asked where her grandfather was, which only served to increase her nervousness about the impending meeting with Jane.

  "Well," she said awkwardly, "I better not keep Jane waiting."

  Viv smirked and slapped more paint on her craft project. It was black—a strange choice for a birdhouse—and a small blob speckled her chin like a witch's wart. Arie gasped in sudden understanding.

  Viv was busily—happily—destroying Grumpa's artwork.

  "What are you doing?" Arie nearly lunged across the table to grab the birdhouse but stopped herself just in time. Things were bad enough without her making things worse.

  Karen walked up to the table. "Is there a problem?"

  "No," Arie said through gritted teeth. "No problem."

  Viv smirked again and tossed her head.

  "Then you should head back," Karen said. "Jane has a busy morning planned, and she doesn't have time to waste."

  Arie started to turn away but then turned back to Viv. "You're a little early for Halloween."

  The gleefulness in Viv's eyes dimmed, and her gaze shot around the table as the others burst into laughter. Arie walked away feeling simultaneously petty and victorious. The latter emotion evaporated as soon as she got to the director's door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "Enter."

  Taking a deep breath, Arie reminded herself that she was an adult and opened the door. Jane Clarkson was seated and, instead of greeting Arie, settled for staring bleakly at her as she crossed the room to stand in front of the desk. Jane nodded at the chair, and Arie sat.

  Before they could get started, a knock sounded on the door. It opened to disclose Rachelle holding the med binder.

  "Got a minute?" the nurse asked.

  Jane frowned. "Well, actually, I—"

  "It'll be quick."

  Despite her look of irritation, Jane rose and followed the nurse out of the office.

  She returned moments later and resumed her seat behind her desk. After jotting a few notes in a file, she pushed them aside and finally gave Arie her full attention.

  "Good morning," Arie said.

  Jane sighed. "I wish I could say that it was. However, with the untimely death of one of our residents and the subsequent uproar caused by your grandfather, I'm not finding much good about it."

  "Grumpa... I mean... my grandfather didn't cause any uproar. He was very upset at Belinda's death, of course. They were close. And, um, then Viv said some things—"

  "Ms. Stiles, this is the second time your grandfather has been aggressive. This kind of behavior is—"

  Arie stiffened. "Aggressive? He certainly was not. He may have raised his voice a little, but that's all."

  "It was reported to me that he flung an object at Vivian Beecher." Jane pulled out a form, scanning the contents.

  "That's ridiculous," Arie said. "He didn't fling anything. His paintbrush just kind of flipped over, and it may have splattered a little. It was an accident."

  Jane pursed her lips. "Harlan seems to have a lot of 'accidents.' And as I said, this is the second incident that has been brought to my attention."

  "Okay, but the thing with Alan was just a... misunderstanding. Alan thought—"

  "Yes, another accident, I suppose." Jane's eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall, then she leaned forward, clasping her hands on the desk. "Tell me, has your family decided whether River Rest is the appropriate residential choice for Harlan?"

  "Uh..." The abrupt change of subject threw Arie for a moment. "Not really. I mean, I haven't talked it over with my mother in a few days. We wanted to see how Grumpa adjusts to—"

  "Perhaps I should be speaking with someone else. Your mother, perhaps?"

  "Oh. No. I don't think so. She's... uh..."

  A frown creased Jane's forehead. "I'm sorry, but at this juncture, I think that would be more appropriate. Let me make sure we have her contact information." She drew a file—presumably Grumpa's—from the top of a pile near her elbow and flipped through it, the papers whispering as she paged through them.

  "I really don't think we need to bother my mother with all this," Arie said. "I'm sure we can resolve any—"

  Jane's frosty eyes rose to Arie's. "I don't think so. In fact, I—"

  Someone rapped at the door again. Without waiting for an answer, Karen poked her head inside. She took in Arie sitting like a penitent in front of a very unforgiving god, and her eyes twinkled. Turning to Jane, she said, "Excuse me, but the you-know-who have been here and done
their thing." She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. "They're ready for you now."

  Jane stiffened then nodded to Karen. Shutting the file, she rose. "We'll have to leave this for now."

  "But, um..."

  Jane crossed to the door and held it open for Arie, who had no choice but to follow. Karen smirked at Arie as she passed. They walked single file down the narrow corridor to the social hall, Arie sandwiched unpleasantly between the two. Karen in particular seemed to be crowding her forward. As they emerged, Arie spotted two uniformed officers waiting for Jane. The room was hushed, with everybody's eyes on the pair.

  As she crossed the room, Arie studied them as well. The woman, tall and thin, had her hair pulled back in a bun so tight it gave her a permanent squint. In contrast, her partner was short with soft, doughy muscles and a receding hairline. He stepped forward to stand next to Jane, who clapped her hands for attention. Arie paused, her hand on the back of a chair, wondering if they were there because of Bernie Reynolds's death or Belinda’s. Either way, why wasn't Connor there, too?

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm very sorry you've had to be subjected to this, but as you know, a very distressing problem has come to our attention," Jane said. She stood with one hand resting on her cane, the other held to her throat. "I'm sure the discrepancies in the medications that have been discovered are simply a clerical error, but all possibilities must be investigated. I want to thank everyone for their cooperation while we get to the bottom of this." She nodded to Officer Doughboy next to her, and he in turn signaled his partner.

  Officer Tight Bun immediately strode over to Arie. "Ma'am, do you mind letting us search your belongings?"

  While everyone else in the room, including Arie, froze in astonishment, Alan shot to his feet. "Now just a minute—"

  "My belongings?" Arie squeaked. "Why?"

  Officer Doughboy appeared at Alan's side. Kathy, Viv, and Marilee eased out of their chairs and scurried to another table.

  "It's just a formality," Jane said to Arie. "As I've just explained, we have to look into every possibility. The general room has already been searched."

  "Ma'am," the female cop said, "do you have a problem with us checking your belongings?"

  "Do you have a warrant?" Alan demanded.

  "Why don't you go have a seat?" Officer Doughboy asked, although it didn't sound like a question.

  "I don't want to sit down. And you have no right going through her private property. That's got nothing to do with a 'general search.'"

  "Alan, this doesn't concern you," Jane said. "Go sit down, or you'll have to return to your room. I won't stand for this interference."

  "Ma'am..." Officer Tight Bun again.

  "Sure, fine." Arie handed her purse over.

  Alan was looking more and more agitated. "Arie, you don't need to—"

  "Karen, please escort Mr. Hansen to his room."

  With barely repressed excitement, Karen hurried to Alan's side. He snatched his arm away from her guiding hand, but instead of continuing to protest, he moved a few feet away. With his lips pinched tightly together, he shook his head in warning at Arie.

  She shrugged helplessly. What can I do? Besides, she hadn't taken any meds. She didn't have anything to worry about.

  Officer Tight Bun emptied the purse's contents onto the table and, after finding nothing more disturbing than a secret stash of Milk Duds and Arie's supply of emergency tampons, checked the purse's lining and pockets. When she handed back the empty bag without comment, Arie felt a surge of relief.

  "And your coat, please." Without waiting, Doughboy tossed Arie's jacket, which he'd retrieved from the entryway, onto the table. His fingers darted into the first pocket and came out empty, then into the second…

  He pulled out a baggie full of pills.

  Arie's heart thumped heat through her veins, sweat popping through every pore on her body. "Those aren't mine."

  The universal mantra of every just-been-caught-red-handed drug-using loser anywhere.

  Alan threw his hands in the air and walked away in disgust.

  "But they really aren't," Arie insisted.

  Across from her, Karen giggled. "Of course they aren't."

  "Shut up, Karen! You know they aren't. I've never—"

  "Ma'am, we'll need you to come with us," Officer Doughboy said. He took her elbow, turned her, and clicked handcuffs around her wrists in one smooth, well-practiced move.

  Arie felt faint. "Wait. You can't do this. This is all wrong. This is crazy."

  He led her toward the exit.

  Arie shot one frantic look over her shoulder, and her eyes met Alan's. "Call my grandpa!"

  He nodded, but before she turned back, she caught sight of Karen, too. The nurse was openly laughing, her Jerry Springer dose of drama for the day completely satisfied.

  Arie had been sitting in a small, sterile interview room so long her butt and left foot were numb. Her right leg jiggled so hard she was surprised she hadn't drilled a hole through the floor. The two cops had placed her in the room, and although they'd removed her handcuffs, she suffered no delusions that she was free to leave.

  Of course, there was no clock, and since they still had her purse, she could neither check the time on her phone nor make any calls. Panic had left her with a distorted sense of time, but if she had to guess, she thought she'd been there maybe forty-five minutes or so. Maybe. The longer the cops took, the more her stomach hurt, the faster her leg pistoned, and the more the don't-upset-the-people-in-charge inner good girl argued with the I-need-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here panicked problem dodger.

  I'll wait fifteen more minutes, and if no one shows up, I'll just leave. They can't keep me here. Can they? What about my purse, though? They still have that. And if I leave, won't they think I really did it?

  Something more than fear kept Arie from leaving, though. She had questions—first and foremost about how that baggie of pills got in her coat pocket. It was obviously no coincidence that the police had come to the center to investigate right when she was meeting with Jane.

  She was being set up.

  Does Connor know I'm here?

  It had to be Jane. Jane was the one who’d called her in for the meeting, and she'd left Arie waiting in the office for some mysterious reason right at the beginning. Had Jane slipped the pills into Arie's coat then?

  But had she had enough time to plant them? She'd only stepped out of the office for such a short time. And wouldn't someone have seen her? People tended to pay attention to the director's comings and goings.

  Karen, then. She was certainly sneaky enough.

  Whoever it was knew the police were coming in and why. As far as Arie could see, that ruled out the residents.

  Most importantly of all: Had the meds been planted in order to shift the blame away from the real thief, or had someone realized that Arie was investigating Bernie Reynolds's death?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The door opened, and a tall blonde with a clipboard and the haughty demeanor of a Greek goddess strode in. Arie gazed at her in wonder. The woman's skin was creamy-white perfection, her hourglass figure the type that would have inspired a pinup poster in the 1940s. The woman set the clipboard down with a sharp snap that startled Arie.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Stiles," she said as she pulled out the chair opposite Arie. "I'm Detective Barbara Cooper."

  Barbara? Arie was in the presence of a living, breathing, law enforcement–loving Barbie doll—a Barbie doll who worked with Connor.

  "Miss Stiles, did you hear me?"

  Arie jumped again. "I'm sorry. And please call me Arie."

  "Actually," Cooper said, flipping through a page on her clipboard, "I see your legal name is Rho—"

  "Miss Stiles is fine!" Arie was almost certain she detected a smirk on the detective's flawless features.

  "Tell me, Miss Stiles, what exactly is your involvement with River Rest?"

  "Uh... well... my grandfather has been checking it out. The rec center, I mean. And
, uh, he goes there for their daytime activities and—"

  "Yes, I'm aware of that." The detective consulted her clipboard. Arie tried to read it upside down, but Barbie caught her and flipped the pages back to the top sheet, blank except for a grocery list. Apparently, Barbie needed tuna fish and toilet paper.

  "Your grandfather is Harlan Wilston, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "The two of you reside together." Amused eyes flicked up to Arie's. "You live with your grandpa, huh?" The smirk was quite apparent this time.

  "Yes. I moved in last fall when—"

  "And he's been participating in the senior activity program they have there at River Rest?" The detective glanced up. "What, is that like a day care for old people or something?"

  "Something like that. We thought it would be good for him."

  "Sure. And you, Miss Stiles..." Perfect, brilliant blue eyes met Aries. "You've been tagging along to this rec center with your gramps, huh? Do I have that right?"

  A burst of heat flooded Arie as a dreaded blush ignited her whole body. "You have that right."

  "See, that's the part I don't understand. Why would a young girl such as yourself want to hang around a bunch of old people? You got a thing for geezers? What, is it the wrinkles? The scent of Ben Gay turns you on?"

  Shocked, Arie almost couldn't respond. "That's... wow. That is so incredibly disrespectful."

  Barbie leaned back in her chair, stretching her long legs and smiling. She didn't seem as beautiful anymore. "Then you tell me—why are you spending so much time at River Rest?"

  Arie hesitated before answering. Truth or cover story? One look at Barbie's mocking eyes made her decision. "My grandfather can be very anxious in social situations, so he asked me to hang out with him while he adjusted to the situation."

  "Uh-huh." Barbie simply stared at Arie.