Murder as a Second Language: A Claire Malloy Mystery (Claire Malloy Mysteries)

by Hess, Joan

  I followed him past the cubicles. Leslie was standing near the open doorway, her hands clasped tightly. Inside the paramedics were lifting Willie onto a gurney. She had an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, and her complexion was almost gray. Her arm looked pathetically thin where the IV needle was taped. We all stepped back as the paramedics maneuvered the gurney through the doorway and down the hallway.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I asked in a small voice.

  Leslie shook her head. “I have no idea. Should we notify someone? Do we have her office number at the courthouse?”

  “I have her home telephone number,” Keiko said as she trotted up to us, “but I think she lives alone.”

  Gregory was rubbing his face so hard that he was liable to erase his features. “Keiko, get on the Internet and find her office number. I have Sonya’s cell number. Maybe she can get hold of Frances.”

  “Shouldn’t someone go to the hospital?” I inserted. “Did they take her purse?”

  Gregory went into the room. “No, and they’ll want her insurance information. In their world, that’s all that matters.”

  Leslie cleared her throat. “I need to deal with fifty panicky students.”

  “I’ll get on my computer and notify her staff,” Keiko said. “She told me she was hearing a case this afternoon.”

  “And I,” Gregory said, “must stay here in my position as executive director. I can expect the police to show up in the next ten minutes.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to announce that I had to go buy hot dogs and buns for my daughter’s pool party. “All right,” I said, trying not to sound spiteful. “Before I go, would someone please tell me what happened? Who found her?”

  “Yelena,” Keiko said. “She was helping clean up after the potluck. She didn’t know what to do with all the bags full of trash, so she decided to put them in an empty room. She said some of them were stinky.”

  I was glad I hadn’t been there. Yelena might have still been panting with passion from her recitation, and her reaction would have redefined melodrama. “Did Willie have a heart attack?”

  Gregory shrugged. “The paramedics ordered us out of the room, and I couldn’t understand them from the doorway.” He handed me a large, worn leather purse. “Hadn’t you better be going?”

  I stopped in Keiko’s office and scribbled my cell number on a piece of paper. When I got to my car, I called Caron and explained the situation, then said, “I promise to reimburse you, and I’ll get home as soon as I can.” I allowed her to gripe for a moment and then ended the call. Peter’s cell went to voice mail, as usual. I called Jorgeson and told him about Willie. “There’s nothing I can do at the hospital, but I have to stay until someone else takes over. Please let Peter know that at least twenty teenagers are coming to the house at four o’clock to swim. If he can’t be there, tell him to send a couple of uniformed officers. I do not want my house destroyed.”

  I parked in the hospital lot and went into the emergency room. There were a dozen people sitting on plastic chairs while they waited to be seen. I went to the desk and inquired about Wilhelmina Constantine.

  The weary middle-aged woman glanced up. “Do you have her insurance card?”

  I dug through Willie’s purse and took out a bulging wallet. After a lengthy search, I found her card. Rather than handing it over, I said, “I’d like an update on her condition.”

  “I don’t have that information. I need her card so I can process her.” She held out her hand.

  I dangled it temptingly. “Someone has information about her condition. I’ll just wait over there.”

  “Do I need to call security?”

  I chuckled unpleasantly. “Go right ahead. In the meantime, I’ll rip this card into little bitty pieces and eat them one by one. Ms. Constantine is a federal judge. She won’t be pleased when she hears about you. Could you loan me a pen, please? I want to write down your name.”

  The woman, who was red-faced by now, looked as though she was about to charge out from behind her desk to wrest the card from my hand. I was disappointed when she snapped, “I shall speak to my supervisor!”

  I plopped down on the nearest chair and crossed my arms. I was not surprised when Jorgeson sat down beside me. “How’s she doing?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, and that woman is fixated on Willie’s insurance card. I’m holding it hostage until I get a medical update. If I were next of kin, I could storm down the hallway, but I really don’t want to have to deal with security. Why don’t you go flash your badge at that woman and find out about Willie’s condition?” I gritted my teeth as my eyes welled with tears.

  Jorgeson patted my knee and went to the desk. A conversation ensued, although I couldn’t hear any of it. He beckoned to me, and we went through the doors to the ER treatment corridor. Behind beige curtains, Willie was surrounded by people in white coats. I held my breath, wishing there was something I could do. My cell phone buzzed. I backed away and took it out of my purse.

  “Claire-san?” Keiko whispered.

  “They can’t hear you, so you can speak up. Did you contact Willie’s office?”

  “The man I spoke to was very upset and asked me many questions. I told him she was at the hospital. I think he will come soon. Do you know how she’s doing?”

  “No, but I’m here with Lieutenant Jorgeson, and we should know something in a few minutes. She’s alive, and that’s a good sign. Did the police come?”

  “Your husband is in Gregory’s office now.”

  I thanked her and ended the call. I moved to Jorgeson’s side and said, “Have they said anything?”

  “They ran some tests and don’t think it was a heart attack. She’s conscious but disoriented, and her blood pressure is dangerously low. They’re going to move her upstairs and do a scan for a stroke. They’re also rushing through a blood analysis. From what I overheard, she may have overdosed on a sedative.”

  “That’s impossible. She looked fine when I saw her about noon. I didn’t have a chance to talk to her, but she was with the other board members. Surely one of them would have noticed if she was woozy or more confused than usual.” I sat down on a stool, shivering. “I didn’t see her during or after the potluck, but it was crowded.” I bent my head and entwined my fingers over my neck, trying to think in spite of the relentless PA system.

  Jorgeson pulled me up and we moved out of the way as the team pushed Willie’s bed through the curtains. “You need to go to the waiting room, Ms. Malloy. I’ll be back as soon as I know something. Don’t worry yourself sick.”

  If I’d intended to do so, I was in the right place. I took Willie’s driver’s license and insurance card to the huffy woman at the desk by the entrance. We exchanged hostile looks as she accepted the cards and bent down to start “processing” Willie. I sat down in a far corner of the waiting room.

  A young man and woman, both of them looking harried, came in the emergency entrance and went to the desk. I watched with a modicum of amusement as they tried to get information from the vulture. She grudgingly pointed in my direction.

  “I’m Claire Malloy,” I said as they approached me. “I was at the Farberville Literacy Council when Willie was put in the ambulance.”

  They babbled their names, but I didn’t make an effort to further burden my exhausted brain. I told them only that Willie was conscious and had been taken for more tests. They asked all the right questions, but I had none of the right answers. They found chairs and began texting. After more than an hour, Jorgeson appeared. I wanted to hug him, but it would have been unseemly.

  “She’s doing better,” he told the three of us. “It wasn’t a heart attack or a stroke. She’s resting now and cannot have visitors until tomorrow.” He looked at the law clerks. “You need to notify her family. Please send that information to me as well. We’ll want to talk to you and the entire office staff, but it can wait.” He gave them his card and sent them out the door, then sat down next to me. “They pumped her stomach and
administered charcoal and IV fluids. If she doesn’t respond well, they’ll hook her up to a dialysis machine to cleanse her blood.” He ran his fingers through his gray crew cut. “This is bad, Ms. Malloy. From what you told me, she didn’t gulp down those pills with her morning coffee.”

  “Somebody laced her beverage.”

  “That’s what it looks like. The deputy chief’s on his way to the PD. There’s nothing more for you to do, so go home. You don’t want those teenagers snooping in your bathroom.”

  “Are you implying they might stumble onto something embarrassing? I assure you, Jorgeson, I keep such things in a locked box under my bed.”

  He went back to the elevator. I walked out to my car, almost getting myself run over by an ambulance. I paused, noticing a black car several rows away. Sunlight on the windshield prevented me from ascertaining if the car was occupied. The hospital had an overload of patients—but I was running out of patience. I took several deep breaths and persuaded myself that the car belonged to one of the sneezy, wheezy souls in the emergency room rather than to a knife-wielding tire slasher. Refusing to look in the rearview mirror, I drove to the Literacy Council to report. I couldn’t divulge what Jorgeson had told me, so I needed to devise a story. My mind unhelpfully shut down.

  As soon as I entered, Keiko dashed up. “How is Miss Willie? What’s wrong with her? Will she have to stay in the hospital?”

  Gregory hurried out of his office. I spotted Leslie in the classroom. She told her class to continue without her and came out to join us. I held up my palms to protect myself from a further onslaught of questions.

  “Willie will be fine.” I struggled to recall Jorgeson’s abbreviated version. “It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack. They’re doing tests to see if she has a virus or infection. I have no idea when she’ll be released. Two of her clerks came and were told the same thing. There isn’t anything we can do.”

  “Send flowers,” Gregory said to Keiko. “I need to inform Frances as soon as possible. Some variety of flu, right? Nothing like food poisoning. Think of the lawsuits…” He returned to his office.

  “No one is my class is feeling ill,” Leslie said. “I must get back and share the good news.”

  Keiko was already on the phone in her office, asking about the price of carnations.

  I realized I was standing by myself in the doorway as if I’d taken up a new career holding the door for tenants and whistling for taxis. There was no reason to linger. As I drove home, I tried to think, but I was too exhausted. Gregory, Bartek, Sonya, Rick, Leslie, Drake, Frances, and the entire cast of Armenians, Iranians, Japanese, Russians, Koreans, Mexicans, and Panamanians would have to wait. It was five o’clock somewhere.

  * * *

  It was five o’clock at my house as well. I was relieved to see a patrol car parked in the clutter of compacts and battered behemoths. I found a spot and went inside. The counters and island were covered with six-packs of sodas, bags of chips, packages of hot dogs and buns, open dip, spilled dip, dripping dip, plastic cups, and boxes of cookies. Whoops and laughter came from the pool area. I made myself a stiff drink in a coffee mug and went to the terrace. Peter had sent a pair of rookies to maintain law and order. He’d chosen poorly. The two young men had removed their weapons and unbuttoned their shirts and were entertaining several girls in bikinis. Caron was not among them. It took me a while to spot her at the far end of the deck on a towel next to Ashley and Carrie. Inez was in the shallow end of the pool, laughing and exchanging splashes with Toby.

  I needed a break before I decided how to approach Toby. His position on my list of suspects had dropped dramatically since my conversation with Rick. I needed him to confirm some details, however. I sipped my drink as I watched the teenagers, who had been children only moments ago and were now rapidly approaching adulthood. It would take some of them longer than others.

  The phone inside rang, propelling me out of the chaise. As I reached for the receiver, I noticed the red light blinking frenetically. “Hello,” I said.

  Peter’s endearing voice said, “What the hell is going on at that place? Jorgeson told me that Judge Constantine was doped during the potluck and found in an unused classroom. She’s not even remotely a person of interest in the murder investigation—or she wasn’t until this happened. I spoke with her Tuesday, and she said she hadn’t noticed anything unusual on Monday night. She had a vague idea who Ludmila was. All of them did because of Ludmila’s outbursts.”

  The mention of her outbursts reminded me of the café. I told him what I’d learned about Bergmann-Swistak Pharmaceuticals and my well-drawn conclusion about Gregory. “The photograph Ludmila insisted on showing people must have been a victim of shoddy medication or vaccines. It made her crazy that she couldn’t communicate with anyone. Gregory knew it was only a matter of time before she found someone in whom she could confide.”

  “Awkward for Whistler, but he wasn’t the responsible party—his father was.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but he mentioned that he’d worked there, and his father absconded with the company’s filthy lucre. Interpol might want to chat with him.”

  “It has nothing to do with Judge Constantine.”

  This required a stretch. “Maybe she was learning Polish with CDs while she drove to work. Maybe she told Gregory that her old pal Lech Walesa was coming for a visit. Ask her, not me. She should be able to talk by tomorrow.”

  He was silent for a minute. “The idea of interviewing everyone who was at the potluck is enough to make me resign. I’ll notify the chief and spend the summer building the greenhouse. You want a lily pond? You can have a lily pond, a gazebo, and an herb garden. Once Caron goes back to school, we’ll go on a long cruise to an unknown destination. Evenings sitting in deck chairs, gazing at the stars. Strolls around the deck.”

  “You’d better start working on your shuffleboard skills. We’ll fit right in with the other retirees. Nothing like an afternoon of bingo to keep those withering neurons firing slower and slower…”

  “If I promise to murder one of the other passengers?”

  “Sorry, Sherlock, but this conversation needs to wait twenty years.” I heard a screech from the backyard. “I need to go back and chaperone the kids. Your officers are too busy writing down phone numbers in their little black books. Let me know if you’re ever coming home, darling.”

  I returned to my guard tower. No one was flailing in the water or fending off a member of the opposite gender. Someone had started charcoal in the grill. Several kids trooped past me to the kitchen for more sodas. I was caught so far off balance that I nearly spilled my drink when Toby sat down next to me.

  “Hey, Mrs. Malloy, it sure is nice of you to let us swim.” He gave me a winsome grin. “My parents won’t put in a pool. They say it’s too much work to keep up and would play hell with the insurance rates.”

  “They have a valid point. You have a younger brother, right? Any other siblings?” When he looked blank, I said, “Brothers and sisters.”

  “Just the two of us. My mother was hoping for a girl, but she got Koby. He’s a little brat, but I kinda like him anyway. His Little League team has a good chance to win the local tournament and go to the regional.”

  It was not my desired topic of conversation. I let my smile fade. “That was an awful thing at the Literacy Council, wasn’t it?”

  “You mean that old woman getting killed? No kidding. The police crawled all over me about it Monday night, but I couldn’t tell them anything. Nobody told me to clean that little room. I’ve never even looked in there.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  He blushed. “Late. I had car trouble. My battery dies about every two weeks. My dad told me to buy a more reliable car, but I’m not gonna waste my money. Whatever college I choose will have plenty of alumni to help me out. I figure two years of college ball and I can go pro. I’m thinking a Nissan GT-R. That baby can tear ass.” He caught himself. “Sorry, Mrs. Malloy. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
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  “Not at all,” I said mendaciously. I was offended that he’d lumped me in with his grandmother’s cronies. “When you got to the Literacy Council, were the lights on?”

  He frowned. “I don’t remember. I was pissed that I was running late and would be stuck there till midnight. One of my friends got us invited to a frat party. I didn’t want to miss anything.”

  “Think, Toby. You drove into the parking lot and shut off your engine. You walked to the front door. I assume you have a key.”

  “Yeah, but I hardly ever use it. I try to get there just as the place closes so I can get my hours in. My dad drives by a couple of times a week to check on me. He was really pissed when I skipped out early last week. He threatened to make me wear one of those ankle monitors. I said if he did, he could track me while I drove to California.”

  “Monday night,” I persisted. “You unlocked the door. Were the lights on, or did you stumble around in the dark until you found the switch?”

  This time his frown looked as if I’d asked him to solve a quadratic equation. He looked down, his hands on his brow to shade his eyes. I wanted to shake him until he coughed up a simple yes or no. He finally raised his head. “They were on,” he announced in a wondrous voice, as if he had indeed solved the equation. “Now I remember thinking Whistler must have left them on by mistake.”

  “Was anyone there?”

  “I didn’t see anybody, if that’s what you mean. I guess the old lady’s body was in the copy room. I must have gone by the door three or four times with the bucket of cleaning crap. That back classroom reeked of gin. I thought it was a real hoot. My dad talks about the board of directors like they’re Supreme Court justices. I have a collection of corks from the wastebasket. I figure sooner or later I’ll find a bra hanging from the light fixture.”

  “Beverages have been served, but I can assure you the meetings are hardly festive.”