The Remedy Is Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  She scowled at me before bursting into laughter again. “It had something to do with one of their clients,” she told me. “But I don’t know if was on the residential or commercial side. According to the story that I heard from Fran at the bank, Ruth and Alma were just centimeters away from swinging fists when a woman getting a perm jumped out of the chair and came between them.”

  “Who the heck was that?” I asked.

  Viveca shook her head. “Like I told you,” she said, “ask Esmé. Between the salon and her dad’s liquor store, she always has the freshest dirt in town.”

  CHAPTER 39

  After I left Viveca’s place, I went home, told Zack that I needed to do one more thing before we started the movie we’d selected for the night and then slipped into the bedroom.

  “I hope you don’t mind a call that isn’t about which wines are on sale,” I told Esmé when she answered the phone at Tipton’s Liquor Mart.

  “I’ve been waiting for something fun all night!” she said. “I don’t know why, but it’s been super dull since I got here at six.”

  “Really? Three hours without any business?”

  “I didn’t say no customers,” Esmé replied with a brassy chuckle. “Just dull; nobody fun and most of them have been grouchy.”

  “Is it a full moon?”

  “Close enough.”

  “That might explain the moodiness,” I told her.

  “Probably so,” she said. “What are you up to? There must be something going on if you’re calling me at nine o’clock.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have a hot man at home,” she said. “Wouldn’t you normally be snuggled up against him at this hour?”

  “That’s next,” I said. “We had dinner earlier, and we’re watching Fargo again as soon as I talk to you.”

  “That one’s hysterical,” she said. “Wish I was doing that instead. We don’t close for another couple of hours.”

  “I still don’t know how you do it, sister. You’re on your feet all day at the salon, and then you go stand behind the register.”

  “Sit,” she said. “I’m sitting behind the register.”

  “But you’re still working,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” she replied. “My dad likes that I still help him out a few times a week.”

  “Well, I’m sorry it’s dull,” I replied. “And I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Then let’s roll,” Esmé said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I heard that Ruth Grainger and Alma Tucker got into a—”

  She interrupted with a loud yelp. “It was epic, Katie! They never said one bad word or raised their voices, but those two women ripped one another to shreds.”

  “About what?”

  “Perception and reality,” she answered. “Plus egos, protecting territories and wearing too much perfume.”

  “Who committed the last offense?” I asked.

  “Ruth,” answered Esmé. “Apparently, Alma has a very sensitive nose. And Ruth wears pretty strong fragrances. It’s not a good combo.”

  “Never,” I said. “But I don’t see those two getting into a heated argument about perfume.”

  “You’re right,” Esmé agreed. “I think Alma threw that on the pile because it had been bothering her forever.”

  “What was at the root of the fight?”

  “To be fair,” she began, “I did try to give them some space. You know how small the salon can be when there are four or five people in the main room, right? Well, when Ruth and Alma were going at it, we had nine total, including the stylists and customers. It was so uncomfortable and awkward! If there was any saving grace, it was the fact that it didn’t last long. From opening salvo to final snide remark, we’re talking ten, twelve minutes at most.”

  “Alright, so they didn’t curse and it was fairly brief,” I said. “I’m still in the dark as far as what exactly they bickered about.”

  “Dr. Whistler,” Esmé said. “Alma has been cleaning his house exclusively for years, right? Well, this one week, Alma’s sister had some kind of medical procedure, so she wasn’t able to do Whistler’s house. And instead of sending the person that Alma selected from their employee roster, Ruth decided to clean the place by herself.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Which day specifically?”

  “As close as you can get,” I said.

  “Well, based on what I could hear,” Esmé replied, “I’d say it was Friday before last.”

  “And when was the fight at the salon?”

  “Last Tuesday,” she said. “I know that because Paula Long was there for a cut and color. Did you know that she adores everybody in town with two exceptions?”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said with a sigh. “Ruth and Alma?”

  “She can’t stand them,” Esmé said. “They all grew up together. When they were in the third grade, Paula’s mother sent her to school in a dress that didn’t fit very well. Ruth and Alma were merciless. They teased her until she burst into tears and ran from the classroom.”

  I took a breath. “I’ve never heard that before,” I said. “And it really surprises me to hear that Alma did that.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We think that we know somebody, but there’s always a chance that their talent for deception surpasses our skill at judging character.”

  CHAPTER 40

  “Ruth Grainger could be a poster child for either an Academy Award winner,” Dina said when I stopped by her office a few days later, “or a complete psychopath.”

  “Or both,” I said, slipping into one of her guest chairs.

  “When I arrested her for causing the death of Don Sterling,” Dina continued, “she claimed that she had no idea who he was or what I was talking about. I showed her a picture of the two of them taken at a holiday party last year, but she kept up the pretense. ‘I’ve never seen that man before. I wasn’t even in town the night that he died.’”

  “Which is a blatant lie,” I said.

  “One of many,” Dina replied. “Did you think she was lying when you talked to her the other day?”

  “The last time at Scoops of Joy?” I asked.

  “Wherever,” Dina said, shuffling a stack of folders on the desk. “I have my notes from when you told me about that conversation.”

  “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  She nodded. “They’re here somewhere.”

  “Don’t worry about those,” I said. “Unless you wrote down something else that you heard. Because I can answer your question with a single word: No.”

  “So you believed Ruth?”

  “Yes,” I said, adding a faint smile.

  “Are you sticking to one-word answers today?” Dina asked.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  She groaned and fell back in her chair.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Couldn’t help it.”

  “Try to,” she replied. “It’s been one heck of a month, Katie. This insanity with Ruth Grainger trying to sabotage Dr. Whistler’s reputation because of her own weird belief system has cost me nights of sleep and more than a few brain cells.”

  “Was that the motive?” I asked.

  “Yep. When Ruth learned that Joshua forged the parental permission slip to make an appointment with Whistler, she fell into a rabbit hole of fear and anger and loathing and self-hatred and every other awful, negative emotion a person can experience.”

  “Because he forged her signature?” I asked.

  Dina thought for a moment. Then she said, “Because he tried to get help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In Ruth Grainger’s world, turning to a mental health professional is a sign of weakness. It shows the world that you’ve failed, that you’re an utter failure. Because strong people can figure that stuff out on their own. Strong people don’t need physiatrists and social workers and medication and group therapy. Strong people are completely DIY; with everything from home remodeling and car rep
airs to resolving deeply troubling psychological issues.”

  “So Ruth wanted Joshua to figure it out on his own?” I asked. “A 16-year-old kid? A kid that had been bullied and tormented about his weight when he lived in Texas with his father?”

  “You got it,” Dina replied. “I can’t imagine how long it’s going to take for the guy to unravel the new ball of confusion and anger that his mother has now given to him.”

  “What about Dale?”

  Dina shook her head.

  “Is he coming up from Texas to help Joshua and Rachelle?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t understand that’s what you meant. He’s actually in town already. They’re all staying at the Crescent Creek Lodge.”

  “Dale and his kids?” I said.

  “Along with his wife and her two,” Dina said. “It’s that thing they talk about sometimes—a blended family.”

  “I didn’t even know that he’d remarried,” I said.

  She smiled. “Not many did. He and Ruth didn’t talk much.”

  “And now they’ll be talking even less,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Dina said. “I don’t exactly see him visiting his ex-wife in prison.”

  “Has Ruth shown any remorse yet?” I asked.

  Dina nodded. “She’s horrified. And apologetic. But that doesn’t do much for Don Sterling’s widow, Eileen Lanier or Barry Lincoln. They’re obviously grateful and lucky to be alive, but they’ll carry the scars from the trauma of being attacked like they were.”

  “Did she tell you where the idea came from?” I asked.

  “A movie that she saw a few years ago,” Dina answered. “There were a few differences, like killer’s target was a worker and not her son’s psychiatrist, but a lot of the other details were lifted from the film.”

  “What about the hit man?” I asked. “Did she talk about that?”

  “A little bit. She knew about the collection of lockets at Dr. Whistler’s house. She thought it would be sweet irony and poetic justice to steal the keepsakes, pawn them for cash and then use that to pay someone to kill Whistler.”

  “How far did she get with that plan?” I asked.

  “To the end of the driveway,” Dina said.

  “Say what?”

  “When she pulled into the driveway at home after visiting Briarfield Pawn,” Dina said, “Ruth realized that she couldn’t go through with that particular plan. So she remembered the movie, went back to reclaim the lockets and then started going through the patient files to pick out her assault victims.”

  “Any reason she chose Barry, Eileen and Don?”

  Dina shook her head. “Totally random. By the time she got to Lyle and his secret gambling addiction, she decided to mail the threat instead of attacking him in person. She sent her son to the copy place with a bogus story about pulling a prank on a friend at the bank or something.”

  “And Joshua believed her blindly?”

  “He probably didn’t even think about it too much,” Dina answered. “I mean, here’s a kid that was involved in going into Whistler’s house and stealing every last drop of liquor without batting an eye.”

  “Foolishness of youth?” I said.

  “I suppose that had something to do with it,” she replied. “But you can be two or three times Joshua’s age and still do utterly foolish things.”

  “I still can’t believe that Ruth set her own daughter up,” I said. “Didn’t she realize that she was implicating Rachelle by driving her car the night she attacked Don?”

  Dina shook her head. “That’s not all,” she said. “Ruth also wore her daughter’s boots and hoodie as well as mimicked Rachelle’s handwriting when she composed the threatening notes. She even told me that she pretended to be Rachelle when she made the reconnaissance visits to Don Sterling’s house and left the voicemail for Lyle Polson.”

  “What?” I said. “Like she was channeling Rachelle or something?”

  Dina shrugged.

  “I suppose people like Ruth don’t stop and think about the consequences when they’re planning something twisted,” I said. “They’re so lost in their own delusions and bizarre logic that whatever they want to becomes reality.”

  “The handwriting was a good catch, by the way,” she said. “When you recognized the printing on the slip inside your order from Kenny Wolf’s print shop.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It shows how much more difficult it can be to get away with dodgy behavior in a small town. Rachelle has a very particular style of lettering, so when I saw the packing slip from the print shop it clicked with the notes found at the crime scenes.”

  “Proves again that everything is connected,” Dina said. “It’s like that old song. ‘Toe bone connected to the foot bone. Foot bone connected to the heel bone.’”

  “Is that how it goes?” I smiled. “Foot bone and then heel? I thought it was head bone and then neck.”

  She laughed. “That’s the second verse,” she said. “But I think you can sing it any way that you’d like.”

  “Not me,” I said. “My singing voice sounds like a chunk of steel caught in a garbage disposal.”

  For a moment, she gazed at me with a sweet smile. Then she said, “That’s about right. I heard you at karaoke a couple of weeks ago.”

  I covered my face with both hands. “Do not say another word. Please! That performance was the result of a sleepless night, nothing for dinner and half a beer.”

  “No worries,” Dina said. “I don’t have to say another word. The video’s online for all to see.”

  I winced. “Stop!”

  “It’s true,” she said. “Penny Murdoch was in the crowd that night, Katie. She put it up on Small Town Sizzler.”

  “Well, isn’t that lovely?” I felt my blood pressure gurgling upward. “Something to look forward to showing Zack tonight after dinner.”

  CHAPTER 41

  When Viveca rushed into the Sky High kitchen early the next morning, I was enjoying a cup of coffee with Julia, discussing the buzz around town in the wake of Ruth Grainger’s arrest.

  “Who told you that Antonio was still married?” Viveca demanded. “Was it Blanche Speltzer or one of her gossipy minions?”

  I laughed. “Blanche has minions?”

  “C’mon, Katie!” Viveca said, jutting out her chin. “You know what I mean.”

  Julia quietly slipped back to the front line and busied herself with an order that Harper had just hung on the wheel.

  “It wasn’t Blanche or any of her friends,” I told Viveca. “It was an angry teenager trying to get under her mother’s skin.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “The mother told me that they’d been arguing about a short skirt. Her daughter came home from school and fabricated the infatuation with the teacher to upset her mom.”

  “What’s her name?” Viveca asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “When I heard a rumor about the subject, I called the girl’s mother. I explained that Antonio’s wife passed away a few months after their wedding.”

  Viveca put one hand over her heart. “How could someone be so cruel?” she asked. “It was four years ago, but that kind of hurt never goes away entirely. Antonio doesn’t need to hear a bunch of kids gossiping about his marital status.”

  “Maybe the girl didn’t know about his late wife,” I said. “Antonio’s a new teacher at the school. And he’s a really handsome guy. You know how some girls can be at that age.”

  She shook her head. “I never did anything like that, Katie. Did you?”

  “No, but everyone’s different.”

  She turned away and walked to the door.

  “Are you leaving, Viv?”

  “I’m just really upset,” she answered, spinning around again. “I like this guy. I mean, I really like him. And he likes me.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I asked.

  She groaned. “Small town gossip! That’s the problem. Whoever the girl is, she started a rumor that I
was dating a married man. And even though she came clean to her mother, do you think everyone who heard the lie will also hear the truth?”

  “It might take a while,” I said.

  Viveca smirked. “Like a million years.”

  I moved closer and pulled her in for a quick hug. At first, she was rigid as granite, but then began to relax. By the time I lowered my arms and stepped back, her breathing had almost returned to normal and the creases on her forehead had softened.

  “Feel better?”

  She shook her head. “I still want to give that little moron a piece of my mind.”

  “Are we talking about Blanche or the teenagers?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe both.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then I asked about Antonio.

  “He’s doing great,” she said. “I didn’t tell him anything about all of this, but I’ve been afraid that he’d hear it anyway.”

  “So he doesn’t know that one of his students was spreading rumors about him?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “Do you plan to tell him at some point?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Viveca said, looking down. “I’m not sure.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  She took a moment to consider the question. When she finally glanced up to answer, I was surprised by the response.

  “I want to focus on good energy, Katie,” she said. “I’ve had so many things fizzle out in the past, but this one feels…well, it’s solid and real. I think people look at someone like Antonio and assume that he’s a player.”

  “Because he’s drop dead gorgeous?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “He’s pretty cute.”

  “Pretty cute?” I said. “The guy’s a forty on a scale of one to ten.”

  “But you know what?” she asked. “He’s the sweetest, kindest, most compassionate and humble man that I’ve ever met. Yes, he was blessed with good genes. And yes, he takes incredible care of himself. But his heart is just as big and open and gentle as one can be.”

  Although I’d heard Viveca talk about her previous romances and relationships, I’d never before seen such a vibrant gleam of affection in her eyes. It was like a perfect blend of happiness, joy and anticipation. I started smiling at the thought of my friend finding as much fulfillment and delight with her new beau as I did with Zack.