Death With Dignity

by E B Corbin

  “Nothing to be concerned about, I’m sure.” As Jason took in a deep breath, Henry pushed through the door, his duffle and carry-on over his shoulder. He looked from Sam to Jason with a question in his eyes.

  “Jason was telling me about a problem on the same floor as our apartment,” Sam said.

  “Nothing you need worry about,” Jason stammered again. “There, uh, could have been . . . uh, some trouble in 810.”

  Henry tossed his duffel to the floor. “What kind of trouble are you talking about? A leaky pipe—broken window?”

  “A murder,” Jason mumbled.

  Chapter Two

  I’m sure the commotion on your floor will die down within the next hour or so.” Jason said. He tried a smile, but it came out looking more like a grimace. “I mean, how long can it take to collect evidence?”

  “This happened today?” Sam asked.

  Jason nodded. “She was found in her bedroom this morning. She, uh, must have . . . expired overnight.”

  Sam straightened her shoulders. “You mean she died last night?”

  “Yes, um, yes.” Jason looked at his shoes. “The police have been there all day, they’re just now packing to leave. It’s all pretty hush-hush.”

  “Then how do you know it’s murder?” Henry asked. “Couldn’t she have just died in her sleep.”

  “Well, no, actually.” Jason would not look Henry in the eye. “From what I was told, there was a big kitchen knife sticking out of her chest. I don’t have all the details, but I’m pretty sure she was murdered, unless it was suicide or something like that. Mrs. Magruder lived alone. Her housekeeper found her this morning.”

  Henry gazed sideways at Jason, “It’s not often a person commits suicide by sticking a knife in their chest.”

  Jason cracked his knuckles before nodding. “I guess that would be difficult.”

  “To say the least,” Sam rolled her small carry-on closer to her side as the elevator light showed it was arriving in the lobby. “I don’t see how that should affect us. We just got into town this afternoon.”

  “I wanted to warn you there is a lot of activity on your floor. It’s not usually so busy. It’s a very quiet place under normal circumstances.” Jason grabbed the handle of Sam’s larger suitcase and slid into the elevator.

  Sam shrugged, bobbing her head for Henry to follow. A low buzzing started in Henry’s brain.

  “I thought this was supposed to be a hotel,” Henry whispered in her ear.

  “I thought so too. I was wrong.” Sam smiled to show she had no problem accepting the blame. “We’ll have to make the best of it.”

  They rode the elevator to the eighth floor with Jason rambling about the amenities, the convenient location and tourist spots to see. They both nodded whenever it seemed appropriate but Sam’s thoughts revolved around wanting to be rid of Jason and enjoying some quiet; Henry was thinking they needed to find another place to stay. The low buzz grew louder when the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. Henry’s senses went on alert.

  When the doors rolled open, Henry stopped and scanned the area.

  “Are you coming?” Sam stepped out with no hesitation.

  “Yeah, yeah, in a minute.” He fought the urge to pull Sam back into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby. Something was wrong on this floor. Something more than a dead woman. He shook the feeling away. The place was crawling with cops. What could go wrong?

  Several people with blue paper booties on their feet wandered in and out of an open door in the hallway. If it hadn’t been for all the hubbub, it would have been a pleasant entry hall. Soft lights shown on paintings of mountains and rivers. Henry guessed the landscapes depicted Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens, which would have been visible in the distance had it been a clear day.

  “Hey! You can’t go that way!” A young uniformed policeman stopped them as Jason navigated around the action in the hall.

  “But I have guests. We need to get to unit 812.”

  The cop looked at their suitcases, used a finger to indicate they should not move, and stepped aside to talk into a microphone attached to his shoulder. When he finished, he nodded to them. “Wait here a minute. Detective Peters wants to talk to you.”

  With a sigh, Sam leaned against the wall, pulling her wheeled carry-on out of the way.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry,” Jason stammered. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with us.”

  A tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair appeared in the doorway to room 810. He glanced at Sam and let his gray eyes rest on Henry for a second. “You’re staying in 812?”

  Henry nodded, stepping aside for Sam to answer. “We’ve booked it for the next few days. Is that a problem?”

  “Nah, just stay out of our way. The majority of the work should be done by later this afternoon, but we don’t need more people than necessary trampling all over our crime scene.”

  “We’ll try to stay in our apartment as much as possible,” Sam said. “But we will need to be able to come and go.”

  With a brisk nod, the detective turned to Jason. “You need to come to the station tonight to sign your statement.”

  “I’ll be there, no problem.” Jason’s voice quivered as he shuffled his feet. He did not look at the detective but gave a small wave as he approached the door to their apartment.

  He punched in a code on the automatic lock and ushered Sam and Henry inside. They entered a short foyer leading into the living/dining room. A tan couch sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows and two easy chairs faced a wall-hung television. A round table with four chairs stood a few feet away from a granite island leading into a small kitchen.

  Doors to the right and left led into two master suites, each with identical bedspreads and drapes.

  Sam nodded her approval, hoping Jason would leave them. “This should be fine.”

  “I’ll just show you how to work the television and stove,” Jason said.

  “I think we can figure it out.” Henry didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “What’s the code to the front door lock?”

  Jason grabbed a pamphlet resting on the kitchen counter. Stay Andrew’s logo filled the cover. “It’s all in here. Along with details about how to change it. Right now, it’s programmed to 1-2-3-4, but I’m sure you’ll want to make it your own. Any four numbers will do.”

  Sam crossed her arms while Henry went to inspect the lock. “It’ll do,” he growled.

  “My contact number is right here. You can call me anytime, twenty-four hours a day.”

  “You work all the time?”

  “To tell the truth, Stay Andrew is me. I have four units in this building and three more across town. I handle everything for them. It’s quite a good business.” Jason glanced toward the hall. “At least it was until today. I’ve never run across a murder before.”

  Neither Sam nor Henry said a word. Both wanted to be left alone so they could get settled.

  Jason looked from one to the other, took the hint, and cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll be going if you don’t have any additional questions.”

  They assured him they were fine and Henry held the door while Jason backed into the hall. “Call if you need . . .”

  Henry shut the door in his face. Sam left both her suitcases clogging the middle of the room and slid into one of the easy chairs. “God! I thought he’d never leave.”

  “Is it just me, or did Jason act weird when the detective asked him to go down to the station to sign his statement?” Sam swiveled her chair to watch Henry roll her suitcases into the bedroom on the left.

  “Jason is weird, period.” Henry stopped in the doorway. “I’ll take the room closest to the entrance.”

  Sam was already thinking about what to say to Norman Bledsoe when she called for an appointment, so she half-heartedly waved Henry along. With any luck, they would not have to deal with Jason again until they checked out.

  Henry went into the bedroom he’d claimed and began to unpack. He hung shirts in the walk-in cl
oset and put T-shirts in a drawer. He’d been a slob before he joined the Navy, but as a Seal, he’d learned the value of methodical organization. As a bachelor, he’d learned how to cook, too, and now he wanted to find the closest store to lay in some food supplies since they didn’t have the luxury of room service.

  “We need to come up with a back story for Bledsoe before we meet with him,” Sam called to him. “We want to be on the same page.”

  Henry tossed his empty duffel into the closet and shut the door before he joined Sam in the living room. “I don’t like lying to him about interest in a house. I think we could easily slip up.”

  “Not if we stick to the story and keep it simple.” Sam stood and began to pace the room. “Why are we moving to Portland?”

  Henry shrugged. “You tell me. For good coffee?”

  “I think we should stick to the facts as much as possible.” Sam ignored his smart remark and ran her fingers through her hair. “I was born here and always wanted to come back.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow at her.

  She swung around in the chair before she stood. “Well, it’s true—sort of.”

  “What about me? I’m just following you like a puppy?” Henry slumped onto the couch. “I know Portland is a progressive city and all that, but I’d like to have a good phony reason to move here too.”

  Sam slid onto a stool at the kitchen island and swiveled to face him. She’d been so caught up in being the boss and not having Henry overwhelm her that she’d overlooked the fact he could be feeling insecure. “You’re right. If we’re supposed to be husband and wife, we should treat each other as equals in front of him. How about you have a job offer from Nike and I’m trying to get on at Intel?”

  Henry thought on that for a moment. “Or maybe the other way around. You can design shoes while I design computer chips.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay, that will work. I don’t have anything against shoes.”

  “We’ll have to find out where our places of work are located.” Henry stared at the wall. “And pick a neighborhood convenient for us both.”

  “I figured we can let Mr. Bledsoe decide where we should look. We are supposed to be newbies in town and don’t know our way around very well,” Sam said.

  “That won’t take any acting.” Henry glanced out the window. “If it ever stops raining we can drive around and check out our new workplaces.”

  “We can check them out on Google maps right now.” Sam slid off her stool and went to grab her laptop. “Then we’ll know where to start.”

  “Are we using our real names?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t see why not. The less we have to remember, the better.”

  “Sounds like the beginning of a plan,” Henry scratched his chin. “But when will you tell him the truth?”

  “When I’ve decided we know enough about him to trust the return of his money will not cause any problems.”

  Henry had a bad feeling about this deception, but he couldn’t pinpoint a specific reason. He couldn’t tell Sam about his doubts without giving an explanation—and the fact his apprehension grew the more they talked about it was not good enough. “What if it looks like it will create a bad situation?”

  “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to solve it. We solved the problem with you and Vicki.”

  It embarrassed Henry to recall how he’d first reacted to the news that the money his father had lost years ago would be returned. He’d been so desperate when he couldn’t get a job after leaving the Seals, he threatened his half-sister, Vicki, and terrorized an attorney working with her. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s FBI contacts and her ability to research the reason for his dishonorable discharge from the Navy, he may have done something too stupid to recover from.

  As it was, Sam discovered the real reason for his discharge. His commanding officer was having an affair with the wife of one of Henry’s teammates and Henry happened upon them one day. Following his conscience he threatened to expose the affair unless his commander gave it up.

  This was not the first time, nor the first wife of one of Henry’s teammates, the commander had screwed, since he considered himself quite the ladies’ man. He wasn’t going to give up his little pleasures and become embroiled in a sex scandal that could mar his record. In order to cover up his dalliances, he went to the brass first and accused Henry of lying about his actions during the team’s last assignment.

  The commander told his superiors Henry had conspired with the Afghanis to ensure failure of the mission, and that in return, Henry was promised payment in US dollars. Then the officer threatened two members of Henry’s team with disciplinary action unless they agreed to testify against Henry in a court martial.

  Before the matter came to trial, Henry was offered the option of a dishonorable discharge. He refused. Then, after months of allegations of wrongdoing against him, one of his teammates admitted he lied under orders from the commander. The second teammate caved when confronted with the lie.

  Henry was vindicated, but he could no longer face his deceitful team members or deal with the strict pecking order of the service. Besides, he had a feeling that something bad would happen if he went back. He wanted to stay out, and never bothered to have his dishonorable discharge expunged. He hadn’t thought about how his service record would impact his civilian employment. He should have. He couldn’t even get a job as a garbage collector.

  Then Sam turned up, looking for his father. Henry hadn’t seen nor heard from his father since he was in high school, so he went to his half-sister, Vicki, for help. She claimed to know nothing about their father, but Henry didn’t believe her. If their father was dead, the money would have been split between him and Vicki. He was certain their father was no longer alive, but Vicki wouldn’t agree.

  Following a huge disagreement, the funds were put into a trust with him and Vicki as co-trustees. Henry had access to the money but he still had nothing to fill his time. He never wanted to be a “trust-fund baby,” so when Sam offered him a job, he jumped at it.

  She knew his backstory, but she didn’t know his secret. As far as Henry was concerned she never would. It was another embarrassing component to the parable of his life that he would keep to himself.

  Henry shook his head. “How will we know when to stop the charade and tell him about his windfall?”

  “When it feels right, I suppose. I won’t wait too long, I don’t want to waste our time looking at houses we’re not going to buy.” Sam turned to her laptop to search Google Maps for the location of their imaginary jobs.

  After searching for Nike World Headquarters and Intel, she found that both had huge complexes west of the city. Intel’s was larger and more spread out, but Nike appeared to be no slouch in the working conditions either. A jogging trail surrounded Nike’s compound, which also had volleyball courts, a fitness center, and parking lots everywhere. Intel had a sprawling campus, but with less emphasis on sports—to be expected with the differences between the two companies, she supposed. Nike’s product line consisted of sports-related items. Intel made computer chips—about as far from sports as one can get.

  When Sam thought about how she had to hunt for a parking space in DC for her job with the FBI, she wondered why she didn’t look into something on the West Coast when she graduated from Stanford.

  But ten years ago, her main focus was on bringing her father down, putting an end to his schemes. Thankfully, the FBI was able to do that about five years after she joined. She’d like to think she was instrumental in achieving that goal but, in truth, she played an important though minor role.

  There was a struggle with her conscious when she uncovered her father’s stash in the Caymans but she rationalized keeping the knowledge to herself and returning the cash to the victims without all the extra layers of government involvement seemed to make the most sense. She managed to keep the discovery secret; her superiors never knew about it. So she resigned her position with the FBI and set about making plans to return the money to the
rightful owners.

  Even though it wasn’t easy keeping the cash hidden and coming up with a list of the defrauded investors, she managed her first return to Henry and his half-sister, Vicki. Her error in judgment in not researching their situation before she contacted them caused her to vow not to make the same mistake twice.

  Thus, she hired Henry to help her. Not only could he act as her bodyguard when her father discovered what she was doing, he also could help her understand how returning the money would affect those involved.

  When she realized she’d been staring at her laptop for the past ten minutes without really seeing it, she closed the lid and called for Henry. He’d been busy unpacking his toiletries while she studied the map. She knew she should do the same but she did not mind living out of her suitcase. As far as she was concerned, Henry had more than a touch of OCD.

  Henry popped his head out of the second bedroom. “Did you figure something out?”

  “Not really. I’ve been thinking, Nike and Intel are too obvious. What are the odds that a couple from Maryland and DC would each land a job with such well-known companies? Maybe one of us should find a smaller company.”

  Henry walked to the window before he turned around and spoke. “Maybe one of us could still be looking for employment. You have the make-believe position with Nike, I’ll be unemployed for the moment . . . or vice versa, whatever you think.”

  “Not a bad idea but wouldn’t we need two salaries to qualify for a mortgage?”

  “Sam . . . we’re not actually buying a house. What does it matter?”

  “I’d like to appear as legitimate as possible, that’s why.”

  “You’re overthinking this whole situation. I might have gone ballistic on you when I first heard about the possibility of inheriting my father’s money, but I was in a bad place at the time.” He plunked down on the couch. “Not everyone will react that way.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “I still want to be careful.”

  “We will.” Henry picked up the newspaper that sat on the coffee table and opened it, looking for the sports section. The front-page headline caught her eye as he held the pages in front of him: “Local Real Estate Broker Arrested.”