by E B Corbin
Sam wanted to tell him he should have asked for identification first thing, but she wasn’t his training officer. At least he finally pulled it together enough to follow procedure.
She debated which license to show him and decided to go with Elizabeth Peters. Sam Turner didn’t need to show up in the Portland police logs any more than she already had.
Sam gave him the apartment address then hoped he didn’t check it out. No one by the name of Elizabeth Peters was listed as staying there. Lying to the police was becoming a pain.
She remembered the few times she’d observed an interrogation when she was an agent in computer crimes. She never questioned a suspect herself since she wasn’t an active field agent, but she studied the body language during the interviews and learned as much as she could from the demeanor of the suspects.
When her father was brought in for questioning, she requested to be in the room, mostly because she wanted him to see her disapproval of his chosen lifestyle. She wasn’t sure it did any good.
Her father had been the consummate liar. Only because she’d been there physically when she was a girl did she recognize his lies about his earliest cons. He’d been so much better at lying than the average Joe. She’d marveled at how easy it was for the silver-tongued devil to fabricate a story. In her current situation, she almost wished she’d inherited some of the abilities she’d so despised in her father.
She signaled for the attention of the nurse behind the admitting desk, hoping the cop would just go away. She hated lying and regretted the position she’d fallen into. How had she ended up on the wrong end of law enforcement?
Being a suspect was not something she enjoyed and it was happening much too often of late. She grabbed the clipboard the nurse handed her and stepped aside to fill out the form.
As she filled out the questionnaire with Henry’s info, she realized how little she knew about her assistant. She left most of the questions on the sheet blank since she had no idea if he was allergic to anything, and didn’t know the history of his heart, lungs, or blood pressure. She didn’t know what diseases he’d had as a child either.
The nurse glanced at the form and asked for an insurance card. Sam whipped out her card since she had covered Henry under a company policy and was relieved when the nurse just nodded and told her to take a seat.
While she had been occupied with making sure Henry was treated, the blonde officer’s mike on his shoulder squawked. He moved away to answer the call. She saw him nod his head and signal to his partner before they both rushed out the door without saying a word to her.
Something more important must have come up and she slumped into a mauve padded chair in relief. She rested her head against the wall with her eyes closed, to wait for word on Henry’s condition.
The next thing she knew something small and hard poked her foot. Her eyes flew open to see Henry standing in front of her resting on crutches with his foot in a boot.
“Is it broken?” She nodded at his appendage.
“They said maybe a hairline fracture, but I insisted on no cast. I have to keep it elevated and stay off of it for a few days, but I should be fine in a week or so.”
Sam looked dubious. “It’ll take longer than a week.”
Henry smiled, showing his dimple. “I’ve had bones broken before. I heal fast.” He scanned the waiting area. “What happened to our friends in blue?”
“They had a call. Must have been some real police work since they lit out of here without a word.” Sam stood. “Have you been released? Can we leave now?”
Henry swung toward the exit on his crutches. “Let’s blow this joint.”
They rode in silence while Sam navigated the unfamiliar streets. With the help of the GPS, they arrived at their building without any further mishaps.
She braked in front of the door. “Get out here. I’ll park.”
“I’ll come with you.” He patted the crutches which were propped next to him. “I have to get used to maneuvering with these things.”
“Not tonight. I’m too tired to pick you up if you fall down.”
Henry stalled while he probed his mind for any sign of humming or buzzing. Nothing. But he still didn’t know if he could trust the silence. “I’m your bodyguard. I can’t do my job if I’m not near enough to you to spot danger.”
She sucked in a deep breath and released it in a long whoosh. “I’ll be fine. I’m only going to the next block. You’re my bodyguard, not my shadow.”
“I should be both,” Henry said as he slung his legs out and propped the crutches on the sidewalk. He used them to pull himself from the car. “I’ll wait right here for you.”
“Fine.” She took off the second he closed the door.
Henry clumped to the glass entrance but waited with his back to the wall and scanned the street for any threat. Nothing appeared out of place in the orange glow from the sodium-vapor lights. Nevertheless, he remained on alert with his hand resting on the 9 mm in his pocket until Sam came into view.
She walked briskly toward him, her eyes focused on his crutches, never noticing the black vehicle that sped toward her from the cross street until she heard the tires squeal as the brakes locked.
She planted her rear foot and pushed off across the asphalt like Usain Bolt.
Chapter Eighteen
When Henry saw his boss sprinting toward him, he dropped his right crutch, leaned against the wall for support and reached for his gun. Ignoring the silence in his head, he grasped Sam’s arm as best he could and pushed her behind him.
A black Ford Explorer sat at the corner, the driver yelling curses at her before thrusting his middle finger in the air and continuing through the intersection.
Henry relaxed when he realized there was little danger from the irate driver and Sam showed her nerves by letting out a shaky laugh.
Too embarrassed to look at him, she held the door while Henry tucked his 9 mm into his holster and stumbled into the lobby. She followed him to the elevator; neither one spoke as they waited for the doors to glide open.
He remained silent until they entered the apartment. Then he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “What the hell? I almost shot at some innocent passerby!”
Sam studied the floor as she spoke. “I guess I’m a little skittish. I saw a black vehicle approaching the intersection and I felt this overpowering urge to get away.”
“You scared the shit out of me.” Despite the fact that he was still shaking a bit from adrenalin, his lips turned up a fraction at the corners. “I didn’t know you could run that fast.”
“Neither did I. Fear is a great motivation.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I feel like a fool.”
“No harm done.” Henry twisted on his crutches to scan the living area of the apartment.
Much to his relief, their temporary home appeared undisturbed. He checked the safe in his room. His new computer remained nestled inside. Noting nothing out of place, he clumped his way to the doorway to the living area. “Can you lock up? I’m pretty beat.”
Sam nodded. She knew she should apologize for her impulsive behavior but she couldn’t get the words out. Besides, she was the boss, wasn’t she? That meant she could do something stupid once in a while without admitting it.
Blowing out a breath through her lips, she decided she could use some rest too. She still had people she needed to talk to tomorrow and with Henry on crutches that could prove more difficult.
✽ ✽ ✽
The next morning, she awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. She stumbled to the shower and dressed for another day of questioning people about Mary Margaret Bledsoe’s last hours on earth. They were no closer to proving Norman’s innocence than they’d been two days ago, but she resolved to not give up.
Henry slid a coffee mug across the counter to her while he navigated the small kitchen with one crutch. He moved the bacon from the stove to paper towels to drain, then offered her a slice.
She felt guilty watching him hobble around. “You
should sit and prop your foot up.”
“I have all day for that,” he said. “Since I’d only be a drag to you today, I called White Cloud and he’ll be by to pick you up when you’re ready to go.”
“I don’t need a taxi. I’ll take the car.”
“You need someone with you.”
“I’m just going to the real estate office to talk with Helen and then to see Mrs. Magruder. I don’t think I’ll need any help with that.”
“If you won’t go with White Cloud, I’m going with you. And I’ll probably be more trouble than I’m worth.” Henry shuffled to the sofa and propped his leg on the coffee table, his mouth set in a determined line.
Sam swung around on the stool to face him. “Do you really think a cabdriver can protect me from those two goons?”
“He did a pretty good job helping us escape their clutches yesterday.” Henry saw no need to mention the Native American’s belief concerning his spiritual guides and sacred path. He didn’t know why he trusted the Indian despite all the mumbo jumbo. White Cloud did seem to sense that Henry had a special ability and was different from the ordinary person. It gave the ex-Seal a modicum of reassurance that whatever was happening inside his head was real and not imaginary, even though both he and White Cloud could be Looney Tunes, for all he knew.
Sam’s voice broke into his thoughts. “If you promise to stay off that ankle today, I’ll go with him.”
“Good, ’cause he’s waiting for you in the back alley as we speak.”
“Aw, geez.” Sam grabbed a slice of bacon as she slid from the stool. She unbuckled the waist holster with the .44. “I’ll leave this here today. If they still find me, we’ll know for certain it’s not the gun.”
“Could be your phone,” Henry said.
“Maybe, but I scan it every day for malware and it hasn’t left my possession since I got it.”
“Still . . .”
“Yeah, still. I’ve been thinking about getting us both a new one.”
“I don’t need a new one. I’m fine with what I’ve got.” Henry squirmed to find a more comfortable position on the sofa. “Would you mind getting my computer for me before you go?”
Sam handed him the laptop, refilled his coffee mug and looked around for anything else she could do before she left. “You have your Beretta?”
Henry nodded. “I’m set. You have your backup piece?”
She nodded and grabbed her jacket from a peg in the entry.
As a taxi driver, White Cloud was familiar with all the short cuts in the Portland area. They arrived at the real estate office in ten minutes and Sam found Helen alone. Norman had not yet arrived, which was fine with her. She preferred to speak to Helen without Norman’s interference.
“So far, everyone I’ve asked claims Mary Margaret was asleep when they saw her that last day. Was she awake for your visit?”
Helen fiddled with a pen, passing it from hand to hand before tapping her desktop with it. “She was groggy, but she was alert . . . well, maybe not alert, but at least awake. She had tuna salad on her lunch tray and took tiny bites with Betty’s help.”
“Betty?”
“Betty Maguire.”
“The housekeeper?”
“And a friend. We’ve known each other for years. Norman used to tease us and call us the Three Mouseketeers.”
“Musketeers,” Sam corrected.
“No, Mouseketeers. We bonded when we were in grade school over the Mickey Mouse Club. We’d take turns rushing home from school to Betty’s house to watch the show. Betty’s family had a newfangled color TV and we thought it was the cat’s meow at the time.”
“So Betty was more than just a housekeeper.” Sam filed this new information away for when she questioned the other woman.
“She never intended to be the housekeeper but it turned out that way. Her husband has been dead for several years and Betty lives a few doors down from Mary Margaret. Betty wanted something to keep busy with since they had no children and she was alone after her husband passed. But she had no marketable skills. She’d been a homemaker all her life. So when Mary Margaret got sick and Norman needed a housekeeper, Betty was happy to help out.”
Sam pressed for more details on Norman Bledsoe’s family life. Maybe it would help her make a decision about the money she wanted to return. Maybe not. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to learn more. “Why didn’t Stacy take over some of the chores?”
“Stacy?” Helen shook her head. “That poor girl has never lifted a finger in her life to help. Personally, I thought they coddled her too much because of her appearance, but, well, it wasn’t really any of my business.”
“Has Stacy always lived at home?”
“For the most part. She went away to college for a while—back East somewhere—but she dropped out after the first semester. She’s lived with her parents ever since.”
Afraid that Helen might become suspicious if she asked too many personal questions about the Bledsoes, Sam turned the questions back to the day of Mary Margaret’s death. “That day, the last time you saw Mary Margaret alive, did you notice anything unusual?”
Helen thought for a moment. “Not really. When Betty mentioned that Burt called and wanted to stop to see his sister, I was a bit surprised. Burt only showed up when he wanted something and he hadn’t been around for months when he realized Mary Margaret was too sick to help him out.”
“Do you know what he wanted that day?”
Helen shrugged. “Didn’t ask. I only hoped he wouldn’t upset her.”
“Did he do that a lot? Upset her?”
“All the time, especially before she got sick. He wanted Norman to take him on as a salesman and Norm was dead set against it.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“Burt is a drunk. He’s completely unreliable when he’s been drinking and he drinks all the time. Never held a job for more than a few weeks. Norman had enough trouble trying to recover from his own financial problems and couldn’t afford to have his brother-in-law mess up what remained of his business.”
The bitterness that crept into Helen’s voice and the accusation in her eyes made Sam wonder if the receptionist knew more about her reason for being there. It made Sam uncomfortable, but she ignored it for now. “You didn’t see Burt when you were there?”
Helen tapped the pen faster against her desktop. “I left right after Betty tried to serve Mary Margaret her lunch. I didn’t want to tire her too much. Betty always tried to make sure Mary Margaret ate some lunch because the poor dear seldom ate dinner. She claimed she was too tired by the end of the day.”
“Would you say Mary Margaret was depressed that day?”
The pen stilled in Helen’s hand. “Not really. She had grown ever more depressed as time went on so I don’t think she was worse that day than any other. Betty and I often tried to get her to consider asking the doctor for Seconal, but she refused.”
“Is that the drug used for…”
Helen nodded. “Yes, it started out as the drug preferred by doctors for euthanasia, but that has changed over the years.”
“I thought the price of Seconal made it prohibitive,” Sam said.
“It did but I was willing to help with the cost. These new combinations they’re using today aren’t always as effective.”
“Then you were advocating for your friend to kill herself?”
“I didn’t want to, but I wanted to relieve her suffering. I hated watching her so racked with pain she could barely talk. I watched her wither away until there was nothing left of the friend I knew. She became nothing but skin stretched over bones.”
Helen pushed the sorrow from her voice as she continued. “I saw Norman and Stacy come into the office every day with dark circles under their eyes. When Mary Margaret moaned all night, it tore them apart. And Mary hated knowing . . .”
The receptionist stopped speaking abruptly when the outside door opened.
Sam turned to see Norman framed by the rays of the sun as it broke thro
ugh the leaden sky—a fallen angel searching for redemption. He looked from Helen to Sam with a doleful expression that seemed to be at home on his face. “Were we supposed to meet today?”
“No. I thought I’d drop by and see how things were going.”
“Where’s your, er, husband?”
Sam didn’t correct him. As far as Helen was concerned, she still hoped the woman had no idea about the true reason she was there. The less known about her true identity, the better. “Henry had a little accident yesterday. He wasn’t able to come with me today.”
“Oh, dear. I hope he’s all right?” Norman stepped further into the room and removed his overcoat.
“He’s fine. Or at least he will be. He broke his ankle.”
“Sorry to hear that. I hope he’s able to get around soon.”
“Me too.” Sam took a moment to appear sufficiently distressed. “It makes things difficult. But I should be able to carry on without him for a few days. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course.” Norman looked flustered, then tried to hide it as he turned to the woman behind the desk. “Helen, I didn’t have time for my usual pot of coffee this morning. Can you bring me a cup?”
“Certainly.” Helen rolled her chair away from the desk and stood before she asked Sam, “Would you care for some too?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be here long.” Sam started to follow Norman into his office but stopped to call over her shoulder. “Nice chatting with you.”
Helen didn’t reply.
Sam sat in the chair opposite his desk and watched as Norman straightened scattered papers, stuffed them into a drawer and adjusted his tie. Neither spoke when Helen brought his coffee and fussed over the cream and sugar.
As the door closed behind the receptionist, Sam said, “We had a nice chat. She’s been very helpful.”
Norman took a sip. “Helen? That’s strange. She doesn’t talk much.”