Читать книгу Murder at the Falls - Arlene Kay - Страница 14

Chapter 6

By unspoken agreement we three leashed the dogs, bundled up, and trekked to my old Suburban, the only vehicle large enough to accommodate our entire crew. For once Pruett was too engrossed in reading Magdalen’s correspondence to grouse about who would drive. The rules were simple—my car, my choice. I also happened to be a better driver than Pruett, although neither one of us discussed that issue. Because her night vision was impaired, Babette was content to curl up in the back seat with Clara and doze. She was untroubled by the driving question; she honored the old Southern tradition of letting males take the lead whenever possible unless her own wishes were thwarted.

“Anything interestin’ in those letters?” she asked Pruett. Naptime ended and Babette was ready to rock. “You’re a million miles away.”

He pushed down his horn-rimmed glasses and grinned. “Can’t tell yet. Murder and kidnapping tend to distract me. For all we know, Nurse Ross may have died from natural causes and Magdalen simply fled the scene. Too soon to know. Mrs. Wilson might have exaggerated.”

I hoped he was right, but I doubted it. The sound of Irene’s panicked voice reverberated in my ear. Obviously, some type of incident had spooked her and sent the entire facility into a tailspin. Nurse Carole Ross appeared indestructible, a true iron maiden. My few interactions with her had not been pleasant, but surely the woman had done nothing to warrant a violent death. As for Magdalen, the isolated location of the Falls argued against an escape plan for an octogenarian on the run. Public transportation was limited and to my knowledge, Magdalen did not own or drive a car. More than likely she had fled to the porch or another part of the residence. I consoled myself with that thought even though I didn’t quite believe it.

“Bet ya Mags was kidnapped,” Babette said. “Good thing she gave you that envelope, Perri. There might be clues inside.”

I hadn’t considered my obligation to turn everything over to the authorities. After all, we might be in possession of evidence in a murder case. Apparently, Pruett had already thought of that. As we approached our friendly Staples store, he barked a command and scooped the evidence back into the manila envelope. “Stop. This won’t take long.” He loped out of the car, leaving Babette and me to marvel at his fast thinking.

Babette teased, “Gotta say, Perri, you are one lucky girl, my friend. Got a man who’s smart and sexy.”

I ignored the comment and reminded my pal that at thirty-two years of age, my girlhood was far behind me. Naturally Babette pooh-poohed everything I said.

“Don’t go all feminist on me,” she said. “Men like him are in short supply. Ask around. Women over forty don’t exist for a lot of fellows, even ugly guys with no future.”

Babette’s analysis rang true. Pruett often said that in the nation’s capital, power meant more than pretty especially for males.

“Mission accomplished?” I asked when he jumped back into the Suburban.

“Yep. Now we can turn this over to the cops with a clear conscience.” The sentiment was admirable but not at all like him because Pruett often skirted the boundaries of law and propriety when pursuing a story. I threw a skeptical look his way, then focused on driving. Rural roads in Virginia were poorly lit and quite treacherous for the unwary motorist. Hills, holes, and sudden curves abounded. Deer sightings were frequent and often deadly. Pruett managed to distract both Babette and me by sharing the latest exploits of his daughter, Ella, and her prize pointer, Lady Guinevere. It didn’t take much to captivate me because I savored every scrap of information and silly anecdote about that child. I loved Ella as if she were my own, even though she was the natural offspring of Pruett and photojournalist Monique Allaire. Maternal instincts had surfaced late in life for me, but they were in full bloom where Ella was concerned. Go figure.

Despite the hour, the Falls was ablaze with lights. The entrance was packed with police vehicles, ambulances, and the discreet but ominous coroner’s van. I shivered as I recalled our previous brushes with sudden death. Surely this would end up being a case of natural causes. With her age and blocky physique, Nurse Ross appeared to be a prime candidate for heart ailments. Plus, according to Babette the woman smoked. She’d detected the odor of tobacco when they first met and trumpeted it to Pruett and me. My dear pal never met a grudge worth relinquishing and she resented our shabby treatment by Carole Ross.

“Downright unmannerly,” she fumed, as if this was the ultimate social sin. “Not a nice woman at all.”

“Surely not a death penalty offense,” Pruett teased. “You’d eviscerate the ranks of Congress if that were so.”

Babette knew when she was being teased. Fortunately, Pruett got a hall pass no matter how many times he taunted her.

Initially the deputy on guard waved us off the premises, but once again Wing Pruett came through. “We have information for Sheriff Page,” he said with a specious smile. I doubted if that was true, but sure enough, after furnishing his name to the deputy, Pruett was ushered into the facility with Babette and me trailing in his wake. When I met the sheriff, everything became clear.

Aleita Page was a sheriff from central casting, assuming your territory was Hollywood, not rural Virginia. Everything about her was shipshape, from neatly braided locks and trim waist to her hourglass figure. Pruett greeted her with a familiarity that suggested a close, perhaps even intimate knowledge. They exchanged hugs and lingered just a tad longer than necessary.

“She’s gorgeous,” Babette stage-whispered. “Watcha wanta bet she and Wing had something going on?”

Sometimes I forgot that Babette was my best pal. In this instance rhapsodizing about Pruett and another woman hardly qualified her for sainthood or friend of the year. I clutched the manila envelope, squared my shoulders, and soldiered on toward the large conference room in the office complex, reminding myself yet again that both Pruett and I were free agents.

Joan Fergueson was already seated with Dr. Jethro Tully hovering behind her. Both physicians were composed but solemn. Fergueson’s complexion was devoid of color, almost bloodless, and her hands were clenched so tightly, I feared she might break a bone. Tully was another matter entirely. His manner was cold, clinical, and dare I say indifferent. He appeared to shrug off his colleague’s death without wrinkling his brow or tailored suit.

“What’s this, Sheriff?” he said. “Hardly the time for visitors, I would think.”

Dr. Fergueson raised red-rimmed eyes and looked our way. “Ms. Morgan? Is Magdalen with you?”

I shook my head but said nothing, waiting for Sheriff Aleita Page to speak. When she did so, it was with confidence and authority.

“One of your residents called Ms. Morgan. She, Mr. Pruett, and Mrs. Croy were kind enough to respond. Maybe if we pool our resources, we can find our missing person.” She consulted her notes. “Miss Melmoth, is it?”

“Magdalen.” Tully took charge and quickly supplied his patient’s basic statistics: age, physical description, and personality profile. Without explicitly saying so, he hinted that Magdalen was delusional and close to dotty.

Sheriff Page gave him a level stare. “Are you suggesting that she’s violent? Pending an autopsy, we’re treating Nurse Ross’s death as suspicious and Ms. Melmoth as a missing person.”

I gave Tully a hard stare. “We met with her and her mental state was clear as a bell.” I nodded toward Pruett and Babette. “Ask my friends if you don’t believe me.”

Babette was never one to mince words, especially in the cause of justice. “How did Nurse Ross die? We heard she was murdered.”

Joan Fergueson coughed. “We don’t know that. If the press gets wind of it…” A look of horror eclipsed her face as she recalled that Wing Pruett was a distinguished member of the Fourth Estate. Once again, Aleita Page intervened. “Nothing’s certain yet, so I think we can count on Mr. Pruett’s discretion. Right, Wing?”

Pruett said nothing, his cherubic expression a total charade. I knew from sad experience that if a hot story sprang up, all bets were off, and no person or institution would be spared. I suppressed Babette’s derisive snort by administering a sharp elbow to her ribs. Let them keep their illusions as long as possible. My concern was finding Magdalen before any harm befell her. To do that, I needed to speak with Irene Wilson as soon as possible to find out what she knew. After all, she was on the scene and was the one who had summoned us.

“Excuse me,” I said. “My dogs are locked up in the car and need to stretch their legs.” As excuses went, that was pretty feeble, but given the high drama surrounding us, it passed unchallenged. Pruett raised his eyebrows, but Babette got the message and joined me.

“Lookin’ for Irene?” she whispered.

I nodded and headed for the stairwell, figuring the elevators were probably locked down to secure the building. Luck was with us and we managed to evade the deputies on patrol and reach Irene Wilson’s studio.

She cautiously opened the door and waved us in. “Oh, thank the Lord. I prayed you’d come. They shut down the switchboard, but of course I have my cell phone.” Her hands trembled and her voice shook with emotion. “Please help Mags. I’m afraid for her.”

Babette, who personified Southern hospitality, settled Irene into a wing chair and prepared tea. In times of stress, her impeccable manners and nurturing instincts came in handy.

“Tell us what happened,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”

Irene nodded. “I was with Mags at her place when Nurse Ross brought up a parcel. Naturally we opened it. Who could refuse a treat, especially one that was wrapped so beautifully?”

“Brown paper wrapping or fun stuff?” Babette asked. It was a good question, one I wished I had thought of.

Irene hesitated. “Why, now that I think of it, there was no outer wrapping. Just really pretty foil with a ribbon.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Turns out it was candy. Belgian. An entire pound. Well, Magdalen doesn’t care for sweets, and I’m a diabetic so I can’t partake. We gave it to Nurse Ross instead—for the floor staff, you know. Lots of people do that. It’s a fairly common practice.”

I knew where this tale was going, and the picture wasn’t pretty. Judging by her sturdy build, Nurse Ross liked candy. A lot.

“I don’t suppose a card was enclosed?” I asked. A poisoner would hardly sign his own name, but every clue was important.

Irene shook her head. “No. Just one of those computer messages saying, ‘Best Wishes.’ No name. We joked that Magdalen had a secret admirer.”

“I bet you probably get a lot of parcels,” Babette said slyly. “Amazon delivers everything. Amazin’, isn’t it?”

I saw where she was headed and applauded her. At times my friend was sneaky enough for both of us.

Irene frowned. “Mail and parcels are delivered every day at noon. Right before lunch. It makes a special treat, don’t you see. That way everyone can ooh and ah about it at our tables. Nurse Ross never brought things to our door before.” She backtracked, as if afraid she was maligning the departed. “Not that we’d expect her to. The staff is very busy, and Nurse Ross had other things on her mind.”

“Like what?” Babette cut to the chase per usual

“Mags thought Carole—Nurse Ross—had a beau. Someone she met here, I think. Maybe a relative of one of the residents.”

I hated to be unkind, but Carole Ross hardly seemed a figure of romance. Still, I was glad her final days had been joyful. Romance nourished the soul of everyone, man or woman.

I poured each of us another cup of chamomile tea, hoping to calm Irene and continue the narrative. Any minute either Pruett or the sexy sheriff would probably interrupt us and spoil everything. “When did Magdalen disappear?”

Irene’s eyes filled as she recalled her friend. “I went out to the elevator and found her—Nurse Ross. She was on the floor, with the candy spilled all around her. I’m afraid I screamed bloody murder.” She flushed. “That’s really not like me, you see. Mags and several other residents came right out. When she saw what happened Mags didn’t faint, but she got so pale, I thought she might. She has a dicey heart, you know.”

I recalled that recently there had been some mix-up with Magdalen’s heart medication, a mix-up that had involved Nurse Ross. “When did Magdalen disappear?” I asked.

Irene put her head in her hands. “I can’t say for certain. You see, more people crowded around—seemed like every resident in the building came out—and between that and all the wailing and chattering, I lost track of Mags.” As she raised her head, Irene’s eyes filled again. “Some friend I am. I let her down.”

I had to think quickly. No doubt Sheriff Page’s troops were conducting a thorough search of the entire facility. They would find Magdalen if she was still there. If—a small word with a world of meaning. “Think hard, Irene. Does Magdalen have any friends who live nearby or places she likes to visit?”

Irene shrugged helplessly. “I can’t think of any. None of us even has a car. We rely on public transportation or the staff.”

Staff? That gave me an idea. Babette would call it an inspiration. “What type of car did Nurse Ross drive? Do you recall?”

Another shrug from Irene. “Some kind of sedan. Black, I think. Nothing that stood out.”

Babette rolled her eyes, but I stayed steady. “Great. Anything else strike you? What about her cell phone? I presume Magdalen had one.”

That brought a smile to Irene’s face. “Oh yes. Mags is technically savvy. A computer whiz too. Wouldn’t think it to look at her, but anyone with a problem went to Mags for help, even some of the staff. Nurse Ross got her to do several things.”

Hmm. A new and somewhat surprising side of Magdalen Melmoth had emerged. My own prejudices made me assume that a woman in her eighties would fear or reject technology. What other aspects of her character had I overlooked?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway announced the arrival of company and a temporary end to our inquiry. I answered the door and admitted Dr. Fergueson and Sheriff Aleita Page. The lithe form of Wing Pruett lurked behind them, beckoning me. I nudged Babette and made what I hoped was a graceful exit.

“You get some rest, Irene, and we’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Babette said. “I’m sure Magdalen is just fine.” Whenever Babette fibs about anything she bites her lip. She didn’t fool me and I’m fairly certain Irene saw through her as well. “You call me if you need anything,” Babette said as we hastily ducked out and joined Pruett. Better to beat a hasty retreat before the sheriff or Dr. Fergueson barred the door.

“Keep walking and don’t say a word.” Pruett’s benign smile was an obvious ruse. He pressed the elevator button and waved us in before him. “According to the ladies downstairs, they monitor these elevators. Guess nothing is sacred anymore.”

We walked single file through the front door, into the parking lot, and to my car. Fortunately, Pruett and I weren’t competitive. Still I couldn’t wait to steal the march on him by sharing what we had learned. The needs of my dogs came first, of course. I opened the rear hatch and released them, giving them the Schutzhund command for go. They immediately streaked off into the backfield and freedom. Pruett wrapped his arms around me as we watched them, admiring their grace and beauty.

“What did Irene say?” he asked. “I figured you two were up to something, so I tried to distract Aleita as long as I could.”

I looked up into dancing eyes, striving mightily and unsuccessfully to look innocent. “I’m pretty sure you did a good job of distracting the sheriff. More than enough.”

He shrugged. “Always was an overachiever,” he said trying hard to sound modest. “She’s a sharp cookie, though. Wasted in this Podunk place, if you ask me.”

I forced myself to forgo the foolishness and focus on the only thing that mattered: Magdalen Melmoth. “They suspect poison, I suppose. That candy was meant for Magdalen.” I recited a faithful account of Irene Wilson’s testimony.

Pruett played it cool at first. “They won’t be sure until the autopsy is finished. Could be natural causes, you know. Apparently, Nurse Ross had some health concerns of her own.”

I gave him my sweetest smile. “Just goes to show you. Stuffing candy into your mouth is hazardous even if it’s fine Belgian chocolate. According to Irene, the box was open, the contents scattered all over the floor.”

“Hmm. Most untidy.” He was baiting me, or trying to. I squeezed his hand and called to my dogs. Pruett immediately backed up. He had made giant strides toward conquering his demons, but charging dogs still unnerved him.

After we settled into my Suburban I leaned back on the headrest and closed my eyes—to think, not to sleep. That was my story, but before I knew it, Pruett was gently awakening me in my own driveway.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Babette will beat us into the house.” He kissed my forehead in a gesture so loving that my heart and several other more visceral organs reacted. Maybe he did love me after all. The thought warmed me from head to toe and sustained me as I faced a sobering reality. In my driveway, in front of Babette’s Mercedes, was a dark, nondescript sedan I’d never seen before.

“Hmm,” Pruett said. “Looks like you have company. Should I be jealous?”

If only it were that simple. I’m not blessed with second sight, but somehow I knew what I would find in that vehicle. As we approached the driver’s side door, it opened, and the fragile frame of Magdalen Melmoth emerged.