Last Licks

5

“Wh-What? Ollie? What happened? Hello?” Sunny realized she was almost shouting into the phone, but she got no answers. Ollie had already hung up. And when she dialed his number at Bridgewater Hall, she couldn’t get through. Instead, a recorded message came on, telling her that residents’ phones were not available from ten p.m. until nine a.m.

“Of course,” she muttered, staggering out of bed and heading for the bathroom. She almost stumbled over Shadow, who’d been awakened either by the ringing phone or by her end of the conversation. He hopped around her, obviously picking up on her anxiety.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Mike appeared in his doorway as Sunny stepped into the hall. Oh, wonderful. The ruckus had roused him out of bed, too. Sunny bit her lip, trying to decide on an answer. Early-morning alarms upset Mike, especially since over the past year he’d usually been the cause, awakening at ungodly hours suffering from angina attacks. But a phone call at four in the morning—he knew that meant bad news.

Finally, she decided to give it to him straight. “That was Ollie calling from Bridgewater Hall. Gardner Scatterwell passed away.” Slowly, the rest of what Ollie said percolated through her brain. “He said there was something wrong, and he wanted me up there right away.”

Sunny blinked. “Or did I dream that?”

“The phone definitely rang,” Mike told her. “So I guess the rest of it must be true, too. Can you call Ollie back?”

“No. I tried, but the system won’t let me call back for another five hours or so.” Sunny shook her head. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I suggest we wash up, have some coffee, and head up there.” Mike took it for granted that he would come, too. Sunny silently blessed the Kittery Harbor Way.

After they’d showered, dressed, and had a quick bite to eat, Sunny and her father got into her Wrangler, and they set off for Bridgewater Hall. They made good time in the predawn darkness; at this hour, traffic was almost nonexistent.

As they pulled into the parking lot in front of the nursing home, Sunny saw a lot more cars than she’d expected. Either the night staff uses the visitor’s parking, she thought, or . . .

Then she realized one of the cars—parked at a sloppy angle in front of the door—was an official Sheriff’s Department vehicle. For a moment, she wondered if Will had responded to the call. Then she shook her head. He was on the day shift now. That didn’t start for hours yet.

Looks as if “or” is the answer I was looking for. She carefully made sure her Wrangler was parked between the painted lines, and then she and Mike headed for the front entrance.

The elaborately carved door was locked, but Mike pounded on the heavy wood with his fist. After a moment, Sunny heard rattling, and then the door opened a slit to reveal Rafe Warner’s surprised face staring at them.

Down by Rafe’s ankles, Portia and Patrick peered out, too.

“Sunny! Mr. Coolidge! What are you doing here?” the guard asked.

“I got a call from Ollie—Mr. Barnstable,” Sunny explained. “He sounded pretty upset, and when I tried to call him back, I couldn’t get through. So we figured we’d better come up in person to make sure he’s all right.”

“Mr. Barnstable’s all right.” Sunny couldn’t help noticing the slight emphasis that Rafe put on Ollie’s name.

“But Mr. Scatterwell isn’t?” she said. “That’s the message I got over the phone.”

Rafe sighed. “Mr. Scatterwell—” He shook his head.

“Can we see Mr. Barnstable?” Mike broke in. “He sounded as though he needed some calming down.”

The usually obliging Rafe found himself on the spot. “I don’t think—it’s not the policy—”

“Can you call in to his room and see what he wants?” Sunny suggested.

Rafe shrugged. “Why not?” he muttered, “They’ve enough other people banging around in there.” Then he abruptly shut up, obviously regretting his words. “I’ll make the call, but you’ll have to stay outside, okay?”

He closed the door. Sunny turned toward the lightening horizon and asked Mike, “Do you think we’ll get in before the sun actually comes up?”

“Can’t say,” Mike replied. “Although I’ve got to wonder—does the sheriff send a car over whenever somebody kicks off in one of these places?”

The door opened wide, and a visibly relieved Rafe Warner beckoned them in. Obviously, the decision was off his shoulders. “Room 114,” he said. “You know the way.”

In late-night mode, Sunny and her dad discovered, most of the corridor lighting in Bridgewater Hall apparently got switched off.

Guess that makes sense, Sunny thought. Most of the residents should be sleeping.

But it did make for a shadowy, slightly spooky trip down the mostly silent hallway. There was a little more light at the nurses’ station, where the skeleton crew for the floor seemed to have huddled into a knot, the aides and nurses staring as Sunny and her dad passed by.

Unlike the other patient accommodations, light poured from the doorway of Room 114. Gardner Scatterwell’s bed wasn’t merely empty, it had already been stripped. But as Rafe Warner had suggested, there were lots of folks inside. Sunny didn’t recognize the tanned, lean man with the thinning blond hair and the gold-rimmed eyeglasses. But she certainly knew Dr. Gavrik, looking unexpectedly dressy for the early hour in a pale jade suit. Then, as he turned at their footsteps, she found the third face in the room all too familiar.

Frank Nesbit was the sheriff of Elmet County, the head of local law enforcement . . . not to mention being Will Price’s boss. No matter how rich he was, Gardner Scatterwell’s death didn’t merit that kind of attention. Not unless there was a smoking gun involved.

Nesbit’s green Sheriff’s Department windbreaker looked crisp and official, and his trademark silver mustache was as immaculate as ever, but his hair was mussed, and he had bags under his eyes. Not the kind of image he’d want up on local billboards during election season, telling voters how he kept Elmet County safe.

“Do you really want her in here?” The sheriff’s voice took on a pleading note as he turned back to Ollie Barnstable.

“Well, you’re not doing me much good.” Ollie’s voice was flat. “If you won’t look into it, who will?”

A light went off over Sunny’s head. Frank Nesbit might be a lawman, but at heart he was a politician, and Ollie was one of his few supporters down in Kittery Harbor. Mike and all his friends were staunchly anti-Nesbit. They’d even brought Will Price, the former sheriff’s son, back to the county as a town constable in hopes of unseating Frank in the next primaries.

She remembered how Ollie had once shown her a plastic courtesy card from the Sheriff’s Department, something that Mike had disparaged as a “get out of jail free” card. But Ollie had apparently played it as a “make the sheriff appear” card.

“Meester Barnstebble.” It sounded as though Dr. Gavrik’s attempt to restrain her temper made her accent thicker. “You are upset, I can see. It is a difficult thing, to have a person die.”

“In the next bed!” Ollie put in.

She nodded. “In the next bed. But you understand that Mr. Scatterwell was not well. He had not regained full function after his stroke. And there was always the possibility of another stroke, causing further damage—even death.”

“He was perfectly all right when he went to bed.” Ollie’s tone was gruff, but under that, he begged for an explanation.

Dr. Gavrik could only shake her head. “Do you know what they call strokes now, Mr. Barnstable? ‘Brain attacks.’ Like a heart attack, a person can seem perfectly healthy, even record a healthy electrocardiogram, and then go home to a fatal episode.”

Ollie slowly nodded. “That’s what happened to my father.”

“It can be a terrible surprise, happening without warning.” The doctor spread her hands in a “what can I say?” gesture. “Mr. Scatterwell, though, had some warning. He already had a stroke. And although I can understand you’re upset, I cannot stand here and let you suggest that this facility let him die.”

“I’m not suggesting that at all.” But if Ollie intended that as an olive branch, he undid that with his next words. “I think someone killed him.”

That got a sputtered chorus of “Mr. Barnstable!” from the three authority figures in the room—plus an “Ollie!” from Sunny.

Mike, though, stayed silent. “It sort of makes sense,” he finally said. “Gardner was a guy who traveled all over creation raising hell. And now, the first time he’s stuck in one place, it’s lights out for him.”

Dr. Gavrik appealed to the tall stranger. “Really, Dr. Reese, do we need to listen to this?”

So this is Hank Reese, Gardner’s boyhood friend in high places. Sunny gave the man a long, hard look. He doesn’t seem so broken up that his good buddy is dead. More like embarrassed, I’d say.

Ollie, however, had given up on the older and wiser heads in the room. He turned to Sunny. “So here it is. They’re trying to tell me that a patient kicking off in this joint is something that happens at least once a week and twice on Thursdays. Maybe that’s so in the wards where they keep the old crocks. Didn’t Gardner mention that the mortality rate was high here?”

Dr. Reese drew himself up to his considerable height. “I beg your pardon?”

“Apparently his nephew Alfred found the data somewhere on the Internet,” Sunny explained.

“But this is the rehab ward, where the people expect to get better and go home. How often do you have people popping off in here?”

Reese had to fumble for an answer. “We’ve had several patients who had to be returned to hospitals for various reasons.”

“And how many in this ward died in the middle of the night?” Ollie demanded, then shook his head at the lack of an answer. “That’s what I thought. When it happens in the bed next to mine, I want to know why.” He turned to Sunny. “And I want you to find out.”

“Me?” Sunny had to wonder if Ollie weren’t having an anesthesia flashback. “What makes you think—”

“It’s not the first time, is it? I’ve seen you figure out who killed those other folks,” Ollie pointed out. “Just do what you did with them.”

Sunny really didn’t like where Ollie was going here. “I didn’t have much of a choice in those cases.” Yes, she’d been involved in a few police investigations, but it had been a question of self-defense basically—protecting people she was close to from being accused of crimes they hadn’t committed.

“You work for me.” Ollie’s implication was clear. Either she agreed to play detective, or she wouldn’t work for him anymore—not a good thing in an awfully tight job market. Once again, she wasn’t getting much of a choice.

“Let me get his straight.” Mike suddenly spoke up. “You want my daughter to do the sheriff’s job.”

“I don’t think we have grounds here for an official police investigation,” Sheriff Nesbit said, stung. “Or even a reason for the medical examiner to proceed.”

Dr. Gavrik nodded forcefully. “Mr. Scatterwell had a preexisting condition and was already under my care. The cause of death is obvious. Any doctor would feel justified in signing a death certificate in such a situation.”

“So you’re just going to sweep everything under the rug and ignore what happened?” From the tone of Mike’s voice, this story was just going to grow—and it wasn’t going to make Frank Nesbit look very good.

“I’m not saying that,” Nesbit hurriedly replied. “In fact, I’d be willing to detail Constable Price to assist Ms. Coolidge in determining the circumstances of Mr. Scatterwell’s death.”

Sunny opened her mouth to object that everyone seemed to take it for granted that she’d whip out her magnifying glass and start looking for clues. But then she shut it with the feeling that she’d somehow gotten stuck on a train zooming off, already leaving the station of normal rationality behind. How else could she explain her boss threatening her job if she didn’t start snooping? And to tell the truth, she felt that little flutter deep inside, a reporter’s gut feeling that she might be on to something—although she had no idea exactly what that something might be. And there was the added appeal that she’d be dong it with Will.

However reluctantly, Sunny had to hand it to the sheriff. The man was a political animal. He’d just figured out how to placate one supporter (Ollie) by having a political rival (Will) personally investigate the death of someone from the wealthy enclave of Piney Brook. Whatever Will did, he’d make waves in that entitled community, closing some of the deep pockets he’d need to tap to finance a Will Price insurgency. Two birds with one stone.

Considering Nesbit’s offer, Ollie transformed into the master of the deal.

“Sunny and Price will need access to people and records here—not to mention the assistance of the administration.”

Dr. Gavrik’s lips compressed so tightly, they seemed to disappear. “This sounds to me like an attempt at blackmail by a patient who, perhaps, should find another facility for his recuperation.”

Ollie turned to Reese. “If there’s any attempt to throw me out of here, I’ll be a patient who definitely sues this facility. And I can make sure there’s a lot of publicity about it, too.”

Dr. Reese gave a small shudder. But his voice was steady as he said, “We might consider an arrangement along the lines you’re suggesting. However, we cannot violate patient confidentiality. You’ll all have to sign confidentiality agreements. Whatever Constable Price and Ms. Coolidge discover will be turned over to the sheriff. If he still finds no grounds to proceed, that will be the end of it.”

Ollie glanced over at Sheriff Nesbit, who shrugged. “Sounds reasonable to me.”

“One more thing.” Now Reese was in full negotiating mode. “We can’t have an endless fishing expedition going on. There should be a time limit. I suggest one week.”

“I can live with that,” Ollie replied.

Mike took Sunny by the arm and drew her outside in the hallway. “They’re making a lot of conditions in there that you’ll have to live with.”

“What can I do about it?” she asked. Whether it was the early-morning wake-up call or the shock of Gardner Scatterwell’s death, the whole situation still struck her as dreamlike, unreal. Her brain couldn’t seem to process it.

“You can tell them all to go to hell,” Mike advised, his voice low.

“And lose my job?”

“So quit,” Mike said. “You don’t owe Ollie anything.”

“Yeah, but Ollie is a big noise around Kittery Harbor—around the whole county. I’d have a hard enough time getting another job in this economy. With him against me . . .” She shook her head. “It would be hopeless.” She frowned. “Besides, you heard them—they’re going to throw Will into this whether I agree or not.”

“So?” Mike asked. “He’s a cop, after all. A professional. This is his job.”

“But I got to know Gardner,” Sunny said, “at least a little.”

Besides, her own professional instincts were rousing now. I’ve got a few ideas about why someone might have had it in for him, she thought. I got an earful from Mrs. Martinson about what went on behind that nice-guy front he put up, not to mention seeing him in action with that therapist. It might be a thankless job. It might be a wild-goose chase. Gardner might have simply died of a stroke. But . . .

“Like it or not, we’ll find ourselves involved. Will’s going to be talking to us, asking questions,” Sunny finally said. “I think I’d rather be an investigator than just a witness.”

They returned to the room. Sunny stood at the foot of Ollie’s bed. “If I’m going to do this, we need to have some ground rules,” she said. “The big one is, we’re not doing this to prove you right, we’re just trying to get to the bottom of an unexpected death. If we find that Mr. Scatterwell died of natural causes, you’ll be all right with that.”

Ollie scowled, but said, “Okay—I’m pretty sure you’ll find otherwise.”

“The other deal breaker is, our investigation must be independent. You can’t tell us what to do.”

Now Ollie really scowled, but he reluctantly nodded. “I’ll expect regular updates, though. No surprises.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sunny told him. “Finally, you’ll have to get someone else to mind the office. This is going to be hard enough, working against a deadline. I can’t do this and work at MAX full-time, too.”

“You’re just an office worker?” Sunny was amazed at how much disdain Dr. Gavrik managed to put into those five words.

“An office worker who managed to solve a couple of murders,” Mike replied, silencing her and anyone else who planned to object.

Ollie shrugged. “It’s summertime. There are enough college kids floating around. Take one on as an intern.”

And that’s how highly he prizes the work I do for him, that cranky reporter’s voice in the back of Sunny’s head said. I can be replaced by some kid off the street.

She sighed. “Of course, I’ll be available if some catastrophe happens.” Somehow, she knew one would. “And I still get my paycheck while I’m doing this, right?” Sunny could have kicked herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. At the very least, she should have tried to stick Ollie for time and a half.

“Of course,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “Then I agree.”

“So you’ll have one week from today to answer Mr. Barnstable’s suspicions,” Dr. Reese said.

Sunny shook her head. “One week from tomorrow. I’ve got to arrange coverage for the office, besides getting things set up.” She stifled a yawn. Not to mention catching up on some of the sleep I’ve been cheated out of.

Ollie had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, looking more like himself than he had since his accident. Dr. Gavrik hissed angrily into her boss’s ear, but while Reese looked as if he’d just swallowed a very unpalatable pill, he wasn’t raising any objections. Mike looked honestly worried, while Nesbit just stroked his trademark mustache with an expression Sunny had seen on Shadow’s face—the cat who ate the cream.

“What do you say we get a move on, Dad?” She was just as glad to get out of there.

By the time Sunny and Mike got home, they just beat her wake-up alarm. She dashed up the stairs to turn it off, then came down to the living room and sat in an armchair, closing her eyes. The good thing was, she was already washed, dressed, and fed. The bad thing was, she really missed those hours of sleep she’d lost. If she kept her eyes closed, she might not be able to open them.

A heavy weight landed in her lap. She opened her eyes to find herself almost nose to nose with Shadow. He had a paw on each collarbone, his gold-flecked eyes peering worriedly into hers.

“Are you concerned because I’m upset, because we’ve been running around so early . . . or because you’re afraid I’ll forget to feed you?” she asked with a laugh.

Shadow relaxed against her, his deep purr rumbling against her T-shirt.

“Right,” Sunny said, running a hand along his back. “Feeding it is.”

A moment later, Mike came into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Figured you’d need this to fuel your way into town.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Sunny gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip. Hot and sweet, with lots of milk. Between the caffeine and the sugar, it should keep her going until she got the office coffeemaker percolating.

Mike hovered over her chair. “You won’t be doing this alone, Sunny. I’ll beat the bushes and see what I can find out about Gardner. I can ask Helena to do the same.”

“Leave Mrs. Martinson to me,” Sunny told him. “She’s not exactly fond of your old buddy Gardner.” She put the cup on the end table and reached up to catch his hand. “And thanks again, Dad. I always knew I could depend on you.”

With that, she devoted herself to lowering the level of coffee in her cup without scalding her mouth. Then she rinsed the empty cup in the kitchen sink and set out some food for Shadow. But as Sunny went to the front door, she was surprised to find Mike right behind her.

“It’s still early,” he said, heading for his own pickup. “Figured I’d hit the track and get a jump on the day.”

He waved as he headed out for the old high school, Sunny going to downtown Kittery Harbor. When she arrived at her office, she found Will Price leaning against the door in full uniform. His blues looked good on his long limbs and wiry build and even seemed to diminish the sunburn on his strong features. Although he was taller than Sunny, his relaxed posture put them almost on a level. Too bad those gray eyes with their brownish-gold flecks held such an enigmatic expression as he straightened up, his arms still folded across his chest.

“So,” he said, his voice mild, “I arrive at work today, and they tell me that I’ve been detailed to an unofficial investigation with you at a local nursing home.” His eyes, so disturbingly like Shadow’s, looked hard into Sunny’s. “What have you fallen into this time?”

“I didn’t fall, I was pushed.” As she unlocked the door and let Will in, Sunny briefly described the scene in Ollie’s room. Just the memory of the early hour made her yawn.

“So Barnstable thinks this is a suspicious death, but nobody else agrees with him.”

“I’ll be the first to admit it might turn out to be natural causes,” Sunny replied. “On the other hand, are the doctors responsible for the guy going to admit anything? And you know Frank Nesbit.”

One of the reasons that Will had been called back to Elmet County was the suspicion on the part of a lot of citizens that Nesbit was keeping the county safe—and himself reelected—by fudging the local crime statistics. Assaults became harassment, felonies fell to misdemeanors. Now, after years of a spotless record, Nesbit had a murder on his books thanks to Sunny. If Ollie hadn’t held his feet to the fire, the sheriff would probably have ignored Gardner Scatterwell’s passing, except maybe to press some flesh at the wake.

Still, Will wasn’t about to jump on Ollie’s bandwagon. “I understand Gardner Scatterwell was a stroke victim.”

Sunny nodded. “He was recovering from a stroke, staying at Bridgewater Hall for therapy.” She hesitated, remembering how easily Gardner had tired. “I wouldn’t say he was in the best of shape, but he looked all right when I left them yesterday evening, and Ollie says he was fine at lights-out. Then, somewhere between three and four a.m., Gardner died. We’ll have to get the gory details from Ollie. I didn’t want to ask him any questions with the doctors watching over my shoulder.”

“We’ll also have to try and persuade the family to go for an autopsy.” Will made a face. “That won’t be easy. Legally, this isn’t a suspicious death. I’ll bet the facility will issue a death certificate. Do you think we’ll get any help from any of the relatives?”

“As far as I know, the next of kin is a nephew, Alfred Scatterwell,” Sunny said. “Gardner kind of ragged on him as the family’s ‘all-purpose heir.’ Alfred is also a bit of a cheapskate. I heard him moaning about the expense of rehab at Bridgewater Hall, especially since he claimed the place had a high mortality rate. He wanted Gardner to move somewhere less pricey.”

Will’s expression didn’t get any more cheerful. “So he’s unlikely to go for the expense of a private autopsy, especially if it might delay his inheritance.”

Sunny shrugged and spread her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “Them’s the breaks. But it might give us something in the way of a money motive.”

“I’d be happier with a little more in the way of facts. We don’t even have a clear idea of cause of death.” He frowned, thinking. “We’ll have to dig into Scatterwell’s life, see if we can find other people with motives, and then find out if they had the opportunity get to him at the facility.”

“I can tell you he was a ladies’ man,” Sunny offered. “The way I heard it, he fell in love with someone every six weeks or so.”

Will nodded. “He liked grand gestures but could change his mind pretty quickly. I know that from personal experience.”

“He got in some kind of trouble with the law?”

“No, this was about money. Remember? I mentioned meeting Scatterwell while doing some fund-raising for Saxon Academy.”

Saxon Academy had been the “snob school for boys” during Sunny’s high school days. If you went out with a guy from there, you were assured of a well-heeled date, at least. Not that Sunny had ever snagged a Saxon guy. Getting to know Will, she’d discovered that he’d gone to Saxon, a couple of years ahead of her. Practically speaking, he might as well have been on another world.

“Hey,” Sunny said with a grin, “they turned my old school into a community center. Too bad we didn’t have any well-heeled donors with school spirit.”

Instead of laughing, Will looked a little embarrassed, as if he had to explain things. “Your dad and some of the other folks in town thought it would be good to show that I was interested in the community.” He sighed. “Especially around Piney Brook.”

“That’s where the money is.” Now Sunny began to understand. “If you wanted to mount a campaign for sheriff, it would be good to know those folks, and maybe wave the old school flag to get some contributions.”

“You sound just like your dad and his political pals,” Will said, not making it sound like a compliment. “But it’s also true that the old school could use some help. They’re trying to go coed, and that means building a lot of extensions.”

“Like adding little girls’ rooms?” Sunny laughed.

“Try locker rooms and gym facilities,” Will replied. “Scatterwell was Class of ’66, way before my time, but he made a very generous pledge when I approached him—not enough to get a gym named after him, but the most I was able to persuade any of the Piney Brook folks to part with. Then, of course, he got sick and yanked it all back.”

“You can’t exactly blame him,” Sunny said. “Bridgewater Hall is a pretty expensive setup. I heard his nephew complain that they charged four hundred bucks a day to hold on to the bed when Gardner had to go back to the hospital.”

“I don’t begrudge the man spending money on his health.” Will shook his head. “But he might have explained instead of just never sending a check. I had people looking at me pretty funny for a while.”

“Are you sure you didn’t go sneaking into his room with a pillow?” Sunny asked.

“You’re right,” Will replied with mock seriousness. “Maybe I should recuse myself.”

“Recuse, hell,” Sunny told him. “Who’s going to help me investigate this can of worms?”

“What do you figure our first step should be?” Will asked.

“Talk to Ollie,” Sunny quickly responded. “See what he can tell us about what happened this morning.”

“Right.” Will rose to his feet. “Well? Shall we?”

Sunny tilted her head at him. “You might want to change your outfit.”

“Why?” Will looked down at his uniform.

“My dad has what they call ‘white coat hypertension’—his blood pressure goes up when he goes to the doctor,” Sunny said. “I’m afraid we may encounter some people with a similar problem—‘blue coat muteness.’ Just a guess, but maybe you’ve encountered it.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in.” Will headed for the office door. “I’ll go home and change. What’ll you be doing?”

“I’ll be on the phone to Ken Howell,” Sunny answered. “He uses a lot of summer interns to get the newspaper out. I’m hoping he’ll have someone dependable enough to let me get out of the office.”