Last Licks

8

A slow, red tide crept up Will’s neck to his face. “You wasted our time when you’d already cremated your uncle?”

“I wanted to find out what your investigation had turned up,” Alfred coolly replied. “From what I heard, I have nothing to worry about.”

“You mean, worrying about a murder charge?” Sunny asked. She figured it was worth one last chance to try and shake up Scatterwell a little. “Maybe you could tell us where you were between, say, ten p.m. and four a.m.?”

“I was home, alone, watching a DVD and then sleeping in bed.” He smiled. “The sound sleep of the innocent.” From his mocking tone, Alfred might as well have been channeling his uncle’s nasty side. “Good luck to you. I’d say you’ll need it.”

Sunny watched Will’s hands slowly close into fists at his sides.

We’d better get out of here before Alfred winds up adding another assault complaint to his record. She put a hand on Will’s elbow. “No use wasting any more time,” she said. “Let’s go.”

It was a long walk back to the street, especially when they heard Alfred chuckling behind them. “I’d love to shove that laugh back down that smug jerk’s throat,” Will muttered. “Along with a couple of teeth.”

“Getting mad isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Sunny warned, then smiled. “Getting even might. You know, it’s amazing. I had my doubts about this investigation. But all of a sudden, I wouldn’t mind proving that Gardner’s death was a murder, especially if it meant taking down some smug jerk for the crime.”

They climbed into Will’s pickup. “Now that you’ve had a moment to cool down, do you really think Alfred is a suspect?” Sunny asked Will.

He stabbed his key into the ignition aggressively. “Well, he destroyed any possible evidence of foul play by cremating Gardner’s body. I wonder if he was already arranging that when I called him yesterday morning.”

Sunny nodded. “That’s definitely a mark on the suspect side of the ledger.” She glanced at him. “Do you think Alfred actually committed the crime?”

“If I were Gardner, I certainly wouldn’t take a drink from him in the middle of the night.” Will frowned, chewing on that for a moment. Then he said, “Of course, from what you’ve told me about Gardner Scatterwell, maybe he didn’t think that Alfred had the stones to try and kill him.” Will continued to think it over. “Of course, Alfred didn’t have to be the actual doer. He could have paid to have it done.”

Sunny blinked. “You mean that now you’re agreeing with what Ollie suggested? That somebody at Bridgewater Hall could’ve been tempted by money?”

Sunny suddenly remembered Rafe Warner’s frayed shirt and went silent.

“The one thing I keep hearing about the wonderful world of health care is the low salaries—especially the farther down the ladder you go with the caregivers,” Will continued. “Alfred seems to have at least a piece of the Scatterwell fortune. I think he might be able to offer a price that someone on the staff couldn’t refuse.” He shook his head. “I wish we could look into where Alfred’s money’s been going, but I don’t think we could talk Nesbit into doing some forensic accounting.”

Sunny grinned. “Who needs Nesbit? We can get Ollie digging into good old Alf and the Scatterwell fortune. He’s good at following the money, and he has financial contacts all over the state. The day that Gardner died, he had me bringing files of earlier deals he’d done with Stan Orton. I bet he’s doing the same sort of investigation into Mr. Orton’s finances.”

“Probably to see if Orton demanded money back from his bumbling assassin.” Will turned the key. “Okay, that gives us two reasons to check in at Bridgewater Hall, getting Ollie to tap into his money contacts and seeing who on the staff might have been bribed.” He grinned. “By Orton or anybody.”

As they drove up, Sunny used the time to check in with Nancy. She was relieved to hear that no problems had developed at MAX. Let’s hope it stays that way, she thought, but then changed her mind. Maybe one, small, reasonably easy problem, she hedged. Just so Ollie doesn’t think he can dump me and hire Nancy at half my pay.

Arriving at the nursing home, they decided to tackle the question of susceptible personnel first. That meant a visit to the administrator’s office, which turned out to be on the second floor and took advantage of the bay window next to the main entrance.

“Do you have an appointment with Dr. Reese?” the secretary outside his office door asked. Since she had a computer screen facing her chair, she probably had the answer in front of her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll see us,” Sunny told the woman. “Or those confidentiality agreements he’s had you working on will be pretty useless.”

She quickly got on the phone. “He’ll see you now,” she said, rising to open the door. But Reese beat her to the punch, swinging the door open from his side and gesturing Sunny and Will into the office.

When they explained that they wanted to see who’d been working the night that Gardner had died, Reese frowned. “I don’t think—” he began.

“I can’t imagine anything in the employee attendance records that could affect patient confidentiality,” Will broke in.

“And if you’re worried about the labor problems, we’ll certainly do our best to stay out of them,” Sunny chimed in.

Reese sank back in his desk chair, his face gray. “Do you think I like playing the bad guy here?” he demanded in a hoarse voice. “There was a reason why the board forced Faulkner out and brought me in. This facility has been losing money for the last two years. We’ve had to dip into the endowment, and if we keep doing that, it’s just a matter of time before we have to close the doors. Yes, I’m asking people to sacrifice. But the alternative would be no jobs at all.”

“Have you explained that to the union?” Sunny asked.

“I don’t dare.” Reese leaned across his desk. “If they hear that we may close, the more well-heeled families will pull their loved ones out of here. That will just accelerate the downward spiral.” He paused for a second, clearing his throat. “Of course, I’m telling you all of this in confidence.”

Boy, Sunny thought, he’s really depending on those confidentiality agreements—especially since we haven’t signed them yet.

“In the meantime, employee morale is diving, and your mortality rate is going up,” Will pointed out. “Is there a connection?”

“None that I can find.” Reese dug out a handkerchief to mop his suddenly sweaty face. “We have a monthly mortality review, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Every facility dealing with the elderly has spikes and sometimes valleys in their statistics.” He sighed. “It’s just unfortunate that it’s happening now.”

“Maybe more unfortunate than you think,” Will said, telling Reese their suspicions about a staff member’s possible involvement.

“You think that one of the staff was bribed—that one of our people—” He broke off, staring blindly into space.

Probably imagining the headlines, and what would happen after they came out, Sunny thought.

“At this point, let’s call it an unnerving possibility.” Will used a soothing voice. Sunny had seen cops use it to coax suspects into confessing crimes. “It would be better if we checked it out to exclude innocent people.”

Reese caved. “Rafe Warner has the relevant records.” He gave them a pleading look. “Just don’t tell him what they’re for.”

Sunny figured it was kinder not to mention that Rafe was already aware of their investigation.

When they got downstairs to the security desk, they found Rafe Warner out of uniform. He smiled at Sunny. “I’m here early. When the weather’s decent, I like to grab a sandwich in the coffee shop and eat it out in the garden.”

“Sounds nice,” she said. “Can we join you?”

A few minutes later, they sat on a bench outside in the garden, a large area with graveled walks meandering around bushes and trees, with plants and plenty of flowers wherever Sunny looked. The day was clear and warm, with the afternoon sun beating down heavily.

“The trick is to find places with shade and a breeze.” Rafe took a careful bite of his chicken salad sandwich and washed it down with a sip of soda. “And you’ve got to watch out, because we get a lot of bees around here. The flowers draw them.”

“Rafe,” Will said, “we just had a meeting with Dr. Reese.”

“Oh?” Rafe’s eyes grew guarded.

“He gave us the okay to check the records for the night that Gardner Scatterwell died.” Will looked closely at the security guy as he spoke.

“I’ll still have to check with him, of course.” Rafe looked as though his sandwich didn’t taste so good anymore.

“That’s exactly what you should do,” Sunny told him. She paused for a moment, trying to phrase her next question so it wouldn’t sound like an accusation. “I know you’re pretty busy on the door during the early part of your shift, but things must get kind of boring overnight, don’t they?”

“Oh, no,” Rafe replied. “I have screens to watch from the video cameras outside, and I do at least one set of rounds, clocking in at stations all over the building.”

Something else to check, Sunny thought.

“Did you notice anything odd the other night? Anybody out of the ordinary?”

“You mean, anybody I want to put the finger on.” Rafe put his sandwich down and pulled out a cell phone. After dialing, he said, “Hey, Dee, it’s Rafe. I need to talk to the doctor.” He waited a moment, then said, “Afternoon, Dr. Reese. I’m here with Miss Coolidge and Mr. Price—”

That was as far as he got. Then he sat listening in silence. “Okay, I understand. Yes, sir.”

He shut his phone and put it in his pocket, frowning. “I’ll give you the records when we get back inside,” he said. “As for who was here—well, the whole late-night shift, of course. They’re spread pretty thin, but most of the patients are fast asleep anyway. So who else? Elsa Hogue worked late. So did Luke Daconto.”

“What was he doing, giving midnight concerts?” Sunny said in bafflement.

“All the therapists have paperwork.” Rafe shrugged. “Ask them about it.”

“Anyone else?” Will asked.

“One funny thing,” Rafe said. “They paged Dr. Gavrik but weren’t sure whether she would show. It was her day off. Dr. Reese came bombing in and told me to get the number for the on-call doctor, but then Dr. Gavrik arrived. It was around three in the morning, but she didn’t drive up in her car. I saw it on one of the security camera screens. She got out of a town car. And you know how people look when they jump out of bed? She didn’t look that way.”

Will leaned forward on the bench. “You mean, she looked like she’d already been awake?”

“She looked like she’d been out,” Rafe said. “She was wearing a good suit, which she doesn’t usually do when she comes in here.”

Sunny slowly nodded, remembering the light jade number she’d noticed on the doctor. She’d thought it was awfully dressy for that time of night, but Rafe had been more observant. “It was rumpled, as though she’d been sitting in it for a long time. Longer than just a ride in a town car.” He shook his head, looking a little less sure. “And something else. When she came in, I thought I saw some kind of airline ticket in the pocket of her jacket.” He touched his chest. “Up here. But when she left, it was gone.”

Will glanced over at Sunny. “You think she could’ve taken a red-eye flight in from somewhere?”

She shook her head, confident in the knowledge gained from working at MAX for more than a year. “Not one that came in through Pease. The latest arrivals there are around ten thirty at night.”

“And you’re sure about the time?” Will asked Rafe.

“It was definitely after three a.m. That’s when Mr. Scatterwell got sick.”

Sunny shared a look with Will. Well, there’s something else to check.

Rafe finished his soda and crumpled up the paper wrapping from his sandwich. Sunny noticed that half his sandwich was still in there. Had this conversation killed his appetite, or was he penny-pinching, saving something for later?

“Technically, I don’t start for a couple of minutes,” the guard said, “so I’ll get the sign-in and make copies for you.”

They went to the security desk, and Rafe brought out a loose-leaf binder. “I’ll help photocopy,” Will offered, walking off with him.

Making sure nothing gets lost along the way, Sunny realized.

She stood waiting by the guard’s station when a familiar figure in ginger and black fur crept into sight. “Portia!” Sunny leaned down to run a gentle hand between the cat’s ears. “How are you today?”

Portia seemed upset—maybe she’d picked up on Rafe’s feelings when he stepped behind the desk. She wasn’t happy climbing all over Sunny’s feet. She stretched up to rest her paws on Sunny’s knees, meowing.

Sunny sighed. “All right.” She picked up the cat, who snuggled in her arms, butting her head against Sunny’s shoulder to demand more head scratching.

Another outfit that will have cat fur all over it. Sunny smiled at the rueful thought. And one of my nicer summer outfits, too.

Still, she did her best to comfort Portia, who finally lay bonelessly in her arms, purring.

Rafe laughed when he returned with Will. “She’s shameless.”

“Which one?” Will asked, shaking his head. “Sunny or the cat?”

He watched with an exasperated smile as Sunny transferred Portia into Rafe’s arms.

“Are we going to go to Ollie’s room?” she asked.

“Sure,” he replied, folding the photocopies in his hand into thirds to fit in his back pocket. “Unless you intend to find another cat to play with. It seems to be turning into a habit for you these days.”

“Hey, come on, Portia was upset. She’s sensitive to things.”

Will rolled his eyes. “She certainly picked up on who was likely to be the soft touch around here.”

As they walked down the hallway to the nurses’ station, they encountered Luke Daconto carrying his guitar case. “Sunny!” He smiled, then grew a little serious. “If you’ve got the time, do you think you could bring Mr. Barnstable to our little sing-along today? I can tell he’s still upset about what happened to Mr. Scatterwell, and, well, maybe we could cheer him up.”

Will just shrugged. “Anything to get Ollie into a better mood,” he said.

“Okay,” Sunny told Luke. “Just give us a few minutes to chat with him first.”

I guess it’s my lot in life, helping out upset creatures—cats, bosses, whatever, she thought.

They arrived in Room 114 to find Ollie sitting in his wheelchair—and nursing a bad mood.

“Are you having pain in your leg from sitting too long?” Sunny gave him a worried glance.

“I’m suffering from a pain in the butt named Stan Orton,” Ollie growled.

“I figured you’d be looking into him.” Sunny shot a See? I was right! glance at Will.

“I found out that he snookered me on that real estate contract.” Ollie sounded really annoyed with himself. “No wonder he kept pushing me to seal the deal. He didn’t own that parcel of land, he only had an option on it, and it was due to expire. If I had known and waited, I could’ve dealt with the real owner and gotten what I wanted for chump change.”

He shifted in his chair with a deep groan. Sunny wasn’t sure if the pain came from his leg or his wallet. “Instead, I just found out that I paid that creep Orton eight times what he paid for the option.”

“Maybe I have something that will take your mind off that,” Will offered. As he told Ollie of their run-in with Alfred Scatterwell and the games he played, Sunny saw her boss pay more and more attention.

“So we need someone to take a very close look at the guy,” Will concluded.

“Like I did with Orton—even if I left it a little too late!” Ollie scowled, but slowly nodded, his expression showing he was a hundred percent on board with the project.

“And if you find some way to make a profit of your own, well, I wouldn’t mind you skinning that cat.” Will looked over at Sunny, who winced. “If you’ll pardon the expression.”

I’m just amazed at the idea of Ollie using his nasty powers for good, her wisecracking alter ego put in. She changed the subject.

“We bumped into Luke Daconto in the corridor,” she told Ollie. “He was bringing his guitar to that sing-along thing he does, and he specifically asked me to invite you to come. Would you like to go?”

Ollie shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I’m already in the wheelchair, and Judge Judy is just about over.”

Sunny took command of the chair and wheeled Ollie toward the solarium. Will walked alongside. As they came closer, they heard Luke noodling away on the strings, one of those snatches of songs he did between sing-alongs.

“That’s the intro to ‘California Dreamin’,’” Ollie said, glancing up at Will.

“You really know your music.” This was a side of Ollie that Sunny had never seen before. Luke was happy to see them arrive, his white teeth showing through his beard in a smile.

“Since we have a couple of guys here today, what do you say we go with something more manly?” Luke strummed his way into “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” and Ollie picked it up immediately. His singing voice was deep and surprisingly powerful.

“Let’s take it around again,” Luke said, still strumming. Now everybody in the room was singing, even the lady who Sunny had previously seen just beating the time with her hand. When she heard Will chime in, Sunny smiled.

The song ended to rousing applause. “Good singing,” Luke complimented the group, then looked over at Ollie. “Very good singing, Ollie.”

Ollie grinned a little awkwardly, patting his belly. “Back in the day, they used to tell me I had an opera singer’s diaphragm.”

“I wish I had that,” Luke confessed. “Some gigs I’ve played, I’ve gone hoarse trying to put a song over to a crowd that’s busy talking.”

He played a couple more moldy oldies that Sunny’s grandfather would have known, then he swung into a completely unexpected rendition of “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” complete with a phony Scots accent. The older members of the audience fumbled with the song, but picked up on the chorus. Ollie enjoyed bouncing his voice off Luke’s.

For a finale, Luke suggested that Sunny, Ollie, and Will try a little harmony on “You Are My Sunshine” while the others sang as a chorus. It took a little while for Ollie to learn to moderate his voice, but when he did, the song sounded pretty decent.

“Thank you, everybody,” Luke told the group. “Really great job.”

The little old lady who tapped in time to the music turned to Ollie. “You really have a beautiful voice. Do you sing in a choir?”

“Uh, no,” Ollie replied, abashed. “I just sing for fun.”

The ladies started moving off in their walkers and wheelchairs, but Will approached Luke as he put his guitar in its case.

“It’s pretty sad, what happened to Ollie’s roomie,” Will said. “And it just seemed to happen out of the blue.”

“Yeah.” Luke kept his eyes on the case, making sure the clasps snapped shut. “That’s the thing about strokes. You never expect them.”

“Sunny was pretty shocked to get the news. She’d been visiting with Gardner that afternoon, and he seemed his usual self.”

Sunny wanted to give Will a kick, but she followed his lead, giving Luke a sad look.

“You saw him pretty often,” Will went on. “Did you think he was getting better?”

Luke looked up from his guitar case to meet Will’s eyes. “I’m a music therapist, so I’m not the guy to talk to about Gardner’s physical progress. You should talk to Jack and Elsa about that—or even Dr. Gavrik. All I can say is that I’m glad that Gardner seemed happy in the time before he passed away.”

“But he didn’t seem weaker or sicker lately, did he?” Will pressed.

Luke looked from Will to Sunny and back. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that we had an odd conversation with Gardner’s nephew, Alfred.”

“Ah.” It was hard to tell with that big, bushy beard, but Sunny thought she caught a brief flicker of distaste from Luke at the mention of Alfred’s name.

“Yeah, he talked a lot about the Scatterwell name and the Scatterwell fortune, going to the right schools and knowing the right people.” Luke’s lips definitely twisted under all that facial fur.

“But he didn’t really talk much about his uncle, except for the inheritance,” Will continued.

“I don’t think they got on that well.” Luke could only shake his head. “It’s a shame, really. From what I heard, it’s not as though they had a lot of relatives.”

“I guess family feeling doesn’t mean much to Alfred.” Will watched Luke carefully as he said, “He just had his uncle cremated, barely a day after Gardner died. We went over to see Alfred, and he already had the little box in the middle of his living room table.”

“That’s . . . kind of quick, isn’t it?” Luke looked as though he wanted to say something else but reconsidered it.

“We thought the same thing. Makes us wonder if Alfred was covering up anything that might have happened to Gardner. I heard you were around kind of late that night. Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

“I saw a lot of paper that night.” Luke gave them a sheepish look. “Playing guitar and singing with the residents is the fun part of the job. But I also work with a lot of people, getting them to play simple instruments. We have a bell chorus, and other musical programs, and I’m supposed to write reports on all of it.”

He shrugged, patting his guitar case. “I’m a music maker, not a report writer, so I’m usually pretty far behind. But this new administrator is very results oriented. A little bird told me that if I didn’t get up to date, there’d be trouble. So when I finished the day’s work, I holed up in an office and ground out the paperwork to make Dr. Reese happy.” Luke grimaced. “I put in, like, a whole extra shift on that nonsense. Didn’t get done until sometime after midnight. I was glad to get home—my neck was hurting from bending over the computer keyboard.” He sighed. “And then I heard about Gardner.”

“Did you do a report about him?” Sunny asked.

Luke’s reply was a sad laugh. “No. Gardner was a freebie. I’m supposed to work with the permanent residents, keep their spirits up over the long haul. Gardner wasn’t a client.” Luke paused for a long moment. “He was a friend.”