Last Licks

13

Sighing, Sunny closed the door and headed back to the kitchen. “Any excitement here?”

“None whatsoever,” Will reported. “No noise, no attempted jailbreaks. The prisoner just drank some water—and sent a few dirty looks my way.”

Sunny laughed. “Welcome to my life.” She noticed that while she was gone, Will had collected the lunch dishes and washed them. A definite point in his favor. But her heart sank when she saw the pile of paper on the otherwise bare table.

The incriminating files. Or rather, she corrected herself, the possibly incriminating files. If we’re right, they may show a whole series of criminal acts. And of course, the blasted things will be incriminating for us, too, if we get caught with confidential files.

“Hey, Will, have we got what we needed from these papers now?” she asked.

Will showed her the piece he’d been writing on. “I’ve got a list of the night shift people plus the three fill-ins, and the dates of the deaths in question. Cause of death is all the same—a stroke. I’d say that’s more than we’d have hoped for.”

She bit her lip. “Then what do you say we get rid of them?”

“Good idea.” Will nodded toward the cat. “I vote we give Shadow the job of shredding them.”

Sunny groaned. “I’ve got a decent paper shredder, but it’s in the garage with my New York stuff.”

“Will we have to move a lot of boxes to unearth it?” he asked.

“Just the winter clothes,” Sunny said. And maybe a few other things, she silently added.

*

Shadow followed Sunny and her He out the kitchen door to the little house in the back. Some humans he’d known kept their go-fast machines in these houses. But Sunny and the Old One filled the space with things that were much more interesting—cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes, just perfect for a cat to climb on—and maybe sometimes use as a scratching post.

When he entered the little house, his eyes went wide. Sunny and her He were rearranging the boxes, piling them up in new configurations. The He made “oof” noises and didn’t seem all that happy with the work. But Sunny kept talking, pointing deeper into the space as they cleared a path on the floor.

That wasn’t too interesting as far as Shadow was concerned. What he watched was the way the two humans piled boxes higher and higher as they moved farther in.

Maybe Sunny wants the He to make up for grabbing me, Shadow thought, watching a tower of boxes by the door that rose several times his height. He gathered himself, then launched into a vertical leap that just cleared the top. The construction swayed a little as he landed, but that was okay. This was fun!

Shadow played it safer getting back to the floor, jumping down a series of shorter piles, staircase fashion. When Shadow finally dropped to the concrete floor, he looked up to find that Sunny’s He had created a real challenge. This was the tallest stack yet, looming not just over Shadow but over Sunny. Shadow backed up—he’d need some momentum for this leap. It would be a record-setter.

Still keeping his eyes on the target, he retreated right out of the little house, until he felt the warmth of the sun on his hindquarters. Then he made a wild charge, moving from a lunge to a lope to a run. The huge pile came closer and closer, he’d have to time this right, or he’d end up crashing into the cardboard tower. Now!

Shadow pushed off with his rear legs, getting the most out of his running start. Up, up, up he went, but the cardboard mountain rose higher. Was he going to fail? He didn’t like the idea of taking a tumble back to that hard floor.

But no, there was the flat top of the crowning box. Shadow pounced with his forefeet, his claws sinking into the cardboard, letting him hold on as he scrabbled with his rear legs. It wasn’t the most elegant landing, but he’d made it! He was at the top of the world!

Except . . . the pillar of boxes began to sway, a scary, sickening movement. Shadow wasn’t sure whether he should hang on or jump.

The decision was taken out of his paws as the pile moved too far over and began to topple. That box he’d struggled so hard to reach slid off and then went out from under him, leaving Shadow scrabbling with all four legs in thin air. He let out a yowl of surprise that was pretty well lost in the crash of boxes landing back in the open space the two-legs had cleared.

Actually, Shadow had to count himself lucky. Some of those boxes were heavy. If one of those had landed on him, that wouldn’t have been a good thing. But he managed to bounce from falling box to falling box, getting his claws in another pile of boxes, riding out a vertical descent to the floor, where he crouched as cartons bounced around him, finally coming to rest.

He lay in a sort of cave created when two boxes landed on either side of him and a third dropped to create a roof. The top box landed on its side, and its contents spilled out. Shadow came out to sniff, but it was nothing exciting—just more of those strange paper things that Sunny kept on the shelves in her room. Sometimes she’d take one down and flip papers over, staring at the things for hours. Shadow would come up behind her shoulders to watch, but nothing exciting ever happened. No food fell out from between the papers, and all he ever smelled was dust. He stopped paying any attention to them.

From the sound of things, though, there was plenty of excitement nearby. Sunny raised her voice, calling Shadow’s name. And the male human made some loud, angry noises.

The two-legs worked their way back to him, moving boxes out of the way. Sunny gave a great cry when she finally spotted Shadow, scooping him up in her arms, making sure he wasn’t hurt, looking concerned.

Shadow relaxed as she cradled him, a faint purr rising from his chest. Yes, she was definitely sorry for the trouble earlier. Shadow was happy until he glanced over to the male human. The look he was getting there made him glad he wasn’t living with that one. Glares like that usually meant he’d be out on the street in two shakes of his tail.

The humans went back to clearing space on the floor, but this time they didn’t pile the boxes so high. That was fine with Shadow. He’d had enough of jumping for the time being. Instead, he watched Sunny and her He work. Finally Sunny exclaimed something, pulling out a carton.

Shadow couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. But Sunny and her male friend took it to the open front of the little house, tearing open the top of the carton and removing a strange, boxy thing. It had a tail, and Sunny took the end and stuck it into the wall. The box started to hum. Shadow got down from his perch and cautiously advanced, almost stalking his way forward. When Sunny touched it and it growled, Shadow jumped back. This wasn’t good. Sunny was bigger than the thing, but what happened if it bit her? At least it didn’t seem to have legs, so it couldn’t chase her . . . or him.

Sunny’s male friend came with papers in his hand, thrust them into the top of the boxy thing—and it ate them! Not only that, but it made loud growling and crunching noises while it did.

Shadow carefully stayed behind Sunny’s leg, peering suspiciously at the strange hungry box. This was like a lot of the stuff two-legs kept around. Shadow wasn’t sure whether they were alive or not, like the go-fast things humans rode in, or the box with pictures of people inside. This one didn’t move around, but it seemed to like chewing up paper. And even stranger, you could look into its belly and see all the chewed-up paper lying in a heap!

That might be a good idea, Shadow thought. If Sunny could see into my belly, she’d always know when I was hungry and feed me.

But then, what would happen to his beautiful fur coat? This eat-’em-up thing with its see-through belly lived in a box. Even stupid Biscuit Eaters wouldn’t put up with that. They’d want to run around, woofing.

The box-thing stopped growling, and Sunny and her He stepped away from it. Shadow crept forward, extending a wary paw. He gave the boxy thing a tap. It didn’t growl; it didn’t even move. But that transparent belly-thing seemed to wobble. That gave Shadow an idea. He pushed harder, shoving with both forepaws, and the boxy thing fell over, its clear belly falling away and all those little strips of paper spilling all over the floor.

This was wonderful! Shadow leaped on the largest pile of paper, scattering the strips, rolling on them, having a grand old time until Sunny and her friend came back. Sunny had a big, black, plastic bag, and oh, did she make noise when she saw Shadow in the make-believe snowdrift he’d created.

Shadow expected Sunny’s He to make even more noise—human males usually got angry and loud in the houses Shadow had lived in.

But this one just stood quietly, shaking his head.

*

Sunny and Will spent a remarkable amount of time collecting the paper shreds, bagging them . . . and keeping them out of Shadow’s reach. “If we ever have to do this again, I vote we burn the evidence instead,” Will said, glaring down at the cat. “You are one crazy creature.”

Sunny had to go along with that opinion, but it seemed to be the only thing they agreed on for the whole trip to Bridgewater Hall. Sunny tried to lay it out logically. “Okay, maybe we’ve got a new lead here. But how do we find some proof? More importantly, who even gets to hear it?” she asked. “If we go to Dr. Reese for corroboration, we’ll open exactly the can of worms Rafe was afraid of. Reese will know we’ve been looking at files illegally. Do we talk to Rafe and let him know one of his union people might be a viable suspect? Where will his loyalties lie?”

Will kept his eyes on the road. “I say first we find out who this C. Thibaud is. Then we talk to him or her. Then we make up our minds.”

“What kind of questions can we even ask?” Sunny wanted to know. “I can’t see us strolling up and saying, “Gee, have you noticed that a lot of people die when you happen to work the late shift?”

Will’s lips quirked. “Whenever you talk to a murder suspect, you have to expect that they’re on their guard, even if they’re innocent.”

“But here we don’t even know if there are murders,” Sunny burst out. “We went to outside doctors, and they told us that Gardner could have died of a stroke. We have a handful of deaths that we think are statistically relevant based on the numbers. Strokes, according to the cause of death in the papers Rafe gave us. Maybe five really sick patients in a row got transferred from a hospital to the nursing home and then died. I don’t think it’s impossible. That article my dad mentioned to me said that nursing homes get patients who are frailer and sicker these days. That three years is an average life expectancy. Some live longer, and some go quicker. Maybe a lot quicker.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy for someone who’s looking for foul play,” Will said.

“I suppose that’s what Ollie wants. But call me naïve, I have a hard time believing that someone is stalking the corridors in that place looking to bump people off. I might expect it in a big city like New York, but this is my hometown, for crying out loud. I rode my bike around town. The dangerous neighborhood was the streets around O’Dowd’s on a Friday night, because people might get liquored up and drive like idiots.”

Sunny glanced over at Will. “I know you’re a cop, you see a lot of things I don’t. And I know things have changed. Crimes that only used to happen in big cities are turning up in small towns now. But in my heart, I can’t imagine that stuff happening in Kittery Harbor . . . or Bridgewater.” She grinned. “This isn’t like Dr. Gavrik’s hometown, where her relatives were ready to kill the neighbors.”

“I can understand what you’re saying.” Will’s voice got softer. “I grew up around here, too, remember. But as you say, I’ve been a cop. I’m trained to look for foul play.”

In the end, they decided to ask Rafe about C. Thibaud without explaining the possibilities. Sunny called his number, forgetting until the phone was ringing that he was probably sound asleep after his night shift. But he answered anyway, and didn’t sound too upset.

“Sure I know her,” he said. “You probably know Camille, too. The last name is pronounced Tee-bow, like the football player.”

“Camille the aide?” Sunny asked.

Rafe confirmed it, and she thanked him then clicked her cell phone closed as Will parked his truck at Bridgewater. He gave Sunny a long, thoughtful look. “So you know her.”

“I had a suspicion I might,” Sunny admitted.

“And you like her, which is why I’ve been getting this song and dance from you about people possibly being innocent.”

“I won’t deny that, but I also don’t think we have a convincing case to present.”

They walked inside in silence until they reached the nurses’ station. “Do you want to talk to her?” Will lowered his voice.

“She’s little more than a kid,” Sunny told him. “I think you’d scare her to death. Why don’t you check and see if Ollie is in therapy and I’ll look for Camille.”

Will gave a nod and strode off. Sunny cruised the hallway and easily spotted the aide in another room. The girl waved to her, and Sunny waved back. A few minutes later, she came out of the room and walked over. “Anything I can do for Mr. Barnstable?”

“I’ve been thinking about something and don’t know who to ask,” Sunny replied. She’d been thinking about the approach. “How has my boss been sleeping since Mr. Scatterwell passed away? He’s been so upset about it, more than he wants to let on. Do you think there’s anyone from the night shift I could ask?”

“I know just about everybody who works the overnights.” Camille shrugged. “Whenever someone is sick or can’t make it, I fill in.”

“Really?” Sunny did her best to look impressed. “Were you here when Mr. Scatterwell had his stroke?”

“Yeah, I was working that night.” Camille made a face, but seemed unself-conscious about admitting it. “A patient down the hall did a big load in his bed, and I was in there cleaning him up when the excitement started. So I missed it all. To tell you the truth, what I was doing was pretty gross, but I’m kind of relieved I was busy.”

“That had to be tough.” Sunny gave her a friendly smile. “Weren’t you here the next day, too?”

Camille shrugged. “Look at me—I’m never going to be a model, but my family breeds women who can work and keep working.” She leaned forward. “Besides, I need the money. I still owe almost a thousand bucks for my training, so I pick up any extra work I can.”

“Still, two shifts in a row, you must be afraid that you’ll be tired and make a mistake.”

“Oh, no.” Camille shook her head, maybe a little too definitely. “I’m always careful. That was something they drilled into us at training.” An odd expression flitted across her broad features. “It’s different here, though. When we were training, we worked with people—well, let’s say people who’d look for free care. But I could get along with them better—they’re my kind of people. Here, it’s like even when you’re wiping their butts, some people will still look right through you.” She blinked, blushing. “Wow, we got kind of far away from what you were asking.”

“That’s me all over,” Sunny said easily. “I’m an easy person to talk to.” It was a skill she’d cultivated during her years in journalism.

Camille made an effort to adopt a more professional expression. “From what I’ve seen, by the time Mr. Barnstable has supper and watches a little TV, he’s pretty pooped. I think he sleeps right through till morning. If you want someone to check on him at night, though, maybe you should talk to the nurse.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Sunny said, knowing full well that Ollie would kill her if she sent a nurse to check up on him.

Camille pointed at a flashing light. “Uh-oh. Duty calls.”

Sunny thanked her and turned to see Will approaching. “Ollie is finished already and resting in his room,” he reported.

As they headed for Room 114, Sunny heard a familiar chuckle, so she wasn’t surprised to find her father in there with Ollie. She was surprised, though, to find Portia sitting in Mike’s lap.

“She followed me here,” Mike said, laughing at Sunny’s expression while petting Portia’s sleek fur. “As soon as I signed in, I had a new best friend. And I have to say, she’s a lot more pleasant than your guy.”

At the reference to “her guy,” Sunny suddenly realized the reason for Mike’s sudden popularity. “Before you left today, you put out some food for Shadow, didn’t you?”

“Well, he was sort of hanging around me and then looking at his bowl. I figured you might want to sleep in a bit after last night’s fun, so I gave him fresh water and dry food.”

“And he thanked you for it by hanging around you a little more.” Sunny didn’t know whether to laugh or impatiently shake her head. “I’m afraid Portia is all over you because of the cologne you don’t know you’re wearing—eau de Shadow.”

Mike thought about that a little, and as he did, Portia thrust her head under his hand for more attention. “Maybe the cologne broke the ice,” Mike finally said with dignity, “but I think it’s my personality that keeps her around.” He scratched the calico cat between the ears. “Right, Portia?”

Sunny didn’t even bother to respond to that. Will just laughed. “Where’s your roomie?” he asked Ollie.

“His wife and daughter came and took him out to the garden,” Ollie replied. “Now he’ll be able to tell people on the next bench to be quiet.” He shifted in the bed, and Sunny noticed it didn’t look so painful for him. “Got anything new?”

“We have a new theory, but it can’t leave this room.” In a conspiratorial voice, Will explained the fun with numbers they had this morning.

“You say you had staff rosters,” Mike said, leaning forward in his chair. “Did any names turn up?”

“Before we answer that, let me ask you something.” Sunny aimed her eyes at Ollie. “What do you think of Camille the aide?”

“I like her,” he promptly replied. “She’s nice and hardworking, and she’s the quickest to come if you buzz for help—” His expression soured. “Aw no, you’re going to tell me she’s the name, right? It’s like you’re only picking on people I like.”

“We just follow the evidence,” Will said.

Sunny gave him a look. “But I’ve got to say in this case, the evidence is thin.” With his broken leg, Ollie was pretty much dependent on Camille. Sunny didn’t want Will’s suspicions to influence the way Ollie treated the girl. She offered her arguments about how fuzzy the statistics they were working from could be.

Ollie slowly nodded, going from patient to hard-nosed businessman. “So you’ve got a theory and a suspect. Someone who was around on the night shift, a staff member who’d know what was bad for patients and who could probably get her hands on whatever was needed. That’s whachacallem—opportunity and means.” He gave Will a tough look. “What about motive?”

Will shrugged. “She’s beating her brains out for chump change, emptying bedpans for rich people. That would start to get to me. And there’s something else.” He looked at Ollie. “You think someone was in here that night, giving Gardner a drink. We don’t think he’d take one from Alfred or Elsa. But he might have taken it from Camille.”

“Might,” Sunny emphasized. “Here’s what I know. She’s dedicated and responsible. The reason she’s taking all the shifts she can is because she still has to pay off her training.”

Ollie pursed his lips in thought. “She didn’t like Gardner,” he finally said.

Mike shrugged. “She’s a nice girl, but plain. Not Gardner’s type. I bet he didn’t waste much of the old Scatterwell charm on her.”

“As a matter of fact, she saw Gardner at his worst, going after Elsa Hogue,” Sunny had to admit. “But we’re talking cold-blooded murder. Is that enough to make someone go so far?”

“Put it all together . . .” Will let the words hang in the air.

“Put it all together, and do we have enough to persuade Frank Nesbit that he ought to look into this case officially?” Sunny looked around at the others. “He’s the one we have to convince, after all. What do you think? Do we have enough to convince him of foul play?”

Mike stopped playing with Portia to offer his two cents. “Admit that he let someone kill patients under his nose at a ritzy rest home? Oh, no.”

That got a sour laugh out of Will. “To convince him, we’d have to catch the killer cutting someone’s heart out. And even then, he might call it emergency surgery.” Will hesitated for a moment, and Sunny could sympathize with him. He’d made a case for some bad things going on here. But he had to face reality. “No,” he admitted.

“I could push him, but . . .” Ollie sat still, making the political calculations. “No.”

That pretty well killed the conversation. They sat for a moment or two in defeated silence.

“Hey, what’s going on, folks?” Luke Daconto came into the room. He was obviously still riding the high of last night’s performance, genial and grinning. “With a concert next week, I’ve been rehearsing my bell ringers pretty hard.”

“After all the free beer those folks at O’Dowd’s bought for you last night, you were able to listen to bell ringers this morning?” Will stared at him. “You’re a tougher man than I am.”

“Well, more like the afternoon after,” Luke admitted.

“The music was good,” Mike said, “but what really impressed me was the way you stared down that crowd to shut them up. That was really something, Luke.”

The guitarist shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just something I learned from an old pro when I was on the road, playing in joints a lot worse than the one last night.” He grinned at Sunny, a flash of white teeth in his heavy beard. “If you thought that bar was scary, I could show you a few—”

Will rolled his eyes. “That’s all we’d need.”

Remembering some hair-raising episodes from Sunny’s other investigations, everyone laughed—even, after a moment, Sunny herself.

Luke looked a little confused at the big reaction, but pleased. “That’s better,” he said. “When I first came in here, I thought I was crashing a funeral.”

“Oh! Funeral!” Sunny turned to her dad. “I completely forgot. Mrs. Martinson stopped off at the house this morning. She told me that Alfred Scatterwell is having a memorial service for Gardner tonight. She was feeling a little funny about whether she should go, and I kind of promised that you would take her. You’d better give her a call.”

“Are you and Will going?” Luke asked.

Sunny nodded, shooting a quick glance at Luke. “Of course. I’ll represent you, Ollie.”

“Yeah.” Ollie started rooting around in the pile of newspapers on his tray table. Sunny noticed he had both the Press Herald from Portland and the Herald from across the border in Portsmouth. “There’s an announcement of the memorial in here—not what I’d call an engraved invitation, but it seems to be a public event.”

“Do you mind if I use your phone?” Mike asked Ollie. “I want to pass that along to Helena. She’s probably worrying herself into a head of white hair over whether it’s proper to go.”

“On her, it would look good,” Sunny cracked. Mike was busy punching in Mrs. M.’s number, but Sunny’s comment got a chuckle from everybody else in the room . . . except Luke. He stood very still, as if suddenly he were the one at the funeral.

“Are you okay?” Sunny asked, and then shook her head. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’d gotten close with Gardner. You should have heard about this memorial from Alfred, not from me acting scatterbrained.”

“If not for you, I wouldn’t have heard about it at all,” Luke said quietly. “Alfred—well, I guess he didn’t approve of his uncle hanging out with me.”

“As if you could lead him into bad habits,” Mike scoffed. “Believe me, Luke, Gardner tried them all before you were born.”

That got a wan laugh out of Luke. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s a funny thing, but I understand you were actually nearby the night Gardner died,” Will said.

Sunny gave him a “not now” look. There he is, pure cop, crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s on the witness statements.

But Will plowed right on. “Elsa Hogue mentioned bumping into you at the nurses’ station.”

For a second Luke looked baffled, but then his face cleared. “That’s right. I left the office where I was working and came over to see if I could bum anything with caffeine in it. Working on reports makes me sleepy, verrrrry sleeeeeeeepy . . .” He slipped into a mad hypnotist voice for a moment, then spoke normally. “I think Elsa was looking for the same thing.”

Will looked satisfied with that explanation.

Mike glanced at his watch. “If we want to grab an early supper and get dressed, we should probably get moving.”

“Um . . . Mike?” Luke seemed to stumble over his words a little. “Could you give me the when and the where? I’d like to go, too.”

“Of course, son,” Mike said gently. “It’s at eight o’clock, Twelve Brookside Lane.” He gave a little laugh. “You know, I haven’t been there in almost fifty years, yet I still remember the address. It’s funny, what sticks with you.”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “Funny.”