Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 10

  “Oh, God forbid!” Rachael snapped. “You’d spend every moment you were home, moping by her graveside. If you hadn’t been so attached to that batty woman, we could have sent her away months ago and not have to deal with all of this now.”

  “But we do have to deal with it, Rachael. And it will cost money. There is no way to avoid that. But, don’t worry, there’s no need for you to curtail your spending habits.”

  “Of course it will cost money, but it doesn’t need to take that big of a chunk out of your inheritance. Call them back. Tell them you changed your mind. Have her cremated in Norfolk and they can ship the ashes back here – or just dump them in the ocean.”

  “You are heartless!” Eli exclaimed.

  “Heartless – not hardly. I’m sensible. Practical. Something you, with all your fancy business titles and Italian suits, never have been. Speaking of practical, have you called the life insurance company yet?”

  “Okay, Rachael, you want practical. How’s this? There is a double stone where my dad is buried and the spot next to it – already paid for – is intended for my mother. The marker is even engraved with her name and birth date – all it needs is the date of her death. Some of what might have been my inheritance was spent on that tiny piece of property and the plaque – we sure wouldn’t want that to go to waste, would we?”

  “You’re ridiculous, Eli. Bringing her back here for burial is just throwing good money after bad. It’s a waste. And I expect your darling sister won’t want to pay any of the expense and yet will expect a share of the estate.”

  “Of course, she will. She is entitled to half of it and she’ll get it.”

  “Oh, fine. We sacrifice our freedom, our privacy, our everything to give your mother a place in our home. Your sister? She flies in for an occasional weekend and then whisks off to some remote corner of the world to have fun and adventure. Now she expects to be paid for being so negligent?”

  “Negligent? Fun and adventure? She’s doing her job, Rachael. She’s an international news correspondent. She can’t do that from down the block.”

  “Well, what she does is a lot more fun than slipping into the yoke of your father’s business and working yourself to an early grave. She didn’t stay here for that now, did she?”

  “But I wanted to take over the business; she didn’t. I’m glad she didn’t. I’m glad she’s got a job she loves. I’m glad she’s not saddled down with someone like you,” Eli said.

  “How dare you?”

  “Please, don’t say another word. I’m going to the cemetery to visit Dad. Then I’ll drive around for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  Of course, Rachael did not heed his admonition to be quiet. Her voice followed him to the garage and into his car. He switched on the radio, turned it to a jazz station and tuned out her voice.

  But he couldn’t tune out thoughts of her. Maybe that’s why a homicide detective came to our house? Maybe they think we had something to do with mother’s disappearance and death? I know I didn’t. That leaves Rachael. And quite frankly, nothing she would do could surprise me.

  Twenty-One

  Lucinda had requested a list of disgruntled former employees from all three facilities she visited that day. She was delighted to see that River’s Edge had already sent a fax and one of the others had emailed a response.

  She did a background check on the five names and discovered that one was in prison – and had been for nearly a year; another was in Iraq working for a private security firm for even longer – God help the Iraqis – leaving her with three people to interview. She printed out the most recent addresses for all of them and left the office less than twenty minutes after her arrival.

  She stopped first at the home of Bobbi Reynolds. It was a small but well-kept brick rancher. The sixty-year-old woman who greeted her at the door could have been described in exactly the same way.

  When Lucinda asked about her departure from River’s Edge, she said, “It was my supervisor. She and I never saw eye to eye on anything. I really thought that some of the folks in the lockdown unit would be fine for a short visit off the grounds. I took one woman to a shoe store – on my own time, mind you – and she picked out a pair of walking shoes. She said it was the first time she’d had a pair that fit right in two years.

  “My supervisor didn’t think that was appropriate – didn’t care how happy I’d made the woman. She fired me the moment we walked back into the unit.”

  “Do you often buck rules?” Lucinda asked.

  “Only when they don’t make a lick of sense.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  The woman laughed. “Yeah, haven’t you noticed?”

  Although Lucinda agreed with her, she didn’t let the other woman know. “How far would you go to break a rule you didn’t think made any sense?”

  “What do you mean? Give me a fer-instance.”

  “Okay. Let’s say you were still working at River’s Edge and you thought one of the lockdown residents did not need to be there. Would you help that person escape?”

  “There were a few folks that didn’t seem like they needed to be there a good part of the day – but then they’d have their bad moments, usually in the late afternoon, early evening. We called it sun-downing. But I don’t recall anyone that I was certain didn’t belong there at all.”

  “But what if you did?” Lucinda pushed.

  “I never thought about that. But, yeah, I guess if that were the case and I’d tried the proper channels without getting any result. Particularly if that old bat supervisor said, ‘It doesn’t matter what you think’ again, I might help a person like that escape. It kinda seems unlikely to me, though. But why are you asking – did something happen at River’s Edge?”

  “No. No. Just trying to cover all the bases on some missing elderly.”

  “Nice story but I know you’re lying. I saw your badge it said ‘homicide’. Just what are you doing? Somebody died, huhn? And they’re trying to pin it on me?”

  “No ma’am, no one is trying to pin anything on you.”

  “Okay, right. I don’t think I should talk any more without a lawyer. I think you should leave.”

  Lucinda walked out of the house without objection but when she slipped into her car, she put a little star by Bobbi Reynolds’s name. Two possible suspects – and both women. I can’t imagine Rachael Kendlesohn picking Bobbi Reynolds as a partner in a conspiracy but neither one of them could have delivered Edgar Humphries’s body without help.

  At her next stop, she found a man in a wheelchair. He told her he was angry when he was let go for not being able to do his job any longer. He said he even uttered some nasty remarks that could have been taken as threats. “But, as you see,” he said with a shrug, “they were right. I was no longer capable of doing the job. Just six months later and I can’t even get around on my own.”

  The third former employee, Jeremy Stanford, was the one who Lucinda saw as the most troublesome of the bunch from the start. He got canned for drinking on the job, had been picked up twice for driving under the influence and he had shown up drunk at his former place of employment on a number of occasions – once they had to call the police to get him to leave.

  She pulled up in front of a Cape Cod house where the lawn was covered with matted down tall plant material, gone to seed. The winter’s snowfall was the only reason the weeds weren’t poking up higher than the chain-link fence. A mockingbird perched on the rim of a dry bird bath singing a long, heady tune filled with sounds borrowed from multiple birds. When Lucinda opened the gate, he looked in her direction, bobbed his tail twice and flew off. She walked up the sidewalk thinking about the snakes, rats and other things that could easily be hiding in the mess on either side.

  She rang the doorbell but got no response even though she could hear the blare of a television. She knocked on the door lightly but that didn’t seem to stir anyone to action either. She beat on the door with her fist and it creaked open. She called out hi
s name.

  The only response she heard sounded like a strange series of animal snorts and snarls. It was hard to hear over the loud noise of squealing wheels and car crashes from the TV. She yelled out again. The animal noise choked off, then started up again, sounding like someone struggling to breathe. Should I call for back up? Nah, could be nothing. But, then again . . . She pulled her gun as she stepped across the threshold. She flattened her back against the wall by the archway to the other room. Leading with her gun, she curled around the edge of the wall, her good eye darting into every corner.

  At first, it appeared to be an empty room – the only movement was the wild, unrealistic, car chase on the large screen on the opposite wall. Then she saw toes sticking up on the raised footrest of a recliner.

  She shouted, “Police. Raise your hands in the air.”

  The only response was another grunting, snorting animal sound, which she now recognized as a particularly loud snore. She sighed. Keeping her gun at the ready, she circled around the recliner until she had a full view of the occupant.

  An empty bottle of rum was canted sideways in his lap. Dr.ool slid down one side of his mouth. Black bristles sprouted on a pale white chin. She moved closer but the smell drove her back. He stunk of rum and sweat and dirty feet. She slipped her weapon back in the holster.

  “Sir,” she shouted. “Wake up, it’s the police.”

  His body jerked, his lower lip pulled to one side and bleary eyes squinted in her direction. “Wha – wha – wha – I din do nuffin, occifer. Jes’ mindin’ m’own bidness.”

  “Does anyone else live here with you?”

  “Live here? Wit me? Naw. Naw. De all left me. Long time ago. Ya wanna live here wit me?” he asked, his mouth stretching into a distorted grin.

  Oh, good grief, he doesn’t look capable of tying his own shoes, let alone taking part in a crime. He probably couldn’t get out to the mailbox without help. But, she still had to talk to him and she doubted if he’d get sober without assistance. She hated the thought of putting him in the back seat of her car. She thought about calling for a patrol unit to take him in to sleep it off. But that felt too wimpy.

  “Come on, Mr. Sanford. Stand up. I’d like to talk to you down at the station. Want to take a ride with me?” She almost cuffed him but thought better of it. Likely, it would be easier coaxing him to her car if she didn’t. And as drunk as he was, she knew if he tried to get away she could run him down – he probably wouldn’t get more than two feet without falling on his face.

  She shivered in revulsion as she wrapped a hand around one of his skinny arms. He let her lead him to the vehicle without causing any problems. Opening the rear door, she put a hand on his head to guide him safely inside.

  His body stiffened, turning toward her, his lower lip stuck out further than his nose, and he said, “You arrestin’ me, girly?”

  “Mr. Sanford, wouldn’t you be in handcuffs if I were arresting you?”

  His brow furrowed as he blinked his eyes. He held his hands up before his face.

  “I just want to take you on a little ride down to the Justice Center. Why don’t you slide on in?” Lucinda coaxed.

  “Oh,” he said, unlocking his knees and allowing her to ease him into the back seat.

  Twenty-Two

  Ted put his keys in the front door and mentally took a deep breath as he opened it and walked inside his home. He felt more awkward this evening than he’d felt even on his first date with Ellen when he’d had to face her controlling father, the judge.

  He found his wife in the kitchen where she was tossing salad in a huge glass bowl. “Hi, Ted,” she said, shooting him a smile over her shoulder.

  “Where are the kids?” he asked.

  “They are both spending the night with friends. I thought it would be good if we had some time alone.”

  Ted swallowed involuntarily, felt a clamminess on his neck and sensed his testicles pull tight against his body as if trying to slip inside to hide. “Really?” he said, his dry tongue clacking against the roof of his mouth.

  She kept her back towards him and said, “Yes, Ted. I think we really need to have a long talk and with the kids underfoot, I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “A talk?”

  She turned around and looked at him with a furrowed brow and half of a smile. “Good grief, Ted. What did you think?” She flicked his arm with a red and white checked kitchen towel. “Neither one of us are ready for anything more right now.”

  “Oh,” he exhaled deeply.

  Ellen shook her head at him. “So typically male. Top of your mind is always sex even when you’re not interested in having any. Go turn on the grille. I’ve got a pair of rib-eyes marinating, the potatoes are baking and I just finished with the salad. And before you ask, no, I am not getting out the candlesticks or the white tablecloth – absolutely no plans for a romantic evening, Ted. So you can relax.” She picked up the salad bowl and slid it into the refrigerator.

  As he opened the back door, she said, “Oh, another thing. I didn’t say we need to talk because I want to bitch at you about something. I just want to talk – about the kids, about the future and about the conversation I had with your dad.”

  Ted pulled the door shut and walked across the patio to the gas grille. Lifting the lid, he sighed. Relax. Oh sure. She throws in the kids, my dad and she says “relax.” And how did she know I wanted to talk about the same things? She seems to know what I’m thinking – she could always do that. There was a time I appreciated it, but now it kinda creeps me out.

  He went back into the house, forcing a smile. “Grille’s heating up.” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Good. Could I get you a beer, a glass of wine?” Ellen asked.

  “Yeah, sure. A beer would be great.”

  Ellen pulled a Corona out of the refrigerator and poured a glass of Lambrusco. She stuck a sliver of lime in the mouth of the bottle and set it in front of Ted with a smile. “Surprise!”

  “Nice. Thanks,” he said but his anxiety level rose up another notch. Corona was a treat and he wasn’t sure of the meaning behind it. He stared at the bottle watching beads of water forming on the glass.

  Ellen pulled the glass pan with the steaks and marinade out of the refrigerator and noticed he hadn’t touched his beer. “What? You don’t like Corona anymore?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, sticking an index finger on the lime and popping it down into the bottle before lifting it to his lips. He took a swig but the lump of dread in his throat made it difficult to swallow. “I’ll put the steaks on.” He took the pan from her hands and walked back out onto the porch. He hoped he could stay out there, away from Ellen, until they were done.

  He sighed as the door opened and Ellen stepped out, his beer in one hand, her glass of wine in the other. “It’s awfully nice out for so early in the spring.”

  Ted grunted, accepted his beer and forced down another swallow. Ellen still seemed cheery. The breezier she became, the more uptight Ted felt. He wished she would go back inside. A ding from the timer on the stove was the answer to his prayer.

  “Ah, the potatoes should be ready. I’ll poke them and see. A couple more minutes on the steaks?”

  “Yeah,” Ted said.

  She went inside and popped back out too quick for Ted’s comfort. “They’re done. I turned off the oven. How about the steaks?”

  Ted lifted the lid and flipped the meat. If he left them on another minute, they’d be overdone. He sighed. “Yeah, looks like they are.” He lifted them onto a plate and turned off the gas.

  “Terrific,” Ellen said, opening the door and holding it for him. In the kitchen, she served both of them. They took seats at the kitchen table across from one another. Ellen chewed a bite of salad, while Ted used a fork to toy with a slice of radish in his bowl.

  “I called your dad this morning,” Ellen said.

  “That’s nice.”

  “We talked for about fifteen minutes. Well
, to be honest, I did most of the talking but he did say he was doing fine and planned on taking a walk in the park.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I thought so, too. But then, about ten minutes after that call, he called me.”

  “Really. Did he forget something?”

  “He forgot everything, Ted.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘Sure been a long time since I heard the sound of your voice so I thought I’d give you a call.’ At first, I thought he was joking. But then I realized that he’d already forgotten the phone call – just ten minutes later. I’m worried about him, Ted.”

  Ted’s anxiety eased a little. She was giving him the opening he wanted. “That doesn’t surprise me, Ellen. I’ve been worried about him, too.”

  “I don’t think he should be living alone any longer.”

  “I know,” Ted agreed.

  “I think we need to do something about it, right away.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I figured if we were really careful with our spending, we could make it until you found a job or we sold this house – whichever came first.” She split her baked potato in two, added a pat of butter, a spoonful of sour cream and sprinkled on a pinch of chopped chives.

  Ted squirmed, realizing Lucinda was right. He should have talked to Ellen weeks ago. “I already have a job.”

  “I know you have a job here, Ted, but I thought you might be able to find a similar position up there with the police or the sheriff’s department. Sure, you might have to take a cut in pay – it is a smaller city but—”

  “No, Ellen. I’ve got a job offer up near Dad – in Charlottesville – at the Regional Computer Forensics Lab. And actually it’s a pay increase and a better health insurance plan, too, since I’ll be a federal employee.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I was planning on talking to you about it tonight.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Just a few days. I’ve been thinking. I thought maybe I ought to take it and move up there and take care of Dad.”