Interior Motives (20 page)
“Now you know.”
“Let me get them for you.”
The husky man hurried down the hall, and I took a good look around. The house had awesome potential. Its good bones lent the surface shabbiness a certain dignity.
I took a peek at the dining room, a vast space across the foyer from the parlor. Gorgeous mahogany built-ins needed nothing more than a good cleaning and maybe a light coat of shellac—I prefer the older, more natural finishes when old wood is in decent condition. The striped gray-green wallpaper and faded ivy-print wall-to-wall carpet? Those had to go.
Once Cissy recovered and the estate cleared probate, I hoped I could talk her into letting me bring this grand old dame back to where she should be.
“Who’re you?”
Jacob stood at the top of the stairs, confusion on his face. “It’s Haley, Jacob. We’ve met a couple of times. Remember? We played checkers with Cissy the other day.”
The man had a great smile. “Checkers?”
“Yes, but I can’t stay today. Cissy’s sick, and she needs me to take her reading glasses to her. She left them here when we played checkers.”
“Glasses? I think I’m thirsty.”
Dave joined me. “Cecelia’s glasses.” Then he looked up at his charge. “You want to come down, Jacob? I’ve got iced lemonade in the kitchen.”
I whispered, “I’ll be on my way.”
Dave nodded. “Sorry. I can’t let him go to the kitchen on his own.”
“I understand. I’ll bring Cecelia back as soon as she’s out of the hospital.”
“We’ll be here.”
When I left, the door closed with a soft click. I hurried down the steps, my thoughts on the sadness I’d seen today. The only spark of light was Cissy’s willingness to trust God, even if it had taken a close brush with death to bring it about.
Nothing would bring light to Jacob’s shadows again. Alzheimer’s is a relentless thief, and it had him in its clutches.
When I reached the sidewalk, a woman called out. “You! You there. Can you tell me how Jacob is these days? I’m Audrey Crombie, by the way. I’ve lived here for forty years.” The senior citizen next door held an activated high-pressure hose in her right hand. It had the look of a semi-lethal weapon.
“So how is he?” she prodded.
“What can I tell you? He’s in the fog that comes with dementia. The last time I saw him, he played checkers, but he only moved the pieces when and where Cissy said. Today he seems as confused as can be.”
She tsk-tsked. “Darlene and Cissy did everything they could for him. He’s had the best doctors, even took him to that fancy psychologist. She seemed to help a little. Although I don’t know if what Darlene called improvement was more how she saw things after her counseling sessions.”
“That sounds like Tedd’s touch, all right.”
“Oh, you know their psychologist?”
Way more than I wanted to say. “I’m an interior designer. I’m redoing her office right now.”
“She really takes her job to heart, you know. She’d stop by from time to time. She even visited the afternoon Darlene died.”
“Really? I was here that day, and I didn’t see her.” Neither had Tedd mentioned that visit to me. Interesting.
The hose turned, and I caught a splash of spray. “Sure. She was here. She and that foreign doctor Darlene thought so much of. They came by . . . oh, somewhere around two thirty, no later than three.”
Hmm . . . Tedd and Dr. Dope. Together again. At the scene of the crime. Tedd had questions to answer.
“Well, Mrs. Crombie, it’s been nice to meet you, but I have to hurry. Cissy suffered a heart attack earlier today, and when the doctor let me in to see her, she asked me to get her reading glasses. She left them here the last time she played checkers with Jacob.”
I waved the half-moons.
She smiled. “That Jacob and his checkers. Tell Cissy I’m so sorry to hear, that I wish her the best recovery. Let her know I’ll stop to see her sometime next week.”
“No problem. And I’m sure she’d love a visit.”
In my car, I took a moment to consider what I’d just learned. I tried to connect A to B to C but had no luck. My temper, on the other hand, tied itself in a too-tight knot, and I began to fume.
Why hadn’t Tedd mentioned her visit—with Dr. Dope, no less?
I turned the key in the ignition.
Okay, Lord. I can stew here
from now until the rapture, but that won’t get me anywhere. I
have to see Tedd to ask my questions, and I’m scared stupid to
hear what she might say.
The car purred to life and rolled into traffic, and I worked to evict my thoughts. But I failed.
Father, help me. I don’t want to make things worse by blurting
something dumb—and you know how good I am at it.
I pulled up to the strip that houses Tedd’s office. With a soul-deep sigh and a mind-boggling amount of reluctance, I locked my car and went inside. I made myself ignore the two clients in the waiting room and glared when Willa tried to stop me.
“It’s an emergency,” I said.
“But—”
“Trust me. I’ll handle it.”
Her look said she wouldn’t trust me with yesterday’s rolled-up newspaper, much less her job, but I was fresh out of patience. Something stunk here, and I refused to take another no, any more dips and dodges, or stumbling blocks of any kind for an answer.
The oh-so-discreet shrink had gone to her private office, since she’d just finished with one client and had yet to meet with the next. I barged on in.
“Okay, Tedd. Spill the beans. What’s up with you and Dr. Dope? And why didn’t you tell me you both went to Darlene’s house right around the time the coroner says she breathed her last?”
A blush darkened Tedd’s smooth caramel complexion. “I’m at work, Haley. I have two clients to see before I’m done. Why don’t you meet me at Mickey D’s at around eight?”
“Because my questions are easy ones. We don’t have to eat crummy fast food to hash them out. Just give it to me straight, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
Something flashed in her eyes. If I didn’t know her so well, I would’ve called it fear. But the Tedd I know is fearless; she’s gone through the worst and is now a stronger woman.
She stood and rolled her chair out of her way. She rounded the desk and met me toe-to-toe. “You know why I didn’t say a word. Your suspicious mind would have convicted Roberto in a blink. Maybe even me, and I didn’t have a thing to do with Darlene’s death. Neither did he.”
Once she said it I knew why she’d failed to talk. But what I also knew was that she’d danced around the most important question.
“Don’t mess with me, Tedd. What’s the deal with Dr. Dope? Why do you want to protect the guy? He’s one of the most likely suspects. He had motive, opportunity, and means. You know what I’m saying?”
The tilt of her head, the tight clasp of her hands, the quick flutter of her eyelids all squealed on her.
My earlier queasiness returned, and with a vengeance. I knew then. Even before she spoke.
But she did speak after a minute or two. “Remember the relationship that almost made it to the altar? I came within four months of becoming Mrs. Roberto Díaz. I broke it off the week before Darlene died.”
I almost didn’t make it to the ladies’ room. This time, though, I didn’t throw up. I just stood over the toilet and gagged.
Tedd and Dr. Dope. Is it any wonder the idea made me sick?
No matter how I slice it, the next few minutes were the worst I’ve spent around Tedd. She has now witnessed my twitchy stomach’s betrayal a couple of times. The first time, my past caught up with me. The other, my doubts about Dutch’s innocence did me in. I didn’t want to learn he’d committed a crime just when I’d begun to feel the attraction.
Pretty scary stuff.
But this? This was the worst of the worse. Tedd’s my shrink, for goodness’ sake! She’s my friend, even. In many of the ways that count, she knows me better than anyone else—even me. I’ve trusted her with my darkest secrets, my worst fears, my secret thoughts, dreams, and hopes. Just to think she might be involved in Darlene’s murder pushed me beyond what I could . . . well, stomach.
But I didn’t throw up this time like I did over Dutch. I should see that as progress.
Whoopee.
Tedd came after me. “Haley? Are you all right?”
I couldn’t question her sincerity; she cares for me. But still . . .
“Just peachy dandy. No big deal, you know? I find out every day about a friend’s romance with a guy who peddles voodoo meds to desperate people. Oh! And the guy’s always suspected in the murder of one of his desperate buyers.”
“Come on, Haley,” she said from the other side of the white stall door. “That’s ridiculous, even for you. Roberto has researched HGH for years, and he didn’t do a thing to Darlene. You know it.”
“I don’t know it from snickerdoodles. Arsenic killed Darlene, and the HGH looks like the carrier pigeon for the poison.”
“That doesn’t mean Roberto poisoned the serum.”
“Who sold it to her? He even bought the lab that makes it.”
“Cissy, who’s still alive and kicking, took it too.”
“Just barely.”
“What does that mean? Just barely what?”
“She’s the emergency that dragged me away earlier today. Cissy had a heart attack. She’s in the ICU at the clinic.”
“I suppose you blame Roberto—maybe me—for the heart attack.”
“No, but I might if there’s reason to suspect foul play.”
She sighed in frustration—I’ve learned to interpret her sighs. “I should expect you to say that kind of thing.”
I hadn’t gagged since she walked in, so I opened the door. “How come?”
She crossed her arms and tapped the toe of her leather pump on the floor. “You’re obsessed with murder. You’d suspect foul play even if the FBI, CIA, and NSA had the deceased under surveillance at all times.”
“Sure. Why not? Who’s to say a spook didn’t snuff the poor schmuck because the surveillance detail got to him?”
“I quit. I’ve had all I can take. Roberto didn’t kill Darlene, and neither did I. Now, if you don’t mind, I have clients who need my help. You’re way beyond me.” Her shoulders drooped. “And here I thought you knew me. You have to do something about your trust issues, you know.”
“Hey, I took up scuba diving like you wanted—”
Tedd closed the bathroom door on my defense. It’s just as well. I’d probably have babbled something stupid, something I would regret sooner rather than later. And she’s right. Scuba diving aside, I don’t do trust.
The cold-water splash at the sink felt good on my face. I wished I could wash away all the crud crammed inside my head. Then maybe I’d have a chance to sift through the leftovers and come up with answers. But life doesn’t work that way.
I did need help.
Father, help me, please. I hope there’s nothing
there . . . that Tedd’s as innocent as she says. And please, please?
Don’t let her hate me.
Since I’d worked right through lunch, my backbone decided to tickle my belly button. Maybe food would put a damper on my stomach’s acrobatics. The deli next door makes a mean chicken salad sandwich, and today it hit the spot. Once done, I trudged back to Tedd’s office, super-sized latte in hand.
I returned to the meeting room, where I’d been when Bella’s call about Cissy came through. Since then a large crate with my name on it had arrived. No missing fancy-schmancy Guatemalan leather chairs there, of course, but I did find the Mexican blankets I’d slated for throw pillow covers for the waiting room and new upholstery for the meeting room chairs. Since I think better when my hands are busy, I stacked the blankets by color, chose the ones with a future as pillows, and then draped the others over the chairs.
I love it when a plan comes together.
With little more than a twist or two of my Phillips-head screwdriver, the cushions came off the chair frames. I spread the blankets on the floor, scoped out the best chunks to use, measured, and cut. My trusty pneumatic staple gun had taken up residence at Tedd’s the day I started the redesign, and thus armed, I attacked the chairs.
Six of twelve chairs later, Tedd came by. “I’m done for the day. You can stay as long as you need. Use the back door to leave, and make sure it locks behind you. Oh, I’m setting the alarm, since you’re here alone.”
I couldn’t make myself look at her, so I murmured a vague “mm-hmm.”
The thunk of the outside door bounced off the walls. I slumped against the nearest of those walls and slid to the floor, my muscles unable to hold me now that the adrenaline rush had passed.
Tedd’s defense still rang in my head. Was she right? Or had she maybe protested too much?
I tried to pick my way through the avalanche of thoughts. Then the back door opened again, but no alarm blared.
“Did you forget something, Tedd?” I asked.
Instead, Dutch walked in. “No. I let myself in because I need measurements to custom build floor-to-ceiling bookcases for that back wall. I don’t want to mess up the order when I call the lumberyard tomorrow.”
A giddy cobbler found a home in my head; his little hammer pounded out a steady beat. I rubbed my forehead. What else would go wrong today?
“Don’t let me keep you from your work,” I said.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Sure, I was. That’s why my voice broke and tears formed. It took a genius to figure it out. Not.
No genius, but no dummy either, Dutch came over and joined me on the floor. “What’s up?”
His voice swirled like silk around me, and his eyes showed only concern. My tears did their thing. Hot and copious, they flooded my cheeks, pooled in the corners of my lips, dropped off my chin. I’ve never been the kind to cry in dainty sobs and delicate droplets. Nope. I’m the kind with the Rudolph schnozz, bunny-rabbit red eyes, fire-engine cheeks kind of tears.
Okay, so I bawled.
Dutch reached over and took my hand. “Don’t know what’s up, but it’s probably good for you to cry it out. I’ll wait. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
My sobs broke too hard for me to spit a zinger at him. I don’t know if I would have even if I had been able to. I clung to his hand and cried some more.
When I didn’t have one more tear left in me, I swiped my sopped cheeks with the back of my free hand. My breath came in shuddery gusts, my throat hurt, my eyes stung, my nose burned.