Last Licks (6 page)

“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.”

By the time
Will returned, Sunny had gotten Ken to loan her a young woman spending an unpaid summer working in the office of the
Harbor Courier.
The intern had walked over to the office, and Sunny was busily bringing her up to speed on the duties to keep MAX going. “Remember, Nancy, whatever you do, don’t install any upgrades on any components in the system. As soon as that happens, it fouls up the way everything else works.”

As they went over the remainder of the points in the checklist Sunny had worked up, she noticed that Nancy kept glancing over her shoulder at Will. Lounging against the wall of file cabinets in sunglasses, a tight gray Henley shirt, and a pair of black jeans, he made a pretty good distraction.

Sunny finished with Nancy’s orientation, then left her to go through the morning’s e-mails.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she told Will. “You’re looking pretty casual.” She fingered the short-sleeved jacket she wore with matching slacks—simple, but businesslike.

“You’ve heard of good cop–bad cop? We’ll try well-dressed cop versus scroungy cop.” Will grinned. “Once you’re out of uniform, crime-busting has no dress code.”

Rolling her eyes, Sunny stepped outside to her Wrangler while Will climbed aboard his pickup. They drove up to Bridgewater Hall, arriving around eleven in the morning. That turned out to be lucky timing, as they encountered a volunteer just rolling Oliver out of the therapy room. Ollie held a rolling walker balanced on the footrests while Elsa Hogue walked beside the wheelchair, talking. Even though the therapist wore another dumpy-looking sweat suit, she seemed to move more naturally, even smiling at Ollie. “It gets easier the longer you work at it,” she assured him.

“Thanks,” Sunny heard Ollie reply. “It’s nice to know I can do
something
right.”

He smiled hopefully as he looked up at Elsa. But his expression instantly hardened when he spotted Sunny and Will. “About time you got here,” he said gruffly.

“I had to get things squared away,” Sunny told him. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Elsa spoke up. “If you call down to the coffee shop, you can reserve a table, and they’ll have Mr. Barnstable’s lunch waiting when you get there. It’s a nice, quiet place where you can order a meal and chat.”

“Thanks,” Ollie said. “That’s very nice of you to tell us.”

“And have you tried the gardens?” Elsa went on. “They’re really beautiful this time of year.” She smiled down at Ollie the Barnacle and tried to look strict. “Just make it back by one thirty—Jack has big plans for you today.”

“With advance warning like that, I might not come back at all,” Ollie said.

“I know it’s hard, especially to start, but I think you’re one of the patients who takes the work seriously.” Elsa frowned. “Some don’t, and they never regain full function again.”

Ollie nodded. “It’s tough. The little I did yesterday just about knocked me out,” he admitted.

She patted his shoulder. “It really does get better. Believe me.” Then she turned to leave. “Now, let’s see if I can convince Mrs. Jaspers of that.”

Will took over the wheelchair from the volunteer, and Sunny directed him down the hallway. “So, Ollie, do you want to try this coffee shop?”

“Yeah,” Ollie said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang around in the room anyway. They had somebody coming in with all kinds of disinfectant sprays when I was leaving.”

Will glanced at Sunny, his expression showing that his worst fears had come true regarding their potential crime scene. He could only raise his shoulders in a hopeless shrug. “They’ve probably contaminated the place already.” He glanced down at Ollie. “Maybe it’s better to let the fumes evaporate before you go back in.”

They stopped at the nurses’ station, and a helpful nurse made the call to the coffee shop for them. “Take the hallway to the front door and make the first turnoff,” she said when they asked how to find the place. “You’ll pass the entrance to the auditorium, and a little farther on you’ll find the coffee shop. You can’t miss it.”

For Sunny, the words “coffee shop” evoked loud, crowded places that served quick, cheap eats, with linoleum-topped tables and waitstaffs rushed off their feet. But Bridgewater Hall’s so-called “coffee shop” reminded Sunny of one of those tearooms of yesteryear—a throwback to an age of more gracious living. It was small, just a dozen or so tables, but each one was decked out with a white tablecloth; embroidered banquettes surrounded slightly larger tables; and for the lone or rushed eater, a few tall chairs faced a highly polished mahogany counter.

“Nicer than a lot of the eateries in town,” Sunny said.

“A better bar, too,” Ollie muttered, taking in the lunch counter. “I wonder if I could get a beer here.”

An older woman with permed white hair approached them with some menus. “Is this the Barnstable party? I can seat you here over by the window.” She led the way to a table with a splendid view of the gardens. Will parked Ollie’s wheelchair facing the window, and he and Sunny sat down flanking him.

“Elsa wasn’t kidding,” Sunny said. “It looks lovely out there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ollie griped, already done with small talk. “What kind of progress have you made?”

Sunny was about to protest that they hadn’t had time to do anything yet, but Will jumped in with, “I tracked down Alfred Scatterwell and gave him a call.” This was news to her. “He was definitely not happy to hear that you had doubts about his uncle’s death, but he agreed to speak to us tomorrow morning,” Will reported.

Ollie grunted and turned to Sunny, but she started talking before he could ask any embarrassing questions. “What we really need to hear is what happened this morning. Start from the beginning, and tell us what you saw and heard.”

Before Ollie could start, the permed manageress returned to take their orders. “You’re our first customers of the day,” she said, nodding toward the empty tables around them. “You beat the rush.”

Sunny and Will both ordered the hamburger platter. Their choices arrived quickly, along with Ollie’s lunch. Sunny looked at her boss’s slivers of meat in a reddish sauce. “What is it supposed to be?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Pulled pork?”

“According to the menu I signed off on, it’s turkey tetrazzini.” Ollie unenthusiastically poked at it with his fork. “They give you a lot of choices for each meal, but one always seems to be baked fish. On paper, this looked the least bad.” He raised a forkful to his mouth and began chewing.

“So how is it?” Will arranged the tomato and onion slices on his burger and took a bite.

“Better than yesterday’s Salisbury steak. I guess a lot of the old folks’ teeth probably aren’t up to anything more solid than ground or chopped-up meat. I just wish that they didn’t always seem to have run out of salt in the kitchen.” He watched greedily as Sunny sprinkled salt and pepper on her fries, then dumped a blob of catsup on the side. “I could kill for one of those fries.”

“Are you allowed to have them, though?” Will asked.

Ollie’s expression fell somewhere between annoyed and heartbroken. “They gave me some with the Salisbury steak. Eighteen, to be exact. I counted each one as I ate it.”

Well, the visitors obviously get a more generous portion of French fries.
Sunny turned her plate toward Ollie, who reached over to grab a fry—the biggest one, of course—dunked it in the catsup, and then just about inhaled it.

“Well, they don’t stint you on the food,” Will said, not turning his plate to share. “I see green beans, pasta, bread, coffee, milk, and both fruit and Jell-O.”

“Yeah.” Ollie’s eyes followed Will’s burger as he brought it up for another bite. “I’m just a lucky fella.”

“So tell us what happened.” Sunny wanted to get this meeting back on track before Ollie made a grab for her pickle.

“Specifically, why do you think something’s wrong?” Will put in.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of the doctors.” Ollie leaned forward in his wheelchair, his voice low. “They’ll say I was crazy, or dreaming, or blame the pain pills. I’ve been cutting down on them, but I do take one the last thing at night. Makes it easier to sleep.”

“I can understand that,” Will said. “But what did you see?”

“It was more like what I heard.” Ollie shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. “Somebody was definitely in the room, with Gardner. I don’t know if what I heard woke me up, or if my eyes just popped open, and that’s why I heard it. But I know I woke up all of a sudden, in the dark, and I heard rustling and low voices over by Gardner’s bed.”

“What were they saying?” Sunny asked.

Ollie shrugged. “I couldn’t make it out. Just a mumble of voices, then a cough—that was Gardner, I think. And then . . .” Ollie groped for a word. “It sounded like someone smacking their lips. I know, that doesn’t make much sense. But at the time I thought,
Gardner’s been here awhile and knows everybody. He’s got connections. Maybe somebody’s smuggling in a glass of something for him
. He told me once that given the choice, he’d prefer a snifter of brandy to a pain pill. And frankly, I agreed.”

“It certainly might make you cough,” Will said.

“And you might smack your lips afterward,” Sunny added. “But it’s something
you
wanted, so you could be projecting. Or you might’ve been dreaming.”

“That’s not the kind of thing I usually dream about.” Again, Ollie paused, trying to put his feelings into words. “It felt . . . real.”

I don’t think I want to know what Ollie usually dreams about,
Sunny thought, and then found her mocking inner voice
chiming in.
Says the woman who had a dream about marrying her cat.

“I debated speaking up but decided against it.” Ollie shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I mean, whatever was going on, Gardner was doing it on the sly. I figured if I heard it going on for a couple of nights, I’d ask him about it quietly. Now I wish I’d made a stink—at least found out who was with him.”

“That might not have been the smartest thing,” Will told him. “If it was a killer, what do you think would have happened to you?”

Ollie opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, then shut it with a snap. “I didn’t think of that.”

“So what did you do?” Sunny asked.

“I closed my eyes and must have drifted back to sleep. The next thing I hear, Gardner is moaning. I sat up and got a light on. He tried to talk, but I could barely understand him. Said his face was numb. When he tried to get the beeper for the nurse, he couldn’t handle it. I don’t know if you noticed it, but after his stroke, he was weaker on his left side. Now his right side wasn’t working right, either.”

He shook his head. “I called the nurse, and while I was doing that, Gardner puked. He was choking on the stuff when the nurses arrived. They worked on him, and then Dr. Gavrik charged in. Within a couple of minutes, they were calling for an ambulance. The paramedics came and rushed him off.” Ollie sagged back in his chair. “From what I heard, he was gone before they even got him in the ambulance.”

“And you started raising hell,” Sunny said.

A bit of Ollie’s normal hard edge came back. “I told everyone who’d listen that something was wrong. That Gavrik woman wanted to give me a tranquilizer, but by then I’d already called Frank Nesbit.” He smiled grimly. “Sometimes it’s handy to have the sheriff’s home number.”

Will leaned across the table. “Did you tell him what you heard before Scatterwell’s attack?”

“I didn’t get the chance,” Ollie said. “Dr. Gavrik was all over me, and then they brought in the muckety-muck, Reese. He runs this joint.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was lucky enough to convince Frank through other means.”

Political means,
Sunny thought
.

“Do you think this is enough for Nesbit to open an official investigation?” Ollie asked.

“I figure he’s already got me—us—on the hook,” Will quickly said, frowning. “According to your agreement, he’s the one who sits in judgment as to whether there’s a case or not.”

“Well, yeah,” Ollie said. “But—”

“And you know that he doesn’t like to admit that crimes ever happen in his jurisdiction,” Will went on.

Ollie looked so woebegone, Sunny let him have the rest of her French fries. Apparently, chewing helped his thinking process. “Do you know if it’s usual for stroke victims to throw up?”

Will shrugged.

“My dad’s doctor, Dr. Collier, may be able to help,” Sunny suggested. “His practice treats heart ailments and strokes.”

Sunny looked at Ollie’s plate. In spite of his complaints, he’d made good inroads on most of the food there. The turkey was completely gone.

It didn’t seem like there was much else to discuss about the case, so Sunny asked how Ollie’s rehab therapy was going. “Elsa had me working while I sat down,” he said. “She wants me to work my upper body and arms so I can deal with this thing.” He reached for the walker they’d put off to the side. “Now I can look forward to an hour of PT—or as Gardner used to call it, painful torture. I don’t know which is worse, the pain from my leg, or the fear of falling.”

The reminder of Scatterwell’s sometimes sharp tongue stirred a memory for Sunny. “Did Gardner ever say anything about Elsa Hogue?”

Ollie stared at the unexpected question. “No. Why should he?”

“Just wondering. Did he have a nickname for your physical therapist?”

Grinning, Ollie nodded. “He called him Jack the Gripper, from the way he steadies people by holding on to the seat of their pants.”

“Well, that one makes sense.” Sunny glanced around to see that the room was starting to fill up. It looked like the customers were mainly long-term residents and members of their families. “Maybe we should get a move on. Looks as though they could use the table.”

Sunny and Will settled their bills and then set off for the rehab ward, wheeling Ollie along. When they reached Room 114, the pungent smell of disinfectant leaked out into the hallway. Ollie vigorously fanned his hand in front of his nose. “Maybe we should go straight to the therapy room.”

“Just give me a minute.” Will stepped inside. Gardner’s bed still remained stripped, and the drawers on the chest at the foot of his bed all stood open.