Murder in the Secret Garden (24 page)

“Jonathan Mark,” he said, extending his hand. “It's a pleasure to have you with us, Olivia.” He then quickly introduced the rest of the team members. The busty, dark-haired nurse who'd successfully soothed Milton was Tracy Genvita, and the older nurse with the beautiful skin and eyes was Wanda Watts.

Dr. Mark went on to explain that Haley Hill, the baby-faced woman in pink-and-white scrubs was a nurse's aide, before moving on to the clergyman. His name was Bob Rhodes, and he served as the associate pastor of the church Rachel
and Milton attended. Dr. Mark finished up with Lynne Stuart, the dour-faced matron who served as a volunteer for both the hospice and the church. The introductions completed, Dr. Mark shifted his attention back to Laurel. “Will Steve be joining us?”

“He's late!” Milton snapped before Laurel could answer. “Apparently, his practice is more important than his mother.”

“Having gotten to know your son a little, I doubt that's the case,” Dr. Mark said kindly. “Let's review how things are going. Hopefully, Steve will slip in while we're talking. Okay?”

“Okay.” Laurel flashed the doctor a grateful smile.

Olivia listened as the hospice team discussed Rachel's condition. She was impressed by how they presented the facts without sounding remotely distant or cold. If anything, they all seemed to know Rachel and to genuinely care about her welfare. The team didn't focus on just the medical details either. Once those had been reviewed, Dr. Mark asked for feedback from everyone present, and by the time each person had spoken, an entire range of subjects had been covered. They discussed changes in Rachel's diet, her current emotional state, her spiritual needs, her favorite sources of entertainment, and anything else that might have come up since their last meeting.

The team had been sharing for twenty minutes when Steve arrived, out of breath and murmuring apologies about a tricky case.

Milton rolled his eyes and shook his head in unconcealed disgust. Steve ignored these gestures as he pulled out a vacant chair on the opposite side of the table from his father. Spotting Olivia, he paused to glare accusingly at Laurel before asking, “So where are we?”

“The team just finished updating us on your mother's condition,” Milton said tersely. “I'm sure they don't have
time to repeat everything, so I'd like to talk about our next step.” He quickly swiveled his chair in order to address Dr. Mark. “Rachel is eating less and less. When will you consider putting in a feeding tube?”

“I don't think Mom needs one yet. Does she, Doctor?” Steve spread his arms wide, placing his hands flat on the table. He inhaled deeply, filling his chest with air. Olivia wondered if Laurel's husband was trying to appear physically domineering or if it was a subconscious movement.

Jonathan Mark weighed the pros and cons of inserting a feeding tube and patiently and attentively listened to the concerns Milton and Steve had on the subject. Olivia had never encountered a physician with such an unhurried manner. He listened with every fiber of his being—maintaining eye contact, nodding, and repeating each person's concerns to make sure he correctly understood them. By doing so, he managed to defuse the tension between father and son.

Olivia was most impressed by Dr. Mark.

The meeting was eventually called to an end when Tracy's pager went off.

“Excuse me,” she said, moving to a far corner of the room. Pulling a cell phone from the pocket of her scrubs, she dialed a number and listened. She then assured the caller that she was on her way.

“Is it Rachel?” Milton asked, his eyes fearful. “Is she okay?”

It was at that moment that Olivia saw him for what he truly was: a man who would give anything to have more time with his wife. And what of Steve? He undoubtedly wanted his mother to live as long as possible too, but he didn't want her to suffer. He was ready to let her go if letting her go meant that she'd have a peaceful death.

Does such a thing actually exist?
Olivia thought dubiously.

She wanted to believe in the possibility of people slipping
away in their sleep, caught up in the arms of a sweet dream. She wanted to believe in such a serene passing, but she'd seen too many violent deaths—too many murders—to invest much faith in the other kind. The kind where a person dies in their own bed, surrounded by loved ones. It seemed like a foreign concept to her and yet, that was precisely what Milton, Steve, Laurel, and the people of KindredCare were trying to give Rachel. A graceful exit. A departure on one's own terms.

“She's asking for me,” Tracy said, looking at Milton. “I'm late for my shift and you know how changes in her routine can upset her. I'm going to head out.”

“Thanks, Tracy.” Dr. Mark rose to his feet. “Okay, folks. Let's see how Rachel does over the weekend. I'll check in with the dietician on Monday and we can revisit the topic of the feeding tube then. Feel free to call if other concerns arise. We'll keep working together to provide Rachel with the best possible care.”

With the meeting adjourned, the hospice employees left. Steve informed Laurel that he wouldn't be home for supper because he wanted to spend the evening with his mother, and then he and his father also departed, arguing all the way down the hall.

Pastor Rhodes made to leave as well, but Lynne asked him to wait. “I want to tell Laurel about Rachel's request. I'm sure she'll want to do something to help.”

Olivia didn't care for the woman's tone. The implication was that Laurel's efforts had been found wanting but that she was now being offered the chance to remedy her lack of daughterly devotion.

“Of course,” Laurel said, playing right into Lynne's hands. “What is it?”

Lynne smoothed the material of her cardigan with a self-satisfied air. “You know Rachel's collection of Hummel
figurines? One's broken and she'd really like to see it repaired as soon as possible. It's her favorite piece. She's asked both Milton and Steve to take care of it
several
times, but I guess they're both just too overwrought to get it done.”

Laurel looked nonplussed. “I don't know how to fix—”

“Fred Yoder would,” Olivia cut in brightly. “Give me directions to your in-law's condo, Laurel. I'll get the Hummel and take it directly to Fred.”

Laurel's relief was nearly palpable. “Really? Because that way, I could still make it to the grocery store and meet the twins' when they get off the school bus.”

Olivia directed her reply at Lynne. Beaming at the pug-nosed woman, she said, “Problem solved. Thank you
so much
for bringing this to Laurel's attention.”

Lynne gave her cardigan another tug, muttered something about her Christian duty, and marched out of the room. A baffled Pastor Rhodes followed in her wake.

“I don't envy you,” Olivia told Laurel. “You're in the middle of a very trying ordeal. I can see why you can't work on your novel, but do some journaling so you can vent. Don't hold everything inside. Okay?

Laurel promised to do her best. After giving Olivia directions to the condo, the two friends parted ways.

Olivia wasn't about to face a dying woman alone. She wasn't good with strangers under normal circumstances, and she had no experience with the terminally ill. Also, everything she knew of Rachel Hobbs came from what Laurel had told her over the years, and these anecdotes had not left a favorable impression. Rachel was a doting, overly involved mother. Steve was her only child, and she'd never forgiven him for getting married. She was fond of her grandsons, Dallas and Dermot, but had never shown an ounce of warmth toward Laurel. In fact, she seemed to look for excuses to criticize her son's wife. Nothing Laurel did was
ever good enough, even though everyone who knew the Hobbs Family believed that Laurel did a great job balancing a successful career with her home life.

Maybe Rachel has become kindhearted now that her days are numbered
, Olivia thought hopefully. She doubted this was true, however. She found that people rarely had major personality reversals. Even when death was a certainty, and in Rachel's case it was close at hand, Olivia didn't think people suddenly just stopped being who'd they'd always been and started being someone else. She knew fear had the power to change people. As did love. She had been molded by both emotions, but she was still Olivia Limoges.

“The Captain now looks more like an Admiral,” the owner of A Pampered Pooch told Olivia as she led Captain Haviland into the front room.

“He
is
a handsome fellow,” Olivia agreed and leaned down to kiss her poodle on his black nose. He rewarded her with a lick on the cheek and then pranced over to the door, his caramel-colored eyes lit with an anticipatory gleam. He was ready for a ride in the car.

“You wouldn't be wagging your tail so vigorously if you knew where we were headed,” Olivia said once she had Haviland safely fastened in his dog harness in the backseat of her new Range Rover Evoque. This was a novel arrangement for them both. Previously, Haviland had enjoyed sole proprietorship of the passenger seat. Now that Olivia was married, however, Police Chief Sawyer Rawlings claimed ownership of that seat, leaving Haviland the bench seat.

As Olivia drove through downtown Oyster Bay, her spirits were lifted by the sight of the tinsel candy canes fastened to the top of each street lamp and the wreaths of fresh greens festooned with red velvet bows hanging from every shop door. Christmas hadn't meant much to her until her half brother and his children had come into her life, but now,
she enjoyed the holiday, reveling in her role as the doting aunt.

“We have arrived, Captain. Sandcrest Condominiums,” Olivia said, reading the gilt sign attached to the wall of a small gatehouse. Unlike most of the newer planned communities in Oyster Bay, this one actually boasted a working electronic gate and a uniformed security guard. Olivia put down her window as the guard approached.

“Who are you here to see?” he asked with complete disinterest.

“Rachel Hobbs.”

“One moment.”

The guard returned to his miniature cottage and made a quick call. Olivia clearly passed muster for the gate slid open and the guard gestured for Olivia to drive forward. She did, wondering for the first time how the Hobbs had acquired their wealth. She'd never thought to ask Laurel what line of work they'd been in, but she knew that their Oyster Bay condo was one of several residences Milton and Rachel owned. Because of Rachel's illness, it had become their primary residence.

The condo, which was originally a place for them to stay when they were visiting Steve and his family, was an end unit with a large patio, a lovely garden, and a two-car garage. The interior was also impressive, and when Tracy, the hospice nurse, invited Olivia to wait in the living room while she fetched the broken Hummel, Olivia took note of the expensive furnishings as well as the top-of-the-line appliances in the kitchen.

It wasn't until she moved closer to the locked bookcases that the extent of the Hobb's wealth became more apparent. Each shelf was crammed with costly, leather-bound first editions, delicate Staffordshire and Meissen figurines, and Chinese porcelain that looked, even to Olivia's inexpert eye, like very early pieces. Now thoroughly intrigued, Olivia
tiptoed into the hallway and was rewarded by the sight of a row of framed Picasso drawings.

Olivia was drawn deeper into the condo by Picasso's bold, fluid lines. As she marveled over a series of female nudes and then ogled a splendid study of a horse, she couldn't help but overhear voices at the end of the corridor.

“Laurel sent a stranger to pick up my Hummel?” Rachel Hobbs sounded tired and weak, but still managed to convey disgust. “It's too bad Steve didn't marry someone like you, my dear. You're so good to me and I bet you'd know how to take care of him too.”

“I like to think so,” the second woman replied with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Standing in the dim hallway, Olivia balled her fists. She didn't care for the possessive note in the nurse's voice. And why did she say “I like” instead of “I'd like,” as though it wasn't just wishful thinking.

Olivia retreated to the living room and tried to calm down. She'd come to Rachel's place to relieve Laurel of one of her burdens, but what if she'd just stumbled on a truth that could tear her friend's world apart?

Is Steve having an affair?

This question was foremost in Olivia's mind as she accepted a small box from Tracy, who flashed her a guileless smile as she showed her out. It was the question that ran on an endless loop as Olivia drove back through town.

This time, she didn't notice the Christmas decorations. She didn't see the tinsel candy canes wink in the December sun or draw a comparison between the red cheeks on the plastic Santa outside the hardware store to a pair of crabapples.

Olivia was far too focused on getting to Rawlings for any of these things to register. She needed to talk what she'd heard—and what she'd felt—over with him. She needed his good sense and his reason. She needed him to make her believe that she was blowing this way out of proportion.

Because if Rawlings didn't convince her not to, Olivia would ferret out the truth concerning Steve Hobbs. And if it turned out that he was cheating on Laurel, Olivia would hurt the man. She didn't have a plan yet, but she would do something. If Laurel suffered, then Steve would suffer.

Olivia would see to that.

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