Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky (2 page)

The Granite Cove Senior Life Center consists of an administration building and four three-story residence buildings set in a semicircle. This allows the residents to keep an eye on each other. Recently, when Mrs. Bullock fell on her way to the mail box, three tenants dialed 911. My dad, however, doesn’t appreciate that safety aspect. He claims his neighbors aren’t looking out for him, they’re looking at him. He could be right.

Amazingly enough, the administration building was once Dad’s elementary school. Seventy years ago he raced up those thick granite steps carrying a lunch pail. Today that little boy is an old man carrying a cane.

Conditions inside his apartment were worse than usual. Dried oatmeal was stuck like barnacles to the stove top. Coffee grounds speckled the kitchen tiles. The odor of stale laundry hung in the air. I decided to forego using the bathroom. All in all, it was enough to gag a maggot.

“I thought Doris was cleaning today,” I said, hanging my jacket on a doorknob.

“She was supposed to. That’s why I went out, to get out of her way.”

It was obvious the housekeeper hadn’t visited. People like Doris Zack, a home health aide, enable my dad to live independently following his stroke.

I found her phone number on a refrigerator magnet and dialed from the kitchen. Doris answered on the first ring. “This is Rose McNichols. I’m at my father’s place.”

“Oh, Rose!” She wailed so loud I held the phone away from my ear. “I should have called him but…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The police just brought me home.”

“The police? Whatever for?”

“This morning I… I found a body.”

“What do you mean, Doris? Whose body?”

Dad shouted from the living room, “Is she coming or not?”

I motioned him to be quiet and asked her, “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay now. It’s shock. Matter of fact, I only answered the phone ’cause I thought you might be Doc Moss’s office. They’re sending some pills for my nerves.”

“I won’t keep you then.”

“Hold on a minute, Rose. I might as well tell you, but keep it to yourself. It’s not for the newspaper, not yet. What happened was, around seven this morning I’d gone to clean at the Harbour Building, the fancy new place near the park? I’ve got a couple of private clients that I do early before my agency regulars. One of them’s Dr. Klinger, you know, the good-looking head doctor?”

“I know who she is.”

“Anyway, I was cleaning her office, and when I went behind the desk… that’s when I saw her.”

“Saw who?”

“Dr. Klinger. She was lying on the floor in a slip. She was dead all right.”

“What! You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Her hair kind of covered her face, and when I bent closer, I saw blood on the back of her head.” Doris wheezed into the phone.

“That’s okay. Take it easy. What did you do?”

“I picked up the phone to call the police, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the number. So I went into Mr. Farley’s office, he’s right next door, for a phone book. My hands shook so much I couldn’t hold it. I told Harold that’s it, I’m getting one of those cell phones that the young people have.’”

“You didn’t call 911?”

“The police asked me that same question. When Harold had his heart scare, I called 911 because I figured it was for home emergencies. I didn’t think it was for reporting dead people.”

“I’m sure that’s a normal reaction. You were certain she was dead?”

“I’m sure. Years ago I was helping at the Methodist bean supper. You remember Margaret Stank, the minister’s sister-in-law?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She was in charge of decorating, but when we got to the church, the tables were bare. No place mats, no centerpieces, nothing. We figured she forgot. Margaret was a little scatterbrained like her sister, but don’t quote me. Me and the other ladies pitched in and got to work. At one point I went into the pantry to get more pickles and found Margaret dead on the floor. They said she had a glandular…”

“Doris, you were saying how you couldn’t call the police this morning?”

“Right. What happened was, I ran outside. It’s early and no one’s around, so I went to that little convenience store nearby. A sign on the door said Back in Five Minutes. The kid that works there goes out back for a smoke. I’ve been meaning to speak to the manager.”

“Yes, Doris, what happened next?” The woman needed a Border Collie to keep her mind on track.

“I went behind the store where he’s sitting on a milk crate, smoking. I says to him, ‘Call the police,’ and he says, ‘I’m on my break.’ Glory be to God, Rose, he’s taking a break and hasn’t been open more than an hour. That got me mad so I says, ‘There’s been a murder.’ Well, that got his attention. He goes, ‘Where?’ and I said, ‘None of your business. Let me in to use the phone.’”

“And then you called the police?” I asked, prodding her along.

“Not quite. It’s a pay phone, and I’ve only got a dollar bill in my apron pocket, so I tell the kid I need change. He says he can’t open the cash register unless I buy something. By that time I’m ready to explode, and you know me, Rose, I’m easy-going. Just ask your dad. He’ll tell you how I’m always joking.”

“Doris, did you call the police?” The perp could be setting sail on the Queen Mary by the time Doris finished her story.

“I was getting to that. First I bought some chips so’s the kid could open the register, and then I called the police. When I got back to the Harbour Building, the cops were already there.”

I sighed. “Thank you, Doris. Do you have anyone at home with you?”

“I got Harold. The cops picked him up at the Senior Center. He plays pool there Tuesdays.” She chuckled. “He says he almost swallowed his teeth when they walked in, asking for him.”

“Did the police identify the body?”

“I suppose they did, but they never said anything to me. Chief Alfano won’t tell you if your coat’s on fire. Here I was the one who called it in, and he won’t let me go back in the building to get my pocketbook and cleaning supplies. Cal Devine gave me a ride home in his cruiser.”

Good old Cal. “Would you like me to come over?”

“Thanks, Rose, but I’m better now.” She yawned. “I’m going to pull the curtains and lie down awhile. Tell your dad I’ll get to his place probably on Thursday. I got some makeup work to do first.”

“Don’t worry about that. If it’s okay, I’d like to stop by tomorrow morning.”

“That’s fine. By the way, there’s one thing I forgot.”

“What’s that?”

“Chief Alfano told me not to say anything ‘til they had a chance to notify the family. Keep this under your hat.”

“You know me, Doris.”

After hanging up I dialed the cell phone of Cal Devine, my favorite cop who also happens to be a former boyfriend. He answered, his voice hushed. “Rosie, why am I not surprised to hear from you?”

“I’ve been talking to Doris Zack. What’s going on?”

“Wait a minute. I’m sitting in the parking lot with twenty cops from Rockport to Boston. Let me get out and talk.” The sound of a car door slamming was followed by the crunch of gravel. Cal resumed talking, louder now. “Okay, McNichols, what do you want to know? By the way, I figured Doris Zack’s silence wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“Just tell me what’s happening there. Doris mentioned Dr. Klinger.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, okay? In a nutshell, the victim is Vivian Klinger, a local shrink with an office at the Harbour Building. Apparently she was working late last night when someone paid a visit and clubbed her.”

“My God, I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“She’s dead all right. We’ll know more after the coroner’s report. They’re not using Doc Moss for this. They got someone from Boston.”

“Was it robbery?”

“Doesn’t seem to be. Nothing’s out of place and the surrounding offices weren’t touched. They’re thinking it’s a patient with a grudge.”

“What was the murder weapon?”

“Blunt instrument, a club, judging from the wound.”

“One more thing.”

“Make it quick, honey. The chief’s gonna make a statement.”

“Was Dr. Klinger sexually assaulted? I understand she was wearing a slip.”

“Somebody ought to duct tape Doris Zack’s mouth. Yes, she was wearing a slip, but we won’t know until the coroner’s report.”

“Thanks, Cal. I’ll call you soon.”

“How come you only call when you want information?”

“I’ll try to do better. No suspects then?”

Cal sighed. “Right now everyone’s a suspect, including Doris Zack. After all, she had a key to the office.”

“Do me a favor,” I said. “Don’t tell her.”

After hanging up I leaned against the refrigerator and stared off into space. How could Dr. Klinger, of all people, be dead? I had seen her on local TV two nights ago. The hospital’s mental health unit was promoting the fact that April is Depression Month and the clinic offered free screenings.

Dr. Klinger looked professional and glamorous at the same time. Her dark hair gleamed under the studio lights. She exuded such competence I almost picked up the phone to make a screening appointment. Nonetheless, I have a pretty good idea what my depression score would reveal, that I’m somewhere between pessimism and despair. Blame it on April, the cruelest month.

Dad interrupted my reverie. “What did Doris say? Is she coming over?”

“Not today, Dad. Maybe Thursday.” I decided there was no point in telling him about the murder. He’d hear soon enough.

“They better not charge me for today,” he muttered.

I had to get back to the office pronto. Before leaving, I unwrapped Dad’s lunch and set it out. On my way out the door, I made sure his dead bolt lock was securely in place.

Yvonne’s bug-eyed stare indicated she’d heard the news. “Rose! I’ve been trying to get you for an hour. Don’t you answer your phone?”

“I left as soon as I heard,” I said, making a beeline for my desk. “What do you want me to do?”

“You can start on Dr. Klinger’s bio. We’ve got file photos but nothing recent.”

“I took some great shots at that award luncheon. Let me find them.” I tossed my pocketbook on the desk and booted up my old Mac.

“I’ve been getting calls from all over New England. Beth’s coming in to help with the phones. The poor woman was done in by a deranged patient.”

“Who told you that?”

“Insider knowledge. When they find out about her background, this town will be crawling with media.” She bit her lip. &ldquot;We’d better have a staff meeting and decide how we’re going to handle this situation.”

Yvonne was talking to herself, a sign of nerves. Her editorial experience was in society news. For twenty-five years she covered ladies’ teas and fashion shows for a suburban daily that was bought by the same newspaper chain that bought ours. For some perverse reason they appointed her our editor-in-chief. The move was either a promotion or an attempt to force her into retiring.

“A staff meeting sounds good,” I said. “Where are Coral and Stew?”

“Coral’s taking photos of the Harbour Building. The area is roped off, but she can get some nice exterior shots.”

Coral, our gardening and home columnist, has been with the paper since the days of lead type. When she started talking retirement, Yvonne gave me the housekeeping column to lighten her load. Basically, what I know about housekeeping could fill a gnat’s belly button, and I told her so. She said, “Have fun with it,” and I am. So far, the readers haven’t caught on.

“So Coral’s out. Where’s Stew?” I asked, but Yvonne didn’t answer. She appeared to be in a trance, gazing out the window and scratching her forearms. When she gets nervous, her eczema flares up. I repeated my question.

“Stewart? Oh, he’s interviewing the headmaster at Dana Hall, a prep school Dr. Klinger attended.”

“That leaves just the two of us for a staff meeting,” I pointed out. “How about waiting until tomorrow? This story will be huge. Dr. Klinger came from a very wealthy family. Why don’t we put out an early edition?”

Yvonne frowned. “We’ve never done anything like that before. It might appear crass, as if we’re taking advantage of a tragedy.”

“Yvonne, the story is bigger than Granite Cove. Dr. Klinger was an icon in this town, and let’s not forget she was murdered.”

“Don’t say that word.” She shut her eyes.

“I admit it’s shocking, especially for Granite Cove. Nothing like that’s ever happened here. But we can’t relegate it to the police notes. Everyone else will play it up big.”

Perhaps my matter-of-fact attitude got through to her. In any case she quit digging at her skin. After a moment’s silence she said, “I suppose we could approach it as a tribute to a well-respected citizen.” She glanced at me. “Yes, I’m comfortable with that. Now, what did you say you have for photos?”

“Remember when I covered the Women’s Professional League awards luncheon? Dr. Klinger was Woman of the Year. I got some great shots.”

“Fine. See what you’ve got and get started on the bio. In the meantime, I’m waiting for a call from Chief Alfano. He’s giving me an exclusive.”

At the mention of his name, her cheeks flushed. I knew what kind of exclusive that would be. If Chief Alfano were forbidden to use the word “I” he’d be rendered speechless. “I’m afraid he’s in over his head,” I said.

“Nonsense. This town doesn’t appreciate the man’s capabilities.”

There was no point in arguing with Yvonne when it came to the chief, but at least she was focused and back on track. Things would hum along, at least until the next derailment.

While Yvonne took phone calls, I looked through files in my desk. The day of the luncheon, I’d taken at least fifteen shots. My demeanor at the time had been professional, my mood sour. Being chosen Woman of the Year by the Professional League is an honor, and while I may snicker at the group’s pretensions, every year I hope to be named. This year, not only was I not chosen, I had to work the luncheon. Halfway through the Chicken Picatta, I got up to snap photos. When I returned to my seat, my plate was gone. Not even a lousy doggy bag.

I finally found the CD and, after inserting it into the computer, studied the photos. Dr. Klinger looked so vibrant. One close-up captured her polished perfection: wide, confident smile and dark, shoulder-length hair with a premature silver streak on the left side.