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Authors: Patricia Smith Wood

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BOOK: The Easter Egg Murder
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24

 

 

For someone who hated being inside a hospital, Harrie had certainly seen too much of this particular one in the last few days. They were seated in one of the waiting areas scattered around the facility. Construction was ongoing, and Harrie could hear a jackhammer, rata-tat-tatting away close by.

Ginger paced a short distance away, her cell phone to her ear, still trying to reach Steve. DJ had spoken with the ER gatekeeper and had been admitted after showing his credentials. Things were eerily similar to Wednesday night.

“I’ve left five voicemail messages on Steve’s phone,” Ginger said as she dropped down in the chair beside Harrie. “I suppose all I can do is wait. I called my mom and she got hysterical, of course. Thank God my dad was there to calm her down. I promised I’d call them back when we know anything.” She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. “Is it just me or is the world going crazy?”

“I don’t know about the rest of the world but I can tell you our own little corner of it is.”


Ramona tried to call me after she found him on the floor,” Ginger said. “If only I’d had my cell phone turned on when I left home.”

Harrie hugged her friend. “There’s nothing you could have done
. And it’s better that you didn’t go tearing off by yourself. I’m glad I was there to help. Well, to be more accurate, I guess I’m glad DJ was there to help. Although why he thought I wasn’t capable of driving you down here is beyond me.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Ginger whispered. “Here comes your Knight in Shining Armor.”

Ginger’s cell phone chirped. “It’s Steve. Thank God! Go talk to DJ while I fill my poor husband in on what’s happening.”

Ginger
walked over to a quiet corner, leaving Harrie waiting for DJ and feeling tongue tied-again.

“The news is both good and bad,” he said. “The bad news is they have to operate. He was shot in the upper torso and they need to remove the bullet. Then when he fell, he hit his head, so they also must assess possible damage to his brain. He’s been unconscious since Mrs. Sanchez found him. So here’s the good news. At this point, they don
’t think it’s life threatening. But the surgery will take several hours. He really is going to be okay.”

Ginger walked up just as he finished the last part. “Did I hear you say he’s going to be okay? When can I see him? I have to talk to him. We need to know who did this.” She started for the entrance to the emergency room.

DJ grabbed her arm. “Whoa. You can’t go in there. Anyway, he’s not in emergency. They’ve already taken him up to surgery.” DJ nudged her gently toward the chairs again. “Come back and sit down.”

DJ told her what he’d already explained to Harrie.
“There’s nothing we can do here at the moment. Let me take you back to your office. I left them my cell number, your cell number, and your office number. They promised to notify you as soon as the surgery is over.”

Ginger leaned back
and closed her eyes. “Okay. If you’re sure they’ll call us immediately. I guess I should go back to the office, pick up my car, and go to my parents’ house. They’re the ones I’m worried about now.”

“Good,” DJ said. “That sounds like something productive. Meanwhile,” he turned toward Harrie, “I still need to talk to you, and I’d like to do that at your office.”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Let’s get it over with.”

W
hen they arrived at the office, Ginger walked out the door, and Harrie motioned DJ into her office. She sat behind her desk, and motioned him to be seated. “Okay, can we get on with this interrogation please?”

“Let me apologize again for the awkward way this interview started, and that’s what it is, by the way, an interview
—not an interrogation.” He looked at his notes. “I believe you were going to verify the period of time you were married to Nicos Constantine.”

“I seem to remember you were going to tell me why the FBI care
s.”

“Mrs. McKenzie,” he began, and at her raised eyebrow corrected himself. “Harrie,” he said, “because of the nature of this investigation and the stage that it’s in
, I can’t answer your questions. I will tell you that you are not under suspicion. Your only connection, as far as we know at this time, is that you were married to Constantine. It was during that period of his life we believe he became involved with some of the people in the case I’m working. At the conclusion of our investigation, I might be in a better position to explain further. Much depends on what you are able to verify and whether the United States Attorney decides he has a case to prosecute. So for now, I’ll ask you to simply answer my questions. I’ll explain what I can as we go along. Can I count on your cooperation?”

“Well, since you put it that way, I can’t very well refuse. Not that I’d have any reason to. It’s just so creepy, this happening right now. I mean, the timing is really remarkable, don’t you think?”

DJ frowned. “I don’t get your meaning. What timing? Are you talking about the senator’s assault?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, although come to think of it, that’s pretty strange too. I’m talking about the fact that you appear here to ask me questions about a period of my life I’ve tried to put out of my mind for thirteen years. But I can’t seem to escape it, no matter what I do.” Harrie shook her head and looked up at DJ. “How far does this go? Do you also need to know about my second husband?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “No, as I said, our interest in you is strictly during the period of your marriage to Nicos Constantine, and you say that ended thirteen years ago?”

Harrie sighed.
“We married in 1986, as you said earlier today, and we divorced less than a year later in 1987, but he left even before that. Everything was done through our lawyers. Steve handled my end of the divorce, and Nick had his own lawyer. I never saw or heard from him again. Not until this past week.”

DJ looked up and stopped writing. “You saw him this week?”

“No, I didn’t see him. At least I don’t think I saw him, even though there was this man in an SUV at a traffic light . . .”

DJ held up his hand as he interrupted her. “Let’s go at this a different way, okay? Let me ask you some questions, and you answer them. Try to focus only on what I’m asking. Now, about this week, did you see him or not?”

Harrie drew herself up, lifting her chin to a defiant tilt. “Like I said, as far as I know, I didn’t see him, but I did receive a phone call from him.”

DJ loo
ked up, eyebrows raised, “What did you talk about?”

“No
thing. I was out, and he left a number for me to call.”

“And what day was this?”

Harrie went over the past few days in her mind, finally pinpointing the day. “It was Wednesday morning. In fact, I received the message right after you left.”

“So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you return the call?”

“No, I asked Steve to do it. He’s Ginger’s husband.”


Did Steve talk to him?”

“Steve talked to his answering service. They said he was out of town and wouldn’t be back until that evening. So we went to Steve and Ginger’s house, had dinner and waited for him to call when he returned.”

“What time was that?”

“Well, we had dinner about six o’clock, and

DJ stopped her again, warding off yet another detour. “Let’s just cut to the main issue. What time did you or Steve finally talk to him?”

Harrie frowned. “We never did talk to him. That was when we got the call he’d been in an accident and was at Presbyterian Hospital.”

DJ’s voice took on a sharpness Harrie hadn’t heard before. “
So Nicos Constantine is in the hospital?”

She realized he didn’t know.
“I’m sorry. I assumed you must have known. In fact, I assumed that was why you chose today to grill me. Nick died Thursday afternoon.”

DJ’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “What happened to him?”

“At first, we thought it was just a traffic accident. His SUV crashed into a retaining wall on I-25, but after they got him in surgery, they discovered a bullet in his brain. I’m afraid someone beat you to him. I thought you FBI types would have known this stuff. Aren’t you supposed to be investigating him?” She was being bitchy, but she didn’t care. She was tired, and she hated this conversation.

DJ sat very still for a moment, looking off to his right
. Harrie turned to see what was holding his interest, but all she saw was Caroline working at her desk. He stood abruptly, like a man on a mission.

“Thank you for your time. This obviously changes things quite a bit. I’ll need to talk to you later, but I must get back to my office for now.” When he reached the door, he stopped and turned to her. “Please be careful. If someone was watching you before, there’s even more reason to think they’ll be back.”

Harrie felt her heart thud sharply against her ribs. “Why would you think that?”

“I guess you weren’t too far off track with that remark you made earlier about the odd timing. I doubt it’s a coincidence that two people you know have been shot in the last two days.”

The cold feeling she knew so well started its crawl up her arms and the back of her neck. “What do you mean?” She didn’t really want to know, but she couldn’t keep from asking.

“I was goin
g to tell you this later, but . . .” He looked down at the floor, appeared to make a decision and faced her again. “We have reason to believe that Nick Constantine was working for Senator Philip Lawrence.”

25

 

Friday Evening, April 14, 2000

 

 

Caroline Johnson was tired. It had been a busy week. Between furniture delivery, network setups and the general chaos of the day, her head throbbed. She liked being busy, though. It kept her mind off things that were best left alone. This was exactly the kind of job she needed. She felt comfortable in her ability to bring organization to the office of her new employers, and she knew how to help them get their work done.

She worried about them a little
. So much bad news in such a short time. At first, she’d been more concerned about Harrie. Ginger seemed to have a more levelheaded approach to things. But this morning, when Ginger found out about the attack on Senator Lawrence, it looked like Harrie was the calming one. Obviously, they were devoted to each other. It was good to have close friends.

Caroline had brought home a banker box full of folders to sort through over the weekend
. In view of all the disruption at the office, Harrie and Ginger had not been able to get much done today. Caroline was glad she could help them out.

She quickly prepared dinner from some leftover roasted chicken. She retrieved the box from the dining room, took out some of the folders from the box and sat down to eat and proofread. She read through the first time looking for obvious typographical errors. The sec
ond time, she read for content.

As she reached for another folder, she noticed a brown clasp envelope wedged in between the pages. Curious, she removed it and several other pieces of mail that she didn’t remember seeing earlier when she gathered up the materials. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember seeing the postman when he made his delivery that afternoon. He must have dropped the pile on her already stacked desk. First thing Monday she would establish a mail delivery receptacle. Things were likely to get lost if there
wasn’t a proper place for them.

She set aside the other mail and examined the brown envelope. There was no return address, but it didn’t look like junk mail. Still, you could never tell these days. Marketing companies were always coming up with new ways to make their ads look official and important. This one was handwritten and addressed to Ginger. In the lower left
corner, the words “Personal and Confidential” were written in the same cramped handwriting.

Caroline hesitated. Something about that writing seemed vaguely familiar. It looked rather old-fashioned. She sighed and dropped it back in the banker box. Better not take the chance, she thought. I don’t want to open something that really is personal.

She worked for the next two hours and finished all the folders. With a sense of accomplishment, she returned the corrected material to the box and took it back into her dining room. As she turned out the light, she thought about the brown envelope again.

Maybe I’ll call Ginger at home in the morning. If she thinks it’s important, I’ll take it to her. Otherwise, I can take it back with the rest of the stuff on Monday morning. That’s probably soon enough. How important can a plain brown envelope be, anyway?

26

 

 

As they finished the last few dinner dishes
in the O’Leary’s kitchen, Harrie and Ginger heard a cell phone ringing. Ginger rushed into the dining room to retrieve her purse and the beckoning phone.

“This is Ginger Vaughn. Yes, yes, I understand.” She listened in
tently, but asked no questions.

When she finished the call,
she stood with the phone open in her hand. Harrie, impatient as always, had followed her into the dining room.

“What did they say? That was the hospital, wasn’t it? Is he awake? Is he all right? Say something!”

Right then, Steve and the O’Learys rushed in, also demanding answers. “Who was that? Was it about Philip? Can we see him now?”

Ginger held up her hands to halt the torrent of questions. “Hold
on a minute. Give me a chance.” She swallowed hard before she continued.

“Yes, that was the hospital, and Philip is back in his room.
The surgery to remove the bullet was successful, but there was swelling in his brain from the blow to the head when he fell. They had to induce a coma. He’ll need to be kept that way until the swelling goes down.”

Mrs. O’Leary leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder and cried soundlessly. Don O’Leary put his arm around her
and stroked her hair.

Harrie tried to sort out the jumble of emotions. Something was wrong, something besides the
attack on the senator. There hadn’t been time to think about much except that. If only she could clear her head, maybe she could figure out what was eating at the edges of her consciousness.

Steve
said, “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. We need to strategize how we’re going to deal with the next few days.”

“I need to call Ramona Sanchez,” Ginger said. “The poor woman called me four times today, and each time I had to tell her I didn’t have any new information. She must be worried sick by now.”

Ginger left the room to phone Ramona, and Harrie joined Steve at the kitchen counter. “Tell me what happened today with the arrangements about Nick.”

Steve filled the brewing chamber with water. “Well, the first thing I did was locate the attorney who
did Nick’s will. I was right. It was that idiot who worked at our firm around the time Ginger and I got married. A copy of the will was still in my firm’s employee files. Nick took advantage of a little perk we used to provide which allowed any lawyer to have one of his fellow attorneys draw up a standard will at no charge. I had to go down to the basement file room in the vault, but I finally located it.”

“So what did it have to say about any final arrangements? Or was Nick that forward thinking in those days?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all there. That was one of the requirements to get the free will prepared. They had to follow a certain format and provide information the firm deemed essential to have on hand for all employees. The format included information about arrangements for a funeral or disposal of a body, and you’re not going to believe this. I was absolutely dumbfounded.”

“Don’t tell me. He wanted an elaborate, expensive funeral, right?”

“No, quite the contrary. He arranged to have his body donated to the UNM School of Medicine. Afterward, he’s to be cremated with no funeral, no memorial, no nothing.”

Harrie looked at Steve, disbelief showing in her wide-eyed, open-mouthed face. “Are you certain you found the right will? You’re sure these were the last wishes of Nicos Constantine?”

Steve nodded. “Absolutely. I checked it all out. I even tracked down the moronic attorney. Teddy Krylach is just as dumb as I remembered him. He’s in private practice now in a little hole-in-the-wall office downtown, close to police headquarters. Good thing, too. It seems Nick kept in touch with him over the years and had recently provided a codicil to the will.”

“Did that express the intent that you become his legal representative?”

“Yes, it did. Of course, Krylach didn’t see the need to inform me of my new status, even though Nick attached a letter with the codicil asking him to do just that. The dumb ass just filed everything away with a copy of the will. When I showed up, he was only too happy to rid himself of the obligation to deal with it. He gave me the entire file. Said it was my problem now. So, I’m it, and I’m supposed to file the will for probate and make sure his last wishes are carried out.”

Harrie got out coffee mugs. “Why didn’t Nick didn’t just get in touch with you in the first place instead of tracking down Krylach? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if he didn’t want me to know he was back in Albuquerque and had been for a well over a year.”

Harrie’s voice went to a high-pitched squeak. “But
—but why? How—?”

Ginger returned to the kitchen. “What
wrong with her?” she asked her husband.

He shrugged and Harrie said,
“I knew it! I just knew it! That’s why I’ve been having those awful dreams. It was Nick who’s been stalking us, and now I have proof!”

“Hold on a minute. We don’t have any proof. The fact he was living here doesn’t mean he stalked you.”

Ginger looked from her husband to her friend. “Will you guys tell me what’s going on, and will you please keep it down,” she whispered. “I don’t want to disturb Mom and Dad.”

Harrie was instantly remorseful. She lowered her voice and calmed herself. “I’m sorry. Steve just told me Nick’s been back in Albuquerque for over a year.”

“What?” Ginger yelled. Steve put his finger to his lips and closed the door between the kitchen and the rest of the house. He filled her in on their conversation. Ginger shook her head in disbelief.

“Why did he come back to Albuquerque, and why the secrecy?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, but now I have something solid to go on. The hospital gave me his belongings today, along with his address and the key to his apartment.”

“You say we’re not expected to provide a funeral or anything like that?”

“Nope. Nothing. The medical school took possession of the body and when they’re finished, the cremated remains will be returned to us.”

“Wait a minute,” Harrie protested. “Why do ‘we’ have to take the ashes? And by the way, who is this ‘we’ you’re talking about, Kemo
Sabe? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”

A small hint of a grin played on Steve’s mouth. “I’m using the ‘we’ simply to help explain the next little bit of information. You see, the codicil he left concerns his final wishes, and it states that you and I, my dear Harrie, are to dispose of his ashes.”

Harrie blew air through her lips. “Oh, yeah. Now that’s a good one. Why, pray tell, would he want me involved with the disposal of his ashes. That’s crazy!”

“Well, crazy or not,
he specifically asked that you and I take his ashes up to Sandia Crest and scatter them.”

Ginger was speechless and Harrie was too stunned to respond.

Finally, Ginger managed, “The guy must have been a mental case, Steve. Harrie is the last person he should ask to do anything”

“Mental case or not, unless Harrie refuses to do it, she and I are designated.” Steve turned to Harrie. “I’ll do it alone if you would rather not be involved.”

Harrie sighed and shook her head. “It’s not fair that you take on everything. Whatever he did to me is in the past. He’s dead now and can never hurt me again. Maybe it would be fitting that I help spread him to the four winds and let nature take him where she wants.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “Well, be sure you wear one of those filter masks when you do the deed. The wind might shift and blow him back into your life and your lungs.”

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