1 Chocolate Worth Dying For (8 page)

"Kathleen Sullivan, please." Maxine bit back an expression of disbelief. It wasn't that difficult a request. All she'd asked was to be put through to Kathleen Sullivan. But the girl on the other end of the line seemed on the verge of tears.

Someone else came on the phone. A man this time. "Is there something I could help you with?"

"No. It was a personal matter. I can call back another time. Is she on a break or…"

There was a deep sigh. "Are you a close friend of Miss Sullivan's?"

"No. I'd only met her once but I had a question."

"Perhaps someone else here could help you?"

"It was a personal matter," Maxine said.

"Then. I'm sorry. I have to tell you there's been an accident."

"An accident," she said stunned. "Is Kathleen all right?"

"She's dead." The words had a finality bringing a gasp from Maxine.

"Dead? But – I just saw her yesterday. She…" Maxine felt herself start to shake.

"She was hit crossing the street on the way to work today. A freak accident. I'm very sorry."

"But…"

He sighed deeply. "Do you have someone with you?"

"Yes, yes," she said absently. She could sense Heath's concern as he came over to where she sat. But she was numb as the man gave her a brief account telling her Kathleen had been hit on her way to work that morning and pronounced dead at the hospital.

She hung up the phone in tears. " Kathleen Sullivan is dead. She was killed in a hit and run this morning."

Heath groaned. "Why were you calling her?"

"There were some questions I wanted to ask her," she said absently.

He shook his head. "This is insane. Everywhere you turn there's a dead body."

"Are you saying that's my fault?" she said, horrified.

"No. Just." He shook his head again. "There's got to be a reason. Why were you calling Kathleen?"

"Rae Ann's notebook," she said absently.

"Notebook. How do you have that?" he said shortly.

"Wendy gave it to me," she said defensively.

"But why do you have to investigate? Give it to the police." Heath said, exasperated.

She bit her lip. "Wendy said she showed it to them. They weren't interested."

He snorted. "But you found something they missed?" he said in a tone of total disbelief.

She shivered slightly. "Just a few questions I wanted to clear up."

"Then call your detective friend. Tell him what you found. I'm pretty sure he'll be interested now."

Now. But would they do anything with it? Or would it be another case of too little too late. She called Patrick but she wasn't going to just sit back and relax. Not when there were lives at stake. Not to mention her business.

Patrick reacted pretty much the same way Heath had. "This has to stop. You're putting yourself in danger," he said now as she walked with him along Victoria's causeway.

"I'm not doing anything," she said angrily. "I didn't kill Ron Vandemeer. Or Rae-Ann." Her eyes filled with tears. "Or Kathleen Sullivan. But I need to know why."

"The police will investigate."

"Like they've been doing so far," she said hotly.

"It's not that easy," Detective Shannon said. "You know that! That's why I've told you to call – if not me – the police department and we'll make sure we send an officer immediately."

"I was only given the notebook after someone in your department said they didn't care about it," she said defiantly.

"Which was a mistake," he said firmly. "You could've talked to me about it.

"Maybe next time," she said, trying to placate him. "But I talked to her a day ago. I just thought if I gave her a phone call maybe she could tell me what I wanted to know."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Really? You thought she'd say by the way I know who killed…"

"Not that," she said upset. "But what did that note about bridging mean? I don't think it was a real bridge."

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we've got a police officer who deals in forensic accounting working on the case."

"A what?" she said.

"He looks at the accounts of people who have been killed. To see if there's anything there that would be a problem."

"And?"

"I'll check with him."

"That's all you can say?" she said frustrated.

"Unlike you we actually need proof before we bring people in for questioning or arrest them. Probable cause."

"I'm not the police," she said stung, more than she cared to admit. "And I've got reason for my suspicions."

"So call us. We can check them out." He turned towards her, taking her hands in hers. His eyes looked straight into hers, concerned, caring. "I don't want you taking unnecessary chances."

And maybe she should've listened. But she still had just a few questions she wanted answering. And Patrick Shannon didn't have any intention of sharing with her. Not until the killer was caught and safely behind bars. What had Kathleen known that was worth dying for? Or was it really just a tragic accident. She shuddered again.

"We have to go to the funeral," Grandma Ellie said. "Let her family know how sorry we are for what happened to her, make sure they're all right."

"How can we possibly do that? It's never going to be all right. Not for her family. How could it be? I don't even know her family. Or when the funeral is." She broke off, shaking her head. "I just saw the invitation to Rae-Ann' funeral. I…" she blinked back tears. "I feel as if I'm in the middle of a bad dream."

"All the more reason to find the answers," Ellie said firmly. "Before anyone else is hurt."

"How is going to Kathleen's funeral going to help that?"

"If we hadn't gone to Ron's we'd never have known she existed," Grandma Ellie said firmly. "Who knows what we'll learn at Rae-Ann's or Kathleen's'."

She shuddered. "It just seems wrong. On so many levels." But what could be right about anyone dying so young? Something she thought again while getting ready for Rae-Ann's funeral.

As she sat in Sand's funeral home listening to the minister give the eulogy for Rae-Ann though she couldn't help scanning the room. Her husband looked shattered even if Wendy didn't believe he cared enough. Wendy and Carly sat together. Carly's face was swollen with the signs of tears freshly shed. Wendy looked tense and white, drained of any emotion. As if the slightest thing could shatter her.

At the grave site everyone mouthed condolences and talked briefly. But there was an air of disbelief and over-whelming sadness. Even though the weather had turned sunny, seeming to smile on everyone, it was as if they were going through the motions eager to get away from the funeral and back to their normal routine as quickly as possible.

"She deserves better," Wendy muttered to her.

"For heaven's sake," her husband Bill said. "Not here."

Maxine could barely stop herself from crying as she gave Wendy a quick hug. "The police will find who's responsible."

Tracey Vandemeer was talking briefly to David, Rae-Ann's husband. Even from a distance she seemed tense as she talked to him. And David didn't seem too pleased either. His face darkened at whatever she'd said. Maxine made her way through the crowd, not wanting to make her intentions too obvious. But by the time she made it over to where David stood Tracey had long since disappeared.

"I'm so sorry," she said sincerely, stopping to talk to David Hunter. "Rae-Ann was one of the nicest people I ever met. I just don't understand how something like this could happen."

His face darkened. "Someone does," he said curtly.

"We all want justice done," she said.

His eyebrow raised. "Just make sure you don't get in the middle of it. There's been enough people hurt." His voice turned grim.

Maxine couldn't help squirming a little. Did he know she had Rae-Ann's notebook? And what had he and Tracey been talking about?

She'd arranged to take Bernice home from the hospital today. Heath, Marcus and Ally were already at her place setting everything up and making sure it was ready for her first time in her place since they'd gone through cleaning and de-cluttering.

"The Big Reveal," as Ally insisted on calling it with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning, was just waiting for Bernice.

But she wondered if she was doing her any favors. The social worker who'd inspected her place had decided it was clean enough but was worried about her taking care of herself.

"Who will she call if she has another accident? She was lucky you showed up when you did." An older lady in her mid-forties she'd been straight-forward and no-nonsense even as Maxine found herself defending Bernice.

"She can call us if there's a problem. We'll make sure she has enough to eat."

"For now," the social worker had sniffed. "What about when you get busy with your own lives? What if she doesn't call?"

"All of us could have an accident in our own homes," Maxine had said impatiently. "But we don't want to live under someone else's supervision 24 hours a day just because of that. She's lived in her house for fifty years and she doesn't want to give it up. If she's capable of looking after herself – with a little help from us – for a few more years why shouldn't she?" She'd been angry and upset on Bernice's behalf.

Now she worried the social worker was right. She'd feel better if Bernice's house was in a thriving community, filled with friends and family.

Instead the area seemed mainly deserted. Most friends and neighbors had decamped leaving her a lonely party of one angrily protesting against the fates. But the fates had a habit of acting unkindly at the best of the times and this was hardly that.

Even as she liberated a wheelchair from the stash by the front door of the hospital and made her way up to Bernice's ward with Grandma Ellie she was far from convinced. Lately her track record didn't seem that good.

"Even if Bernice does need more care than she has now it has to be her choice," Ellie said firmly. "If it isn't it will be a disaster. I certainly wouldn't want someone sticking me in long-term care."

"You're in really good shape Grandma," Maxine pointed out. "Bernice is a lot older and frailer."

"She's really not that much older than me," Grandma Ellie said. "She just has had more challenges."

Maxine looked at Grandma Ellie, worried. She didn't put Bernice and Ellie in the same category. It came as a shock to her to have Grandma Ellie say she was pretty much the same age.

"You take better care of yourself," she said swiftly not willing to consider the implications.

"She's lost her husband in the last year," Ellie said. "That can throw anyone. And it's not easy for her with what she's going through in her community."

Which wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement for living independently Maxine couldn't help thinking. Not that she had any intention of raining on today's parade. As she approached the nursing station one of Bernice's nurse's looked up.

"Are you here to take her home?"

"We are," Ellie said brightly.

"She's looking forward to it," her nurse said smiling. "I'll just check and make sure she's ready to go."

They followed her down the hallway and into a room where Bernice waited with all her belongings packed into two big bags. She smiled as they entered. "They're finally springing me," she said.

Ellie laughed. "That must feel good."

Bernice looked her over sharply. Before she had a chance to say anything though, Maxine jumped in.

"This is my Grandma Ellie. She's been helping us get your place ready."

"It was just fine the way it was," Bernice grumbled.

A smile took the sting from Grandma Ellie's words as she said, "and it's even better now. Maxine and her friends have put a lot of work into getting your place fixed up."

"Mmm," Bernice shot Ellie a worried look. "Has she always been this bossy?"

"Sometimes," Ellie said cheerfully. "When she sees a need."

"And you're here…because?"

"Because it seems as if you could use a few friends right now and I've helped some of my friends go through some of what you're going through."

"Really?" Bernice said.

But she got into the wheelchair allowing Maxine to adjust the foot-rests so that her feet were comfortable. Next she arranged the bags so they hung off the wheelchair and picked up the two batches of flowers Bernice had sitting on her side-table. One was from them but she glanced quickly at the card from the other.

'Sorry to hear you're having difficulties. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Tracey.' Tracey? As in Tracey Vandemeer?

"Really," Ellie said firmly. "It ain't easy getting old. But it beats the alternative."

"Got that right," Bernice said, nodding in approval and Maxine felt herself giving a sigh of relief as the nurses gathered around wishing Bernice well as they said their goodbyes.

As they swung onto Bernice's street it was immediately evident that changes had been made. The front yard had been cleaned up and the fence painted. Flowers had been planted along the sidewalk and near the entrance. The three steps which had seemed a challenge for Bernice at the best of times had been covered with a piece of plywood and made into a ramp.

"What in Sam hill!" Bernice exclaimed when she saw the ramp.

"It was part of the changes the social worker recommended to make it easier for you."

"Busy bodies, sticking their heads in where nobodies asked them," Bernice grumbled. "I don't have any way to pay for this you know."

"Nobody expects you too," Maxine said soothingly. "It's just part of being a community."

Bernice's eyes teared up. "It's too much. You shouldn't have to."

Maxine leaned forward taking her hands in hers. "We wanted to. Not just me and Grandma Ellie. Heath and his friends too. Come on, we'll take you inside."

She pushed her up the ramp.

At the top Bernice insisted on standing up. "I'll walk in on my own. I'm old, I'm not dead."

"OK then," Maxine said brightly. She opened the door proud of the changes that had been made. Sunlight spilled through newly washed windows onto spotlessly clean counters. The kitchen table held a bowl of fresh fruit.