Dead Tease (6 page)

“I didn’t say
that
,” said Kerry. “Jen went out with a bunch of different guys when she first moved here. ‘Inappropriate boy friends’ is what she got a kick out of calling them. Once she got to know them, she didn’t like their lifestyle—too much drinking, smoking.”

“‘Jack pine savages?’” asked Osborne in a humorous tone.

“Not
that
bad,” said Kerry with a wince. “It’s just … she was easily disappointed.”

“High standards?” said Lew.

“That’s a good way to put it. Jen was ambitious. She wanted a guy who was going somewhere. I suppose I can be crass and say she wanted someone who would make money.”

“Like a doctor?”

“Yes,” said Kerry, “like a doctor. But good luck with that—the ones on staff here are either married or … not very attractive. Sorry if I sound mean.”

“You sound like a couple of discerning young women to me,” said Lew. She turned to Osborne, “Doc—your turn.”

“When
was
the last time she dated anyone?” asked Osborne.

“You think it was a man who did this?” asked Kerry.

“We don’t know yet,” said Lew, “but in my experience attacks of this nature tend to be crimes of passion. Your friend died of a single deep stab wound. Possibly premeditated. And I say that because it appears the killer was skilled at wielding a knife.”

Worry flashed across Kerry’s face. “What—” asked Lew.

“Nothing,” said Kerry. “Maybe I’m forgetting something, but I am sure it’s been a year or more since she dated anyone, and even though she dumped the guy, I don’t remember her saying that he bothered her afterward.”

“And who was that?”

“Bart Martin.”

“He just got married, right?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine he would … Actually, he’s my cousin, and I can’t see him doing that to Jen. I just can’t.”

Lew looked down at her list of questions before saying, “So as far as you know, Jen wasn’t active in any groups like a pool league or a volleyball team. Did she golf? Play bunco? What about knitting or quilting?”

“Jen was more of a loner than a lot of the gals here.”

“Did she like to fish?” asked Osborne even as he knew it was a ridiculous question.

“No-o-o, but I’ll tell you what she
did
do a lot in her spare time: watercolors. She was working on watercolors of dragonflies that she was planning to sell at the art fair in Eagle River during Cranberry Fest.” Kerry nodded as if she had found the right answer: “Yep, Jen spent a lot of time painting.”

Kerry’s pager buzzed suddenly. She checked the message. “Looks like I’m being called into our weekly meeting with the emergency room staff. Afraid I better scoot.”

“One last question,” said Lew. “Did Jen work well with people here at the clinic?”

“I would say so,” said Kerry, her eyes thoughtful. “Everyone I know liked her. She was very easy to work with—she ran the graphics department and always said her job was to make us all look good.”

“What about Cynthia Daniels?” asked Lew.

“Oh, her,” Kerry waved a dismissive hand. “No one likes her. She’s a pain in the butt. I doubt she would say anything good about Jen—or me for that matter. Not sure what her problem is but … Why do you ask about Dr. Daniels?”

“Can you give us an example of what you mean when you say Dr. Daniels has nothing good to say about you or Jen?” asked Osborne.

He had learned in his own practice that dental assistants, dental hygienists, even receptionists, often had the most accurate read on the professionals—and the patients—with whom they worked.

Kerry tipped her head sideways and chewed the inside of her right cheek before saying, “This is between us, right?”

“Unless it has a direct bearing on who may have murdered Jennifer Williams,” said Lew.

“It doesn’t. When Dr. Cynthia Daniels makes a mistake—no matter how big or small—she finds someone else to blame. She’s a slacker, too. Makes like she works her tail off in the ER all the time but she doesn’t. To put it bluntly: the woman’s sloppy. And she’s a bitch.”

Kerry grinned, “Aren’t you glad you asked? Now—why she developed such a dislike for Jen, I don’t know. Their paths rarely crossed except,” she paused and the flash of worry crossed her face once more, “except when entering and leaving the clinic.” Kerry’s pager buzzed again and she stood up. “Will you be talking to Dr. Daniels?”

“She told Mr. McNeil’s secretary she doesn’t have time today,” said Lew.

“Really?” Kerry looked surprised. “Well, chances are she’ll be in this meeting I’m going to. Why don’t you come along and pull her out of the meeting? It’s nothing critical—just our weekly update on schedules—she misses it half the time anyway. Tell her I said I’ll take notes for her.”

A devilish smile crinkled Kerry’s eyes. “Just ’cause you’re a doctor doesn’t mean you’re a nice person, you know. Ask
her
why she didn’t like Jen. I’m interested in what she says.”

Cynthia Daniels was seated on the far side of the room that they entered. She sat with her legs crossed and the long skirt hiked up to expose long, tanned legs. Engrossed in the pages of a magazine in her lap, she didn’t notice Lew and Osborne enter the room and stand against the back wall.

Other staff members filed in and were taking their seats on folding chairs when Lew raised her voice to call across the room, “Dr. Daniels? Dr. Osborne and I would like to speak with you, please.”

“Sorry,” said the woman, recrossing her legs. “Afraid I’m busy all today. Right now I’m needed in this meeting. Tomorrow maybe. You can check with my secretary. Brenda. Down the hall that way.” Cynthia flipped a hand toward the door.

“That’s okay, Dr. Daniels, I’ll take notes for you,” said Kerry, seated in a chair on the other side of the room. She gave Cynthia a cheery smile.

The tall, middle-aged man at the front of the room who appeared to be the person running the meeting said, “Go ahead, Dr. Daniels. This will be short today anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “You aren’t scheduled in ER until four this afternoon so take your time.”

Cynthia glowered.

Chapter Nine

Shoulders set like a tight end for the Green Bay Packers and elbows pumping, Cynthia Daniels stormed past the cramped cubby that fronted her office door. Barreling through the doorway, she disappeared. Osborne waited, expecting the door to be slammed behind her. He was disappointed.

Crouched in a corner of the cubby and ignored by Cynthia as she flew by, was a plain-faced young woman with lank brown hair crammed into a clip stuck high on the back of her head. She flinched as Cynthia swung past, and Osborne sensed that the physician’s unexpected return had just ruined the girl’s morning.

“Brenda—” Cynthia’s voice from behind the wall was muffled but imperious. “Get me a coffee. Black.” The young woman jumped to her feet. She threw a questioning glance toward Lew and Osborne who had followed Cynthia down the hall only to come to a skidding halt beside the cubby.

“Nothing for us, thank you,” said Lew, her words as kind as Cynthia’s had been rude. The girl scurried off, shoulders hunched, leaving Osborne and Lew to stand outside Cynthia’s office.

“Hello?” asked Lew after a long moment. She made sure her voice was loud enough to carry into the next room.

Not a word in response. No welcome, not even a grudging acknowledgment of their presence. Lew cut her eyes sideways, signaling “watch out for flying objects” before walking through the open doorway. Osborne followed.

The office was modest in its dimensions but felt spacious thanks to a wall of windows facing south toward the mid-morning sun. The windows had been cracked open a few inches to let a warm morning breeze flow in.

As if to save space, the office was designed with a desktop running along the east wall and cabinets cantilevered overhead. Two upholstered armchairs were set under the windows with a small table between them. A low bookcase lined the wall just inside the door. The top of the bookcase held a small red fox caught mid-run. Osborne recognized the animal as the handiwork of a taxidermist he had known well: Cynthia’s late father.

“So this is your office?” asked Lew in an effort to make conversation as they entered.

“Not an examining room,” was the curt response from the woman seated in a large swivel armchair, which was turned away from them toward the desk. The desk was heaped with files, loose papers, empty Styrofoam cups, and a laptop computer with a smudged screen. A mess of a workplace, thought Osborne, wondering how often Cynthia lost or mislaid patient records.

Then he reminded himself: everything is electronic these days. Cynthia Daniels could make as big a mess as she wanted to and not kill anyone. At least he hoped that was how the clinic worked.

Not until after Lew and Osborne had entered the room and stood waiting did Cynthia spin around to face them. She crossed her legs and yanked on her skirt until it fell below her knee—though not far enough to interfere with the impatient pumping of her left foot. Her gesture toward two empty chairs was more a surrender than a welcome.

Averting his eyes from the nervous foot—and the twin globes showcased in the black V-neck top—Osborne focused on the skirt, which was patterned with fat orange birds adorned with bright green butterfly wings outlined in black. He wasn’t sure what made him queasier: the ugly skirt or the pumping foot. A
large
pumping foot wearing a black stiletto heel that must come in men’s sizes. Nothing about Cynthia was modest—in size or effect.

The woman in the swivel chair stared at Lew and Osborne, then raised her chin and bared her teeth in what was intended to pass as a smile. Osborne didn’t read it that way. She reminded him of chimpanzees he had studied back in his dental school psych class: the ones determined to exhibit dominance over the group.

She needn’t have gone to the effort. When Osborne sat down in one of the chairs in front of the windows, he discovered the chair sat so low, he had to look up, way up, if he wanted to make eye contact with Cynthia. Ah, intimidation by chair. He caught Lew’s eye. She grinned.

“All right, you have my undivided attention—so …
what
.”

It was less a question than a demand as she crossed her arms. “What do you need to know that everyone else here can’t tell you a hell of a lot better than I can because I didn’t even
know
Jennifer Williams? Such a waste of my time.” The hostility in the woman’s voice chilled the room in spite of the morning breezes.

“You,” she said to Osborne in a dismissive tone. “You look familiar. You the chief of police? I feel like we’ve met. Treated you in ER, maybe?”

Osborne took pleasure (unfair, he knew, but he couldn’t resist) in extending his hand and maintaining a gracious tone as he said, “No, Cynthia, I was your father’s dentist—before he passed away. Years ago when you were just a little tyke, your folks lived in our neighborhood.

“In fact, I was admiring your wonderful fox there. I’d left one with your dad hoping to get a nice mount just like it but he never got round to it before he passed away. Your dad did fine taxidermy.”

“So you knew Marv and Gladys,” said Cynthia, giving his hand a limp shake.

Marv and Gladys
, thought Osborne,
right
. Years ago it had irritated him that she called her parents (and her parents’ adult friends such as himself and Mary Lee) by their first names. Still did.

Sitting back in the low chair, Osborne said, “These days I am retired from my practice but I assist Chief Lewellyn Ferris here,” he gestured toward Lew, “whenever an odontologist is needed for work with dental records—or as a deputy coroner. I’m sure you’re familiar with the advantages of forensic dentistry. Right now, with all the summer tourism, the department is short-handed so I’m helping with the investigation.”

“
You’re
the chief of police?” Cynthia turned her chair toward Lew. She made no effort to hide a supercilious tone. “I didn’t know women were—”

“Just like medicine,” said Lew before she could finish, “we’ve invaded the male domain.” And she smiled a smile Osborne recognized as dangerous.

“A few questions about your colleague who was murdered late yesterday afternoon,” said Lew, intent on moving the conversation along and opening the long, narrow notebook resting on her knee.

“Barely knew her. I mean, I certainly knew who she
was
but that’s it
.
”

The young woman named Brenda appeared in the doorway with a cafeteria tray on which rested a mug with Cynthia’s coffee and two glasses of ice water.

“Why, thank you, Brenda,” said Lew as she reached for one of the glasses.

“Yes, thank you,” said Osborne, taking the remaining glass. With a sigh of impatience, Cynthia reached for her coffee. As Brenda backed away through the doorway, Osborne spotted Kerry standing beside Brenda’s cubby. She waved and winked.

“Brenda, close the door,” said Cynthia. “Hold my calls.”

“I understand you and Jennifer Williams had some difficulties working together,” said Lew after the door clicked closed.

“What do you mean by that? Told you I barely knew the woman. She had no medical credentials and a bad habit of getting in the way. I had to tell her to back off more than a few times. Trauma medicine is demanding. Very demanding—and you don’t need some fool poking around with a camera.”

“Was she
assigned
to photograph the emergency room?” asked Lew. “Or was she interfering for no good reason?”

Cynthia shrugged. “Who knows? I’m sure it was her job, but she didn’t have to get in my face.”

“You’re an attractive woman,” said Osborne, “maybe she was told to be sure to include you in clinic advertising—like brochures and billboards. Wouldn’t that make for positive advertising?”

As he spoke, he made a mental note to check with his oldest daughter, Mallory. He was pretty sure she was the same age as Cynthia, though Cynthia’s parents had sent her to boarding school while Mallory attended the local high school. Be interesting to hear what Mallory might have to say.

Cynthia heaved a sigh. “I’m sure that was the case but she was a pest.”