Grace Sees Red (13 page)

As it turned out, Frances did all the talking. “My lawyer thinks they're going to keep me a while longer.”

“They're not arresting you, are they?” I asked.

She hesitated so long I thought I'd pass out from lack of breath.

“Autopsy results aren't in. Not the ones, at least, that could exonerate me.” She spoke briefly to someone else—from the sound of it, Lily—before returning to our conversation. “She thinks I'll be here another hour at least. Wanted to let you know.”

Before I could summarize my morning, she cut me off. “They're calling me back. Gotta go,” she said. Then, “Idiots.”

“Watch yourself,” I said. “Don't answer more than you need to. And don't antagonize them.”

She muttered something I couldn't make out and hung up.

“Well?” Santiago asked. “
Are
they arresting her?”

With polite derision, I said, “Of course not.”

“Only a matter of time.”

I wanted to smack the smug off of his face.

“Don't you need to find Kyle?” Percy asked with a glance
at the little white paper cup. “Now that I think about it, he mentioned getting a haircut.”

Santiago frowned. “I'll call downstairs to see if he's there.”

“Good luck finding him,” Percy said. The moment the nurse exited the room, he turned to me. “I can't stand that guy.”

I glanced at my watch. “Is there anyone else here you think I should talk to?”

“I'm glad you met Dan instead of his brother, Harland,” he whispered. “The older brother is a loose cannon.”

“I would like to talk with him,” I said. “Dan mentioned that he and his wife would be stopping by later.”

“I'll go out with you,” Percy said. “We may run into them on their way in.”

As we made our way to the door, I remembered something Cathy had said. “I understand you're quite a cardplayer.”

His mouth twisted into a half grin. “If we were allowed to wager with cash in this place, I'd make a killing.”

Interesting choice of words. I wondered: If the man was capable of playing cards and—as Frances asserted—capable of injecting himself, could Percy have injected Gus with his insulin?

He interrupted my thoughts. “When you see Frances, tell her I say hello, would you? She puts on that cranky exterior, but she's really a softie underneath. I bet she misses me.”

“Sure, no problem.” I stopped walking. “Hey, I almost forgot. Would you mind if I took a quick look at where you keep your insulin?”

He frowned up at me. “What do you think you'll find there?”

“No idea,” I said with a smile to ease his obvious concern. “But Frances and I like to be thorough, remember? We prefer to see things for ourselves.”

“Frances knows where I keep everything. You can ask her.”

“But I know how worried you are for her and I really think I need to see the storage for myself. You don't mind, do you?” I sidestepped around him, pointing toward his bedroom. “I won't be a minute.”

“You're as stubborn as she is.” He worked his jaw. “Fine. But I'm coming with you.”

Percy's room was, indeed, much smaller than Gus's. And where Gus had lived a cool, austere existence, Percy clearly preferred one of comfortable clutter. The floor was unobstructed enough to allow his chair wide berth, but the room's perimeter was lined with an assortment of stuff—no better word for it—all placed at a level convenient for his reach. DVDs and books were grouped in messy piles. A mini refrigerator sat in one corner near the windows. In the corner opposite, a ten-bottle wine rack. Mostly whites.

Far out of Percy's reach, the tops of his bookcases were decorated with such a variety of knickknacks, I couldn't take everything in at once. An old-fashioned metal toy fire truck. An orange lava lamp, currently cold and unlit. An arrangement of stuffed animals. Collector plates featuring characters from
Star Trek: The Next Generation
. Model starships from that, and other space-travel series, hung from the ceiling.

Next to me sat a large square laminated cabinet. Two overstuffed easy chairs flanked the cube-shaped structure. One chair was plaid, the other solid. Two motorcycle-themed blankets lay draped across the plaid one and two featuring wildlife were strewn across the other.

Percy caught me looking. “Frances likes to relax there. It's easier for me to stay in the wheelchair,” he said. “But one chair by itself looked lonely. So we ordered a second.”

I wondered, again, what drove Frances to spend weekends here with him. Given the little bit of history she'd shared with me, and her surly attitude toward him, I didn't understand. But perhaps I didn't need to.

I moved to the washroom. “Do you keep your insulin in here?”

“Frances says that all medications should be kept out of heat and humidity, so we store most of my regular stuff right there.” He gestured with his chin.

In all the clutter, I hadn't noticed the small set of drawers tucked into the cube storage unit. Made of plastic—the kind
I used in my bathroom at home to store cosmetics—the drawers were set at a perfect height for Percy's easy reach.

“May I?”

He grunted. “Not going to stop you now.”

The top drawer, the smallest of the three, held over-the-counter items.

The second drawer held more of the same.

The third, and largest of the drawers, was empty. “Is this where the insulin was kept?” I asked.

“No.”

Why was he being so uncooperative? “Where
was
it kept?”

He spun his chair around and gestured toward the windows with his left elbow. I followed his gaze until I understood.

“Insulin needs to be refrigerated?” I asked as I crossed the room to the small appliance. “I guess I didn't know that.”

“The kind I use can be kept at room temperature for a couple of weeks with no problem. I keep one on me at all times, but we're supposed to keep the rest in there.”

The fridge had been arranged so that it sat slightly off the floor. I started toward it.

“There's nothing in there anymore,” Percy said. “It's empty.”

I ignored his attempt to divert me. When I peered inside the cool compartment, I found a whisky bottle lying on its side, three cans of beer, a slab of Gruyère, and a squeeze bottle of ketchup.

I lifted the bottle. “Scotch?”

“Yeah. So?”

“This is the bottle Anton brought Sunday, isn't it? The one you claimed you were going to show to the police.”

He shrugged. “What good would it do to give it to them? The bottle was factory sealed. I didn't want it to go to waste.”

“It's not factory sealed now.”

“So Kyle and I shared some. You going to rat me out?”

“What else are you hiding?” I asked.

“Nothing, I swear.”

“I don't see any medication in here.”

“The police took all of it. Left me nothing but this one.” He snaked his fingers along the side of his leg to produce an insulin syringe.

“What happens if you need more than that?” I asked. “What if you have an emergency?”

Percy adopted a rote-verbatim tone: “Until Indwell completes its own independent investigation into the missing insulin, all patients will be required to call for help if they require emergency assistance.”

“That doesn't seem like a good idea,” I said.

“They tell us it's temporary. For our own good. I had to practically beg them to let me keep this one with me.” After tucking his syringe back into its hiding spot, he held up the wrist bearing his locator bracelet. “You can bet I won't take this baby off until things get back to normal.”

I stepped back to allow him access to the fridge. “You don't have any problem getting what you need out of there?” I asked. “I mean, if you need an item in a hurry.”

With exaggerated weariness, he rolled up to the small refrigerator and reached in to demonstrate his prowess before closing the door and wheeling around to face me. “Yes, little Miss Detective,” he said, “I could have removed the insulin and replaced the empties just as easily as Frances could have.”

“Why are you telling me this? Did you kill Gus?”

He scoffed. “Of course not. The idea is ludicrous.”

“What about Kyle?”

“He didn't do it, either.”

“How can you be so sure?” I was thinking:
How do I know it wasn't you?

“Call it gut-level certainty. Call it whatever you want. I know what I know.” He did a brisk three-point turn and wheeled out of the room. “Time for you to go now.”

Though unsatisfied, I followed him back into the fancy man-cave. “You know I'll have to tell Frances what you said.”

“Frances knows everything I just told you. If she needed to, she'd share it with the police. Trust me.”

Percy's mood had shifted and I knew our visit was at an
end. He accompanied me to the door where Dan had left a couple of boxes right smack in the middle of Percy's path out.

“Nobody understands,” Percy said as I pushed the first one out of his way.

I'd just bent to pick up the second box when Dan returned to the room. “What are you doing with my dad's stuff now?” he asked.

Before I had a chance to answer, the apartment door opened and a couple walked in. The man was blond and beefy. The woman short and dark, but of similar heft.

“Who are you?” the guy asked. A second later, he addressed Dan. “Geez, man. When are you going to find someone your own age?”

It took a little effort, but Dan got us all sorted out. Harland and his wife, Joslyn—once they understood I was not Dan's girlfriend—were clearly perplexed by my presence. “You let her into Dad's room?” Harland asked his brother. “What were you thinking?”

“She was already in there when I arrived. Snooping.” Dan pointed to Percy. “Not my fault. He let her in.”

Harland wore the braggadocio of a young Biff from
Back to the Future
, but physically more resembled the character's older self. In his mid- to late fifties, Harland bested me by about six inches and had to be at least double my weight. Taking a threatening step forward, he asked, “What were you looking for?” To Dan: “How do you know she didn't steal anything?”

“Yeah.” Joslyn kept her thick arms folded across her bosom. “How do we know?”

Though she was probably Harland's age, Joslyn's deep-set eyes, overdue-for-a-dye black hair, and pronounced lip lines, gave her the appearance of someone much older. Her puffy cheeks glowed with high emotion.

My job here was to find something, anything, that might
absolve Frances. I couldn't be intimidated by Gus's less-than-bereft family members. I took a resolute step forward, putting myself within easy reach of Harland's clenching fists.

“You don't,” I said simply. “I didn't take anything, but there's really no way for you to know for sure, is there?”

My audaciousness bought me what I needed: I'd knocked them off their bullying course long enough to push back a little.

“But you also asked what I was looking for,” I continued in the seconds it took him to recover. “That's a fair question. I was hoping to find something the police may have missed. They're investigating my friend Frances. I intend to prove she didn't have anything to do with your father's death.”

I didn't wait for them to react. “And, as I said to Dan, please accept my sincere condolences on your loss.”

Harland and Joslyn exchanged a quick glance. As though reminded that they were in mourning, their demeanor shifted. “We
are
very upset about all this,” Harland said. “I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course,” I said magnanimously. “This is a difficult time for all of you.”

“Anybody would be concerned to find a stranger rifling through their dead father's belongings.” Though she'd softened her stance, Joslyn clearly remained unmoved.

“I'm very sorry to have met you all under such unhappy circumstances, but please know that—more than anything—I want to get to the truth.” Again, not giving them a chance to respond, I plunged forward. “Of course, I'm sure we'll eventually learn that your father died of natural causes.”

“The police don't seem to agree with you,” Joslyn said. “From what we've heard, they're convinced
his
wife”—this accompanied by an accusatory finger pointed at Percy—“had it in for my father-in-law. God rest his soul.”

Harland and Dan repeated the blessing.

I bit back my knee-jerk reflex to argue. Instead, I asked, “Assuming he didn't die naturally—and I sincerely hope to find out that he did—is there anyone else who may have had motive to kill him?”

“My father-in-law was an angel,” Joslyn said.

Dan shot me an I-told-you-so look.

“If Frances did this to him,” Joslyn continued, “she deserves to rot in jail for the rest of her life.”

Harland waved her down like one would an energetic puppy. “Don't start painting holy pictures of him just because he's dead,” he said, practically echoing his brother's sentiments. “Maybe my dad wasn't the easiest guy to get along with, but he didn't deserve being drugged to death.”

“I agree,” I said, “and, believe me, I'll be the first to help bring the guilty party to justice. But—make no mistake—it wasn't Frances.”

Joslyn started to push, asking how I could be so sure, but Harland silenced her again. “We're not going to solve it here. We have to wait for the police to sort it all out.” He regarded me with interest. “What exactly did you think you'd find?”

I answered honestly. “I don't know.”

Percy positioned himself next to me and elbowed my arm. “Shouldn't you be getting back to the police station?”

His insistence that I hurry along was beginning to bug me. “She said she'd be a little while longer,” I reminded him. “Aren't you running late for your card game?” I stepped out of his way. “Don't let me hold you up.”

Harland and Joslyn were blocking the exit. They both scuttled to one side to give Percy a clear path to the door. The look he threw me as he made his way out was not a happy one.

“See you later,” I called to his back.

The moment the door eased shut behind him, I asked the question I couldn't broach with Percy in the room. “What about other people here at Indwell?” I asked. “I'm not suggesting that your father's roommates are guilty, but I don't want to overlook any possibilities.”

Harland brightened. “If it
was
one of his roommates, then we'll have a nice lawsuit on our hands, won't we? Indwell practically forced our dad to live with these two ingrates.”

I turned to see Joslyn shoot a nervous glance to the back of Harland's head.

“Indwell forced Gus to live in this apartment?” I asked her.

“Not exactly,” she said.

Harland spun to face her. “What are you talking about? Once Dad saw the rooms here, compared with the other ones, there was no going back. You saw those other places. A man with his money shouldn't have to live in a one-room dump.”

“That's what I mean,” she said. “He didn't like the other options. They didn't exactly force him to live with Percy and Kyle. It was more like he picked living here.”

“That's not how I remember it.”

The four of us formed a rough semicircle outside of Gus's bedroom door. Though Dan looked eager to pop into the conversation, he remained relatively silent as Harland and Joslyn bickered.

“Your father got along well with Kyle, from what I understand,” I said.

“Yeah; I didn't understand that one bit,” Harland said.

Dan cleared his throat. “Me neither.”

Harland jabbed Dan with his elbow. “Sometimes felt like the old man liked that kid better than he liked us, didn't it?”

Joslyn gave the room a derisive glance. “Don't understand what the kid saw in Gus, though,” she said. “Unless he was looking for a sugar daddy.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Harland waved her down again. “Don't pay her any attention. She got it into her head that Kyle befriended Dad only because he knew he was worth a lot of money.” Exactly the way his brother had earlier, Harland rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “She thinks the kid wanted to get Dad to include him in the will.”

“But isn't Kyle's family well-off?” I asked.

“Sure, but that doesn't mean the kid is. He depends on them for everything. According to Dad, Kyle doesn't want to live here. He wants to be out on his own.”

“Is that possible?”

“Anything's possible with enough bucks,” Harland said with a laugh. “Isn't that right?”

“Was there any chance of your dad doing that?” I asked. “Revising his will, I mean?”

“No way,” Dan said. “Dad may have been a cranky old coot, but he was big on bloodlines. I can't tell you how many times he told us: ‘Money stays in the family.' He didn't even like it much when Harland bought Joslyn a new car. Said, ‘What if she divorces you, what then? She's got the car, and you got nothing.' Man, that was how many years ago? He never stopped complaining about it. Remember, Harland?”

“He was joking around,” Harland said quickly, but from the look on Joslyn's face, this pronouncement came as news. “You know Dad. He said stuff.”

Joslyn's cheeks reddened.

Oblivious, Dan said, “What are you talking about? Dad didn't joke around.”

Before this erupted into a family squabble, I asked, “What about Anton? He seemed broken up about your father's death, but”—I shrugged—“appearances can be deceiving.”

“You met Anton?” Dan asked. “When?”

“He came to visit Sunday, while the police were still here. The news seemed to come as a real shock to him,” I said.

Harland slid a glance toward his father's room. “Did he have a bottle of whiskey with him? Did he leave it here?”

“He did have a bottle with him.” I considered telling them that Percy had appropriated the gift for himself, but there was something about these folks that grated on my nerves. “I'm sure he took it back with him. The police weren't letting anyone into this room.”

“Anton always brought the good stuff,” Dan said.

Harland ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Maybe we should look around in there. See if there's any left.”

“If you find any open liquor in there, you should give it to the police. Have it tested.”

“What? Now you think Anton killed him?” Harland nudged his wife. “This girl will do anything to get the heat off of Frances, won't she?”

“Yeah,” Joslyn said. “Sure seems like it.”

“I'm not saying that Anton did it intentionally. I'm saying that there could have been something in the liquor that interacted with your dad's medications. Have the police even considered that?”

“Nobody killed Dad,” Dan said. “I wish people would stop saying that. He always said he wanted to die peacefully. He did. If it weren't for that Santiago, we'd be able to bury him peacefully, too.”

“The same way you know your dad died peacefully, is the same way I know Frances could never have hurt him,” I said. “Whatever we can do to help the police understand that will only help us all.”

The three of them looked at one another. “I guess.” Dan shifted his weight and pointed toward Gus's room. “Want to get started?” he asked Harland.

The door swung open again and Tara came in. “Oh, hello. I didn't realize you'd still be here,” she said to me before turning to Dan and Harland. “I stopped by to let you know that if you need boxes to carry your father's things out, I'd be happy to call downstairs and see if maintenance has extras. They usually do.”

“That would be really nice. Thank you,” Dan said.

She turned to leave, but then stopped as though remembering something. “Have you all had a chance to talk with the rest of the staff?” she asked. “I know they wanted to express sympathy.”

“We saw Cathy on the way in,” Harland said.

“Me, too.” Dan raised a finger. “And Santiago came by earlier.” He neglected to add that he'd practically chased the nurse out.

“Debbie's on lunch, but I'll let her know you're here,” Tara said. “I know she'll want to see you all before you leave.”

Dan gave a so-so motion with his hand. “Cleaning this room out may take a little longer than I originally thought. We may need the entire week Indwell is giving us.”

“Dad had that much stuff here?” Harland asked. “Like what?”

Dan gave a half laugh. “Haven't had time to get started.”

Tara seemed eager to get out and call down for those boxes. “Take however long you need. Indwell understands that this is a trying time for all of you.”

“I'll join you,” I said as she turned to leave. I'd probably gotten as much information as I could from the Westburg family. “Thanks for talking with me,” I said. “If anything occurs to you that could help the police with their investigation, please don't hesitate to let them know. And feel free to contact me, as well.” I handed all three of them my business cards.

“Marshfield Manor?” Harland said as he studied the card. “That's where you work?”

“Have you ever met the owner?” Joslyn asked. “He's a billionaire, isn't he? Bennett Marshfield?”

“She's his niece,” Dan said.

“Oh,” Joslyn said in a completely new tone. “Oh. Pleased to meet you.”

Tara looked ready to burst into laughter. “Ready to go?” she asked.

I nodded.

When the automatic door swung shut behind us, Tara turned to me with a conspiratorial grin. “Was that a sweet moment or what?” she said. “Did you see the looks on their faces? They were shocked to find out who you are.”

“It's Bennett's name that impressed them. Not mine.”

“Close enough. I swear, the week you and Mr. Marshfield found out you were related, Frances couldn't wait to share the news with everybody here. You'd have thought
she
was the one it was happening to. Your head must be spinning with all the changes in your life right now.”

“Frances told everyone?” I pointed behind us. “Dan recognized my name right away, but Harland and Joslyn had no clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “That's because Dan visits here at least three, four times a week. He may not have liked hanging out with his father, but he showed up. That's more than I can say for the two of them. I'd be surprised if they even know any of the staff members' names.”