The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (8 page)

Harry chuckled at the recollection before he went on to say, "Otto's book would probably
sell better as a cure for insomnia than anything else. I doubt his manuscript is chock
full of scintillating facts and insights. Just more of the scientific drivel he spouts
all the time."

"You don't like Mr. Poffenbarger?"

"Oh, Otto's a nice enough fellow, I suppose. He's just such a dry, boring person to
converse with. I've had more interesting conversations with Tinkerbelle, my Persian
cat, than I've had with Otto. I can almost understand why Patty rarely gives the man
permission to speak. Or, Fatty Patty, I should say, as Horatio was known to call her."

"To her face?" I asked, in disbelief.

"Of course," he said. "He'd say it to intentionally provoke her."

"But why?"

"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "Why did he do a lot of the things he did? Like I said,
he was a jackass, through and through."

Alma swatted Harry with her book again, harder this time. I was beginning to think
the guests with no motive to kill Mr. Prescott were few and far between. I had a lot
to mull over and record in my notebook when I could find the time. The thought reminded
me it was almost time to start preparing lunch.

I excused myself to assist Crystal in the kitchen. We'd be preparing spinach crepes,
cream of asparagus soup, and chicken-salad finger sandwiches to serve to the guests
for their mid-day meal. I could get some of the dishes prepared in advance while Crystal
tackled the housekeeping chores. I figured it might take her a while because it was
her first time to make up the rooms.

"I'd better get back to work. Don't you two get so involved in your reading you forget
to come to the dining room for lunch in about half an hour," I said.

I knew I'd have to catch Harry alone in the next day or two and try to worm out the
details of his animosity towards our "extinguished" guest, Horatio Prescott III. I
was hearing a lot about laundry this morning, both clean and dirty, and I wanted to
find out more about it!

* * *

"Mom?" I heard Wendy's anxious voice as Crystal gave the phone to me. She was calling
from the County Coroner's office in St. Joseph, where she worked.

"Yeah, this is me."

"Are you and Stone okay?"

"Yes, honey, we're fine."

"They just hauled a body bag in here and told us the man had been killed at the Alexandria
Inn. I couldn't believe it. What happened over there? Who killed him? Do you know?
When did the murder occur? Did anyone witness it?" she asked. There was anxiety and
concern in her voice as she rattled off questions.

"No, we don't know much yet. The victim's name is Horatio Prescott III, and he was
to be inducted as the new president of the Rockdale Historical Society later on today.
Stone and I found him dead in his room this morning. As I'm sure you know, he'd been
shot in the back of the head. The Rockdale detectives are investigating the murder,
but they don't know who killed him or why yet. Stone and I have decided to do a little
investigating ourselves."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Wendy asked, dryly. "It was your idea, I suppose."

"Uh-huh."

"Figured so," Wendy said, with a hint of amusement in her tone. I could hear a buzzing
sound in the background as Wendy spoke and wondered if Mr. Prescott's corpse was being
sawed in half at that very moment. I felt a chill run up my spine and felt strangely
relieved with Wendy's next statement. "By the way, Mom, later on today Nate is letting
me perform the autopsy on this Prescott guy by myself since it is such a cut-and-dried
case. He'll just be observing me as I work. It'll be my first time to fly solo, so
to speak. I can hardly wait."

Nate Smith was the County Coroner, and he'd been training Wendy as his assistant for
the last few months. He planned to retire in a few years and buy a waterfront condo
in south Texas to live out his golden years. His wife had already retired from teaching
at the secondary-education level.

Stone had encouraged Wendy to apply for the apprentice position with Nate when he'd
heard through the local grapevine about the County Coroner's impending retirement.
It'd be a longer drive for her than Kansas City, Kansas, but it'd be worth the inconvenience
to have the chance to step into the coroner's position in two years. She'd have spent
many years waiting for such an opportunity in Wyandotte County, Kansas, where she'd
first gone to work, assisting a County Coroner who wasn't much older than she was.

On nights when she worked late or had to report to the coroner's lab early the following
day, she could skip the long drive and stay overnight at the Alexandria Inn. She'd
stayed at the inn often during the weeks Stone and I had worked day and night getting
it ready for its grand opening. She'd helped out by spending her evenings with a sander
or a paintbrush in her hand; working steadily while she rattled on about the cadaver
she'd watched Nate Smith dissect that day. I had tried to concentrate on other, more
pleasant things while nodding sporadically at Wendy's ramblings.

Eventually Wendy planned to buy a place of her own in St. Joseph or nearby Rockdale.
She seemed confident I would end up selling my home in Shawnee and moving in with
Stone at the Alexandria Inn. I had to admit I was already spending more time there
with Stone than I was spending at my own home. Still, I hesitated to give up my independence
entirely, despite the subtle hints by Stone and the gentle prodding by Wendy. But
I set those thoughts aside to listen to Wendy chatter excitedly about her first "flying-solo"
autopsy.

"Autopsy? I'm no expert, but I'd guess the bullet through his brain might have had
something to do with the cause of his death," I said dryly.

"Duh," Wendy said with a laugh. "Good deduction, Mom. However, you know it's customary
to perform an autopsy in all homicide cases or whenever foul play is suspected. I
could even be called on at a later date to testify in court, you know. I'm a bit nervous,
but only because this is my very first time to handle the entire autopsy on my own.
Oh, I hear Nate calling my name. I've got to get busy, Mom. Wish me luck."

"You've got it, honey. Call me at the inn this evening to let me know how the autopsy
went, okay? There's some leftover lasagna in the fridge you can heat up for supper.
I won't be home tonight. We've all been instructed to stay at the inn for the next
couple of days—if possible, of course. With every guestroom filled, Stone needs me
to help Crystal anyway. She's a pro, but even so, it's too much for one person to
handle. Sometimes it's almost too much for the two of us to handle. These Historical
Society people can be very demanding."

"Okay, I'll give you a call from home then. It'll be eight or nine, I'd imagine. Don't
work too hard, Mom."

* * *

Crystal and I served pork roast with potatoes, carrots, and fried okra for supper,
and now the guests were gathering in the parlor with their ever-present cups of coffee.
The caffeine consumption was hitting a dangerous level, I feared. I was accustomed
to drinking coffee from morning till night, but I wasn't sure about the guests.

While exiting the parlor with an empty carafe, I was fascinated by Cornelius Walker
and Ernestine Fischer, who were dancing in the corner of the room. They were doing
something resembling the fox trot, dancing in time to the music drifting out from
the antique Atwater Kent radio on the fireplace mantel. For such an ordinary-looking
man, Cornelius was an incredibly accomplished dancer, and Ernestine was doing all
she could to keep up with him. I was compelled to stop and watch them from the doorway.
Robert Fischer and Rosalinda Swift were clapping along with the music, in appreciation
of the show the dancers were putting on, and I joined in, applauding the pair enthusiastically
at the conclusion of the song. I noticed, however, the lively beat of the music and
the motion of the dancers had caused me to feel a little dizzy all of a sudden.

Back in the kitchen a few minutes later, I poured another pitcher of water into the
coffeemaker and began working on the daunting pile of dirty dishes on the counter.
I struggled with the task of washing them, feeling lethargic and slightly sick to
my stomach. As I dried the last plate and was putting it back into the cabinet, the
phone rang, and Crystal answered it after the first ring.

"It's for you," she said. "Your daughter."

"Thanks." I shut the cabinet door and hung the dishtowel up to dry.

"Are you all right?" Crystal asked as I stumbled, reaching for the phone. I nodded
and gratefully sat down on the stool she slid across the floor toward me.

I greeted Wendy, who was calling from the coroner's lab again. She was excited about
executing the autopsy on Horatio Prescott III without a single hitch. "As suspected,
he was killed by a single gunshot wound to the head," she said. "I extracted a thirty-two-caliber
slug from his skull, just behind the right eye socket."

Wendy said this in the same manner anyone else's daughter might when bragging about
being named Employee of the Month. I found it a little distasteful.

"Surprise, surprise," I said. "Are you certain it wasn't something he ate? You know
those chicken bones can be hazardous."

"What was unexpected though," Wendy continued, ignoring my sarcasm entirely, "was
the damage we found to Mr. Prescott's organs. Prior to being shot, he'd ingested some
form of toxin."

"Ahh, so it
was
something he ate," I said, even as I realized I was being too glib. A man had been
murdered, and I was making light of it. The giddiness was partially due to the almost
intoxicated sensation I was suddenly experiencing.

"He hadn't ingested enough to kill him, but it's safe to say he wasn't feeling too
whoopee this morning at the time he was murdered. There was also quite a bit of scotch
in his system, so we think the poison might have been slipped into a drink and probably
ingested just before midnight. I determined he died somewhere between four and six
A.M.,
and Nate concurred with my conclusion."

"How could you determine the time of his death?"

"By the temperature of his liver. The liver also showed signs of degeneration from
the presence of the poisonous substance."

"That would agree with the time I heard him hit the floor in the room above me, which
was 5:08. What exactly is the poisonous substance found in his system?"

"Don't know yet," Wendy said, "but we should have the toxicology report back soon."

I tried to answer but began to cough as a result of a dry, burning throat that had
been bothering me off and on all evening. I hacked again, and Wendy asked, "You okay,
Mom? You haven't started smoking again, have you? You're coughing, and you just don't
sound like yourself."

"No, honey, I haven't started smoking again, and I don't plan to. It's just a sore
throat causing me to cough. It's nothing to worry about. I'm probably just catching
a cold. Or it could just be the dry winter air in this place."

"Have you taken any Alka-Seltzer yet?" Wendy's answer to everything from a splinter
to congestive heart failure was Alka-Seltzer. She swore Alka-Seltzer, if taken early
enough, could ward off anything, whether it is a cold, the flu, or the black plague.

"No, not yet, but I'll check to see if Stone has any in his medicine cabinet. So,
anyway, is it safe to assume Mr. Prescott was shot because the poison failed to do
the trick?" I asked.

"That'd be my guess. No need to kill a guy twice."

* * *

After the Historical Society guests retired to their rooms for the evening, I joined
Stone in the parlor to discuss the day's events. I had poured myself another cup of
espresso and carried it in the room with me.

Stone gave me a long, tender kiss before he noticed the cup in my hand. "Good Lord,
Lexie, are you still drinking coffee? Haven't you had more than enough of the stuff
today already? You'll never get any sleep tonight."

"I gave up the prayer of sleeping a long time ago. But, actually, I'm feeling a bit
nauseated at the moment, so I don't think I'd better drink anymore of this, anyway.
I was just going to go check your medicine cabinet for Alka-Seltzer."

"I'll go buy a box of it for you if there isn't any in the cabinet. And maybe I'll
pick up some Nyquil to help you sleep—so you won't be up all night."

"By the sounds of the floorboards creaking and groaning upstairs, I don't think I'll
be the only person up all night. We went through a full three-pound can of coffee
today, along with what was left from the other can we started with this morning."

"Got enough left for tomorrow?"

"No, but Crystal is going to pick some up on her way to work in the morning, along
with a few other items we are running short on. We've got enough for several pots,
which will get us started, at least."

"Good. Crystal's been a real asset to us, hasn't she? Can you make sure she's reimbursed
for whatever she has to purchase? I'll make sure she gets a bonus when this is all
over with, too."

I assured him I'd take care of reimbursing Crystal, and then told him everything I'd
learned throughout the day, none of which I'd found time to jot down in my notebook.
He listened intently, as he always did. He then placed his index finger under my chin
and lifted my face to study it with scrutiny. "You look flushed, sweetheart. I don't
want you working as long or hard tomorrow, you hear? These people are not invalids;
they can fend for themselves tomorrow if Crystal is not available to wait on them.
Crystal doesn't have to be at their beck and call either, for that matter."