Saddled with Murder

by Eileen Brady

  Now I thought I understood.

  “Then she disappeared.”

  “Right, so the time in question is somewhere between eleven thirty at night and eleven the following morning. The day shift arrived at five thirty to open the store and didn’t think much about her car still being there. They thought it had broken down. I guess it happened once before. Odd, because that boyfriend of hers, Devin, is a mechanic.”

  “Ex-boyfriend, I believe.”

  “Anyway, later that morning around eight the supervisor called Rae’s cell phone when she missed her shift. The message went straight to voice mail. Then she called Raeleen’s mother, who checked her room. It was the mom who ended up reporting her missing. When the police came by the supermarket after interviewing the mom, they noticed Raeleen’s car was unlocked. Normally a missing person doesn’t get this much attention in the first twenty-four hours, but Chief Garcia remembered Raeleen Lassitor as the last name in your YouTube video.”

  I sighed. That video felt like a stone around my neck.

  Luke drew a picture of a tree. “After looking at the footage from the parking lot, they started searching the woods. I gather it was a particularly gruesome scene.” He made a few more notes on the board under Raeleen’s name. “Exact time of death is complicated by exposure to the weather.”

  Something puzzled me. “Did she leave anything in the car?”

  “No.”

  “Who takes their purse into the woods?” I asked.

  “No idea. The ex-boyfriend said he hadn’t talked to her for a few days.” Luke drew some question marks beside Devin’s name. “They’d broken up, he said, this time forever. The detectives are checking his phone records. Good-looking fellow.”

  “Yes, I know Devin.” I also remembered who had stood next to Devin the last time I saw him—our former intern, Greta. From his attitude you’d never guess he’d just lost someone close to him.

  As for Greta, she seemed like the cat that caught the canary—and the mouse.

  * * *

  “My money’s on the boyfriend.” Luke drew a star next to Devin’s name.

  “It’s always the boyfriend, or the husband, or the ex-husband,” I added. Then I filled him in on the antics of our former intern. “Greta was at the Christmas party and heard the stupid wish game. Maybe that gave them the idea.”

  “Are we dealing with a team effort here?”

  No idea. We’d brought out some corn chips to help our thought processes. Automatically, my hand scooped a bunch of chips from the bowl. I ate them one by one, carefully thinking. “I thought the FBI was checking into evidence of a hate crime.”

  Luke tossed a chip in the air and caught it in his mouth. “A well-placed spy says the Bureau has nothing. Nada.”

  “Is the chief annoyed the Feds are involved in his murder?”

  “What do you think?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  By the time Luke left that evening the dry-erase board had exploded into a complicated mass of arrows and colors, but we had made progress on our personal issues. At the moment work and school pulled us in different directions. That we recognized. What to do about it? Neither of us had a clear answer yet. It’s hard to talk in depth about an uncomfortable topic when both parties actively avoid it.

  Cleaning up afterward, I decided to call Gramps to weigh in on our Christmas plans. He’d entered an independent living facility, and I worried sometimes about him adjusting to his new life. I needn’t have. While I was cleaning, Gramps was partying.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” The rest of his sentence got lost in the noise.

  “What?” The deafening music in the background eliminated all attempts at conversation. Intermixed were bursts of high-pitched laughter.

  As he moved to find a quieter space, the music faded. “Is that better?” he asked. “Just a second, I’m going into the hallway.”

  That made it bearable. “Some party,” I said.

  “It’s about the third pre-Christmas party we’ve had so far,” Gramps told me. “This one’s got free draft beer. Two-beer limit.”

  “Good.” The image of inebriated seniors getting their party on floated by. Hopefully, they weren’t drinking and driving their electric scooters into each other. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Please. I remember telling you that all the time. Times sure change, don’t they?”

  I looked around my empty studio apartment. “They sure do, Gramps.”

  He laughed and confided that he was waiting for his poker game to start. “I’m no dummy. While these guys were feeling no pain, I was drinking the non-alcoholic beer. Guess who’s going to win big tonight?”

  I’d seen his poker gang in action, and they didn’t mess around. One older gentleman whose math skills waned had appointed himself permanent dealer—complete with hat and pulled-up sleeves.

  “You’re an incorrigible card shark, Gramps. I’m surprised anyone wants to play with you after you beat them the last time.” My grandfather had a well-deserved reputation as a skilled poker player, and never missed an opportunity to show it. A kind-hearted guy, though, he only played for low stakes—penny games being the rule.

  “Short memories around here,” he joked. “That’s one good thing about playing with guys who have a touch of dementia. Puts the odds in your favor.”

  I loved my Gramps. Even after all the deaths and hardships he’d endured, he still maintained a zest for life. That was something I struggled with every day.

  “Well, go back to your party. I’ll catch up with you later.” The noise in the background kicked up a notch as they played “YMCA.”

  “Alright, sweetie. We’ll talk on Sunday. If I think of anything else, I’ll text you or shoot you an email.”

  Very proud of embracing technology, he never missed an opportunity to prove it to me. “Play a couple of rounds of Texas Hold’em for me.” Gramps had taught me the popular poker game on one of my holiday breaks from school.

  “Love you, kid.”

  “Back at you, Gramps.”

  When I hung up, the room became heavy and still.

  * * *

  The next morning all our underground theories had to be dragged into the piercing light. Pinky went down to the police station and confessed to the murder of Raeleen Lassitor.

  “Have you heard?”

  Cindy was the first to call me, followed by Mari and Luke.

  Jeremy weighed in a half-hour later.

  “How the heck did you hear about this?” I asked him. “Aren’t you in Connecticut?”

  “There’s internet and television in Connecticut, Kate. It’s quite civilized up here.”

  “Very funny.”

  Jeremy obviously thought so since he was chuckling. “So, what are you going to do about Pinky?”

  Still rushing around trying to get ready for work, I didn’t answer his question because I had no idea what to say. Or do. “For now, the same Anderson family lawyer is down at the courthouse screaming his head off.”

  I remembered a distraught Pinky telling me he thought he killed Raeleen when he wished her to disappear outside the gas station. After we talked, he seemed fine, convinced he’d misunderstood the manner of death. But what if he still believed it? And confessed again and again?

  * * *

  It turns out that false confessions aren’t that unusual, and they’re handled in a number of different ways, depending on the circumstances. The chief took Pinky’s latest confession with his lawyer present, determined an alibi for a large portion of the time in question, then released him into the family’s custody. Although he had no siblings, he had an uncle and cousins willing to help. Because of the lack of evidence, no weapon, and Pinky’s clean record, he became one more loose end in Raeleen Lassitor’s story.

  * * *

  Although Cindy showered Pinky with offer
s of dinners and movies, the big guy preferred to stay home alone with his Princess. Staying alone had become the most comfortable thing for him. Initiating relationships for someone with social anxiety or shyness often felt like being tortured. But fate intervened in an odd way.

  My first client of the day was a woman in her early thirties, with an older dog suffering from multiple problems, including an enlarged heart.

  Mari had taken the history, but the veterinary record stretched back twelve years, since the day Beth Orstead brought a puppy she had named Lady in for her first exam.

  Beth had a calmness about her, and her dog reflected that personality. An elderly poodle mix, Lady was fluffy and sweet, her silver muzzle barely showing in her gray coat.

  “What brings you here today?” I asked while visually assessing the dog. For her age she looked great.

  The owner’s hand went to the dog’s head and scratched her ear. “She seems to be coughing a little when we go for our walk. I know she has an enlarged heart, so I wanted to have her checked.”

  A prudent philosophy. “Good idea,” I told her. “Any new symptoms in an older dog might be a cause of concern. Has she had an echocardiogram or an ultrasound recently?” I’d scanned her records but hadn’t seen one. Sometimes referral records never make it into the chart.

  But I didn’t have to worry with Beth. She had her own copy of Lady’s records and a copy of the cardiologist’s report from two years ago. When I complimented her on being so organized, she admitted that as a psychiatric social worker, documenting medical visits was an important part of her job.

  Listening with the stethoscope, I heard a mitral valve murmur and slightly raspy lung sounds. “Can Lady stay with us awhile and have some tests run?” I asked. “I’d like to make sure her condition is stable and isn’t moving toward congestive heart failure.”

  Beth nodded, as though she’d expected my reaction.

  “You can go home or wait in reception,” I suggested. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so, if that’s okay.” Mari picked Lady up and had her wave bye-bye with her front paw.

  “You know,” Beth said, her makeup-free face thoughtful, “I’ll wait in reception, if you don’t mind. I brought along some paperwork and my knitting.” She pointed to a sturdy briefcase. “Being nearby will make me feel more comfortable. She’s my baby.”

  We left exam room two and walked down the hallway toward Cindy and the reception area. To my surprise, Pinky sat in one of the chairs, Princess in his arms.

  “Is everything alright with Princess?” I asked.

  “She’s coughing a little today, Dr. Kate. Cindy told me to speak to you.” Pinky’s flush started to rise as three women stared at him.

  “Mari, can you also bring Princess into the treatment area?” Then something struck me as funny. “Beth, your dog’s name is Lady, and Pinky’s dog is Princess. Mari, you and I are taking care of royalty.”

  Both owners took what I said as fact. The only one to crack a smile was Mari before she disappeared with the dogs.

  Beth put her heavy briefcase down and pointed to the chair next to Pinky, “May I?” she asked. “I’m Beth.” She held her hand out.

  “Pinky. I’m pleased to meet you.” Although he blushed terribly, he shook Beth’s hand.

  “I’ll be out to talk to each of you as soon as I’m finished,” I told them both. “Meanwhile, Cindy, can you give Beth and Pinky the new handout on canine cardiac disease?”

  Cindy came around to the front with two pamphlets in her hand. “I’ve got the heart diet information here, too.”

  That’s when it happened. Beth said, “Lady won’t eat that. I’ve tried so many times.”

  “Neither will Princess,” said Pinky.

  Beth turned toward him, a smile on her face. “We shouldn’t let them boss us around.”

  “That’s what my mom used to say.”

  An awkward silence was broken by Beth offering to show Pinky some pictures of Lady on her phone. He reciprocated with his fur baby pictures.

  Cindy and I looked at each other. What was going on here?

  After watching the two heads sharing photos I said, “Alright. Please make sure both of you go over the information Cindy gave you.”

  “We will,” Beth said. “I’ll see to it.”

  Pinky shifted in his seat and confessed, “Sometimes I don’t read these because they scare me.”

  Beth touched his sleeve. “That’s okay. I’ll help you.”

  As Christmas music played away in the background the warm and fuzzy feeling Beth’s kindness generated in me lasted until I reached the treatment room door. That’s when I remembered my dry-erase board and its doodles of many colors.

  Did I just introduce Beth to a murderer?

  * * *

  Murder suspects fell from the skies that day as Devin and Greta showed up with his dog, Muffin, for her recheck. Cindy whispered to me that Devin was still a person of interest as she escorted them both into exam room one.

  “I know,” I whispered back. After one last look at the remarkable sight of Pinky and Beth chatting in the waiting room while she knitted, I checked my neck for my stethoscope.

  As I made my way toward the exam room our entrance door flew open and two figures, neither of whom had an animal with them, strode into the waiting room. Everyone stared at these exotic creatures. I recognized one of them, although she appeared completely transformed. The psychic, Delphina, whom I’d last seen in an apron, was now dramatically made-up. She wore a long black coat over a shimmering silver dress, with several colorful scarves wrapped around her neck. However, it was the younger woman by her side that commanded attention. Long blond hair framed a beautifully sculptured face, the kind you see in magazine ads or old black-and-white movies. Very tall, she had dressed all in black, from her leather boots to her onyx-and-gold necklace.

  Mari came up behind me, a lab report in her hand. “Delphina? Is that you?”

  “Mari.” Delphina acknowledged her greeting but stayed put.

  The young woman stepped forward, eyes seeking mine. “May we have a few moments of your time, Dr. Kate?”

  I had no idea who this beautiful bird of paradise was or what she wanted. Luckily, Cindy had returned by then and jumped into the fray. Nobody but nobody messes with Cindy’s schedule without a good reason.

  “I’m sorry, but Dr. Kate is completely booked this afternoon. If you’ll follow me, I’ll see what I can arrange.” Her steely manner dared them to argue with her. “Your next client is ready, Dr. Kate.”

  Taking advantage of Cindy’s maneuver to get me out of there, Mari and I disappeared into the treatment area, leaving the psychic and her sidekick no choice but to negotiate with Cindy for my time. Mari escorted me into exam room two, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following.

  What did they hope to accomplish with this performance in my waiting room? Obviously meant to impress somehow, it simply put me on guard.

  Thankful for my skillful receptionist, I hid my laughter and scurried down the hall.

  * * *

  A somber Devin waited in the exam room, one hand steadying Muffin, who sat happily on the table. Greta stood pressed against him. I noticed she wore much more makeup than when she interned with us. Not particularly flattering.

  I also noticed that Greta’s face wasn’t beaming as before. What had adjusted her high beams down to running lights?

  “Morning, Dr. Kate. Muffin’s here for a recheck.”

  Something was definitely odd here. Devin’s normally pleasant voice sounded flat. I moved toward the dog, who wagged its tail at me. “She seems happy today. Mari, let’s weigh her and check her kidney function with a quick bun and creatinine. Can you two wait here? Be back in five minutes.”

  Mari scooped up the dog and, excusing myself, I followed into the treatment room. After a quick b
lood draw, we began the computerized test then put Muffin on our scale. She’d gained a healthy one and a quarter pounds. Our blood-chemistries results also showed improvement all around.

  “Did you notice a chill in the air between the lovebirds?” Mari asked.

  “Definitely down a few degrees.” I finished my notes and gave Muffin a doggy high five.

  When we returned to the exam room only Devin was there.

  Mari of course blurted out, “Where’s Greta?” Muffin stayed in her arms.

  “She’s in the waiting room. I wanted to speak to Dr. Kate, alone, if you don’t mind.” Devin stared pointedly at Mari.

  More and more puzzling. Even after I gave him the news about Muffin’s kidney function tests, Devin only said, “Good.”

  “Let me take Muffin out to Greta, then,” Mari said, getting the point. She quickly disappeared, diplomatically closing the door after her.

  I walked over to the desk and sat down. Our exam rooms were a pleasant size, furnished with a small desk and chair for the doctor to use, two client chairs, and a stainless-steel exam table.

  “Please, take a seat, Devin, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  No one could have predicted his dilemma.

  Devin fidgeted with his hands, then said, “May I tell you something in confidence?”

  “Sure. As long as it isn’t something illegal.”

  “No, it’s very legal. Too legal. Everyone will find out soon enough. I’m meeting with some lawyers today.” He took a breath and continued. “Raeleen left me a million dollars in a life-insurance policy, and I’m pretty sure the police want to arrest me for her murder.”

  The continued flatness of his voice made me suspect he was in shock.

  “Why did she have such a large policy?” I asked without thinking. “She was a young woman.”