When the doctor hurried off, I stood there for a few seconds, debating with myself whether or not to return to the lieutenant's room.
“Mrs. Trent,” he bellowed.
“Stop that yelling!” I said, returning to his room. “There are other patients around here, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
A male nurse came in and told Lieutenant Belmont they would be moving him, to prep him for surgery. I noticed that the lieutenant didn't have any smart remarks to offer the man, but when another nurse, a young woman, came in, he said, “Nurse Ratched, I presume.”
She ignored him. I guessed she'd had to deal with plenty of difficult patients, and perhaps ignoring some of their absurd statements was one way to handle them.
Lieutenant Belmont looked at her to see if he'd provoked a reaction, but his expression quickly changed when she came closer.
“Jill?”
She pointed to her name tag, which was pinned to her scrubs. “No, it's Samantha. My name's Samantha.”
“Oh.” He lay back and closed his eyes, as though he'd finally reconciled himself to the surgery.
“Good luck!” I called as they wheeled him out of the room.
At first, I didn't think he'd heard me, but then he raised his arm in acknowledgment. The gesture was probably as close to a thank-you as the lieutenant could get.
I knew he was going to have a tough road ahead of him. His attitude and unwillingness to follow a healthy regimen would make it even tougher. I wondered what it would be like to face such a major health crisis without any close relatives or dear friends to count on for comfort and practical help. At least, the lieutenant had Dawn and Dave. I felt fairly sure that they were his only friends.
As I walked down the hall toward the elevator, I pulled out my phone and called Dave at the station.
“I think I've solved the mystery of Jill,” I told him when he answered. Then I explained that Samantha, the nurse who'd come by to help prep the lieutenant for surgery, must look a lot like Jill had when she was younger. “I could tell the lieutenant realized his mistake as soon as she pointed to her name tag. This woman is young; Jill Durand would be in her fifties by now.”
“Just a coincidence. It sounds as though it has nothing to do with Ulysses's case.”
“I suppose not, but I do wonder whether Jill could be involved somehow.”
“I'll look into it, but according to Olivia, Ulysses hadn't had any contact with his ex-wife for years. Most likely, she's out of the picture. Anyway, thanks for letting me know. By the way, Dawn will be keeping tabs on Bill throughout the day, but he'll be in the ICU for at least twenty-four hours after surgery, so at least that'll keep him out of my hair for a while. He still thinks he should be in charge of the case.”
Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea, after all, for Dave to discuss the case with the lieutenant in a few days when he was up to it. It might take the lieutenant's mind off his health problems, temporarily at least.
On the way home, I made two stops, one at the bank and another at the supermarket, where I stocked up for the week. Flush with cash from the unexpected sale of my original painting to Brian, I spent twice as much for groceries as usual, and I had so many items to put away when I arrived home that my small pantry was bursting, and I had to ask Belle if I could borrow some freezer space because I couldn't fit everything into my dinky freezer.
“Do you still have those photocopies of the newspaper articles about Jill's disappearance?” I asked Belle as soon as we'd stowed my excess frozen food in her freezer.
“Sure, over here.” She pulled a folder out of one of her kitchen drawers.
I opened the folder and put the article with the picture of Jill on the sunny countertop so that we could see it more clearly.
“I'm just trying to see the resemblance between her and that nurse Samantha.” I'd already filled Belle in on my trip to the hospital.
“The picture looks so grainy,” Belle complained. “Plus it's just a photocopy.”
“I'd say there's some resemblance, but it's kind of hard to tell.”
“Anyway, the woman you saw can't possibly be Jill. She's way too young. You said yourself that Sergeant Martinez thought it was just a coincidence.”
“Yes, but for both Ulysses and Lieutenant Belmont to mistake her for Jill, she must look very much like Ulysses's ex-wife. What if she never forgave him? What if she's been harboring a desire for revenge all these years?”
“But you just said she couldn't possibly be Jill.”
“No, she's not Jill. But she could be Jill's daughter.”
Chapter 27
“Now you really have gone off the deep end. You don't even know whether Jill has a daughter, let alone whether she's nursing a decades-old grudge.”
“It could make sense, though. Just think about it. Samantha works at the hospital. Nobody would think twice about seeing a nurse go into Ulysses's hospital room. Not only that, but I bet she's strong. She'd have to lift patients as part of her job. I think she has enough strength to strangle someone. She could have even given him a sedative earlier. Who knows?”
“That's quite a theory, but it's all speculation. There's no proof that this nurse had anything to do with Ulysses's murder. You said yourself that you and Dave both thought it was a coincidence that she resembles Jill. It doesn't have to mean anything more.”
“True, but it could.”
“Amanda Trent, what are you up to? I can see the wheels turning.”
“Oh, just thinking. Maybe we should try to find out exactly who nurse Samantha is. It shouldn't be too difficult.”
“What's this 'we'?”
“Aren't you the least little bit curious?”
“I guess so, but I still say your theory is far-fetched.”
“You're probably right,” I conceded, “but it couldn't hurt to check.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I have an idea, but let me think about it, and I'll call you later.”
“OK. I know there's no stopping you, so keep me in the loop.”
“I will. I promise.”
I speculated that it shouldn't be too difficult to check on Samantha and find out more about her background. A woman in her twenties probably would have all sorts of social media profiles, but before I could check on those, I'd have to find out her last name. The nurses' name tags displayed only first names. That could be a deliberate strategy on the part of the hospital to protect their privacy.
Before planning a way to find out Jill's last name, I remembered that I needed to contact the buyers of the Siamese cats pet portrait. I wondered whether or not they intended to take delivery of the painting they had commissioned a couple of months earlier. Since they hadn't responded to my email or the online invoice I'd sent them through PayBuddy, I decided a phone call was in order at this point.
My customer apologized profusely for not getting back to me earlier. She and her family had been vacationing and hadn't been keeping up with email. I was pleased when she expressed satisfaction with her pets' portrait, but not so pleased when she asked me to have it framed and bill her for the framing. As patiently as I could, I explained that I didn't do any framing but that I could deliver the portrait to a local frame shop after she paid my invoice. I suggested Brooks's new enterprise at the resort, referring her to the shop's online gallery where a potential customer could upload an image and see how it would look with different framing and matting options. She seemed quite enthusiastic about the idea and told me she would try it out and let me know. I hoped she did decide to avail herself of the frame shop's services because it would be far easier for me to drop off the portrait in Lonesome Valley than to drive to Phoenix to a shipping company that specialized in shipping fine art all over the world. Once I delivered it to the frame shop, they would take on the responsibility of shipping the framed portrait to the customers.
Later, when I went into the studio to work, Mona Lisa surprised me by following Laddie. She stalked ar
ound the room as though she were hunting, but, finding no prey, she retreated to the living room. She seldom came into the studio, but every once in a while, she checked it out for some reason, known only to her.
I worked steadily for a couple of hours while Laddie stretched out on his bed and took an afternoon nap. I put my brush down and stepped back a few feet to gain a different perspective on my artwork, a rather cool expressionistic landscape done mostly in the hues of blue and green. I hoped to evoke a feeling of calmness with this particular painting, but I wasn't sure I was succeeding.
A knock on the studio door interrupted my reverie. When I saw Chip standing outside, I thought about the times he'd shown up unannounced, leaving me a bit on edge, shortly after I'd been accepted as a member of the Roadrunner. He hadn't come over lately, and I'd never invited him, but since he'd toned down his attempts to flirt with me, I didn't think he had flirtation on his mind today.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he said breezily when I opened the door. Of course, Laddie was right behind me with a tail-wagging greeting of his own.
“You're just in time,” I told him.
“I like the sound of that,” he countered.
“I need your opinion on this landscape,” I said, pointing to the canvas I'd been painting.
Despite his lighthearted bantering, Chip took art seriously, and I knew he'd give me an honest answer. I held my breath as he cast a critical eye on my landscape.
“It says serenity to me,” he declared. “I like it.”
“Not too moody?”
“No, I don't get that vibe at all. Is that what you're going for?”
“No, just quiet.”
“You're nailing it.”
“Thanks. It's always good to have another opinion. Sometimes I'm not too sure I'm succeeding.”
“I know the feeling well. It's the bane of most artists. Deep down, we're often asking ourselves if our latest work is any good.”
“I suppose that's true. Thanks for your insight, but I know you didn't come here to critique my painting. What's up?”
“It's Ralph. I'm worried about the old guy. I've taken him a pizza for dinner a couple of times, and I don't think he's taking care of himself. The larder was bare when I showed up at his house last night, and he's still having problems getting around. He was using a walker, instead of his cane, yesterday. I was going to ask Aunt Susan to check on him because she knows him a lot better than I do, but she's tied up getting ready for a couple of workshops she's leading in Phoenix tomorrow. And I can't very well contact Pamela. Her husband would probably go ballistic if he found out I'd called her.”
“You want me to visit him to see how we can help.”
“That's about the size of it. The problem is that he's a proud man. He insisted on paying for the pizzas I brought him—that part's OK, I guess, since he can afford it—but I definitely got the impression that he didn't want me around. Maybe this situation needs a woman's touch.”
“OK. I could take him dinner tonight and offer to grocery shop for him.”
“Good. I was hoping you'd say 'yes.'”
“Sure. I'll make a casserole, salad, and a dessert, enough for a couple of meals at least, and I'll offer to pick up whatever he needs at the supermarket.”
“Hello?” a voice from outside called. Chip had left the door open, and I could see Brian standing in the doorway. As he stepped inside, he looked at Chip and me quizzically. “I'm sorry to interrupt,” he said.
“You're not. Brian, this is Chip Baxter. He's one of the members of the Roadrunner. Chip, Brian's my next-door neighbor.”
The two men shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Chip said. “I need to get to work now. Thanks for your help, Amanda. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
Chip gave Laddie a goodbye pat before Laddie trotted over to Brian, looking for attention from our latest visitor. Brian set a catalog he'd been carrying down on my desk and began to scratch behind Laddie's ears. Naturally, my eager dog made the most of his latest opportunity as he panted happily.
“I got this catalog in the mail last week, and I was about to pitch it when I remembered Belle's suggestions about adding some, uh, matching stuff to my living room.”
“Accessories?”
“That's right. I suppose you can tell I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to setting up housekeeping. I never bothered with more than the basics when I lived in my apartment in Phoenix, but now that I have a house, I figure it should look like a home. Anyway, I dog-eared some pages in the catalog. I wonder if you'd mind taking a look and letting me know if I'm on the right track.”
“Of course,” I said, picking up the catalog and turning to the first page he'd turned down.
“Would these pillows work? I know Belle said to match colors in the painting, but I'm not too good at that. The tan pillows look like they'd match the sofa, though.” He looked at me hopefully.
“Yes, they would, but using some pops of color around the room could liven it up a lot.” I flipped through the next pages and found a good selection of pillows in a wide range of colors and sizes. “These, for example—two of the aquamarine and two smaller tangerine cushions—would brighten the room without overpowering your painting.”
“All right. You're the expert. I'll order those.” He stopped scratching Laddie long enough to circle the listing I'd suggested in the catalog. Laddie stood on his haunches, curling his front paws under his chin, and we both laughed at his antics.
“It's OK, Laddie,” I said, as I petted him. “We haven't forgotten you.”
I turned to Brian. “He's awfully good at soaking up attention, as you can see.”
“I don't blame him,” Brian replied. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he turned beet red and made a beeline for the door.
Chapter 28
Brian's abrupt departure seemed a little odd. He hadn't even said goodbye, but I guessed he'd felt embarrassed. It was probably just as well that he hadn't lingered because, now that I'd offered to take Ralph dinner, I had to not only prepare the food but also figure out the best way to approach Jill.
As I assembled the ingredients for a chicken-and-rice casserole, I decided on a simple ruse, but I needed to find out what time the nurses' day shift ended at the hospital to time my visit with Ralph. I picked up my phone to call Belle.
“You don't happen to know what time the nurses at the hospital change shifts, do you?”
“No, but I can probably find out. I know a few people who work there.”
“Great.” I explained my simple plan to Belle, and she insisted on coming with me to the hospital when it was time to put my plan into action. I also told her about my more immediate mission to check on Ralph's welfare.
“We'll figure out our timing when we find out when the shift changes. Right now, I'm up to my elbows in chicken and rice.”
“I'll let you know as soon as I find out.”
I'd baked the casserole, prepared the salad, and whipped up my own shortcut version of chocolate mousse by the time Belle called me back.
“Sorry that took so long, but I hadn't talked to my friend Darlene in ages, and I thought it best to work my question about the shift changes casually into our conversation. Anyway, she told me they work twelve-hour shifts and change at seven, morning and evening.”
“All right. I'll take Ralph's dinner to him early, around five. Then, I'll come back and pick you up. That should give us plenty of time to catch nurse Samantha before she leaves for the day. I can bring you home then, unless you need to go to the supermarket; I promised Chip I'd pick up some supplies for Ralph. He said it looked like he didn't have any food in the house.”
“I'll tag along with you to the grocery store. I always have a list going, so I can do some shopping. Bring Laddie over when you're ready to go.”
“Dennis won't mind?”
“No, he always likes to play with the dogs. He says it's relaxing after a day at the feed store.”
It wasn't long before it was time to go to Ralph's, so I dropped off Laddie and told Belle I'd be back for her as soon as I could. I put Ralph's address in my phone so my GPS genie could direct me to his house. I'd been there only once before, and Susan had been driving, so I hadn't really paid attention to our route. I put the casserole in a sturdy box in the back of my SUV and carefully placed the salad and dessert in insulated containers on the passenger-side floor.
Before long, I was pulling into Ralph's driveway. He lived in a large ranch-style home, and his studio was in a separate building at the back of the property. Except for a few weeds poking through the light pea gravel in the front yard, nothing looked amiss.
I took the casserole out of the back and followed the winding sidewalk to the front door. Reminding myself to be patient since Ralph probably wouldn't be moving too quickly, if he was using a walker, I rang the bell and waited for him to appear. After several minutes, Ralph opened the door.
“Amanda, come on in,” he invited me.
“Chip said your arthritis is bothering you, so I thought you might like a home-cooked meal.”
“Great. Thank you. The kitchen's through here.” Ralph led me through the living room and dining area to a large kitchen. He seemed happy enough at my visit. Maybe Chip had pegged the situation accurately, and Ralph would accept help more easily from a woman than from a man.
“Nice kitchen,” I commented as I set the casserole down on the counter.
“I remodeled about ten years ago. Doubt that I'll have to do it again,” he said ruefully.
I couldn't think of a good response to his comment, so I opted for concentrating on the task at hand. “I left a salad and some dessert in the car. Let me run out and get them, and I'll be right back.”
“Use the kitchen door. It'll be closer.”
When I went outside, I found myself only a few yards away from where I'd parked next to the house, but I hadn't seen the side door because of a large shrub that was blocking my view.
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