“Sam, get a glass of wine. You’re gonna need it.”
“I can’t drink wine, remember? Pregnant?”
“I meant that non-alcoholic cabernet crap you have.”
“It’s actually pretty good, but I can’t wait for a glass of the real thing.” I watched her pour a glass in the kitchen and then go into the living room. She settled on the sofa, and wedged a pillow behind her lower lumbar. “Okay. I’m all ears. Spill.”
After I told her what I’d learned, she said, “That explains the hideous muumuus.”
“Oh, my gosh! You’re right!” I said. “The big question is, why she didn’t tell Nina? She thinks Donna still lives in Ketchikan.”
“Yeah, that’s weird. Why keep it a secret?”
“Who knows? One thing I do know is, the condo on Maui had to have cost a fortune. At least over a million when she bought it. Where did she get that kind of money?”
Chelsea leaned over Sam’s shoulder from behind the couch. “Hi, Aunt Katy. When’s my next driving lesson?”
“We’ll schedule a lesson soon, honey. I promise.”
She blew me a kiss and left the room.
“Where was I?” I said. “Oh, got it. The Maui condo and how could she afford it.”
“She probably made a down payment and has a huge mortgage.”
“Duh. You’re right.”
“I wonder if she’s running out of money,” said Sam. “You said the workers have walked off the job more than once for not getting paid. Although I would assume that Nina is the one paying for the work, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, but maybe not. Maybe the deal is that Donna will be reimbursed when the house sells. Nina is on a fixed income, so she may not have the extra cash available for all this so-called remodeling.”
“I bet that’s the deal,” Sam said. “Donna’s books are really popular on Amazon, so she must be making good money on them.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like she’s a big time writer like James Patterson or Nora Roberts.”
“True.”
“Plus, the Maui condo payments are probably three to four thousand a month, depending on what her down payment was.” I sipped my wine and thought about the bag of Doritos in the cupboard. “And then all the typical monthly expenses, too. I bet there is a high HOA payment.” I got up and went to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m getting some taco chips.” I got the bag and returned to the couch. “When Donna’s husband bit the dust, she got the house and business. When her mother passed, she inherited the house and whatever else. Maybe life insurance and a pension. She’s Nina’s only heir, and even in its current state, that house is worth a lot. Plus, her jewelry, and whatever money is left in her IRA or 401K.”
“If Donna is going broke, then she needs that money now.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think I am,” said Sam. “I think Nina is worth a lot more dead than alive.”
Chapter Thirty
Wednesday • July 8
Posted by Katy McKenna
Daisy had her nose glued to the ground, pausing to savor every shrub or weed. Simon Prichard’s mailbox must have smelled especially delicious because no matter how hard I tugged her leash, she would not budge.
While she savored the dandelions popping up around the mailbox, I spotted a hawk flopping in the dead grass behind one of Prichard’s solar panels. His wing was bent at a grotesque angle. I tied the leash to the mailbox post and crept towards the bird. He stopped fluttering and fixed his beady eyes on me.
“I’ve had enough!” I rang Prichard’s doorbell, over and over, until he finally answered.
“What is your problem?” he grumbled.
“There’s an injured hawk in your yard. Clearly another victim of your damned solar panels.”
“What do you expect me to do about it? I’m out of town.”
Geez. This guy is a heartless creep. “I don’t expect you to do anything. I’m merely informing you that I’m calling the wildlife rescue people now. Are you aware that red-tailed hawks are on the endangered species list in California and are protected by law? You could wind up doing serious prison time for this, buddy.”
I sat on the porch step and searched for the local wildlife bird rescue people on my phone. Just when I found it, the front door opened. A tall, slim man with a dark blond manbun and a brown bushy beard stood in the doorframe.
“I take it you’re,” I finger-quoted, “out-of-town-Simon-Prichard.”
“Yup. Just got back. And you’re my annoying neighbor, Karen—”
“Oh, come on! My name is Katy!”
He stepped off the porch onto the lawn, moving towards the wary bird. I jumped to my feet and blocked him. “What are you planning to do?”
“Put him out of his misery. What were you planning to do? Let him suffer?”
“I’m calling the bird rescue people. They can decide what’s best for him.” He took another step, and I screamed, “Don’t you dare!”
Daisy growled menacingly, her leash stretched taut from the mailbox post, and her eyes pinned on Simon.
“If I were you, I would back off. She’ll rip your throat out if she thinks you might hurt me. Believe me, she’s done it before. You better pray her leash holds.”
The man looked at me like I was bonkers. “She’s a Labrador.”
“I’m serious. Daisy saved my life, and my attacker died. Labradors are extremely protective.”
He backed a few feet away. “Hey, Daisy. I only want to help the birdie.”
“Yeah, by slaughtering it.” I pressed the phone icon for the bird rescuer, and seconds later a man answered. “Hi. I found an injured hawk.” I listened for a moment. “No, I can’t pick it up. I might hurt him more. I think his wing is broken. Can someone with experience in this sort of thing come here?”
I gave the man the address and told him I would stay with the bird until their volunteer arrived.
Simon gave me a lopsided grin. “You think they’ll arrest me?”
“No, since you didn’t kill it.”
“Not to mention that red-tailed hawks are one of the most common members within the genus of Buteo in North America and are definitely not on the endangered list.” He winked. “Nice try, though.”
“God, I miss the Millers,” I muttered.
Dinner time
I needed advice, and nothing looked good in my fridge, so I called the folks to wrangle a dinner invite.
Pop chuckled. “Interesting how you call just as we’re sitting down to eat.”
“Golly. I didn’t realize what time it is. What’re you having?”
“Meat and lots of it. Piles and piles of meat. Really bloody rare, too. Moooo!”
“Kurt,” said Mom. “Give me your phone.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Honey? Why don’t you come over? We have scalloped potatoes, salad, and green beans.”
“You had me at scalloped potatoes, Mom.”
When I arrived, she had already set a full plate for me on the kitchen table.
“Looks good, Mom.”
She put her hands on my shoulders. “I’m worried that you don’t get enough protein on your pescatarian diet. Do you want me to open a can of tuna?”
“Do I look like I’m not getting enough protein?”
“No. You’re the picture of health.”
“Then don’t worry, Mom.” I turned my gaze to the table. “Dinner looks delicious.”
After a few bites and a quick catch-up, Pop set down his fork and asked my real reason for being there.
“Can’t a girl want to spend quality time with her folks?”
“Yes, dear.” Mom patted my hand. “Now spill.”
“Okay. It’s about my neighbor, Nina.”
“I thought you’d moved past that,” said Pop.
“I tried. I really did.”
“I read your blog about the Maui condo,” said Mom. “That su
re was a shocker.”
“I know. Right?”
“What Maui condo?” asked Pop.
“Kurt, she’s posted everything on her blog,” said Mom. “I’ve told you all about it.”
“Well, I’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,” he said.
Mother arched a cranky brow at him. “In other words, you don’t listen to me, do you? Go on, Katy.”
“Well, as Mom already knows, I suspected that Nina’s niece has been keeping her doped up with cold medicine, and then the other—”
“Why do you think that?” asked Pop.
Oops. Mom and Pop don’t know about the con job. I kept that post private.
“I said I suspected.”
“Why?” he said.
Mom saved me. “Kurt, I already told you all of this.”
“I think maybe she’s keeping her doped up so she can take advantage of her.” I told them about Donna taking the jewelry to the pawnshop. When I finished, Mom said, “Yup. Read that post and told your dad.”
“And I remember you telling me, honey. However, it helps to hear it again firsthand from Katy. It’s lucky that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see her leaving the pawn shop. Were you following her?”
“No. Like I said, I was running errands and it just happened. And yes. I agree. It was lucky. A lucky coincidence.”
He harrumphed, and Mom said, “If she says it was a coincidence, then that’s what it was, Kurt.”
“I swear it was. And now I need some expert criminal advice.”
Mom frowned. “Oh, boy. What have you done? Have you broken into the house again?”
“I haven’t done anything. Yet. But I may have to. Would you pass me the salt?”
“I salted everything when I cooked it. What needs more salt?” Looking like I’d stabbed her in the back, she handed me the shaker. “Excuse me for trying to cook heart-healthy for your father.”
“The dinner is wonderful, honey,” said Pop, shoveling a forkful of green beans that I know he detests into his mouth. “Delicious.”
I nodded. “Everything is super good, but I just need a smidge more salt on the potatoes.”
Pop poured a little more wine into my glass. “That’s all you get since you’re driving. Now, why do you need criminal advice?”
Ten minutes later, I ended with Angela’s call to Social Services, and Mom ended with, “Yes, I read all that on your blog.”
I continued, “According to them everything was hunky-dory.”
Mom smirked. “Hunky-dory? You need to get a younger peer group.”
I laughed. “Heavens to Betsy, why would you say that? The thing is, I’ve tried to quit worrying about Nina, but now I truly think she’s being taken advantage of. I don’t believe for one minute she would choose to be sleeping all the time. That’s why I think Donna is forcing her to take cold medicine. However, it’s not like Donna is giving her arsenic, so I doubt this qualifies as a crime.”
“If Donna is giving her cold medicine. You suspect it, but you don’t really know that,” said Mom. “Kurt. Isn’t there anything you can do? This really sounds like elder abuse, no matter what the social service report said.”
“Pop? There’s something else, too,” I said.
He scooped a second helping of the scalloped potatoes onto his plate. “What?”
“Okay, don’t laugh. I’m wondering about Donna’s husband’s death in Ketchikan.” I told him that she’d said he was drunk while driving and slid off the road. “But, now I’m wondering about that. Was he drunk?” I paused. “Or did Donna drug him with nighttime cold medicine? You know, like in her book.”
“In her book?”
“The main character in her first book drugged her husband with cold medicine and then he crashed the car.”
“Let me get this straight. You think Donna drugged her husband with cold medicine. Plus you suspect that she’s keeping her aunt doped up—all because of what a character did in a book she wrote,” said Pop.
Yes—and also because I saw the medicine on Nina’s night stand. But I can’t tell you that.
Pop got a beer out of the refrigerator and leaned against the counter. “It seems pretty far-fetched, Katy. Her book is fiction, and this is real life. Just because she writes about murder does not mean she commits murder. Tell you what, Katydid. Tomorrow, first thing, I’ll get on the horn and make some calls. Email me the full names of everyone. Nina, Donna, her husband. If you can find that article about the car crash again, send me the link.”
I leaped out of my seat and threw my arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Hey, hey. Don’t get your hopes up. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Thursday • July 9
Posted by Katy McKenna
8:45 A.M. I’m on hold until I hear from Pop.
It’s going to be a long morning. I’ve cleaned my closet and have three bags ready for the Salvation Army.
* * *
1:00 P.M. There are no weeds in my back yard now.
* * *
2:15 p.m. Ditto for the front yard.
I went inside and brewed a cup of coffee. Too antsy to use my percolator, I did a pour-over instead. I scrounged in the cupboard and found the last two Oreos in a bag behind the stale Raisin Bran.
* * *
2:33 P.M. Finally, he called.
“Hey, Pop! What did you find out?”
He laughed. “Well, nobody can ever accuse you of beating around the bush.”
“Sorry.”
“I spoke to the chief of police in Ketchikan and he remembered the car accident very well because he was the first responding officer at the scene.”
“What did he say?” I said.
“It had been raining hard. Morgan lost control and slid off the road. He could have been trying to avoid a moose. There were droppings on the pavement.”
I slumped low in my chair and stretched my legs out. “Had he been drinking?”
“I asked, and the chief said there were no indications of drunk driving.”
“Did they do an autopsy?”
“No. There wasn’t anything suspicious about his death. He drowned. I’ve got a call into social services, but doubt I’ll get any further than the chief did.”
I sighed huffily. “Oh, well. Thank you for trying, Pop.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, Katydid.”
I sat staring blankly out the window, sifting through everything that had happened since Donna arrived. I kept coming back to: Why did Donna say her husband was drunk? Is Nina really okay? Yes, I know I saw her sleeping, but is she really all right? I won’t be satisfied until she tells me she is.
Obviously knocking on the door has been a dead end, but maybe there is another way.
After dark
* * *
Sunset was at eight-fifteen. I waited another hour until it was pitch dark, before setting out on my reconnaissance mission.
Passing by my new neighbor’s house, I glanced up at an illuminated second floor window. The curtains were open. Sitting side-by-side on a table fronting the window, three large desktop monitors cast cold blue light on Simon’s intense face.
I surveyed Nina’s yard and porch at the property’s edge wishing I could use a flashlight. The plan was to sneak around the house, peeping in windows, hoping to see what was going on inside. Being outside in the dark meant Donna wouldn’t see me, but with the house lights on, I’d see her. She’d made it easy for me because she’d removed most of the window coverings in the main part of the house. I guess they were too “dated” for her exquisite taste.
I stumbled my way to the right side of the house and peeked into the first window—the kitchen. My heart sank when I saw the blank, dusty space where the old stove had been. The vintage O’Keefe and Merritt that Nina had planned to give me when she moved.
A folding table h
eld a toaster oven, a microwave, a hot plate, and dishes. The cabinets had been ripped off the walls, and the wall separating the kitchen and dining room had been removed. Considering how messy my kitchen usually is, I’m not a fan of the “open concept” trend.
I crept to the dining room window. The vintage Arts and Crafts mahogany table that had fit the home’s character was gone. No surprise since Donna was hell-bent on ruining the house’s charm with typical twenty-first-century-whatever-is-the-current-trend-this-year.
On to the living room. The sofa, recliner, and end table were still there. Dirty dishes were stacked on the table. The dog was standing on the leather recliner, stretching over the table, sniffing the plates. No sign of Donna or Nina. I worked my way to the back of the house, stepped over the orange mesh temporary potty area fence, and was near the slider when Donna shouted, “STOP!”
Startled, I scuttled backward and tripped over the fence. My foot snagged in the mesh, and the entire flimsy enclosure toppled over.
“I said STOP!” shouted Donna.
Baby Girl squealed in pain.
“Dammit! When I say stop, I mean it! I did not give you permission to lick that plate, you stupid moron.”
I dashed to the next window on the left side of the house. That room was dark. I remembered it was Donna’s. The next window would be Nina’s. Her window was still up about a couple inches with the old towel stuffed in the crack, like the last time I visited. The drapes were open, the bedside lamp was on, and Nina was propped up on pillows. She looked gaunt and ancient. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth hung open, slack-jawed. A full bottle of cold medicine sat next to an empty one on the table.
As I raised my phone to take a photo, the bedroom door opened, and I ducked. Donna entered, dressed in a blue, knee-length flannel teddy-bear print nightgown.
While She Slumbered: The Murder Blog Mysteries #5 Page 14
