The Missing Comatose Woman

by Sarah Ettritch

  “I went to high school with her mother.” Myers ripped the cheque from the book and handed it to Casey. “We—her mother and I—have bumped into each other a few times over the years since then. When I ran into her yesterday, Diane was with her. I told them all about Mom, and that’s when Diane suggested I contact you.”

  Myers was probably spilling the details about her mother to anyone who’d listen. Casey couldn’t blame her. She’d be going crazy, too. “I’ll thank her next time I see her.” After examining the cheque, she folded it and slipped it into her front pocket. “Thank you, Ms. Myers.”

  Myers snorted. “Call me Ellen. I have enough on my mind without feeling old. At least you didn’t call me ma’am.”

  “Sorry. Ellen.”

  “Much better. Shall we?” Ellen pushed back her chair.

  Feeling on top of the world, Casey threw her coffee cup into the garbage and followed Ellen to her car. She was working her first case! The private investigators licence in her wallet meant something. Casey Cook, PI. Yes!

  Chapter Two

  Casey stood in the entrance hall and mentally ticked off what she hoped to accomplish in Jacqueline Rose’s home: look for evidence of a son, though the police would have done the same; search for any indication that Mrs. Rose had a food allergy or health problem that Ellen wasn’t aware of; learn more about Mrs. Rose in general, so she could identify red flags when questioning those who knew her.

  A couple of toys lying in the hallway suggested at least one cat. “Who’s taking care of the cat?”

  “Marge, one of Mom’s neighbours.” Ellen’s face scrunched up. “Poor things. They must be lonely.”

  “How many cats does your mother have?”

  “Two. Max and Miles. I’ve been coming here for years, but they always hide when I’m around. According to Marge, when she comes over, they’re usually under the bed in the guest room.”

  Casey grunted. “I think I’ll start upstairs.” She inwardly groaned when Ellen trailed after her. “I might have to open a few drawers. I’ll make sure I put everything back in its place.”

  “Go ahead,” Ellen said. “I want you to do whatever it takes to find my mother.”

  Casey paused on the landing until she located the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet. Nothing interesting. “Was your mother on any medication?”

  “Not that I know of,” Ellen said from the doorway. “Vitamins, maybe. She was still as fit as a fiddle. Could have retired a couple of years ago, but wanted to keep working.”

  “Is there an ensuite?”

  “Not in these old houses.”

  Casey wandered back into the hallway and went into what appeared to be Mrs. Rose’s home office. She sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. The police would have checked it, and Casey wasn’t a computer wiz. She knew how to see hidden files and if any were encrypted, but that was it. She scanned Rose’s Inbox. One hundred and eight messages. Might as well start at the top.

  As soon as Casey opened the first email, Ellen cleared her throat. “Are you going to read all of them? I doubt you’ll find anything interesting. The police didn’t. No mention of a Steve Rose, or a brother I don’t know about.”

  “They might have missed something.”

  Silence, then, “Look, I trust you. Do you mind if I go downstairs and watch some TV? Do you want something to eat? I’m starved. I might order a pizza.”

  Casey twisted around. “Sure,” she said, trying not to sound elated.

  “Great. Shout if you need anything.” Ellen sauntered from the room.

  When she heard the TV come on, Casey breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t intending to steal the towels, but she didn’t need Ellen breathing down her neck. Twenty minutes later, she browsed the computer’s hard drive. Nothing jumped out at her. Apart from learning that Mrs. Rose had hundreds of cat photos, Casey found the computer a dead end. So was the guest room, but she spent an enjoyable five minutes cooing at the cats hiding underneath the bed.

  In the master bedroom, Casey slid open the nightstand’s drawer. A notepad, several pens, a half-empty pack of gum, a nail file… A grocery list was scribbled on the notepad’s top page. Casey flipped through the rest of the pages. Empty. She dropped to her hands and knees and peered under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies—wait. Something glinted on the hardwood floor. She pulled out the piece of tape and examined it. What looked like the corner of an envelope was stuck to one end. Assuming the envelope had been taped to something in this room, and close by…

  Casey stood and eyed the nightstand. This time she emptied the drawer, but found nothing. She slid her hand behind the nightstand; her fingers hit something sticky. Her heart racing with excitement, she pulled the nightstand away from the wall. Aha!

  Several pieces of tape were attached to the nightstand’s back, suggesting the shape of a rectangle. The envelope they’d held in place was gone. Did it have anything to do with Mrs. Rose’s disappearance, or had it contained items such as ID or money, and she’d hidden it there to conceal it from thieves? Was it taken before Mrs. Rose fell ill at the party, or later?

  After making a note of the missing envelope and moving the nightstand back into its original position, Casey moved on to the bathroom and searched it more thoroughly. She found nothing of interest. Apparently Mrs. Rose hadn’t hidden a medical condition from her daughter. It was time to look around the main floor.

  Casey was descending the stairs when the doorbell rang.

  “Good timing!” Ellen slapped a pizza box onto the coffee table and flipped open the lid. “Grab a drink from the fridge,” she said as she lifted out a piece of pepperoni pizza and took a bite. “Oh, and bring a couple of plates, too.”

  Eager to ask Ellen the questions the upstairs search had raised, Casey did as she was told. “Apart from you and the cat-minder, has anyone else been in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe your mother gave a key to someone you don’t know about.”

  Ellen frowned. “Well, I suppose it’s possible, but nothing’s missing or out of place, as far as I know.”

  That naturally led to another question on Casey’s mind. “Do you have your mother’s personal items?”

  Ellen’s brow furrowed.

  “Her purse. Any other items she might have had on her when she was taken to the hospital.”

  “Oh!” Ellen sipped her wine. Casey eyed the half-empty bottle, which Ellen apparently wanted all to herself. “I have her purse. Sissy brought it to the hospital. One of Mom’s co-workers,” she clarified in response to Casey’s raised eyebrows.

  “Was Sissy at the party?”

  Ellen nodded. “She went to the hospital with Mom.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” Ellen slid another piece of pizza onto her plate. “She and Mom have worked together for years. They were friendly outside work, too.”

  Casey grunted and bit into her second piece.

  “I’ll call her, tell her you want to see her.”

  “Thanks,” Casey said around a mouthful of pizza. She swallowed. “Something might have been taped behind the nightstand in your mother’s bedroom.”

  “Really,” Ellen breathed.

  “You don’t know what it was?”

  “I didn’t even know anything was there. In the bedroom, you say.” Ellen chugged more wine.

  “What exactly did your mother do at work?”

  “Something to do with cat food. She wasn’t allowed to tell me any more than that, and if she’d tried, my eyes would have glazed over. Science isn’t my forte.” Ellen drank the rest of her wine and filled the glass again. “Whatever she did, she enjoyed it.” Her eyes misted up. “Enjoys it. Enjoys it, damn it! Why did this have to happen to Mom? Why?” she wailed, then downed the remaining wine in her glass in one go. After pushing her pizza aside, she poured a refill.

  Oh, boy. Casey put down he
r pizza. She’d better ask her remaining questions while Ellen could still provide coherent answers. “The neighbour that’s taking care of the cats, she lives…”

  “Next door. House with the blue door and silly garden gnome.”

  “Do you mind if I look through your mother’s purse?”

  “No. But it’s not here. It’s at home. We can drop in there on the way back to the coffee shop.”

  What? “You know what? I’ve already imposed enough. I can take the bus back. And you might want to crash here tonight. You’re already here—”

  “You don’t think I should drive, do you.”

  Casey opened her mouth to protest, but Ellen held up her hand. “You’re right. And frankly, I want to finish this bottle and go to bed. Why don’t you call me about the purse tomorrow and we’ll arrange a time?”

  “Sure.” She’d noted down Ellen’s number when they were at the coffee shop.

  “Finish your pizza before you run off.”

  Casey made fast work of her slice, then took a quick look around the main floor and basement. Apart from the address book she found next to the phone in the kitchen, which didn’t list anyone with the last name Rose, nothing caught her eye.

  “Thanks for dinner. I’ll be in touch tomorrow,” Casey said from the living room archway.

  Lounging on the sofa, Ellen nodded and lifted her wine glass.

  *****

  Casey fumbled around in her pocket for correct change and inserted it into the bus’s fare box. She stumbled down the aisle as the bus lurched forward, and slid into an empty seat. Staring out the window, she reviewed her conversation with Mrs. Rose’s neighbour. She hadn’t been much help. No sign of anyone ever being in the house, other than Ellen. No strange mail, which Casey knew was true because she’d sorted through the pile herself. The neighbour didn’t listen to phone messages, but Ellen did, and hadn’t heard any weird ones.

  This detective work was more mundane than she’d expected, but at least she had a case. An actual case! Which reminded her… She pulled out her phone and called Diane. “I’m calling to thank you for recommending me to Ellen Myers,” she said after they’d exchanged the usual greetings.

  “She called you?” Diane shrieked. “No need to thank me. I mentioned you to shut her up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you ask someone, ‘How are you?’ you just want them to say, ‘Fine,’ right? Especially when they’re someone you run into maybe once every five years. But, oh my god, she started blubbering and telling us about her mother, and how stressed she is.”

  “Come on, Diane, her mother’s missing.”

  “I know, but we were on our way to meet my father for dinner, okay? Anyway, I said that if the cops were doing diddly-squat, she should hire a private investigator, and, hey, my friend happens to be one.”

  “Well, thanks.” So Diane didn’t really believe she could find Mrs. Rose. Big deal.

  “Oh, while I have you, I ran into Leah earlier today. She dropped a lot of hints about you.”

  Casey’s heart pounded. “Hints? What kind of hints?”

  “Oh, that she might be interested in seeing you…alone.”

  Leah? Really? “I might be interested in seeing her.”

  Diane burst into laughter. “Give me a break. You don’t have to be a PI to figure out that you’re hot for her. Do you want me to give her your phone number?”

  Was the sky blue? The pope Catholic? “Sure.”

  Another chortle. “Don’t try playing it cool with her. You’ll make yourself look like an ass. Anyway, gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

  “Yeah, bye.” Casey hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket. Okay, no need to get excited. Diane had probably misinterpreted things. Leah would wonder why the hell Diane was giving her Casey’s phone number. After all, Leah was one of the cool gals, one of those women who strolled into a room and effortlessly turned everyone to putty. She was cute, warm, intelligent—well, Casey assumed those last two. She’d hardly exchanged more than two words with her, but Leah was always smiling, always poised, always surrounded by women hanging on her every word. Diane must have gotten it wrong, but it was nice to imagine it was true for a second.

  Casey gazed out the window until her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Casey, it’s Leah.”

  Leah? The Leah? Casey straightened in her seat. “Uh, hi.”

  “Diane just gave me your phone number. She said you’re interested in getting together.”

  What?

  “I think it’s a cool idea, so I figured I’d call while the iron is hot.”

  Leah thinks it’s cool? Casey cleared her throat. “Um, yeah, I—”

  “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  “Uh, no, I’m—”

  “Do you want to meet for a pizza and then see a movie or something?”

  “Sure. How about—”

  “There’s a restaurant on Queen that makes delicious pizza. You want to go there?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s a bit upscale,” Leah said. “No jeans.”

  “Okay. I’ll—”

  “I’ll text you the address. Want to meet at 6:00?”

  “Okay.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow.” The line went dead.

  Casey stared at her phone. Had that actually happened, or had she dozed off and dreamed the conversation? A text from Leah arrived. Nope, no dream. She read the address, then pocketed her phone. Tomorrow would be an interesting day in more ways than one.

  *****

  Casey slid into the booth at the greasy spoon, plunked her bike helmet on the seat next to her, and stuck out her hand. “Casey Cook.”

  Detective Walker wiped her fingers on a napkin and reached across the table to shake Casey’s hand. “Walker.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

  Walker shrugged. “No problem.”

  “Are you still—”

  A harried waitress stopped at their table and pulled out an order pad. “What do you want?”

  Casey scratched her head. “A coffee, please.” The waitress scribbled on her pad and moved on to another table.

  “Are you still working the Rose case?” Casey asked.

  “Of course we are—officially. It’s on the books. Realistically, we’ve hit a dead end. We can’t do much more until a tip comes in, and it’s not as if it’s the only case we have.” Walker chewed on a fry. “Listen, I won’t discourage you from looking into Jacqueline Rose’s disappearance, but you’d better not be taking Myers for a ride.”

  “I’m not! I’m going to see what I can dig up, and if that turns out to be nothing, I’ll tell her.”

  Walker studied her. “You look a little young to be a PI.”

  “I’m twenty-three.” Casey reached into her back pocket. “Do you want to see my licence?”

  Walker’s mouth twitched. “It won’t have your birthdate.”

  “Right.”

  “Driver’s licence?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Give me your PI licence then, so I can confirm your name.”

  Casey handed it over and sat on tenterhooks while Walker examined the card. “It looks legit,” Walker said, handing it back. “So, PI Cook, what can I do for you?”

  “Ms. Myers said you checked the handwriting on the power of attorney the bogus son gave you.”

  “Yep. According to our analysis, there’s a 91.5 percent chance that the handwriting is Jacqueline Rose’s, and it’s a duly filled out and signed power of attorney. I can understand why the hospital administration accepted it.”

  Not one hundred percent, then. Casey would keep an open mind. “What about the witnesses?”

  “The attorney passed away two years ago. One of his assistants was the other witness. We faxed her the document and she confirmed that it’s her signature. Since it was fifteen years ago and she’s witnessed thousands of documents, she couldn’t remem
ber signing Rose’s power of attorney, but she said she can’t remember the ones she signed last year, either.”

  “Do you have any idea who Steve Rose is?”

  Walker shook her head.

  “What about hospital cameras? Do you know what he looks like?”

  Walker squirted more ketchup on her fries and stuck another one in her mouth. The waitress returned and, after plunking a coffee down in front of Casey, refilled Walker’s cup. “We have a grainy image,” Walker said when she’d finished chewing.

  “Can I get a copy?” Casey said excitedly.

  “No.”

  Casey blew out an exasperated sigh. “Why not? How am I supposed to find him if I can’t show his picture to anyone?”

  “We didn’t just take Ms. Myers’ missing persons report and file it. We looked into it, questioned a lot of people, in both Mrs. Rose’s personal and professional lives. They all saw the picture. Nobody recognized him.”

  “Maybe I’ll find someone you didn’t interview,” Casey said.

  Walker pointed a fry at her. “I’ll tell you what. If, during the course of your, um, investigation, you find someone we didn’t talk to, call me, and I’ll show them the photo.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your thunder.” Walker sipped her coffee. “Rose, or whatever his name is, showed the nurses ID with a local address. Unfortunately they didn’t make a copy of it, but we followed up on every Steve Rose in the city. Nothing.”

  So whoever he was, he’d used a convincing fake ID. “What about fingerprints?”

  “We didn’t find any we couldn’t account for.”

  “He must have touched something.”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean he left behind decent fingerprints.” Walker smiled wryly. “We’ve gone above and beyond on this one, considering we’re not even sure a crime was committed. After all, the guy had a legit power of attorney.”

  “But—”

  “My gut says something isn’t right. The daughter’s never heard of the guy. Huge red flag right there. It’s why I—we haven’t closed the case.”