Angel Sleuth

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Let me out and we can talk,” Kaitlin said.

  “No! Just listen. I know something about the thefts around here.”

  “What? What do you know?”

  “There’s more. One of the residents who died recently, well, I think it was murder, and it was covered up just like they covered up Leda’s murder.”

  If the person talking on the other side of her prison was telling the truth, he or she was in danger. Kaitlin had to get out, find out who was talking to her, and get them to the police.

  Kaitlin pushed against the door.

  “I hear someone. I’ve got to go, but I’ll be in touch.”

  “Wait,” Kaitlin said. The door flew open, sending her across the washroom and onto the floor near the sink. The only glimpse she got of her informant was of the soles of the person’s shoes.

  Aching from her sudden encounter with the tile floor, she grabbed the sink to pull herself up. Her knees felt wobbly, but she managed to get them under her and make her way out the door. Paul stood where the hallway turned toward the Alzheimer’s wing, and next to him was ARC’s director.

  “Anyone come past here?” she asked.

  “No one that I saw,” said Paul, “but I ducked in the men’s washroom. When I finished there, I ran into Mr. Toliver rushing down the hallway.”

  Toliver puffed as if he were out of breath. He grabbed a large handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbed it across his perspiring brow. It could have been used to muffle his voice. She looked down at his shoes. Sneakers, but that meant nothing. Everyone wore sneakers.

  “Hey,” called a cheery voice from down the hallway in the other direction. Mary Jane. Now what was she doing here? And for once she was wearing neither her long gypsy skirt nor a pair of her spandex Capris. Her legs were clad in plain dark pants. Although Mary Jane was strong enough to hold the door shut on her, Kaitlin noted Mary Jane had chosen gold high-heeled sandals as her footwear today. A matching gold bag was slung over one shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Kaitlin. Again suspicion rose up and strangled the usual bonhomie she was used to feeling for Mary Jane.

  “I’m volunteering here.”

  “Then you must be Mary Jane?” asked Toliver. “We spoke on the phone. I didn’t know you and Ms. Singer were acquainted.” He didn’t sound pleased at the idea of Kaitlin and Mary Jane being friends.

  “My son and I are boarding at her place.”

  “Ah,” said Toliver. He shook his head up and down like a bobble head and broke out in one of his thin smiles.

  “Well, you’re going to be doing a lot of running around here.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m prepared.” Mary Jane extracted a pair of sneakers from her oversized bag.

  “Let’s get you started then,” said Toliver. He placed his hand in the middle of her back and guided her down the hallway toward his office. “Paperwork,” he said.

  Mary Jane turned her head toward Kaitlin, winked, and mouthed, “I got your back.” Or was it, “I got you back.” Kaitlin couldn’t tell for certain, but she sensed that Mary Jane’s presence here was not accidental. Keeping an eye on her, but whose idea? Mary Jane’s or Mac’s?

  “You seem lost in thought. Or perhaps lost in worry is more correct,” said Paul. “Is there something bothering you I can help with?

  “No.” But she wished he weren’t wearing sneakers and black pants.

  * * *

  Lily’s door was open and she sat on an overstuffed chair, eyes closed, asleep or concentrating on the music playing from a stereo. Paul rapped on the doorframe and her eyes opened. She waved them into the room. The sunlight streaming in the window made her frizzy white hair look like a halo. Kaitlin shook her head. She was seeing too many angelic figures lately. She suspected, however, that beneath that beatific appearance and Lily’s confusion something a lot tougher resided.

  “Don’t tell me,” Lily said, “I know I met you. You’re not Paul’s wife, are you, but you like to dance just like she did. You’re Leda. No, that’s not right. You’re Leda’s replacement. Leda died, too, didn’t she? It’s a good thing she made out that will and just in time, I guess.”

  Kaitlin looked at Lily in surprise. “What do you know about Leda’s will?”

  A wary look replaced Lily’s friendly demeanor. “Who wants to know? Toliver? That good-for-nothing. Gallivanting around the countryside, never here when you need him, and he’s got the hots for all those young girls around here.”

  She looked at Paul in confusion. “Girls?”

  “Part of our intern program. Young women, men, too, from the high school and technical college come here either to volunteer or to do internships for college credit. They’re involved in a variety of things from reading to the bedridden to playing tennis with some of us more lively types.”

  Kaitlin assured Lily that Toliver knew nothing about any will, and if Lily told her about it, she wouldn’t breathe a word to him.

  “Paul knows all about it. He witnessed it along with my sister, Rose. You signed it in front of someone, didn’t you, Paul?”

  “Yes, we witnessed it in front of Mabel Froman. She’s a notary. Rose was visiting Lily in her room. Mabel was there, too. Quilting or something, weren’t you?”

  “We were playing cards—poker. Quilting. How ridiculous.” Lily let out a derisive snort.

  “Leda came in looking for Mabel and corralled us as witnesses. Why so interested in Leda’s will? I assume it’s been read, and the estate settled,” said Paul.

  “Her attorney read a will. My understanding is that it was written years ago, but you’re saying Leda wrote this one just recently?”

  “Yep, about a month ago. Don’t tell me they read the wrong will.” Paul shook his head in disbelief.

  “I guess they did. No one located a more recent will. Do you know what Leda did with it?”

  “She gave it to me,” said Lily.

  Chapter 12

  Lily smiled, a mischievous look on her face.

  “Do you have it? Where is it?” This might clear up everything. Kaitlin wanted to hop up and down in glee.

  “I forget, but I’ll let you know if I find it.” Lily covered her mouth and yawned.

  “Maybe we could help you look for it.”

  Lily eyed Kaitlin for a moment, then yawned again.

  “I’m tired.” She sat on her bed, removed her shoes, and curled up on the spread.

  “I think that’s it. You won’t get anything more out of her now.” Paul removed an afghan from Lily’s chair and draped it over her.

  He and Kaitlin left, the sound of Lily’s soft snores following them out of the room. Paul closed her door, and they walked down the hallway.

  “We’ve got to find that new will. Did you happen to read it?” Kaitlin asked.

  “Nope. I dropped in to see Lily and say hi to her sister. Leda came by and seemed pleased that she didn’t have to round up witnesses. Just as we were finishing, Mr. Toliver stopped by. And you know what that means.” Kaitlin thought she did, but Paul rushed on to confirm her suspicions.

  “The less he knows about our business, the better. Leda, Mabel, and I left soon after he did. I assumed that Leda took the document with her, but I guess she left it in Lily’s room. Odd, but I’ll talk to Lily again tomorrow to be sure.”

  She said good-bye to Paul at ARC’s rear entrance. When she unlocked her car door, she checked to see if anyone left another note.

  Nothing. She’d missed the meeting with her informant and, in the bathroom, an opportunity to ask more questions. She was concerned for that person’s safety. Kaitlin wanted to get home to see if Mary Jane might have returned from her volunteer work at ARC and question her about what she had seen before they met up in the hallway this afternoon.

  * * *

  Mary Jane was not home when Kaitlin arrived, but someone else was.

  “Hi there,” said the woman. She was as tall as Kaitlin, and the red one-piece, tight-fitting jumpsuit she wore would have made Mary Ja
ne salivate in longing. Her hair was short enough to make Kaitlin wonder if she’d just gotten out of boot camp, but she doubted the purple and red color was military issue.

  “Name’s Deirdre. Your publisher sent me. I’m your new illustrator.”

  Kaitlin’s mouth dropped open. “How did you get in?”

  “Mary Jane was here. I’ve been babysitting Jeremy until either you or she returned from ARC, but I’m afraid I’m not too good with kids. Somehow his pet pig got out when I opened the back door. The little girl shoved past me and off she went. Jeremy jumped on his bike and went to look for her. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “Dessie’s gone?”

  Just then Jeremy slammed through the front door.

  “I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find her.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “We’ll wait until your mother comes home then we’ll all look,” said Kaitlin. “Meantime I’ll call the vet and tell the clinic there we’ve got a missing pig and to be on the lookout if someone sees her or brings her in.”

  “And we can put up posters tomorrow,” said Deirdre.

  “Tomorrow? We need to find her now.” Jeremy’s voice broke with sobs.

  “See,” said Deirdre. “I said the wrong thing.”

  “No, you didn’t. Jeremy, we need to plan in case she doesn’t come home tonight. Did you see Dessie when you got here, Deirdre?”

  “Sure.”

  “So you could draw a picture of her, and we could put it on the posters,” Kaitlin said. She put her arm around Jeremy. “If we need to, tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Questioning Mary Jane about ARC, interviewing Deirdre about her work as an illustrator, and searching out the whereabouts of Leda’s will all vanished from Kaitlin’s mind. The household including Mac and Deirdre walked or drove the streets of the village calling Dessie’s name and asking folks if they had seen the little porker.

  Dessie did not return on her own. Jeremy slept in Mary Jane’s room that night with Hester curled in his arms and his mother in a sleeping bag on the floor. In all the scurrying around, no one noticed Deirdre had camped out on the couch downstairs or that she was the one who ordered take-out and picked it up. And while the others slept, including Mac in his car out front, she spent the hours at the kitchen table drawing pictures of what eventually turned out to be a good likeness of Desdemona.

  Aside from Jeremy, the person most distraught over Dessie was Kaitlin, who missed the warmth of the little gal on her feet while she tried to write and the thankful burping sounds she made when Kaitlin offered her fresh vegetables. And the look of gratitude in Dessie’s eyes when Kaitlin banned all pork products from the house. Kaitlin vowed to write her next children’s book about Dessie.

  Kaitlin worried that something bad had happened to her. Worse, Mac’s words about the safety of Jeremy because of Kaitlin’s involvement in ARC and the circumstances of Leda’s death ran through her mind throughout the night. Guilt woke her up again and again. Had someone taken Dessie to punish her for her snooping?

  * * *

  The posters went up around the village the next day.

  When Kaitlin emptied the kitchen garbage in the morning, she found sheets and sheets of Deirdre’s drawings and realized that she had worked hard to get Dessie’s picture just right. Although Deirdre had not given her last name, Kaitlin thought she recognized her from the discarded work and, sure enough, when she googled Deirdre Taylor, information about the artist filled the screen. Deirdre was a foremost illustrator of children’s books. She produced drawings that were as vivid and colorful as she was.

  Kaitlin laughed. If she had drawn Dessie as she did for her books, no one would have recognized her as a pot-bellied pig. Kaitlin held one of the garbage can rejects in her hand—a purple pig so close up that the hairs on her snout, colored a neon blue, spread from one side of the page to the other. Deirdre would have had to rein in her showy style to produce a realistic Dessie. And she had. How lucky they were to have her here to make the posters. And how fortunate for Kaitlin her publisher sent Deirdre to illustrate her books.

  Or was it luck? After she dumped the garbage and moved the rolling bin to the curb, she picked up the phone and dialed her publisher. When she finished talking, she chuckled to herself. Not good fortune at all. Perhaps more like divine intervention. Except she didn’t believe in that, did she?

  * * *

  Everyone at the house was so busy hunting for Dessie, by evening they were all exhausted. Mary Jane sent Jeremy to bed early, Kaitlin went up to her room to write, and Deirdre left to go back to the city. The ever-faithful Mac sat outside the house in his old Buick. As the moon grew large over the mountains surrounding the village, Mary Jane watched Mac turn on his book light and continue reading the novel he’d begun earlier that day. It was time for her to go to work.

  She hated to do what she was about to do, but it couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t about to let her half-day of volunteer work at ARC go to waste, not when she thought she could pry information out of someone without arousing his suspicions.

  Mary Jane tiptoed down the hall and listened outside Kaitlin’s door. All quiet. She’d move now.

  She walked to the curb with confidence. “I’m going to pick up some pastries from the café for our breakfast tomorrow morning,” she told Mac.

  “Why not get them tomorrow when they’re fresh?” asked Mac.

  “Because just before they close, they sell them as day old, and they’re cheaper.”

  “I’ll go get them for you. It’ll only take a minute,” he offered.

  “You keep an eye on things here. Anyway, I can use a little exercise.”

  He nodded his head, but Mary Jane could tell he thought her trip was odd.

  “Want company?” he asked.

  “No. I need you to make sure Jeremy and Kaitlin are okay. I can take care of myself.”

  “That you can, Babe,” he said. He slid farther down in the seat, pulled his cap over his head, and picked up his book. “See ya.”

  She met very few people on the street, and no one was in the café when she entered. It was after eight and one of the owners was just about to close. She bought the pastries, then proceeded down the hall toward the ladies room and exited the building through the side door. A sleek, red car sat idling in the alleyway. She slid into the passenger’s seat. Mac would be furious if he knew what she was doing.

  “So, where we going?” She ran her hand appreciatively across the black leather seats. “Nice wheels. Yours?”

  “Yeah, what’d you think? I stole it?”

  “No. I just think it’s kind of weird with your work that you can afford this kind of a car.”

  “I’m a business man. I have my fingers in a lot of pies that you don’t know about.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Don’t be so damn nosey.” He accelerated and headed out of town. She flipped the visor down to look at herself in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Mac pulling up to the café. She hadn’t fooled him as she’d thought. Oh, well. Too late to turn back now.

  “How about that new place. What’s it called? The Dancing Bear?” Since she wasn’t paying, she could recommend the best.

  “That’s kind of pricey.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a businessman with your fingers in a lot of pies. I assume you can afford it, right?”

  He laughed and punched the accelerator. The car shot forward on the mountainous road, slamming her against the back of her seat.

  At the restaurant, he reached across the table to take her hand. Mary Jane watched surprise register on his face as she allowed the familiarity, then she ran her fingernail across the back of his wrist.

  “So, Mary Jane, is it?” he asked.

  “That’ll do.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Hiram didn’t need to know her last name or much about her. This wasn’t intended to be a fair exchange.

  “So I don’t get it. Why’d you call me and set up this date? The other night when I walked i
nto Kenny’s, you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  The other night she didn’t know what she knew now. The other night was before she saw a red corvette parked at the far end of the ARC lot the night Kaitlin got bopped on the head. An afternoon of volunteer work at ARC and she’d traced the car to Hiram, a frequent visitor to the place. It was a connection she wanted to know more about.

  “Mac was there. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Kaitlin and I were a pretty hot number in high school, you know. But she can’t stand me now.”

  “Kaitlin and I don’t see eye-to-eye on everything.” She reached for the bottle of wine and refilled his glass.

  “How ’bout you?” He motioned toward her half-full glass.

  “Oh, sure.” She filled her glass, also.

  He was getting pretty plastered. Good. He left for the restroom several times during the evening. While he was gone, she scurried off to the ladies room and dumped her wine into the sink, then dashed back to the table to await his return. So far, of the two bottles of wine he ordered, she had consumed half a glass to his five or six.

  The grapevine in the village said Hiram couldn’t hold his liquor, and his kidneys couldn’t deal with the influx of booze. Inebriation and a weak bladder would make him nice and drunk. She had questions to ask before the night was over, and she hoped booze would lubricate his tongue.

  Snifters of brandy topped off the meal. Mary Jane didn’t touch hers, so Hiram drank both.

  But the evening was a bust when it came to getting information out of him. Kaitlin had warned her he wasn’t socially very adept, and she was right. Hiram was more interested in what lay in the bottom of his glass than polite conversation. At first she was subtle, trying to flatter him about his business ventures, but when he didn’t bite on that, she became more pointed.

  “How’d you get from welding metal to driving a Corvette?” she finally asked.

  “You’re pretty nosey, ain’t ya?” he said. He tossed down the second brandy.