by Lori Avocato
“Partials. They don’t match with any on file,” I said.
“Hey, that reminds me,” Audrey said. “My granddaughter, Tiffany, is taking a forensics workshop at school.”
“The teens these days have all the fun.” Vita set the cake on the cooling rack. “I had to take Cooking and Sewing and only the boys got to cut up the frogs in Biology.”
Audrey nodded in agreement. “Tiffany’s in the gifted students program and this is a special Saturday class. She’s really excited to be able to do it. They’re going to the police station tomorrow on a field trip. They get to shadow a CSI, work in the lab, and even process fingerprints.”
“That’s what I always wanted to do,” I said, wistfully.
After Jessica Fletcher, my career heroine is Catherine Willows.
“You’d be good at forensics, too.” Audrey nodded.
We high-fived to seal the claim. Then the doorbell rang.
“That’s Frank.” Vita took off her glasses and smoothed her hands down the front of her culottes. “Don’t you dare mention the Des Moines murder or I’ll never forgive you.”
2
To my taste, Frank Guilford seemed too perfect. A distinguished man of my height–five feet, nine inches–he had a full head of wavy, gray hair. In a sky blue dress shirt and khaki pants, he was clean, polite, and charming. He reminded me of Joseph Cotten when he played the Merry Widow serial killer in the Hitchcock film, Shadow of a Doubt. He even had the occasional, menacing, far-off gaze.
In my experience as an amateur sleuth, there is no such thing as being overly cautious or too observant. Frank appeared extremely charismatic. He drank the right amount of tea. Ate the coffee cake without dropping a crumb, and chuckled at all of Vita’s jokes.
No man is that enchanting unless he wants something.
In this case, I hoped it was Vita’s body, because she had an exquisite diamond necklace and a petite neck that would snap like uncooked vermicelli.
I picked up my cup. “What do you do for a living, Frank?”
“I’m retired.”
Aren’t they all?
Audrey poured him more tea. “And before retirement?”
“I worked in a hospital.”
“A doctor?” Audrey set the pot on the tray. “My daughter’s a physician.”
He quickly shifted his gaze. “I was an administrator.”
“Kay used to work in hospital billing,” Audrey said.
“For a short while. A very long time ago.” I studied his hands as they lay in his lap. All the good detectives can read non-verbal cues. Ellery Queen once nabbed a villain by recognizing the twitch of his mustache. Or was that Sherlock Holmes?
Frank dabbed his lips with his napkin. “I can tell you, hospitals have changed a lot in recent years.”
“Never as much as when the PPS happened in 1983.” I sipped my tea, waiting as he sniffed the bait.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, that was a big change.”
Vita looped her arm with his. “What’s the PPS?”
She wasn’t so much trying to test him as attempting to boost his ego. Sometimes she acts too demure for her own good.
By contrast, I worked to trip him up. Glancing at him, I raised my eyebrows to stimulate his explanation.
“It was a new government billing system,” he said.
Lucky guess.
“Tell us about it, Kay,” Audrey said.
Frequently Dr. Watson inadvertently sabotages Holmes, as well. I can’t fault Audrey for not being on the same page with me. She has a lot to learn about detective work.
“I don’t want to steal Frank’s thunder,” I said.
He stuck out his open hand. “You’re the billing expert.”
In his steady gaze, confidence blanketed fear. I’d have to trick him another way. I put down my tea cup to set the trap. “The Prospective Payment System, PPS, pre-determines the rates for every Medicare admission. Each condition gets a diagnosis code and a flat rate is paid for all Diagnostic Related Groups.”
“That’s a very precise description.” He smiled.
A tic at the corner of his eye told me he had no idea what I was talking about. Now I’d lure him into the steely jaws. “The administration was never as happy as when the DRG was number one-twenty-seven.”
“Huh?” Vita asked.
“Tell them the top DRG, Frank.” I nodded encouragement, nudging him closer to the spring-loaded trigger.
“I didn’t keep up on the numbers so much.” He jutted his chin up, stretched his neck, and pulled on his collar.
“DRG one-twenty-seven is chronic obstructive pulmonary disease,” I said.
“Right.” Frank let out his breath and nodded. “Emphysema, asthma, that sort of thing. Usually from smoking. We felt sorry for those patients. Breathing is so difficult for them.”
“Uh-huh. The number one billing DRG,” I reiterated, giving him one more chance to come clean.
Hey, I’m all about presumption of innocence.
He gave a quick nod, and then popped off the couch. “I think we should go. Vita wants to show me the Harmony Hills Theater.” He picked up his cup and plate and took them to the kitchen.
I followed with the rest of the dishes. He turned on the water, snatching the bottle of dish detergent.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
He squirted some soap and put his dishes under the running water. “My mother taught me to help in the kitchen. You were kind enough to bake such a delicious treat for me.”
Did she teach him to wash away his fingerprints, too?
I put on my vinyl gloves and nudged him away. There was more than one way to skin a polecat.
He dried the dishes, setting them on the counter, carefully handling them so only the towel touched the smooth surfaces. Then he wiped the faucet handle and soap bottle.
Looking better and better as a suspect.
When we finished, I dried my hands, leaving on my gloves.
Vita walked into the kitchen, followed by Audrey–both laughing. I was amazed they could take this so lightly, but then they don’t have the acute detective sense I have.
A grin stretched across Vita’s face as she patted his back. “Didn’t I tell you he’s terrific?”
“Yes, you did,” Audrey said.
He took her hand, cupping it sincerely between his. “It was a great pleasure, Audrey.”
Then he reached for my hand, gripping it tightly. “Oh.” He pulled away quickly and laughed. “I didn’t see the glove.”
I’d counted on that.
“Hope we meet again when I visit Vita. Thanks for the trip down DRG Lane.” He chuckled again, averting my gaze.
“No problem,” I said. “One more thing–which hospital did you say you worked at?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t know it. It was in Chicago.”
I passed a warning squint to Vita. She pursed her lips and ignored me.
When the couple was out the door, I carefully removed my glove, pinching the fingertips and pulling gently. “Get a gallon-sized Ziploc, Audrey.”
I put the glove into the bag. “Ask Tiffany to dust it for prints tomorrow when she goes to the CSI lab. I’ll alert Margaret to notify her son-in-law, the detective.”
“Why?”
“Frank was no more a hospital administrator than Donald Duck was Mr. Universe.”
“How do you know?”
“The most common DRG, and the one favored by all administrators, is Heart Failure and Shock. My boss’ motto was sorry you’re dying, glad you’re here.”
She looked at the door. “Do you think he’s the murderer?”
“Don’t know, but she’ll be safe enough tonight.” Audrey looked at me quizzically, so I elaborated. “Vita’s wearing costume jewelry.”
3
The summer rain fell gently against the windows in Vita’s apartment as we tried to talk her out of going with Frank Guilford to the Saturday night performance of the Omaha Symphony.
Vi
ta hid her slip strap under the scoop neck of her sleeveless black dress. Audrey bit her lip when Vita pulled the burgundy velvet case from her dresser drawer. She opened the lid.
“After lunch I got this from the safe deposit box downstairs.” Standing before the mirror, Vita held the necklace in front of her. “It’s too flashy for our early dinner at The Monastery, but it’ll be stunning under the chandeliers later at the theater.”
The rope of diamonds seemed endless. Each stone glittered under the cosmetic lights in her dressing area. Deftly, Vita pinched a clasp, breaking the string into two smaller elements. Then she reconnected them to form a double-strand necklace.
“It’s stunning.” Audrey reached out, but stopped short of touching the stones.
“Thanks. Subby gave them to me for our fifth wedding anniversary.”
Subby had been husband number six and her true darling.
“The Hearts of Love Opera Necklace is two-hundred of the most exquisite diamonds from Borsheim’s,” Vita explained. “Eighteen carats, white gold. Over eighty total carat weight.”
Audrey swallowed.
Vita and I both could read her mind.
“They’re insured for four hundred thousand dollars,” Vita added.
“Are you crazy?” Audrey shouted. “Didn’t you hear what Kay said about Frank when you got back from showing him around The Village last night? He didn’t know the hospital billing codes.”
Vita scowled and waved her hand dismissively. “It was a stupid test. Who can remember random numbers anyway?”
“He’s not what he seems.” I grimaced as she fastened the clasp behind her neck.
Vita centered the diamonds between her collarbones. She was even more stunning than usual, her Italian heritage apparent in her olive skin and dark brown eyes. Too bad she was wasting herself on a murderer.
“He was nervous,” Vita argued. “Who wouldn’t be with you two breathing down his neck? He simply misspoke. Don’t worry. I trust him.”
“Right up until he chokes the life out of you.” Audrey flapped her arms by her side like a pelican ready for take-off.
There had to be a way to stop my best friend from walking into the pirate’s lair. “Audrey Googled his name and came up with nothing. Anyone who was as big a honcho in Chicago as he claims to have been should be there somewhere.”
“Remember what we saw on the internet? The first murder happened in Chicago,” Audrey added.
Vita dropped her hands. “Don’t tell me about Chicago. I grew up there. Lots of things happen in Chicago.”
“Except the World Series,” Audrey mumbled.
“Drat you for betting against my Cubbies.” Vita touched up her lipstick, then tucked the tube into her evening bag. “So he wasn’t an administrator. Hell, maybe he was the janitor. I don’t care. All I know is he’s nice and attractive and he treated me well yesterday.”
“What did you end up doing last night?” Audrey asked.
Audrey lives vicariously through Vita.
Vita’s face brightened. “We borrowed a boat from the recreation center and paddled around the lake until sunset. Then we shared a tub of popcorn watching a movie at the Harmony Hills Theater.”
“Oh, yes,” Audrey chimed in. “They’re running Paul Newman movies this month. Which one was it?”
Vita brought her hand to her heart. “The Long Hot Summer with Joanne Woodward. What that man does to me when he takes off his shirt. Sweaty. All male. Those blue eyes...” Vita’s voice trailed off.
“1958,” Audrey added. “I love that movie. They say Paul and Joanna fell in love during the filming.”
“Watching Paul Newman took me back to my days with Eddie.” Vita sighed. “Eddie looked just like Paul Newman. When we’d walk down the street, women would gather around us. Some even asked for his autograph.” She giggled.
Time to inject some reality into this conversation. Vita needed to see a connection between Eddie and that snake, Frank Guilford. I nudged Audrey. “Did Vita ever tell you what happened to her second husband, Eddie?”
“No.” Audrey whipped her attention to Vita, expectantly.
“She doesn’t need to know that story,” Vita protested.
“Yes, I do. What happened?”
Vita scowled at me.
“Tell her—or I will,” I warned, for her own good.
“Fine,” Vita conceded. “Eddie was a philandering SOB.” She threw up her hands. “That’s all.”
All? Not by a long shot.
I nodded to Vita. “Tell Audrey what you did to Eddie when you caught him splashing bare-ass naked in the Acapulco surf with his secretary.”
Audrey’s eyes widened in anticipation.
Vita let out a long breath in submission. ”I packed up all his clothes, stuffed them in his car and—”
“Wait,” I interrupted, holding up my hand. “You didn’t tell Audrey what kind of a car Eddie had.”
The car tells everything about the man.
“It was a sweet, ragtop Thunderbird,” Vita said, dreamily. “Baby blue to match his Paul Newman eyes. Creamy leather interior and wide, whitewall tires.”
Audrey raised an eyebrow and I assumed she was thinking just what I’d suspected fifty years ago–a man with that much ego is bound to fool around.
“So what did you do after you packed his things into the car?” Audrey asked.
“I shipped the whole kit and caboodle to my brother stationed in Korea. He was the supply officer at the Air Force Base there.”
Audrey’s mouth flew open.
“It was post-Korean War and things were as tight as a drum in Korea,” Vita added. “And,” she paused for emphasis, “I’d taken his passport and locked it in trunk of the convertible.”
“Harsh.” Audrey laughed. “It would have been enough for me to know the cheating couple would have had sand embedded in all their delicate body crevices.”
“So,” I said, hopefully, “can’t you go a little slower with Frank? Maybe have one more date here at The Village?”
“No. I know what I’m doing.”
Vita’s resolve filled the room and the rain picked up, pattering against the window.
I patted her arm. “We only want you to stay safe.”
“I’m going. I don’t get many opportunities to dress up.”
“Bet those were Norma’s last words to her friends, too,” Audrey said. “At least don’t wear any jewelry. It’s too tempting–for any robber.”
“No jewelry? Sacrilege.” She added one-carat diamond studs to her ears. “Are you nuts? I’m going to the Orpheum!”
“How do you know? Did you see the tickets?” I asked.
Vita bounced her gaze between Audrey and me. Rolled her eyes and huffed. “You’re both nuts.”
“Take my cell phone in case you need us,” Audrey said.
“No thanks. I have my own.” Vita pulled on her silk wrap.
Audrey jammed the phone into Vita’s beaded purse. “Mine’s special.”
Vita sighed and pinched the snap closed. “If you have it programmed to shriek an alarm when I open it–” she narrowed her eyes–“I swear I’ll put cayenne pepper in your Preparation H.”
4
We ducked behind a wine cask when a couple strolled by on their way to a dining table in the simulated rectory library. A waiter dressed in a brown monk’s robe solemnly escorted them. The drone of piped-in chanting drove me crazy, but The Monastery restaurant had the best beef in town.
I craned my neck, looking around the room. “I can’t see them. Let’s get closer.”
We crept down the wide hall. To my horror, Vita and Frank rounded the corner exiting their small dining room. Arms linked on their way to the salad bar, they headed straight for us. Grasping Audrey’s hand, I quickly pulled her into the restroom behind me.
“That was a close call.” Audrey smiled at the teenager gazing into a mirror, putting on maroon lipstick. “Dude, sweet color.”
The girl smiled back, stuffing the rest of
her cosmetics into a bag. Then she stepped into the toilet stall directly behind her.
On a hook next to the sink hung a seemingly freshly dry-cleaned monk’s robe. I signaled to it with my eyes. Audrey shrugged.
Quickly I snatched the garment from the hanger and slipped it over my head. Draping the hood loosely over my hair, I dashed from the restroom. Audrey followed.
“What are you going to do with that?” Audrey hooked her cane over her wrist, fingering the yards of loose, brown fabric gathered at my waist by a rope belt.
“Get closer to the killer.” I snatched a pitcher of water from the server’s station and marched into the Monk’s library.
Vita and Frank shared the same bench in a booth. Lit only by candlelight, their table seemed cozy and dark. She giggled like a school girl as she fed him an olive from her salad plate.
The sight of it made me want to gag. But I didn’t have time.
Starting on the opposite side of the dining room which held six secluded booths, I stopped at each table to refill water glasses. With each step I drew closer to the couple, but still couldn’t hear their conversation. A second server entered the room and I pulled my cloak further down to hide my face.
“Could you bring us more bread?” A young woman at the table I attended held up an empty basket.
“Sure.” Taking the item, I turned to leave the room. I’d been a waitress in the fifties when we wore roller-skates to serve trays of malted milkshakes. We were called ‘Car hops.’ Refilling a bread basket should be a piece of cake.
As I approached the other server I noticed a cane hooked on the edge of the table. Mercy. Audrey had borrowed another monk’s robe and now stood tableside. Didn’t she think someone would notice her limp?
Although, she certainly had an excellent viewpoint of Vita’s table—one booth away. I trembled to think she’d be recognized.
I sidled up beside her. “Do you need any help?”
“I’ve got this.” She tugged on the cork of some cabernet. Twisting her wrist, she pulled, but the bottle wouldn’t open. Finally, she bent over, took a wide stance, and tucked the bottle in the robe’s folds between her knees. Gripping the corkscrew with both hands, she gave a mighty tug.
