There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3)

by Wendy Delaney

  “Hey, when I was thirteen I thought that sounded pretty cool. Twenty years later there are days I still do.”

  “It must be interesting though, working in the ER.” Not the smoothest segue, but it would have to do. “Oh, speaking of the ER, one of my friends from high school was there last night with her two-year-old.” I paused, hoping that he’d turn toward me so that I could read his reaction.

  When he did I continued. “Jordan Makepeace.”

  Nothing registered except the same feigned expression of interest I got from Steve whenever I talked about my job.

  “His grandmother—Phyllis Bozeman, if you know her—found him outside eating a plant and rushed him to the hospital.”

  Again, no flickers of recognition. If Phyllis or Jordan had made prior trips to the ER, they hadn’t been on Kyle’s watch.

  “Is he doing okay?” he asked.

  “Seems to be. From what I heard it sounds like his grandmother got him there in the nick of time.”

  “Good for Grandma and Jordan then. Plant toxins can be very dangerous.”

  Yes, they were, as I had recently learned. “Is that something you see very often?”

  He cracked an egg into a bowl. “No, and usually the parents say that they have no idea what the kid ate or drank.”

  “But you’re able to run some labs and find out, right?”

  Reaching for another egg, he grinned at me. “Someone’s been watching too much TV.”

  He was sounding like Steve again. “Okay, so it’s not that easy, but if Phyllis hadn’t known what Jordan ate, there should be a way to tell, right?”

  “There’d be traces of the plant in his vomit. But no matter what he ate or didn’t eat, he’d present with certain symptoms, and we’d go from there.”

  I pulled the computer printout from my tote and unfolded the three-page article on the galley counter next to the bowl. “What if you saw these symptoms?”

  Kyle removed the pan from the burner, leaning on the counter as he leafed through the pages. Less than a minute later, he handed them back to me, his eyes hooded. “This is what you wanted to talk to me about.”

  I nodded. “Which I tried to indicate on the phone.”

  His jaw tightened. “So, you didn’t dig up enough information last night about how Marty McCutcheon died?”

  “I’m trying to do my job and gather all the pertinent information surrounding his death so that the Coroner—”

  “I know what your job is. I can even appreciate that you’re willing to do what’s necessary to get that job done, but I can’t help you. Not this time.”

  I knew he was referring to a research project he had helped me with when one of his patients had died suddenly a few weeks back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

  “And I’ve told you everything you need to know for a cause of death. Mr. McCutcheon was in ventricular fibrillation upon arrival. He arrested about thirty minutes later. That’s all I have for you.”

  “That’s all there is to it?” I asked, watching him carefully for a reaction.

  “That’s all I saw. The medics who brought him in reported he was experiencing paralysis and ventricular dysrhythmias. In other words, his heart was out of rhythm. He had to be shocked, several times.”

  “But why was this happening?”

  “Given his history, like I told you last night, my guess would be advanced coronary artery disease.”

  He was telling the truth, dammit.

  I stared down at the paper in my hands and saw the words, paralysis and irregular heartbeat. “It seems like one of these poisons would be a great way to kill someone, especially with that kind of history.”

  “Don’t let me give you any ideas, and not that Mr. McCutcheon’s death was caused by anything other than a very unhealthy heart, but you’re right. It could be an effective way to kill someone.”

  I stared at him. “Because you can’t just run a few labs and find out that someone was poisoned?”

  He smirked. “Not around here. Takes some seriously expensive equipment and highly trained toxicologists that county hospitals can’t afford.”

  I sighed. I could only hope that the state crime lab had some of that equipment.

  Kyle glanced down at the bowl between us. “If you’re done pumping me for information, I’d like to eat sometime today.”

  “I’d prefer to call it asking a friend for his help with a problem.”

  He grabbed a whisk. “Yeah, I like that better, too. Still feels like I was pumped for information though.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Now let me ask you a question,” he said, whisking milk in with the eggs.

  “Okay.” The flutter in my chest told me to expect that his question wouldn’t have anything to do with work.

  “Was that the only reason you called me this morning?”

  It was a fair question, but there was no way I could give him a completely honest answer without hurting his feelings.

  “I was concerned that there might be a connection between why Jordan Makepeace was rushed to the hospital last night and the death of Marty McCutcheon, and I wanted to see what you thought. To see if this seemed like too much of a coincidence.” I left the rest unsaid. He was a smart guy. He could read between the lines.

  He nodded. “I’m not a big one for coincidences.”

  “Me either.”

  “But they happen. You and me, for example. There we were at Eddie’s, in the same boat after dressing for an evening out.”

  “Yeah.” Point taken.

  “So, the guy who cancelled on you. Is it serious?”

  “Maybe.” I felt like Steve and I needed more time to figure that out. “I guess I’m not sure yet, but I can tell you that he’s important to me.”

  At the nod of his head I could see he’d gotten the message. “What about you and your date last night?”

  He pressed his lips together, deliberating on his answer for a split-second too long. “Just someone I’d gone out with a couple of times.”

  I seriously doubted that. “Just a couple?”

  His mouth stretched into a lopsided smile. “Maybe four. Does that disqualify me from having brunch with you?”

  “Nope, especially when I’m hungry.”

  “Good answer.”

  While he busied himself in the galley, I studied the paper in my hands and thought about the one thing that Jordan Makepeace and Marty McCutcheon appeared to have in common: Phyllis Bozeman. Coincidence? Maybe. There was only one person in town who could solve that mystery for me—the lady herself.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “I need a cake,” I said to Lucille, one of the two Duke’s waitresses working the afternoon shift.

  She and I both knew my request was a formality because the Duke, Darrell Duquette, was watching us from the cut-out window over the grill to make sure that I didn’t treat his bakery profit center like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  Stepping behind the illuminated glass case in her squeaky orthopedic shoes, Lucille pointed at a German chocolate cake missing two slices. “We got this one.”

  “A whole cake.” I leaned closer to check out a platter of cupcakes that might work in a pinch.

  Lucille looked at me through the glass, the points of her platinum bob curling into her cheeks. “Where’s the party?”

  “No party. I just need a cake. Something cheerful looking.” I figured the family of a poisoning victim could use all the cheering up they could get.

  “We got German chocolate and carrot. If that isn’t enough cheer for ya, you need to get your ass back here and bake it yourself.”

  It wouldn’t have been the first time since I graduated from culinary school that I’d availed myself of Duke’s kitchen. I’d baked most of the family birthday cakes, even my own wedding cake. But I needed something readily packable into a bakery box if I wanted to catch a grandma at the hospital during visiting hours.

  “Lucille, could I get a refill when you have a minute?” called Stanley,
one of Duke’s more senior regulars from his usual perch at the yellow Formica counter.

  She pursed her lips. “The natives are getting restless.”

  “Go get him his decaf. I’ll deal with Duke,” I whispered, stepping behind the bakery case like I had countless times over the years while helping stock its shelves.

  I pulled out the platter of cupcakes and did a quick count. Ten. Good enough. All I needed to do was dress them up a little, and they would do nicely.

  Pushing open the kitchen door with my shoulder, I smiled at my great-uncle. “Howdy! Looks like a pretty good crowd today considering that it’s after tourist season.”

  The curmudgeon wearing the grease-stained white apron glowered at me. “And they might want to take home some cupcakes, so where do you think you’re going with those?”

  “I’m buying them,” I said on my way back to my great-aunt Alice’s butcher block worktable.

  “You know that’s supposed to mean that you pay for ’em.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of taking it out in trade.”

  He brightened. “Yeah? A dozen cupcakes to replace those? Okay, you’ve got a deal—as long as you throw in a chocolate layer cake. We sold the last piece an hour ago.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, pulling the cake decorating tray from the storage shelf next to a cooling rack. “Since when is that fair?”

  “Since you owe me for the cheeseburger I made you for lunch yesterday, and the apple fritter I saw you sneak on Monday.”

  “I swear you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, old man.”

  He chuckled low in his throat as he flipped the burger sizzling on the grill. “And don’t you ever forget it, baby girl.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Like he’d let me.

  At the worktable I sorted through a box of cake toppers and found three little rainbows, a couple of plastic palm trees, and assorted fondant zoo animals that I could use. “Perfect.”

  After I placed the cupcakes in a pink bakery box and arranged them like they were having a fun day at the zoo, I fastened the box with a Duke’s Cafe sticker and headed for the kitchen door.

  Duke pointed at me with his spatula. “You’d better come right back and get to bakin’. I’ve got an apron here with your name on it.”

  Unfortunately he wasn’t kidding. He’d used that threat on me so many times when I was a teenager, he’d had one embroidered for me.

  “I’ll be back. First, I need to make a special delivery to the hospital.”

  Chapter Ten

  After a quick stop in the hospital gift shop to buy an overpriced balloon, I headed up to the second floor where Jordan Makepeace had been moved after spending the night in Intensive Care.

  Standing at the door, I hesitated to intrude on the four generations gathered around the honey-haired little boy’s bed. Yes, Phyllis Bozeman was standing at the foot of his bed with her youngest grandchild in her arms, but so was Estelle and I didn’t need this courtesy call getting back to my grandmother, especially since it had the potential to go very badly.

  “Balloon!” Jordan squealed, pointing at the polka-dotted Get Well balloon in my hand.

  All eyes turned to me.

  I painted a happy smile on my face as I stepped into the room. “Hi, everybody! How’s the patient?”

  “Better, thank you,” his father said with a glance at a frowning Aubrey, as if she could explain why I was visiting their son.

  Estelle waved me over to stand next to her. “Oh, boy! I think someone special is getting a balloon!”

  As I approached, Phyllis clutched her baby grandson to her bosom like I was going to fly away with him on the broomstick that I’d left in the hallway.

  Just keep smiling and think of a way to get Phyllis alone.

  “Charmaine?” Aubrey’s puffy eyes narrowed as they scanned me from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”

  Since I had insinuated myself into the tail end of what had to have been an all-night vigil, I hadn’t expected Aubrey to be pleased to see me, especially after twenty-three years of avoiding one another.

  “Duke heard about what happened and asked me to bring this brave young man a little get well gift.” After handing his father the balloon, I opened up the bakery box and showed Jordan my cupcake zoo.

  His eyes widened. “Cupcakes!”

  “How cute!” Estelle said. “Which one do you want to try first, Jordy? A monkey or an elephant?”

  He reached for the box. “Monkey!”

  Aubrey placed her hand on her son’s arm. “Granny, don’t encourage him. He can’t—”

  “These will keep in the refrigerator, so when he’s ready…” I winked at Jordan. “…that monkey cupcake will still be yummy.”

  “Hello, hello,” a fortyish doctor said as he came alongside Jordan’s bed. He smiled apologetically at the two grannies and me. “I hate to break up the party, but we’re going to need everyone but Mom and Dad to leave the room for a few minutes.”

  Aubrey exchanged glances with her mother. “Maybe you should take Joey home. It’s past his naptime. Then I’ll call so you know what to expect later.”

  Phyllis nodded and gathered her purse. “Okay, bye, sweetheart.”

  Jordan waved goodbye to his grandmother and then looked expectantly at me.

  Smart kid. He knew this was my cue as well as I did. “You feel better, Jordan. Enjoy that monkey!”

  After setting the bakery box on a table by the door, I followed Phyllis into the disinfectant-scented hallway. “Before you go, I wonder if I could ask you something.”

  She shifted the baby in her arms. “I need to get him home. Estelle, too,” Phyllis said, turning to look behind us. “Estelle, are you ready to go?”

  The older woman sighed. “I just need to find a bathroom. Such a nuisance this bladder of mine.”

  Once Estelle was out of earshot, I pointed at the bench by the elevator. “As long as you have a couple of moments, let’s have a seat.”

  “I can’t imagine that we have anything else to talk about if this is about Marty,” she said, seating little Joey on her lap.

  “I just need you to help me understand something.”

  “Well, I’ll try.”

  I knew we had only a few minutes, so I got right to the point. “I don’t know if you realize this, but Marty became violently ill a couple of hours before he died.”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast as she stroked the fine hair on her grandson’s head. “Cameron mentioned that yesterday.”

  “We are trying to determine if something he ingested led to his heart failure.” Okay, we was bending the truth into a boomerang that might whack me in the head later, but I needed this to sound official.

  Phyllis knit her brows, her dark eyes searching mine. “Something he ingested? He seemed fine at work, so do you mean something he ate at his birthday dinner?”

  “It seems like a possibility.”

  “Why are you asking me? I wasn’t there.”

  “But you gave him something he ate that no one else appears to have touched Thursday night.”

  “The salsa?”

  I nodded.

  “It was the same salsa I always give him.”

  “Was anything added to it?” I asked, watching her closely for a reaction.

  Her nostrils flared, her eyes scarcely more than slits as she stared me down. “Certainly not by me.”

  Joey started crying as if his grandmother were scaring him.

  I know, kid. She can be a little intense. Kind of like my ex-mother-in-law when she was angry. But Phyllis Bozeman was also telling the truth.

  I flashed her my best conciliatory smile as she rocked Joey in her arms. “I apologize, but I must ask, do you have any reason to think that something might have been added to it?”

  “I didn’t until now!”

  True again. If there had been something poisonous added to the salsa, she didn’t know anything about it.

  Phyllis labored to stand with Joey
in her arms as Estelle walked up behind me.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Estelle said, pressing the button for the elevator.

  Pushing out of my seat I knew this little interview would be over the second the elevator door opened. “You know, it’s just remarkable how well Jordan is doing.”

  Estelle placed her hand on Phyllis’s shoulder. “And this one gets all the credit for that. If it wasn’t for her quick thinking, I shudder to think what could have happened to that sweet little boy.”

  When the elevator door opened, we stepped inside and I pressed the button for the ground floor. “Yes, thank goodness you knew that plant was poisonous, Mrs. Bozeman.”

  Phyllis sniffed, staring at the elevator door. “I didn’t. But I’d never heard of anyone using crocuses in salads or soups, so I just assumed.”

  Oh.

  “Good assumption.” On her part, not mine because without the Phyllis Bozeman link between her former boyfriend’s death and her grandson’s poisoning, I couldn’t help but wonder if Kyle was right. Maybe Marty’s untimely death could have been avoided if he’d cut back on the cheeseburgers.

  After leaving the elevator we headed for the exit while Joey screamed, heading for a baby meltdown.

  “Somebody’s really tired,” Phyllis said, picking up her pace.

  Seemingly content to lag behind, Estelle tapped my arm. “Are you going home from here?”

  “Back to Duke’s actually.” To make good on a debt.

  “Could you give me a ride?” She pointed at the crying baby. “Plus, since Phyllis is headed over to Clatska, I’m out of her way.”

  “No problem. In fact, I have some yarn for you from Darlene.”

  “You do?”

  “I was over there yesterday, and she asked me to deliver it since I’d be coming back this way. I meant to stop by on my way home from work, but…”

  “That’s strange,” Estelle said as we followed Phyllis out into the afternoon sunshine.

  I didn’t think anything I’d just said sounded all that strange. “What?”

  “I saw Darlene’s car parked across the street from my house shortly before I got the call about Jordan. I wonder why she didn’t just deliver the yarn then and save you the trouble.”