Grace Sees Red

by Julie Hyzy

  “Yeah, I heard somebody talking about that. Santiago, probably. He seems to know everything.”

  “Speaking of Santiago . . .” I shifted on the sofa and was rewarded with more squeaking. “I heard that more of your insulin is missing.”

  He sighed, clearly annoyed by the question. “So they tell me.”

  “You haven’t checked for yourself?”

  “Of course I did. As soon as they allowed me back in my room this morning. But at that point the cops had already taken all my medication away. Now I only have the cops’ word on it. They did an inventory of everything they took from the apartment and made me go over it, line by line, with one of the nurses. I wish I would’ve known about the empty insulin containers before the cops got here; I’d have yanked them out of sight.”

  “You would have tampered with evidence?”

  “Who says it’s evidence?” His gaze was hot. “But even if it is, would I do it to protect Frances? You bet your life, I would.”

  A tiny voice whispered in the back of my brain: Or protect yourself.

  “Which nurse went over the inventory with you?”

  “That young girl with the pretty smile. Tara.”

  “Okay, so walk me through this one more time,” I said. “Gus was alive Sunday morning before you and Frances left for church, right?”

  “Yes. He was storming around with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a drinking glass in the other. Being belligerent, as always.”

  “And arguing with Frances.”

  “Bingo.” Percy curled his lips to the side. “She couldn’t have picked a worse day to mix it up with him.”

  “I understand he was found in bed, though. Did he usually go back to sleep in the morning?”

  “Sometimes, yeah, when he wasn’t feeling well. Gus had episodes—heart problems, I think—and would lie down until his dizziness passed. That was pretty normal for him.”

  I sat up a little straighter. “Could I take a look around his room?” I asked. “And maybe yours, too? If that isn’t too much of an imposition.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “They haven’t sealed his room off?”

  “Nope. The police said they got everything they needed for now.” Percy pointed. “That one,” he said, indicating the door to my left. He followed behind as I made my way over. He was right: There were no warning signs posted, no seal across the door, nothing to indicate any police involvement whatsoever.

  “You’re sure we’re allowed in here?” I asked.

  “The cops loaded a couple bags of Gus’s belongings and carted them out. Not much, as far as I could tell. Before they left the last time, the detective in charge—a cheeky young woman, if you ask me—told us that they were finished for now and if they had any further questions for any of us, they’d be in touch.”

  I frowned at the knob, then remembered that every door in this facility could also be opened automatically. I stretched my sweater sleeve to cover my fist and pushed the silver plate on the wall to activate the mechanism.

  Percy laughed as the door swung wide. “If you’re so worried about fingerprints, you should grab a pair of latex gloves. There are boxes of them everywhere in this place.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” I said and stepped in.

  While not nearly as attractive as the apartment’s living room, Gus’s quarters gave off the same spacious vibe. Except for an impressive collection of heavy-framed oil paintings that took up most of the room’s three pale blue walls, the place was barren. Stark. Cold. Only the wide picture window and its panoramic view of Indwell’s grounds offered any sign of life.

  “Let’s hope they didn’t take everything,” Percy said as he pulled up next to me.

  The hospital bed near the window had been stripped down to its forest-green mattress, and a barren IV tree stood nearby. Gus’s antique highboy dresser was devoid of personality. No knickknacks, no personal items. A matching low dresser with a mirror and two contemporary armoire cabinets offered more of the same. The nightstand held a lamp and a box of facial tissues. Other than that, there was little in the room beyond a recliner and a dorm-sized refrigerator.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “Except for the pictures on the walls, this place has been completely cleared out.”

  “Nah, this is normal. Exactly the way Gus liked it.” Percy zoomed past me, toward the armoires. “He was a clean freak.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said.

  “Don’t let the cleanliness fool you, though,” Percy said. “He may have been fastidious, but he was a hoarder. He’s got more stuff collected in his cabinets than Kyle and I put together.”

  “No way,” I said.

  Percy tilted his chin to indicate the nearer armoire. “Open up one of those and you’ll see,” he said. “Gus was a master at fitting twenty things into a space built to hold two. It’s all neat and tidy in there, believe me. But it’s jam-packed. Kyle showed me some of Gus’s special hiding spots once when he wasn’t around.”

  “I really shouldn’t—”

  “And just wait until you see the bathroom. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow. “Put on a pair of gloves so that you won’t be nervous about touching things.”

  The bathroom was as devoid of personality as the bedroom. The countertop was bare except for a box of purple latex gloves, an empty soap dish, and an empty toothbrush holder. Mounted on the wall above the outlet was a red plastic container meant for medical waste disposal. The shower curtain had been pulled aside but all that remained in the wide stall was a shampoo bottle and a bar of green soap.

  “Did they take all his medications?” I asked.

  “See for yourself.”

  Why not? After donning gloves, I pulled open the door to Gus’s mirrored medicine cabinet. “This is pretty empty,” I said as I gave the contents a quick scan.

  “The police must have taken most of it.”

  I pushed the few remaining items around to get a better look but the shallow cabinet held little more than toothpaste, mouthwash, and dental floss.

  Percy backed into the doorway to give me more room. “The guy complained whenever we left things lying around the apartment. That was one of the reasons we were lobbying to get him moved.”

  “You and Kyle?” I asked. “Or you and Frances?”

  He gave a small shrug. “Kyle didn’t seem to mind him as much as I did. Gus took a liking to the kid and shared some of his stash with him.”

  “What kind of stash?”

  “The liquor, what else? Sometimes, when Anton visited, he and Gus would invite Kyle to join them. They’d talk for hours. I could hear them from my room.”

  “You weren’t invited?”

  “Nah.” Percy made it seem as though he didn’t care. “Anton liked me well enough, but Gus and I butted heads.”

  I opened the cabinet under the sink and crouched to look inside, happy to be wearing the gloves. They provided me freedom to pull out the cabinet’s contents and examine them one by one. “Not much here,” I said as I surrounded the floor around me with spare toilet paper rolls. “Gus apparently used an electric shaver.” I held the device up before placing it next to my foot. “And enjoyed outdoorsy magazines.” One at a time, I held up each shiny periodical, fanning its pages and shaking it. A stack of subscription cards and preprinted sale flyers—offering everything from slippers to sunglasses—tumbled to the floor.

  “Nothing here,” I said.

  “You’re thorough.”

  “I’m nosy.” I also had a question for Percy. “Was Frances here all morning on Sunday?” I asked casually. I began to return Gus’s shaving equipment, spare toilet paper, and magazines back to where I’d found them. “That is, did she arrive Sunday, or was she still here from Saturday night?”

  “Are you asking me if Frances spent the night? She’d be so disappointed i
n you. Such a personal question.”

  “I’m concerned with the timing.” I shut the cabinet doors and stood up. “I’m not interested in explicit details of your relationship.”

  “You aren’t?” he asked. “Now I’m disappointed.” His eyes crinkled up at the corners.

  “You seem to think this is all so funny,” I said. “But I’m worried for her. She’s been a rock these past few years, but she’s never had to defend herself. I don’t think she’s prepared for any of this.”

  “Frances will be fine,” he said. “She didn’t kill anyone and the police are focusing on her only because they’re idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.”

  “Knowing something and proving it are two different things.” When had I heard that before? “We need to prove that Frances didn’t do it.”

  With a sigh, Percy said, “When Frances comes out here on the weekends, she stays in a hotel. She says it would be unseemly for her to stay with me in my room.”

  “What time did she get here on Sunday?”

  “Seven in the morning.”

  “What time did the two of you leave?”

  “Eight thirty-ish. And the only reason I can answer these questions so easily is because I’ve had practice with the detectives. When they asked me all this the first time, I had to stop and think for a while.”

  “And when you and Frances left the apartment, Gus was still alive, right?” I asked.

  “By the time we left, he’d stopped his yammering. He was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper.”

  “Did he seem any different to you? Especially agitated? Short of breath or in pain?”

  “Frances is right. You make a good detective.”

  When I didn’t respond to his attempt at humor, he rolled his eyes. “Like I told the cops, Gus was his regular, cranky self. He said something like ‘Don’t hurry back on my account,’ when we were leaving.”

  “And Kyle was at physical therapy? How long does that usually last?”

  “An hour or so. But don’t worry, the police covered all that with him, too. There are a couple of kids in one of the other buildings who Kyle plays video games with on Sundays. After physical therapy, he hung out with them.”

  “The closest building is pretty far away. And it was storming Sunday. How did he get there?”

  “Shuttle.”

  “Did anyone else enter the apartment that morning? Before Frances showed up, I mean.”

  “Santiago, of course. If anyone else did, I didn’t see them. But that’s not saying much. When I’m in my room I don’t really pay attention to what’s going on in the rest of the apartment.”

  Wanting to get a glimpse inside the bathroom’s small linen closet, I opened the door, forcing Percy to wheel backward even more. “So then if Gus was killed, that means someone else had to enter the apartment to do it while you were gone.”

  “What are you doing in my father’s room?”

  I spun at the unfamiliar male voice.

  Before I could think twice, I peered around the linen closet door. A middle-aged man glowered down at Percy, who—for the first time since I’d met him—seemed at a loss for words.

  The man’s brows jumped when he saw me standing there. “And who are you?”

  Chapter 17

  “Dan,” Percy finally managed to say. Strain made the word come out about two octaves too high. “When did you get in?”

  “Not soon enough, it seems.” He focused his attention on me. “Who are you?” he asked again. Pointing to my purple-clad hands, he added, “An investigator? When are we going to get the autopsy results? We want to start making Dad’s arrangements.”

  The temptation to pass myself off as some sort of forensic specialist stole my ability to speak, but only for a split second. “My name is Grace Wheaton,” I said. “From what I understand, the police have finished in here and have taken all they need.”

  Percy navigated his chair around Dan and sped back into the bedroom.

  Dan was my height with an average build. He carried a paunch that made him look about five months’ pregnant. Small hands, narrow shoulders, ruddy chin. He wore navy pants, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, and carried a tan windbreaker. With his brown comb-over, pale skin, and bulbous, pockmarked nose, he was as unremarkable as they came.

  “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” he said, waving the windbreaker for emphasis. “My dad was a wealthy guy. He has a lot of expensive stuff in here. You better not have touched one single thing in his room—”

  I cut him off with my kindest smile, hoping to nip this particular line of conversation before things got worse. “First of all, I’m very sorry about your dad. I’m sure his death came as a terrible shock. Please accept my condolences.”

  He shifted his weight and pursed his lips as though trying to decide what my game was.

  “I’m not here to steal anything.” I pressed forward, smiling, attempting to disarm. “And if the police had sealed the room, believe me, I never would have stepped in. I just thought that maybe, if I took a quick look around, I might notice something that the police overlooked.”

  “Something the police overlooked,” he repeated, clearly unconvinced.

  “I’m a friend of Percy’s and Frances’s,” I began.

  “Wait a minute. You said your name is Grace. Are you Frances’s Grace?” he asked. “The one related to Bennett Marshfield?”

  “That’s me.”

  He ran a hand through his sparse hair. “Oh, okay, that explains a lot.”

  Banking on Dan being a fair-minded guy, I continued, “You may have heard that the police are questioning Frances in regard to your father’s death.”

  “I got the call last night,” he said without enough inflection for me to determine whether he thought the idea of Frances being a suspect was brilliant or ridiculous. “Do the police know you’re here?”

  I hesitated. “Frances may have mentioned it to them.”

  Dan squinted. “What I’m asking is: Have the police sanctioned your little investigation here today?”

  I bit my lip, then said, “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” He stepped deeper into the bedroom and pointed toward the hallway. “Out.”

  Feeling like a kid caught rummaging through the teacher’s desk, I slipped past him as quickly as I could. Ten feet ahead of me, Percy zoomed out the bedroom door.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I promise I didn’t intend any harm.”

  “Oh sure,” he said, following me out. “Then why the need for the gloves?”

  Back in the man-cave living room, I peeled off the purple latex and turned to face him. “I can only imagine how bad this looks.”

  “Ya think?” he asked. “Indwell is giving us only a week to get the room cleared out. My brother and his wife are coming later with boxes, but I thought I’d get a head start pulling the good stuff together. Lucky I got here when I did. I should report you to the management.”

  His phrasing choice gave me hope that he might not report me—as long as I didn’t aggravate him further.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “And I truly wouldn’t want to do anything to deepen your grief.”

  His manner softened. “You can’t just go around digging through our poor father’s belongings like that. It’s sacrilegious.”

  Back in the living room now, Percy was nowhere to be found. I returned to the uncomfortable red sofa and pointed to a nearby chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?” I asked, as though I had any right to play hostess here. As he settled himself, I asked, “Have you heard anything more about what’s going on?” I purposely avoided using the words murder, and investigation.

  “This is all crazy business. Who would want to kill my dad?” He waved the air and gave a half laugh. “Don’t answer that. Practically everybody did.”

  “I’m sor
ry to hear that.”

  When he scrunched up his face, he looked like an inquisitive shar-pei. “Did you know my dad?”

  “I never had the pleasure.” I said, wondering where Percy had gotten to.

  Dan laughed again, this time with more warmth. “Hardly anybody would call it a ‘pleasure.’ My dad wasn’t the easiest guy to get along with.”

  I had no idea how to run with that, so I decided to dig a little. “When did you see him last?”

  “About a week ago.” He made the shar-pei face again. “I was out of town. Just got home late last night.”

  “Out of town?” I asked, striving for casual. “Where did you go?”

  “Vacation.” He raised a hand, pointing vaguely northwest. “We’ve got a fishing cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

  “We?” I asked. “You and your wife?”

  He seemed to think that was funny. “Nah, I’m not married anymore. The cabin belongs to our family. Harland and his wife said they might come up and join me, but they never made it.”

  “Was your father depressed at all?” I asked. “Melancholy or in low spirits when you saw him last?”

  “You mean like—could he have killed himself? Not a chance. My dad would sooner slit somebody else’s throat than let himself get hurt.”

  Gus sounded like a real joy to be around. “Do you know if he was started on any new medications recently? Maybe something affected his state of mind?”

  “Could be, I guess.”

  “What kind of meds was he getting through the heparin lock?” I asked, pointing to the back of my hand. “I understand he had to have that flushed regularly. Do you know what he was receiving intravenously?”

  “Not a clue.”

  I must have projected my surprise at his tone because he hurried to add, “I mean, I know he needed drugs for his heart. But all that medical jargon is like mishmash to me. That’s why we were so glad he decided to live here. We were happy to let people who know what they’re doing take care of stuff like that. We thought he’d be safe in this place.”

  “Your father liked living here, didn’t he?”