Grace Sees Red

by Julie Hyzy

  I handed the jar to Nieman. “I’m sure Percy will be happy to cooperate with your department if it means getting to the truth. Right, Percy?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Even if we do find reason to suspect that Anton Holcroft killed the victim, the fact that this jar was removed from the room could hinder our investigation,” Madigan said. “There’s a thing called chain of custody that applies to evidence.”

  I knew that, but I also knew that this revelation had the potential to help Frances’s case. A lot.

  Madigan worked her jaw. “You,” she said to me, while pointing to the red sofa, “wait here.” Turning to Debbie, she said, “You show me where this paper was found.”

  I sat on the red sofa, dropping my jacket and purse next to me. Percy pulled up and sat to my left. Dan stared after the nurse and cops as they disappeared into his father’s room.

  “I don’t know anything anymore,” he said. “I just don’t know.”

  Percy stared at his hands in his lap.

  A few minutes later, the threesome emerged. “Okay, now your turn,” Madigan said to me. Turning to Percy, she added, “You, too. Show me where you hid this.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “We like to be thorough, okay?” Madigan said.

  She and Nieman followed us into Percy’s room, where he dutifully pointed out his hidey-hole. “Right there,” he said. “I had it behind those books.”

  Madigan expanded a telescoping baton and used the narrow end to explore the area for a couple of minutes. She may have been seeking to appear official, but she came across as petty and desperate. Nieman stared over her partner’s shoulder.

  “Finding lots of clues in there, Officer?” Percy taunted.

  With tiny taps, Madigan continued to poke around. “What else did you take from Gus’s room?” she asked without looking up.

  “Nothing,” Percy said. He turned to me with accusation in his eyes. “What did you tell her?”

  I held both hands up. “All I knew about was the moonshine,” I said. And the factory-sealed scotch, I thought. But that had been taken from Anton directly, not from Gus. “Why, is there more?”

  Percy glared at me.

  Nieman turned to face him. “Fess up now and I’ll consider overlooking your infraction.”

  “You think I could have managed to sneak out more than one jar?” He held up fingers that resembled crooked twigs. “With these hands?”

  “You could have gone through Gus’s room before I got here,” I said.

  His glare intensified. “You’re not helping matters.”

  “I’m trying to help Frances.”

  “Fine,” he said. “The truth is, I’d completely forgotten about the moonshine until Grace asked to see Gus’s room. When we were in there, I remembered it and thought that—if the opportunity arose—I’d grab it. The opportunity did arise and I took it.” He stared up at Madigan. “That’s the truth. You want to handcuff me and wheel me in on charges, have at it. I’ve got nothing else to tell you.”

  The detectives must have believed him, because they exchanged an uneasy glance. Madigan gave a brisk nod. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Debbie and Dan were waiting for us in the man-cave. He still held on to the copy of the assisted-suicide brochure.

  “May I see that a moment?” I asked.

  “This? Why? You said yourself that my dad couldn’t have put it there.”

  “That’s actually the copy Grace asked us to make.” Debbie winked at me as she tugged the paper out of Dan’s hands. “I’ll go make another copy for you, okay?”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  After she left, the police asked a few more questions, then—apparently satisfied—took off themselves. Debbie returned moments later. “Here you go,” she said as she handed one copy of the brochure to me and another to Dan. “I made one for our files, too. Just in case.”

  Dan didn’t thank her. “I’m not happy about this. Not happy at all.”

  Percy shrugged. “I’m probably in trouble.”

  “Let’s worry about that later,” I said as I grabbed my things. “Right now I’m thrilled to be able to tell Frances that there are two interesting developments that can help point the police in the right direction.”

  “Away from her,” Percy said.

  “Exactly.” I nodded. “I was hoping Gus died a natural death. Right now, it’s looking more and more as though someone murdered him. With any luck, today’s developments will put the police solidly on the guilty party’s trail.”

  * * *

  I returned to Marshfield in a triumphant mood. Even though we were no closer to figuring out what had truly happened to Gus, I believed we were a lot closer to clearing Frances’s name. After alerting Lily Holland and sharing the updates with our homicide detectives, Frances, Bennett, and I gathered in my office for the last half hour of the workday before we took off for the weekend.

  “I knew you’d find evidence to help me,” Frances said. Turning to Bennett, she added, “Of course, it took her a little longer because I wasn’t able to help, but we knew she’d come through eventually, didn’t we?”

  “Let’s not celebrate yet,” I said, though I was finding it hard to tamp down my own good cheer. “The police won’t back off their interest in you until there’s something more substantial to work with than a planted pamphlet and a renegade jar of moonshine.”

  “But it may be enough for Lily to work with,” Bennett said.

  “It may.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.” Frances crossed her arms.

  “What is?” Bennett asked.

  “I’m visiting Percy tomorrow.”

  “Going back to Indwell?” I asked, aghast. “No. Not a good idea. Didn’t Lily tell you to stay away from the place until you were completely cleared?”

  “She encouraged me to stay away from Indwell. She didn’t forbid me to go.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Frances,” Bennett said. “Let’s give Grace and the police a little more time.”

  “With very few exceptions, I always visit Percy on weekends. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I refuse to stay locked up in my own house because some toddler detectives think they have a case against me.”

  “I wouldn’t risk it,” I said.

  “Good thing I’m not letting you decide then, isn’t it?” she said. “I’m convinced that we’re on the right track now. And I refuse to miss my weekend visit.”

  Bennett and I exchanged helpless glances.

  “It comes down to this,” Frances said. “I’ve got nothing to worry about, do I? And yet, I’ve been cowering back here at Marshfield like I’m scared they’ll find out the truth. Well, I know the truth. I’m innocent. And it’s about time I start acting like it.”

  When I opened my mouth to protest further, she pointed at me. “Not another word. Tomorrow I’m going to Indwell.”

  Bennett pinched his lips together.

  “Fine,” I said. “Then I’m going with you.”

  She blinked, clearly surprised. A second later, she shook her head. “I plan to stay at a nearby hotel and not come back to Emberstowne until Sunday. You have to let me go on my own.”

  “Until this is over, not a chance,” I said. “I’ll pack a bag.”

  Chapter 33

  Frances had a few errands to run Saturday, so I picked her up a little after noon. “I made reservations for both of us at the hotel,” she said when she got in. “Not that Rosette is a hotbed of entertainment or anything, but you never know when some local event fills a place up. I didn’t want to risk you being shut out.” She faked a shudder. “Or, heaven forbid, we have to share a room.”

  When we got to Indwell, a new face greeted us at the lobby desk. “Cathy’s not in today, I take it?” I asked her.

  The
young woman, barely out of her teens, smiled up at us. “She called in sick. Did you need her for something?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “We’re fine.”

  “Who are you here to visit?” she asked with a glance at the registry where Frances was signing us in.

  “Percy Sliwa.”

  “Do you know the way?”

  Frances snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “We do, thanks,” I said.

  We knocked at Percy’s apartment. He called out, “Be right there.”

  When the door swung open, I watched his expression shift from relief at seeing Frances, to dismay at my presence, to resignation that manifested itself into a tepid smile.

  “Good to see you,” he said, rolling to accompany Frances as she made her way in. “I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to come out this weekend.”

  “When has anyone been able to stop me from what I want to do?” she asked.

  “True enough.” He slid me a sideways glance. “Although I didn’t expect a chaperone.”

  “Hmph,” Frances said. “Turns out when Grace sets her mind to do something, there’s no talking her out of it. She’s a lot like me that way.”

  If he intended to protest my presence further, he held back. “I suppose she told you about the moonshine too, did she?”

  Frances positioned herself in front of her ex-husband, feet set shoulder-width apart, fists at her hips, peering at him over the tops of her half-moon glasses. “What else do you have in your room that you shouldn’t have?” she asked.

  “Not a thing.”

  “Oh, really,” she asked without budging. “So you won’t mind me doing a little spring cleaning in there today, will you?”

  Kyle emerged from his room just then. “Hey, cool. Fireworks.” He grinned up at me. “How ya doing, Grace?” he asked. Before I could answer, he zipped past me to join Frances. “What was it like in jail? Did you get strip-searched?”

  “Certainly not,” she said, her cheeks flaming red. “What is wrong with you?”

  He smiled again. “We get bored here all day doing nothing. Gus’s murder and your arrest are the most exciting things that have happened here in forever. I heard about that assisted-suicide brochure. Any idea who put it in Gus’s room?”

  “Did you?” I asked.

  “Ha!” Kyle seemed amused by the idea. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it. People are going nuts about it. That’s all everybody talked about yesterday.”

  “I imagine,” I said. “Who’s here today? I know Cathy called in sick.”

  “Did she?” He twisted his head from side to side. “I know Santiago’s here; I’ve seen him. I think it’s Debbie’s day off. Maybe Tara’s, too.”

  “Did any of them have anything of interest to share about the brochure?” I asked. “Was there discussion as to who may have planted it in Gus’s room?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I can remember. They had a lot to say about that moonshine, though. Debbie thinks the police will probably arrest Anton next.”

  “Speaking of the moonshine,” Frances said to Percy, “your friend here is trying to distract me, but I’m not falling for it. What else do you have in your room? Or should Grace and I head in there now to have a look?”

  “Sorry, bro. I tried,” Kyle said as he headed away. He hit the metal panel on the wall and turned back to us as the door swung open. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Percy dragged his attention back to us when his roommate was gone. “It’s beautiful outside today, Frannie. Want to go for a walk?” With a glance at me, he added, “You can come, too.”

  Frances sidestepped his wheelchair and made a beeline for his room.

  “Okay, okay,” Percy said as he zoomed after her. “I give.”

  Curious as to what would happen next, I followed. Percy’s room was as cluttered as it had been the last time I was here. The only difference between that visit and now was Frances’s glowering presence in the room’s center. “Well?” she asked. “Where is it? Or should I start digging on my own?”

  Percy took his sweet time. I hadn’t realized what an unpleasant sight a pouting man could be. He rolled to the cabinet opposite his refrigerator and leaned forward to open its right-hand door. I got the distinct impression he was exaggerating the difficulty accessing his storage spaces, but every time Frances attempted to assist, he snapped a refusal.

  “Have a seat,” she said to me. “This may take a while.”

  She claimed the easy chair with the wildlife afghan, while I settled myself in the one with the motorcycle-themed throws. We talked a little about the case, about Marshfield, anything to pass the time. All the while, she watched Percy’s movements with such attentiveness I wondered if she was making a mental log of his hiding spots to remember later.

  By the time he’d completed his slow-motion collecting, Percy had amassed seven airline-sized bottles of liquor. One by one, he painstakingly transferred them from his lap to Frances’s. Three vodkas, four gins.

  “That’s all of it,” he announced with a measure of pride. “Happy now?”

  Frances picked up each of the bottles in turn, examining them. “And not one of them have been opened yet,” she said.

  “See?” he said sounding like a plaintive four-year-old. “I haven’t been pushing any limits at all.”

  “Imagine that.” She gathered all seven bottles as she got to her feet. “Hold on to these, will you?” she asked as she placed them in my lap. “I have a feeling he may have missed a spot or two.”

  Percy’s silent pout morphed into an all-out whine. “Wait, no. Frances, come on. You know I didn’t—”

  Too late. She removed a small stack of books from atop a shoe box that sat on a waist-high shelf near the windows. Lifting the shoe box, she shook it. Even sitting across the room, I could hear the sloshing liquid inside. She replaced the box on the shelf, lifted the lid, and smiled beatifically at Percy. “Oh, look what I found here.” She hoisted a bottle of gin and swirled it around. About half its contents were still intact. “Haven’t been pushing your limits at all, have you?”

  She placed the bottle on the floor next to me and returned to digging.

  By the time Frances finished searching the room, she’d amassed three half-full bottles of vodka, two of gin, and two unopened bottles of anisette, all of which she piled up around my chair.

  “How many of these did you take from Gus’s room?” I asked.

  Percy didn’t answer me.

  “We have to give these to the police, Frances.”

  “Hello in there?”

  The three of us turned to face Santiago in the doorway. He held a blue-capped syringe aloft. “I’m looking for Kyle—again—it’s time for one of his special meds.” Before any of us could answer, he noticed the mountain of liquor at my feet. “Well, what do we have here?”

  “I didn’t take these from Gus,” Percy said. “He gave them to Kyle but his parents get all worked up if they find liquor in his room. They think alcohol is the work of the devil. So he keeps it in here.”

  “You really expect us to believe that?” I asked.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Kyle’s not here?” Santiago asked. “His locator bracelet says . . .” The nurse shook his head. “That kid. He left it here again, didn’t he?”

  At that moment, my cell phone rang. Bruce. I left the little bottles on my chair and stepped out into the man-cave to take the call.

  “Grace, good news,” he said when I picked up. “The bank says they’ll have preliminary paperwork ready for us next week. Would you be able to swing by their offices Monday morning to sign a few documents?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “What time?”

  “We can make it whatever time is convenient for you. The documents they’re requiring are basically y
ou promising to fund the purchase of the Granite Building if the inspection goes through. Because Scott and I can’t afford the purchase on our own, the bank won’t move forward without proof that you’re committed to this venture.”

  “I’ll be there. Can we do it early on Monday? Maybe about eight in the morning? I can stop at the bank on my way to work.”

  “Perfect, I’ll set it up. How are things going with Frances?” he asked.

  I turned as she, Percy, and Santiago emerged from Percy’s room. Frances carried five of the liquor bottles. She deposited them on the floor near the sofa and returned to Percy’s room for the rest.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Got it. You can’t talk.”

  Frances stacked the two unopened bottles next to the first five, then went back for the seven little airline versions.

  “That’s right. See you when I get home tomorrow,” I said.

  As I ended the call, the apartment door opened, and Kyle rolled in. He spotted Santiago at the same moment the nurse spotted him. “There you are,” Santiago said with an exultant grin.

  “I was just coming back for my locator bracelet,” Kyle said, fooling no one.

  “Sure you were.” Santiago raised the syringe he carried. “Don’t worry—this won’t hurt a bit.”

  “Liar,” Kyle said.

  Frances returned. From the clinking sounds coming from her purse, I knew she’d stuffed all the small bottles inside.

  After donning purple latex gloves from a box on the wall, Santiago approached Kyle. He grimaced.

  I don’t know why I chose to watch, but I did. Santiago rolled up Kyle’s sleeve, ripped open a sanitizing wipe, and cleaned the young man’s upper arm. “If Kyle here would agree to wear a heparin lock,” Santiago said, “we could administer these injections without any pain whatsoever.”

  “Stick me all you like, I refuse to wear one of those things. They get in the way when I’m playing video games.”

  Santiago held Kyle’s skin taut with one hand and brought the still-capped syringe up with his other. Using his teeth, he yanked the blue cap off the top of the syringe and plunged the needle into Kyle’s smooth arm.