Time of Death

by Lucy Kerr

  “You’d never leave. Inertia would take over.”

  I nodded, grateful that someone finally seemed to understand. “It was like I needed a running start.” What a start it had been—the final fight with Noah, declaring to my mom that I’d rather be dead than stuck in the store for the rest of my life.

  According to the laws of physics, an object in motion stays in motion. Three broken engagements later, I was living proof of Newton’s laws.

  Maybe it was time to figure out how to stop running.

  “Will it be hard to leave again, once Charlie and Rowan are well?” Garima asked.

  “I have a job to get back to,” I reminded her. “Assuming I don’t lose my nursing license.”

  “Which is why you’re so invested in the Jensen case,” she agreed, gesturing to the pile of papers at her elbow. “You know what I can’t figure out? You’re a good nurse. You knew better than to administer medicine without authorization, especially in a new hospital. You knew better than to lift someone Clem’s size. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

  “Nobody was around to ask,” I said. “Everyone was handling the bus crash.”

  “The ER was right there, Frankie. Twenty yards away. Why didn’t you simply alert the staff and keep on walking?”

  “Because I could help him.” Because that’s what my impulse and my training had conditioned me to do.

  “Because it was a rush,” she said. “I saw the look on your face. You love being the one to save the day.”

  “You sound like Strack.”

  “I sound like someone who watched you climb the water tower after the homecoming game because Mark Burris bet ten dollars you couldn’t do it.”

  I grinned. “Ten bucks buys a lot of cheese fries.”

  “I said it before: you’re an adrenaline junkie. There’s no shame in it. It makes you good at what you do, keeps you from burning out in a job that has broken plenty of people. But if you don’t find a way to clear your name, you won’t be getting your adrenaline fix at Chicago Memorial—or any other hospital.”

  “I’m hoping I managed to stall Strack this afternoon.”

  “By threatening to sue?”

  “Lawsuits make the hospital less attractive to potential buyers, right? If he thinks I’m willing to dig in for a long legal fight, he might hold off reporting me.”

  “If you say so,” Garima said, but the doubt was clear in her voice.

  TWENTY

  The next morning, I drove out to the motel Clem had worked for, windows down and music blasting, singing at the top of my lungs about wide-open spaces and free-falling. The sunlight spilled over the land like molten gold, unlike the light outside my apartment, always fractured by buildings and streetlights and planes.

  Thanks to the paperwork Laura and I had gone through, it had been simple enough to make a list of Clem’s recent clients, call them to pass along the sad news, and ask a few discreet questions about Clem’s state of mind and his financials. None of them had anything useful or unusual to tell. But the last number on the list, for The Piney Woods Motel, rang endlessly.

  With Riley and my mom at the hospital and Matt manning the store, I decided to drive out and see the manager in person. Piney Woods was far and away Clem’s most reliable source of income, and I was hoping all the time he’d spent there meant they’d have some insight into his sudden windfall.

  Piney Woods Motel was a one-story U-shaped building with a sign advertising “free cable + housekeeping.” There were, indeed, pine trees all around—sad, spindly looking conifers that dropped yellowed needles and stubby cones along the patched and crumbling asphalt. Unsurprisingly, the vacancy sign was lit. I locked my car and ducked into the main office.

  Behind the stained laminate counter, a girl with pink- and yellow-striped hair looked up from her phone and blinked slowly.

  “Hi.” I gave her what I hoped was a confidence-inducing smile. “I was wondering if I could talk to the manager? Or the owner?”

  She blinked again. “You need a room?”

  “No,” I said. “I just wanted to talk to the person in charge.”

  Her pierced eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. “You gonna complain?”

  “No,” I repeated, forcing my smile to stay in place. “I had a few questions, that’s all. About someone who—”

  “We don’t give out information about our guests,” she drawled and went back to her game. She didn’t glance at me as she tacked on an insincere, “Sorry.”

  “It’s not about guests,” I said. “I had a question about an employee.”

  “We don’t have employees.”

  “Aren’t you an employee?”

  She sighed and dragged her attention away from the phone. “My dad’s the owner. So I work here, but I’m not really an employee. Which sucks, because it means he doesn’t have to pay me overtime.”

  “You could get a job somewhere else,” I pointed out.

  “Around here?” She scoffed. “Anyway, we don’t have employees.”

  “What about contractors? Clem Jensen was doing some work for you?”

  “Clem?” She sat up. “Yeah, he’s our handyman.”

  “When was the last time he was here?”

  She shrugged. “A week ago, maybe? There’s always stuff for him to do. I mean, my dad thinks he’s handy, and so he tries to fix it, and he screws up, so my mom calls Clem.”

  “What was he working on this time?”

  She grimaced. “Plumbing stuff.”

  I flashed back to the invoices I’d studied. “A hot water heater?”

  “Yeah, it—” she broke off, eyes narrowing. “How did you know that? Why do you want to know about Clem?”

  “Clem passed away,” I said gently, and the girl reared back, the phone slipping out of her fingers with a clatter.

  “But . . . he was here last week.” She looked utterly bewildered and suddenly very young.

  “I know. He died Sunday morning. His daughter asked me to notify his customers. How did he seem to you, when you last saw him?”

  She blinked more rapidly now. “Alive.”

  “I know it’s a shock.” I waited a beat before pressing her. “Had Clem’s behavior changed at all recently? Did he seem stressed or worried?”

  She shook her head mutely.

  “Are you sure?”

  “He was happy,” she said, almost accusatory. “I mean, he was coming down with some kind of cold or flu or something.”

  Laura had said the same, but I knew better—Clem had felt badly because of the drug switch; he’d probably suffered at least one minor heart attack before the one that sent him to the hospital. People assume heart attacks are as dramatic as they see on TV, where people clutch at their arm or their chest, but oftentimes, the first symptoms look like the flu: clammy skin, nausea, and fatigue.

  The girl continued, urging me to believe her. “He was still whistling and joking around and stuff. He was . . . happy.”

  Something about the way she said it snagged my attention. “Was that unusual? Was he in a bad mood most of the time?”

  “Not bad,” she said. “He was kind of gruff. You know how old guys are, but he’d warmed up lately. He would tell me all about his grandson. And he . . .” She blushed. “He gave me advice about my boyfriend.”

  “That’s really sweet.” Still, I didn’t think Clem’s money came from moonlighting as an advice columnist. “Was he doing a lot of work for your dad?”

  “Not really. I mean, he had the big painting project, but that was early in the summer.” She frowned, finally recovering from the shock. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

  I hesitated. “His daughter asked me to help settle his affairs.”

  That sounded official. The sort of thing someone might ask if they were legitimately helping out.

  “How did he die? Was it an accident?”

  “No. It was . . . unexpected.”

  I could have said, “It was murder,” but that sort of news tended
to derail a conversation.

  The girl was quicker than I had given her credit for. “Unexpected how? Like, a heart attack? Or . . .”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I should talk to you,” she retorted. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Her name’s Frankie,” came a familiar voice behind me. “Is she giving you trouble, Bianca?”

  The girl—Bianca—turned. “Deputy Noah! I didn’t see you there!”

  “You two know each other?” I asked.

  “Bianca’s always very helpful whenever I have a question about a guest,” Noah said, giving her a fond smile. Bianca preened a little, smoothing her pink-striped hair and leaning over the counter.

  “Must be nice,” I said, unable to keep a sour note from creeping into my voice.

  “He’s the police,” Bianca said. “How do you know each other?”

  “Old friends,” Noah said, turning his attention to me. “You looking for new accommodations? All the units here are on the first floor. You wouldn’t have to climb out any windows.”

  “Our windows don’t open,” Bianca put in. “It’s a safety feature.”

  “Very sensible.” To Noah, I added, “I’m helping Laura. Clem was the handyman here, so I thought I’d stop by and—”

  “Be nosy,” Bianca said. “She was asking a ton of questions.”

  “Why don’t I take Frankie off your hands?” Noah said easily. “Let you get back to work.”

  “Did you want a cup of coffee?” she offered, pointing to the pot behind the counter. Judging from the scorched smell hanging in the air, it had been sitting on the burner all day.

  “Maybe later. Come on, Trouble,” he said, and led me out the door.

  Once in the parking lot, I said, “Friend of yours?”

  “She’s a little young for me. Nice kid, though. I don’t like thinking about all the things she probably sees here.”

  I tended to agree; any place that charged hourly rates was probably giving Bianca a far different education than the community college.

  “What are you doing here, Frankie?”

  “I told you, I’m helping Laura,” I said, making my eyes go wide and innocent. “She wanted me to talk to her dad’s customers, let them know he’d passed away. What are you doing here?”

  “Swung by the store to see how Matt’s doing. You know, bring the new father a cigar. He mentioned you were coming out here, so I thought I’d stop in and make sure you found the place okay.”

  “How thoughtful,” I muttered.

  “Funny thing, though. I also ran by the library this morning, said hi to Laura Madigan.”

  “Aren’t you the social butterfly?” I snarked, heading toward my car.

  “Community relations,” he said with a grin. “I got the distinct impression Laura believes her dad died of natural causes. If you’re convinced Clem was murdered, why not tell her?”

  “It’s not something you can drop into a conversation,” I said. “We’re having coffee this afternoon, and I was going to tell her then. I wanted to be sure before I said anything, because the next step is to have her request an autopsy.”

  “Autopsies are hard on the family,” he said, turning serious. “Do you really need to put Laura through that?”

  “You’re the one who said I needed proof.”

  “What if the autopsy proves you’re wrong?”

  “It won’t.”

  “Because you’re never wrong?”

  I looked up at him. “I’ve been wrong about plenty of things. And I’m sorry for them. But I am not wrong about this, so you can either help me or get out of the way.”

  He considered me for a long moment, those steady green eyes taking my measure. Then he shook his head, rueful. “You were always stubborn.”

  “Focused,” I replied, and then the strange, tense moment was gone. We circled around the property, walking close enough that our shoulders occasionally brushed. Clem had been here in summer, according to Bianca, painting the exterior of the motel. Out of curiosity, I inspected the trim. Not bad. Neat enough brushwork, and he’d taken the time to cut in around the windows and doorframes. The paint didn’t seem to be superhigh quality, but based on what I’d seen already, Bianca’s dad wasn’t the type to pay for quality—and paint was one of those areas where you get what you pay for.

  “Iron Ore,” I said. Noah’s eyebrows shot up, and I added, “The paint color. I remember it from the invoices, because he ordered so much.” I bent and scraped at the siding, close to the ground where it wouldn’t be noticeable. “He did two coats. Nice work. My mom thought he was legit.”

  “Lila has good instincts,” Noah said.

  “I suppose.” She’d liked Noah too, despite his family’s reputation. “I’d thought maybe he was overcharging people, and that’s where the money was coming from. I guess not.”

  “You’re still focused on that?” He shrugged. “So the cash came from somewhere else.”

  “But where?” I dug in my bag for my sunglasses, annoyed to find I’d left them atop my head. “Everyone says the same thing—Clem was all about work, fishing, and his grandson. That’s it. He wasn’t investing it, he wasn’t winning at the casino. There wasn’t a single lotto ticket in his house. None of it explains how—”

  Across the parking lot, the door slammed open. A bedraggled brunette stepped outside, blinking irritably at the sunlight and tottering over to a convertible on impossibly high heels.

  “Aw, baby,” said a voice inside the room. “Don’t be like that!”

  I recognized the voice and on instinct pulled Noah into a cluster of trees.

  “Hey!” he said, bewildered.

  I clapped a hand over his mouth and peered past him. A moment later, Jimmy Madigan strode out of the room, pleading with the brunette. She ignored him, gunning the engine and driving off in a spray of gravel.

  Jimmy swore, ran his hands through his hair, and glanced around.

  I felt Noah smile against my hand, and I dragged him deeper into the pines, but it was too late.

  Jimmy’s gaze snapped to us, caught by the movement or—more likely—my lime-green backpack.

  “Well lookee,” he sneered. “You’re the girl from Crossroads.”

  “You remember,” I said. “Glad I made an impression.”

  “I never forget a face,” he said, ambling over. I could smell the beer on his breath from fifteen paces, and it wasn’t even noon. “I’ve heard plenty about you, though. You’re that nurse. The one who found my dear, departed father-in-law. How come you’re not wearing one of those uniforms? Bet the deputy would like that, wouldn’t he?”

  “Excuse me?” I said, ice in my voice. Next to me, Noah tensed.

  Jimmy laughed, a coarse, ugly sound. “Nurse and the cop at the no-tell motel. Did you get a good rate? They give you a break if you stay for more than four hours.”

  “Looks like you won’t be needing that long,” I said. “Shocking.”

  Jimmy scowled, puffing out his chest. “This is my place of residence. I’m paying weekly.”

  “That so?” Noah asked, eyeing him. “I thought you were living over on the south side of town.”

  Interesting that Noah knew where Jimmy lived. I wondered if he’d been keeping tabs on Jimmy all along, or if he was finally taking my suspicions seriously.

  “Moving on up,” Jimmy said.

  “To a sleazy motel?” I asked.

  “Can’t beat the view. I see all sorts of interesting things. You wouldn’t believe the people who sneak off here for an afternoon.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You two aren’t doing a great job of sneaking, no offense. Not that I blame you for wanting to show off the little nurse,” he told Noah, and looked me over. “Girlie, you’d raise my temperature, too.”

  Before Noah could respond, I stepped in front of him and met Jimmy’s eyes.

  “Call me girlie again,” I said pleasantly, “and I will show you exactly where to put that thermometer. We both kn
ow I’m good for it.”

  He took a step backward and held up his hands. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

  “How long have you been living here?” I asked.

  “A few months, give or take.”

  “You must have run into Clem a few times,” I said. “I hear he wasn’t your biggest fan.”

  Jimmy snorted. “We weren’t exactly heading over to the riverboats together. I tried to be civil, of course.”

  “Of course,” Noah said dryly. “You’re the civilized sort.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Clem?”

  He shifted. “A couple of weeks before he died. Why?”

  A couple of weeks would have fit the timing of the medication. “Did you two talk?”

  “Not much. Last time he bothered to say more’n five words, he was telling me how Laura was going to get rid of me. Like I was going to let that happen.”

  I elbowed Noah discreetly, and he gave the barest of nods.

  “The man never gave me so much as a kind word, let alone a dime. But thanks to him, hospital’s going to be handing over a whole lot of cash.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Noah said. “Because your car’s got expired tags, and that’s a two-hundred-fifty-dollar ticket.”

  Jimmy’s face turned dark with rage.

  “Go grab your license,” Noah said, unperturbed. “Meet me over by the cruiser, and we’ll get this settled. Frankie, stick around. I’d like a word.”

  I sighed. Probably more than one word, and many of them would have to do with my snooping.

  Noah wrote out the ticket and stalked back over to me, scowling as Jimmy disappeared into his room.

  “Now do you believe me?” I asked.