The woman shook her head violently and cried all the louder.
“I know you took it,” Sherry said, flexing her fingers in and out. “Now give it me or else.”
Don, who never failed to calm her, raced across the dining room and put an arm around Sherry’s shoulders.
She shrugged it off and glared at him. “She stole my locket. I want it back.”
“The locket Mr. Henry gave you?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s the one. You make her give it back.”
“Listen, Miss Sherry,” Don whispered in her ear. “You forgot to put on your blouse, doll. Let’s go back to your cottage and put one on. Then, we’ll get your locket back, okay? And after that, we have chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Yes, ma’am. C’mon now, let’s get you dressed for dinner.”
While she selected a top to wear and buttoned it up, Don searched through the small bed and bath. He found the necklace on the back of the toilet. “Lookee here, Miss Sherry. I found your locket.”
“You stole it!”
“Now, Miss Sherry, you know better than that. Your good friend Don would never steal nothin’ from you. Come here, I’ll fasten it round your neck.”
Sherry turned her back to Don. When he finished, she stepped up to a mirror, smiled at the image of the locket hanging on the bare skin between the two sides of her V-neck. She spun around, still wearing the smile that no longer touched her eyes. “Time for chocolate now?”
Don offered his elbow, she slid in her hand. He patted it. “Now, Miss Sherry, let’s go have a bite of dinner and a few of those yummy chocolate chip cookies.”
“With walnuts?”
“Yes, indeed, Miss Sherry. Wouldn’t make ’em any other way.”
“I have some walnuts,” she said pulling away and scurrying over to her night stand. She reached in the drawer and grabbed at something inside, thrust her arm at Don and opened her hand. “See!”
Don looked down at the acorns piled in her palm. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Sherry. But those aren’t the eatin’ kind.”
Sherry clenched her hand over her treasures and brought it to her chest, covering it with the other hand. “They’re mine.”
“Yes, ma’am, they sure are. Put them away now and let’s go on to dinner.”
Ten
Lucinda read through her report on the computer screen, stopping from time to time to correct a spelling or clarify a statement. She printed it out and looked it over again, checking her notes to be sure she left out nothing of importance. She answered her phone before the first ring ended. “Pierce.”
“Jumbo Butler here, Lieutenant. I’ve been pulling records and getting more bothered with every few files I read.”
“What’s bothering you, Butler?”
“Well, first I went back twelve months. Then, I went back twelve more. And I’m seeing a pattern here. There are more missing elderly in the last year and a half than I remember ever before. I need to dig some older data out of the files to be sure but I think it’s more than just an increase in the ageing population.”
“Why not? What are you seeing?”
“Lieutenant, I’ve been working missing persons for more than a dozen years. Most the missing old folks we have turn up wandering around somewhere nearby. Or we get a call on a Silver Alert because somehow some old guy managed to get a bit farther away from home than anyone thought possible. But most of these cases are wrapped up in a day or two – maybe three. Then, about half of the remaining cases, we find their bodies within a week. Usually dead because of an accidental fall or exposure to the elements – but that usually only happens in the dead of winter or in a bad heatwave.
“The rest, with a few exceptions, show up in an emergency room without ID, or are spotted by someone who knows them. We have had one old lady who disappeared on a Sunday. As many meetings as there were at the church that week, no one saw her or if they did, didn’t realize anyone was looking for her. It wasn’t until the next Sunday morning that she was found snoring in one of the pews in the sanctuary. She’d been in the church the whole time.
“But now it appears as if we’ve got a lot more elderly people that just plumb stay missing. That’s my perception anyway. I’m going to have to go back further in the records to be sure, but it just doesn’t feel right.”
“You don’t have stats on this?”
“We’ve got great numbers on missing kids and missing adults but beyond that any details require a file by file search.”
“So, you have no idea how many of the missing elderly have dementia issues?”
“Not a clue, but I’ll find out. I can get some admin help with the search in the morning. I’ll keep at it until I realize I’m imagining things or I have some hardcore data for you.”
“Thanks, Butler. Keep in touch,” Lucinda said, ending the call. She picked the receiver back up and called the Culpepper house. When a woman answered, Lucinda said, “Mrs. Culpepper?”
“Yes, this is Joan.”
“This is Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce. Did you get my card and message?”
“Yes, ma’am. I did. It’s just I forgot to call, I . . . oh, I won’t lie. I saw ‘homicide detective’ on your card and I was terrified that meant you’d found my mother’s body and well –” Joan sniffled – “I just hadn’t gotten up the courage to call.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. We haven’t found your mother. I’m sorry I distressed you. It was Edgar Humphries that prompted me to contact you. You did hear about Mr. Humphries, didn’t you?”
“Oh dear Lord, yes. I’ve been checking my front porch constantly half expecting to find my mother’s body there. I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight. I’m afraid to leave the house in the morning because I’m afraid I’ll stumble over her.”
“I’d like to talk to you about your mother. Could I come by tomorrow afternoon?”
“The morning would be better.”
“I’m sorry but I have to be . . .” Lucinda stopped mid-sentence. She didn’t want to tell her that she’d be in the autopsy suite watching Edgar Humphries’ body being cut up. “I – I have a prior commitment in the morning. I’m sorry.”
“How about the following day, then?” Joan Culpepper suggested.
Lucinda certainly did not want to postpone this interview but she didn’t want to bully the woman when she needed her cooperation. Her mind raced trying to come up with a response that would work. Joan beat her to it.
“Oh, I guess you need to get on this right away, don’t you? How about tonight? I know I won’t be sleeping any time soon.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The porch light burned bright by the front door when Lucinda pulled to a stop in front of the old Victorian home. Joan flung the door open before the detective reached the top step. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Come on in. I’ve put on a pot of coffee and made some herbal tea. Your choice. I’m going with the tea, although in my state of mind, I think caffeine is the least of my worries. But, then, oh dear me . . . Unfortunately, I probably could prattle on about coffee and tea for an hour to avoid talking about the reason you’re here. So, just tell me what you want and I promise I won’t say another word.”
Might not be the easiest interview, Lucinda thought. “Coffee would be wonderful, ma’am.”
“I’ve got half and half. Oh dear, I said something else about coffee.”
Lucinda laughed. “Not a problem, I’d love some real cream in my cup.”
“Sugar?” Joan asked and slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Relax, Mrs. Culpepper. No thanks, no sugar.”
In less than two minutes she returned with two mugs in hand. Lucinda took a sip and was delighted. “Oh, this is good.”
“I make it a bit strong. That’s how my husband always liked it and I got used to it that way. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s how I like it, too,” Lucinda answered with a smile. “I understand that the last time
you saw your mother was December 8. Is that right?”
“Actually, it was December 7. I went out to church and when I came back, she was gone. I was away from the house no more than an hour and a half. I thought she’d be fine. I should have known better. I should have asked Miss Jenkins to come in that morning – she was starting the next day. I’m sure she would have come. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“Why did you choose Miss Jenkins?”
“She needed work and the Humphries said she was terrific with Edgar. And she wasn’t there when he disappeared – I asked about that, of course. I just needed her to be here when I was out – I have a lot of commitments: I’m on the executive committee of the Women’s Mission League, then there’s the Garden Club, lunch with friends at least twice a week, I visit sick church members in the hospital and shut-ins at home, and I volunteer for a couple of charitable organizations. Honestly, I am busier since I retired than I ever was when I going to a job each day. Ironic, isn’t it? Anyway, I just left her long enough to go to the morning service and then Miss Jenkins would start on the Monday and I’d never leave her alone again. And I already had her on waiting lists for assisted living facilities, although she seemed to be going downhill so fast, she might not have been able to handle that much independence by the time something opened up.”
Interesting. “Could you make a list of the places you were considering for your mother?”
“I have it right here,” Joan said, pulling out a drawer in the end table and extracting a piece of paper. “You’re welcome to it.”
Lucinda scanned the list of facilities and saw some overlap with the list she’d gotten from Vicki Humphries. Was it significant? “How old is your mother?”
“She’s eighty-five. And the funny thing is that I thought we were immune from this Alzheimer’s type stuff. Friends of mine had parents that showed signs of dementia in their late sixties or early to mid-seventies. But not Mom. She was still quick with a witty retort, still driving her car, still leading an active social life. Then, came the winter after her seventy-eighth birthday. She had a bad fight with a bout of pneumonia. She was in the hospital for a while – I thought I was going to lose her. But then she snapped right back – physically, at least. But, mentally, she never was the same. I don’t know if it was her illness, the medication she took – one of them was contraindicated with one of her regular prescriptions – or just being in the hospital itself that caused the downturn in her mental capabilities, but it was dramatic.
“She began having hallucinations in the hospital and they continued to trouble her when she came home. I didn’t take her driver’s license away – I didn’t need to. She was suddenly, inexplicably afraid of driving. In fact, she didn’t even like riding in the car. And the witty retorts were gone – replaced by inexplicable bouts of angry mumbling. Most of the time she looked puzzled as if she weren’t capable of understanding conversation. She no longer communicated her feelings well so I had no idea of what she was thinking. I just knew that watching her decline was depressing and painful and imagined it must be even worse for her.”
“Before your mother disappeared, did you see anyone that looked out of place in the neighborhood? Any loiterers? Any parked vehicles that didn’t seem to belong here?”
“No. I can’t say that I noticed anything. To be honest, I don’t think I was paying attention. I should have been better at that considering my mother’s state. But I wasn’t.”
“The facilities you visited, did everyone you talk with seem appropriate? Did anyone express an interest in your mother that seemed a bit off?”
“No. Of course, they all acted interested in her. That’s part of their sales training, I’d imagine. But, no, nothing struck me as unusual.”
“Did you ever entertain any suspicions of Miss Jenkins?”
“Oh, good heavens no!”
“Really?” Lucinda asked.
“Okay. okay. Yes, I did. Not very charitable of me but I did. It seemed too much of a coincidence. But I talked to Vicki and talked to the pastor and even to that missing person’s investigator from the police department – I don’t recall his name.”
“Detective Butler? Jumbo Butler?”
“Yes, that’s it,” she tittered. “How could I forget? He even has his nickname in quotes on the business card he gave me. It made me smile – he’s such a little leprechaun of a man.”
“We think alike, Mrs. Culpepper,” Lucinda said with a smile. “Back to your suspicions of Miss Jenkins?”
“I dropped them – they seemed groundless. No one else was concerned about her.”
“You haven’t seen or heard from your mother since December 7?”
Joan sighed. “Not a word, not a note, not a message. I kept hoping that one day I’d come home and there she’d be, sitting on the porch smiling. Or down on the ground with the pink flowered knee-pad she used, pulling weeds from the flower beds.” A wistful smile spread across Joan’s mouth but faded away as quickly as it appeared. “Now, I am afraid I’ll find her on the porch or in the flower bed, flat on her back, cold as ice. It’s not a pretty thought.”
“No, ma’am, I know it’s not. I am hoping the Humphries investigation will somehow lead us to your mother and we’ll be able to bring her home to you.”
“But, how, Lieutenant?” Tears streamed down Joan’s face. “She certainly won’t be the woman she once was. Will she even remember me? Will she know my name? Or even worse, will you bring her home in a pine box?” Joan hugged herself tight. “Whatever, Lieutenant, whatever – I just want to know. It’s the not knowing that makes me die a little more every day.”
Lucinda wrapped her arms around the woman and held her while her body shook. Lucinda knew this was a pain she’d never experience; her parents never made it to old age. But, still, she could feel it. It reverberated in the well of pain that lived inside her ever since the day her parents left her. She struggled to contain her own tears and smother an overwhelming sensation of anguish.
Eleven
Back at her apartment, Lucinda fed her gray cat Chester and went into the bedroom to pull off her work clothes and slide into a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Chester was cleaning his whiskers with his paws when she returned to the kitchen. She scooped him up and cuddled him – but he wasn’t as affectionate as usual. He planted his paws on her chest and pushed away. She set him down with a sigh.
She plopped on the sofa and invited him to snuggle with her but he was not the least bit interested in that, either. It was almost midnight, she should be sleeping. She needed some sleep before the 6 a.m. autopsy. That cup of coffee was a big mistake. She tried to interest Chester in playing with a jingly catnip-stuffed mouse but he just yawned at her.
She picked up the phone to call Jake but hung up before she finished punching in the numbers. She grabbed a book and tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. “Oh the hell with it,” she said. “So what if I wake him up.” She could tell by his mumbled response that she had. “Hey, Jake. Sorry if I woke you.”
“Lucinda? Is that you? Is something wrong?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“So you’re not going to let me sleep, either? I think that might be a positive step forward in our relationship, in an odd way.”
“I’m sorry, Jake,” she laughed. “I was hoping you’d be awake. I wanted someone to talk to about a new case. Sorry I bothered you. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m awake now. And I’m curious. What’s the problem with your case?”
“Jake, I’m not even sure I have a case.”
“Do you have a dead body?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re investigating it?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a case to me, Lucinda. No matter the outcome.”
“When you put it that way, sure. But I’m not certain it’s a murder.”
“You thinking suicide?”
“Not hardly. Most people don’t get dressed, stretch out on their son�
��s front porch and quietly kill themselves without leaving a mess. And it’s a little bizarre for a natural death since he’d been missing for months.”
“You got that right. What else is eating at you?”
“The missing person guy seems to think there’s been an uptick in elderly disappearances. Are you seeing anything like that on a national level?”
“Not that I’d know but I could ask in the morning.”
“Thanks. That would be great, Jake. I’m also wondering if it has anything to do with the victim’s Alzheimer’s. There was another woman in the neighborhood with dementia and she disappeared a couple of weeks after my guy did.”
“Could be a coincidence. But before you say a word, I could feel your wince through the phone line.”
Lucinda laughed. “You know me. My least favorite word in the English language.” Chester chose that moment to jump up in Lucinda’s lap and rub his jowl on her face, his purr volume set on high.
“What is that noise?” Jake asked.
“Chester.”
“Ah, how’s the old boy doing?”
“He was a bit stand-offish earlier but now that I’m giving my attention to someone else, he’s all lovey-dovey.”
“He should be a woman.”
“Jake . . .”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. He’s definitely male. About this case, what are you thinking? Where do you think it might be going? Abduction? Patricide for profit? Caregiver rage? What?”
“I’ve talked to two caregivers. Both were planning on putting their parents in a facility. Both had obviously been stressed by the situation. But it seemed like they were dealing with it all okay.”
“If we scratch the caregiver motive, that still leaves us with the same perpetrators in patricide for profit. Most kids are their parents’ heirs – and that means it’s always a good possibility for motive.”
“Just doesn’t seem to fit here.”
Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 5
