Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Jennie shrugged. "It really was luck. I got there about the time people were coming in to work. He offered to show me around, and by the time we finished the tour, he'd asked me out."

  "And you're going?"

  "Of course. Don't you see? I'm in a great position to find out what's going on with your friend Irene. Maybe I can even…"

  "Jennie," Helen interrupted. "I won't stop you from seeing this young man, but I don't want you fishing around out there."

  "You think it might be dangerous?"

  Helen wasn't sure how to answer. "Not really," she finally said, afraid an affirmative response would fuel Jennie's cause even more. "Just unnecessary."

  Jennie pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the four-story medical building. If she was disappointed, she didn't show it.

  Helen extricated herself from the car, careful not to bump her shoulder, and accepted Jennie's hand. "Just promise me something," Helen said as she leaned on her granddaughter for support. "If you do find anything amiss at Edgewood, and I'm not suggesting you will, I want you to tell me or your father straight away."

  Jennie's grin nearly covered half her face. "I know the rules, Gram."

  Dr. Long changed Helen's dressing, then demonstrated several range-of-motion exercises for her to try. She could easily accomplish most of them. The hard one was raising her arm. Helen stood an arm's length from the wall and reached out to touch it, then finger-walked up it. By the time she'd done the exercise two times, she felt as if she'd run a marathon. "It looks a lot easier than it is." She pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. "Will I ever have full movement in my shoulder again?"

  The doctor tapped his pen against the chart. "I'd like to give you a definite answer, but it could go either way. Time will tell. I do know this, if you don't exercise, your shoulder will freeze up."

  "Then I guess I have a lot of work ahead of me."

  Helen supposed she should put the business about Irene out of her mind, but she saw an opportunity too good to pass up. "Dr., how long have you been practicing in this area?"

  Dr. Long set her chart aside, crossed his arms, and leaned against the counter. "About ten years. Why?"

  "Did you know Andrew Kincaid?"

  "Sure did. Played golf with Andrew once a week. He was a good man, tragic end to a great career. Over the years I sent a lot of my older patients his way. In fact, I was going to suggest you go through their rehab program."

  "What about his son, Paul?"

  Dr. Long rubbed his chin. "Don't know him near as well, but from what I hear he's brilliant, one of the best geriatric specialists in the country. Why do you ask?"

  Helen explained her meeting with Irene in detail. "Irene's accusations may be the result of dementia, but I'm having a hard time accepting that analysis."

  "Murder, huh?" Dr. Long shook his head. "I'm afraid I have to side with Paul Kincaid on that one. In fact, I was at the hospital when they brought Andrew in. He'd had a heart attack all right. Now as far as his wife is concerned, Andrew never mentioned that she had Alzheimer's, but that isn't something he'd necessarily confide to a golfing buddy. Tell you what, though. I'll ask around. Some of my colleagues might have seen or heard something."

  "I'd appreciate that."

  Armed with a packet of instructions on how to care for her shoulder, Helen left the clinic. Fifteen minutes later, she and Jennie turned off Front Street toward the Riverside complex, then made a left into the garage beneath JB's condo.

  On the drive over, Helen's inquisitive granddaughter had been asking far too many questions about JB. With her imagination in full bloom, Jennie had come up with a number of possible scenarios about her new grandfather's whereabouts. She was still at it when they took the elevator to the second level.

  "Maybe JB's working on a drug case like Dad used to." She beamed as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

  "I don't think that's likely, dear."

  "It could happen. The DEA and the FBI work together sometimes."

  "Yes, but JB isn't working for the FBI just now. He's gone overseas." Helen unlocked the door, then stood for a moment in the entry. Traces of her husband, the scent of his cologne and the sight of his chair, washed over her. So strong was his presence that Helen felt the ground shift beneath her.

  "Gram?" Jennie grabbed Helen's good elbow and led her to the sofa. "You don't look so good. Better sit down."

  "I think that would be wise." Helen dropped to the couch and tipped her head back against the cushions. "Seems rather stuffy in here. Would you mind opening the windows?"

  Jennie complied, then came back. "Are you going to be okay? Can I get you anything?"

  "Something to drink. There should be some iced tea in the refrigerator. Maybe you could pour us each a glass."

  A cool breeze coming through the open windows revived her. She looked around for signs that JB had been there but found none. Just wishful thinking on her part. He'd said himself he'd probably be gone three weeks. The blinking red light on the answering machine drew her forward. She pushed the rewind button, then playback.

  Several clicks and beeps later, JB's rich baritone voice filled the room. "Helen, darling, 'tis your wayward husband. I'm at Heathrow in London on this dreary Monday morning wishing with all my heart I'd chosen another line of work. I'm missing you greatly, luv." He paused, and Helen held her breath. "This will be my last call until I'm stateside. Security, you know. I'm wishing I could tell you what it's all about. I only hope…” Another pause. "Ah, Helen, light of my life. I'd like nothing more than to be lying in your arms at this very moment. God willing, we'll be together soon."

  "Was that JB?" Jennie wandered back into the living room.

  Helen, nodded. "Yes. He called Monday." Only three days ago. It felt like a lifetime. Wanting to listen to the message again in private, she left it on the machine. The gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that JB's message might have to last for a long time.

  Chapter Seven

  Did he say when he'd be back?" Jennie asked.

  "No," Helen answered absently, then straightened and smiled, giving Jennie a reassuring hug. "But I'm sure it will be soon. Come on. Help me pack, then we'd better head to your place. Your mother will be wondering what's happened to us."

  Helen pulled a few necessary items from the suitcases she’d packed the night of the shooting. She packed an overnight bag with a couple of outfits and other necessities for what she hoped would be a short stay at Susan's. Together Helen and Jennie closed windows and locked up the apartment. Walking back to the car, she purposely steered the conversation away from herself and JB.

  "Your mother tells me she and your father are still trying to work things out. How are you feeling about that?"

  Jennie shrugged. "What's to feel? I know they love each other. I just wish Mom would hurry up and remarry Dad so he can come home. I don't think it's fair to make him stay in that little apartment."

  "She needs time, Jennie. He was gone a long time."

  "Yeah. I guess I should just be happy she didn't go through with marrying Michael." Jennie hesitated as she changed lanes and drove onto the Steel Bridge. "I think it's worst for Nick. He's really excited that Dad's back, but he doesn't understand why he can't live with us."

  Helen watched a motorboat race along the Willamette River beneath them. "Your mother and father were having problems long before he disappeared."

  "I know." Jennie went on to talk about memories, both the good and the bad, of their life before Jason had disappeared. Helen listened and empathized. Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of the McGrady home. After taking Helen's bags in, Jennie helped unpack, then left to go swimming with friends.

  Weary from the day's activities, Helen picked up the novel she'd been reading before her life had taken its unfortunate turn. She stopped by the kitchen for a cool drink, then settled on the wicker chaise lounge on the porch. So many things to do. So little energy… and far t
oo much time.

  The next day Helen did little more than eat, sleep, and exercise. "Your body needs rest in order to heal," Dr. Long had told her. The rest must have done some good, because Friday morning brought about a welcome change.

  She awoke at five a.m., too full of anticipation to sleep. Today she and Jennie would drive out to Edgewood to see Irene. Helen had called daily, and each time the report was the same. "Mrs. Kincaid is resting comfortably. I'll let her know you called."

  Helen had asked numerous times to speak with Irene, but each time the answer was the same: "I'm sorry, she's not taking calls." Helen had an odd sense they weren't being entirely honest. Today would be different. One way or another she'd get into Irene's room and see for herself.

  Rolling over onto her left side, Helen eased out of bed, wrapped an afghan around her shoulders, and moved to the chair. Once settled, she reached for the devotional book Susan had given her. She read for twenty minutes, then closed her eyes, giving thanks for her family and improving health, for JB's safety and for Irene's.

  Through a bit of creative manipulating Helen managed to ease her sore arm and shoulder into some loose-fitting sweats. She winced when her shoulder resisted her efforts to raise it. Bending at the waist, she swung her arm in ever-widening circles. Soon the stiff muscles began to loosen up. The shoulder needed a lot of work. She still couldn't raise her arm higher than chest level. Amazing how a gunshot wound and dislocated shoulder could set a person back. Fortunately, Helen had been no stranger to exercise and had kept up a daily regimen since her police academy days. This past week, however, her body acted as though she'd never moved a muscle. She paused ten minutes into her routine to catch her breath, then forced herself to go on. "Time," she panted. "It just takes time."

  At seven, Helen covered the gauze bandage with plastic wrap and took a shower. Dressing primarily for comfort, she'd slipped into an ankle-length white cotton dress and accessorized it with the silver chain belt and sandals she'd purchased in Acapulco after helping officials close down a drug ring there.

  She'd been recruited to infiltrate the operation by posing as a tourist. When the Federales closed in, they'd arrested her along with all the others in the Ortiz cartel. It had taken JB and the DEA four days to locate her.

  The earthen-wall pit and her rodent roommates bore little resemblance to the places she wrote about for Tour and Travel. About the only amenity it had was water and what she loosely termed as food. The combination had cleaned her out and stripped her of ten pounds. Definitely not a diet she'd recommend to friends.

  "I don't want you taking any more assignments like that one, luv," JB had told her later over dinner. "Much too dangerous."

  "Oh really? Maybe you should let me be the judge of that."

  "Now don't be giving me that look." His cerulean blue gaze had lingered on hers as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. Helen's protestations had skittered away like startled butterflies as she recognized the first pangs of love for him.

  Helen closed her eyes and held the memory, wishing she were holding him instead.

  Picking up a brush, she yanked it through her wet hair. Now, more than ever, Helen understood the concerns he'd felt all those times she'd been in the field while he'd been stuck behind a desk.

  After breakfast Helen took a walk through a nearby park with Nick and Jennie, then headed for bed and a much-needed nap. Jason arrived minutes before she and Jennie were scheduled to leave for Edgewood and insisted on taking her himself.

  "I'm sorry, Jennie. I know you were looking forward to the outing with Gram, but I'd like to see the place for myself." His dark brooding offered no argument.

  Jennie protested anyway. "Could I go along?"

  "Not this time."

  "You're expecting trouble, aren't you?" Her dark eyes brightened. Helen suppressed a smile.

  "Not really." He turned to Helen. "Ready to go?"

  "More than ready." Helen gathered her purse and followed him to the car. Jason may not be expecting trouble, but he wasn't eliminating the possibility.

  After a pleasant lunch at the Multnomah Falls Lodge, they headed southwest on the winding road that took them into the hills high above the river and the main highway. "I've always been curious about this place." Helen braced herself as Jason negotiated a sharp curve. Her shoulder slammed against the door. She grimaced and sucked in a deep breath.

  "Sorry, Mom. That one took me by surprise. You okay?"

  "I will be when I stop seeing stars."

  "Do you want me to pull over?"

  As the pain dulled, Helen forced her muscles to relax. "It's okay." A high brick wall to their left pulled her attention back to their mission. "This must be Edgewood."

  Jason raised a questioning eyebrow. "Looks like a prison. Are you sure you want to go in?"

  "Of course. Security is one of their selling points." A black- and-gold metal sign, flush against the brick, read Edgewood Estates.

  "I don't know. This doesn't give me a feeling of security. It gives me the creeps."

  Helen shared Jason's uneasiness but didn't say so. She'd waited for days to see Irene Kincaid and had no intention of turning back now.

  They took a left into a two-lane driveway and stopped at the guardhouse just in front of a closed iron gate. A young woman in an official-looking uniform leaned out of the window and smiled. "Welcome to Edgewood. I'm Andi Spence. What can I do for you folks today?"

  "We're here to visit a patient in Edgewood Manor," Jason responded.

  Andi pulled up a clipboard and pen. "Who might that be?"

  "Irene Kincaid."

  She frowned. "Oh, now, I'm not sure we can let you do that. Dr. Kincaid left orders that Irene couldn't have any visitors."

  Helen leaned forward so she could see the guard's face. "I spoke with the nurse, um… Stephanie, on Wednesday. She said we could come in anytime."

  "What was your name?"

  "Helen Bradley, and this is my son, Jason McGrady."

  "Helen…" Andi paused. "Hey, you're the lady who was with Ms. Kincaid the night she got shot. Saw your picture in the paper. You're an ex-cop, right?" Admiration lit up Andi's hazel eyes. "I heard how you went after the guy."

  "I tried."

  "Paper said they found his body down by the river. Bet you're glad it's over."

  “Very much so,” she agreed and then added, "I'd very much like to see Irene."

  Andi pursed her lips, then reached for a phone. "Tell you what. I'll check with Stephanie and see what she says. Sometimes we get orders from the brass, then they change their minds and the message doesn't trickle out this far."

  Helen nodded. "I know how that feels."

  While she waited, Helen leaned her head back against the seat and massaged a sore spot on her neck.

  Andi stepped out of the guardhouse and peered into the car. Her official uniform came equipped with a holster and gun, Helen noticed. "Dr. Kincaid is out of town today, but Stephanie said it would be okay, seeing who you are and all."

  After looking at their I.D.'s, Andi questioned Jason about his position with the Portland Police Bureau. Duly impressed, she jotted down the license number of Jason's black Camaro, handed them a map, then punched a sequence of numbers that set the wrought-iron gate into motion.

  "Have a nice visit," Andi called as Jason moved the car forward. They followed the paved road for about a quarter of a mile into the woods. According to the map, the forested area to their left covered ten acres and provided a network of foot trails. Three stair-step rows of new condominiums bordered the forest to the north. Each had a terrific view of the gorge.

  Jason slowed the car as the road forked. "I take back what I said. This place is unbelievable. Living out here would certainly take the edge off growing old. So, which way do we go?"

  "Right, I think." Helen pointed to a signpost that directed visitors to various locations. A turn to the left would take them into Edgewood West, toward the condominiums, golf course, club house, an entertainment pav
ilion, and community center.

  Shortly after they made a right turn, the two-lane road split. They followed a one-way arrow past emerald lawns and into an older section of the estate that looked like an Ivy League campus. Each of the brick buildings had been marked with discreet signs similar to the one at the gate. The road curved in a horseshoe, with the median serving as a park. Several trees, benches, a pond, waterfall, and half a dozen swans and ducks completed the serene picture. Edgewood Manor lay on the other side of the park.

  The magnitude of the place left Helen speechless.

  "I had no idea it was this large." Jason slowed in compliance with the ten-miles-per-hour warning and a speed bump.

  "Neither did I, but then, I guess it would be with all they offer." Helen checked the buildings against the map. They passed Edgewood Apartments, the assisted living quarters. At the east end of the campus lay Kincaid Laboratories, a square three-story brick structure. A large warehouse sat behind it.

  The next driveway led them into a paved parking lot that apparently gave access to both Kincaid Laboratories and the nursing home.

  Edgewood Manor had the look and feel of a well-maintained convalescent facility. The linoleum floors had been shined to a high gloss. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the foyer to the information desk. After getting directions to the north wing, Jason and Helen started down the wide hallway.

  It was quiet. Nap time for many, Helen suspected. They passed a large day room where several residents sat on sofas and love seats reading, talking, or watching a television talk show.

  The sight of a frail white-haired woman in a wheelchair triggered a distant memory. Helen's own mother had spent the last month of her life in a nursing home not nearly so grand as this one on the other side of the Atlantic. At eighty-five, she had fallen and shattered a hip. Surgery revealed bone cancer. Poor Mum deteriorated quickly after that. A month later they'd buried her beside her husband in a little plot near Dublin.

  When they reached the nurses' station, Helen shook aside the memory. The square cubicle with its tray of charts was empty.