What Stella Wants

by Bartholomew, Nancy

  I rode slowly up the long driveway to the nursing home, circled through the parking lot and saw nothing that triggered my alarm system. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, it just meant if they were in the lot, they were good at hiding.

  When we returned to Aunt Lucy’s the white van ran out of options. Every spot on the street was taken, forcing the van to park illegally in front of the fire hydrant outside of Sylvia Talluchi’s row house.

  “At least I know they won’t be comfortable for long,” I said, grinning over at Jake. “How long do you think it’ll be before Sylvia comes out to give them another piece of her mind, or calls the cops because the van’s parked in front of the fire hydrant?”

  Jake chuckled, but neither one of us was too happy. Considering the fact that we had no actual case, we had certainly generated a lot of interest and even more questions. We parked and walked back into Aunt Lucy’s house where we found everyone still sitting at the table, everyone that is but Arnold. His place was empty.

  “Your friend leave?” Jake asked.

  Aunt Lucy nodded. “He is tired. He went home to rest. He says all this excitement is too much for an old man!” She smiled happily. “It was a lovely day, wasn’t it?”

  While Spike nodded, agreeing with my aunt, Nina wasn’t ready to let the subject of Aunt Lucy’s boyfriend drop.

  “He went home?” she repeated. “Oh, so he’s really moved back to Glenn Ford for good, huh?”

  I gave Nina a warning look, trying to head her off, but she ignored me and focused on Aunt Lucy.

  “Yes,” Aunt Lucy answered. “He says there is nothing for him in Michigan. He wanted to be back where he grew up.”

  “What about his children?” Nina persisted. “Aren’t they still out there?”

  Aunt Lucy glanced sharply at Nina before she answered. “They live all over the county,” she said. “Arnold doesn’t worry about them visiting. He sees them when he wishes. They are busy with their own lives.” As she said this, she gave Nina a meaningful look, like she should get her own life and quit being so nosy. Of course Nina wasn’t good at picking up on even not-so-subtle hints.

  “So where does Arnold live?”

  “Out in Honeybrook,” Aunt Lucy replied slowly.

  “In a house or a condo?”

  It was obvious now that Nina and Aunt Lucy were engaged in a battle. Nina was like a dog with a bone. She wasn’t giving in. For some reason, Aunt Lucy was equally determined to answer her questions, but there was a distinct edge to her voice, a warning tone that spelled trouble.

  “How about dessert?” I said, trying to distract them.

  “A lovely homelike setting,” Aunt Lucy answered slowly, as if she knew Nina already knew exactly where Arnold lived.

  “Have you been there to visit?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Lucy answered. “Whenever Arnold feels like staying in, I go there. Sometimes I go to his home because it is so private. Nobody asks questions they already know the answers to at Arnold’s house.”

  Oh, boy! Here we go, I thought, and settled back in my chair to weather the upcoming storm.

  “A friend of mine said Arnold moved into the hospice in Honeybrook,” Nina said, a distinct edge of defiance in her voice. “But I told her Arnold couldn’t live in the hospice, at least not as a patient. Hospices are for people who are about to die.”

  Aunt Lucy nodded. “Actually, hospices usually work with people who have six months or less to live. Occasionally people get better and don’t need the hospice services, but you’re right, you must be diagnosed with a terminal illness to receive their services.”

  Nina sat back and exhaled in a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s like, totally what I thought. You only live in a hospice if you’re like terminally ill. So, if Arnold doesn’t live in the hospice where does he live?”

  Everybody sitting at the table saw it coming except for Nina.

  “Nina,” Aunt Lucy said gently. “Arnold does live in the hospice. He is dying.”

  “No!”

  Spike leaned over and took Nina’s hand. Nina looked at her lover, still not quite able to accept what Aunt Lucy was telling her. “I don’t get it. He doesn’t even look sick!”

  “Well, he is,” Aunt Lucy said. She looked suddenly sad. “He has good days and bad. This was a good one. Arnold has an inoperable tumor that is growing around his heart. He found out about it almost a month ago.”

  My heart ached for my aunt. She had lost the love of her life and now would have to lose Arnold.

  “Oh, Aunt Lucy,” I said, reaching out to touch her hand. “I am so sorry. It must have been a dreadful shock to find out Arnold was dying.”

  She shrugged. “He told me as soon as he knew. He even wanted to stop seeing me because of it! I told him, we are not so young, you and me. We will learn to make the most of the time we have together. And so we do. What, I should send him away because soon he will leave me and it will hurt? Bah! Lucia Menetta Valocchi is made of stronger stuff than that!”

  “But he doesn’t look sick!” Nina protested. “Maybe you should get a second opinion!”

  Aunt Lucy shook her head. “Arnold Koslovski could buy the Mayo Clinic if he wanted to. He’s seen the best doctors and they all say the same thing. That’s why he moved into the hospice instead of buying the farm he wanted. There isn’t time for that now. He needs help. He wants to be able to enjoy what time we have left. So, he gave the money he was going to spend on his estate to the hospice and in return, they are putting him in a small suite and taking care of him. Now,” she said, rising to her feet and looking down at the rest of us, “I am tired. I have had a long day and I want to go to bed. Arnie and I are going to Longwood Gardens in the morning. He has hired a hot air balloon to take us on a little ride.”

  “Won’t it be too cold?” Spike asked, always practical.

  Aunt Lucy giggled like a school girl. “Arnold promises to keep me warm!” She was blushing as she walked out of the room and didn’t even turn around as she called back over her shoulder, “Good night!”

  “Do you think it just hasn’t hit her yet?” Spike asked, concerned. “I mean, clearly she’s infatuated with the guy. Don’t you think it’s going to affect her terribly when he dies?”

  Nina sighed. “Maybe she meant what she said about love. You know, that it’s like a garden that you have to plant today. Maybe Arnie’s her garden or something.”

  I couldn’t listen to any more. My heart was aching and I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about Aunt Lucy’s heart breaking or love or Nina and Spike or anything that would make me feel. I had too many questions of my own. I didn’t want to think about the scary, unpredictable nature of life and love.

  “Okay, listen,” I said, turning to Jake. “I don’t want to wait around to see what those guys in the white van do. I think we should be more proactive. I propose we go stakeout the Blankenship house and the nursing home. Maybe David Margolies will do something interesting. Or maybe someone will try to get into Baby’s room again. Either way we’ll be there, ready and waiting in case anything happens.”

  Jake gave me a knowing look. “What, all this emotion making you squirrelly?”

  I ignored him. “We can slip out through Aunt Lucy’s lab in the basement.”

  “Hey,” Nina cried. “Wait! If you guys need to get away, let me and Spike go create a little distraction. I love doing that stuff!”

  Spike grinned apologetically. “Be a shame not to let her have a little fun,” she said. “You know how Nina likes to amuse the bad guys.”

  Lloyd barked once, hopped down from his chair and walked over to the back door.

  “See!” Nina cried. “Lloyd likes undercover work, too!”

  Five minutes later Nina and Spike, wearing push-up bras, low-cut tops and carrying a tray full of hot chocolate and brownies arrived at the van’s door and were not content to go away until their banging summoned the two beleaguered agents.

  Jake took the nursing home and I got
stuck with the Blankenship house. Before we set off in opposite directions he stopped me, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me into him for a long, lingering kiss. When he’d finished, he leaned back and studied my face.

  “You know,” he said softly, “you’re going to have to get used to having me around. Does that scare you?”

  I longed to walk into his arms, snuggle deep into the warmth of him and stay there, forgetting about everything else and escaping the reality of our current crisis. But the other half of me cried “Run for your life!” and so I fought off my need for him and coated myself in emotional Teflon.

  “I’m not scared of you, Carpenter, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is just as soon as we figure out what’s going on here.”

  He didn’t buy it. I could tell by the way he smiled. He was letting me off the hook, giving me space to deal with the new terms of our relationship. As I drove across town, I worked to convince myself that I was not running away from Jake. I just couldn’t focus on our relationship when I felt personally responsible, maybe, for Bitsy’s death and all the trouble that had followed. I knew I didn’t have a client per se in Baby Blankenship, but I felt morally responsible for her. I liked her. I didn’t want her to get hurt and I just didn’t have a good feeling about her safety. On top of that, we seemed to be the object of a government surveillance operation. Who could engross themselves in a relationship with all that going on?

  I parked Nina’s baby-blue Civic a block away from the Blankenship home and crept across back alleys and lawns until I came up behind the Blankenship garage. Like many of the homes in the older, well-to-do part of town, the Blankenships had a huge stone manor house with a matching detached garage that sat just off the alley. Their yard was surrounded by tall trees planted by the original owners to shield the property from its nearby neighbors. It made a wonderful shelter for me as I snuck slowly around the side of the garage and crouched down at the base of one of the cypress trees.

  A few lights were still on inside but it appeared that the crowd of condolence callers had left for the evening. It was freezing. I shoved my hands deep inside my coat and huddled closer to the tree. Now and then I let my hand curl around the butt of my Glock 9 mm, just so I could reassure myself of its presence.

  After about twenty minutes I looked over at the garage and began seriously thinking about watching the house from its slightly warmer confines. Just as I stood up and decided to try the door on the near side of the building, the back door to the house suddenly opened and David Margolies stepped outside. While I watched, he lit a cigarette and called someone on his cell phone.

  When he sank down onto a wrought iron bench, his back to me, I realized I was too far away to hear what he was saying and decided to move closer. I crouched low and darted from my hiding place beneath the tree, heading for a stone barbecue that stood just off to the side of the built-in pool. When my heart stopped pounding and I realized I hadn’t been seen, I decided to risk moving closer. I needed to hear what he was saying.

  I scanned the backyard and decided upon a small building to the right of the patio where David Margolies sat talking. I stood up, poised to run, and ducked back down as the back door opened and a short, bleached-blond woman whom I assumed to be Bitsy’s mother, Brenda Blankenship, stood framed in the doorway.

  “David?” she called, peering out into the darkness. “Are you out there?”

  As I watched, David slumped down in his seat and didn’t answer her.

  “Someone called for you,” she said, apparently not satisfied that he wasn’t within earshot. “They’ll call back in ten minutes.”

  Brenda walked back inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  The arc of David’s cigarette tip glowed as he took one final drag and flung it out in front of the bench. Immediately, he lit another and resumed his conversation.

  I waited until I heard the low rumble of his voice and sprinted across the short distance between the barbecue and the potting shed. I reached the side of the building, breathless, my heart pounding in my throat as I squatted down and positioned myself to listen.

  “I’m telling you,” David said, “I don’t know!”

  Behind me, the bushes rustled in the wind and I shivered, suddenly nervous. Even Margolies sounded frightened as he hunched down into his jacket and checked anxiously over his shoulder every few seconds. Instinctively, I pulled out my gun, feeling better with it in my hand instead of in my pocket. I waited for Margolies to make his next statement but never heard it. Something moved just behind me. I started to turn, felt hot, searing pain shoot through the back of my skull and fell forward into the frigid darkness.

  I awoke to the sound of sirens. Red and blue lights strobed across the frozen ground where I lay, and I was still holding my gun in my right hand. I struggled to focus, to remember, to wake up, but all I could think about was the shooting pain that seemed to radiate out from the base of my skull. With intense effort I was finally able to stand. The world swirled around me in a sickening cartwheel that made walking impossible.

  A moment later the Blankenship backyard was covered with cops, all of them running with their guns drawn. When they saw me, all hell broke loose.

  “Freeze! Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

  The voice was familiar. I squinted, blinded by the beam of a bright flashlight and dropped my gun.

  “Hands up! Up where I can see them!” the irritating female voice insisted.

  “Detective, I got a body! One down!”

  “Call for an ambulance!” the female directed. Oh great. Detective Wheeling, one of Glenn Ford’s finest was on the job.

  “Wheeling, it’s me, Stella Valocchi.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” she answered. “What did ya have to go and shoot him for?”

  “What? I didn’t shoot anybody. Somebody hit me and knocked me out. What are you talking about?”

  “Jeeze Louise! Valocchi, don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.”

  I looked past Wheeling, shielding my eyes so I could take in the body on the ground a few yards away from me. David Margolies lay facedown in front of the bench where he’d been talking. As I studied the scene, the back door flew open. Brenda Blankenship screamed and dissolved into hysterical sobbing.

  Wheeling walked over and spoke to the woman. I couldn’t hear what she said but I could certainly hear Brenda Blankenship’s answer.

  “I told you. I saw a woman with a gun in her hand, running. Right after I heard the gunshot. That’s when I called 911.”

  Wheeling motioned toward me and I saw Brenda squint out into the darkness.

  “I don’t know. She’s the same size but it was dark. Maybe it’s her.”

  Wheeling nodded to the cop standing beside me. “Cuff her,” she said, unable to keep the satisfied, smirky tone out of her voice.

  “What for?” I asked. “It’s not like I shot the guy!”

  “Take her downtown,” Wheeling directed. “Have ballistics check her gun out, ASAP.”

  “Detective Wheeling, don’t be stupid! I’ll have my lawyer slap a police brutality and false arrest suit on you so fast your head’ll spin.”

  Wheeling stepped directly into my line of vision then. She was probably in her late forties, a brassy, bottle blonde who carried an extra thirty pounds on her stocky frame and always looked like she’d just come from a battle with a mountain lion. Her clothes were permanently wrinkled and her stockings always had a run in them. No matter how hard she tried, she always looked frumpy.

  But Wheeling’s disposition was worse than her choice in clothing. She seemed convinced that the world conspired to rain on her parade. And apparently, she viewed me as the drum major of her misfortunes. She’d tried to pin a murder charge on me once before and been disappointed. If I knew her, she’d do everything in her power to stick one to me again, even if she had to make up the evidence.

  “You’re blowing smoke up my skirt, Valocchi,
” she said. “I got a witness and the old smoking gun. We check your hand and find gun powder residue and it’s all over but the crying. Go on, you get one phone call. See if Spike Montgomery can get you out of this one!”

  Gun powder residue. No problem. I hadn’t fired my gun in days. They’d do the test and I’d be home free. Wouldn’t I?

  Chapter 9

  I had a monster headache. I was in an interview room in the Glenn Ford Police Department at 2:00 a.m. sitting across from Detective Wheeling and her partner, Detective Slovenick. We were not happy campers, or rather, Slovenick and I were not happy. Wheeling was ecstatic. She smelled blood. Mine.

  Detective Slovenick had some sense about him. He was older, nearing retirement, and years on the force had taught him to trust his instincts. He didn’t think I’d killed David Margolies. Why would I?

  “She’s got gunpowder residue on her hands!” Wheeling crowed. “She did it!”

  Slovenick sighed, ran his one hand through his short gray hair and rearranged his large frame in another futile attempt to make himself more comfortable in the hard plastic chair.

  “The test results were consistent with her having handled a recently discharged weapon. If someone knocked her out, took her gun, shot the vic and then placed the weapon in her hand, she’d test out the same way. You gotta ask yourself where she got the bump on the head.”

  Wheeling scowled. “Maybe she got in a fight. Maybe it’s totally unrelated to her hitting Margolies.”

  “Or maybe I got knocked out and the killer used my gun to kill Margolies so it’d look like I did it.” I was looking at Wheeling and envisioning myself kicking her ass and wiping the self-satisfied look right off her face.

  A young female cop stuck her head in the door and looked at Detective Slovenick.

  “Spike Montgomery’s here. She wants—”

  The girl didn’t get to finish. Spike walked into the interview room, pushing past the irritated officer and plopping her briefcase down in the middle of the tiny table.