Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted

by Jeanne Glidewell

  “Uh-huh,” I said. I was tired of being lectured to by a man who looked like a member of the Italian mafia. He was talking to me as though I was a misbehaving child, and I thought he was being condescending. “I understand all that, but still, the woman’s son is barely cold, and she’s obviously in no condition to deal with important, possibly life-altering, decisions like that right now. Can you not see that for yourself?”

  “And just how are you connected with Ms. Sneed?” he asked, clearly disgusted with me now.

  “Her son, unfortunately, was killed in my partner’s establishment.”

  “And?”

  “I came to check on her and see if she was doing better, and to bring her this African violet,” I said. I held it up for him to admire.

  “Yeah, like a stupid flower is going to solve any of her problems right now. They’ll take the flower pot away, anyway,” he told me smugly. “Anything she can throw or hurt herself with is prohibited and removed from her room. They wouldn’t want her pitching that pot through the windowpane, or at their heads.”

  As if on cue, a nurse walked into the room, checked to see if Melba was still resting comfortably, picked up the potted African violet, said, “this will have to go,” and left. Mr. Wright just looked at me and smiled arrogantly.

  “I told you so. Like she needed a stupid flower—”

  “Oh, shut up—”

  “Do you know Melba personally?” he asked.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “So, you believe she’s up to dealing with a complete stranger, but not her lawyer, who’s here on official business, acting in her capacity and looking out for her best interests?” he asked.

  I was feeling very defensive at this point, and our voices were rising to such a level that Melba had ceased snoring and was now stirring in her bed. “I have every bit as much right to be here as you do, Mr. Wright! I was very, very close to Walter, and I know he would have wanted me to look out for his mother’s welfare.”

  That was a stretch, I’ll admit. I’d barely known the kid’s name until he was killed within earshot of me, but I felt I knew him as well as the attorney probably did.

  “I’m also looking in to his mother’s welfare, and am here in my desire to protect her,” he said, a little calmer now so as not to alarm his client. He turned to the woman in question, who was sitting up in bed now, with a bewildered expression on her face.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Sneed. I’m so sorry to learn of the death of your son. How are you feeling?” Mr. Wright asked with obvious insincerity. The sickeningly sweet voice he used to speak to her was almost nauseating to me. “We’ll need to make some alterations in your legal documents.”

  “Who are you?” She asked. She pointed a long, gnarly index finger at him, and then at me, and asked, “And who’s your wife here?”

  “I’m your attorney, Ms. Sneed. I’m Sheldon Wright, of Hocraffer, Zumbrunn, Kobialka, and Wright,” he said. Then he pointed my way with his thumb, and spoke in a disparaging manner. “And, trust me, this woman is not my wife.”

  “You’re an attorney? Am I being sued?” Melba asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. As you know, your son has recently passed. I’m here to update your power-of-attorney, and of course, your will. It’s routine for my law firm to keep these documents current, just in case the unexpected happens,” he explained. “We always put our clients first, because we need to protect your interests, of course.”

  “The only thing I’m interested in is finding out why I’m here and when I’m getting out.” She spat out, literally. Bits and pieces of God knows what flew out all over the bed. Melba ran the back of her hand across her frothy mouth. I now was in danger of puking up my lunch.

  I’d sat silently up to this point during Mr. Wright’s conversation with Melba. I reached out now and patted the hand she hadn’t swiped across her mouth as briefly as I could. “I imagine they’ll be releasing you soon, my dear. I’m sure they’ll let you out to attend Walter’s wake this evening. You know, you really don’t have to deal with all this legal stuff today if you don’t want to. Next week is soon enough, after things have settled down, and by then you’ll be in a better condition to deal with them.”

  “Okay,” she responded. It was clear she was confused, and I was sure she didn’t have a clue what she was agreeing to. Still, I couldn’t resist tossing Mr. Wright an “I told you so” look. Two could play at his game, I thought.

  “And who are you again?” Melba asked me. I realized then that nothing beneficial or informative was going to come out of this visit with Melba. I doubt she could have come up with her own name, much less mine, or Mr. Wright’s.

  “I’m Lexie Starr, Melba. Your son was working for my partner and me when he mysteriously died. The police have determined that an unknown assailant killed Walter, so I’m trying to help the detectives discover who that person is. I also feel I should make sure you’re being treating adequately. I feel a bit responsible—”

  “Aha!” Melba exclaimed. “So you’re the one who’s responsible for all this?”

  “Oh, no, Melba—”

  With Melba’s last remark, spittle had sprayed all over my shirt. I couldn’t wait to get home, remove my clothes, and boil them.

  “So, Ms. Starr, are you responsible for all this?” Mr. Wright asked. Now he had the same “I told you so” look on his face I’d worn moments earlier. “Why exactly do you feel so responsible? Is it guilt? Negligence? Or what? Are you here to try to talk Ms. Sneed out of her money? What exactly do you have to gain personally from being here, trying to pretend you honestly give a damn about what happens to Melba?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I nearly shouted. “I honestly do give a damn, you jerk! Walter was working for me when he was killed. I was at the house when it happened, but I had no idea what was going on in the parlor while I was in another part of the house. That’s what I meant by feeling responsible. I had nothing to do with his death, I have nothing to gain from it, and I certainly don’t want a dime from Ms. Sneed. Like I said before, I was very close to Walter. I would give anything, and do anything, to bring his killer to justice.”

  “Of course you would,” he said snidely.

  “At the very least I feel I owe it to Walter to look after his mother,” I told the attorney. “Which is more than I can say for the folks at Hocraffer, Zumbrunn, Kobialka, and Wright. I think I should have the authorities check you for an alibi and a monetary motive. You seem terribly concerned about Melba’s will, and what will happen to her money if something happens to her. I might also see what I can do to have you disbarred.”

  “Humph! Fat chance, lady!” He said as he laughed in disdain. He knew he hadn’t technically done anything unjust, remotely illegal, completely immoral, or anything else he could be disbarred for doing. He had pissed me off, and that’s about the size of it. Pissing people off was merely part of the job description of a lawyer. There weren’t a zillion lawyer jokes for no reason.

  “Watch me, you pompous ass,” I hissed.

  With that final declaration I stormed out of the room. I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell of getting the man disbarred. Cats would eat with chopsticks before I could pull off a trick like that. But at least my threat gave the creep something to chew on for a while.

  Chapter 15

  I was still fuming when I stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. Instead of going straight out the door to the parking lot, I turned and followed the signs down a long hallway to the ladies’ room. I wanted to splash some cool water on my face to help me calm down, and I had to use the restroom. All the coffee I had consumed in the morning was catching up with me, which was not to say I didn’t already want another cup.

  So after using the restroom, I’ detoured to the front lobby and picked up a cup of coffee at the little snack station located near the reception desk. There you could buy lattes, frappachinos, cappuccinos, macchiatos, caffe mochas, caffe breves, and a dozen othe
r things I’d never heard of before. I told the gal at the counter I just wanted something hot and strong. She gave me a hammerhead, which she said had a shot of espresso in a regular cup of a Columbian blend. Whatever. It tasted like strong coffee to me, so I was satisfied.

  I got the hammerhead with a lid, because there’s nothing I hate worse than spilling coffee down my shirt. I’ve had to change clothes three times in one hour before because of coffee spillage. I use more Spray ‘n Wash than anybody else I know.

  As it turns out, the lid didn’t stop me from wearing the entire cup of coffee on my shirt and jeans. Once I’d exited the building, I was paying more attention to drinking my coffee than I was to the cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. I looked up just in time to see a dark-colored sports utility vehicle heading straight for me. Instead of applying the brakes, it seemed to speed up as it got closer to me. The SUV was bearing down on me, and I stood frozen in time for what seemed like a full minute.

  At the last second I leapt to my right as the car swerved slightly to the left, catching me on the outside of my left thigh. The cup flew out of my hand as I was knocked to the ground. Hot coffee rained down on me from above. I remember feeling a sharp pain run up my leg, and the burning sensation of steaming hot liquid soaking through my clothing, just before I heard the engine racing and tires squealing on the SUV as it sped out of the parking lot.

  A woman just leaving the hospital screamed and yelled, “Stop that car! Somebody get a license number!”

  Unfortunately, there was no one else in the parking lot but the two of us, and the car was too far away to see the license number, anyway. She hurried over to check my condition, and helped me get up off the pavement enough to limp over to a grass median strip so I could get out of the line of traffic. She told me she’d be right back with some help and headed back into the building. What seemed like mere seconds later, the lot was filled with police cars and emergency medical personnel. I found it very embarrassing to be the center of attention once again.

  The nice lady who’d come to my rescue was giving a statement to an officer from the St. Joseph Police Department, while two young men in scrubs were checking me for broken bones and lacerations. I had a large, bleeding scrape on my right elbow from striking the pavement, a severe pain in my left thigh, a throbbing right wrist, and a hammerhead dripping off every part of my body.

  I knew I was quite a sight, and it didn’t help my embarrassment any to recognize a couple of nurses I’d seen last night in the emergency room. One of them even called me by name as she approached me.

  “Lexie? My, you are having a bad week, aren’t you? Would you like me to call that nice gentleman who was with you last night? I’m sure they’ll be taking you inside to the emergency room to get some X-rays, and you may be here a while,” she said. “You know how that goes.”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’ll just give Stone a call so he won’t worry about me.”

  I knew I would have to call him or he would definitely worry about me. He was very protective of me. But I wasn’t sure how to tell him I’d just been run down by an SUV and was being taken inside the hospital for X-rays without worrying him.

  The phone rang numerous times before Stone answered. He was breathing hard, as if he’d had to race for the phone. I spoke quickly into the phone, and then there were a few seconds of silence.

  “You’ve been what?” he asked incredulously. “You’re in the hospital again?”

  “Someone ran into me with a dark SUV in the hospital parking lot, and it seems to me like it was deliberate. I’m in the emergency room right now. They just want to make sure my wrist isn’t broken, or any other bones, I guess.”

  “Tell me what happened, slower this time,” Stone said.

  I explained what happened in detail. “Like I told the police officer who questioned me, I couldn’t see who was driving the vehicle. I was more concerned with my safety at the time to care who was driving. It all happened so quickly, and I just got the faintest glimpse of the guy behind the wheel.”

  “So it was a man driving the SUV?”

  “Well, I’m really not sure,” I said. “Something gave me the impression it was a male figure, maybe the size of the body in the driver’s seat. But I could be wrong. I think I know who it was though. I don’t see how it could possibly have been anybody else.”

  “Who?” Stone asked.

  “An attorney from St. Joseph named Sheldon Wright.”

  “Who’s that?”

  I told Stone about my confrontation with the lawyer in Melba’s room. I left out nothing, except maybe the “pompous ass” part. “He was the only person who knew where I was except you, and he had time to beat me to the parking lot, since I stopped to use the restroom and buy some coffee in the lobby.”

  “You surely didn’t make him mad enough to attempt to harm you, or worse yet, commit vehicular homicide. That sounds to me like it’s taking anger above and beyond any reason. If you hadn’t jumped to the side when you did, he could have killed you, you know,” Stone reminded me.

  “I don’t think he meant to kill me, or he wouldn’t have swerved to his right at the last moment. I think he just wanted to scare me, or maybe injure me, to put me out of commission for a while. Do you think he could have anything to do with Walter’s death, Stone? Could he somehow know I’ve been asking questions of various people involved in Walter’s life?” I asked. “He is bound and determined to get Melba’s will changed immediately. I’m even worried she might be targeted once her will is updated. I’m wondering if the hospital shouldn’t be alerted and a security guard placed outside her door. He should be officially banned from entering Melba’s room, at least until a murder suspect is apprehended.”

  “I don’t think it’ll come to that, Lexie. But I do imagine this Mr. Wright could have caught wind of your involvement somehow. None of this makes any sense to me. Who all have you been questioning? Maybe it was one of them. What kind of motive could the attorney have had to kill Walter?” he asked.

  “Maybe he’s trying to swindle Walter’s mother out of her money. Melba’s fairly well off and, in her current condition, it would be easy to pull the wool over her eyes. He seemed like a real opportunist to me, Stone. She’s so befuddled right now, it wouldn’t take much for him to convince her she needs to make him her beneficiary so he can protect her money for her, or distribute it for her after her death in the manner she tells him to.”

  “That seems a little far-fetched, but it’s probably as good a motive as anyone else seems to have. And, as you mentioned, he was the only one who knew you were heading for the hospital parking lot, and you gave him ample time to get to his car and wait for you to leave the building. Did you tell the police officers all this?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Just that there would be further investigation into the hit and run case. I don’t think they really took me seriously about the rest of it. But they are familiar with the Walter Sneed murder case in Rockdale, at least. They told me they first wanted to try to track down the person in the SUV, to charge him with assault with a deadly weapon, leaving the scene of an accident, hit and run, and I don’t know what else.”

  I explained to Stone how it had been more of a glancing blow than a direct hit, but fortunately, the cops had told me, the front headlight casing had been busted out, according to the evidence left at the scene. This, they thought, could help identify the dark SUV. They’d sent out an APB, or all points bulletin, for officers to be alert for a vehicle matching the description.

  “Good. Hopefully they’ll be able to track it down. We’ll talk to Detective Johnston about the accident and your suspicions regarding Sheldon Wright. In the meantime, do you want me to come get you? I really think it’d be best if you didn’t try to drive after an accident like the one you just had. We can go back and get your Jeep at a later date,” Stone said.

  “No, I can drive. It’s my left leg that’s banged up.
I might be here a while though. You know how long it takes to get seen in an emergency room sometimes.”

  “I know, believe me, I know. What do I need to do to get supper ready for the Dudleys? The wake is in a couple of hours.”

  “I made the casserole earlier. Just warm it up in the microwave and heat up a couple cans of corn. You have your fish to fry also. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I promised. I had a wake to attend.

  * * *

  The emergency room was crowded with people harboring a variety of illnesses and injuries. My injuries felt minor in comparison to the ones afflicting many of the patients I saw seated around the waiting room. One young boy had nearly severed a finger, and blood was seeping through the towel wrapped around his hand. Another patient couldn’t stop retching into a bathroom-sized trashcan she was clutching tightly to her chest. I had to step outside every now and then to keep from retching myself, just from listening to her.

  My left hip and thigh were still throbbing, and I found it difficult to find a comfortable position in the chair. There were small pebbles embedded in the deep scrapes on my arm, and I kept busy trying to work them out. I needed a cup of coffee in the worst way. I hadn’t gotten the chance to drink the last cup I’d purchased.

  The main reason I was waiting in the ER was to have my wrist X-rayed. It was red and swollen, but I really didn’t think it was broken because I could bend it easily, even if it hurt like crazy when I did. It wasn’t bothering me nearly as much as my hip and thigh. I had half a notion to sneak out of the hospital and drive home. If the pain got worse, I could go to my primary physician tomorrow to have it examined. Time was running out to be examined, released, drive home to Rockdale, and get to the church on time.