The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

by Ann Warner

  “Here’s what we know so far,” he said, his voice weary but calm. “Devi was engaged to Harry Garrison’s brother, William. Something happened between William and Devi, and William . . . had an accident. He fell and later died. Harry claimed Devi murdered William, but before the issue could be resolved to the satisfaction of the Chicago police, Devi disappeared.”

  “And Harry came after her,” I said. “And then he shot her. An eye for an eye?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”

  “Has he been arrested?”

  “He’s in custody at University Hospital. I shot him. He’s going to be okay, though.” Mac pulled in a ragged breath and rubbed his eyes.

  “If he hurt Devi, he deserved to be shot.”

  There was still that one worrisome bit in what he’d said though—the part about the matter of William Garrison’s death not being resolved to the satisfaction of the Chicago police. Did that mean Devi was a suspect? But if she were, wouldn’t the police have located her before Harry did, and extradited her? And what did Mac think about all this?

  “Do the police plan to charge Devi in William’s death?” I said, hoping the answer would be a definitive no.

  Instead, Mac rubbed his head, obviously distressed. “I don’t know. Dillingham’s the one checking on that. I expect they’ll want to talk to her.”

  “Didn’t they do that already? After William was injured?”

  He sucked in a breath and spoke as if it hurt. “I’m sure they did, but their inquiries were still ongoing when she disappeared.”

  “And Devi’s disappearance didn’t help clarify matters,” I said.

  “Sounds like another he said/she said situation,” Lill murmured. “Poor Devi.”

  “Well, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that either William attacked her like Eddie did, or it was an accident,” I said.

  “I agree,” Lill said.

  But Mac said nothing. Still, he continued to touch Devi’s hand, as if his connection to her was as important to keeping her alive as the medical apparatus.

  “Have you contacted Devi’s family?” I said.

  He nodded. “The department tracked down her parents through Devi’s colleagues at the Winterford Art Institute. They’re both professors at the University of Kansas. They’ll arrive in the morning.”

  There was one particularly interesting bit of information in what Mac had just said, the part about Devi having colleagues at the Winterford Art Institute. It helped explain how she recognized my Hopper painting.

  Getting to know Mac and Devi has been like painting by numbers—fill in some background blue here, a bit of life-drama red there. And as I filled in those bits, my own heart had opened. If I were picking a family, I would want them, and Lill, to be part of it.

  Lill suggested we join hands, with Devi as part of our circle, and then she said a prayer. I don’t do much praying, but Lill does.

  I just hoped the Almighty was listening.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Mac

  The first night I spent in the SICU with Devi, I discovered that if I gripped her middle finger, I could feel her heart beating. Over the next hours, that steady rhythm eventually lulled me into a light doze.

  When Devi regained consciousness in the early hours of Monday morning, I felt her fingers move against mine for the first time. The dim glow from the nursing station shed enough light for me to see her eyes were open and her expression was morphing from puzzled to panicked.

  I stood so she could see me. “Devi, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be okay.” As I spoke, I realized I finally had faith in those words being true.

  “What happened?”

  If I hadn’t been standing so close, I wouldn’t have been able to hear her, her voice was so soft and raspy.

  “You don’t remember?”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “Harry Garrison shot you.”

  She frowned. “Harry’s here?”

  “You know him?” I was testing. Habit, I guess.

  She nodded.

  “Do you know why he tried to kill you?”

  “Have you arrested him?”

  “Yes. Why did he want to kill you?”

  I thought it was surreal the way the two of us were talking so calmly. For my part, I knew this might be my only chance to get the story from her, as a friend, not as an officer of the law. And as a friend, I wanted, needed, to know what had happened.

  “His brother, William, we were . . . engaged. I tried t-to break up with him. He . . . had a gun.”

  She stopped speaking to catch her breath, and I wanted to say that it was okay, that she didn’t have to do this now. But I needed her to do it—before her parents and the police and the rest of the world pushed their way into this room. So I waited.

  “I knocked the gun away, and I . . . I must have shoved him. Anyway, he fell, hit his head. When he died a week later, Harry said I’d killed William and now he’d kill me. I believed him. I ran away.”

  Dillingham hadn’t mentioned a gun being involved, but then with the weekend, he’d not been able to speak with the investigating officer yet. If there was a gun, that changed the basic equation we’d been given so far.

  Devi closed her eyes briefly and then looked back at me, her eyes clear, her words calm.

  “Do you believe me, Mac?”

  “I do.”

  “Will you help me?”

  I thought about what helping her might entail. A leave of absence. Questions from colleagues. A trip to Chicago. Maybe a trial. And when that was all worked through, maybe Devi and I . . .

  But it was too soon to plan further than that.

  “Yes,” I said.

  ~ ~ ~

  I caught a reflection of myself in a pane of glass as I was leaving the hospital after Devi’s parents arrived. I could easily be mistaken for someone homeless. Unshaven, rumpled clothes, tired eyes, all outward manifestations of the bone weariness I was feeling. I stepped into the weak winter sunshine but even that was a shock, making me blink and my eyes water after so long spent in semi-darkness.

  I hated leaving Devi, but with her parents here, I no longer had an excuse not to take a break. I’d held her hand for most of the past two days, convinced on some deep, irrational level that if I let go, she’d die.

  But in the last eight hours, she’d made steady progress. Waking up. Finally over her need for additional blood transfusions. Almost past the window for developing an infection that had been another worry.

  She was still fragile, but she was going to survive.

  Thank God.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Josephine

  Monday, Lill and I spent most of the day at the hospital, although since her parents were with her, we saw Devi for only a few minutes. Before the call from the police, Devi’s parents thought she was still living in Chicago. They were distraught, not only because she was so badly injured, but also because she hadn’t shared with them what she was going through.

  “She thought . . . she didn’t want us to worry,” her father told us. He’d seen us in the waiting room when he’d left the unit to get something to eat, and he came over to speak to us. “Can you imagine? Our darling girl going through all that and not telling us, just so we wouldn’t worry.”

  He shook his head and then lowered it into his hands, and his shoulders shook. Lill and I moved next to him, and we each put an arm around him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Devi’s improvement was so rapid after her parents’ arrival, they felt comfortable leaving her in our care and returning to Lawrence to finish out the semester. But they planned to return to Cincinnati to spend the Christmas break with Devi.

  I’d just returned from driving them to the airport when there was a knock on my door. I was expecting it to be Lill since we had a date to go visit Devi. Instead, I opened the door to find Jeff and a man I didn’t know standing there.

  I blocked my doorway,
staring at them, waiting for an explanation for their presence.

  “Mother,” Jeff said, stepping toward me and kissing me on the cheek. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Anderson.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Bartlett.” The man extended a hand, which I ignored.

  “We need to come in,” Jeff said.

  “No, I don’t believe you do.”

  I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. Then I remembered. Mac wasn’t available. With Devi’s parents gone, he was back at his post by Devi’s side. The thought that I couldn’t count on Mac’s help flustered me for a moment, but then I remembered Lill.

  I clicked her number but before it could ring, Jeff reached out and took the phone from my hand. As he moved toward me, I backed away, and that allowed the two of them to step into my apartment and close the door.

  Feeling a wave of anxiety that I attempted to hide, I moved over to stand by the window. Jeff and the other man stood in the middle of my living room, staring at me.

  “Mother, the reason we’re here is because I’ve become quite concerned about your health and your state of mind. I asked Dr. Anderson if he would examine you, and he agreed.”

  I didn’t believe Jeff was one bit concerned about my health. No, this visit had to do with my wealth, and it was what I’d feared would happen if Jeff were to learn I had substantial assets. He’d obviously convinced this doctor, I’d already forgotten his name, that I might be incompetent. And now he’d set out to prove it.

  “Are you a psychiatrist?” I asked the doctor.

  “Why, yes, yes, I am.”

  “And my son told you what? That I’m losing my mind because I bought a new car?”

  “A car was mentioned.”

  “Perhaps he also mentioned a painting worth a great deal of money?”

  Jeff looked at the Demeri painting and then back at me.

  His eyes narrowed. “Where’s the Hopper, Mother?”

  “As I believe you so aptly pointed out the last time you were here, it wasn’t safe for me to keep it here at Brookside.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

  Jeff turned red, but the doctor cocked his head, his eyes bright and probing. “How interesting.” Then he turned to Jeff. “Inability to remember recent major events is one sign of possible incompetence. I agree that this requires more investigation. My suggestion is that we get her admitted to Hopesprings for a comprehensive evaluation.”

  At the mention of Hopesprings, my heart started a dull, heavy pounding. It’s a resident treatment center, hospital if you like, for the mentally ill. And it would have privacy rules. When Lill or Mac eventually figured out I was missing, it was unlikely they’d think to look for me in such a place.

  I wanted to resist, but I worried that if I did, the doctor would drug me, since he had a medical bag with him. Either he was in cahoots with Jeff, or Jeff really had managed to convince him I was mentally fragile.

  “Do I get a phone call?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I believe you do. It’s what all prisoners are allowed, is it not? One phone call. You are planning to incarcerate me, after all. In a hospital, but with HIPAA rules being so strict, you should have no difficulty keeping me hidden away while you take control of my assets.”

  “Now, Mother. You won’t be incarcerated. I’m only trying to make sure you’re all right. You’ve made some very peculiar decisions lately. This Babbling Brook Perpet . . . um, Fund for one.”

  “Perpetuity.”

  “Perpetuity.”

  “What?”

  “The Babbling Brook Perpetuity Fund.” So Mr. Souter had been reporting on me to my son, had he?

  “And you’re planning to pay the expenses of a woman known to be a thief?”

  I shrugged.

  “See,” Jeff said to the doctor.

  “Yes, indeed I do. Seniors are extremely vulnerable to scams. It’s yet another reason they may need someone to assist with their financial affairs.”

  “Interesting, isn’t it,” I said. “That the senior here actually has sufficient affairs to make a takeover attempt worthwhile. While the younger person has squandered millions. I think that shows I should be handling his affairs, not the other way around.”

  “You’re delusional, Mother. You need my help.”

  “There’s a major flaw in your plan,” I said.

  “But I don’t have a plan, do I? I just want what’s best for you. What Dad would want me to do.”

  “Of course. By all means, bring your father into the discussion.”

  “Mother, please. I’m not your enemy.”

  I cocked my head and gave him a look, and he had the grace to blush.

  “I need to be assured you’re all right. Humor me, okay? I’ve been worried.”

  “Of course you have. But I know what you’re mostly worried about is the painting. So let me assure you it’s now safely part of a trust. And the trustee is well aware that one of my concerns was this very scenario.”

  Although I tried to appear confident, I was still nervous. The painting wasn’t completely safe. Not yet; the paperwork was still being drawn up.

  “First things first, don’t you think? We get you checked out, then we’ll worry about the painting.”

  “Can I get your coat for you, Mrs. Bartlett?” the doctor said.

  I again debated whether to make a fuss, but decided it was better to pretend to go along quietly, for the moment. Surely there would be a sympathetic nurse who would call Mac for me. And even if Mac didn’t want to leave Devi’s side, he could take five minutes to dispatch someone to help me.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Mac

  Lillian called me at the hospital Wednesday morning to say Josephine was missing, and she was worried. I figured Lillian was being alarmist, but she insisted she and Josephine had made a date to come to the hospital to visit Devi, and that Josephine would have let her know if there was a change in that plan.

  After I hung up, Devi asked me what was going on, and I told her.

  She frowned. “It’s not like Josephine to disappear. She’s been afraid her son might try to get his hands on her money . . . I think you need to find her.” Her voice was getting stronger, but she winced in pain on the last word.

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll worry until I know she’s okay. Please, Mac.”

  I called Dillingham and asked him to meet me at Brookside. When I arrived, we walked into Souter’s office together.

  “Gentlemen, what can I do you for this morning?” Souter said, rubbing his hands together.

  “We’re here to check on the whereabouts of Josephine Bartlett.”

  Souter blinked. “Is she missing?”

  “Lillian Fitzel was supposed to meet her, but when she went to Josephine’s apartment, Josephine wasn’t there.”

  “I thought the police didn’t check on missing adults until at least twenty-four hours has passed.” He sat back, looking from Dillingham to me.

  “This is more of an unofficial check. By a friend, if you will. Do you know where she is?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t say. Privacy rules, you know.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “You mean Brookside privacy rules?”

  Souter shook his head. “Patient privacy rules.”

  “You’re saying she was taken ill and removed by ambulance?”

  “No, no. She’s fine. I can vouch for that. You don’t need to worry about her. She’s with her son.”

  “With her son where?” I said.

  “He didn’t say. But he’s been worried about her. Felt she needed to have a medical evaluation. Can’t say I disagree.”

  “And where did he take her for this evaluation,” I said, putting the full force of my official authority into the words.

  But Souter refused to say anything further.

  ~ ~ ~

  As we left Souter’s office, we
encountered Edna Prisant, who looked surprised to see me, but then gestured for us to move away from Souter’s door.

  “Maybe you can help me,” she said. “I was just coming to speak to Mr. Souter, but it may be better if I speak with you. It’s about Josephine. I’m worried about her.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I saw two men taking her away, and I don’t think she wanted to go.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She looked away, her cheek twitching. “Well, it’s just that I happened to hear them talking about Josephine as they walked down the hall toward her apartment. I was curious. So I followed to see what was going on. When she answered the door, Josephine obviously recognized the men, but it didn’t look to me like she wanted to let them in. They kind of pushed her aside. So I waited. After five minutes or so, they came back out. One of the men had hold of Josephine’s arm, and the other man said he’d take his own car and meet them at Hopesprings.”

  “And you’re telling us this because?”

  She shrugged. “Josephine has treated me decently. If I can return the favor, well, I’d like to do that.”

  “As it happens, we’re here because Lillian asked us to check on Josephine.”

  “Then you better check.”

  I gave Dillingham a questioning look.

  “Happy to come along,” he said.

  We both knew calling Hopesprings to ask if Josephine was there would be useless. HIPAA privacy rules would prevent the hospital from giving out that information. We once had a frantic mother come in, claiming her son-in-law had murdered her daughter, only to find out the daughter, who was manic depressive, was in the hospital. Since the hospital refused to tell the mother that, she’d assumed the worst. I’ve sometimes thought HIPAA makes hospitals more effective at anonymous incarceration than jails.