Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel)

by Lynn Bohart

  “She’s a terrific dog.” He sat at the table while the sausage browned and patted his knee.

  Soldier took the cue and came to sit on his foot, placing her head across his knee, where the saliva formed a wet spot on his jeans.

  “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to keep her around awhile, given what happened last night.”

  The reminder drew a blanket of fog into the room, and Lee became silent as she stared at the closed microwave door. Finally, the microwave beeped, and Lee removed her tea. Patrick got up and reached into an overhead cupboard, rummaging around until he found a box of buttermilk pancake mix. He pulled it down and opened it to pour a portion into a mixing bowl. The two of them worked in silence. Lee went to the refrigerator to get the milk, while Patrick went to the sink to add water to the pancake mix.

  As he stirred the mixture, he said quietly, “By the way, my stay here will only be temporary. I’m optimistic about things with Erika.”

  Lee stood at the sink, stirring sweetener into her tea. Patrick took the sausage out of the frying pan and laid it on paper towels to drain. He stirred up some of the pancake mix and spooned out four good-sized circles into a second frying pan.

  “I’m sorry about you and Erika,” she said into her cup. “You make such a great couple.”

  Patrick stood watch over the pancakes, but turned to look at her. “I think she knows that. In the meantime, maybe I can help out here.”

  “How?”

  “I could fix your window,” he said hopefully. “Then, maybe I can help you find out about Diane.”

  Lee looked over at him as he used the spatula to check the pancakes. Something about the whole domestic picture of the two of them in the kitchen softened her mood.

  “You’ll have to make up the extra bed, though. Amy will be home this weekend.”

  “Okay. I’ll change all of your locks today, too. Just in case.” He flipped the pancakes.

  Lee sat at the drop leaf table and waited while he finished cooking. He piled the pancakes onto two plates, added the sausage and dropped a plate in front of her. Before sitting down, he dropped an extra sausage patty into Soldier’s bowl. Hot or not, the dog gulped it down in one, swift movement. Lee grimaced, but then smiled. Brother and sister busied themselves lathering the pancakes with butter and syrup. After downing a couple of bites, Patrick looked across the table at her.

  “Now, let’s talk about Diane.”

  Lee raised her eyes as she broke off a piece of sausage and slipped it into her mouth. “Do we have to?”

  “I think you need to get organized. You need to stop going off on tangents and broadcasting your theories to the world. And you need to stop hiding file folders in your underwear drawer.” He smiled and his eyes twinkled.

  She frowned at him. “You don’t know everything I’ve been doing.”

  “I know you,” he said half kidding. “Look, Lee, if you’re going to do this, then really do it. Don’t play at this. It isn’t a game.”

  “I’m not playing a game.” She felt herself get defensive.

  “In a way you are,” he said, cutting his pancakes into bite-sized morsels. “You have some romantic notion about finding a killer. You’re going to have to be more careful.”

  “But, I can’t prove anything,” she said, putting down her fork. “And the police aren’t listening.”

  “The police don’t know everything. You said that yourself.”

  “I only have a hunch, Patrick,” she said, leveling a stare at him. “And this is not some stage play or TV movie.”

  “I think you have more than a hunch. You just don’t have proof.”

  “Then what do you suggest I do?”

  The tension was beginning to build, as she knew it would, and she could feel the muscles in her jaws working.

  “Be systematic about it,” he replied. “Build a plan. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

  She dropped her eyes hoping he wouldn’t know that he’d just hit a bull’s eye. She was making a fool of herself. If he only knew what had happened in Medford between the masquerade with Mavis and the debacle with Emily Maddox, he’d be imitating her right now the way he imitated actors in old movies. Then, of course, there was the fact she had actually stolen something belonging to Emily Maddox. Add that to the personnel file sitting upstairs, and Patrick could probably look forward to living in her house permanently, while she spent time down at the county jail.

  She set her fork down, picked up her plate and took it to the sink.

  “Lee, what’s wrong. I was only joking.”

  “I know. It’s okay,” she said, holding back a new onslaught of tears. “I’m just not as hungry as I thought. I have to get dressed.” She moved towards the door, hoping to get out before the floodgates opened. “We can talk about this tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, Lee,” she heard him say to her back.

  A few minutes later, Lee stood in her bathroom applying mascara when she heard Patrick’s Mazda pull out of the driveway. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he’d come too close to the truth, and her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit it. Just as it wouldn’t allow her to admit why she’d kept silent all those years ago when Brad had disappeared. She’d hinted about a few things to Diane. Brad’s doubts about having children. His reluctance to get married in the first place. Lee’s suspicion about other women and their distant relationship just before the accident.

  Why couldn’t she tell Patrick all of that? If perfectionism had been Diane’s fatal flaw, certainly pride was hers.

  After fiddling with her bangs, Lee left the bathroom and went downstairs. She’d decided to go back to the hospital. There were people there who could fill in some of the blanks. It might not answer all of her questions, but it would help. She found Soldier lying with her nose pressed against the front door.

  “What’s the matter, did your sugar daddy leave you?”

  When Lee took her purse off the back of a chair, the dog thumped her tail. Lee grabbed her coat from the closet and stepped over the dog.

  “He won’t be back until tonight.”

  Soldier got up to look expectantly at Lee.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you understood what I just said.”

  The dog tilted its noble head.

  “Not a chance. You’re not that smart.”

  Lee leaned over, cupped the big dog’s soft muzzle in her hand and pulled it to within a few inches of her face.

  “Frankly, I think as dogs go, you’re a good-for-nothing pooch.” She kissed the dog’s nose gently, grabbed her collar and shoved her toward the kitchen. “C’mon. Into your sanctuary.”

  She was about to close the dog in the kitchen, when she remembered the night before. Better to leave the dog out. She left the kitchen door open and headed back down the hallway.

  As she passed the phone by the staircase, a thought occurred to her. What she needed was some good old-fashioned support from a completely objective source. A girlfriend, not Patrick. Someone she could trust to test her theories against. Her friend Marion was just that person.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory. When a familiar voice answered, she made arrangements with her friend for lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant. On the way out the front door, Lee checked to make sure she’d locked the door securely and then glanced across the street, relieved to see the tan sedan was gone. As she stepped off the welcome mat, her foot rubbed up against a white envelope.

  Lee opened it and pulled out Diane’s suicide note. She’d forgotten she’d asked Carey for it. After the incident with Carey’s husband, she thought Carey had guts. She slipped the note back into the envelope and tucked it into her purse.

  A moment later, she was in her car. As she slipped the key into the ignition, something black swooped down and smacked her windshield. She jerked backwards, hitting the back of her right hand on the steering wheel. Swearing, she peered out the front window, massaging the back of her wrist.

  It was a bird, she
was sure of it. But where had it come from? More importantly, where had it gone?

  Curious, she stepped out of the car and looked skyward. There was only blue sky and a few clouds. No birds. None in the trees, either. Confused, she stood rubbing her hand, when she became aware of a rustling sound behind her. She turned around and stopped short, every follicle of hair on her arms standing on end.

  Behind her, a mass of crows had gathered along the telephone wire. There were about sixty of them, packed closely together, shifting their weight, ruffling their feathers, and flexing their wings. Every eye was fixed on her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lee stared at the birds for a few moments, her heart thumping. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Not anymore. For whatever reason, she had become a magnet for the local avian population, and she had a not-so-sneaky suspicion that it had to do with the onyx bird in her purse. She could admit to making a fool of herself. She could admit to making mistakes. But she wasn’t sure she could admit to this strange phenomenon. After all, she’d just accused Patrick of seeing too many bad movies; now she felt as if she were living inside one. But since none of the live birds had threatened her in any way, at least not yet, she decided to ignore them as she turned to get into the car. With a parting glance in her rearview mirror, she left the birds behind and drove to the hospital.

  She parked in a lot reserved for employees and entered the hospital from the east side, heading for the espresso bar. Two corridors converged into a spacious waiting room, flanked by sliding glass doors leading to an outdoor patio and small garden area. It was early, and the gift shop was closed, but the volunteer sales person was inside counting change, getting ready to open. The espresso bar, with its assortment of muffins, biscotti, and bottles of flavorings, sat close by.

  Lee had a plan. This was the early morning gathering hole for many employees. Lee sometimes came down for a mocha latte´ or a hot chocolate. But many of the employees came as regular as clockwork, and you could almost set your watch by their daily appearance. Jack Burns, the lab manager, was one of those. In fact, he was the first in line, chatting easily with the young man who busied himself making drinks. Lee waited until Jack had paid for his specially brewed coffee and then intercepted him.

  “Jack, do you have a few minutes?”

  Jack Burns turned with a smile. He was built like a telephone pole with large hands and feet and was dressed in his signature bow tie and button-down collar.

  “Sure, Lee. I have a few minutes. But I just spent my last farthing.” He pulled out the lining of his pockets to show that he was broke.

  Lee acknowledged the humor with a chuckle. “I’m not here for a donation. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. Can we sit over here for a minute?” She indicated two facing chairs.

  He looked at his watch. “I have a nine-thirty, so no problem.”

  Lee sat down facing the garden. Jack sat with his long legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he sipped at the cinnamon-spiced coffee.

  “What’s up?”

  Lee had purposely avoided caffeine that morning, but couldn’t help noticing a drop of foam that clung to Jack’s lips. After a moment, he used his finger to clean it off, allowing Lee to focus on why she was there.

  On the drive over, she’d decided she would first try to gather clinical information to help her understand just how Diane had died. Then she would backtrack with as many people as she could to determine exactly what Diane had done, where she had gone, and whom she had come into contact with on the day she died. Jack was her link to Bud Maddox and could also tell her more about the drug that had killed Diane.

  “Um, I…” Lee stammered uncertainly.

  “You off today?” he interrupted her, noticing her casual attire.

  “Yeah, I’m taking some time off… Diane’s death and all.”

  “Of course. I’d forgotten. How are you doing?”

  “It’s been hard.”

  She relaxed a bit now that the subject was out in the open. In the background, the light chatter from a group of nurses offset the metallic whirring of the espresso machine. Jack looked over his glasses at her, cradling the hot coffee in both hands.

  “I didn’t know Diane well, but I know the two of you were close.” He sipped the hot liquid, keeping the cup close to his lips.

  “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m confused about how she died. I thought maybe you could explain a few things.”

  Jack lowered the cup and crossed one leg over the other, looking like a gangly giraffe, all legs and knees.

  “I’ll do the best I can. What do you want to know?”

  Lee sat forward. She remembered how she’d felt in school when she’d been keenly interested in a subject. This felt the same way.

  “I want to know how much insulin it would take to kill someone.”

  Jack flinched slightly. “Wow, I heard she killed herself with an injection of something. So, it was insulin.” He shook his head in sympathy. “Let me see. I’m not a physician, so I’m not sure I can answer that. You should really go see Janine.”

  “Why don’t you give it your best shot?”

  “Was Diane a diabetic?”

  “No, but her cat was.”

  He couldn’t mask a look of genuine surprise. “That’s a new one. Although I guess an animal could be diabetic as easily as a human. Her cat would only need a fraction of the insulin a human would use, however. How many times do they think she injected herself?”

  “Just once. It was a large syringe.”

  His eyebrows arched. “Really? That’s curious.” He took another swig of coffee and the bow tie bounced up and down as he swallowed.

  “Why is that curious?”

  “Well,” he paused, adjusting the heavy, black glasses that graced his angular nose, “when you told me she had a diabetic cat, I assumed her method of suicide was just a convenience.”

  “I think that’s what the police assumed, too. What surprises you about that?”

  “I would have thought she would use a very small syringe for her cat. Not a large one.”

  “She did use a small syringe for the cat.”

  He stared at Lee for a moment, but Lee’s gaze didn’t waver. Whatever he was thinking to himself, she decided to ignore it. She wasn’t going to apologize anymore for what she knew to be true, or to pretend the facts weren’t the facts.

  “What are you saying, Lee?”

  “I’m only saying that I know for a fact that Diane normally used a very small syringe to give injections to her cat, just as you suggested.”

  “Well, I suppose if she intended to do herself in…sorry,” he shrugged. “But, if she intended to kill herself, she would probably just go out and get a larger syringe. It’s hard to believe someone would inject themselves once, reload, and inject themselves again with a small syringe.”

  Lee frowned at his logic. “I think that’s exactly what the police assumed, too.”

  Jack took another sip of coffee, his long bony fingers wrapped around the large paper cup. Lee slid her feet onto the floor and leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees. It was time to go for broke.

  “What would get someone fired from a position in a hospital lab?”

  This time he had to gulp in order not to choke on the hot coffee. “Why in the world do you ask that?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  He eyed her suspiciously now, placed the coffee on the table next to him and folded his large hands in his lap, lacing one long finger over a bright green class ring. He was clearly contemplating the question. Lee bit her lip, but kept silent. Jack had a kind face, with high set cheekbones and a long jaw line. Even over the thick scent of cinnamon from the coffee, there was the slight smell of a tangy aftershave. He re-crossed his legs and then folded his arms over his narrow chest. If he was conflicted about answering her question, he had finally resolved it.

  “Well, you know as well as I do that we fire people for continually being late
to work, incompetence, inaccuracies…things like that. But I think you want something more.”

  She nodded and he continued.

  “Well, the lab is a complicated place. It’s also highly regulated and highly confidential. There are a lot of other reasons why someone might be fired. Drug and alcohol abuse. Breach of confidentiality. Falsifying information. What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know, but speaking of confidentiality, you won’t say anything about our conversation to anyone, will you?”

  He knitted his brows. “Not if you don’t want me to. But, I have a feeling this has nothing to do with fundraising.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’d just prefer you didn’t say anything. Okay, let’s go back. I understand you’d fire someone for drug or alcohol abuse and breaking confidentiality. But why would someone falsify information?”

  “Are you kidding? There are a host of infectious, sexually transmitted diseases, and terminal illnesses out there. People who have them don’t want other people to know they have them. Spouses, employers, insurance companies. You name it. We screen it, and we find it. Not to mention drug use.”

  “And that information could be used against someone?”

  “People are fired for drug abuse. And sometimes a person with a history of a communicable disease has a tough time getting a job. Then there’s the social stigma.”

  “So, if someone knew how, they could use that information…I don’t know…to maybe blackmail someone?”

  “I guess,” he smiled noncommittally. “I’ve never done it myself, you understand.”

  Lee ignored the joke because a large bird had just landed on a branch outside the window. She eyed it cautiously.

  “I don’t claim to know the criminal mind,” he continued, “but I do know that people who do that sort of thing are incredibly creative. It would be like breaking into your house. If someone wanted to do it badly enough, they could figure it out.”

  His example made Lee sit back in her chair. He continued, oblivious to her reaction. He paused and looked at her a little like a parent patronizing a child.

  “What does this have to do with Diane’s suicide?”