A Composition in Murder (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 6)

by Larissa Reinhart

  I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk, wondering who was trying to track me down but didn’t have my cell number. Probably one of my Halo House buds.

  “Just to remind you,” said Miss Krenzer. “This phone is not meant for personal use.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Only my RA back in Savannah was stricter than Krenzer. “Who’s calling?”

  “I assume one of your students. Let me connect you.”

  I hoped it wasn’t a student calling to critique my teaching. They needed shading techniques before tackling the human form. The cow skull still life was next in line.

  The line beeped.

  “Mornin’. Cherry Tucker speaking.”

  A long pause made me wonder if the student on the other line had forgotten why they’d called. Unfortunately, that’d happened before.

  No heavy breathing. They hadn’t fallen asleep.

  “Hello—”

  “Stay out of our business.”

  I jerked and almost dropped the receiver. The voice sounded like Darth Vader had gone deep-sea diving. “Who is this?”

  Another second delay and the deep gurgly voice continued, “You are in over your head. Get out before it’s too late.”

  “Ada, did you get a new app? I’ve heard this one. Try the ghost voice. It’s real fun. Beverly Ameson’s got it set on her phone.”

  “This is your last warning.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You can do better, Ada. I know you’re ticked at me, but keep up the pranks and you’re getting a goat in your bedroom.”

  Darth Vader switched to Helium voice. “This is not a joke. Next time you’re getting more than a shove. And your friend—Ada?—might too.”

  I walked from the hall in a daze. This person—Parker Brakeman-Newson topped my list—had not just threatened me, but Ada. I was used to threats. But Ada wasn’t involved in Belvia’s death. I hoped the caller had only used Ada’s name because I had referred to her.

  Which meant I’d put my friend in jeopardy.

  It was time for a chat with Mr. Parker Brakeman-Newson. He had too many names and too much thuggish swagger for my liking. By Halo’s standards, adult males who relied on Daddy to get them out of trouble invited open season on ass-whooping. Parker could hide behind Ron’s lawyer, but not without a fight. He’d already cost me two fine casseroles. If it was Parker who’d threatened us.

  I felt sure as rain it was.

  At the main desk, I asked Krenzer again who called.

  “I was too busy to take a memo and they were hard to understand,” said Krenzer. “I thought it might be Earl Junior or Sissy Mason because they use their tablets to communicate. Such a help for stroke victims. I figured if we couldn’t find you, I’d take a message.”

  “Could you tell where they called from?”

  “An outside line.”

  It was impossible to know if the caller was in Halo House or not. Probably a smartphone, judging by the app they used. I needed to find Parker. I also needed to drop off possible evidence with the sheriff. I took a spin toward the door.

  Krenzer called me over. “Where are you going?”

  “Out. Dangit. Do I have class?” I glanced around for a clock. Halo House was worse than Vegas when it came to clocks. I might need to start wearing a watch like everyone else. Usually, I relied on my friends getting me to class on time. “Am I late?”

  “No. Come into the office for a minute. We need to chat.”

  I turned the corner from the front-desk window and slipped through the Dutch door kept locked from residents who liked to rifle through mailboxes.

  “Why did you call the police when you found Mrs. Brakeman?” said Krenzer. “You should have gone through me. It caused a big kerfuffle. There’s talk that the police will show up if you pass away in your apartment.”

  “I’m sorry. Is it making folks nervous? The deputy was a friend. I thought bringing him in would keep his investigation low-key, yet still official.”

  “Didn’t work. And not nervous. Excited.” She jammed a pod into her coffee maker and smacked a button. Empty pods threatened to escape the trashcan beneath the counter.

  “Excited?”

  “The 911 dispatcher’s been busy today.” Krenzer faced me, her nostrils quivering as the scent of freshly brewed beans filled the office. “Janet Presley called the sheriff when Ray Howard didn’t come down for breakfast at his usual time. Ray had stayed in his apartment. With a female companion. The police and I found him in a compromising situation. Ray was not happy. Neither was Janet when she found out about Ray’s lady friend.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “You cannot bring in the police without going through me.” She whipped the coffee mug to her lips and took a deep breath. “We need to make it clear that Belvia’s death was an unusual situation.”

  “Tell them there was a robbery.”

  “That’s a horrible idea. I’m not going to frighten our residents.”

  “I guess you shouldn’t tell them she was murdered either.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, then cursed my brain for forgetting to hit the mute button.

  “Murdered?” Krenzer choked on her coffee. “Belvia Brakeman had a heart attack.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what they say,” I said, following Harry Hunt’s neither-confirm-nor-deny speak.

  Krenzer set down her mug. “Is that why the police wanted to look at her medication history?”

  “Do you have her medical records?” I toned down the hopefulness in my voice.

  “We keep records to know what drugs are in-house. For safety. And if someone needs assistance in an emergency, we can give the list to the EMTs and hospital.”

  “Sounds like the medical examiner found something in her system. Did the police say what drug they were looking for?”

  “Digoxin. Like Lanoxin or Cardoxin. Many residents take those for heart symptoms. But not Belvia. She was healthy besides the glaucoma. Except for hip issues. She didn’t get much exercise because of her eyesight and focus on work.”

  And she was ninety, I thought. But Krenzer was right. Belvia appeared more likely to kick butt than kick the bucket.

  Krenzer placed a hand on her chest. “The police must be mistaken. Belvia took glaucoma medication and sometimes used pain patches. I don’t see how she could have gotten heart medications.”

  “Tell me about this glaucoma medicine. Was it eye drops? Pills?”

  “Drops. Alphagan, if I remember correctly. It decreases pressure and fluid in the eyes. There may be some heart side effects. But it’s not like she could have overdosed on eye drops. She’d been using them for a long time.”

  My mind raced. Could someone have put the medication from the capsules in Belvia’s eye medication? Would the powder inside the pills dissolve in eye drops? Had I found the key to her heart attack?

  My fingers itched to pull a capsule out, but I didn’t want to wave a possible murder weapon in Krenzer’s face.

  “Did she take any pills?” I forced my voice toward conversational. “Maybe she got the wrong medicine.”

  “I guess it’s possible, but how could she have gotten heart medication? You’ve seen her place. Everything was organized to aid her disability. If she had switched her pills it would have been OTC pain meds or vitamins.”

  But I had looked in all her vials. Belvia didn’t take green and cream capsules. Krenzer was right. There were barely any pills to take.

  “Belvia was wearing a pain patch when she had her heart attack.” Krenzer’s gaze drifted over my shoulder. “She was facing her daughter’s funeral. She might’ve asked someone for something stronger and they gave her the wrong stuff.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking too.” Switched the pain meds with capsules. But not in an accidental I-can’t-tell-my-digoxin-from-my-oxycon
tin. And that made more sense than putting the powder in her eye drops.

  Krenzer placed a hand over her mouth. “How awful. What a terrible accident.”

  “You should tell the residents that’s what the police are checking. It might be a good warning about sharing medications.” I placed a hand on the Dutch door lever. “Wait, doesn’t her retired assistant, Molly Kern, have heart problems? I thought Belvia had told me that. Does she keep medicine at her place? Maybe Miss Belvia accidentally took hers. Those two are still very tight.”

  “Just a moment.” Krenzer turned to her computer. “No, I don’t see heart issues listed.”

  “Her sister died. She could’ve been the one with heart problems. Maybe I misunderstood.”

  “Certainly. But there’s heart medication in just about every suite here. So many were visiting Mrs. Brakeman. It could’ve been anyone.” Krenzer checked her wristwatch. “Class starts soon.”

  Dagnabit. So much for my errands. I’d have to run the pills to the sheriff’s office and hunt for Parker later.

  “And Cherry.” Her voice had returned to its normal no-nonsense clip. “Use chain of command in emergencies. Call me before you call the police.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I opened the door and slid through.

  “One more thing: your student numbers are dropping. You need to make the class more interesting or you’ll lose the spot. Hot yoga has become popular. We’re opening another class.”

  “When?”

  “This week.” Krenzer raised a brow. “It’s not enough to make friends here. If you want to teach, you’ve got to keep students. As much as I believe in art therapy, we need to make the seniors happy.”

  If only Krenzer knew the kind of therapy those degenerates really wanted.

  Twenty-Four

  Krenzer was correct. Half of my class had disappeared. To hot yoga or to the bar to watch Pebble Beach. The half remaining outwardly groaned at my cow skull. One woman, Tootie Woodward, broke a perfectly good piece of charcoal in half. Tossing her apron on the ground, she stormed off, muttering, “Not wasting the rest of my good days on bovine nonsense.”

  Luckily, Ada and Fred encouraged the remaining crew to stay with promises of models “after we get the hang of this sketching business.”

  When I replied with “I promised no such thing,” I received a “You better rethink that one, missy.”

  Hazel was a no-show again.

  As I pointed out techniques for contouring and encouraged bolder expression, my mind raced from Hazel’s absence to Parker to the pills to my expected afternoon excursion at Meemaw’s Tea factory with Coralee.

  I raced from Halo House parking lot—a Datsun euphemism for puttering at the highest speed possible without causing smoke—and hightailed toward the small city of Line Creek, Forks County Seat and home to Forks County Sheriff.

  Normally, I would stop at the Lickety Pig to soften Uncle Will with barbecue. But no time today. I caught Uncle Will in the parking lot and thanked the lucky stars I didn’t have to run the usual gauntlet to talk to the sheriff.

  “Well, now.” He thumped the top of his Crown Vic. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I held out the palm containing the green and cream pill and its half sidekick.

  “I’m not that worried about the election.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Prozac.” He grinned but his eyes didn’t contain any mirth. “What’re you up to, girl?”

  My excitement dimmed. Dammit, not heart meds. “I found these in Belvia Brakeman’s apartment. Under her couch. I thought it might—”

  “Get in the car.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “I think you do.” He walked around the brown and cream sedan to open my door. “We’re taking a trip to visit your brother.”

  “What? Why? Uncle Will, I’ve got stuff going on today. He’s not expecting me.” I caught his glower and got in the car. The heavy door slammed shut behind me and I shuddered.

  Despite his size and girth, he slipped into the driver’s seat with an easy familiarity. A half-minute later we pulled into the parking lot of Forks County Jail. Handily located across the street from the Sheriff’s Office. We checked through the back entrance. Uncle Will’s hand steered my shoulder as he guided me through doors and halls and into the visitor’s room. We took seats on the orange stools and waited.

  “What am I really doing here? What lesson should I be learning?” I searched the concrete block walls for a clock.

  “Getting your priorities screwed on straight.” Uncle Will glowered at me. “You find more fascination in other families’ problems than your own. What were you doing hunting for pills under Belvia Brakeman’s couch?”

  “I honestly was not looking for anything but the contents of my bag, which had spilled. They were an accidental find and I had hoped something you could use in your investigation. The pills were half-wedged beneath the leg. Easy to miss.”

  “And you were in Belvia’s apartment because...”

  “Coralee asked me to help.” I gave him my biggest customer service smile. With eyelash fluttering for extra oomph. “You know how Jesus asks us to watch out for widows and orphans.”

  “Visiting prisoners is on that list too. Particularly when one’s your own brother.”

  “Listen, Uncle Will, I know there’s heart medicine in Belvia’s toxicology report. I didn’t know those pills were Prozac.” I peeked at him from under my lashes. “Prozac can’t be disguised for digoxin, can it?”

  “No. Belvia Brakeman didn’t have a Prozac prescription. The woman was too proud and too busy to be depressed. Where did you hear about her toxicology report?”

  “Halo House. And I was wondering about the tire tracks. Did you compare them to Coralee’s? Did you know her family was already in Halo when Della died?”

  “Do you mean my team wouldn’t think to check on the immediate family related to the victims in two suspicious death investigations?” The chocolate-brown eyes slitted. “I take it I’m not getting your vote in the next election?”

  “Of course you are.” A rush of heat slapped my cheeks. “I didn’t mean anything. I’ve been privy to the Brakeman inner circle. And thought—”

  “The Bransons are looking for more ammunition to use against your family. And you’re involving yourself with the Brakemans? You can’t get more visible in this county unless it was the Bransons themselves.” He pointed at his head. “Do you see the steam emitting from my ears?”

  “Sorry, sir.” I dropped my chin, then looked up as a deputy escorted Cody through a door. Orange was not a good color on a Tucker. We were much too fair. However, Cody’s beard had been trimmed and he’d put on a couple pounds.

  He grinned at my wave. “Hey, sister.”

  Uncle Will permitted us a brief hug, then motioned Cody into his seat. “I understand we’re getting you a new lawyer.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what Grandpa said. Cherry had something to do with this, didn’t you?” Cody grinned at me.

  I shook my head, trying to keep the disappointment out of my eyes. “That’s all Grandpa.”

  “How’s Todd? Haven’t seen him this week, and he usually stops by.”

  My cheeks heated. “He’s good. Don’t worry about it. Been busy. Barely seen him myself.”

  “I sure hoped he’d stop by. He was going to give me some pointers. I’ve been playing poker with the guys.” Cody glanced at Uncle Will. “For candy bars. We take those chocolate bars and divide the blocks.”

  “I’ll be sure to remind him.” My smile was as weak as my will. “And bring y’all chocolate next time I come.”

  What was clear—and blatantly obvious in Uncle Will’s approach—was I needed to get a grip on more pressing matters. Getting Cody out of jail should come first. Now that
I couldn’t count on Belvia Brakeman’s assistance, I had to put away my pride and follow Luke’s advice. He was right, we had no better plan. I’d tell Shawna about her father. Hope she took it as good will and not blackmail. But also hoped it made her realize Cody had no malicious intent toward her. He’d just been a kid wanting to know who his real father was and had gone about it badly.

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell Cody his “angel of mercy” had died before she’d helped us.

  Our fifteen minutes passed. Uncle Will nodded at the waiting deputy. Cody and I exchanged another hug. He clung to my neck, reminding me of how he used to curl in my lap as a little guy, miserably missing the momma he never knew. “Love you, Cherry,” he whispered. “Thanks for getting me that new lawyer. That was your plan, right? Your miracle?”

  “Love you too.” Drawing back, I looked into the eyes that matched mine, despite the color difference. “I’m doing whatever I can to get you out of here.”

  “I know you will.” His lips hinted at a curve before drooping. Ducking his head, he shuffled to his warden and disappeared through the door that barred the inmates from the outside world.

  Uncle Will’s hand dropped to my shoulder.

  I let him guide me back, barely aware of my surroundings for the tears.

  In my truck, I rang up Coralee. After leaving a message on her voicemail, I called Pris with the number she’d left me. Pris was at Meemaw’s Tea factory but hadn’t seen her mother yet.

  “I’m in Aunt Della’s office, trying to sort out a mess. Lisa Russell asked me to come in and look at a software problem they were having. She knew it was in my wheelhouse and I’m killing time.” Pris sucked in her breath. “Sorry, that was a bad choice of words considering I meant waiting for the funerals.”

  “If you see your momma, tell her I’m not coming. I’ve got my own family business to tend.” I exhaled, my stomach cramping at the thought of my impending confrontation with Shawna. I’d rather confront Parker about his prank call threatening Ada.