“Does she think it’s not going well? The pregnancy, I mean.”
“As far as we know, that part’s find. But she’s worried about finances. And now with Coco coming on board, she’s even more stressed.”
“I thought Coco was helping.”
“She is with the work. She’s picking it up fast, and she’ll make sure Joanie’s dates aren’t missed if the nausea gets too bad and Joanie can’t stand to be in the kitchen. But Joanie insists on paying her, and she doesn’t know how we can afford that along with new baby expenses. I keep telling her everything’s going to work out, but you know how stubborn she can be.”
She knew, all right. She used to watch Fanuzzi boss big burly men around on the road crew. Miranda was worried about her friend. She wished there was something she could do to help.
“I’ll be right back on the case as soon as I get back to the house.”
“Thanks, Becker. You’re a big help on this one.”
“No problem. Gotta run.” He hung up.
Miranda pulled on a jacket and told Parker about the information Becker was sending.
Parker’s look remained concerned. “Is everything all right?”
Evidently he’d heard some of her conversation.
“Fanuzzi’s having morning sickness again. She’s worried about her catering business and their finances. I hate that for them.”
“I hate that Joan is having to suffer through such physical agony. I remember the time Sylvia had when she was carrying Gen.”
Hard to imagine Parker’s perfect first wife losing her cookies in the bathroom, but if she was carrying Gen, it made sense. And she knew Parker must have been understanding and caring. He always was.
“There’s got to be something we can do to help. Money-wise, anyway.”
Parker’s handsome face grew somber. “Dave Becker is a proud man. He won’t accept charity.”
“Then there has to be something else we can do. We’ll figure it out right after we find Josie Yearwood’s killer.”
Her determination on all fronts renewed, Miranda grabbed her cell and headed out the door with Parker behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Miranda decided to keep Wesson with them today. Opting for egg and chicken biscuits from a drive thru to eat on the way, they hopped into the Nissan and headed once again for Nags Head and the hospital where she hoped to find the dating doctor.
Traffic wasn’t light, but it was nothing compared to Atlanta. It was overcast and colder today, and as they turned onto the Washington Baum Bridge, a slow drizzle began, sending trickles of rain over the windshield.
As Parker turned on the wipers, Miranda gazed over the sound and watched the rain and wind make choppy waves in the water that was now a dark gray-blue. The weather suited her mood—sour and gloomy. If they didn’t get a break in this case soon, she’d turn stormy, too.
Just as Parker made the turn onto South Croatan Highway, her phone buzzed.
It was a text from Deweese. She scanned it quickly.
The detective informed her he was in contact with Miss Mae from East Seaside Properties, and working on a list of employees and anyone else who might have had access to her key drawer. Once he got that, he was going to have Garwood bring them in for questioning.
Good work, Miranda texted back.
Then she saw there was more.
“Deweese has heard from Dr. Lipman,” she told Parker and Wesson after she read the rest of the text. “She confirmed the cause of death was manual strangulation.”
“Just as we thought,” Parker said, his eyes narrowing with indignation as he peered through the droplets on the windshield.
“No semen or saliva found on the body.”
“Thanks for that news.” Wesson put away the second biscuit she was about to eat.
Miranda’s brow went up. “I didn’t think you were so squeamish.”
“I just remembered I’m on a diet.”
Right.
But that meant the killer had had no sexual contact with the vic. Why the show of “love” then? The hearts and the flowers? It was all revenge.
Clearly she had pissed him off in some way. Someone she’d dated a few times and cast aside would fit that bill.
Like Dr. Glenn Kugel.
###
The hospital was a large beige brick building in the middle of an open area surrounded by more luxury homes.
With Parker and Wesson on either side, Miranda stepped through its glass doors into a wide clean area with a wide polished floor and an equally polished receiving counter set in the middle of the space.
She stood a moment to take it in, listening to the footsteps of scrub-clad hospital personnel marching professionally toward hidden halls. Patients moved about as well, some with walkers, some escorted by a doting family member. More folks sat in a nearby waiting area.
She turned to Wesson.
She had on a pink silk jacket, a short black skirt that hugged her curves, and heels that matched her top. Somehow the pink didn’t clash with her long flame-colored hair. The woman was hot. No sense letting that asset go to waste.
Noting a sign, Miranda pointed down the hall. “Radiology’s that way. Why don’t you go use your charms to see what you can learn about the good doctor.”
Wesson waggled her brows. “My favorite kind of assignment. I’m on it.” And with a provocative grin, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and headed down the hall.
Miranda turned to Parker.
Taking in his look of approval, she nodded toward a young woman at a computer screen behind the counter.
“Why don’t you take this one?”
“I’d be happy to, Ms. Steele.”
She gave him a scowl, then followed him to the desk.
The woman came alive with a big toothy grin as they neared.
“Do you need to sign in, sir?” she cooed.
Her blond hair was pulled back with one of those scrunchy things that matched her blue sweater. She had large expressive eyes that grew larger and more expressive as she took in Parker and his award-winning looks.
“We need to speak to Dr. Glenn Kugel,” he said without giving more information.
The woman frowned at her screen and pressed a few keys. “I don’t see anything scheduled for Dr. Kugel right now. Do you have an appointment?”
“We don’t.” Parker handed her a business card. “My name is Wade Parker and this is my partner, Miranda Steele. We’re looking into the death of a young woman in the area.”
“A young woman?” She looked down at the card. “Private Investigators?” She tilted her head and her eyes grew even bigger. “You don’t mean Josie Yearwood, do you?”
Parker nodded. “We’re working with the local police on the matter.”
“It was horrible what happened to her. And so scary. I heard about it on the news.” She tilted her head the other way. “But what does Dr. Kugel have to do with it?”
Parker gave her his million dollar smile. “That’s what we’re here to find out. May we see him?”
Looking as if Parker had slapped her, she turned to her computer screen and pressed keys again. “I think he might have some time free. I’ll call him. Have a seat over in the waiting area.”
She indicated a space in the corner.
“Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful.”
Or he hoped she would be, Miranda thought, as she made her way over to a circular couch upholstered in a soft navy fabric with little gold fleur-de-lis emblems.
She sat down and leaned over to Parker. “He could keep us waiting here for hours.”
“I don’t think so. We’re not patients, after all.” He took the seat beside her and picked up a boating magazine. Pretending to page through it, he studied the other people waiting with them.
No serial killer here. Across from them sat an elderly man who was shortly called by a friendly looking nurse. A middle-aged woman occupied a chair in the corner. Someone came for her a few minutes l
ater. Then a mother with two toddlers was summoned to her appointment.
Soon the area was empty except for them.
Miranda let out a breath. “I don’t think our guy would come to a hospital for a cut on his hands, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He smiled. “I was wondering how likely it would be that the killer would remain in the area and continue his normal routine.”
“You’re dismissing this doctor before we even talk to him?”
“Not at all. I’m simply wondering if he’s made plans to leave soon.”
“Something to ask him about.”
“You should do that when you talk to him.”
Her brows rose. “I thought I was calling the shots.”
“You are. But you’re more likely to get the information we need.”
As Parker was more likely to get them in to see the doctor with the woman at the desk. Okay, she’d let him make that decision. Proved he was in charge after all.
Before she could think of a smart reply, a sonorous voice rang out behind them. “Are you the private detectives who’ve come to see me?”
Miranda rose and turned around.
Dr. Glenn Kugel was a little taller than he’d seemed in the photo with Josie Yearwood on the dock, and a little more muscular. He worked out, she could tell, even under his sky-blue scrubs and white lab coat. His light brown textured haircut was low maintenance and too short for the longish waves on the guy in the video last night.
Maybe he’d gotten a haircut since Friday. That would have been smart. And being a doctor, he could afford a Mercedes. If that was the make of the car.
“Yes, we are,” she replied. “I’m Miranda Steele and this is Wade Parker. We’re from the Parker Investigative Agency in Atlanta.”
“So Emma told me. I’m Dr. Glenn Kugel, what can I do for you?” He extended a hand.
They shook and sat back down on the couch.
Miranda settled into a corner, subduing the urge to pounce. “Doctor Kugel, I’m sure Emma told you the nature of our visit?” Couldn’t have gotten him out here otherwise, but it was best to ease into the subject.
“She said you’re investigating the murder of Josie Yearwood. I heard about that on the news. What a horrific tragedy. I still can’t believe it.” He seemed genuinely shocked. But he could have been acting.
“Yes, it is. I understand you dated her?”
“Yes. We met on a dating site, of all places. She was a native and had just moved back to Manteo after living in New York. We were together about a month or so. Then we drifted apart.” His voice was gentle. A kind, compassionate physician’s voice.
Miranda nodded, waited a beat as she studied his face. Sincerity was written all over it.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to the dating site photo. “Was this picture taken when you were together?”
He took the phone from her and held it in his lap as he stared down at it.
“Yes. When we first started dating. We went to a picnic on the island across from the waterfront. That was fun. Josie was fun. Always laughing and carefree.” He let out a wistful sigh. “That was almost three years ago.”
Three years ago? “Josie’s business partner seems to think you dated more recently.”
“Oh, yes. We did.” He smiled sadly as he handed back the phone. “I had no idea Josie was going to post that picture of us on the dating site where I met her. I was surprised when I saw it.”
“You mean on the site?”
He nodded. “I was scrolling through my contacts and noticed it.”
Miranda tensed. “That must have stung.”
“Actually, it brought back fond memories, so I got in touch with her. I thought we could try again.”
“And?”
“And we went out a few times, but nothing came of it.”
“Why not?”
“Like I said, Josie was fun. We had good times. She could always make me laugh, lighten me up after a stressful day. Ten-hour days filled with dictating studies, doing biopsies, and giving bad news to patients can take it out of you.”
Or make you a little crazy? Miranda forced softness into her voice. “Josie didn’t want to keep seeing you?”
“No. I wanted to, but I work such crazy hours. Josie was busy with designs for her shop. We just couldn’t make it work, and she wasn’t interested in settling down. I’m not sure why I signed up for that site. Most women can’t put up with my schedule.” His voice drifted off. “Such a tragedy what happened to her.”
Miranda studied his hands. The skin was smooth, the nails neatly trimmed. A careful man. “Doctor, do you ever perform surgery?”
“No, I’m a physician, not a surgeon.”
“Maybe you learned some techniques in med school?”
“It wasn’t a requirement. My work is more along the lines of—wait. You don’t think I had anything to do with what happened to Josie, do you?” His back went stiff.
He wasn’t a surgeon, but he still might be handy with a knife.
“Doctor, can you verify your whereabouts last Friday night?”
“Last Friday night? You mean the night Josie was killed?” He shot to his feet, the quiet doctor’s voice now ringing with emotion. “I was here until about midnight, then I went home and collapsed. I was back here at work at six the next morning.”
Miranda rose. “On a Saturday?”
He waved an arm in the air. “Like I said, I work crazy hours.”
For a long moment they stared at each other. Miranda saw panic in his eyes and anger.
Was that the look he’d worn when he worked on Josie? She tried to imagine him in that lower level. The picture didn’t quite fit.
“Dr. Kugel?” A dark-haired woman in red scrubs had come up behind the couch during the stare down. “Dr. Jameson’s waiting for you,” she said, obviously embarrassed at the scene.
With a huff, the doctor straightened his coat. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a consultation.”
And without saying more, he turned and hurried off with the woman.
“What do you think?” Miranda said to Parker as the doctor disappeared down the hall.
“Inconclusive.”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah.”
Miranda turned and spotted Wesson hurrying across the floor from the hall on the other side.
She was full of girlish smiles when she reached them. “There are some really cute interns around here,” she said to Miranda with a nudge of her elbow. “I gave one of them my phone number.”
Miranda let out a huff through her nose. That was all she needed. Wesson pooping out on her to go on a date.
“Never mind that. Did you learn anything about Dr. Kugel’s schedule?”
Wesson wriggled her shoulders proudly. “All I had to do was flirt with one of those interns, and he looked it up for me.” Then she grew serious. “Kugel’s not our guy. He was here until after midnight on Friday and came back in at six Saturday morning.”
Exactly what the doctor had told them.
“A solid alibi,” Parker said darkly.
So in a matter of seconds, the data on this suspect had gone from inconclusive to conclusive, and they were back where they’d started. While the real killer could be stalking his next victim.
Feeling the weight of the ocean on her shoulders, Miranda headed for the door. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Feeling a headache coming on from figuratively banging her head against the wall, Miranda climbed back into the Nissan.
“Let’s go check on that third guy in the photos,” she said with a grunt. “The one Becker gave us this morning. Where is he?”
Parker adjusted the GPS. “In Wanchese. It’s a fishing village on the south part of Roanoke Island named after a Native American ruler in the sixteenth century.”
“A good enough place to find a suspect.”
“If he’s home.”
That was true. It was Monday morning
. Normal people were going to their normal jobs, living their normal lives. But then serial killers did, too, if they were keeping up their covers. Maybe a neighbor would be home.
They crossed the bridge over the sound and were just heading south when Parker’s cell rang. It was Fry.
“Good morning, John,” Parker said in a dry tone.
He was irritated Fry hadn’t called Miranda like he was supposed to.
Miranda shifted in her seat, acutely aware Wesson was picking up the innuendo that Fry didn’t consider her his boss and never would.
Why should she be his boss, anyway? She didn’t even remember his first name was John until Parker had said it just now.
“Mr. Parker, I have some news.”
“Let me put you on speaker.” Parker pressed a button and Fry’s voice filled the Nissan.
“I was able to isolate two different blood samples from the chair Detective Deweese sent me. I’m running the DNA now.”
“But that’s not why you called,” Parker said, reading Fry’s tone.
“No, sir.”
“Why did you call, Fry?” Miranda said when he fell silent.
“I’m just sending the data over to Deweese. I got a match on the hair he found at the crime scene.”
Miranda sat up. “You did? Whose is it?”
“A local guy, as it turns out. He was arrested for possession of drugs six years ago, so his DNA’s in the database.”
Why was he making her pull it out of him? “You have a name to go with that record, Fry?”
“Yeah. Let’s see.”
She listened to him click some keys.
“Here it is. Ulman. Grover Ulman.”
Miranda looked at Parker. He glanced back at her.
“Our maintenance man,” she said.
“Who?” Fry asked.
“We’ll let you know how we’re progressing. Thank you, Fry. You’ve been a big help.” She pressed the screen and hung up, then turned to Parker. “It was Ulman, that sonofa—”
“Who?” From the backseat Wesson echoed Fry.
“A guy who works for East Seaside Properties. He came to the station last night after you left,” Miranda explained while Parker turned into a deserted side street near a water tower and spun the car around. “He said the keys to the house where Yearwood was found were—”
Roses from My Killer Page 11
