The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I waved again to Dean—whose eyebrows rose—and joined Brian in one of the battered booths. He signaled the waitress, who arrived on the double. Brian went for Sleepy-time herbal tea and apple pie à la mode. I know a winning combination when I hear one and ordered the same.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Brian.”

  “Anything for pie,” he said.

  Up close I could see the circles under his eyes. I imagined an extra 911 shift, even in sleepy Woodbridge, could leave you exhausted.

  I smiled. “I am hoping you can help me with Mona.”

  “Mona is my friend,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice.

  “Mine too, although I know you are much closer. I want to help her and I think she’s in big trouble.”

  A guarded look crept over his face.

  I kept talking. “Mona believes she might have dissociative identity disorder and maybe one of her other personalities is behind these hit-and-runs.”

  “That’s crazy, but in a totally different way.”

  “Exactly. I doubt if that’s the case, especially as the police believe she is covered for the murders, but the point is that she thinks it is and that’s causing her to behave in bizarre ways.”

  He lowered his eyes, not sure of how to deal with me, I figured.

  “Here’s what I know,” I said. “Mona was bullied, brutally, by this cabal of girls who were in high school at the same time Mona and I were. The ringleader is back, and that seems to have set Mona off.”

  “That would be Serena.”

  “Right. I see that you know about her.”

  “Mona talked about her returning. Talked about hating her and how she was back and it was causing her a lot of stress.”

  “I know. In case you think she was overreacting, I do want to say that this bullying was cruel and unrelenting for years, I guess.”

  Brian’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think she was overreacting. I’m a gay man from a small town. Do you think I didn’t get bullied in school? Do you think I wouldn’t recognize how she felt? It’s taken me ten years of therapy to just start to get over it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t realize at the time how bad it was. I let her down when we were in school and I don’t want to let her down this time.”

  “Okay. I get that.”

  “Good. She called me and said she was fantasizing about running Serena over and seeing her splatter all over the windshield. Her words. Then the same night, Bethann Reynolds was killed.”

  “Oh boy.”

  Our Sleepytime tea and apple pie arrived just at that moment. I waited to finish talking until our waitress sauntered past the two police officers, swaying her hips. Dean turned back and gave me a look. I had no idea what that look meant.

  “I’m asking myself what triggered all this emotion. Do you know exactly what happened when Serena got in touch with her?”

  He took a long sip of his tea and then seemed to make a decision. “I guess it’s okay to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “She came in to work the other day and she was in total distress. Her face was beet red and she was sputtering. I mean totally enraged. She wasn’t in any shape to go on the phones.”

  I nodded. “What was she so upset about?”

  “Seems this Serena had called her to tell her she was back. Made a big deal about the good old days and how she wanted to see Mona again. She was trying to set up friend dates.”

  “I can see where Mona would be upset about that.”

  “An understatement. I had to cover for her when she was freaking out in the ladies’ room. She wore her sunglasses for the rest of the morning and, so help me, her hands were shaking. I told her to go home, but she said work was the only place she could feel safe now.”

  “Wow. That’s awful. So Serena actually got her all riled up again.”

  Brian said, “Yup. Nasty lady.”

  “Or stupid perhaps. Maybe she didn’t even realize the impact she’d have.”

  Brian’s face hardened. “I bet she couldn’t wait to start playing those same old head games again. What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Just reacting to the whole horrible scenario.” But I was also asking myself if Mona, Kristee, and Bella’s cousin were the only former victims that Serena had contacted. Probably not.

  “It is horrible. Serena’s the one who should have gotten hit. The other two bitches got killed. Tiffanee and Jasmin. They probably deserved it too.”

  I didn’t make any comments about remarks unbecoming to a 911 operater. “Bethann Reynolds didn’t deserve it though. She was just an innocent person crossing the street, searching for her cat. And she’d been bullied too. She was quite reclusive as a result. It’s all very unfair.”

  His shoulders slumped. “As horrible as Serena was and even though I know she had an alibi, I can’t believe that Mona would ever run over Serena and the others.”

  I said, “I agree. In fact, the only person who seems to believe that Mona could have done it is Mona herself.” I didn’t let on that I’d actually worried a lot about that. “She suspects that she has alter egos who may have done it.”

  He said, “I’ve been working with Mona since she joined 911 ten years ago. We’ve stuck together. We’ve been friends, colleagues. We’re tight. Mona’s always the same. I don’t see how it’s possible for her to have alternate personalities with no sign of that over ten years.”

  I nodded. “Good point and I’m glad to hear that.”

  He frowned. “But?”

  He must have read my mind. I hesitated. “I’ve read that dissociative identity disorder can be triggered by a traumatic event. And retriggered as well.”

  “You mean the phone call from Serena might have sent her over the edge?”

  “Yes. I can’t imagine how awful it would have been for Mona to pick up the phone and hear her tormentor’s voice after all these years.”

  “She worked hard to get over her teenaged trauma and have a normal life. It’s not fair. I think if I’d seen that Serena, I might have run over her myself.”

  “Except, it wasn’t Serena. It was another victim. We have to keep that in mind.”

  “I don’t buy into this multiple personality crap, but I understand that we do have to help her.”

  “I agree. She needs help. But first we have to find her. She’s not at home. Do you have any idea where she could go?”

  He shook his head and his sandy hair flopped over his eyes. “She never went anywhere. Home. Work. Here sometimes after work with me. To the movies. The grocery store. The drugstore. The vet with her cat or dog. She could hardly be hiding out at any of those places. Right?”

  “Family?”

  “Her parents retired and moved somewhere south, Georgia maybe.”

  “Could she have gone to see them?”

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t get on well with them. Held them responsible for not standing up for her. I don’t think she’s seen her parents in five or six years. So she probably wouldn’t turn up on their doorstep to ask them to let her hide out because her alter egos were running people down.”

  “Good point.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I’m sure she wouldn’t go to them. They never made her feel safe.”

  “And she wants to feel safe now. Needs to. But where?”

  “Search me.”

  “I’m going to give you my cell phone number and I want yours too. Call me if you think of anyplace else that she might have mentioned. Or if she calls you, listen for background noises.”

  “I guess I can do that, but we’re grasping at straws.”

  “For sure, but it’s better than nothing. You mentioned the movies. Do you think she might be hiding out in a movie theater?”

  Brian blinked. “It’s possible, I suppose. There’s not that many around Woodbridge. I could check them out tomorrow. I think they’ll all be closed up now for the night. Although that’s kind of weird and creepy and Mona’s not a c
reepy person. Eccentric, yes, but not creepy.”

  “You do that. I’m going to talk to someone else who might shed light on this.”

  “Good luck. No one knows her better than I do.”

  “I’m thinking of a mental health professional who deals with these issues.”

  “You won’t tell him about the alter egos, will you?”

  “Of course I will. I already have. I left a message. We need to know what to do. Even if it’s not true, Mona thinks it is and what does that mean for her behavior?”

  I was glad to have met Brian. I liked the way he cared about Mona and believed in her. We each had the other’s home and cell phone numbers. We agreed to touch base the next day and to stay in contact with ideas. I felt depressed as I headed out into the stinging snow and home.

  Pepper still hadn’t called me back. Something else was bothering me. In the back of my mind, a thought flickered. Amsterdam Avenue was less than a half mile from the police station. Was that close enough? Brian had admitted that he’d covered for Mona when she was distraught. Had he also covered for her during the murders without being aware of what he was doing?

  Thursday morning at Hannah’s, I had trouble concentrating. I’d had no response from Pepper and no more calls from Mona. Fortunately Lilith was there and managed a steady stream of pleasant chat as we set up the baking storage and the food prep storage. We walked through the typical meal prep with Hannah and set up the most frequently used utensils and cookware close at hand. We settled on a small number of cleaning products, near the sink. All common sense, but that can desert a person when households merge. At the end of our session, the kitchen was trimmed and workable. The charity box was brimming and Lilith was happy to take the lot to her youth services organization. As we opened each cupboard, Hannah was able to smile happily. At least something had gone well.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” she said. “This was such a simple process.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. You were suffering from TMS,” Lilith said.

  Hannah’s eyebrows rose. “What’s that?”

  “Too much stuff,” Lilith and I said in unison.

  “Never again,” Hannah said. “And I will give your name to everyone I know. Both of you!”

  We left with a check and a promise I’d check in a few months to see what might have sneaked back into the gorgeous kitchen. I entered it in my agenda on the spot. I was willing to bet that Hannah would make sure the kitchen stayed the way it was.

  Even so, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  I was desperate to speak to Dr. Partridge. Lucky for me, his office address was listed in the phone book. I remembered Sally mentioning his office was at home, so that address was my first stop. The luck ended there.

  The woman who answered the door of the white Cape Cod–style home had a silver bun and eyes rimmed with red. Her nose matched the eyes. She was somewhere in her early sixties and still attractive despite the fact she’d obviously been crying for hours. Dr. Partridge’s mother perhaps? I decided she was a bit too youthful to have a son who was in his fifties and I wondered for a second if she was a patient whose appointment had at long last dealt with some deep-seated issues.

  “Charlotte Adams,” I said firmly. “I am here to see Dr. Partridge.” I didn’t say he was expecting me, as he wasn’t. I was there to see him though.

  She gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. Her entire body quivered. Was everyone in Woodbridge planning to spend the day in tears? What the hell was going on? Maybe a full moon with a holdover to the day?

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I blurted. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “I need to sit down,” she said, so weakly I could hardly hear her. I followed her as she staggered into the house and collapsed into a chair in the living room. I sat in the next chair and stared as she wiped her eyes with her flowered apron. Was she his housekeeper? Had he just given her notice? What could I do? What should I do? “Can I get you something? A drink of water?” That was lame, but I felt quite useless.

  “Is Dr. Partridge here?” I said eventually.

  That started another torrent of tears, but I waited it out. Eventually she was able to shake her head.

  “Do you know where I can find him?” I waited.

  “They took him away.” She shuddered.

  “What? Who did?” I kept my voice gentle despite that shock. I had a vision of the police frog-marching the psychologist out the door into the snow.

  Another deep shudder and she seemed to regain a bit of composure. One more sniff and she was able to say, “The paramedics.”

  “Paramedics! What happened?”

  “I don’t know. They came and took away all his medications. He was . . . Who did you say you were again?”

  “Charlotte Adams. I’ve been meeting with Dr. Partridge to discuss some bullying issues and I was hoping to catch him this morning.”

  I waited again, and then asked softly, “Are you a relative?”

  “What? No. I’m Lydia Johnson, the housekeeper. Dr. Partridge is a widower. I’ve been caring for him for years.”

  I blurted out, “Oh, I wondered who made those lunches.”

  She looked at me strangely. “He makes those himself. I just sort of manage the place, arrange to keep it up; it’s just a few hours a week because he’s such an orderly person, but he works so hard and he likes everything under control and now . . .”

  I gave her a chance to get a grip. Finally, she squared her shoulders and stared at me with heartbreak on her face. “He’s the kindest man I ever met. He hadn’t been sleeping well. How could I let this happen?”

  “What did happen?”

  “He was unconscious when I found him this morning. I think he may die.”

  Once a year, buy all your birthday cards. It will only take a couple of minutes to list family, friends, and colleagues. Pick up a couple of lovely cards without text for sympathy, celebration—whatever. You’ll be ready for almost anything.

  12

  Sally was still my go-to gal for anything to do with the medical community in Woodbridge. She had already heard the news when I reached her by phone.

  “Benjamin called me. Everyone at Woodbridge General is reeling. Sam Partridge is the most even, sensible man you could ever meet.”

  “I know. I met him, thanks to you. But what—?”

  “He’d had a horrible cold and a bit of bronchitis and he hadn’t been sleeping. It seems he got up in the middle of the night and took a bunch of medications and probably got mixed up. Maybe he was groggy and doubled or tripled his dose of things that shouldn’t be taken together. They think he fell and hit his head after that. Benjamin says that a lot of people are injured in falls after they’ve messed up their meds.”

  I thought back to our meeting in the hospital cafeteria. “He mentioned that he had a cold. He had a pill dispenser with him at the hospital, and he said he was taking a lot of stuff.”

  “That fits, I guess,” Sally said with a sigh. “You’d think a medical professional would be more cautious, but I know that Benjamin often isn’t careful about himself.”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  “Touch and go.” She paused to clear her throat. “They don’t know yet.”

  I thought about Dr. Partridge. Sally was right. He was a sensible man. That had been obvious from his lunches, the way they were organized, packed, and even eaten. What were the chances that such an orderly, intelligent person would mix up his meds? If Dr. Partridge could make a mistake like that, anyone could. But I remembered that he had them in a small blue pill container. If memory served, most of the compartments had been full. Something was very wrong here.

  “Did they find his pill container, Sally?”

  “What?”

  “He had one of those little blue—”

  “How would I know? And why on earth would you even ask that?”

  “It’s odd that something should happen to him when he had all his meds organi
zed and he had treated at least one of the people involved in this bullying thing.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you, Sal.”

  “Don’t go getting like that, Charlotte Adams.”

  “I mean I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I could tell by his reaction when I asked him that he had treated one of them. He talked about confidentiality. He didn’t say he hadn’t or that he didn’t know what I was talking about. He didn’t want to talk to me about it. He raced out of the parking lot to avoid me yesterday afternoon. So I am convinced he did treat someone, but I have no idea who. Could have been Mona. Could have been one of the cabal. But he knew exactly what I was talking about. And it had an impact on him. I wonder if he actually got in touch with one of them, even though he said that a therapist wouldn’t do that.”

  Sally said, “Then I’m responsible if he dies.”

  “Of course you’re not. Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because I set you up to meet with him.”

  “Sally, we have to consider that the person who was under his care might have done this to keep him quiet. It’s not your fault or mine.” While I said that, deep down I felt a horrible grinding guilt. Whom had I told about Dr. Partridge? It definitely wasn’t Sally’s fault, but there was a good chance that it was mine. Had I let it slip to Mona? I didn’t think I had, but if so, I was too stupid to live. I could hear Sally crying softly on her end of the phone.

  “Sally, you have to tell Benjamin what I said. Tell him to let the police know. I don’t get the best response. Pepper just blows me off whenever I try to talk to her about this. And she’s not even returning my calls. But the point is that Dr. Partridge is still alive and someone wants him dead.”

  I needed to think about Mona. I called Brian and got him on his cell phone. He was continuing to try to reach Mona without any luck either. At least the police hadn’t told him to mind his own business. Finally, I decided I could do something to help her when she did show up or get in touch.