Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2)

by Catherine Finger

  “You could say that.” He guided the car around a combine ambling down the road, nodding at the farmer as we passed. “More of a house call.”

  “You’re a saint, but we gotta get back to work.”

  “Ever consider the possibility that we work as we go?” He pulled into the parking lot of a large yellow building. A small sign designated the spot we were in as reserved for the employee of the month. Great. They’d love that.

  “Uh, not really.” I stared at him, waiting for him to shut off the car. “Ever consider the possibility that we have no time left to figure out how to catch the killer before that poor woman moves from the ‘pre’ to the ‘post’ photo pile?”

  “That’s all I’m considering.” He opened his door and slid to his feet.

  “Huh? What, are you going to tell me you’re about to do your best work while we visit my barely-there mother? You’re making less sense than usual. What’s going on in that mega-mind of yours?” We headed into the building. “What are we doing here?”

  “Taking our best shot.” He pulled the door open.

  “Morning, beautiful.” Nick bent down to kiss the cheek of a vibrant-spirited woman with sparkling baby blues that matched her cardigan. A crimson swath washed over her regal face. How long had she been sitting in her wheelchair facing the double doors today? Was someone coming to see her? I offered up a quick prayer for warm arms wrapped around her. Then I bent down and gave her a half-hug. She smiled at my touch, following Nick with her eyes as we passed.

  “You should stop over here a few times a week and just do that.” I linked my arm through his and led him down the hall.

  “If it means I’d earn a little more time by your side, count me in.”

  Ceci, my mother’s day nurse, stood at the nurses’ station. In her dark blue scrubs, she stood out against the pink and white floral wallpaper. Beyond her stood a row of filing cabinets. A small, ornate wooden frame contained a matted display of elegant white script against a black background. Probably some perky dime-store saying. Were any of the residents able to read or remember it? Not my mother, that was for sure.

  “Thanks for gettin’ here so quick, Ms. Oliver. And for bringin’ his hotness.” She blushed and smiled at us like a high school dean might at a couple she caught necking under the bleachers. A smile I was very familiar with.

  “How’s she doing? Any more falls?” We didn’t have much time. Something had to have happened for a staff member to say she was about to call me, and we needed to address it and get back on the road.

  “Well, that’s just it. We’re not sure. None of us seen her fall, and she’d been a little more independent lately. She’d been walking up and down the halls and even going to meals on her own until this week.” Ceci shifted her weight, jutting out one beefy hip. She looked down at the floor and back up at me. “There’s been… looks like there mighta been some unexplained bruises in the past few days.” Her gaze fell again as soon as she stopped talking.

  “So, what’s your gut telling you? More than a shower incident?” I kept my tone calm.

  “She hasn’t had another shower scheduled since you were here three days ago. And one of the bruises is, well, it’s… it’s just suspicious. I could get in trouble for telling you this, but you’ve been so good to my boys and my Billy, I just had to.” She rushed this last bit out.

  I put my hand on her arm and lowered my voice to a whisper. “What’s going on, Ceci? What’s so different about this one bruise?”

  She still wouldn’t make eye contact. A tear fell down her cheek. “I, um, I really need this job. But you need to watch after your mom.”

  Another tear escaped. And then another.

  “What am I watching for? What did you see that’s got you so afraid?”

  “I didn’t see any one thing, but I hear things. I hear a lotta things. And I do see some things… sometimes. And what I did maybe see, well, I can’t be sure.” She raised her head and set her moist gaze square on mine. “But that bruise? It looked an awful lot like a handprint. And I don’t know no more trouble than that.”

  Convulsions rippled through my gut, and an iron vise wrapped itself around my head. We’d been investigating complaints of alleged rough treatment at the hands of Angela Murray, Riverside’s director, but she’d come up clean. I hadn’t seen anything suspicious, or I’d have cleared my mom out of there.

  I’d had a hard time making the decision whether to pull her out of there or not, and I’d turned to Kira to help me think it through. It was one of the few sessions where I’d left with clarity around a decision I was grappling with. Mom stayed. No place was perfect and I loved the care overall. Dear God, what have I missed?

  I dropped Ceci’s arm and lurched down the hall to my mother’s room, Nick by my side like a whisper. Two quick knuckle raps yielded no response. We pushed through the doorway together.

  The hum and whoosh of the oxygen machine greeted me like an old friend. I followed the line into the bedroom and gazed down at my sleeping mother. One stick-thin arm lay out of the covers by her side. Papery skin clung to impossibly small bones. Age spots marked her hand, and a large bruise began above her wrist and spread all the way up to her elbow. Ugly, dark, tubular shapes marred her arm as if four large fingers had fanned out and savagely grabbed it. My eyes traveled up to her shoulder where the skin under her nightgown was discolored near her neck. What the…?

  Nick laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder as I leaned forward to get a better look. Midnight-blue bruises rimmed the skin in front of her throat and on her right clavicle. I caressed her bony shoulder as tears filled my eyes.

  Nick whispered, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got a little something in my trunk that will give us another set of eyes when we most want it.”

  I nodded and squeezed his hand, sinking into the beauty of his presence in my life at just the right time. At all the right times. Sinking into the warmth of this incredible man who always had my back. How could I have doubted him? Why did I always have to mess things up between us? Not this time. Not today.

  “Thank you.” I held his hand against my cheek. “Just… thank you.”

  The oxygen machine shuddered. Something had changed in the pressure. Mom must be waking up.

  “Mom!” I knelt beside her. “How are you feeling? You remember Nick?” I turned to look over my shoulder, but he was already on his knee, one hand grasping my mother’s hand. What’s not to love?

  “Bellisima. Run away with me.” He leaned over and kissed her hand. “While I’ve loved your daughter since the day I met her, I’ve loved you just as much. How are you doing, and what’s going on here?” Nick cooed at her, his olive skin shimmering in the dim light of the room.

  My eyes moistened. “Mom, did someone grab you? Has anyone hurt you? Have they laid a hand on you?” There must be phrases she might respond to. I had to unlock a memory, an impression, anything.

  Her rheumy blue eyes clouded further. Wispy brows furrowed while she worked her lips. A slow tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Easy, bellisima. It’s okay. We’re here with you now, and we’re not going to let anyone hurt you again.” Nick lightly brushed greasy hair away from her eyes.

  Was she being properly cared for? How much had I been missing while wrapped up in my job and the drama of my personal life? What else was going on here?

  Her eyes closed, and she inched her hand over to rest on Nick’s arm. I stood, watching the two of them, on the verge of tears. She opened her eyes, fixing them on me as she pointed a bony finger my way and fought to speak above the whir and hum of the oxygen machine. I nudged Nick over and bent closer.

  “Catch her, Josie. You have to stop her.” She rested from her work, letting her arm fall back by her side, eyes still trained on mine.

  I cupped my hand around her face, whisking away a tear with my thumb. “Who, Mom? Who hurt you?”

  “She did. The big one. The mean one.” Her voice wisped through the air.

  The big one. “T
he director, Mom? Angela Murry?”

  “You know. You know her. You stop her.” Her eyes closed before she finished sputtering.

  I leaned down close. Kissed her cheek. “We’ll catch her. Before she hurts anyone else.” But how many people are we hunting for? A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, and my face flushed. Nick brushed past me, and I eased closer to her bed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and asked Jesus to call down angels of protection to set up camp all around her. I tugged open the drawer in the night stand next to the bed and found my mother’s ancient Bible. I opened it up and peered down to read the first verse I found—from Isaiah.

  “For I will contend with those who contend with you, and I will save your children… Then all flesh shall know that I am the LORD your Savior, and your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob.”

  Warm power flowed over me as I read the verses, first to myself and then out loud for my mom. The muscles in my arms and legs lengthened, relaxed. A lethal panther unfurled its graceful power within me. The power met my fury, sealing my resolve.

  God, if the person hurting these defenseless seniors comes across my path, this monster is mine to capture and kill. I closed the Bible and replaced it in the nightstand. Nick appeared. We stepped away from the bed, and I took his hand in mine, turning toward the door. He stopped me, pointing to a spot above the door and then to the mirror facing her bed. Cameras. Good boy. That was fast. I grinned, nodding my head as we hit the hallway, our steps in perfect synch.

  “Let’s do this, Nick.”

  Faint odors of recent baths and “accidents” woven in with ammonia assailed us. Was this normal?

  I looked at Nick and grimaced.

  “Smells like compassion to me.” He shrugged.

  Three staff members clustered around the desk. Shouldn’t they be out checking on the residents? Is this normal?

  “Good morning, ladies. Anything new going on with my mother?” I couldn’t stop myself from using my Police Chief voice. Let’s hope it gets us somewhere. I’m a step away from using a whole lot more.

  They paused a beat too long and looked at each other. The tattooed blonde answered first. “Uh, not that we know of. Like what?”

  I leaned over the counter and touched her wrist. “Like anything you know of that might cause the severe bruising around my mom’s neck?” My tone had gone from cop to lawyer.

  Tiny beads of sweat broke out on the blonde’s forehead. She looked at her comrades before responding. “Uh… well… you know how it is, ma’am…”

  She wasn’t new, but I couldn’t remember her name. I made a show of looking at her plastic tag. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me, Pam.”

  A loud beep erupted from the monitor behind her. A red light flashed, and a room number came up. 1214. The women exchanged worried glances. At Pam’s nod, two of them hurried down the hall. “This is how it is. We serve over seventy seniors here with varying levels of care needs. Some days are smoother than others. Everybody here loves your mom, and nobody’d want to hurt her. This is the first I’ve heard of bruising of any kind on anyone here, and I promise you I’ll look into it. Would you like me to call you after I’ve spoken to everyone on shift in the last few days?” Her eyes hardened.

  “Yeah, I would. I’d like that a lot. You know what I’d like even better? Chatting with Ms. Angela Murray. You’ve got all my numbers, right?” I leaned an elbow on the desk.

  “Yes. And once Director Murray gets in, I’m sure you’ll hear from her.” The beeping erupted again. “Excuse me. I’m needed.” She hurried down the hall.

  Nick and I followed her on our way out of the facility. Room 1214 was the last door on the right. Muffled sounds were coming from the open door. As we got closer, a low moan wafted out. We both looked into the room.

  Arnie, a large, wheel-chair-bound man, was lying on the floor. The three women were working him back into his chair. He turned his grizzled head in our direction. Recognition flashed in his cloudy eyes. We gazed at each other for several seconds. The women tugged at him in unison until they got him upright in his chair and began to buckle him in. A slow tear built in his one good eye and slipped over the lid. I nodded at him and turned away with stinging eyes.

  What was really going on when no one else was here?

  We walked through the glass doors separating the assisted living area from the rest of the facility, pausing to look at each other when we reached the entrance leading to the parking lot. I checked my phone for updates; there were no new messages. Good.

  Nick popped an eyebrow up. “What do you think? Go for it?”

  “Oh yeah.” I turned my head toward the main hallway that would take us to the front desk. “Might as well deal with it while we’re here and hopping mad.”

  Nick adjusted his stride to match mine. “And while I’m here to keep you from killing the good Director Murray.”

  “I prefer to think of it as knocking some sense into her.” I stuck my head into the café area flanking the hallway. Brightly colored streamers hung from the light fixtures. Plastic rabbits were stuck to the wall next to a painting of violets. Green, pink, and blue grass lined the tables, and the residents’ name cards bore festive little carrots and eggs in the corners. A six-foot rabbit-man in a dark brown tux, with his paws out as if waiting for a tray, had been stuck in the corner. Easter on steroids.

  “I prefer to think of it as a friendly drop-in visit, giving us a chance to share some information and gather a little intel.” Nick hooked his arm through mine and guided me around the corner to the reception desk. It was abandoned.

  “Must be on break.” He stretched his long body over the desk, turned the appointment book upside down, and read it. “Training slash rep luncheon at Hermann’s.”

  “Of course they’re out to lunch. How convenient.” I rolled my eyes.

  “For us. Practically neighborly.” Nick stepped back and looked at me. “So, beautiful, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Lead the way, and we’ll find out.” I looked around the room and stepped into the hallway we’d just exited. The place was empty. “Let’s do it.”

  It took me several long strides to catch up to Nick. He was standing at the end of the narrow corridor behind the reception area. Two doors stood on either side of the hallway leading to the only door with a nameplate on it—Angela Murray, Director.

  Nick tried the doorknob. Locked. He pulled a set of picks out of his wallet and had the door open in less than ten seconds.

  “Smooth.” I wasn’t an amateur when it came to picking a lock, but I’d never make it to his status. Lucky for me, I had other assets.

  “After you.” Nick gestured me into the office and handed me a pair of blue gloves that looked suspiciously like the ones in a carton on the supply cart in the hall. I slipped the gloves on, and flipped up the light switch by the door.

  We stood side by side, drinking in the details of the room before us.

  “Stark.” I stuck close to Nick.

  “That’s one word you could use.” He turned to the left, closing the door behind us.

  The director’s L-shaped desk and executive leather chair took up most of the room. Two plastic-seated chairs that matched the ones in the café had been placed in front of the desk. A vintage gray metal filing cabinet stood to the left of it. “Utilitarian.”

  “That’s a more interesting word.” Nick moved toward a closet door. He stood there, not moving for over a minute—clearly having some sort of moment.

  “This is unexpected.” A plastic framed version of one of my favorite sayings hung on the wall behind Murray’s desk for every visitor to see. It was a quote by Andrew Jackson, written in big black script. I read it out loud for Nick. “I was born for a storm, and a calm does not suit me.”

  “Where have I seen that before?” His voice sounded thoughtful, sincere.

  “You’re joking, right?” I turned around.

  “No. There’s something about it. Like I’m having a d
éjà vu moment. Something about the way the frame contrasts with the too-white wall behind it. The lettering in the last line. I’ve seen it before.” He stood with one arm bracing the other, chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Of course you’ve seen it before. It’s on one of my favorite coffee mugs. There’s your déjà vu.”

  “No. There’s something else. Something more. It’ll come to me.”

  “Well, while you’re waiting for it, I’m going to take a little walk through this filing cabinet.” It wasn’t locked. My eyebrows flew upward. I pulled it open and started sifting through the files. “Here’s Mom’s file. One of them anyway. Looks pretty routine.”

  “Keep looking, beautiful.” He was rummaging through the closet behind me.

  “Not much here. Bills. Activities. Construction information for the expansion project. Nothing lively.”

  “There’s something here. I can feel it.”

  Whoa. The ‘following your gut’ stuff wasn’t like Nick at all.

  I closed the last file drawer and straightened up. “What’s going on?”

  “Something. I just don’t know what yet. There’s something off about this room. It feels staged.”

  “Staged?” It was bland, I’d give him that. Spartan even. But staged? “So, what would that mean?”

  “Who stages rooms?” He’d gone back into his thoughtful stance in the middle of the office.

  “People trying to sell something. Like a house.” I put the desk chair back the way I’d found it. Replaced my mother’s file. Closed all the cabinet drawers.

  “Right. Who else?” He turned around and closed the closet door.

  “People trying to hide something.”

  “My point exactly.”

  We maintained a shared meditative silence as Nick drove through familiar territory on our way back home. When we hit the city limits, he turned right on 120 instead of left.

  “What’s up? I thought we were going back to the station. Bit of a circuitous route, but still.” I frowned.