“Well, I suppose that would be okay since it’s moving day.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a long one.”
It was 6:30 AM and Greg didn’t know if his 34-year-old body could endure the second half of the jog.
“I don’t remember some of these streets from yesterday.” said Greg.
“That’s because we didn’t take this route yesterday.”
“Good. I’m glad to know my memory’s still functioning in spite of the exhaustion.”
“Yeah, I like to vary my route. I think it’s a little safer.”
“That’s a good idea. Especially if you’re by yourself. Hey, that’s Nancy Jo Gristel’s street.”
“The woman who missed her piano lesson last night?”
“Yeah. Do you mind if we run down her street?”
“No problem.”
They turned onto Bowie Street.
“Do you know the address?” said Cynthia.
“No, but I think it’s at the end of the street.”
When they reached the dead end, Greg said, “That’s it.”
“Are you sure? How do you know it’s not that one?” Cynthia pointed to the house across the street.
They stopped in front of her driveway.
“See that car? It’s the only ‘59 Plymouth Fury in town. Check out those fins. Her husband kept in tip top shape for forty years. He had it completely restored back in the ‘80s. But since he died it’s beginning to show its age. It has pushbutton automatic transmission. Very weird, but cool.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” said Cynthia.
“But, wait. That’s odd.”
“What?”
“She told me she always parks it in the garage at night—to protect the paint job.”
“Maybe she just forgot.”
“I’m gonna knock on her door.”
“But, Greg, it’s too early.”
“Nah. She gets up by 5:00 AM at the latest. She used to practice piano when she couldn’t sleep—until the neighbors complained. And her lights are on, so she must be up. I just want to make sure she’s okay. She might have forgotten to take her Alzheimer’s medicine. She could be disoriented.”
They walked onto the front porch and Greg knocked while Cynthia looked through the partially opened drapes.
“Greg, come here and look at this,” said Cynthia.
“What?”
“On the carpet, beside the piano—is that a pair of glasses?”
“Yeah. Looks like she dropped them. Now that’sa problem. She’s blind as a bat without those glasses.”
“There’s a light on in that other room too. Probably the kitchen. Maybe she’s in there.”
They walked around to the side of the house and up the driveway to the little porch at the kitchen door. Greg began to knock. The curtains on the door window were made of a thin material. They tried to see through it.
“It’s really hard to tell for sure, but do you see something on the floor?” said Greg.
“Like a body?”
“I’ll call the police.”
Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
As soon as he had finished and hung up, Cynthia said, “We’re being watched.”
Greg looked across the street and saw the man in his robe. He was just standing there, staring at them.
“I want to talk to that guy.” Greg walked down the stairs.
Cynthia followed him.
The forty-something year-old man had walked out to pick up his newspaper when he saw Greg and Cynthia. He must have thought they were up to no good, thought Greg.
“We think something happened to Mrs. Gristel,” said Greg.
The man said nothing, but continued to stare at them.
“Looks like she’s on the floor in the kitchen. And she’s not moving.”
Still no response.
“She takes piano lessons from me. That’s how I know her.”
“Nurse,” said the man.
“Nurse? What do you mean?” said Greg.
“Nurse came to take care of her. I thought she must feel bad.”
“When did the nurse come?”
“Yesterday. Or today. I thought she must feel bad. I eat spaghetti. My favorite. And garlic toast. Nurse come.”
“I see.”
The man’s wife walked out to meet them. A half-smoked cigarette barely clung to her lower lip. “Don’t pay him no mind. He ain’t right in the head.”
“Nurse came,” said the man, to nobody in particular.
“We think your neighbor, Mrs. Gristel, is in trouble. I called 911.”
“That’s too bad,” said the wife. “Come on, Bubba. Let’s get you back in the house.”
“Uh, Ma’am, do you mind if I ask him another question?” said Greg.
“It’s a waste of time. But go ahead.”
“Bubba? Do you mind if I call you Bubba?” said Greg.
“Just ask the question,” said the wife, stomping her cigarette butt into the grass.
“Did you remember what kind of car the nurse was driving?” said Greg.
“White.”
“Okay, good. But did you notice anything else about the car?” said Greg.
“Ecstasy. Ecstasy on car.”
“See? I told you,” said the wife. “Come on Bubba. You ain’t doing nobody no good out here.”
Bubba and his wife walked away and went into their house.
Greg and Cynthia could hear the wife yelling inside. “How many times have I told you, Bubba? Never go out of the house! Now, sit down and shut up!”
“Nice couple,” said Cynthia.
Greg smiled and shook his head.
A patrol car pulled up in front of Nancie Jo’s house, and Greg and Cynthia walked over to greet the officers.
“Are you the one who called 911?” said one of the officers.
“Yes, Sir,” said Greg.
“What’s your name, Sir?”
“Greg Tenorly. And this is my girlfriend, Cynthia Blockerman.”
The two policemen said hello to Cynthia. They all started walking toward the house.
“Y’all don’t live in this neighborhood, do you?”
“No. We were out for a jog and I decided to check on Mrs. Gristel. I’m her piano teacher, and she didn’t show up for her lesson last night.”
“Are we talking about the old woman who lives here? Shetakes piano lessons?”
“Yes, she does,” said Greg. “So we knocked on her door.”
“And I saw her glasses on the floor,” said Cynthia.
“So, we went around to the side door and saw what appeared to be a body on the floor,” said Greg. “We couldn’t really tell for sure—it’s hard to see through the curtains.”
Greg and Cynthia followed the officers to the side door and watched one of them try to look in. He checked the doorknob to see if it was locked. Then he stepped back and kicked the door several times until it broke free.
They stayed outside and watched the officers go in.
In less than a minute, one of them walked out and said, “Yeah, she’s dead.”
“What happened?” said Cynthia.
“She’s got multiple stab wounds to the back. It’s pretty gruesome. And we’re going to need to get statements, so y’all stick around.”
The officer walked back in. They could hear his partner on his radio, calling for an ambulance.
“When your mom hears about this, she may change her mind about moving here,” said Greg.
“Yeah, but this woman lived alone. Mom will have me to look out for her.”
But Greg wondered why anyone would want to kill this sweet old lady. Knowing the reason behind the murder wouldn’t bring her back. But it might make him feel better. A few months earlier, he only had himself to worry about. Now, he had a girlfriend and a potential future mother-in-law to protect.
**********
Macy Golong liked to take advantage of the early morning and late evening hours. These were the o
nly times she knew there would be no interruptions. For the rest of the day, she had to be on-call to meet every need of her employer, Mallie Mae Mobley. If the old woman yelled to her and she didn’t respond immediately, Macy could expect her cell phone to ring within seconds. Sometimes hours passed between calls. But knowing that one could come at any moment kept her in a state of uneasiness.
She took another sip of coffee and turned the page.
Ormando walked onto the porch carrying a whip. His thick, black locks were blown back to one side by the warm summer wind. His unbuttoned shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing his hard, sun-darkened pectorals and abs.
“You will give yourself to me—NOW,” he said, in thunderous tones, cracking the whip on the marble floor.
Jessica wondered how she had gotten herself into this situation. How dare he command her to yield to his lurid longings? She would never give in to him. Never. And yet, as she looked into his smoldering eyes, she was not sure how long she could resist. Surely, unimaginable pleasure awaited her, if she would only submit to him. No. She would not give herself to this savage animal.
“So? What will it be?” he said. “Torture or paradise?”
If she resisted, what guarantee did she have that he would not whip her mercilessly, and then force himself upon her anyway?
But it did not matter. For she had already made her decision.
Macy flipped the page. Her cell phone rang.
“Macy? Please come to my room,” said Mallie Mae.
Chapter19
The old black phone on the nightstand was coated with a dried up paste consisting of beer and dirt, speckled with Nacho Cheese Doritos dust. And right now Jake wanted to take a sledge hammer to it. Not because it was disgusting. No, thathe could live with. But the stupid thing wouldn’t quit ringing. He had no idea how many times it had already rung.
But his splitting headache discouraged any movement toward the phone. The mere blink of an eyelid might push him over the edge, he thought. And, oh how he wanted to avoid what happened last time, when it felt like a plumber was working his toilet plunger on Jake’s open mouth until it sucked out the previous night’s pepperoni pizza and beer, and sloshed it all over the floor.
He started counting the number of times his head throbbed between rings, wondering how much pressure the human skull could withstand. It felt like his was about to blow.
Had the old phone finally gone haywire? he wondered. No caller would let it ring that many times.
It had to stop.
“Hello?” he said, choking back the barf.
“Jake? Are you okay?”
“Carnie?”
“Yeah. How are you feeling? You don’t sound too good.”
“Well, let’s see. I’m 32, but right now I feel like I’m 102.”
“Yikes.”
“In fact, if this is what it feels like when you’re 102, I don’t want to live that long.”
“I guess we had a little too much to drink last night.”
“I don’t know how you were able to drive yourself home,” said Jake.
“I didn’t have as much as you did.”
“And why did you leave like that? You got me all lathered up and rock hard, and then you took off. I’m beginning to think you’re just a big tease.”
“No, not at all. Next time, Baby. Next time for sure. But I realized we needed to talk about some things first.”
“Why do women always want to talkeverything to death? Why not just do it, and talk about it later?”
“This is important, Jake. Do you remember telling me your big secret last night? And don’t say too much—somebody might be listening in.”
Why had he told her? He knew why—because he had gotten drunk and stupid. “What about it?”
“I looked it up in the newspaper archives online and got all the details. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“And you won’t tell anybody mysecret, right?”
It took him a couple of seconds to remember what she had proposed about forcing people to take part in a clinical trial. “Right. I won’t tell.”
“And you’ll help me, right?”
“Now wait a minute. I told you I didn’t want any part of that.”
“But you’ve changed your mind because you want to be sure I keep your secret.”
Jake wondered how he had fallen into this trap. “Uh, yeah. Right.”
“Good. I’ll drop by your house tonight at around 8:00. See you then, Honey.”
“Bye.”
Why hadn’t he gone with his gut feelings when he met her on Sunday night? He knew she was trouble. But her luscious body promised heaven, and her lurid eyes flickered with hellfire. A sexy bad girl was always hard for him to resist. So, he had gambled and lost. Again.
If he was lucky, maybe he could do this job without landing himself in jail…or the morgue.
**********
It was Friday morning, and Elmo Mobley realized he had not spoken to his mother since Tuesday. He’d been working practically around the clock researching Alzheimer’s, hoping to find some brand new miracle treatment for her. But the hopelessness of the disease was beginning to sink in. He could not save his mother. No matter what he did, she would deteriorate into a pitiful state as she died a slow death. The most he could hope to do was prolong her current quality of life for a little while.
And although he could never make up for all their years of estrangement, he wanted to start spending as much time with her as possible. He loved Carsie, and had been excited about starting a new life with her, but it would be selfish of him to get married right now, he thought.
He decided to go up and have a heart-to-heart with Mallie Mae. She would be surprised to see him, since he rarely went upstairs. When he reached her room, the door was closed. He was about the knock, but then he heard Macy’s voice.
“Elmo’s still working in his study day and night,” said Macy.
“I guess he loves me after all,” said Mallie Mae.
“Guess so.”
Elmo felt guilty about eavesdropping. He raised his hand to knock, but then hesitated when he heard Macy speaking again.
“But how long do we have to go on with this?” said Macy.
“As long as it takes.”
“I don’t know if I can keep it up, Mallie Mae.”
“Sure you can—if you really care about him.”
Elmo knocked.
The conversation stopped.
After a few seconds, the door began to open and Macy said, “Well, I thought you were going to let her starve. Oh, Elmo. I thought you were Hadley, bringing breakfast. Sorry.”
“Who is that man?” said Mallie Mae. She looked frightened.
“It’s Elmo,” said Macy.
“Who?”
“Elmo. Your son,” said Macy.
“Oh,” said Mallie Mae. But she didn’t seem to understand.
Elmo motioned for Macy to follow him out into the hallway.
“Tomorrow we’re going to have a fun day together,” said Elmo.
“Really? Doing what?” said Macy.
“I’m taking y’all to the Dallas Zoo.”
“The zoo?” Macy looked confused.
“Yeah. Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“You’re kidding. I can’t believe you’ve never been there. The TV commercial says it’s 95 acres of fun,” said Elmo. “And it is. So, have her ready to go by 7:00 AM.”
“But do you really think she should be going out in public in her condition?”
“Sure. She’ll be fine. It’ll be good for her,” said Elmo.
“Well, okay then.”
“Great. So, I’ve got to go make dinner reservations for tomorrow night.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise. But you’re gonna love it,” he said, as he walked away and went down the stairs.
As soon as he was out of sight, Macy walked back into the bedroom, clos
ed the door, and rushed to Mallie Mae’s bed.
“What’s gotten in to him?” said Macy.
“What did he say?”
“He’s taking us to the Dallas Zoo tomorrow.”
“What?”
“And then to some fancy restaurant for dinner. We’re going to be with him all day. He’s going to figure it out. He’ll see that you’re just faking. I should tell him you’re not feeling well enough to make the trip.”
“No. This is good. If I can convince him that I really amin bad shape, maybe he’ll go ahead and dump his fiancée. He’s feeling so guilty about being mean to me for all those years that he’ll want to spend every waking minute with me until the day I die.”
“But you don’t want to have to keep faking Alzheimer’s forever. And what’s going to happen when you finally tell him the truth?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, Dear.”
That’s going to be an awfully tall bridge, thought Macy.
**********
“Hello?”
“Johnny, this is Elmo. I’m surprised I caught you in your office.”
“Hey, Elmo. Yeah, I was just about to see my first patient. How’s it going with your mother?”
“That’s what I called you about. I’ve got a hypothetical for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Suppose somebody was trying to fakehaving Alzheimer’s disease and they came to you for a diagnosis. Could they fool you?” said Elmo.
“Well, yeah, in theory. The only way to know for sure whether someone has Alzheimer’s is to look for plaques and tangles in the brain tissue. And you can only do that after the patient dies, in autopsy.
“So, I run blood tests and brain scans to rule out other causes of the symptoms, and I talk to the patient about general health, past medical problems, and the ability to perform everyday activities. Then I give memory tests, and check language and counting skills. So, a person could lie about how he’s feeling, and he could deliberately blow the language and memory tests, and other tests, I suppose. But why would anybody wantto?”
“Okay, thanks, Johnny. Bye.”
“Whoa, don’t leave me hanging. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to tie you up any longer. I know you’ve got patients waiting on you.”
“They’re used to it. Now, what’s this about?”
Hideaway Hospital Murders Page 10
