Who Killed My Boss? (Sam Darling Mystery #1)

by Jerilyn Dufresne

  God, could he drag it out any more? “C’mon, tell me.”

  “Okay, but remember I’m only telling you this because it’s common knowledge.” He wiped up the final dregs of marinara sauce with bread.

  Yawn. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “Carolyn was not Burns’ first wife.” George took a second to lick his fingers clean and utter a contented sigh. “And Gwen was not Burns’ first mistress. In fact, Carolyn was his first mistress when he was married to his first wife.” A self-satisfied grin covered his face.

  I needed a score card to keep up with this. “Burns apparently had an eye for the ladies. Who was his first wife? And where is she?”

  “Her name is Claudia Wolfe Burns and oddly enough, she recently moved back to Quincy.”

  I know my eyes must have lit up. This woman was Carolyn’s accomplice. It all fit. I just needed to meet her and to see how she “felt.”

  It all made sense now. Claudia was mad at Burns because of Carolyn. Carolyn was mad because of Gwen. And Gwen was probably mad because of the new one, whoever she was.

  Claudia Wolfe Burns. That name sounded so familiar. I smacked myself on the head as it suddenly dawned on me that it was the name of the villain in Bipolar Passion, one of Carolyn’s better books. Something didn’t feel right about the scenario, but it did make sense. I needed to get more dirt from George.

  George chuckled before I could ask him anything. “Why did you hit yourself in the head?”

  I ignored his question and got to one of my own. “So, why was Gwen released? Tell me the truth. Was it really because you heard her partial confession by eavesdropping, but you couldn’t catch all of it?” Now it was my turn to chuckle. I could barely suppress my laughter, remembering how I’d caught him leaning against my office door.

  “That’s not important,” he wiggled out of it. “But I do have some other stuff I can tell you.”

  “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  He smiled again. “Apparently, some patients were going to sue Burns…”

  I interrupted, “I know that. Michael told me.”

  “Yeah, but do you know why?”

  “Maybe because files were lost or misplaced?”

  I was just guessing, but it did make sense. It seemed unusual that Dr. Burns had a complete set of patient files in his office.

  “Nope. This is pretty hush-hush so I don’t know why I’m telling you…”

  “Maybe you’re captivated by my beauty,” I joked.

  He got serious. “Something like that.”

  For a moment he had an almost dreamy look in his eye but quickly shook it away. “Anyway a few patients thought that the descriptions in Felicia Greene’s books struck pretty close to home. Some said they recognized themselves as characters.”

  “Wow, that makes sense. I saw Carolyn at the file cabinet. Did she steal the records?”

  “Nothing was proven, and as of now people have withdrawn their suits since Burns’ death. I’m going to be talking to them within the next few days though.”

  I couldn’t hold myself back. Putting both my hands on his across the table, I said, “Please, please, please, let me go with you.”

  He merely shook his head. And didn’t remove my hands.

  “Okay, I understand you can’t do that, but will you please tell me what they say? Please.” I knew I was bordering on begging and that it was unattractive, but I was desperate.

  “You know I can’t promise to tell you anything else. Put the case aside and let’s just relax and enjoy the rest of our evening.” He adroitly changed the subject as I removed my hands. “Hey, I saw Cal the other day. He heard you were back in town and said to tell you hi.”

  Cal. Calvin Joseph Wade. B.H.’s partner in crime. His sidekick. His best friend in high school. Which meant he was our constant partner in double dating. And since he had the personality of a lizard and couldn’t get up the nerve to ask anyone out, I always had to fix him up with my friends. After one date, they were no longer my friends.

  “Ah, Cal. How is he?” Hopefully, George could tell that I really didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  He didn’t take the hint so we talked about how Cal was doing, and that led us into talking about old times again.

  For a while I quit obsessing on the murder and enjoyed myself in spite of myself, surprising myself.

  SIXTEEN

  Clancy and I had just settled in for a good round of gossip when there was a loud knocking on the door. Again, I made the mistake of not looking before I opened it. I almost wished it had been the murderer.

  In front of me was Georgianne, practically foaming at the mouth. She careened through the door before I had a chance to shut it in her face.

  I forced myself to be cordial. After all, the house was in her name and I didn’t want to be evicted.

  She was not in the mood for friendly banter. “I am tired of people looking in your window all the time when you are gone. You promised me that there would be no further loitering and—.”

  “Lollygagging.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I promised there would be no lollygagging. I don’t think that loitering was ever mentioned.”

  She started pacing. “Don’t you play games with me, young lady. There was a woman looking in your windows, and then another woman, then a man, and then another woman. Tell them to stop it. I cannot tolerate all of this stress. Having to look outside every time I hear a noise, it’s hard on my nerves.”

  “How can I tell them to stop when I don’t know who they are? Who are they, Georgianne?”

  “I don’t know, but make them stop. Your dog barks and I want to calm her down. She’s a bit nicer than I thought.” At that she stopped pacing and stooped to pet Clancy. “Gus says I can’t just use our key anytime I think it’s needed. But I told him I thought you’d want me to. So I came out to check on this darling dog and…‌By the way, don’t you think ‘Clancy’ sounds rather common? She really looks more like a ‘Fluffy’ or a ‘Princess’ or perhaps…”

  “Georgianne.”

  “Yes?” She didn’t even have the good sense to look a little embarrassed.

  “Focus. Tell me about the people who were looking into my house.”

  “Well, I didn’t see them clearly because I don’t like to pry. However, the first woman didn’t look familiar to me at all. The second one looked remarkably like Carolyn Burns, although what she’d be doing here, I wouldn’t even try to guess. Perhaps she’s a bit miffed that you are spreading rumors about her being the murderer.”

  “Back on track, Georgianne. Who was the guy?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, although he did look a bit like the one who was here the other night. Remember before the gas leak? And, Sam, Gus and I are so sorry about that leak. We were so sure everything was in tip-top shape back there. We feel just awful about your troubles.”

  “Awful enough to pay for my hospital bill? My insurance won’t kick in for a month.” I knew there was a chance it wasn’t Gus and Georgianne’s fault, that the murderer may have done it, but I couldn’t help myself. Georgianne appears and I must say or do something to get her goat.

  “Well, I’m sure something can be…‌now weren’t we talking about those prowlers? Let’s see the final one wasn’t someone I’d seen often. But I think she was that Schneider woman.”

  Oh-oh, Georgianne looked like she was going to sit down and settle in. I had to stop her at all costs.

  “Thanks for the information and I really appreciate your diligence in watching my place. Clancy, kiss Georgianne good-night.”

  What fun this was. I suppose I should’ve felt bad about the look of utter distaste and shock that covered Georgianne’s face. But, nope, I reveled in it.

  I didn’t enjoy it however when Clancy kissed her and Georgianne absolutely swooned. I’d have to talk to Gus about what he was doing, or not doing, in the kissing department.

  Georgianne got positively goo-goo-eyed over my dog. And it looked li
ke my best friend was returning the favor. They were just lucky that I was too busy worrying about the prowlers and murderers to spend much time worrying about them. Clancy would hear about this treasonous behavior later.

  I ushered Georgianne out of the door while listening to her “dear little doggie-woggie.” I thought I was going to be sick. But this time I would know the cause.

  I closed the door and locked it. “Clancy, I’ll talk to you later about your unconscionable behavior. You ought to be ashamed. Right now I’ve got some important stuff to think about, so go to your room and I mean it.”

  Clancy went to her room and collapsed on our bed. Even though I couldn’t see her, I knew exactly what she was doing. The dog version of “Camille.” Dramatic. I’d make up with her later. She needed to feel the sting of my lack of affection for a while.

  The parade that passed by my house this evening sounded like an interesting one. Who was the first woman? She must have been disguised or new in town for Georgianne not to identify her. Then Carolyn, Charlie, and Gwen. What a motley crew. I’d call Gwen tomorrow and find out why she was at my house. Carolyn’s motive was easy to figure out. She was probably trying to decide how to kill me.

  Okay, maybe I’m dramatic too. Anyway, Carolyn was up to no good. Of that I was very, very sure.

  After I turned the lights off I noticed the insistent blinking of the red dot on the answering machine. I’d forgotten to check my messages. The first one was indeed B.H. saying that he would be late for dinner. So he hadn’t lied after all, what a surprise. There was also one from Jen reminding me of her children’s birthday party tomorrow evening. Both her kids were born on the same day, one year apart. It made planning parties quite easy for her.

  I slept the sleep of the innocent and woke early enough for a wonderfully long walk. Clancy took this as a sign of amnesty and things were pretty well back to normal with the two of us. I did let her know how I felt about her attention to Georgianne.

  “I don’t know how you could be so loose with your affection. Remember that you pee on her plants because we don’t like her. And you notice that it’s we don’t like her, not I don’t like her.” Then I resorted to a low blow. “Remember who feeds you.”

  Clancy glanced back at me from her vantage point at the end of the leash. She looked suitably contrite. I had no doubts, however, that she would lavish her fickle affection on Georgianne at the earliest available opportunity. Anything for a belly rub.

  At home I toasted a bagel, gave a piece to Clancy and put peanut butter on my portion. As I chomped I looked around for something to wear to work. Vowing to give in and do some clothes shopping, I dragged out an old pair of khakis, prayed they’d still fit, and sucked in my gut as I struggled with the zipper. I paired the slacks with a big color-blocked sweater. It covered my hips and would be handy in case I split the seam on the pants.

  Today was a great day to walk to work. I still didn’t have my own car and also didn’t have anything to carry to work except my purse. Clancy didn’t whine when I said goodbye and I enjoyed the quick walk to the clinic. I wore sunglasses because the glare off the snow from the bright sun was blinding. No complaints though. The sight was mesmerizing.

  Clara Schmitt was at her desk when I arrived. She handed a file to me. I actually had a second patient. I took a few minutes to read about Andy Duesterhaus, a thirteen-year-old boy who was described as sullen, moody, and non-communicative. Sounded like my kids when they were thirteen. He’d been referred by the school counselor and so far hadn’t been seen by a mental health professional. I planned to do a diagnostic interview and formulate the diagnosis and treatment plan from there.

  I had enough time to fill my coffee cup and take one sip when Clara announced that Andy was in the waiting room. Without being seen, I was able to peek around the corner to get a look at him. Andy appeared to be a normal, red-blooded American boy. He oozed contempt for grown-ups, had pierced ears, and his clothes looked like he had picked them out of a rag bin. I welcomed him, walked with him to my office, and offered him a seat. He didn’t make eye contact but he sat.

  “What brings you here today?”

  The usual response from adolescents was something like, “My parents are raggin’ on me. They think there’s something wrong.” Or, “Nothin’.” Or even, “My parents made me come.”

  Andy’s response was silence.

  I tried a few more opening gambits. And got nothing from him. Not too unusual. The only noticeably odd thing about Andy was that he was clutching a laptop computer.

  After talking for a few minutes with no response from the peanut gallery, I turned on the PC on my desk and began fiddling with it. He still didn’t speak, but shortly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up because he was breathing on me.

  “Way cool.” Ah, he spoke.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Way cool. You’re up to level four of The Thundering Horde. I’ve never seen an adult get past level two.” I could feel his hands and arms moving behind me.

  “I like computers and I like to play games.” Not looking at him yet. Still playing the game. “What level you at?”

  “I finished level ten, so I’m done.”

  “Cool. What else do you like to do?” Still playing my game.

  “Playing Sandblaster is pretty fun and I kinda like that new game, Aliens from the Deep.”

  “I’ve never played those. Are they on your computer?” When he nodded, I asked, “Will you teach me how to play?”

  I assumed his grunt meant “yes,” so I continued. “Do you have those on your laptop or on a PC at home?”

  He replied they were on both computers, then said, “Do you want me to show you now?”

  Now it was my turn to nod.

  He placed the laptop on my desk and turned it on.

  I was a willing pupil. Andy was right, these games were fun, but a bit gory.

  The “ding” signifying the end of the hour came all too soon, and I didn’t feel a bit guilty about earning money for playing games. This was a good start to building a therapeutic relationship with Andy. Maybe next week, he’d even say hello before the computer got turned on.

  I had no idea what was going on with him, but at least we were communicating. That was a start.

  As I said goodbye to Andy in the lobby, my mind turned to my other task at hand. I needed proof that Carolyn killed her husband and also needed to find her accomplice. This Claudia Wolfe Burns appeared a likely candidate, but I couldn’t imagine her—or anyone for that matter—teaming up with the snooty Carolyn Burns. Carolyn was not the type to have intimate female friends. She was too catty and was also the consummate flirt with men.

  I also planned to figure out how the killer got out of the room without dragging blood along.

  Before I left for the day I checked with Mrs. Schmitt regarding my schedule. I had three patients scheduled for tomorrow and three more for Friday. Things were looking up.

  As I was getting my coat and locking my desk, I suddenly felt like going to Burns’ office one more time. I left my things on my loveseat. The tape had been taken off Burns’ office door and the police were finished with the room, but I still entered through the kitchen door. It was like my private entrance to the crime scene.

  The room looked much the same. Someone had cleaned off the fingerprint powder and the rug had been shampooed. Nothing was going to remove the blood though. I’d seen enough blood in my life, being from a large, rowdy family. The stain was now a dull rust color and formed a circular pattern around a lot of the room, with random splatters branching out. My bet was that the rug would be discarded in a few days.

  I wondered who would make that decision. Heck, I didn’t even know who my boss was yet. It was surprising how well the mental health portion of the clinic functioned without a doctor there.

  The file cabinet beckoned me. I really didn’t want to snoop, but it seemed a shame to pass up the opportunity to look in the drawer Carolyn had pilfered. Of course, I didn’t have p
roof that she took anything, I just didn’t buy her statement that she was looking for insurance papers.

  This particular cabinet held patient files. Dr. Burns had copies of all the folders, even when others were the primary therapists. At first glance, everything appeared to be in order. Then I noticed Mrs. Abernathy’s file was placed after a Jenny Agnew, when it should have been in front of it. There were several others out of place as well, as if they’d been filed haphazardly. I didn’t know what to make of this, but filed the information in my brain—in the right order—for later retrieval.

  Now seemed like a good time to read a few files. I’d already read Mrs. Abernathy’s and even made a few notations myself in the clinic file near Clara Schmitt’s desk. I noticed my new notes weren’t copied into this file yet. I decided to look at other misfiled records. The first one after Mrs. Abernathy was Alonzo Baron. Then Clare Chaplin and Katrina Ditmeyer. I plucked them from the drawer and took them into my office.

  No glaring errors or omissions popped out at me as I read. But some items in the patient histories seemed eerily familiar. I struggled with an ethical dilemma. It was wrong to take patient files out of the office or to make copies without the client’s permission. However I really wanted to compare some of this information with Carolyn’s books. If I could prove she used patient files as fodder for her books that would be one step closer to proving she was her husband’s murderer.

  I thought that I could scan a file and then email it to myself at home. Yet I didn’t see that as being any better than making copies. Finally I compromised—I’d make copies of pertinent sections and then swore to myself I’d destroy them as soon as possible. The only other option was to bring Carolyn’s novels into work with me and that would seem suspicious.

  The copy machine jammed a few times. Of course. But I hurried and completed my task as quickly as I could. It was one thing being nosey, but it was quite another copying files illicitly.

  As I returned the files to Burns’ office, the matter of the blood spatters caught my attention again. How could someone have killed him and not be covered with blood? I remembered that the window had been open—an obvious entrance and exit, but that still didn’t answer the blood question. There probably wasn’t a clue to be found since the cops had gone over the room pretty thoroughly. I sat on the floor, right where Burns had fallen, and looked around. A picture of Gwen crouched in a fetal position behind the door flashed in my mind. Was it possible she’d been there the whole time? Nah, she didn’t have any blood on her and besides, she wasn’t guilty.