Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries)

by Ryan, Annelise

  “The back door is locked all the time,” says Connie. “You can go out, but you can’t get in without a key. The front door to this wing is locked in the evening and night hours during the week, and all day on the weekends. Plus there’s someone at the front sign-in desk most of the time to make sure no one comes back here who shouldn’t.”

  “The back door was locked,” Irene says. “But we were outside enjoying the nice weather in the garden area. Bjorn forgot to empty his leg bag before we left the house and it was getting really full. He was afraid it might break or leak, but the closest public toilet is out front in the main hallway. That’s a long way to walk when you’ve got a full bag of urine on your leg, so I let him in through the outside administrative door knowing that this bathroom was much closer.”

  “How did you get in if the back door was locked?” Hurley asks.

  “I have a key.”

  We all register surprise at her answer.

  “You have a key?” Hurley says. “Why? How?”

  Irene shrugs. “I’ve had one for years. The previous owner gave it to me to use when we came here for pickups. They didn’t want us taking dead bodies out through the front door. It looks bad for business, you know. So we would always come in through the back door and leave that way, as well. Now we call in and the nursing supervisor on duty lets us in the back door, but no one ever asked me for the key back. I don’t even know if Bernard knew I had it. To be honest, I never really thought about it. I’ve been through that administrative wing so many times and I knew where the bathroom was.” She shrugs again. “It just seemed like the most logical and simple solution for Bjorn.”

  Hurley shakes his head and lets out a perturbed sigh. “It may have seemed so at the time, but it’s ended up with Bjorn being implicated in Bernard Chase’s death.”

  Izzy has been standing by listening. “If what Bjorn says is true, Bernard might have died from natural causes. Pale and sweaty sounds like a classic cardiac presentation. The powder could be incidental.” He pauses and frowns. “Although . . .”

  “Although what?” Hurley asks.

  “Well, based on my exam of the body it looks like the isolyser powder got into Bernard’s airway. That, plus the dark coloring of his face, suggests he died from asphyxiation. So if he did have a heart attack, or a stroke, or some other natural event, it’s possible he could have survived if not for the isolyser powder.”

  “Oh no,” Bjorn says, and he hangs his head.

  “It’s also possible he might have died anyway,” Izzy says. “I won’t know for sure until I open him up.”

  Bjorn refastens the waist of his pants and looks at Hurley. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Not at this time,” Hurley says. “Let’s see what the autopsy shows. Did you see anyone else back here when you came in to use the bathroom?”

  Bjorn shakes his head. “The only person I saw was Bernie. After what happened in the bathroom, I went straight out the back door. I even forgot to empty my urine bag.”

  “Okay,” Hurley says, giving Bjorn a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “That’s all for now. You can go home if you want, but I might come and talk to you more later if that’s okay.”

  Bjorn nods.

  Izzy says, “I’ve got Johnson’s funeral home coming by to pick up the body. I figure it’s best if the Keller Funeral Home isn’t involved at all in this one.”

  We all nod; this is a no-brainer since Irene owns the Keller Funeral Home and no one is sure just how involved Bjorn is at this point.

  Izzy turns to me. “Mattie, can I talk to you in private for a minute?”

  “Sure.” We walk off down the hall toward Bernard’s office, leaving the others by the bathroom.

  “How is everything going?” Izzy asks me once we are out of earshot. “Are you okay with working around Steve again?”

  I try not to look guilty as I flash back on what Hurley and I did a little while ago on the other side of the door Izzy and I are standing next to. “Everything is fine. We picked up where we left off with our working relationship.”

  “Oh, good. I thought it might be awkward for you.”

  “Maybe a little at first, but we got past it pretty quickly.”

  “I noticed you were limping earlier, and when you got up from the bathroom floor you had some trouble. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I went to the gym last night for the first time in months and now my muscles are staging a protest. It’s nothing a handful of ibuprofen can’t cure.”

  “How did things go with Maggie?”

  I want to tell him it went horrible, that I hate shrinks, and that the damned woman gave me homework. I want to tell him that I’m scared I’m going to reveal some innermost thought that isn’t fit for public consumption, and then Maggie will have me declared nuttier than squirrel poop. Instead I say, “It went well. I’m glad you made me see her. I think it will be therapeutic.”

  “Good, good. I’m really happy you’re back on the job.”

  “Me, too. Are you going to do Bernard’s autopsy today?”

  “I feel like I should since we don’t know yet if this is a criminal case.”

  I’m hit with a wave of nausea all of a sudden and I clamp a hand over my mouth.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Izzy asks.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just sore from my workout last night, and I haven’t eaten anything today.” This isn’t true, but I’m not going to undo the good of telling him I worked out by admitting I had ice cream for breakfast. “I was at the grocery store when Irene nabbed me and brought me here.”

  “There’s a stomach bug making the rounds. Maybe you’re coming down with that.”

  “I hope not. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I eat.”

  “Go get something to eat. Arnie’s in the office today catching up on some stuff, and he’s been assisting me a lot lately with the autopsies because of Jonas’s sickness. He can help me do Bernard and you can stick with Hurley and finish up here.”

  “Okay.” I get a flushed, hot feeling just thinking about sticking with Hurley. This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. I foresee a lot of cold showers in my future. Or many nights snuggled up with a dog-eared copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

  Izzy starts to head back to the bathroom, but stops and looks back at me. “Hey, what’s up with Lucien? He doesn’t seem his usual self.”

  “He and Desi are separated, though I don’t know any specifics.”

  Izzy shakes his head in commiseration. “That’s rough. I hope they work things out. I can’t imagine what Lucien would be like without the calming influence of your sister.”

  That’s something I hadn’t thought about. If Lucien with Desi was calm, one can only imagine how horrifying he would be without her. The possibilities are heart-stoppingly scary, and I make a mental note to look into helping them reconcile as soon as possible.

  Chapter 7

  The door at the front end of the hallway opens and a nursing assistant pokes her head in. “The Johnson funeral home is here.” She turns and disappears back to wherever she came from.

  Junior shudders and mumbles, “Yikes, the Johnson sisters.”

  It’s not an unusual or unexpected response. The Johnson sisters are twins who are being groomed to take over the family business and they take their responsibilities very seriously. This attitude might be, in part, due to their parents’ determination and odd sense of humor, which became apparent early in the girls’ lives when they were adorned with the names Cass and Kit. In addition to their names, the sisters look the part with Morticia Addams-like hair, complexions, and clothing, though instead of tight black dresses they wear tight black shirts and pants. My niece Erika thinks they’re the coolest thing since smartphones.

  Lucien takes the arrival of the funeral home as his cue to leave, and he takes Irene and Bjorn with him, exiting through the outside door at the other end of the hallway. When the door to the
front opens again, I expect to see Cass and Kit coming through with their stretcher. Instead, three people march in: two women and one man. One of the women is Dorothy Granger so I guess that the other two are also administrative honchos of some sort.

  Dorothy doesn’t look any different from the last time I saw her, which is amazing considering that it was nearly ten years ago. She is tall with an otherwise average build, and dressed in gray slacks, a lavender blouse, and sensible gray flats. She has a black wool coat draped over one arm and her brown hair, which is streaked with steel-gray—an appropriate color given that I’m pretty sure her spine is made of steel—is pinned back in a neat little bun. She’s one of those women whose age is a mystery as she never seems to change.

  “Hi, Dorothy. Long time, no see,” I say. All three people stop and stare at me.

  Dorothy opens her mouth to speak, but the man in the group beats her to it. “Where’s this cop who says he’s in charge?” he grumbles. “Some cop out front told us the administrative wing is off limits. We need to get into our offices.”

  “That’s not going to happen right now, sir,” Hurley says, stepping in front of me and showing the three his badge. “I’m Steve Hurley, the detective in charge. Who are you?”

  “I’m Al Hubbard, the CFO for the Twilight Home. This is Dorothy Granger, our director of nursing and the vice president.”

  Vice president? Dorothy has done well for herself.

  “And this,” Al says, pointing to the second woman, a thirtyish, brown-haired woman wearing thick eyeglasses, a midi skirt, and a simple white blouse, “is Jeanette Throckmorton, Bernard’s administrative assistant.”

  Jeanette looks at us from beneath lowered lids and when she sees me watching her, she quickly turns away. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and her hands keep opening, closing, opening, and closing. The woman is obviously nervous and I want to know why. Something tells me it’s more than just the fact that her boss might have been murdered. I add her to my mental list of people to talk to soon.

  “Is it true?” Al asks Hurley. “Is Bernard dead? Did someone kill him?”

  “It is true that he’s dead,” Hurley says. “As to how he died, we aren’t sure at this point. But until we can rule out foul play, this section of your facility is to be considered a crime scene and therefore off limits.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” Al says. “We need to initiate our emergency protocols right away. And we need to contact our lawyers.”

  “You can do whatever your protocols dictate as long as it doesn’t involve access to this administrative wing, or otherwise interfere with my investigation.” Hurley’s tone makes it clear who’s in charge, though Al squares his shoulders and puffs himself up like he wants to challenge him. Hurley ignores Al’s posturing and continues with his instructions. “I’m glad you’re here. You can help us with our investigation and the sooner we figure out exactly what happened, the sooner you can have your offices back. There are certain things I’ll need access to and questions I’ll need answered. I assume you will cooperate?”

  “Of course. We want to help,” Al says. “But before we provide you with anything, we need to consult with our lawyers.”

  “I suggest you do so quickly,” Hurley says, pinning the CFO with those steel blue eyes. “Have any of you notified Mrs. Chase yet?”

  Dorothy, who has been standing by quietly throughout this exchange, finally speaks up. “I tried to call her, but she isn’t home. She had a show in Madison last night so she might have spent the night there.”

  “A show?” I say. “What is she, some sort of actress?”

  “No,” Dorothy says. “She’s an artist and a fairly successful one from what I hear. She’s been selling her stuff at this gallery in Madison for years. It’s some kind of environmentally themed stuff that’s very avant-garde and trendy with the rich set. Vonda is all about the environment. That’s why I wasn’t able to reach her. She doesn’t have a cell phone. She thinks they’re a bane on society, polluting the air waves and the landfills. And she’s convinced they cause brain tumors. She’s a bit dotty if you ask me, but then most of the artists I know fit that description.”

  “Has anyone gone by her house to see if she’s home?” Hurley asks.

  Al, Dorothy, and Jeanette all look at one another, and then back at Hurley. They shake their heads in unison.

  “Can you give us some idea of how long this is going to take, Detective?” Dorothy asks.

  Izzy steps up and says, “I’m Dr. Rybarceski, the medical examiner. I plan on doing an autopsy on Mr. Chase this afternoon so we can determine all the causes of death. Once we know the results of that, we’ll have a better idea of where we stand.”

  “All the causes of death?” Al says. “What does that mean?”

  “It means there is an obvious cause of death that may be an incidental finding,” Izzy explains. “Based on what our witness described, I’m not convinced that there wasn’t something else going on as well.”

  “There was a witness?” Dorothy says. “Are you saying someone saw Bernard die?”

  “In a way,” Izzy says. “But I’m not at liberty to say anything more right now.”

  “That reminds me,” Hurley says, scanning the walls and ceiling. “Do you have any security cameras in this place?”

  “No,” Al says. “We considered putting some in, but in the end the idea was tabled.”

  “Mr. Chase didn’t want to spring for the expense,” Dorothy says, with a tight-lipped look of disapproval.

  “Do you think this witness killed Bernard?” Al asks, handily changing the subject.

  Hurley answers this one, leaving Izzy looking relieved. “No, we don’t. However, he may have caused certain events that ultimately contributed to Mr. Chase’s demise, though we believe it was accidental.”

  “If you believe his death was accidental, then why all the police tape across the door out front?” Al grumbles. “Why bar us from our offices?”

  “We have reason to believe Mr. Chase was dying before our witness ran into him,” Hurley says.

  “You mean from natural causes, like a heart attack?” Dorothy asks.

  I recall the tax forms I saw on Bernie’s desk and figure that alone might have been enough of a shock to give him a heart attack.

  “Possibly,” Hurley says. “Or it could have been something unnatural, like a poison, which is why we are declaring this a crime scene for now. If his death wasn’t natural, we need to preserve the scene and any evidence that it might contain.”

  The board members’ inquisition is interrupted when the door at the end of the hallway opens and one of the Johnson sisters comes strolling in, pulling a gurney behind her. She stops and stares at the small crowd in front of her, all of whom look to be very much alive. “Where is my pickup?”

  “He’s in here,” Izzy says, pointing toward the closed men’s room door. “Are you alone?”

  “I am. Cass has that stomach flu that’s been going around. I was going to bring Dad along, but I figured there’d be folks here to help me so I wouldn’t need him.”

  Al, Dorothy, and Jeanette move down the hall toward the outside exit to make room for Kit and her stretcher. Because the bathroom door closes automatically, and because the stretcher won’t fit inside the bathroom with the door closed, getting Bernard’s body loaded for transport proves to be something of a challenge. Izzy holds the door open while Hurley, Junior, and I help Kit lift the body off the floor. Bernard Chase isn’t a big man; I estimate he stood about five-ten and weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of a buck sixty. But dead weight feels like double the real weight and halfway to the stretcher my back seizes up and I lose my grip. Hurley’s quick reflexes and strength are the only things that keep us from dropping Bernard’s body on the floor.

  Izzy follows Kit out the door. He needs to maintain custody of the body and that means watching her load it into her van and following her to the ME’s office.

  I step out of the bathroom and lo
ok down the hall for the board group, but to my surprise they are gone. “Where did they go?”

  Hurley walks down the hall toward the exit, looking into each office as he goes. “They must have gone outside,” he says when he reaches the end of the hall. He walks back to us with a worried expression on his face. “Junior, I want an officer posted in this wing twenty-four-seven until we know how Chase died. I don’t trust that bunch to stay away like I told them.”

  “No problem,” Junior says. “I can stay here for now and I’ll make some calls to cover it later. I know some guys who are looking for some overtime. I’ll run it by Chief Hanson first, but given how broad this investigation might be, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

  “Thanks. I guess our next step is to find and notify Bernard’s wife. We should check on their house to make sure someone didn’t do her in, too.” Hurley looks at me. “Are you up for it?”

  I nod, remembering that the delivery of sad news is one of the aspects of this job that I don’t miss. “Can I ride with you? I’m thinking the hearse won’t be a good vehicle to show up in. And I need to run home first because I have Hoover here.”

  “You’re bringing him to death scenes now?”

  “I didn’t know I was going to a death scene. Irene nabbed me in the grocery store parking lot and brought me here.”

  “No problem. I’ll follow you out to your place.”

  We head back to the recreation room where I find Hoover in the middle of a circle of people in chairs and wheelchairs. A man is rubbing Hoover’s ears while Hoover rests his head in the man’s lap, looking happy and content.

  “It’s my turn,” the man next to him says. “Come on, Ted, quit hogging the dog.”

  “Sorry folks,” I say, “but it’s time for the dog to go home.”

  This announcement is met by a series of moans and groans.

  “Are you going to bring him back?” a woman in a wheelchair asks. “He is the sweetest thing.”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t see why not.”

  After hooking Hoover back up to his leash, I lead him down the halls. I fully expect to run into one of the board members or Connie, and have some more explaining to do, but fortunately they are all gathered in the dining room and if any one of them saw a dog go by in the hallway, they apparently opted not to question it.