by Jill Orr
“Not really, but about a year ago, I referred him a patient of mine, a gentleman in his early forties who was having some unexplained chest pains. Arthur took him on—he always found room for one more patient no matter how busy he was—and I think ended up doing an angioplasty or maybe a stent, can’t recall exactly, but in any case, during the course of visiting with the man and his wife during all those appointments . . .” Dr. Steeler again raised his eyebrows.
I couldn’t quote eyebrow waggles; I was going to need him to say the words. “What happened during the course of all those appointments?”
He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable over revealing the worst of his departed colleague. “Arthur and Li—I mean, this woman—got to know each other and they started up a little relationship.”
“And did the husband find out?”
Dr. Steeler nodded. “They weren’t exactly discreet about it. Never could figure that out. Anyway, yeah, the husband caught them one day right in his own house and he just about lost his mind. He flew into a rage and ended up collapsing. The irony was, it was a good thing Arthur was there because he did CPR on him until the ambulance arrived.”
I could hardly believe my ears. This was not only scandalous gossip—it provided another suspect who might have wanted Dr. Davenport dead. I wondered if this was the new information David had found out about.
“Can you tell me the name of this patient?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“No chance. HIPAA and all that.” But then he leaned in and lowered his voice. “But I’ll bet if you ask around town you’ll find someone who’ll tell you. Like I said, they weren’t very discreet about the whole thing.”
I thanked him for talking to me and told him how helpful he’d been.
“I’ll look for the obit in the paper. Sunday—is it?”
I nodded. Sunday it would be indeed.
CHAPTER 14
If anyone in town would know with whom Dr. Davenport had had a scandalous affair, it would be Mrs. Eudora Winterthorne. Mrs. Winterthorne was the grand dame of Tuttle Corner. She was as “old as dirt,” as she liked to say, but still had her perfectly manicured finger on the pulse of our town. And lucky for me, she just loved to gossip about other people’s business, though she’d deny that with her dying breath.
I knocked on the large oak door to Villa 302 at Almond Terrace, the retirement community where Mrs. Winterthorne lived. She’d been widowed four years ago and decided to trade the big house she’d raised her family in for the maintenance-free living that Almond Terrace provided. She used a wheelchair because rheumatoid arthritis had ravaged her knees, but other than that Mrs. Winterthorne was in better shape than many people half her age.
“Well hey there, Riley,” said Faye, Mrs. Winterthorne’s nurse, as she opened the door. She leaned in to kiss my cheek. Faye was retired military, a twenty-year Army veteran who had served three tours in Desert Storm. She never married, had no children, and when she retired from service at the age of forty-eight, she took the position as Mrs. Winterthorne’s personal caregiver. The two ended up being a perfect match, and in many ways behaved like an old married couple, griping and sniping at each other despite their deep bond.
I had called ahead to ask Faye if Eudora had time to visit with me to talk about Dr. Davenport’s obituary, and she’d readily agreed. “It does her good to visit with people, especially when she can be useful,” Faye said.
“Is that Riley?” I heard Mrs. Winterthorne’s aged, velvety voice drift in from the other room. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Faye. For heaven’s sake, I can’t roll up the steps myself!”
Faye rolled her eyes at me, not the least bit fazed by Mrs. Winterthorne’s crabbiness. She led me down into the living room. “Come on in, sugar.”
After the three of us chatted for a while and I caught them up on what my parents were up to, Mrs. Winterthorne got down to business.
“Now what is this about you wanting to know about Dr. Davenport’s clandestine affairs?” She pursed her lips in judgment, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Surely, you’re not going to print that in the obituary? One musn’t speak ill of the dead, you know.”
“I’m just gathering information right now. Dr. Steeler couldn’t tell me much, but I knew if anyone would know the real scoop about what went on, it’d be you.”
“Oh, Riley, your mother taught you well. Trying to appeal to an old lady’s vanity in order to squeeze some information out of her,” she said, laughing.
I got nervous for a second that she wasn’t going to open up, but then she said, “Well, you know I don’t like to gossip,” and I knew I was in luck.
Mrs. Winterthorne didn’t take a breath for the next fifteen minutes. Turns out the married woman with whom Arthur Davenport had had the affair was Libby Nichols, the wife of Bennett Nichols, who was, as Dr. Steeler had said, forty-three years old.
“It raised more than a few eyebrows when those two got married,” Eudora said. “Her just barely out of high school at the time and him nearly thirty. What with the Nicholses having so much, there were those who thought Libby was just in it for the money.” It sounded from her tone that Mrs. Winterthorne herself had been of that opinion. “But, to their credit, they stayed married all these years, happily as far as we all knew.”
“Until this business with Dr. Davenport?”
Mrs. Winterthorne nodded. “Several months back Bennett was having some minor health issues, according to his mama, Judy—do you know Judy and Jim Nichols? They live out on that farm down by Route K?”
“They own Nichols Insurance Group, right?” I knew this because when my poor Honda Fit had gotten blown up a few months ago, I had to file a claim with them. They’d been great about the whole thing, and actually made the process pretty painless.
“Jim built that business from the ground up and has done quite well. Quite. Anyway, Bennett went to see Arthur for his care, and of course brought his doting bride along on the visits. According to Judy, Libby took detailed notes about what tests he needed done and all that. Played the part of Florence Nightingale perfectly.”
“So what happened?”
“I guess at some point, Libby got in touch with Arthur to ask him some ‘follow-up questions’”—Mrs. Winterthorne made air quotes—“and supposedly she suggested he come out to her house to talk.”
Faye sat on the arm of the sofa next to where Mrs. Winterthorne was parked. She shook her head and murmured, “I mean, have you ever?”
“Never,” Mrs. Winterthorne answered, lifting an eyebrow toward Faye.
“How long ago was that?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” she looked up as she thought. “According to Judy, they started up six months ago at least, but Bennett didn’t find out until just recently.”
She then went on to tell me essentially the same story, about Bennett walking in on the two of them, having a heart attack, and Dr. Davenport doing CPR until the ambulance arrived.
“How was the whole town not talking about something like this?” I asked, knowing the rumor mill in this town was one hundred percent functional.
A sly smile slid across Eudora’s face. “That’s just the thing,” she said, “Bennett was adamant that word of this not get out. While he was recuperating in the hospital, he sent for Dr. Davenport. Judy never said, but I think Bennett must have threatened Arthur with something because right after that, I heard Arthur dropped Libby like a hot potato. Which did not set well with Libby, I might add.”
Interesting. I wondered if that made Libby a suspect too?
Eudora went on. “He did tell his parents, which is how I heard about it. Judy is a dear friend—which reminds me—Faye, would you set a reminder for me to call her later and invite her for lunch at the clubhouse? I’d like to see how she’s holding up.”
“Sure thing,” Faye said as she typed the reminder into her phone.
Mrs. Winterthorne turned back to me. “Poor Judy was just in knots about the whole thing, which is why
she told me. She needed a sympathetic ear,” she said. “My but how she dotes on that boy of hers . . . wait,” she stopped herself mid-sentence, “is that why you’re asking about this? Do you think this whole affair could have had something to do with Arthur’s murder?”
“Do you?” I used the oldest trick in the book to get out of answering a question.
She paused for a moment. “I’ll tell you one thing: I cannot imagine being able to forgive a person for an insult like that. And Bennett is a proud man.”
“Do you think he could have wanted revenge? People have killed for less.”
I noticed Faye frowning.
“What is it?” I asked, turning to her.
“It’s probably nothing, but I’m in a King’s Daughters circle with Donna Lopez—”
“Arthur’s office manager,” I said. “I just interviewed her earlier today.”
Faye nodded. “Right. Well, I hadn’t remembered it until just now, but at our meeting last week, she came in all upset. When we asked her what was wrong, she didn’t get specific but said something along the lines of, ‘It just burns me up to see people taking advantage of other people,’ or something like that.”
“Did she say if it had anything to do with work? Or was this a personal matter?”
Faye didn’t know.
Mrs. Winterthorne, not to be out-gossiped, jumped in. “You know, Donna and Arthur were very close. After Maribelle passed, I think he leaned pretty heavily on her.”
“Did they ever. . .?” I asked, remembering Donna wore a wedding ring.
Mrs. Winterthorne shook her head vigorously. “Nothing like that,” she said. “Donna is a good Christian and has been married to her husband Earl for eons. But I think she liked being needed by the Davenports. Donna and Earl weren’t blessed with children, so Thad and David were like the boys she never had.”
“Do you think she would have known about Arthur’s affair with Libby?”
Both Faye and Mrs. Winterthorne nodded. Then Mrs. W said, “I think Donna Lopez knew just about everything there was to know about Arthur Davenport.”
Very interesting. I definitely needed to get more information on this story. If nothing else, it opened the search for suspects in a couple of new directions. Maybe that would be enough to convince Carl to look somewhere other than just at Thad.
CHAPTER 15
Jay got back from the DC office early and texted to see if I wanted to meet up for a late lunch. We decided on Landry’s General Store, which inexplicably had the best Cuban panini north of Havana, and a great little outdoor patio perfect for nice fall days. We sat outside at one of the round red powder-coated tables and I caught him up on my busy morning.
“Arthur was having an affair with a patient’s wife?” Jay said between bites of his sandwich.
I nodded. “Apparently. And apparently that wasn’t exactly new territory for him.”
“What’s the husband like?”
“Bennett Nichols?” I shrugged. “Haven’t met him yet. But I plan to, I can tell you that for sure.” I’d already decided I would try to go interview Libby and Bennett later that day. First, though, I wanted to talk to Carl and see if he knew about the affair. If he did, he sure hadn’t mentioned it to me.
Jay set his sandwich down and looked at me, his face suddenly looking very serious.
“What?”
“Just . . .” he seemed to be struggling with what he wanted to say. “Just be careful. This Bennett guy could be dangerous.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” I waved a dismissive hand.
“I’m serious, Riley.”
“I’m just going to ask him some questions . . .”
“Do you want me to come with?”
I laughed. “What? Like as my muscle?”
Jay didn’t laugh. His mouth flattened into a thin line. “I have experience interviewing combative suspects.”
He was serious. He honestly thought I might take him up on his offer to come with me as I did my job, like he was some sort of bodyguard or something. It was both sweet and slightly offensive. “Um, no thanks. I’ll be fine.”
He looked at me for a long moment, and then shook his head. I guess he decided not to press it any further.
“Want to come over for dinner tonight?” I said, partially to smooth things over and partially because I liked eating meals with him.
“Sure,” he said. “But why don’t you come to my place. I have a new recipe for shrimp in arrabiata sauce that I’ve been wanting to try.”
“Mmm,” I said, leaning over to give him a kiss. “Sounds spicy.”
He kissed me back and spicy took on a whole other meaning for a couple of blissful seconds until my cell phone vibrated on the table.
I reluctantly broke away. “This is Riley.” It was Gail calling to tell me that Toby Lancett, the mayor’s minion, and Tabitha had just been called into Carl’s office and by the looks of it, something big was going down.
“Go.” Jay nodded his head toward the exit before I even had a chance to say a word.
“But we’re on for tonight?”
He nodded.
“I’ll look forward to something hot,” I said, and then as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder I added with a wink, “and the shrimp too.”
“Oh geez, Riley, this is not a good time,” Carl said as I walked up to the door of his office, where a grim-looking Tabitha and a rather gleeful-looking Toby were sitting. Toby Lancett was short and stocky and wore athletic gear almost exclusively. Since he was perhaps the least athletic person I’d ever met, it was an odd choice. Today’s ensemble was a kelly green Adidas jacket unzipped to reveal a snug-fitting white T-shirt with the words Natural Born Baller stamped across it in large block letters. I’m sure it wasn’t what he was going for, but the effect was definitely less baller, more leprechaun.
“Well, if it isn’t Tuttle Corner’s newest Lois Lane,” Toby said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I’d known Toby since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, as my granddaddy would have said, and he’d always been something of a loser. I remember the day he got caught shoplifting a king-size Twix bar from Landry’s General Store. I’d been in there with my parents getting dinner and Toby, who was probably sixteen or seventeen—old enough to know better—just started bawling like a baby when Ruby caught him. He said he had hypoglycemia and needed it so he wouldn’t faint. When that didn’t go over so well with Ruby, he started threatening to sue her for harassment. That was the kind of kid he’d been. By all accounts the kind of adult he’d become wasn’t much better, except now he had the mayor’s backing.
“You’d better get your little pen and paper out, missy, because we’ve just had a confession in the Davenport case!”
I looked at Carl, who slid his eyes away from mine. Then I turned to Tabitha and a sick feeling bloomed in my gut. “Tell me you didn’t . . .”
“Yes,” she said as she threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin like a defiant ballerina. “I confessed to killing Dr. Davenport. I was angry about the way he mistreated Thad, and I wanted him out of the picture so Thad and I could inherit his fortune.” Her caramel-colored eyes looked straight ahead the entire time she spoke.
“Tabitha,” I said, a warning rising into my voice. “That isn’t true. You know that isn’t true. Carl, come on—”
Carl looked even more exhausted than he had before. “Riley,” he said, “this is none of your concern. You need to go.” He nodded at Gail, who had followed me into his office. She tried to put her arm around my shoulder and lead me out. I resisted.
“This is crazy,” I said, “Tabitha—you don’t have to do this.”
“It’s already done!” Toby looked like someone had just handed him an eight-pound plate of bacon. “Glad we could get this all wrapped up so neatly. Aunt Shaylene will be so pleased.”
I ignored him. “Carl, you know she’s just doing this to clear Thad’s name.”
“I am not,” Tabitha said. “I did it. That’s why I confessed
. The guilt was too much for me.” She said all of this without a trace of emotion, like it was from a script she’d memorized. There was no way Carl could believe this. No way anyone would believe this. And it occurred to me that that was probably her plan all along.
This theory was confirmed when, as soon as Toby turned his back, Tabitha bugged out her eyes at me and mouthed something unintelligible. I frowned at her so she’d know I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Riley,” Tabitha said loudly. “I’m going to need you to do something for me, since I’m indisposed for the foreseeable future.” That was an interesting way to describe being locked up for first-degree murder, but okay.
Toby chimed in, “Better not have to do with a nail file and a birthday cake!” He belly-laughed at his own joke.
Tabitha’s eyes bored into mine. “Can you call my wedding planner, Libby Nichols?”
That got my attention. I happened to know for a fact that Tabitha’s wedding planner was a woman out of Richmond named Gloria, as I’d had to listen to Tabitha drone on and on about how thrilled she was to get in with Glorified Events, one of Virginia’s most prestigious event planners.
“Call Libby and let her know there may be some trouble in paradise.”
As I attempted to figure out what Tabitha was really trying to say to me, Toby piped up again.
“I’ll say,” he laughed. “You ready for a conjugal visit-honeymoon, sister?” He really was the worst.
I left the sheriff’s office after promising Tabitha I’d get in touch with her “wedding planner” Libby Nichols. I figured she was trying to tell me to look more closely at Libby’s involvement with Arthur Davenport. As it happened, that was pretty high on my priority list anyway.
I walked through Memorial Park on my way back to the office and thought about Tabitha taking the blame for Arthur’s murder. It was the most selfless and romantic thing I’d ever seen her do. A tiny part of me was proud of her for sacrificing herself for the man she loved, but most of me was frustrated with her for being so shortsighted. Making a false confession was highly illegal.
