Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  The formal service was brief. Kenton said a few words, including Ephraim's mother in her comments. "Joanne was her mother's only relative, the light of her life, her reason for existing. She asked me to thank you for coming. She regrets she's unable to speak with each of you personally." She paused, scanning the crowd. "I've heard it said a parent should not outlive their child. It's unnatural. In the case of the Ephraim family, I believe it's true."

  Gentry's breath sounded ragged, as if he were trying not to cry. Miki patted his wrist and focused on the older woman, who appeared unable to regain her earlier composure. Miki noticed her narrow shoulders shudder with each wrenching sob.

  At the conclusion of the service, the funeral group of about two hundred moved outside for the graveside ceremony. Miki, James, and Gentry waited in the shade under the overhang for most of the mourners to pass, then joined the last few on the trek across the grounds.

  Miki touched Gentry's forearm. "Are you okay? That must have been hard for you."

  "I've expected and prayed for Madeline's death. Still the reality of it . . . Sheila's statement about a parent not outliving the child is true, and not only for this family today. I've lost two children, you know. All my children. My entire family."

  "I understand. I'm so sorry for your losses."

  "Thank you." Gentry wiped the tips of his fingers under his eyes, then looked thoughtful. "John couldn't come. He's a basket case." Gentry walked a few steps. "I understand what he's going through, too. The total disruption of life as he knows it. I remember when my wife and son died. I was a bit younger, it's true, and didn't have the long illness to either prepare me or drive me nuts. However, many of the elements are the same. I sympathize with the man. Things will be difficult for a long time."

  "How about Katie? How's she doing?"

  "Madeline hasn't been a part of Katie's life for many months now. She suffered the most at first. Now she seems to be more worried about her dad. Me, too, maybe. We're a tremendous burden for her."

  "Do you think John will make it?"

  "I suppose. Most of us do. What choice is there? He has to worry about raising Katie. Raising my daughter is what kept me sober and on track. I hope it will do the same for him."

  Continuing in silence, they took places in the crowd gathering at the graveside. Miki noticed the numbers had thinned. Many of the older people opted to return to their cars rather than walk to the grave for the final ceremony.

  Trying to be stoic, Miki stood between James and Gentry. She made no effort to see over the crowd, though she saw the edges of the family canopy. The Rabbi's voice droned as he recited prayers. Several people murmured along, sounding as if they got some of the Hebrew correct.

  So much loss, so much pain, Miki wasn't sure how to make it through the gathering following the service.

  They walked away from Esther's Garden, a new section of the memorial park dedicated to single graves rather than couples and families, again waiting for the bulk of the group to pass before them. Miki felt James' comforting hand on her shoulder, while Gentry's was at the small of her back.

  "The family is sitting shivah at Jo's mother's house," Gentry said.

  "What's her name?"

  "Gladys, I think."

  James nodded. "I remember the rabbi saying it during the service."

  Gentry said, "Her home is about a mile from here. Why don't we ride together? I'll drop you two here to get your car when we're done."

  "James?" Miki glanced at her son.

  "Fine by me."

  When they got to Gentry's car, Miki climbed into the back seat. "You have no chance of fitting here." She buckled the belt.

  Gentry laughed. "The thought didn't occur to me. The truth is, I've never been in the back seat. Toss a coat there once in a while, but that's about it. Can't imagine riding very far in that position."

  "I spent most of my time in the Navy folded in half on a submarine. That seat would be nothing special." The click of James' seat belt punctuated his comment.

  The everyday chatter lightened Miki's mood, and by the time they reached the shivah house she felt better prepared to face the ordeal. Ephraim had been dead a few days. She missed her already. The memory of their conflict dimmed. She focused on the years of pleasant, satisfying friendship.

  Taking their cue from those at the door, they poured water from a pitcher over their hands, dried with paper towel, and dropped it into a small basket. The basin someone had placed to catch the water almost overflowed. Miki took a moment to empty it into a nearby potted plant.

  Gentry took the basin from Miki and put it in its place. "This looks like a very traditional shivah. The autopsy delay must have upset the family."

  "Her mom, for sure. But it did give her aunt time to get here from California. That's something."

  Inside the home, Miki saw Ephraim's mother and Sheila Kenton sitting on crates while the remainder of the people occupied straight-backed chairs. Miki grimaced, then regained control. As a non-observant Jew, Ephraim would have hated the traditional mourning.

  Miki stood at a distance while Gentry approached the women. Though she couldn't hear his words, she knew he said something appropriate. James followed and appeared to offer a word or two before finding an inconspicuous place to stand.

  As Kenton watched, scowling, Miki moved closer and spoke to Gladys Ephraim. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I loved Jo. She was my best friend for many years. I'll miss her."

  The mother wiped a tear. "She often spoke fondly of you, too. I know the disagreements of the last few days distressed her. In fact, she called me the morning she died. She was full of regret over saying something awful to you—she didn't tell me what—and she said she was going to call you and apologize. Did she reach you before she died?"

  "No, but I'm glad you told me. I accept her apology. I have good memories of my friend."

  As they chatted, sharing memories about Ephraim, Miki noticed Kenton stand and move away. A moment after Miki settled into a chair, Kenton reappeared.

  Kenton's voice carried across the room. "Miki, can I talk to you a moment?"

  Miki rose and followed Kenton into the kitchen.

  Kenton's face contorted. "You tried to steal Jo from me in life. You're not going to steal her memory now that she's dead."

  "Sheila, I did no such thing. She was not my lover. I loved her as a friend, only as a friend."

  "Right. Finish here and leave. I don't need the memory of Jo's flightiness today of all days."

  Miki retreated a few steps, thinking of several responses. Instead, she left the kitchen. She understood Kenton's animosity better since their tense telephone conversation the day after Ephraim's death, but because of Kenton's attitude, Miki moved her up on her private list of suspects in the murders. Kenton was big enough, strong enough, and knowledgeable enough to accomplish the murders. The Miami hospital where they trained linked the victims with each other and with Kenton, as did a love triangle or two.

  Lost in thought, Miki ran into Troicki. She recoiled. "Sorry, sir."

  Troicki smiled. "Mrs. Murphy. Miki. I was hoping to run into you."

  "Why?" Miki felt a shiver despite the warm surroundings.

  "I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other morning. I know you were at the hospital helping a friend. I had no right to be short with you."

  "Don't think a thing of it. It's not a problem."

  "Have you returned to the job yet?"

  "No. The last I heard from Leslie Anson was that I'm suspended. I expect I'll be asked to come in and be reinstated—or fired—at some point."

  "Well, you've done an amazing job over the years. I checked your record with personnel. They had nothing but good to say about you. I'll put in a word for you."

  "Thank you." Miki tried to move past him.

  "I still believe you should examine your relationship with Gentry. He's a snake, you know. You seem like a woman of more refined tastes." He took her hand, sliding a finger across her palm. "I could show yo
u the finer side of life."

  Miki jerked away, gulped, and pushed by. She muttered, "Have a nice day." She looked at her shaking hands. She never expected anyone, not even Troicki, to make such a distasteful move at a shivah.

  She joined Gentry and James near the patio doors. "I'd like to leave, please."

  "Now?" James raised a brow.

  Miki considered the impression rushing away would give to Troicki and Kenton. She saw Kenton on the patio engaged in close, private conversation with Arlene Porter's husband, Bob. She patted his arm in a soothing manner.

  "Yes, now."

  58

  James sat at Miki's table, his shoulders against the wall and legs extending into the middle of the kitchen.

  Miki smiled and sat at the place James had prepared. He retrieved the coffee pot and poured her a cup without getting up.

  "Must be nice to have long arms." Miki sipped. "Delicious. I don't remember you knowing how to make good coffee."

  "Survival skill for a single man, Mom. What's on the agenda today?"

  "I need to go to Madeline's funeral, though I don't know if I can stomach another one. There have been four funerals in two weeks." She put half a bagel on her plate and reached for the cream cheese. "You're taking good care of me. I could get used to this."

  "You shouldn't. I talked to Professor Goldman a few minutes ago. He understands the situation, will give me an incomplete, and is planning to contact my Italian mentor today or tomorrow. With any luck, I'll be able to resume the rotation in the fall."

  Miki considered mentioning her financial problems, but decided to let the moment pass. She wasn't, in the strict sense, unemployed. In fact, the hospital was paying her vacation hours, and she could use a portion of her sick bank before dipping into her personal reserves. Maybe things would work out, and she could continue to help James with his schooling.

  "Mom," he said. "You seem lost somewhere. Did you hear what I said?"

  "I did." She focused on his face. "I'm glad Goldman is working with you. Good."

  "When's the funeral?"

  Miki checked her watch. "In a couple of hours. Noon. I don't expect you to attend. No one else will expect you there."

  "I'll go with you." James stood, grabbed the carafe, and made another batch. "With this four-cupper, it doesn't take long to empty it."

  "Hey, it was just me living here until now. Want me to do that?" She moved her chair, intending to stand.

  "No. I'm fine with it. I got a French press at school. Works great. Fast, too."

  "Fancy." Miki pulled her chair to the table, then nibbled at her bagel with no real interest. "I'm trying to get a handle on who killed these people and why."

  James glanced her way, raising an eyebrow. "You're not planning on spooking around, are you?"

  "No, not by myself." She thought about her initial forays into the investigation. She fumbled twice, caught by security at Medical Center by the Sea and by the medical records administrator at Medical Center by the Glades. James didn't need to know about her mistakes. "I was thinking you could help." She turned in her chair to face him. "I'm a target. I can't wait for the police to rescue me. Good grief, they won't even talk to me most days, much less protect me."

  "Sometimes cops can be real bastards. What do you have in mind?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe try to figure out who the killer is and get the police to do something about it. At the moment, they have me on their suspect list with no real reason other than I was in the hospital and involved with the first two victims. But then, so were other people."

  "Like who?"

  "Well, John Walden for one. He helped on Sanchez's Code Blue, and he was around when we found Arlene Porter's body. Troicki, the jerk, was at the hospital both days as well. Several of the ER staff, oh, and Jo—that doesn't matter now."

  "So you're saying you suspect Walden and Troicki."

  "No. Of course not." Miki took a breath. "I was using them as examples. I should think about it. About Troicki anyway." She knitted her brow and frowned. "I have to think about everything. First, there is the funeral of a woman who was family to my friends." She checked her watch. "Let's leave in thirty minutes. I want to get there early in case the turnout isn't good. You know, show support."

  Miki dressed in a pair of black slacks and a shades-of-gray blouse. She added silver jewelry and black flats. When James appeared from his room, she smiled. His choices for the day were similar except his long-sleeved shirt was gray-on-gray pin stripes. "Ready?" she said.

  "As I'll ever be." James extended his hand for the keys. "Do I need a jacket?"

  "No, it's already ninety degrees outside." She set the house alarm, opened the front door, then waited for James to key the lock.

  While Miki pulled the passenger's seat of her Mini Cooper almost as far forward as it would go, James shoved the driver's seat as far toward the rear as it went.

  "Amazing I can drive this thing."

  "I made sure you could when I bought it. There's a guy at the hospital who has one. He's six-six. He told me there was plenty of space." She pointed to the back seat and laughed. "Riders can't have legs if they sit behind you."

  James glanced over his shoulder. "Now that's one place I couldn't ride. Not even sideways and folded in half."

  James eased the little car over the speed bumps and through the main gate. Then he accelerated. "Nice pick up."

  "I like it." Miki pointed to the light at the corner. "Turn right. The cemetery is about five miles away."

  "We're not going to a church or funeral home?"

  "No. Simple graveside service."

  They rode in relative silence, interrupted by Miki's occasional navigational instructions. Once there, she noticed a half-dozen cars in the parking lot.

  After checking for another lot, she said, "This is the only place to park. Al's car is the one on the left. I don't see John's car or his mother's, so I guess they rode together."

  James pulled in beside Gentry's BMW.

  Miki exited the car. While she waited for James, Wilma Carlson pulled into a space, squeezed out of her vehicle, and joined them.

  "Miki, it's good to see you. How are you?"

  "I'm fine." Miki embraced the tall, round, dark-skinned nurse.

  "I don't know what those jerks in admin are thinking. Things aren't the same when you're not around."

  "I wish it were different." Miki walked in the direction of the service, following the signs pointing to the Walden service. "You took good care of John's wife. He has a lot to thank you for."

  "I suppose so," Carlson said, "but, I don't expect it to happen today. John seems to have a tenuous hold on reality at the moment."

  "Why?" Miki glanced over her shoulder. James, as she expected, kept a polite distance, letting the women talk in private. She felt proud of his maturity.

  "He called me Sunday night with the funeral arrangements. Okay? Then last evening, he came to the unit with his backpack and his dinner. I stopped him before he barged in on the patient in Madeline's old room."

  "What happened?"

  "I called Mr. Gentry, who came and took him away. I guess he drove him home. I suspect he should have carted John across town to the locked unit."

  Miki saw a canopy and arrangement of chairs half a block ahead. Walden sat alone in the front row next to the wall of cubicles in which funeral staff would place his wife's ashes. Six or seven people stood chatting, Gentry among them. His white hair made him easy to spot.

  Miki, Carlson, and James quickened their approach, with Carlson heading to Walden's side.

  While James took a seat in the last row, Miki joined the group, approaching Gentry from behind. She touched his shoulder. When he turned to her, she read confusion, hurt, and anger in his eyes. She recoiled before reasoning he didn't mean the anger for her. Why would it be?

  "Al," she said, staying a couple feet away, "I know this is a hard day for you. You have my support."

  "Thank you." He took two steps, widening the gulf betwe
en them.

  "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "Not now. No. I don't think so." He turned away.

  Miki continued her circuit, moving to the opposite periphery of the little group. She approached John Walden's mother and Katie. "I'm so sorry."

  "Thank you. I appreciate your condolences." She sounded well-coached.

  "Elsie, I know Madeline was dear to you."

  "Thank you, Miki. She was the daughter I never had and a perfect wife for John. She completed him like no other woman could." She squinted into the sun, magnifying the pain in her eyes. "He is so tormented. I don't know what will become of him." The older woman placed a hand on Katie's back and gave her a gentle nudge. "Go over and sit with your dad for a few minutes."

  "Do I have to?" Katie whined.

  "For a little while, sweetie." Elsie waited for the child to move away. "Al has provided for Katie. He's known for months about the eventual outcome of his cancer. When Madeline got sick, he took steps to make sure Katie's taken care of."

  Miki said, "Surprising. Why wouldn't he think John would provide?"

  "Al is a very perceptive man. I think he realized my son had issues long before any of the rest of us did. Madeline's illness, well, it brought them out."

  When Gentry moved in their direction, Elsie lowered her voice, then quit talking.

  Miki dug in her purse, producing one of her soon-to-be-defunct business cards. She turned it over and wrote her cell number and home number. "Here, take this. Call me if you need me. I mean it. Anything."

  Elsie took the card and slipped it into the outside pocket of her bag. She paused, then took out a scrap of paper and a pen. She wrote, using her purse as a surface. "Here's my number, too. Keep in touch."

  A man Miki didn't recognize said, "Let's begin."

  Gentry nodded.

  As people found seats, the minister took a position in front, facing them. "Dearly beloved," he droned, launching into standard, impersonal funeral language.