“And you’re sure about the time?” Will asked Rafe.
“It was definitely after three a.m. That’s when Mr. Scatterwell got sick.”
Sunny shared a look with Will. Well, there’s something else to check.
Rafe finished his soda and crumpled up the paper wrapping from his sandwich. Sunny noticed that half his sandwich was still in there. Had this conversation killed his appetite, or was he penny-pinching, saving something for later?
“Technically, I don’t start for a couple of minutes,” the guard said, “so I’ll get the sign-in and make copies for you.”
They went to the security desk, and Rafe brought out a loose-leaf binder. “I’ll help photocopy,” Will offered, walking off with him.
Making sure nothing gets lost along the way, Sunny realized.
She stood waiting by the guard’s station when a familiar figure in ginger and black fur crept into sight. “Portia!” Sunny leaned down to run a gentle hand between the cat’s ears. “How are you today?”
Portia seemed upset—maybe she’d picked up on Rafe’s feelings when he stepped behind the desk. She wasn’t happy climbing all over Sunny’s feet. She stretched up to rest her paws on Sunny’s knees, meowing.
Sunny sighed. “All right.” She picked up the cat, who snuggled in her arms, butting her head against Sunny’s shoulder to demand more head scratching.
Another outfit that will have cat fur all over it. Sunny smiled at the rueful thought. And one of my nicer summer outfits, too.
Still, she did her best to comfort Portia, who finally lay bonelessly in her arms, purring.
Rafe laughed when he returned with Will. “She’s shameless.”
“Which one?” Will asked, shaking his head. “Sunny or the cat?”
He watched with an exasperated smile as Sunny transferred Portia into Rafe’s arms.
“Are we going to go to Ollie’s room?” she asked.
“Sure,” he replied, folding the photocopies in his hand into thirds to fit in his back pocket. “Unless you intend to find another cat to play with. It seems to be turning into a habit for you these days.”
“Hey, come on, Portia was upset. She’s sensitive to things.”
Will rolled his eyes. “She certainly picked up on who was likely to be the soft touch around here.”
As they walked down the hallway to the nurses’ station, they encountered Luke Daconto carrying his guitar case. “Sunny!” He smiled, then grew a little serious. “If you’ve got the time, do you think you could bring Mr. Barnstable to our little sing-along today? I can tell he’s still upset about what happened to Mr. Scatterwell, and, well, maybe we could cheer him up.”
Will just shrugged. “Anything to get Ollie into a better mood,” he said.
“Okay,” Sunny told Luke. “Just give us a few minutes to chat with him first.”
I guess it’s my lot in life, helping out upset creatures—cats, bosses, whatever, she thought.
They arrived in Room 114 to find Ollie sitting in his wheelchair—and nursing a bad mood.
“Are you having pain in your leg from sitting too long?” Sunny gave him a worried glance.
“I’m suffering from a pain in the butt named Stan Orton,” Ollie growled.
“I figured you’d be looking into him.” Sunny shot a See? I was right! glance at Will.
“I found out that he snookered me on that real estate contract.” Ollie sounded really annoyed with himself. “No wonder he kept pushing me to seal the deal. He didn’t own that parcel of land, he only had an option on it, and it was due to expire. If I had known and waited, I could’ve dealt with the real owner and gotten what I wanted for chump change.”
He shifted in his chair with a deep groan. Sunny wasn’t sure if the pain came from his leg or his wallet. “Instead, I just found out that I paid that creep Orton eight times what he paid for the option.”
“Maybe I have something that will take your mind off that,” Will offered. As he told Ollie of their run-in with Alfred Scatterwell and the games he played, Sunny saw her boss pay more and more attention.
“So we need someone to take a very close look at the guy,” Will concluded.
“Like I did with Orton—even if I left it a little too late!” Ollie scowled, but slowly nodded, his expression showing he was a hundred percent on board with the project.
“And if you find some way to make a profit of your own, well, I wouldn’t mind you skinning that cat.” Will looked over at Sunny, who winced. “If you’ll pardon the expression.”
I’m just amazed at the idea of Ollie using his nasty powers for good, her wisecracking alter ego put in. She changed the subject.
“We bumped into Luke Daconto in the corridor,” she told Ollie. “He was bringing his guitar to that sing-along thing he does, and he specifically asked me to invite you to come. Would you like to go?”
Ollie shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I’m already in the wheelchair, and Judge Judy is just about over.”
Sunny took command of the chair and wheeled Ollie toward the solarium. Will walked alongside. As they came closer, they heard Luke noodling away on the strings, one of those snatches of songs he did between sing-alongs.
“That’s the intro to ‘California Dreamin’,’” Ollie said, glancing up at Will.
“You really know your music.” This was a side of Ollie that Sunny had never seen before. Luke was happy to see them arrive, his white teeth showing through his beard in a smile.
“Since we have a couple of guys here today, what do you say we go with something more manly?” Luke strummed his way into “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” and Ollie picked it up immediately. His singing voice was deep and surprisingly powerful.
“Let’s take it around again,” Luke said, still strumming. Now everybody in the room was singing, even the lady who Sunny had previously seen just beating the time with her hand. When she heard Will chime in, Sunny smiled.
The song ended to rousing applause. “Good singing,” Luke complimented the group, then looked over at Ollie. “Very good singing, Ollie.”
Ollie grinned a little awkwardly, patting his belly. “Back in the day, they used to tell me I had an opera singer’s diaphragm.”
“I wish I had that,” Luke confessed. “Some gigs I’ve played, I’ve gone hoarse trying to put a song over to a crowd that’s busy talking.”
He played a couple more moldy oldies that Sunny’s grandfather would have known, then he swung into a completely unexpected rendition of “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” complete with a phony Scots accent. The older members of the audience fumbled with the song, but picked up on the chorus. Ollie enjoyed bouncing his voice off Luke’s.
For a finale, Luke suggested that Sunny, Ollie, and Will try a little harmony on “You Are My Sunshine” while the others sang as a chorus. It took a little while for Ollie to learn to moderate his voice, but when he did, the song sounded pretty decent.
“Thank you, everybody,” Luke told the group. “Really great job.”
The little old lady who tapped in time to the music turned to Ollie. “You really have a beautiful voice. Do you sing in a choir?”
“Uh, no,” Ollie replied, abashed. “I just sing for fun.”
The ladies started moving off in their walkers and wheelchairs, but Will approached Luke as he put his guitar in its case.
“It’s pretty sad, what happened to Ollie’s roomie,” Will said. “And it just seemed to happen out of the blue.”
“Yeah.” Luke kept his eyes on the case, making sure the clasps snapped shut. “That’s the thing about strokes. You never expect them.”
“Sunny was pretty shocked to get the news. She’d been visiting with Gardner that afternoon, and he seemed his usual self.”
Sunny wanted to give Will a kick, but she followed his lead, giving Luke a sad look.
�
�You saw him pretty often,” Will went on. “Did you think he was getting better?”
Luke looked up from his guitar case to meet Will’s eyes. “I’m a music therapist, so I’m not the guy to talk to about Gardner’s physical progress. You should talk to Jack and Elsa about that—or even Dr. Gavrik. All I can say is that I’m glad that Gardner seemed happy in the time before he passed away.”
“But he didn’t seem weaker or sicker lately, did he?” Will pressed.
Luke looked from Will to Sunny and back. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that we had an odd conversation with Gardner’s nephew, Alfred.”
“Ah.” It was hard to tell with that big, bushy beard, but Sunny thought she caught a brief flicker of distaste from Luke at the mention of Alfred’s name.
“Yeah, he talked a lot about the Scatterwell name and the Scatterwell fortune, going to the right schools and knowing the right people.” Luke’s lips definitely twisted under all that facial fur.
“But he didn’t really talk much about his uncle, except for the inheritance,” Will continued.
“I don’t think they got on that well.” Luke could only shake his head. “It’s a shame, really. From what I heard, it’s not as though they had a lot of relatives.”
“I guess family feeling doesn’t mean much to Alfred.” Will watched Luke carefully as he said, “He just had his uncle cremated, barely a day after Gardner died. We went over to see Alfred, and he already had the little box in the middle of his living room table.”
“That’s . . . kind of quick, isn’t it?” Luke looked as though he wanted to say something else but reconsidered it.
“We thought the same thing. Makes us wonder if Alfred was covering up anything that might have happened to Gardner. I heard you were around kind of late that night. Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
“I saw a lot of paper that night.” Luke gave them a sheepish look. “Playing guitar and singing with the residents is the fun part of the job. But I also work with a lot of people, getting them to play simple instruments. We have a bell chorus, and other musical programs, and I’m supposed to write reports on all of it.”
He shrugged, patting his guitar case. “I’m a music maker, not a report writer, so I’m usually pretty far behind. But this new administrator is very results oriented. A little bird told me that if I didn’t get up to date, there’d be trouble. So when I finished the day’s work, I holed up in an office and ground out the paperwork to make Dr. Reese happy.” Luke grimaced. “I put in, like, a whole extra shift on that nonsense. Didn’t get done until sometime after midnight. I was glad to get home—my neck was hurting from bending over the computer keyboard.” He sighed. “And then I heard about Gardner.”
“Did you do a report about him?” Sunny asked.
Luke’s reply was a sad laugh. “No. Gardner was a freebie. I’m supposed to work with the permanent residents, keep their spirits up over the long haul. Gardner wasn’t a client.” Luke paused for a long moment. “He was a friend.”
9
“Gardner will be missed,” Ollie said as Luke hefted his guitar case.
Luke smiled and patted Ollie on the shoulder with his free hand. “I know, Mr. Barnstable. Just hang in there. Try and sing a little more.”
“Thanks, Luke,” Ollie said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“I hope I’ll see you, too,” Sunny said, earning herself a look from Will.
Luke headed off with his guitar, and Will went to take the handles of Ollie’s wheelchair. But Ollie waved him off. “What the hell were you doing?” he demanded in a low, venomous voice. “Why were you giving that kid the third degree?”
“For one thing, that was hardly the third degree,” Will replied. “I just asked him a couple of questions. We know he was here late, after lights-out, which is when you told us Gardner had his mystery visitor.”
Ollie looked as though he wanted to argue but was aware that he was awfully short of ammunition.
“Second, at this point our strongest suspect is Alfred Scatterwell. So I wanted to see how Luke felt about Alfred, how he’d react when I talked about him, especially the cremation. I’ll admit I hit him a little hard, but I hoped to shock a reaction out of him.”
“And did you get what you needed?” Ollie asked.
Will’s expression changed a little. “I’m not sure. He was a tad off, not forthcoming. I think Luke was going to say something, but changed his mind.”
“Maybe he was going to curse out Alfred,” Ollie suggested, “but didn’t because Sunny was here.”
“I can’t say—but he did censor himself about something,” Will said.
No one had anything else to add, so they just talked around the subject, making mundane conversation as they rolled along to Room 114. Once they were inside, Ollie said, “Sunny, could you call for an aide? I’ll need some help getting back into bed.”
She did as Ollie asked, and moments later, Camille the aide came in.
“Why don’t you give us a couple of minutes while I get Mr. Barnstable straightened away here,” she suggested.
Sunny and Will stepped out into the hallway, where Will proceeded to give her the fish eye. “What’s the idea of you telling that Daconto guy you hoped to see him again?”
For a guy who’d rather spend a weekend getting sunburned than going out with me, he’s pretty quick on the jealousy trigger, she thought, but decided it wasn’t worth going into that. Instead, she said, “Luke’s one of the nicer people in this place. I’d definitely rather see him again than, say, Dr. Reese.” She shuddered. “Or Dr. Gavrik. She can really be nasty.”
“I’ve been thinking of the good doctor,” Will said. “Specifically, what Rafe the guard had to say about the way she turned up on the night Gardner died.”
“That’s right—he thought she’d been flying. She didn’t change her clothes, which is weird because any flight into Pease would have gotten her home hours before she was paged.” Using her tourist-information knowledge, Sunny considered other nearby airports. “Portland doesn’t have any red-eye flights. The latest arrival there is before midnight. Maybe Boston?” Sunny frowned. “Of course, maybe she flew in a lot earlier and was hanging around someplace. Otherwise, Logan Airport would have the latest flights in the area. Wherever she came from, Gavrik rode in a town car. Maybe that could tell us something.”
He nodded. “I’ve got an old buddy from my state trooper days who moved over to the Boston Police. Suppose I ask him to check the car services down there and see if any of them made a run from, say, Logan to Bridgewater? It’s almost a hundred-mile trip, so that should make it a fare to remember.”
“That’s a good idea,” Sunny replied. “No way am I confronting that woman without something I can hit her over the head with. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“On the other hand, Rafe might have a reason to try and distract us with the doctor,” Will said. “We’re getting to the end of our first full day here; that means only six to go. Time keeps ticking away.”
She nodded. “Much as I’d like to concentrate on Obnoxious Alfred—or the nasty doctor—we still have other people to question. I’m going to tackle Elsa Hogue tomorrow. And I think I should do it. Sounds like she had a hard enough time with Gardner. I think she’d react better to a sympathetic female ear.”
“Fine with me,” Will said. “I’ll spend the night going over those attendance lists that Rafe copied up.” He smiled, but with a little malice. “You can play with your cat.”
They went to sign out. Rafe nodded his good-bye, but Portia was more demonstrative, jumping onto the top of the desk and rubbing her face against Sunny’s shoulders.
When Will and Sunny stepped out of the rest home, they discovered that the weather had changed. A dome of dead air, hot and soggy, had settled over the area. Merely getting from the grand doors of Bridgewater Hall to
Will’s pickup left Sunny’s suit wilted and sticking to her. Will yanked off his coat and opened the top two buttons of his shirt.
“Now I remember why I didn’t wear this outfit later than the end of May.” Sunny caught the front of her knit top between her thumb and forefinger and tried to pull it away. It still felt plastered to her. Will moved on ahead, climbing into the cab of the pickup, starting up the engine, and closing the windows. Sunny joined him to find the air-conditioning on, but not making much headway against the warm air trapped inside. They didn’t do well against traffic, either.
When they got onto the interstate, the usually brief ride seemed to drag on forever.
At last they turned onto Wild Goose Drive and followed the gently curving road to Sunny’s house. She thanked Will for the ride, and mentioned she’d take her Wrangler tomorrow. “Maybe we’ll be able to cover a little more territory.”
Will nodded. “You want to talk to the Hogue woman. I’ll see if I can get in touch with my friend in Boston tonight.”
“I’ll also talk to Mrs. Martinson again and see if she can come up with any dirt on Alfred Scatterwell . . . and Henry Reese.” Sunny paused for a moment. “Are any of your police friends veterans? Recent veterans, I mean? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a picture of what Rafe Warner is like when he’s not behind the security desk at Bridgewater Hall.”
Will slowly nodded. “That’s probably something we should follow up. I’ll try to talk to some of the guys tomorrow. And you were right—we should have hit Ollie for expense money. Coffee and doughnuts don’t come cheap.”
They waved good-bye, and Sunny made her way through the thick air into the house. She could feel the air-conditioning on in the living room. When she looked in, she found Mike half-lying on the couch, his eyes closed, looking like a wrung-out washrag.
“I got caught in this lousy weather and got home as fast as I could,” he complained. “For a while there I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or sipping water through a straw.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Sunny asked worriedly.
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