Hudson House Murders [Book 4 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries]

by Janet Lane-Walters

  "Martha, are you all right?"

  She shook her head. “I'm just weary. Didn't sleep well last night."

  "Anything I can do?"

  "Not really."

  The quarrel with her family was probably the reason for her restless night. Family is important to her. But the quarrel didn't explain the rapid deterioration of her health. Had the blood tests been done or had they been ordered for the morning?

  I pulled a chair to the bedside. We chatted about the church and mutual friends. All the while, I wondered what I could do to help her.

  Two nurses entered the room. “Time for dinner,” the petite blonde said.

  "Mrs. Garner, would you like us to help you to a wheelchair?” the sandy-haired woman asked.

  Martha shook her head. “I'm not hungry.” She squeezed my hand. “Katherine, go home. Have you done what I asked you to do?"

  "This morning."

  "And you won't forget the other part of the request."

  I frowned. “Martha!"

  "Just remember. Katherine, I'm so tired."

  "Then rest.” I hurried into the hall and spotted the nurses. “Excuse me. I'd like to ask some questions about my friend."

  The taller of the two women glared. “We don't discuss the residents with visitors."

  "But I'm a nurse and I'm concerned."

  "You may be a nurse, but you don't work here.” She strode away.

  The other nurse pulled me into an alcove. “Don't let Teresa's attitude bother you. She's a stickler for following the rules. I understand your concern. I feel the same way."

  "Did you notice how edematous her hands are? And her breath sounds are moist."

  She nodded. “Her feet and legs are also swollen."

  "Were the blood tests done?"

  She shook her head. “They're for the morning. Fasting. I did put in a call to the doctor."

  Her concern heartened me and made me put my decision to call Marcus about his mother's condition on hold. If she wasn't better by morning, I would take steps. “I'm Katherine Miller. Martha and I have been friends for years."

  "I'm Molly Jonson."

  "Could I give you my number? If anything happens, I'd like to know. The doctor might decide to transfer her to the hospital. She asked me to do something for her and I'd like to carry out her wishes if...if...” I shook my head. “I hate to think the worst might occur."

  "Me, too. I'll be glad to let you know."

  After writing my number on a slip of paper, I peered into Martha's room and listened to the sound of her breathing. I left with hopes the doctor would soon arrive.

  * * * *

  Just after I returned from my morning walk, the phone rang. I frowned. Who would be calling at just after eight? Visions of problems on several fronts stormed my thoughts. My hand shook as I took the call in the kitchen. “Miller residence."

  "Mrs. Miller, did I wake you?"

  The voice was unfamiliar. “Who is this?"

  "Molly Jonson. You know, the nurse from Hudson House. I'm sorry to let you know, but Mrs. Garner died late last night. At change of shifts. We found her struggling for breath when we made rounds. We coded her for almost an hour. By the time we finished, I figured it was too late to call."

  "Thank you for letting me know. What happened? What did the doctor say when he returned your call?"

  She cleared her throat. “He came shortly after you left. Had me start an IV and ordered a diuretic via push. He wanted to send her to the hospital, but she refused to go. I thought her family would be in and could help persuade her. They didn't visit and when I called, didn't answer their phone. She went into respiratory distress. Nothing we did worked."

  "I'm sure you did your best. Was an autopsy ordered?"

  "Whatever for? She was under a doctor's care. Autopsies are seldom done here unless the family requests one."

  I knew that and I understood there was no blatant reason for one. Still, I couldn't help wondering why she had deteriorated so rapidly after Marcus and Sophie returned from the cruise. I sank on a chair. Suddenly, I felt old and angry. Martha had expected to go home in a week or two. What had gone wrong? Had it been an embolus or a heart attack? A few tears trickled down my cheeks. For Martha or myself?

  Have you done what I asked you to do? Don't forget the other part of the request.

  The key in the plastic bag and the lawyer's card were in my purse. The attorney wouldn't be in his office yet. I groaned. Jenna. I had to let her know about her grandmother. Was she still at home? I peered through the window above the sink and spotted her red hatchback in the drive. After splashing my face with cold water, I opened the door and hurried downstairs.

  Outside the apartment, I paused to compose myself. Telling Jenna of this loss would be hard. The newly established relationship with her grandmother had brought the young woman joy. In an instant, her pleasure would be crushed.

  Martha's death made no sense to me. Granted she'd been almost eighty, but until the accident, her health had been excellent. Her recovery from the surgery had been steady until recently. What had happened?

  I knocked on the door. Jenna's roommate answered. “Mrs. Miller, is there a problem?"

  "Is Jenna awake? I need to talk to her."

  "She's in the shower."

  "Could you let her know I'm here?"

  "Sure.” Louise dashed down the hall and soon returned. “Give her five minutes. Sorry I can't stay. I'm meeting my boyfriend for breakfast and he hates it when I'm late.” She slammed the door behind her.

  I prowled around the living room, allowing memories of the days when the entire house had been mine to fill my thoughts. These memories held my grief for my friend and her granddaughter at bay. A plump couch covered in bright fabric occupied the space where my baby grand had stood. Posters and prints decorated the cream-colored walls instead of the portraits and knickknacks I'd displayed.

  Jenna spoke my name. I turned. She wore a huge terrycloth robe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. “It's Gran. She's worse."

  "Come and sit down.” I chose a spot on the sofa.

  Jenna sat. “Tell me."

  "She died last night, sometime between eleven and twelve. One of the nurses called this morning to let me know."

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “How? What happened?"

  "I'm not sure. I was there shortly before dinner. She was extremely tired and refused to go to the dining room. Her hands and feet were swollen and her face flushed. I spoke to the nurse and she said she was waiting for a call from the doctor.” I related what Molly had told me.

  Jenna began to sob. “I didn't have a chance to see her yesterday. I should have made time."

  "Don't beat yourself up. I thought about calling your uncle and decided the nurses had the situation under control. There was nothing either of us could do."

  "Why didn't the doctor force her to go to the hospital?"

  "The decision was hers."

  She blotted her eyes. “Do you have any idea when the funeral will be or what funeral home they'll use?"

  I shook my head. “I'll call Reverend Potter. He'll know."

  She straightened. “I doubt Uncle Marcus will tell me, but he can't stop me from saying goodbye."

  "I'll go to the viewing and the funeral with you. Just let him make a scene and he'll hear from me. If he mentions the accident, I'll see the truth is heard.” I patted her shoulder.

  "Watching you square off with him would be wonderful, but don't. It's not worth a scene.” She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “What am I going to do? Exams are in three weeks. I don't want to go to class and I don't want to miss them."

  "Go and find someone to take notes for you. By the time you arrive home, I should have news."

  "Thanks."

  When I reached my apartment, I called Edward. “Have you heard about Martha?"

  "Just finished discussing the funeral arrangements with Marcus. How did you learn so fast? Sometimes I think you have a bug on my phone."


  "One of the nurses at Hudson House called me. When and where is the viewing and the funeral? Jenna wants to know and she doesn't think her uncle will call."

  "Tonight and tomorrow at the Lorne Funeral Home. The funeral will be at the church Friday at eleven."

  "Thank you.” I hung up.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 4

  ~

  Muscle Aches

  -

  By the time Jenna returned from the college, most of the yard work had been completed. Tending to the garden helped ease my feelings of grief and anger at myself for leaving Martha.

  The bushes at the side of the porch were full of buds. After the discovery of my murdered tenant's body, I'd nearly removed them. For the rest of that summer, they reminded me of Rachel and the trouble she'd stirred in my family and the neighborhood. Even thinking about her and her children brings moments of anger-tainted sadness. But the bushes had been planted by the original owners and had only been the site, not the cause of the death. So, I left them.

  I sat on one of the porch chairs and waited for Jenna. She stopped on the lawn to pet Robespierre, then came up the steps. The sadness in her eyes touched me. “Did you hear anything about the funeral?"

  "Friday morning, eleven o'clock at St. Stephen's. Viewing tonight and tomorrow at the funeral home up the street. If you like, we can go this evening."

  She shook her head. “Tomorrow. I've some things to sort out. I'm not up to a fight with Uncle Marcus today. After you left, I called the house to ask about the funeral. Sophie screamed at me. Told me she knew what I was planning and too bad it didn't work. She said Uncle Marcus will keep me away from the funeral."

  "Why would she say that? I doubt he'll do anything if you appear. A scene would cause talk. He'll be too busy lapping up sympathy and glorying in envy.” I rose. “The boxes your grandmother wanted you to have are in the shed. Shall we fetch them?"

  "When did you go?"

  "Yesterday morning."

  "Have any trouble retrieving them?” She followed me to the shed.

  "One momentary scare. Your uncle arrived and all but accused me of breaking and entering. Even after I showed him the key and the note, I thought he'd call the police. He looked in one box and said it was junk. Then Edward yelled for me to hurry. Marcus sputtered a lot, then turned sweet and helpful.” We pushed the dolly to the house. “Your uncle even helped load the boxes in my car."

  Jenna frowned. “Who is Edward?"

  "Reverend Potter, pastor of St. Stephen's. He came along to swear the only things I took from the house were the boxes."

  After bumping the dolly up the steps and into the foyer, Jenna opened the door. “Wonder what Gran packed for me."

  I also wondered, but unless she invited me to stay, I couldn't pry. “All I can say is two of the boxes are heavy."

  Jenna wheeled the dolly inside. “Come and help me unpack. Don't you want to know what's inside?"

  My cheeks heated. “You have no idea how much. I'm as curious as Robespierre, but I have more manners."

  After we lifted the boxes to the floor, Jenna opened the one Marcus had unsealed. “This is like Christmas."

  "One of my favorite holidays."

  "Mine, too. I love the decorations and the music.” After peering inside, she brushed a tear from her cheek. “My dolls and stuffed animals.” She lifted a bedraggled once-white rabbit and stroked its fur. “This is Boo. My dad gave me the bunny when I was two. For years, Boo went everywhere with me. I hated to leave him behind when I took off."

  The second box contained books and photo albums. Tears continued to flow faster as Jenna opened one of the collections of photographs. “Mom and Dad. This is so great. Now I've something to help me remember them.” She put the book on the table.

  I passed her the tissue box. “Are any of the books your favorites?"

  She blew her nose. “They were. Oh, heavens, my diaries.” She turned some pages and smiled. “Listen to this. I must have been about seven. ‘Mom is mad. I blew the biggest bubble. Bigger than my head. It broke. Sticky stuff is all over my hair."

  "Good spelling for a seven year old."

  She shook her head. “The spelling is atrocious. You know, Mom threatened to cut my hair. That's all I remember.” She tore tape from the third box. “Gran's good china. The set was her mother's."

  "Are they intact?” I remember how Edward and I had slid the boxes down the attic steps.

  She pulled bubble wrap from a cup and saucer. “Seem to be. Here's the silverware chest. Why me?"

  "You are the oldest granddaughter.” I leaned forward. “How are you holding up under the assault of memories?"

  She drew a breath. “I need a break. Why don't you open the last box and I'll find us something to drink? There's bottled water, soda and tea, No mint though."

  "I've been known to drink unminted. If you'd like some blends, I can give you a few of my favorites."

  She lifted the smallest box to the couch beside me. “That would be great. I enjoy drinking it when you coach me."

  I pulled the tape from the box and placed the contents on the coffeetable. A four-drawer jewelry chest, a long leather box and a thick envelope. When Jenna returned with the drinks, I took the glass. “You do the honors."

  She pulled the chest closer. “This was my mother's.” She opened the lid and gasped. “I thought Mom had pawned everything of value to buy booze. Gran must have bought them back after Mom died."

  I looked at the rows of rings and earrings. The drawers were filled with bracelets and necklaces. Some of the pieces looked expensive. “You'll have to have the collection appraised."

  "And maybe sell some. Could make my life a bit easier.” She opened the leather box. “My dad's things. I never knew Gran had them. What will I do with all this? I can't keep the jewelry here until I figure what to do with them."

  "You could open a box at the bank.” I remembered the key I'd taken from Martha's freezer. I had to call that lawyer.

  She nodded. “I can do that this afternoon. Help me bag everything. I can't carry the jewelry boxes into the bank.” She ran to the kitchen and returned with some plastic bags.

  "I'll start. You open the envelope.” Perhaps Martha had found a way to give Jenna money.

  She frowned. “Wonder what happened to Gran's diamonds. There were a lot. I remember how she glittered when she went to parties.” Her tears began again.

  "Maybe you'll learn when the will is read."

  "The one thing Uncle Marcus made sure to tell me was that I shouldn't expect to receive a cent from Gran.” She sighed. “Guess Sophie will drip with glitter soon."

  "Do you want your grandmother's jewelry?"

  She looked puzzled. “Gran loved them but I don't think I'm a diamond person.” She slit the seal of the envelope.

  "More treasures?"

  She spilled papers on the table. “My original birth certificate. Some papers of my parents.” She opened the envelope with the bank's logo on the top. “My savings account."

  "Defunct?"

  She unfolded the statements. “When I lived with Gran, we started this. What I didn't use from Social Security for tuition at Lakeside, clothes and spending went in here. Also, most of the money I earned from baby-sitting or at the mall.” Her eyes widened. “There's more than twenty-five thousand. That's enough for a year of school full-time without taking a loan."

  "Going to stop working?"

  "Why? I can cut back to weekends. Tips are good then.” She rubbed her eyes. “I miss her so much."

  I put my arms around her and patted her back. When her sobs stopped, she grabbed a wad of tissue from the box on the table.

  "Will you be all right?"

  She nodded. “Would you like to adopt another grandchild?"

  "I can do that."

  "Do I have to call you Grandma Mrs. Miller?"

  My laughter rolled out. “Find your own name. That one belongs to Robby.'


  She lifted the plastic bags. “I'd better head to the bank. Who knows how long this will take, especially since I have to check on that savings account."

  "Make sure you take identification."

  She tucked the savings account and the other bags and papers into a backpack. “Good idea."

  "Tomorrow evening, come to dinner, then we'll go to the funeral.” I stepped into the hall and found Robespierre lurking. He butted my legs and followed me upstairs where I fed him. He ate as if he'd had a strenuous morning. Leaving him to his snack, I went to the living room and found the lawyer's number.

  "I'd like to speak to Mr. Broadhurst."

  "He's out of town."

  "When do you expect him back?” I heard papers rustling.

  "He'll be gone another week. Maybe Mr. Sloane can help you."

  "Afraid not. Could you have Mr. Broadhurst call Katherine Miller as soon as he returns?” I recited my number.

  "Your business?"

  "Regarding Martha Garner."

  "Didn't she just die? I didn't know she was one of our clients. What do you want to speak to Mr. Broadhurst about?"

  The tone of her voice made me wary. “I'm sure he'll know. Goodbye.” Rather than chance more questions, I hung up. Until the lawyer returned, the key would remain my secret.

  * * * *

  The next evening, Jenna arrived moments after I set the table for dinner. Since the day had been unseasonably warm, I made gazpacho and a spicy chicken salad. Jenna had seconds of the soup. “You really should open a restaurant. The line would be a block long."

  "Not interested in being a chef. I'll leave my skills for family and friends."

  "Would you give me lessons in case I meet a man I'd like to invite to dinner?"

  I raised an eyebrow. “Anyone on the horizon?"

  "Just hoping."

  I recalled the last person who had spoken about cooking lessons and shuddered. Judith was still a patient in a psychiatric hospital. She'd shown no signs of improvement, but if she did, she would have to face the deaths she'd caused. Not just Roger's but perhaps her brother's and her mother's. Her daughter had stopped by several weeks ago. She's putting her life in order after last year's tragic events.

  I looked up. “When you're ready, decide what kind of meal you want to prepare and I'll give you some easy recipes to follow."