“Do you know where they came from?”
“No, it was on the table there when I woke up.” The woman pointed to the small, rolling food tray next to Hannah. “Someone must have dropped them off while I was asleep. I suppose I could have forgotten if they did.” West moved one hand to her mouth and cupped it. “Alzheimer’s comes with Parkinson’’s they tell me, so you never know. Or maybe I don’t know,” she half whispered before chuckling.
Hannah tried not to laugh but found it impossible not to. The woman’s attitude was contagious and refreshing, despite the direness of her conditions.
“Eh, what are you going to do? Something’s going to take you down. Might as well not give it the last laugh, eh?” She glanced at the box again. ““Well, whoever brought them wasted their money. Dr. York tossed the box there.”
“She didn’t happen to eat one, did she?”
“Uh huh.”
“And Dr. Holmes?”
“No, he’s diabetic too. He declined. I was about to tell her to take them, but I never got the chance. Poor thing, is she okay?”
“She’s going to be.” Hannah rose. “Do you mind if I take that box?””
West again gave an odd, questioning look. Hannah responded with a quick explanation. “That big of a fan of sweets, dear?”
Hannah laughed. “No, but if someone dropped it off as a promotion, it’s against hospital policy. So I need to find out who and why.”
“Ah, I see. So now you’re the intrepid hospital sleuth who is on the case.” West gave another chuckle. “Take them. Otherwise, I might pull them out and eat them myself.”
“Well, I’m sorry you had to witness that. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nothing I can think of, so forget about it. I know I will.”
Both women laughed, though Hannah felt some guilt about it. She thanked the woman and looked around the room. She spotted a box of blue latex gloves. Removing a pair, she pulled them on. Though she found it improbable that such evidence would remain, she took care not destroy any fingerprints. Picking it up, she noted the container’s weight. Light. When West again gave her a puzzle look, she produced another smile.
“I have this thing about germs,” Hannah explained as she exited with the box in hand. Once outside, she opened the container with care. Empty. All that remained were the paper holders. She pulled her face in as she pondered over the carton. The patient, West, claimed Holmes nor she ate any, but that Susan had, but she was uncertain about who had dropped them in her room. Though the woman had Parkinson’s disease, and Alzheimer’s was a symptom in some cases, West seemed not to suffer as such. She only joked about it. Thus, Hannah came to only one conclusion. It was clear to her that Susan had brought them with her. The question now was who had given them to her and were they all tainted or just one. No way to tell, she inferred, but she tried to sort it out. It seemed improbable to her that the perpetrator tainted all. There were too many chances for others to get hold of a poisoned piece. Doesn’t fit the method. People share, she thought. Whoever is doing this, it’s about control. Single victims. She frowned. Moreover, what if the target didn’t eat one first? It would tip them off. At that moment, Hannah made a connection. “Wessel,” she said half aloud, catching herself at the last moment. She glanced around as layered thoughts started pouring in on her, one after another. Wessel. Overweight. Died in office. Cardiac arrest. Candy box. Empty in trash. Office. In the office. Next to Whipson. Who is diabetic. Her sea green eyes twinkled as her quirk presented itself. Diabetic. Offered it to Wessel. Her eyes shot wide open. Whipson was the target. “It was an accident,”” she said aloud. Two nearby nurses turned to give her a look, as she cleared her throat and gave a weak smile. “Sorry, just figured something out.” After giving her another odd look, the women returned to their business. Hannah bobbed her head in self-appreciation as she headed to the elevators.
Chapter Fifteen
Waiting for the elevator, Hannah felt at least some sense of relief. With Whipson a target, she could dismiss him from her postulations. She was never comfortable with the idea to begin with, but this one elimination brought her one step closer to her goal. Now she could offer him some relief over his own self-doubts. Still, the notion of someone trying to kill the man disturbed her.
When the bell rang and the doors opened, Hannah found herself before Jackie Rhoades, who stood holding a mop and a push bucket. Behind him, rested a custodial cart. Catching sight of her, he turned his eyes downward. She smiled and stepped in. After pushing the button, she looked over to the man.
“You’re Jackie Rhoades, right? We met a while back in Reverend Whipson’s office.”
Rhoades shifted but affirmed with a silent nod. Uncomfortable, Hannah noted.
“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
Rhoades remained silent and stared ahead. No eye contact. Reluctant. Hannah made a quick assessment of what she knew of the man. From what Whipson said and what Hym had found, she knew that he had spent the majority of his life as a prisoner. She considered what that kind of life that would be and understood that questions inside meant trouble. Answering them, more so, but he had been and always remained devoted to his friend. In an instant, she knew how to get him to agree.
“The Reverend said you wouldn’t mind.”
For the first time, Rhoades turned to look at her. He bit at the corner of his lower lip as he peered at her. “All right, but I’ve got duties now. I get off at four. I eat in the cafeteria,” he responded in a soft, meek voice.
Hannah agreed as the elevator came to a stop and the custodian pushed his bucket with mop out onto the floor and pulled the cart along. As the doors closed again, Hannah saw him pause and look back. He pulled his finger to his mouth and bit at the nail. There remained hesitation in his eyes. She gave him a reassuring smile but noted every detail of the exchange. Nervous. Uncertain. She again wondered if it were just due to his past, or if there was something more. Was he aware of what was going on? In many ways, from the Reverend’s references to him, Rhoades was the clergyman’s best friend. She had also noted hints of an older brother/younger brother relationship between the two. Whipson played the part of the former. They would talk about it for sure, she thought, but would he be doing this? And why? Revenge seemed improbable. Rhoades was a rash man by what the clergyman had described. He was one who was prone to rush in or follow without question. As such, had he wanted revenge on Whipson, he would have taken it long before. In all probability, he would have done so in a sloppy manner, not a well thought out series of murders. And to what end? She shook her head to clear it of the notion.
Hannah also tossed out the idea of it being a play for attention. She knew from her FBI days that ex-cons did not seek attention. In general, they recoiled from it. There were exceptions, of course, but Rhoades’ demeanor, his nervousness and unsocial behavior, suggest a man who just wanted to be left alone. What would be a motive?
She then considered Rhoades position in the hospital. As a custodian, he would have access almost to every part of the facility. Patient rooms. Offices. File rooms and records. Labs.
The elevator doors opened and Hannah stepped off, heading back to where she had left Hym. She continued to work the puzzle that so plagued her mind. In her estimation, Rhoades’ access would go uncharted and by that virtue, unrecognized. He could deliver poison and leave boxes of candy unabated. Conversations with the Reverend could reveal those who were terminal. According to the information in his prison records, he had been transferred to more secure prisons. More security meant more at-risk prisoners. At-risk prisoners meant those who had nothing to lose by escaping. Lifers, she deduced. Exposure to the worst kind of criminal. Murderers, even. Thinking it through further, she concluded that he could have learned of poisons at any one of such facilities.
Again, the question of why crossed Hannah’s mind. As Buster had suggested, Rhoades did not fit into the stereotypical murderer profile. He came across as more of a fol
lower than a doer. More problematic for her was the fact that he was dedicated to Whipson. At least by appearance, she added to her mental file.
She stopped at a vending machine along the hallway and placed the box atop as she stared into the case. Catching a reflection of herself in the glass, she straightened her hat. For a second, her thoughts drifted away from Rhoades. She loved that hat. It was her favorite piece of clothing. Over the years, she had it reworked several times. Re-felted. Re-stiffened. Most people would have let it go, but she was loyal to it. It was almost like a part of her. She even gave it a name. Topper, after the ghost detectives from an old black and white movie. She had lost it on cases, and gone back for it time and time again. To her, it was almost an inanimate friend, one she would do anything for. She protected it and cared for it.
Hannah stiffened. Her mind raced back to Rhoades and the question of why. Devoted. Dedicated. Loyal. She knew he had covered for the clergyman in the past. He even took the brunt of the blame in the crimes Whipson and he committed. Rhoades had protected the Reverend in prison. Protected. Hannah wondered if that protection extended to emotional harm. Because it pains the Reverend to see them suffer. As always, questions raced forward in her mind. But why try and kill his friend? Hannah applied quick theories to each. Because now he’’s suffering, so he tries to end it. But Susan? Hannah pulled some change from her pocket and slid it into the machine. Choosing a candy bar, she reached through the slot to retrieve it and studied it for a moment. Candy. Sweets. Diabetic. Did she take them from her grandfather and eat one by accident? Hannah peeled the wrapper away and pulled out one half of the divided bar. It crossed her mind that two accidental poisonings seemed a little much. Furthermore, one piece was not missing from the box she still held onto, all were gone. Unless the poison were weak and distributed over a series of pieces, it would be an ineffective means of killing. The killer could not judge how much a single individual might eat out of a given box. Unless, of course, they were willing to live with collateral damage. However, given the number of victims and the lack of such accidental deaths, that modus operandi played itself out. “Crud,” she stated half aloud and in a frustrated tone.
Hannah let out a slow breath. She knew now that she was still missing an important part of the puzzle. How the killer was getting a single piece to a target victim? She wondered how much it would take to poison an individual and chastised herself for not asking it earlier. More so, she realized she had yet to determine the poison type or about how it would play itself out in a victim’s system, other than inducing cardiac arrest. No actual evidence of poisoning had surfaced. It’s all conjecture, she chastised. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “Two steps forward. One step back,” she noted in a low tone.
Hannah finished off the candy bar and again, took care to pick up the box. Along the way back, she became lost in her thoughts. Rounding the corner that led to the ICU waiting area, she saw Hym talking with two men just outside. She stopped in the hall to take them in. One was an older gentleman. 60s. Tall. 6’2”” or 6’3”. Average weight. Grey hair and beard. Balding. Brown framed glasses. Light blue eyes. As she approached, she also saw that he bore the brunt of his weight on a cane. His lab coat suggested either doctor or a lab technician.
Having assessed the one, Hannah did the same with the other. Early 50s. 5’11”. Athletic build. Greying salt and pepper hair. Solid, upright stance. Handsome. She took in the formal presence he exuded. Former military. Though he dressed in a red and black checked hunting shirt, she caught sight of the bronze badge that hung from his belt. More conspicuous was the laden holster resting on his hip. Local law enforcement, she inferred.
Hannah glanced down at the box she held in a blue gloved hand. Not wanting to raise any questions until she found out what was going on she stepped into a side hall just out of sight. After setting the box on the ground with care, she removed one glove and placed it in her back pocket. She removed the second glove and placed it in her hand so that she could pick up and hold onto the container but not touch it. By her estimation, if she held it and paid little attention to it, the officer would do the same. Her mind recalled a lesson learned by experience. People overlook the obvious, she reaffirmed to herself. She then proceeded back toward Hym and company.
Catching sight of her, Hym motioned her forward. She stepped up next to him as she let the box rest to her side. Hym then made introductions.
“This is Dr. Holmes and Sheriff Borden.”
The older gentleman smiled. “Henry will do,” he said in a pleasant voice.
“Jack,” the lawman offered with an extended hand. All exchanged handshakes.
Hannah took the doctor in with more detail. Familiar, she thought. She ran back through until she recognized him. Henry Holmes. A grin rolled over her face. “You’’re H. E. Holmes.” She looked to Hym, but motioned to Holmes. “The book Ms. Fish gave me. A Murderous Little Town.”
The doctor affirmed with a proud smile. “Have you read it?”
“I just got it last night when we got in, but I’m looking forward to it. That sort of thing intrigues me.”
“I am aware,” Holmes said with confidence. “I recognize you as well. Hannah Starvling. The Culinary Detective.” Hannah nodded.
“The Culinary Detective?” Borden interjected.
Holmes glanced over to Borden. “I have read about Ms. Starvling in Food Critic several times.” He grinned, adding, “I am a bit of an epicurean myself. I loved the one with the canine. Critic, was it?”
Listening to the doctor’s speech patterns, Hannah added formal and refined to her mental file. “Yes, Louie Woolridge, his owner, is a friend. He’s also the one who came up with that particular distinction.”
“Ms. Starvling is quite the detective in her own right, and former FBI if I recall correctly.”
“You are,” Hym affirmed.
“Well, it’s Hannah Miles now.” Hannah held her hand up to display her ring. “We’re just married yesterday. On our way to our honeymoon. We wanted to check in on the Reverend since it’s on the way.”
“He’s the one who married us, but he left early with his granddaughter and son-in-law, Susan and Calvin York. He wasn’t feeling well,”” Hym added, looking at Holmes. “You were with her when she collapsed?”
“I was. It was rather sudden.”
Borden ran his bent index finger back and forth under his lower lip. Hannah noted it as a particular habit of his and added it to her profile of the man.
“You say the preacher was ill. Hmm. And your wedding was in?” Borden inquired.
“Twilight. We live there, but I’m from Zebulon. I was in a similar position as yourself,” Hym informed. He lifted his cane. ““But then this happened.”
Hannah took in the sheriff for a second. She had her suspicions about why the two men were questioning them, but she kept them to herself. In her experience, she found that sometimes it was better to play innocent rather than admit anything. “What’s this all about?””
The sleuth noticed Holmes’ eye twitch a slight bit and the corners of his mouth turn up in a similar fashion as he gazed at her. She determined that he recognized her ploy and was assessing her as she had him. Observant, she added to his file. Meanwhile, Borden cocked his head to one side in a slight manner.
“Well, as you’ve noted, Henry here has a nose for the unusual. He’s been onto something for some time. An increase in the number of fatal heart attacks for certain patients.””
“Cardiac arrests. There is a distinction,” Holmes noted.
“Yeah, okay, anyway…” Borden gestured to Holmes. “He asked me to look into it. Then today, your friend…”” He motioned inside the waiting area to where Whipson sat. “His granddaughter turns up with the same issue. A week or so back, his assistant died of the same thing. With Henry’s help, I did some checking. Some of the fatalities connect up with the man.”
“He was their counselor, their minister, or their friend. In most cases, all th
ree.” Holmes interjected with a broadened grin. “But you already knew that, did you not, dear?””
Hannah’s eyes darted between the lawman and physician, before she glanced over to her husband. Hym took in a breath and gestured to the two men.
“I didn’t say anything, but you might as well tell them what you know. Maybe we can all get this figured out.”
Hannah agreed with a few slow bobs of the head. She turned to look through the doorway at the Reverend. He held onto a crucifix, which he rubbed between his fingers. “Alright, but let’s do this away from him for the moment. I don’’t think he needs anymore stress. How about we take it to the cafeteria?”
“I’ll stay with the Reverend, if that’s okay,” Hym insisted. ““You can fill me in later.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before heading in to be with Whipson.
With that, Holmes, Borden and Hannah exited the area.
Chapter Sixteen
After making their way to the dining area, Hannah, Holmes, and Borden all found seats. Doing so, Hannah explained how Whipson asked her to look into the case. She clarified every theory and idea she had explored as well as explained the candy box that rested on the table beside them. As Borden and she drank coffee and Holmes sipped on tea, her concerns over poison and about how much it would take came up.
“Well, there are many CNS active poisons that cause cardiac arrest. In most, I imagine it would take little to stop circulation,” Holmes informed. “As you said, candy could mask the taste of a lot of them.”
“CNS?” Borden asked.
“Central nervous system,” both Hannah and Holmes answered.
“If that is the way this is going down, it sounds reasonable,” Borden added as motioned toward the empty box. “You say you’’ve noticed these boxes three times?”
The Priest Who Ate a Poison Petit Four Page 13
