Murders of a Feather, page 26
“You’re probably right. One of my cousins is married to a psychiatric social worker. Maybe I’ll see if I can get a little free advice.”
“It’s a start,” I told her. “Let’s finish up and get you back to your fur babies.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are most of your puppies gone?” I asked. She’d had one litter of Rottweiler puppies by her show-quality dog, Lucy. All the puppies had homes, many with her family members. Mari and her partner intended on keeping only one.
“Yes, the chaos is over, and we’re back to normal. The adults tolerate the little one, but occasionally I see them playing. They all sleep in a big pile.”
“Send me a picture.” I took my phone out and placed it on the countertop. Mari yawned. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“How’s it going with Mike?” she asked.
“We’re taking it slow. Maybe planning a weekend together sometime soon.”
She smiled. “Slow is good. As long as you don’t stay locked in first gear.”
Mari usually parked closer to my apartment door than the main entrance so we zipped though my place, pausing to pick up Buddy and Bella.
“How is our little girl doing?” Mari asked the dog in a doggy voice. “Look, I got a wag.” Bella had only recently started vigorously wagging her tail, one of the many dog behaviors she’d learned from Buddy.
“Her skin is doing great,” I said. “I’m still waiting for a bark, though.”
As Mari walked over to her truck, loud cawing interrupted us. As usual first one crow, then the others landed on top of my truck. They’d come to expect treats, and I didn’t disappoint them.
“Looks like you have some fans,” Mari said as she climbed into her huge SUV.
“Only until the spring. Then they’ll have to forage on their own.” I didn’t want to tame any of these guys. They needed to live as Nature intended, but winter was hard on everyone, human and beast, so I felt justified in supplementing their diet.
As Mari backed out of the parking spot, I waved goodbye. One of the crows followed everything I did, his alert eyes brimming with intelligence.
“See you later, alligator,” I told my former crow patient.
I half expected him to caw back “after a while, crocodile.”
I now had another reason to find this killer who had destroyed so many lives. It was affecting the people I loved and worked with. My best friend, Mari, was trying to hide her tears while cleaning the surgery. Cindy, a friend as well as a colleague, was barely holding it together, fighting with her husband, and going through Babs’s estate as best she could.
And my own memories and nightmares reminded me of that terrible day.
Despite all I’d learned, I kept coming back to Alicia. Of all the victims, only her background included deaths, suicide, stalking, and harassment. The old saying that lightning never strikes twice in the same place is scientifically inaccurate. There are trees in the forest that have had multiple strikes. Why? Are the electrons in the soil surrounding them particularly attractive? Most people didn’t realize that electrical charges rise from the ground and meet the electrical charges coming down from the sky—joining in a fiery lightning kiss.
Was Alicia a trigger point without knowing it?
Chapter Thirty-Five
The idea that Alicia might be a trigger point made sense to me. I’d been meaning to question the people in the law office who worked with her, but today was my first opportunity to do so. Cindy had yet another lunchtime meeting with the estate lawyer, which gave Mari and me time for a nice long lunch.
When I told Mari of my plans, she didn’t seem enthusiastic. “I think I’ll pass on that,” she stated. “If you don’t mind, I’ll hang out with Buddy and Bella. Maybe try some basic obedience training with your little girl. Watch some television.”
“I’m sure they’d both love that.” Mari identified as a dog person. In fact, I was almost convinced by her abundant black curls that she’d been reincarnated from a Portuguese water dog. Canines of all shapes and sizes were immediately drawn to her, and she had her dog command voice down pat.
With the extra time available, I’d changed out of my scrubs into clean pants and a sweater. If the lawyers mistook me for a potential client, so much the better.
The office Alicia had worked in was in Kingston, thirty minutes away. Located in a newer building in a professional complex, it gave off a no-nonsense vibe. I hoped to speak to a few of the lawyers, but instead I was met with a brick wall of legalese. None of the those who ventured out to the lobby to speak to me would say anything except that Alicia was a lovely person and what a tragedy it was.
After being stymied by every lawyer available, I complained to the secretary filing her nails while waiting for her phone to ring.
“A woman who worked with me was also murdered,” I told April, checking her name tag to make sure I had her name correctly.
A kind-looking woman in her fifties, her gray-tinged hair pulled back in a bun, her demeanor changed when I explained about Babs. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I think about Alicia every day. She didn’t deserve to die so young.”
“It would help if I could speak to someone who worked with her,” I explained. “The police don’t have a suspect yet. Maybe Alicia confided her fears to someone or mentioned she thought she’d been followed.”
“Well…” She indicated with her fingers that I come closer. “You could ask Hughie. He’s our law clerk, and I know he was very fond of her.”
Finally, a break. “Where can I find him?” I asked.
“Go straight down the hallway. His office is the last door on the left.” She pointed the way. “But be quick before anyone sees you.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I whispered.
I speed-walked down the hallway, zipping past every door until I found one that read “Hugh Finton.” A quick knock, and I barged in.
Bent over his computer sat a pale pudgy guy in a white shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing mats of dark hair. A high forehead ended with dark buzzed hair. Startled by my sudden appearance, he glanced up through glasses that were anchored halfway down his nose. A winter jacket and muffler hung off a coatrack in the corner.
On his desk rested a picture in an ornate silver frame of Alicia and him smiling into the camera. A single red rose stood in a crystal bud vase next to the photo.
“Can I help you?” he asked, while shrinking the document he was working on so I couldn’t see it.
“Are you Mr. Finton? Hughie Finton?” Although the receptionist called him Hughie, that smacked to me of someone under the age of ten.
“That’s correct,” Hughie answered in a throaty voice, as if battling a sore throat. He used a thick finger to push his glasses higher on his nose.
Without being invited, I settled in a nearby chair. “I’d like to talk to you about Alicia Ramsey. Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”
His eyes glistened behind thick lenses. The sound of his breathing became audible, harsher. On his desk sat an unopened bottle of water. With a certain delicacy he opened the twist top and drank freely, spoiling the effect by wiping his mouth with the side of his hand. Fine black hairs sprouted from his knuckles.
“Alicia was an angel. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He picked up the framed picture, kissed his index finger and transferred the kiss to her lips. A deep aching sadness reflected in his face and the photo’s glass. “May she rest in peace.”
I added, “May they rest in peace together, Alicia and José.”
His face changed like a suddenly dark cloud. “I don’t have anything to say about José, other than he can rot in hell.”
That statement confirmed everything I needed to know. Hughie had been in love with Alicia. He cared little about her fiancé.
“Do you have any idea who killed her?” I was surprised Hughie had asked me no questions—such as who I was and what was I doing in his office.
His dark eyes were revealed as the glasses slipped again. “Everyone knows José killed her because she wanted to break off their engagement.” His tone turned belligerent, somewhat petulant, as though he would gladly have shot José himself.
I reminded him of the truth. “The Oak Falls chief of police stated that José did not kill Alicia. Both of them were murdered.”
“I don’t believe it.” He picked the photo up and pressed it to his chest.
This was someone who didn’t want the truth. Who wouldn’t believe the truth. He preferred his version of the events. I tried anyway. “Forensic evidence has proven it.”
“What do they know?” he retorted.
Our conversation was going nowhere. Time for a different approach. “I’m sure you want to see justice for Alicia,” I began, “and as a close friend, her death must be very hard.”
He jerked his head and turned away from me.
“Before she died was anyone making her upset?”
“Other than José?”
“Other than José.”
“Maybeeee,” he said slyly. “But…I don’t want to talk about it.” He put the photo back in place, adjusting the rose in the bud vase slightly. Once satisfied, he opened the document on his computer and began typing. “If that’s all, I’m rather busy. You can see yourself out. Now.”
As I studied his face I remembered the photo of Alicia’s stalker from high school, Scooter A big guy. Dark greasy hair and acne. Just visible on Hughie’s cheeks were slight depressions that could be old acne scars. Was this Scooter? Would Alicia have recognized him?
I tried to recall exactly what her sister, Ursula, had written in her email. Scooter had apologized for harassing her, and they had become friends. The private investigator noted that he tracked Scooter until his first year of college, the same college Alicia went to, then lost him. There had been no online evidence of him for the last five years.
What wild coincidence would have them working at the same law office so many years later? Even with that old picture locked in my memory, I had no idea if this was Scooter Hayes.
Had her old stalker found an ingenious way to be close to his personal angel?
Two people were waiting in the lobby when I left. The accommodating receptionist was busy scheduling an appointment on the phone. I rushed outside, the cold air a welcome change from the rose-scented air in Hughie’s office shrine to Alicia.
What do I actually know? I asked myself, hurrying to my truck. A light coating of snow covered the sidewalk.
Behind me I heard footsteps, determined footsteps, speeding up. I stopped and pretended to look in one of the shop windows. With people walking by, I wasn’t afraid. It might be someone in a hurry to get home, the same as me.
“Excuse me.”
An older man’s face reflected back at me from the shop window.
“May I help you?” I asked.
The man appeared thin but wiry. His body looked tense, fists closed tightly by his sides.
“Are you Dr. Kate Turner?” he asked.
“Yes.” I expected a veterinary question, this same scenario having happened before. “Do you have a question?”
“Yes,” his jaw clenched in a nervous twitch. “Why can’t you leave the dead alone?”
His words registered slowly and made no sense. But I sensed danger, like the danger building in an angry animal.
A couple passed by, so I started to walk behind them. He followed.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean,” I told the man. “You know who I am. Can I ask your name?” All the while I moved deeper toward the shops, still surrounded by people shopping or visiting a favored restaurant. My left hand felt for the pepper spray I’d tucked into my pocket before leaving the animal hospital. If this stranger attacked me, I’d go down fighting.
“I’m Greg Owens.”
The man suing José Florez. Why is he angry at me?
“Mr. Owens. My friend, Cindy, told me about the loss of your wife. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t say that,” he sneered. “You didn’t know my Doris. Saying you’re sorry is horse manure.”
This man was hurting, and I couldn’t help him.
“What do you want from me?” I turned and confronted him. He didn’t flinch or back off but stared back at me.
“Stop investigating the murders. They got what they deserved.”
“Babs didn’t. I know Babs didn’t deserve to die.”
He broke eye contact, jaw twitching again. “Babs did what she had to do,” he said cryptically. “Now if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of what don’t concern you.”
Greg Owens must have followed me into Kingston. I’d seen him, I realized, sitting on a stool at the counter of Judy’s Café, his thin wrist exposed under his shirt cuff.
Before I thought to ask any more questions, he crossed the street and disappeared into an alley. I had no desire to follow him. This encounter I would mention to the chief.
By the time I returned to the truck, another soft layer of snow had fallen, but I could still decipher the words scrawled on my windshield:
STOP OR BE SORRY
There was no doubt Greg Owens had threatened me. A man torn up inside with grief after the tragic death of his wife. Someone happy that José was dead and didn’t care how many others had to die, too.
He was warning me.
I didn’t think he would warn me again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“What!” Cindy yelled into her cell phone. “He said what?”
I was sitting in my office, after releasing a surgery to his waiting family. They’d called our office line in a panic, having incorrectly written down the hospital closing time as eight p.m., and since I didn’t mind the brief company, I’d told them to come over.
Not sure how to handle Greg Owens, I decided to call Cindy. She knew Greg. Perhaps she had an insight into his strange encounter with me.
“I’ve got a photo of the windshield,” I mentioned. “He’s a very angry man.”
“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “Do you suspect him of killing everyone? Even Babs? They knew each other, you know. Doris was a bridge club member. Greg played too.”
I didn’t think knowing someone was a deterrent to murder. Gramps said whoever killed Babs liked her. She’d been respectfully laid out on our surgery table, hands folded over her chest.
“I need to tell the chief what happened.”
“Of course. Did you feel threatened? You can come and stay here if you want.”
In the background, another loud action movie played. It sounded as though buildings were exploding. I already had the beginnings of a headache just listening over the phone.
“Maybe the chief can call him tonight. Give him a warning,” I suggested.
“Forget about the chief. I’m calling Greg right now and giving him a piece of my mind.” The calm office manager I knew had morphed into Cindy the Avenger.
“That’s probably not a great idea,” I told her. “Besides, he did give me a warning. Maybe he thinks I’ll listen.”
“Hah,” she said. “He obviously doesn’t know you.”
As we continued to debate my next move, I went back into the hospital and double-checked all the windows and doors. In addition, I opened the screen on my office computer and stared at the feed from the outside cameras. Nothing. No tire tracks other than mine in the parking lot, only the quickly fading coming and going tracks of the surgery release owners.
With the zoom feature, I enlarged the image, peering behind the plantings along the side of the building. Nothing.
My head started pounding for real. I honestly didn’t think Greg Owens would pop up tonight. I took off my white coat and draped it over the office chair. The sweater I wore underneath was hot enough.
“Are you listening?” Cindy asked.
“Yes,” I lied. The pounding in my head continued.
“Then what did I say?”
Between the heat and the headache, I didn’t much care. Tucking the phone under my chin, I washed down some ibuprofen.
“Call the chief tomorrow and tell him everything you told me,” she ordered. “He can have a patrol car swing by your place at night.”
“I’d rather have Pinky on duty with his shotgun,” I replied shutting my eyes.
Cindy laughed. “Yeah, one patrol car making the rounds every three hours doesn’t cut it. But at least it’s something. What about borrowing a Rottie from Mari?”
I stifled a yawn. “Sure.”
“Okay. Get some sleep and keep your phone on your nightstand. I’ll see you in the morning and we can sort this out.”
“Okay.” I went to turn off the lights then decided to keep them on. It might look like the hospital is busy, I thought. After making my way through the connecting door into my apartment, I realized that ruse wouldn’t work.
The only vehicle in the parking lot was mine.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Once inside my apartment, I stretched out on the sofa, pulled a blanket over my head, and closed my eyes. My brain and body needed to reboot like my laptop.
When Buddy started to bark, I awoke from my short nap. Nine p.m., but it felt like midnight. The barking continued—barking a not uncommon occurrence. To my surprise, Bella joined in with her first soft wuff.
“Was that a bark, Bella? Good for you.”
She wagged her tail and picked up the koala toy. Every day I saw improvement in my undemanding patient.
Buddy walked stiff-legged, stopping at the front door. He continued to bark.
“What’s got you spooked?” Still groggy from my sleep, I lifted a corner of the front curtain and looked outside. At the top of the driveway someone in a pickup truck had made a U-turn and was waiting to pull back onto the highway, signal light blinking. The rest of the parking lot stood empty except for the hospital truck.
Time to settle back on the sofa, except Buddy kept staring up at me and barking. It was a little early for the last walk of the night, but he seemed determined.
