Death of a Coupon Clipper, page 8
“The patients are simply devastated. She was their favorite nurse in the whole hospital. Always going that extra mile to make them feel comfortable.”
Now that was a stretch. Hayley knew for a fact that Candace had at least a dozen patient complaints lodged against her for her rude manner and penchant for telling the sick and tired to stop feeling sorry for themselves.
Evelyn buried her face in her balled-up tissue as Hayley awkwardly reached over and patted her on the back before she hurried to the elevator.
When Hayley arrived at the nurses’ station near Mrs. Tubbs’s private room, Tilly McVety was also in tears, shaking her head. Hovering around were a few of the night shift nurses, all of them in a state of shock.
Hayley tried to slip past them, unnoticed, hoping to leave them to their grieving, but Tilly spotted her and grabbed a fistful of her winter coat.
“Oh, Hayley, tell me this isn’t happening! Tell me Candace isn’t really dead!”
Before Hayley could respond, Tilly threw her arms around her and began weeping uncontrollably, dampening Hayley’s coat with tears and phlegm.
Again, the only thing Hayley could think to do was gently and awkwardly pat Tilly on the back. She didn’t dare say anything, because she knew it would come out wrong and make her look insensitive or unconcerned about Candace’s sudden death.
The fact was, Hayley was gravely concerned. She just didn’t buy all this outpouring of emotion from Candace’s coworkers. They all knew she was not the warmest person and had a vicious competitive streak. But perception always changes with someone’s passing and Hayley accepted that.
“She was such a free spirit. So happy and calm about everything. She never let anything get to her,” Tilly said, sobbing.
Except competing in an extreme coupon-clipping show and wanting to win at all costs.
No, it was best not to bring that up.
“I know, Tilly. So tragic,” Hayley said, trying to wriggle out of her iron-like grip. But Tilly wouldn’t let go. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Tilly relaxed her arms. Hayley leapt at the opportunity to scoot away from her. Tilly eyed her suspiciously, like she was gauging Hayley’s sincerity about losing such a dear, beloved friend.
Hayley sensed this and slowly shook her head. “Such a senseless loss.”
She was being honest. It was senseless. What could have possibly driven someone to take a pair of industrial-size scissors and plunge them right into Candace’s back? It was so vicious. So cold. She just wished Sergio were not in Brazil and could properly investigate, instead of relying on a nervous rookie with a case of shingles.
“I better get this bag to Mrs. Tubbs,” Hayley said softly. “She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”
“Oh, dear. Mrs. Tubbs, she was Candace’s neighbor. This is going to kill her,” Tilly cried, scurrying off to the ladies’ room to find some toilet paper to cry into.
When Hayley entered Mrs. Tubbs’s room, the octogenarian was sitting up in bed, watching the local news on TV. They were already reporting the murder and trying to interview Officer Donnie, who seemed to be running away from the scene to avoid the cameras.
“Who would do such a thing, Hayley?” Mrs. Tubbs said, staring at the television.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Tubbs,” Hayley said. “But I’m sure the police will find out.”
Mrs. Tubbs gave Hayley a disbelieving look. “If you think Dennis the Menace there is going to solve anything, then you need a reality check, my dear.”
Hayley smiled for the first time since stumbling across Candace’s dead body.
“I hate to say this, but I feel a lot safer here in the hospital than at home with a mad killer on the loose in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Tubbs said, pulling a baby blue hospital-issued blanket up over her chest. “You never know who could be next.”
“Well, I’m not sure this was a random killing,” Hayley said. Her eyes were fixed on the television as the news broadcast showed a picture of Candace in her nurse’s uniform.
“Do you think it was somebody she knew?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You lived next door to her. Did you ever see her fighting with anyone?”
“No. Never. But then again, I never saw her too much. She worked all the time, and I go to bed at eight, right after Jeopardy! before she even gets home. And I take out my hearing aid and can sleep through a category-five hurricane.”
Hayley couldn’t help but focus on the fact that the killer used a pair of scissors to stab her—scissors that someone would use to clip coupons. There was an irony about the murder weapon that kept gnawing at her.
Mrs. Tubbs reached out and touched Hayley’s arm. “Hayley, I’m so worried.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Tubbs. You’re perfectly safe here.”
“No. I’m not talking about the murder. Officer Donnie, that little prick, came by again, insisting I’m too old to drive and saying he’s going to take away my license one way or the other. What will I do without my car, Hayley? I need to get to the grocery store, the bank, the post office.”
Hayley resisted the urge to ask Mrs. Tubbs, in the event that the police did confiscate her license, if she would be willing to sell her car real cheap. No, that would not be appropriate at this time, not when Mrs. Tubbs was on the verge of tears and feeling so vulnerable.
Still, it was something to keep in the back of her mind.
“I’m sure once they review all the facts of the accident, you’ll be cleared to drive again. And if not, you have lots of friends. We’ll all pitch in and get you where you need to go.”
Hayley handed Mrs. Tubbs the tote bag. “Now I got you everything you requested. If you need me to run to the store in the morning before I go to work, I’d be happy to pick up whatever you need.”
“But tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Sal’s making us work because of the snow day earlier this week.”
“Slave driver.”
“Tell me about it,” Hayley said, chuckling.
“What about Blueberry? Did you see Blueberry when you were at the house?”
“No. But I left a big bowl of food and some water in the pantry off the kitchen. He should be fine until I can get back over there tomorrow.”
“He was probably hiding under the bed. I’m sure he’s so scared right now. He doesn’t know what’s happening and why I’m not there. I’m so worried about him. Hayley, please don’t leave him alone in that cold, dark house.”
“I’m not sure what I can—”
“Can you take him home with you? Just until I get out of the hospital?”
“Well, the thing is, Mrs. Tubbs, I’m not staying at my house right now. I’m actually at my brother’s, and—”
“That big, rambling house on the shore? Oh, Blueberry would love staying there. Exploring all the nooks and crannies. Oh, please, Hayley, I’m begging you. Is your brother allergic to cats?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not sure if he wants me to bring home . . .”
Mrs. Tubbs’s eyes brimmed with tears; her finger twisted around her thin, gray hair; she looked so helpless and worried.
Hayley just hated herself for falling for it, but she found herself saying, “Sure. I’ll go by there now and pick him up.”
Suddenly the tears were gone and Mrs. Tubbs was smiling, satisfied her performance got her exactly what she wanted. “Thank you, Hayley. You’re a peach.”
Hayley tried Randy’s cell to warn him of their four-legged houseguest, but he didn’t pick up. He was still at the bar, busy serving the rowdy fishermen blowing off steam after a long week of hauling traps.
But Hayley wasn’t too worried.
Not really.
How much trouble could one cat be?
Worst. Decision. Ever.
Unfortunately, Hayley underestimated the bloody battle it would take to get Mrs. Tubbs’s fat, nasty Persian cat, with satanic yellow eyes, out from under the bed and into a plastic carrier. Making kissing sounds and reaching under the bed to coax him out was her first mistake. Blueberry hissed and howled and used Hayley’s arms for a scratching post.
Hayley was about to give up, but then went through Mrs. Tubbs’s kitchen drawers and found some Christmas-themed oven mitts with reindeer embroidered on them. She slipped them on and was able to get a grip on the struggling ball of fur. Getting him into the carrier took another agonizing thirty minutes with him slipping out of her covered arms and racing around the house. Luckily, Blueberry’s massive weight slowed him down considerably and Hayley managed to corner him with the carrier and force him inside. He continued hissing as she slammed the metal door of the cage shut and locked it into place.
She was out of breath by the time she secured Blueberry and finally got Randy on the phone to pick her up on his way home from the bar. Randy was more than a bit wary about hosting a demon cat in his house. He relented, however, because there wasn’t much choice in the matter, since neither of them wanted Mrs. Tubbs to worry.
The one other factor neither considered was Leroy. Leroy loved chasing cats, and there was some concern that he might terrorize the poor kitty. But that theory was quickly put to rest when the carrier was unloaded and Blueberry flew out like a shot. Rather impressive for such a huge, flabby cat.
No, Leroy was not going to scare Blueberry.
First of all, Blueberry was almost twice Leroy’s size.
And the moment Leroy came running at Blueberry, full of excitement and expecting a fun romp around the house, the cat’s claws came out, the teeth were bared, and Blueberry slashed Leroy across the nose.
Leroy went yelping in the other direction, and the demon cat followed him, slowly, methodically, determined to keep the tables turned on this rather annoying yapping little adversary.
Keep him on the run.
That was Blueberry’s plan.
And it worked.
Leroy hid behind a door as Blueberry finally turned away and decided to get comfy on Randy’s expensive, hand-printed Oriental rug near the fireplace.
And that’s where he settled before peeing all over it.
Chapter 13
Hayley was almost relieved to have to work on Saturday, if only to get out of Randy’s house, where Blueberry was wreaking havoc like some evil presence in those Paranormal Activity movies—except this wasn’t some unseen apparition moving furniture and flipping lights on and off. No, this was a twenty-five-pound cat—right out in the open—with killer claws, and a really bad attitude, who was determined to keep everyone around him on edge.
Hayley felt bad about slipping out of the house just as Randy stepped in yet another pool of urine with his bare foot on his way to make a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Leroy, meanwhile, was hiding under the bed in Randy’s room, whimpering softly, terrified Blueberry might sniff him out.
After trudging through the snow to the office, Hayley blew through the front door; her cheeks were red from the bitter cold. She found Bruce sitting at her desk, typing on her computer. He didn’t even bother to look up as she shook off her coat and kicked off her winter boots.
“Before you ask, I didn’t pick up any muffins at Morning Glory,” Hayley said, blowing into her hands to warm up her face. “Maybe I’ll go later. It’s finally supposed to warm up today.”
Bruce shrugged and just kept on typing.
“Is something wrong with your own computer?” Hayley asked.
“Yeah, it’s on the fritz and I want to file this story by noon so we can upload it on the website.”
“Okay,” Hayley said, crossing to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Is Sal in yet?” she asked, searching for the vanilla creamer. She noticed the last few packets were ripped open and empty. She glanced over as Bruce stopped typing momentarily to slurp his Styrofoam cup of light brown coffee.
Guess who used up the last of the creamer? Hayley sighed and decided that today she would refrain from comment and just take her coffee black.
“He’s on his way. He wanted to get an interview with Eddie Phippen and decided to do it himself,” Bruce said, setting his coffee down and continuing to type furiously.
“Who’s Eddie Phippen?”
“The producer of that extreme coupon-clipping show you’re going to be on. He flew into Bangor last night and just arrived on the island this morning,” Bruce said, stopping to read over his last paragraph. He grimaced and then started tapping the delete button to erase his last sentence.
“I suppose he knows all about Candace Culpepper’s murder,” Hayley said.
“Duh. Everybody does, Hayley. He’s thinking about canceling the whole show.”
“What?” Hayley said, her heart nearly stopping.
She knew it might be the right thing to do, considering the controversy surrounding the murder—and, of course, out of respect for Candace, who was slated to appear as Hayley’s opponent. But that show was Hayley’s chance, perhaps her only opportunity, to dig herself out of crushing debt, and now it was quite possibly slipping through her fingers.
“You might want to rethink taking me up on that loan offer,” Bruce said, grinning, knowing how much he would enjoy Hayley having to grovel.
“No, thanks, Bruce, I’ll be fine either way,” Hayley lied.
“Suit yourself. So, does Mona go by ‘Barnes,’ or is she one of those feminazis who insists on being called by her maiden name? It’s something Irish, right, like ‘MacDonald’ or ‘McDuffie’?”
“It’s Mona McDuffie, but she uses her husband’s name. Why?”
“Just confirming for my column.”
“Mona’s in your column?”
“She’s not just in my column. She is the column.”
Hayley nearly choked on her coffee. She marched over to her desk and looked at what Bruce was typing on her computer screen. “Please don’t tell me . . .”
“Yup. Mona Barnes is a suspect in the Candace Culpepper murder.”
This was not the first time Bruce accused one of Hayley’s friends—let alone Hayley herself—of a local murder.
“Why do you insist on constantly painting me and my friends as world-class criminals in your columns, Bruce? This is becoming a pattern!”
Bruce had written about both Hayley and Liddy in previous columns, offering tantalizing but ultimately misleading details about their connection to a couple of local crimes.
“It’s only becoming a pattern because you and your little girl posse always seem to be in the thick of things whenever there’s a murder in this town.”
“You have no proof.”
“I have several witnesses who clearly overheard Mona making public threats against the victim at Drinks Like A Fish.”
“She was joking!”
“That’s your interpretation. Look, I didn’t go looking for these people who were at your brother’s bar. They all came to me. And according to them, it didn’t sound like Mona was joking.”
“You know as well as I do that Mona is no killer,” Hayley said, resisting the urge to punch him in the face.
But losing her job at the paper because of assault was not an option at the moment.
“Maybe. But I don’t have the luxury of pulling a chicken marsala recipe out of my mother’s scrapbook and writing about how some dandelions in the backyard help spruce up my tablescape. I’m a serious journalist.”
“Writing about the town drunk mowing down a stop sign doesn’t make you a ‘serious journalist,’ Bruce. You’re a muckraker who will stoop to any level to titillate and get some attention, and it doesn’t matter who you hurt.”
“Maybe Sal will let you write Monday’s op-ed piece and you can get all that off your chest, Hayley. But by then, it will be too late because this column is being posted on the website today.”
Hayley knew there was no stopping Bruce, and she was done trying. She would call Mona and warn her. Mona was a sturdy brick wall. Unlike herself and Liddy, she could weather any kind of storm—both literally and figuratively. She hauled traps for a living and had rough skin and calloused hands, and her spine was made of steel. Handling petty accusations and town gossip would be a cakewalk. But it still angered Hayley that Mona would have to go through it at all. It was so unnecessary. Just an excuse to give Bruce something to write about. Officer Donnie hadn’t even interviewed her yet about that night at the bar, and now the whole town would just assume she had something to hide.
The door to the office burst open and Sal plowed inside. “Christ, it’s cold out there. I can’t even move my face. I’m talking right now, but are my lips even moving?”
“Let me pour you some coffee, Sal,” Hayley said, scooting back over to the pot. There was just enough left to fill one more cup.
“How was your interview, Sal?”
“Fine. I’m always wary of talking to showbiz types, but Phippen wasn’t an a-hole like most of ’em,” Sal bellowed as he tried extracting himself, with little success, from his bulky wool coat. He managed to get one arm free before Hayley handed him his coffee and helped him get his other arm out. Then she took the coat, brushing off the flecks of snow with her hand, and hung it in the closet.
“So, is he canceling the taping?” Hayley asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
“No, they may delay it a few days, but otherwise it’s full steam ahead. He wants the show to be a tribute to Candace.”
“That’s sweet,” Hayley said, trying not to sigh audibly with relief.
“It’s bull puckey, is what it is. He may be a nice guy, but he’s still a TV producer. The murder is all over the news. Do you know how much free publicity he can milk this episode for? It’ll be a ratings bonanza for him. And a boon for us. This is an exclusive. We’re going to scoop the Herald. I’ll be in my office writing up my interview so we can post it immediately.”
Sal headed for his office, but he stopped long enough to check the area around the coffee station. He frowned. “No muffins?”
“Hayley didn’t pick up any,” Bruce offered quickly.
Hayley scowled at him.
Sal kept going, exhaling a big, disappointed moan.
Hayley heard a click. She swiveled around and saw Bruce stand up from her desk.
