Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) Page 11

A nurse frowned at us.

  “Shh! Remember where you are. How could you think about food now?” I whispered crossly.

  The corridor leading to Lily’s room was a long one, and each open door framed a human tragedy. In one room, an oxygen tank was connected by tube to a mask covering a pale face. In another, a woman leaned solicitously over the bed, gently stroking a trembling hand. Each successive patient’s plight seemed graver than the last. I felt oddly reverent.

  As we neared Lily’s room, we saw two men standing just outside, bowing their heads as people will when speaking in hushed tones. Gil and Alec.

  The sight of Gil Dickensen as he looked up and smiled at me caused another lurch in my chest. Well, if I was suffering a heart attack, this was the place to have it.

  He wore a sailing-style windbreaker over a polo shirt in blocks of primary color, identifying it as the latest style in casual menswear. I didn’t know when he’d abandoned his signature dirt-brown corduroy jacket with leather on the elbows, but I liked the change.

  Whoa, now, Amelia, I told myself. This is just adolescent-style infatuation. You’ve had the symptoms before. You dealt with them then, and you’ll deal with them now.

  I smiled at Alec. The Professor was looking almost dapper in a plaid sport coat, his hair partially slicked down and his beard combed. He carried a gift-wrapped parcel, which he was showing to Vern, who nodded and smiled.

  Gil stepped forward, gently grasped my elbow, and pulled me aside. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, thank you. What are you doing here?”

  “Vern called me from Peasemarsh. I took the ferry over right away, on official business, of course. Assigned myself to the story. What happened to the kid?” he asked, pointing at Vern’s knee. I explained.

  Gil looked hard at me. “Are you sure you’re okay? The head and everything?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said briskly. “Your nephew has done an admirable job of protecting me. Only he was protecting the wrong person.”

  “Not necessarily. Look, you want some coffee?”

  I hesitated, looking down at the Peasemarsh shopping bag I carried. “I need to see Lily.”

  “You can’t.”

  I gasped. “She’s not—”

  He guffawed so loudly and suddenly that it caused hospital traffic to pause for a split second and frown at our little group. Chastened only slightly, he leaned over and growled in my ear, “Mrs. Lily Burns is under a self-imposed quarantine, having to do, reliable sources tell me, with the state of her appearance. Even as we speak, a terrified little hospital volunteer is on the telephone trying to find a hairdresser who makes house calls. Film at eleven.”

  “Whew! I better get in there!”

  “Not till the doctors get through. They brought in a bunch of interns to study her. She’s the center of attention, probably having a wonderful time. While we’re waiting, how about that coffee?”

  I followed Gil to a waiting room at the end of the hall. It was newly remodeled, clearly with an eye to the soothing quality of dusty-toned pastels. Soft, misty prints graced the walls, and a silk flower arrangement shared the coffee table with an assortment of ragged magazines. The only jarring note was the metal rolling table bearing a large electric coffee maker and a stack of Styrofoam cups.

  He poured himself a cup of black liquid. It looked a bit thick for coffee.

  “So you haven’t seen her yet?” I asked.

  “Nope. Had to rely on an informed source—the aforementioned volunteer. Want some?” he said, gesturing with the pot in his hand.

  “Is it any good?”

  “It tastes like battery acid. Just the way I like it. Mmmm.” He took a loud sip.

  “And you take it black, of course.”

  He replaced the pot on the burner and grinned. “You remembered. I’m touched.” He gestured around the room. “Besides, do you see cream and sugar anywhere?”

  “Guess I’ll pass, then,” I said and settled down on a surprisingly firm settee. The pale violet linen-textured fabric, I learned, was actually plastic. Padded with cast iron, I surmised, and shifted my weight uncomfortably.

  Gil shoved aside the silk flowers and a pile of People magazines and perched on the edge of the coffee table, almost knee to knee with me.

  “You look all right,” he said, studying my face.

  “So do you.”

  “No, I mean after all this.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of Lily’s room.

  “Oh, you mean the . . . accident,” I said deliberately and waited for Gil to contradict me.

  He didn’t. “Yes. Tell me how it happened.” He pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket and leaned forward attentively.

  So I told him, in no small detail, including the hunt for Marie and Vern’s fall. As he had been the night before, Gil was a rapt and satisfying listener, hanging on my every word and only interrupting to clarify a point of interest.

  “Then Marie’s sister came and picked her up,” I concluded and sat back, waiting for his reaction.

  He tucked the pen and pencil back in his jacket pocket. He had only used it once or twice. Apparently a good memory is a vital tool for a reporter.

  “It’s quite a story,” he said, reaching for his coffee cup.

  “Quite a story? Is that all you have to say?”

  “What do you mean?” He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Gechh. Cold.”

  “No speculation? No conspiracy theory? No fiendish villains lurking in the corner? Who was Vern supposed to protect me from, then?”

  Gil set down his coffee hard, spilling some. He muttered an oath as he tried to mop his pants leg with a handkerchief. “That kid should learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Oh, chill out.” I had heard a student use the expression and mentally filed it away for just such an occasion. “Together Vern and I survived the annual sale at JJ Peasemarsh. We have no secrets from one another. Besides, why shouldn’t I know if I’m in some kind of danger?”

  “Because it wasn’t necessary. I’m not sure of anything yet. No use getting you all upset over nothing.”

  I sat back luxuriously, linking my hands behind my head. “Do I look upset?”

  Gil smiled. “A little around the eyes.”

  I sat up straight. “Well, it’s only because I hate being left out of something that directly affects me.”

  “All right, all right. But I can only tell you what I’ve been able to confirm.”

  “Commendable journalist’s ethics.”

  He slapped his knee in irritation and stood up. “Are you going to let me tell you?”

  “Sorry.”

  He picked up his half-filled coffee cup and gently lowered it into a nearby trash can. “The police think Marguerite LeBow was murdered.”

  “That’s no surprise.”

  Gil held up an index finger. “But this is.” He came over and sat next to me on the couch. “Guess who was at the top of the list of suspects?” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Or isn’t it guess whom?”

  “You were right the first time,” I said absently. “But tell me, please. I’m no good at guessing.”

  He swung his arm up and around my shoulders. “Let me put it this way: I now understand why O’Brien hustled his kid out of your house yesterday.”

  For some time, I stared at the opposite wall, thinking. Suddenly, I jumped. “Gil! You mean me? The police suspect me?”

  “Bingo.”

  “But that’s impossible! Dennis O’Brien has known me for twenty years!”

  Gil shook his head. “It won’t wash. The neighbors probably said the same thing about cute little Teddy Bundy. But don’t blame O’Brien. He was in hot water because of that very thing.”

  “Because of me?”

  “According to my source, who has reason to know, O’Brien went ballistic when someone wanted to put your name on the short list. He stood up for you and got it in the neck for his trouble.”

  “What happened?”


  “Somebody said he’d been treating you with kid gloves from the word go and maybe he didn’t have enough objectivity. Suggested he be taken off the case. O’Brien managed to contain the problem, but—”

  “—then he found me babysitting his daughter, which in some quarters would prove he was partial to me! Oh, poor Dennis. No wonder he overreacted!”

  “It might mean getting passed over for promotion—or worse,” Gil agreed.

  “But I don’t understand why they suspect me in the first place.”

  He shrugged. “That I couldn’t find out for sure, but I can guess. One: You were at the scene of the crime, so to speak. Two: You did help Marguerite get that job at the library.”

  “I felt sorry for the girl. I’ve done that sort of thing for dozens of my students.”

  “There’s one more thing. My sources are sketchy on this, but the word is Marguerite had been in touch with the police recently.”

  “In touch? What does that mean?”

  “Remember, I got this off the record.” Gil glanced over his shoulder guiltily. “Seems Marguerite offered to go undercover for the police. Become a narc. She used that very term.”

  “Oh, Gil, they didn’t—”

  “No, no, of course not. They took her statement, which was pretty incoherent, thanked her kindly, and held the door open politely. She didn’t take it well. She left in tears.”

  “She must have been crushed!”

  He shrugged. “Probably. You knew her better than I did.”

  “Oh, Gil, this whole thing just breaks my heart! And to add to it all, I’m a suspect.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He stood and extended a hand, pulling me to my feet.

  “Why on earth not?”

  He handed me my purse and the Peasemarsh bag. “Because the bloodhounds have been called off. I saw your tail, Officer Perkins, on the ferry heading back across the lake about a half hour ago.”

  “So I’ve been cleared?”

  “I think so. At least, I hope so.” He wrapped his arms around me, purse, parcel, and all, and leaned forward. “I’d hate to think I was about to kiss a murderess.”

  To tell the truth, there was a part of me in total accordance with Gil’s suggestion, but my sense of propriety was deeply offended. I wasn’t in the habit of necking in public, no matter what the temptation. And I wasn’t about to start at this late date. What if one of my students saw us?

  “Cut it out, Gil,” I said, ducking under his arms and backing away. “We’re not a couple of randy teenagers.”

  “We’re not?” He put one hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “No offense intended, I’m sure, Miss Prentice.”

  “None taken, Mr. Dickensen.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Gil walked over and leaned out the door. “Well, it looks like the medicos are leaving Mrs. Burns’ room. By all means, Miss P, step into the breach as you always do.” He moved aside and allowed me to pass.

  Halfway down the hall, I had to fight an impulse to turn around, run back into the waiting room, and throw my arms around Gil’s neck. But I didn’t. A person has to keep her dignity.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lily was sitting up in bed filing her nails when I entered. She didn’t look up, so I stood silently for a moment, taking in the spectacle.

  Her face was now innocent of all makeup and, except for a gray smudge under each eye, was very pale indeed. She was clad in a faded, mud-colored hospital gown that exposed her upper arms, something Lily would have never allowed under normal circumstances. An intravenous tube led from the crook of one white, freckled arm to a bottle of clear liquid hanging at the head of the bed.

  Saddest of all, the expensive coiffure she had so carefully guarded on the ferry ride was now a matted blonde bird’s nest, tilting comically to one side. I had the impression I was gazing at the ruins of a burned out house.

  As if she had read my mind, Lily suddenly dropped her hands in her lap. “Are you quite through staring at the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, stepping forward to embrace her.

  “Ouch! Careful of this tube thing. I can’t really blame you, though. I’m a horror, all right.”

  “Not at all,” I said hastily, “It’s just that I can’t remember when I last saw you without makeup. You look—” I groped for a word, “younger.”

  “I look like crap,” Lily said, vainly trying to smooth her hair, “but it’s sweet of you to try to spare my feelings, which is more than I can say for a bunch of so-called doctors I just met.” She held out a trembling hand. “Look at that! I’d kill for a cigarette right now. Amelia, would you do me a favor?”

  “Sorry, I don’t bootleg cancer sticks.” I located her purse on the bedside table, dropped her keys and credit card inside and closed it with a loud click.

  “Don’t worry, Elliot Ness, I wouldn’t ask you to break any rules. Just go down the hall to the nurse’s station and see if you can find a girl. Oh, Kimberly, there you are!”

  A tall, buxom teenager in a gray, well-starched parody of a nurse’s uniform slid sideways through the door. She tiptoed to Lily’s bedside and cleared her throat uncertainly.

  “Tiffany,” said the girl.

  Lily blinked rapidly. “What?”

  “My name is Tiffany, Mrs. Burns.”

  Lily waved her hand. “Oh, yes, I knew it was something to do with jewelry. Well, how did you do?”

  “Well, um, I called five places.” Her eyes shot to the ceiling as she counted on her fingers. “Four of them said they had too many customers already and one said it would be at least eighty-five dollars for a wash and set away from the shop. Want that one, or want me to call some more?” She twirled a curl nervously.

  “Well—” Lily began.

  “Never mind, Tiffany,” I interrupted, patting her crisp, gray shoulder. “I think I can handle things now.”

  Tiffany wasted no time. She flashed me a pathetically grateful smile and was gone.

  Lily was indignant. “Why’d you go and do that? I needed that girl to—”

  “You just need somebody to boss around. Why boss around a stranger, when you have me?”

  Lily shot me a wounded glance. “That was uncalled for, Amelia.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. What I meant was,” I amended brightly, “why call a hairdresser and pay a fortune when I’ll be happy to do it for free?”

  The word free got her. “You’re right!” Lily smiled for the first time since my arrival. “What have you got there?” she asked, pointing to the JJ Peasemarsh bag.

  I showed her and happily took her eager criticism of my taste in lingerie as a sign of recovery. Getting her into the gown was no small task, and neither was washing her hair, but we managed with the help of a cooperative nurse who temporarily disconnected the IV.

  “Is this really necessary?” Lily asked plaintively as the nurse plugged her in once more. “I thought they said I was going to be all right.”

  “You are, Mrs. Burns. This is just precautionary.”

  “Will you look at that!” Lily demanded as the door closed after the nurse. She held out her arm to show a large red bruise inside her elbow. “They made that trying to find a vein! I look like a junkie or something.”

  “What do you know about junkies?” I asked, gently combing her damp hair.

  “Not as much as you, obviously. I mean, you probably teach dozens of them, don’t you?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. They’re not all that easy to spot. It can be pretty subtle.”

  “You mean you can’t tell when a kid is on drugs?”

  “There are signs, of course. Dennis O’Brien gave a talk about it at the PTA,” I added, wistfully remembering a happier, less suspicious time.

  “Don’t they have bruises?”

  “Well, sometimes. But injection isn’t the only way to take drugs.”

  “There are pills.”

/>   “Right. And alcohol.”

  “What?” Lily was surprised.

  “It’s a drug, too, you know.”

  “So now you’re saying I’m a junkie just because I like an occasional cocktail.”

  “Of course not. Listen, you’re going to need a hair dryer. I’ll go see if I can find one for you. Anything else you need?”

  As it turned out, there was quite a list. “Don’t lose my credit card,” Lily instructed as I left. “And don’t let anybody in here yet. I’m Typhoid Mary for at least another hour!”

  I was writing the last item on the list when I encountered a large whistling obstacle smelling pungently of expensive aftershave.

  “How is poor Miss Lily?” asked Alec, breaking off his softly whistled rendition of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” “Can she take a bit of company?” His voice held a trace of impatience as he anxiously fingered the gift box.

  As briefly as possible, I explained Lily’s schedule for receiving visitors and was surprised to see his face break into a wide grin.

  “Excellent idea,” he agreed heartily. “A most practical woman, Miss Lily. Makes sense. She wants to look her best. We must admire a woman like that.”

  I nodded, puzzled. Lily had certainly afforded Alec little opportunity to appreciate her virtues, but perhaps all the exquisite care she took with her appearance had not gone unnoticed. I took another look at the well-scrubbed Alec. Sincerity shone from his eyes.

  “Excuse me. I’m headed downstairs to the gift shop,” I said.

  “Miss Amelia, could you stand a companion? This hall lacks for entertainment and that waiting room isn’t a very cheery place. Even the coffee is foul. Of course, I’m a tea man myself.”

  Was Gil still in there, I wondered. Surely not. If he was, I hoped he hadn’t taken out any irritation with me on the Professor.

  “I’d enjoy your company, Alec.”

  “Perhaps I can find another newspaper. I’ve read yesterday’s cover to cover,” he said, opening his large sport coat and showing me the inside pocket where an entire folded copy of the Press Advertiser had been crammed. “It was full of that poor girl’s death—Marguerite LeBow. I knew her, you know, though I’m afraid she wasn’t one of my admirers.” He stood aside to allow me to enter the elevator.