1 Who Killed My Boss? (7 page)

“Well, he did give me the creeps. But why did everyone dislike him?”

“I dunno. He seemed to have everything but always wanted more. Then when his wife started making so much money, I think he got a little jealous.”

“Wait a minute. What did his wife do to earn a lot of money?”

“Guess you haven’t heard about it since you’ve been gone so long, but Carolyn Burns is actually Felicia Greene.”

“Whoa. Burns’ wife is Felicia Greene? I don’t believe it. I’ve read all her books.”

“Yep. She’s quite a bit younger than Burns and rumor has it that she got bored one day and just started writing. Surprised everyone when she got published. Burns didn’t fuss too much about what he called ‘her little hobby,’ as long as it didn’t infringe on his life. His only input was to insist that she use a nom de plume so no one would know his wife was a novelist.”

“This is unbelievable. Her books are my favorites. I mean they have everything in them—murder, sex, intrigue, mental illness. She’s got the workings of the mind down pat. Was she involved in the mental health field too?”

Gus chuckled before he spoke. “I don’t think Carolyn Burns worked a day in her life before she began writing. Wait until you meet her and then tell me what you think.”

I pictured Mrs. Burns as middle aged and dumpy and thought she must have used someone else for the author’s picture on her book jackets. After all, Dr. Burns was in his sixties and the young woman pictured as Felicia Greene certainly couldn’t have been married to him. I’d heard Burns’ wife was younger than he was, but there were limits to my imagination.

“Ms. Darling,” Georgianne again, “my husband needs his rest. I think it’s time for you to be going.”

“Sure thing, Georgie,” I loved calling this formal, cold woman by her nickname.

As I kissed Gus on the cheek he said “No need to rush off,” but his tired eyes belied his words.

“I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll see you soon though.”

Gus replied, “I think I’ll feel well enough to attend the funeral. It’s likely to be a real shindig and I don’t want to miss it. I’ll see you there.”

Clancy and I entered our home just as the phone was ringing. When I answered it, two youthful voices said, “Hi, Ma.” It was Adam and Sarah calling from school. I’d called and told them about my boss’s death and they wanted to know how I was holding up.

“I’m fine. I’m sure sorry he was killed. It was really a bad experience for everyone, and I imagine his wife is devastated. I haven’t paid my condolence call yet, but I’ll meet her soon.”

“Mom, you seem way too excited. What else is going on?” Sarah knew me too well.

“Well, I just thought I’d look around a bit and see if I can help your Uncle Rob solve the case.” Surely my kids couldn’t object to that.

“Mom,” Adam’s turn, “remember, you’re a social worker and not a cop. Leave the detective work to Uncle Rob and his coworkers. Stay out of it. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

When did my lovely son turn into a man? “Listen, you guys, I’m fine. I’m not doing anything stupid and I can take care of myself. Remember who the parent is here. Now, be good little kids and get back to your homework.”

We spoke for a few more minutes and after I hung up the phone, I kept thinking about them. It hadn’t been easy raising two kids virtually on my own, but all in all they had turned out fine. I was so proud of both of them. I also loved the fact that they were at the same school, and was grateful that they had each other while they were gone.

I made dinner for Clancy and me. In the past I had been a firm believer that dogs should only get dog food, but ever since Clancy and I have been alone, I’ve changed my mind. Many times, she and I have shared the same meal. I’m a vegetarian however, and Clancy didn’t used to be, but she’s almost converted; she does have her limits and draws the line at tofu. I warmed up leftover vegetable lasagna and put some in her bowl along with some canine morsels. I poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and sighed contentedly. Sometimes life was really good.

I had just finished my meal and was making a pot of decaf, when I heard a light tapping on my door. I opened it without looking to see who it was. Another bad habit from my childhood, but it’s one I had a hard time breaking. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness; then I noticed a man standing there. He was hiding in the shadows, and rocking back and forth on his heels.

I said, “Can I help you?”

A sad voice asked, “Are you the new lady at the clinic?”

I answered in the affirmative.

“Are you Father Brother’s sister?”

Again I answered affirmatively, and then added, “Well, I used to be; I mean he used to be. Well, yeah.”

“I know him from the hospital and he told me about you. I need to talk to you. Can I come in? Please?”

The “please” did it. I didn’t know too many bad guys who would look and sound so sad and who would say “please” when they wanted to enter a house. So I stepped aside for him to enter. Besides, Clancy was still eating—a sure sign the stranger posed no threat to me.

As he walked into the living room, I thought he might be the person that Georgianne Granville described. When he stepped into the light I also noticed that he was the “John Doe” from the ER earlier in the day.

The first thing I said was, “Tell me your name.” I was tired of this “John Doe” thing.

He looked surprised at my directness, but answered, “Charlie Schneider.”

The puzzle pieces were multiplying, but a few were starting to fit. “Any relation to Gwen Schneider?”

“Yeah,” he said, “she’s my sister. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I thought it also could have something to do with the incident this morning in the ER. I saw your fascinating performance and since I’m a therapist and occasionally accept private patients, I thought you might be here for some counseling.”

He gave me a look he could have learned from B.H. or Clancy. I decided to mind my manners and not glare back. Clancy didn’t have any such reservations, however. She decided to acknowledge his existence by staring. Charlie didn’t notice.

“Can I sit down? I’m kinda tired.”

I offered him a seat and I joined my dog on the couch. “Why don’t you just tell me what I can do for you?”

He glanced around a little before looking me straight in the eye, and said, “They arrested my sister tonight for murdering Dr. Burns, and I know she didn’t do it. She told me you said you would help. Since you’re Father Brother’s sister, I thought I could trust you. I don’t know who else to go to, so here I am.”

He made perfect sense to me, and that was scary. I quickly reassured him, “I know she didn’t do it, Charlie, but I don’t have any proof.”

“I’m your proof,” he blurted. “I did it.”

The corpse was barely cold and I’d already solved the murder. God, I’m good. Even Clancy was wagging her tail.

SEVEN

S
o I was sitting
in my living room with my dog and a confessed murderer. And what did I do?

“Charlie, would you like cream in your coffee? How about another piece of pie? You look like you could use something more to eat.”

I wouldn’t let him talk while he was finishing the leftover lasagna, garlic bread, and pie. This was every mother’s dream—someone who really appreciated a good meal. I didn’t think it necessary to tell Charlie that the lasagna was made by Mama Manicotti in a sterilized kitchen and that the pie was frozen before I popped it in my oven. He gulped down two cups of coffee as if he were freezing. As he let out a very satisfied belch and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, I realized this guy was probably not the brightest porch light on the block. I also knew he was innocent. My vibes were dormant; there were no errant physical sensations. And it made me mad that he felt he had to confess. This guy was as innocent of murdering Dr. Burns as I was. It was obvious that he was trying to protect his older sister, Gwen.

I decided to try to get a little more information. “Charlie, will you tell me what was going on with you in the ER this morning?”

He looked sheepish; his unstructured hair fell into his eyes, a shield protecting him from the world. “Yeah, they make me so mad in them damn hospitals. My wife and little baby was hurt bad a couple years back in a car wreck and we didn’t have no insurance and they took ’em to the hospital and they both died there.” Charlie had a hard time maintaining eye contact; his eyes darted back and forth from the plate to Clancy, scarcely alighting on me. “They’re still sendin’ me bills. It’s like they don’t know there’s human beings on the receivin’ end of them bills. Every time I get one of ’em, I get a little crazy. But Dr. Burns said I wasn’t crazy. He called it something else, like post dramatic stress.”

More information. Charlie was seeing Dr. Burns professionally and was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He would be a perfect candidate for the villain. PTSD, mood swings, the victim was screwing his sister—literally, and the hospital was screwing him—figuratively. Too bad he wasn’t guilty.

“Charlie, will you answer another question for me?”

He nodded.

“Did you get arrested this morning for what you did at the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did. But they know’d me down at the police station and they let me out until the court day. My lawyer said it’d be awhile. Heck, I’ll be in jail anyway for murder, so this thing won’t count for much extra.”

“Why are you saying you killed Dr. Burns, when I know you didn’t?”

“I did too kill him.”

“Okay, why did you do it?”

“Just cause I wanted to, that’s why.”

“So you killed him because you wanted to. How did you do it, Charlie? What did you do to him?”

He stuttered a bit, unable to come up with a plausible method. I was convinced that neither of us knew how Burns had been killed, but I knew more about it than Charlie did. I’d seen Burns dead.

“Sorry, that’s not good enough. I know positively that you are innocent. Unfortunately, I can’t reveal my source at this time.” I was getting tired of saying that. “What’s going on?”

“Well, they got my sister and she didn’t do it neither. I thought ’cause I’m such a screw-up anyway and I don’t have nobody but her, that I oughta say I did it. That way she’d get out.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie, she’ll get out anyway. I’m going to help her by finding the real killer. Now the best thing for you to do is to take good care of yourself and make sure you visit her a lot.”

He nodded. After crossing our fingers for luck, and pinky swearing that we wouldn’t tell anyone else about me working on the case except Pete, otherwise known as Father Brother, we parted company for the night.

I felt absolutely drained, but I also felt such an adrenaline rush, it was hard to settle down. “Clancy, how about an extra outing tonight? I feel like running a little.”

She returned with her leash even before I finished my sentence. I put on my boots and parka and we started out. The snowy night was so bright that I could see clearly. The ground was already covered and flakes were once again falling. I couldn’t run much because of my boots and because of the snow, but I knew I had to try, or I’d never be able to sleep.

We started jogging around the big house, but then hit a patch of ice. Clancy skidded; I let go of her leash and windmilled my arms trying to avoid the inevitable. No such luck. With a giant thud I fell flat on my butt. Luckily I had enough padding so I suffered no injury. And because there were no witnesses other than Clancy, even my dignity wasn’t damaged. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t get up. Clancy was laughing too. We couldn’t stop. The guffaws were flying from both of us. The Granville’s light went on and I knew that Georgianne would soon be on the back porch with a shotgun, looking for the intruder. I still couldn’t get up, so I belly crawled next to her house so she wouldn’t be able to see me. Breathing heavily, I pulled Clancy close and begged her not to make any noise.

Sure enough, “Who is it? I’ve called the police. You better get out of here.”

I could just picture her hair in curlers and a gun in her hand. Gus, long weary of his wife’s eccentricities, would be snoring happily upstairs. After a few moments, she went inside and I was able to limp back to my house, dragging an unwilling Clancy with me.

“I know I lied, Clance, but my energy is gone now and I can’t run. Besides, I’m literally freezing my butt off. Would you like some hot tea and cookies?”

The bribe worked. We drank. Then we slept.

An early phone call the next morning from Schnitzer in the personnel department notified me that the office would be closed until after Dr. Burns’ funeral on Monday, so I had the whole day to myself. I could clean house, solve the murder, or think about going out with Michael. I chose Door #2 and decided to do some sleuthing.

First things first. I called Angie, my brother Ed’s wife.

“Darlings.” She loved to answer the phone that way.

“Angie, hi, this is Sam.”

“Oh, hey, I heard about the tragedy at your office. So sorry about it. And to think the murderer was right under your nose. She worked for him for almost twenty years, I heard.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but that’s not why I called. I want to make a call on Mrs. Burns and I either need to pick up a dish from the deli or call upon one of my favorite sisters-in-law to see if you have anything freshly baked just laying around.”

I could hear the grin in her voice. My family was used to covering for me at potluck dinners and carry-ins. “Well, it just so happens I’ve made two bundt cakes. And you can have one. Good timing, sis.” Angie was an only child and has certainly adapted well to the vagaries of a big family. She knew how to go with the flow.

“Thanks, Ang, I’ll pick it up in a little while. I owe you.” I couldn’t begin to count the number of times she rescued me. God help me if she ever decided to keep track.

“I know you do. Can you babysit for Skeeter tonight so we can go to the game?” There was no need to tell me which game. St. Francis University had a superb basketball team and the entire town attended the games.

“Love to but I can’t. I think I have a date. Don’t laugh. I really do. But next time you need a sitter, you got one. See you in a few minutes.”