1 Who Killed My Boss? (8 page)

After hanging up the phone and also saying good-bye to Clancy, I stopped to speak to Gus for a while. I’d seen Georgianne leave a few minutes earlier.

“Hi ya, gal.” Gus was genuinely glad to see me.

“I want to run a few things by you.” He nodded and put on his “business” face.

“Right after we discovered Burns’ body, I saw his receptionist sitting in the corner of his office, sobbing. A little while later she said, ‘I didn’t mean to do it, but…‌’ and then she started sobbing again. It sounds like she was trying to confess, but I don’t think she did it. The next day she acted really weird when I arrived at the clinic. Pretended she didn’t hear me knocking, and then acted phony-sweet to me. I can’t say I like her, but I’m convinced of her innocence.”

Gus didn’t bother asking me how I knew Gwen was innocent. “Maybe she’s just in shock. Finding Burns dead like that would be enough to make anyone act a bit goofy. Why don’t you give her a few days and see how she behaves?”

“And I’m the one who’s the therapist? You’re right. Her behavior is consistent with people who suffered a traumatic event.”

I thanked him, gave him a peck on the cheek, and made my getaway before Georgianne’s return.

I drove the few miles to Ed and Angie’s. As I pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. The lawn could not be described as “neatly manicured.” In the past it had been littered with bikes of various makes, colors and sizes. Now most of the kids were older and drove cars, but the yard still held reminders that a large family lived there.

Ed and Angie had committed the big “no-no” and so they got married immediately after graduating from high school. Alice was born a few months afterward, then Susan, John, Robert, and fifteen years later the ever popular Skeeter.

Skeeter met me at the door. He was dressed in bib overalls and a long sleeved T-shirt. Perched on his head was his favorite baseball cap that said, “Cute.” He was cute; in fact he was downright adorable. He was just beginning to walk; and he smiled and drooled at the sight of his Aunt Sam. We had a great rapport, and spoke each other’s language. Even though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t resist crawling around on the floor with Skeeter for a few minutes.

As someone with a “favorite Aunt” status, I always bought kids toys that I liked. That way I had something fun to play with when I visited them. So Skeeter and I played with a talking truck for a short time.

Angie hollered from the kitchen, “Sure you don’t want to stay for lunch? Ed’ll be home in a little while.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t. Gotta visit Mrs. Burns.” I grabbed the cake, hugged and thanked Angie, scooped up Skeeter, and promised to spend more time with him as soon as I could.

Then I drove back to “my” section of town. The Burns’ home was a conglomeration of styles, a white quasi-Spanish-Moorish-Victorian-Tudor-Queen Anne home. It was built in 1887 and was one of the showplaces of Quincy. It was a favorite in the annual “let’s show off our homes” tour. I’d never been inside, and was kind of looking forward to it, wondering how anyone could live in such a hodgepodge house.

I rang the bell and tidied myself up a little, brushing off stray Clancy hairs from my coat. A stiff looking guy in a black suit with tails opened the door. It couldn’t have been a butler, but it was. A bit pretentious, even for this section of town. I swear he would drown if it started raining, his nose was so far in the air.

He said, “May I help you?” and I introduced myself as an employee of Dr. Burns. It didn’t seem important that I tell him the employment was for less than an hour prior to Burns’ death. Anyway, he let me in and took my coat. As he opened the closet, it was apparent that my coat, like me, didn’t quite fit in. Choosing to ignore this, I followed the sound of voices.

The room I entered must have been the drawing room. It was too overdone to be called a living room, or even worse—a family room. It was enormous, but it was hard to tell a lot of the details, because it was literally brimming full of people. I looked around for Mrs. Burns. Although we’d never met, I recalled seeing her name in the society pages along with Georgianne’s. The only photographs I’d seen were the ones that appeared on the back covers of her novels, but I didn’t believe those pictures, which showed her as young, brunette and pretty.

I saw a few people that I recognized from the neighborhood, and grinned when I noticed Gus sitting on a sofa, holding court. He had always been a popular guy, and was even more so, now that he no longer got around much. Georgianne always discouraged visitors, but they kept coming anyway. Once you knew Gus, you found it hard to stay away for too long.

I placed my cake on a table in the hall. Joining Gus on the couch, I took advantage of the momentary lull in his entourage.

“Hi. You feeling better?”

“Of course, Sam. I always feel great when I see you.”

My blush lit up my face like a neon sign.
Damn, I wish I took compliments better.

“What’s everyone doing here? In my family, we have the wake the day of the funeral. Why are they holding the party of the century before the funeral, with Burns hardly cold?”

Gus smiled, “I think everyone is a little curious. Murder and mystery are scarce in Quincy. No one wants to miss out on anything.” At that he glanced around to see if his wife was nearby. “Including Georgianne. I must admit it didn’t take much convincing to get me to come. I’m curious too. Not much excitement in my life. Thought this might be interesting.”

I hugged him and stood. “Well, I need to express my condolences. Can you point out Mrs. Burns to me, please?”

As he pointed, I gasped. There, talking to my future date, was one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen. Much more beautiful in person than in pictures. At the same time, a wave of revulsion washed over me, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even if I wanted to second-guess my ability, I couldn’t at that point. I was literally doubled over with psychic, painful vibes. The woman made me sick.

Michael rushed over and Mrs. Burns arrived at the same time. They both grabbed me. And I fainted. Yes, I swooned. Not only was I in the presence of all of the money in the city, but this was the first time Michael had touched me—and I passed out. I wouldn’t know what class was if it bit me in the butt.

Michael and Mrs. Burns helped me into an adjoining room. With my keen observation skills, I guessed it was the library. Hundreds of books lined the walls. I reclined on a chaise lounge, and Mrs. Burns immediately placed a cover over and around me, probably not from any sense of care, but because she didn’t know what to expect from me next, or maybe so I wouldn’t touch her fancy-schmancy furniture.

I tried to be gracious. “Thank you very much, but I’m fine now. I am so sorry, Mrs. Burns.” It was hard to be nice when this woman made me dizzy and sick to my stomach. I’d never had such a powerful negative reaction to a person before. If this was what tuning into my psychic abilities would do, then I thought I’d pass.

Normally I’d just get a crick in my neck or a dizzy, light-headed sensation. This was an entirely too drastic reaction. The only possible explanation was that Mrs. Burns must be the murderer.

“No need to be sorry, dear.” Dear, indeed, and this from a woman who either was twenty years younger than me or else had extensive work done on her face and body. I hoped it was the latter. There must be something in the rulebook that states a widow cannot look so sexy at her husband’s wake. At least there has to be a paragraph somewhere that says they can’t wear skintight black wool crepe dresses. Especially in front of my soon-to-be date. She continued to be solicitous, “Are you sure you feel well? Is there anything I can get for you? There are a few doctors in the other room. Would you like me to find one for you?”

After saying, “No thanks,” I reclined and panicked. Panicked and reclined. The panic subsided somewhat, but the reclining didn’t. Now that I was more accustomed to being in the presence of a murderess, I was feeling better physically, but still couldn’t figure out what to do. I needed to get rid of her so I could talk to Michael.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but could you please get me a club soda?”

She didn’t look like she wanted to leave me alone with Michael. Maybe she had designs on him. God knows, he was good looking. But he was mine. Or soon would be, as soon as I sat up and started charming him.

Anyway, ever the dutiful hostess, Mrs. Burns slithered out of the library.

I shot into an upright position. “Michael, she did it!”

“No, she didn’t, Sam. All she did was touch you. You passed out. It wasn’t her fault.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” trying hard to sound competent, “I mean she killed her husband.”

Did he have a glint of amusement in his eyes? Or was it a patronizing look one gives a child? Or maybe, he just felt a little woozy himself because of my mesmerizing effect on him.

“What makes you think she killed her husband?” The detective in him couldn’t resist asking questions.

With that he put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back into a reclining position. He stroked my hair and I melted. Again. Tingles everywhere. And a dangerous remnant of dizziness.

“Well, I can’t really tell you my source. Just trust me. I know it and I’m not wrong. Believe me, Michael, I’m not making this up. Please…”

My pathetic whining must have done the trick. Michael took my hand, looked into my eyes and said, “God, you look horrible.”

Then he smiled, and I couldn’t be mad at him. “Yeah, I know I look bad, I just fainted; but that doesn’t change the fact that Mrs. Burns killed her husband.”

“Carolyn didn’t kill anyone, Sam.” Carolyn? Since when was my soon-to-be-beloved on a first name basis with a murderer?

“Damn it, Michael, she did, and I’ll prove it.” At that, Mrs. Carolyn Burns returned with my club soda and smiled at us. Actually she was probably smiling at Michael. See that’s what makes me mad about cute guys. He didn’t do anything wrong and already I’m mad at him. Haven’t even had our first date and I’m jealous. That really steams me. Why did he smile back at her? Damn it. Does he always smile so broadly at murderers or just beautiful women? Or was he just covering so she wouldn’t suspect that I suspected? Just being in the same room with her was getting to me.

“Thanks, Mrs. Burns, but I need to go home. There’s a bundt cake on the hall table. That’s for you. Gotta go. I’ll be back for the funeral Monday. Bye. Oh, I meant to tell you I really like your books.”

With that I tried to get up. I looked at the smiling Mrs. Burns and felt dizzy. As I stumbled against Michael, Mrs. Burns put out her hand and touched me and I—omigod, not again—the room started spinning and soon I did too. The last thing I saw was a delicate Asian vase on an end table. It got closer and closer to me as I fainted. Her eardrum-bursting shriek brought little satisfaction but it did rouse me from my faint. She must have thought I was going to break a precious possession in this pristine palace. Michael apologized to her, said he would see that I got home, and waltzed me out the door. As soon as we were away from her I immediately felt a little better, but I didn’t look better.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Embarrassed, I said, “I feel fine now, I promise. I can make it home. Besides, you’re all dressed up, so you probably need to go home and change into comfortable clothes before you pick me up for dinner.”

“Dinner? Sam, you must be kidding. You just fainted. Twice.” He paused. “Are you sure?” I didn’t think I liked the amused tone, but I was willing to overlook it for now. Besides I was too embarrassed to say very much.

“I promise I’m fine.” I looked him in the eyes so he would know I was telling the truth. Then I remembered, he didn’t know that about me. In fact he didn’t know much about me at all, and vice versa. I surely wanted to remedy that. Very soon, in fact. “Go home and change. Give me a few hours. I’m kind of tired, so I think I’ll take a short nap, then clean up and I’ll be ready by seven.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but walked me to my car. “Okay, I’ll see you at seven, but if you change your mind or if you start feeling bad again, give me a call.”

With that he helped me into my car and patted the hood as I drove away. I looked into the rear view mirror and once again thanked my lucky stars that I had a date with him tonight. But nothing serious, I reminded myself. Especially, no marriage. I refused to be Sam Darling O’Dear. Of course, I guessed I could keep my maiden name. When I married Alan, I did just that. His last name was Wonder, so I certainly didn’t want to be Sam Darling Wonder. So I’ve been Sam Darling all my life. Guess I could keep that up when Michael and I got married.

This fantasy was certainly far out. Michael and I hadn’t even experienced our first date and already I had decided to keep my maiden name. I better be careful and not blurt out this insanity in his presence. That would scare him off for sure.

It took all of two minutes to arrive at my castle. As I dragged myself in the door, Clancy gave me “the look.”

I stripped off my wrinkled clothes and left a trail to the bathroom. I took a two-minute shower and then left a message with my wake-up service. “Listen, Clance, I don’t have time to talk. Wake me up in an hour.”

She didn’t. But something else did.

EIGHT

T
hrough a daze I
felt the pain begin. It started slowly and then hit in large waves that pushed me toward consciousness. I resisted opening my eyes but someone kept slapping me. I raised an eyelid, so I could see who would receive my revenge. Georgianne Granville! The old witch. I tried to slap her back, but couldn’t move. Why in the hell was she hitting me? Why was I lying in the snow?

“She’s awake.”

I opened another eye. Gus and Michael knelt by me with looks of concern on their faces. Was this how Dorothy felt in the “Wizard of Oz,” when she woke up with a horrible headache and memories of a fantastic dream? But the wicked witch wasn’t dead, she was here. And she was slapping me. Or at least one of the wicked witches was here. I was sure there were more. Part of my dream included a beautiful witch who was after my intended boyfriend.