Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 07 - Vague Images (2 page)

“I’ll try to get you home in one piece, assuming you don’t…Nuts.”  George’s phone was ringing and he glanced behind him before pulling into a parking space to answer it
. “Yeah?”

I could hear his editor’s clipped voice but could not tell what he was saying.

“I’ll be right there.”  He pocketed his phone. “I gotta get to Markle’s grocery store. Somebody just held it up.”  He pulled out of the parking space.

“What?!  Is he okay?”  The somewhat dour owner of the in-town grocery store is very good to the food pantry.

“Don’t know. Editor probably would have said if he’d been hurt.”  George pulled into another part of the hospital parking lot and I could tell he was driving to the main entrance. “I can’t take you with me. Could be some problems. I’m going to drop you at the main entrance.”

I couldn’t be truly irritated, but I wished the robber had waited until I was at home
. “I’ll sit in the lobby for a few minutes. I’ll probably see someone I know, or I can call someone to pick me up.”

“Your aunt’s going to kill me.”  He pulled in front of the entrance and half jogged around his car to help me out. “I’m really sorry
. Your car’s already in the lot. I see it over there.”  He nodded and I followed his gaze to my taupe-colored Toyota, which was in a row close to the main entrance.

“How did…?  Never mind
. Don’t worry about it. Call me to say how Mr. Markle is.”

As he peeled away I was glad for automatic doors and made my way to the lobby
. I scanned for Thomas Edward. I was sure that’s who had looked in on me. No sign of him. Near the entrance was a wheelchair parking lot of sorts, and I decided to commandeer one.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, with my crutches stowed in the gift shop and my eyes sweeping the corridor near the physical therapy section, I was about to give up on finding Thomas Edward. My plan was to get to Scoobie and ask him to drive my car, and me, home after his shift ended. Preferably before my pain meds wore off.

I wheeled toward the gift shop at the other end of the first floor
. Two men in surgical garb approached me. They had paper hairnets on and walked quickly, immersed in conversation. One man probably didn’t even know they were passing, he was so absorbed in the sound of his own voice. The other man had his head cocked toward the speaker.

“She doesn’t even want to have a stand-by team after eight P.M
. Thinks anyone who needs more than a stitch should be driven or flown to Lakewood. I think…”

His voice trailed off as they kept moving
. Less than a minute later, I got to the gift shop and saw a Be Right Back sign taped to the door.

I started toward the physical therapy unit, which I had avoided searching because it was at the other end of a long hallway
. It was not far from a side entrance, probably to provide easy access to outpatients.
Thomas Edward might be down there, getting ready to leave.

No Thomas Edward, so I started for the elevator to go to Radiology. A cross corridor led to administrative offices
. I pulled next to a wide pillar and rested my head on the wheelchair’s tall back for a minute. This wheeling business made for sore arms.

I was about to resume my journey to the elevator when subdued voices reached me
. Subdued, but really angry.

“You can’t just get rid of people
. There are procedures,” a man said.

The second voice was a woman’s, and it had a condescending tone to it
. “My job is to get this hospital in the black. Just five percent less in salary costs will do that.” 

“Layoffs are not as cheap as you think,” the man said.

“We can get rid of some of them without paying unemployment or severance.”

How does she do that?

“That’s unethical. People have worked here for years, and you’re going to manufacture reasons to fire them?”

I peered around the pillar and then quickly pulled back
. The man looked familiar, maybe someone Aunt Madge had introduced me to, but the woman did not. The fast glance had shown she had short hair and dark-framed glasses, and she wore a deep purple cape over a dress of some sort. My guess was that she was about forty, but her hair made it hard to tell. Such a platinum blonde color came from a bottle.

“Leave it to me.”  The woman walked further toward the administrative offices, moving at a brisk pace.

A swinging door opened, I assumed to the nearby men’s room. Before the man went in he said, “I could kill that bitch.”

I sat there, angry at the mean-spirited woman but wanting to move away so the man didn’t come back into the hall and realize I’d heard the conversation
. As I wheeled myself toward the elevator, the door to the men’s room swung open again and I could hear someone behind me, walking in my direction.

“Miss, do you need some help?”

Now that he was speaking in a normal tone of voice, I recognized him before I turned my head. Nelson Hornsby had agreed to participate in one of our food pantry fundraisers and been willing to go into the dunk tank at the Saint Anthony’s carnival. I didn’t talk to him too much, partly because he had a sort of hangdog attitude and was likely to talk about whatever was bothering him at the time.

“You can push the up elevator button for me
. I’m going to see Scoobie.” I smiled at him.

Nelson’s voice had a nasal tone and I suspected he had been crying
. “Jolie. What did you do now?”

“I suppose I should get used to those words.”

He flushed. “I should say how are you feeling?”

I grinned. “I’m good. I stomped on my brakes hard to avoid a deer. It’s apparently a good way to sprain your foot, or ankle, or something.”

“At least you didn’t break it.”  He said this almost automatically as he pushed the elevator up button. He glanced at the discharge papers sticking out from a side pocket of my purse. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

“I’m going to con Scoobie into driving me home
. He’s still staying at my house while his place in the rooming house is being repaired.” Anyone in town would know I was referring to a fairly large fire a couple months ago.

Nelson was somber
. “It was really fortunate no one was killed.” The bell dinged and the doors slid open. Nelson gave me a push into the elevator, but backed out. “Call if you need help. My office is in Purchasing.”

“Thanks
. I’ll be…good.”  I said the last word to the closed elevator door. I leaned over to push the number two button, and then stared at it for the brief time it took to get to the second floor.

The elevator dinged again and I wheeled into the corridor. It was not a patient floor, but the vinyl floor covering and the walls were the same beige color as the floors in patient areas
. There was no sound from a nearby hallway, and no one was in the area where my chair and I sat. I realized it was after three-thirty, and fewer staff would be on the hospital’s second shift than on the daytime shift. I was about to turn into the Radiology section when my phone chirped.

Sergeant Morehouse asked, “You don’t wonder who the hell drove your car to the hospital?”

“I wondered. Where are the keys?”  There was a two-second beat of silence. “Oh, thanks much.”

He grunted
. “Not me. Thank Corporal Johnson. And they’re at the admissions window.”  As was his custom, he hung up without saying goodbye.

Sergeant Morehouse and I have crossed paths several times
. He would say I poke into things he thinks I should stay out of, and I would maintain that I don’t like loose ends. He’s probably forty-one or two, which is about twelve years older than I am. I generally like him. He might not admit it, but he likes me, too. Most of the time. I smiled to myself. He was calling to be sure I was okay.

I wheeled into the Radiology waiting area and glanced further down that hallway
. Thomas Edward had to be here somewhere.

“Hey, Jolie
. You don’t look like you’re going to be able to appraise my mom’s house.”

I looked up to see one of the members of Aunt Madge’s church, First Presbyterian or First Prez to people who go there
. He was in his mid-thirties and his cherubic face looked concerned.
What is his name? His mom is Audrey.

“No worries
. Her house is one floor.”  I nodded at my foot. “Just a sprain. I’m waiting for Scoobie.”

“Gotta pick my kids up from soccer.”  Looking less concerned, he gave a wave and walked off.

It’s a good thing I don’t have any secrets
. Mostly I like the small-town atmosphere in the off-season. Summer at the Jersey shore is crazy with tourists. With Ocean Alley being only twelve blocks deep and a mile and a half along the shore, we’re packed into the town when hordes of outsiders come to the beach. Now that it’s early October, things are quieter.

Scoobie walked out of one of the x-ray rooms
. “Yo, Jolie. The receptionist said you were out here. Where’s George?”

“Mr. Markle’s store got robbed.”

“Damn. Anyone hurt?”

“George didn’t think so. He’s supposed to call me when he knows more
. Can you take me home when you get off?”

“Did you bring a flying carpet or something?”  Scoobie still doesn’t have a car. He mostly takes the bus to school and the hospital
, except when it rains. Then George or I drive him.

“Sergeant Morehouse said Dana drove my car here. Keys are in the Admissions Office.”

A plaintive voice came from behind me. “Did you say Mr. Markle’s store got robbed?”

I should have been quieter.
I wheeled my chair to face a woman who was apparently waiting for an x-ray. She was probably seventy-five or so and had on a cotton dress and knee-high stockings whose elastic had grown worn. They hung about her ankles. Older people like her live in Ocean Alley’s small downtown and often can’t drive to get to larger stores on the highway. “I said that, but I’m sure if anyone had been hurt my friend would have told me.”

“Oh dear. I hope they left some stool softener.”  She bent over a magazine she had been reading. A younger woman next to her mouthed “my mom,” and I gathered mom had a touch of dementia
. I nodded at the daughter, who was probably in her fifties.

Scoobie’s voice held controlled laughter
. “Wheel to the snack machines, and I’ll be out in about half-an-hour.” He gave me a salute and walked away. I headed for the vending machines around the corner and down a few meters

I would have liked a Dr. Pepper, but the soft drink machine didn’t have any, plus the only bill in my purse was a ten
. After a minute of studying what was in all the machines — really, who would eat a white bread tuna sandwich that had been in a vending machine for maybe two days? — I decided to go to the restroom that was about ten meters further down the hall.

Midway to the ladies’ room were two water fountains. The lower of the two was not solid all the way to the floor, so there was room for me to pull close to the fountain
. I leaned over as I pushed the button to release the water, and was rewarded with a wet nose and cheeks.

“Damn!”  I mopped my face with the back of my sleeve
. I’d wait until I got home to drink something.

I had gotten pretty good at wheeling myself, but didn’t know how I’d open the swinging door to the restroom
. Fortunately, there was a button to push and the door swung open. It was a narrow entry area and the sinks and toilets were around a corner. I nudged the wall a couple of times as I turned the chair to get into the main part of the room.

That’s when I saw the foot sticking out from under a stall
. A shapely, high-heeled foot wearing nylons. It belonged to a woman who was not only lying on the floor but appeared not to be moving. I was perfectly still for a moment, and then automatically tried to get out of the chair. I hadn’t locked it, so I slid from the wheelchair onto the floor. Luckily, I didn’t hurt any additional extremities. I crawled to her, grimacing all the way.

I wanted to help the woman, and peered under the stall
. I had read an article about someone who got hit by a car and died because they aspirated on their own blood. I looked more closely. This woman was very still, but she wasn’t lying with her face in a pool of blood. Or her head in the john.

When I saw her eyes staring at the commode she was lying next to, I knew it was hopeless
. Then I noticed her dark purple cape and the cracked pair of glasses on the tile floor next to her. At least one person had thought about killing this woman.

CHAPTER TWO

THE HALLWAY WAS awash in police. I had kept my head and did not scream, but I attracted a fair bit of attention when I crawled out of the bathroom. I hadn’t been able to figure out how to get back into the wheelchair. Even if I could have climbed back into it, I wasn’t about to go further into the room so I could maneuver better to turn around.

I sat on the floor in the hall trying to stay out of the way as EMTs rushed into the restroom
. They could do nothing, but they didn’t know that. I had just asked one of them to bring my chair out when Sergeant Morehouse arrived and said the chair was part of the crime scene so I couldn’t have it. He barked at one of the EMTs to find me another one.

An EMT brought a chair and helped me into it
. I sat near the Radiology reception desk and looked toward the yellow crime scene tape just outside the entrance to the restroom. I had been told to expect a more thorough police interview. Other patients and all the staff had been moved to a nearby conference room, except for one woman who had a crying jag because she wanted to get her x-ray done and go home. I had no idea where they had taken her.

There was a thunk on the carpet next to me and I looked into the somber face of Corporal Dana Johnson, my favorite member of the Ocean Alley Police Department
. She held both my crutches in one hand and had just set them on the floor, as if they were a single cane. “Looking for these?”

I kept my seat but reached for them
. “Thanks for getting them.”

She sat next to me
. “How are you holding up?”  Dana is not a lot older than I am, and she’s very pretty, with soft brown hair and eyes that hint at her sense of humor. In her masculine-looking police uniform, it’s possible to pass her off as plain.

I shrugged
. “I’m okay, I guess. I think she works here.”

“Yeah
. Sergeant Morehouse or Lieutenant Tortino will talk to you more in a minute.”

I nodded
. “When can Scoobie come back here?”  I’m a big girl, but between my foot throbbing and feeling queasy, unable to get the woman’s staring eyes out of my mind, I wanted a friend nearby.

“Up to this guy,” Dana said, nodding at Sergeant Morehouse as he walked up
. She stood and he sat next to me.

“You look better.”  He scanned my face for a second and pulled out a thin notebook
. “You said you went in there to use the facilities?”

I kept myself from saying
duh
and nodded. “Which I didn’t get to do.”

“In a second
. Was anyone else in there?” Morehouse loosened his tie slightly. He wears solid-color ties, white or pastel colored shirts, and polyester pants. Between that and his closely cropped brown hair, he looks kind of like police detectives in a 1970s television show. His attire makes him look probably ten years older than he is.

“I didn’t see anyone alive, and no one came out after me
. Who is she?  I know she works here because I saw her talking to…”

“To who?”  Morehouse’s tone was sharp, his Jersey accent more pronounced when he’s irritated. Not with me this time, probably, but with the murderer.

“It was downstairs a few minutes ago. Nelson Hornsby. Near the elevator on the first floor.”  For some reason, I decided not to mention his remark about killing the woman. Although I rarely say it out loud, I often say I’d like to kill George. No way would I do it, most days anyway. I’d ask Aunt Madge if she thought Nelson capable of murder. If she did, I could always claim to have remembered what he said after the pain meds wore off.

“You talked to them?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I mean, no.”

Morehouse gave an almost imperceptible sigh and looked directly at me.

“I was sitting near one of those wide pillars, and they were on the other side of it, talking.”

“About what?”

“I’m not exactly sure, because I didn’t know the context, but I think the woman wanted to lay off some hospital staff. Nelson didn’t like the idea.”

“A bad argument?”

I thought for a second. “Not yelling. I had the impression that this was the first time Nelson had heard what she wanted to do, and he was not happy about it.”

“You don’t know who she is?”  When I shook my head, he continued, “Tanya Weiss
. She was hired about three months ago as some kind of special advisor to the hospital’s Board of Directors. Scuttlebutt was that she was supposed to help them reduce the hospital’s budget.”

I vaguely recalled a short
Ocean Alley Press
article about her hiring. “Popular job. How did she die?”

He gave me one of his I-wish-I-never-met-you-looks that I have seen before
. “Don’t know yet.”

“So, not a heart attack?” I asked
. “I didn’t see any blood.”

“What part of don’t know yet don’t you get?  How long were you in there?”

“A few seconds. Well, a few seconds after I managed to get around that little corner. That probably took fifteen or twenty seconds.”

He looked mildly amused. “I figured those were your wheelchair tire’s black marks on the walls.”

“So I’m not an expert wheeler. Anyway, once I got in, I saw her foot and slid off my chair to try to help her.”  I didn’t mention that the sliding part was not intentional. “Didn’t take long to figure out that I couldn’t.”

“Why’d you leave the chair in there?”

“It would have taken at least a minute to get it out of the room, assuming I could get back into the chair. I didn’t feel like hanging around.”

He stood
. “Stay here a bit longer.”

There was no point in asking how long
. A sort of metal squeaking noise drew my attention to the hallway, and I craned to look toward the restroom. Two guys in scrubs had just brought a gurney to the entrance to the bathroom. No way that thing can get in there.

As if agreeing, they leaned against the opposite wall, talking in low voices.

A man and a woman wearing paper aprons and shoes and carrying tool boxes came out of the restroom. The woman had a camera on a strap around her neck. Based on TV shows, they were probably crime scene evidence technicians. One of them spoke in a low voice that I could barely hear. “You can go in now.” This was apparently directed at the guys with the gurney, and they took a large black bag off of it and entered the ladies’ room.

Yuck
.

I glanced down the hallway away from the restrooms. I really wanted to see Scoobie walking toward me. I didn’t, so I spent half a minute trying to position one of the waiting room chairs so that it was in front of me and I could rest my throbbing foot on it. Once that was done
, I leaned back in the chair I was sitting in and rested my head on the wall.

It wasn’t the woman in the
restroom who came to mind. There was nothing I could do for her. Instead, Thomas Edward lumbered into my thoughts. It had to have been him in the ER. If he were just someone who had moved away from Ocean Alley during my junior year, like the guy named Sean in my homeroom who loved to tease me, it would have been no big deal.

Seeing Thomas Edward was a big deal
. It occurred to me that the Finch family probably had a new name these days. If it was not safe for people to recognize them, surely Thomas Edward would have stayed away. Unless it was really important for him to be in Ocean Alley. If he had to be here, why not talk to me?

“You sleeping?”  Sergeant Morehouse stood a couple feet away from me.

“Nope. Can I go?  My foot is really throbbing.”

“Corporal Johnson went to get Scoobie
. You think of anything else?  Something may not seem important to you, but it could matter.”

I thought for a couple of seconds. “What I noticed most when I got off the elevator was how empty the hallways were
. Maybe some of the people who were in Radiology before I got there saw something unusual.”

Morehouse shook his head
. “Doesn’t sound like it. Two other hallways lead into the one with your restroom, so someone wouldn’t have to walk by here to go to the john.

“So, how did she die?”

He gave me a cold stare. “You going to tell your reporter friend?”

“Not if you tell me not to.” I grinned
. “I love to keep stuff from…  Hey, he was going to take me home, but he had to dump me because there was a robbery at Mr. Markle’s place. Is he okay?”

“A little shaken, but okay
. Same with his clerks.”  Before I could ask more questions, he stood. “Call me if you think of something.”

He was about three feet from me when I remembered he had not said how Tanya Weiss died. “How?  I won’t tell George.”

Morehouse turned back to look at me. “Lump on the side of her head, likely not from a fall.” He pointed his index finger at me and turned to walk away.

“Jolie.”  Scoobie had stopped near me
. He looked almost scared. “You were lucky whoever got to her didn’t get you.”

I nodded as he walked to me and sat in the chair next to mine
. “Why do you think it was a murder?”

He shrugged. “Seems if they thought it was a fall they wouldn’t have herded most of us to that conference room and then taken us to an office next to it to ask us questions
. Separately ask us questions.”

My stomach was cramping, and I knew why
. “Can you take me home so I can tinkle there?  I’m not up for wandering into any more public restrooms today.”

He stood and grinned
. “Tinkle, tinkle, little star…”