Grace Sees Red (22 page)

I waited until I was back upstairs to place a third phone call. Frances followed me into my office. “What did Anton want? Who are you calling?”

I held up a finger as the call connected. Voice mail, yet again. At least this time I knew why I wasn't getting through. We were right in the middle of his office hours. “Joe,” I began after the beep, “was there anything in Gus's autopsy report about his blood alcohol levels? Could ingesting liquor—specifically a high-alcohol-content liquor—have caused his death?”

Part of me wanted to refer to our meet-up at Hugo's the night before, but with Frances squinting at me, listening in, I thought better of it. “No rush. I know you're busy. Call me when you can.”

“The Mister had to leave for a meeting.” Frances nodded at the phone still in my hand. “But what's up with the alcohol? Don't tell me we've got another Dr. Keay situation here.”

“Funny you should say that,” I said as I dropped into my chair. “Anton apparently kept Gus supplied with illegal moonshine.”

“That's what he came here to tell you?”

“There's more,” I said. “Have a seat.”

I shared most of what Anton had told me, including his revelation about Gus's will and Harland's financial difficulties. What I didn't share was my plan to corner Percy about the missing moonshine. I had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly where that jar was.

*   *   *

Joe returned my call later that afternoon. “What's up?” he asked when I answered. “Why the questions about alcohol?”

I told him.

Almost as soon as I started explaining, Frances came into my office to listen in, making no secret of her eavesdropping. She leaned forward to stage-whisper, “Ask him if it could kill Gus the way it killed Dr. Keay.”

I shook my head. We already knew the answer to that. Of course it could.

“First of all, the direct answer to your question is no,” Joe said. “I didn't note the victim's blood alcohol level. I wasn't looking for that. I'll do so as soon as I can.”

“I know it's a long shot,” I said.

“Maybe Anton added a little something to the moonshine,” Frances stage-whispered again, this time louder. “Maybe that's why he wants you to find the jar. Because he poisoned Gus.”

The same thought had occurred to me when Anton had first mentioned the moonshine, but I hadn't wanted to get Frances's hopes up.

“Ask him,” Frances said none too quietly.

Joe gave a soft laugh. “Tell her I can hear every word she says. And, of course there's a chance Anton slipped Gus a deadly cocktail. But we won't know for sure until the screening is complete.”

Frances inched closer, insinuating herself into our conversation. “If only we knew where that jar was,” she said. “We could have it tested ourselves.”

“The police may be testing it even as we speak,” I said.

“I think we would have heard about it by now.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“I agree with Frances,” Joe said. “It's either still at Indwell, or one of the sons has it stashed away.”

We talked a little longer and when we hung up, Frances was still glaring. “You know where the jar is, don't you?”

I still had no intention of telling her my plan to corner Percy. “I don't know anything.”

“But you have an idea.”

“All I have is a hunch,” I said. “I'll zip out to Indwell tomorrow and see what turns up.”

“Hmph,”
she said.

*   *   *

For the second day in a row, the house was silent when I arrived home after work even though both my roommates' cars were in the driveway. After greeting Bootsie, I opened the basement door and called down, “Guys?” No answer. “Bruce? Scott?”

Turning on lights as I moved through the house, I stood at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the bedroom level and called my roommates' names again.

Back in the kitchen, I searched around for a note. Finding none, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

Scott answered on the first ring. “Is that you, Grace?” he asked. His words were slurred. “Where are you?”

“Home,” I said. “Where are you? Where's Bruce?”

“He's here. We're both here.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Nah,” he said. “Okay, maybe a little bit. Your friend Anton is a great guy.” I could tell he pulled the phone away from his ear. I could picture him holding it out. “You want to talk to Grace?”

In the background, Anton demurred. “I already have bothered her too much today.”

They were with Anton? Right now?

I called Scott's name twice before he returned to the phone. “Where are you?” I asked.

He hung up.

Hands shaking, I dialed Bruce. “Hey, Grace,” he said sounding a lot less tipsy than his partner had. “What, did Scott cut you off?”

“Didn't you get my message?” I asked.

“Message?” he asked.

It didn't matter. “Where are you?”

“Hugo's,” he said.

I breathed my relief.

“We spent just about the entire afternoon here with Anton,” Bruce went on. “He says he'd be happy to help us set up the restaurant. Can you believe it? He's bought lots of property before and knows everything about converting places into restaurants. And he likes us. I think we're going to work really well together. Isn't that great?”

“Yeah,” I said through clenched teeth. “When are you coming home?”

“We were just about to leave. Anton said he'd drive us back.”

“No,” I shouted. “I'll come get you.”

“You don't have to do that, Grace,” Bruce said.

“I want to drive past the Granite Building and take a look at it on the way back. It will be so much better if you two are with me. Plus, if you've all been drinking, he shouldn't be driving.”

“He's got a driver, I think, but okay.” I could practically see him shrug. “Grace is coming to get us,” he said away from the phone.

“I'm leaving right now,” I said. “Don't move until I get there.”

Bruce laughed. “You're acting really strange tonight, Grace.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Just stay there, okay?”

I picked them up outside of Hugo's without incident. Anton, they said, was still inside, buying rounds for other patrons and making new friends.

“I thought you wanted to drive past the Granite Building,” Bruce said when I took the turn that led home.

“Another time, maybe,” I said. “My nerves are shot tonight.”

“Why?” he asked.

From the backseat, Scott held up his phone. “Hey, I got a missed call from you this morning, Grace. What did you need?”

I shook my head. “Let me get you both home. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

Bruce grinned and nodded, looking like a cheery bobble-head. “Thanks for the idea about contacting Anton. As soon as he found out we were your roommates, he couldn't do enough for us.”

I rubbed my forehead. Anton's visit to Marshfield this morning may have been as innocent as he'd claimed. But I'd suffered too many close calls in the past to take chances.

“Can't wait until we get to hang out with him again,” Scott said as he played my voice mail message on speakerphone.

The two men stared at me when my directive was complete. “Why didn't you want us to meet him today?” Bruce asked. “What happened?”

Scott leaned forward. “You sound really upset.”

Both hands gripping the steering wheel, I made the final, tight turn onto our driveway. “I'm sure he's a wonderful resource but until this business at Indwell is settled, I'd like you both to stay clear of him.”

I threw the car into Park.

“Okay?” I asked.

Bruce studied me. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Scott?” I asked.

He sat back and wrinkled his nose. “Am I going to remember this tomorrow?”

“I'll remind you,” I said.

I did, indeed, remind Bruce and Scott the next morning about avoiding Anton. I mentioned my concerns more than once because, even though both men were up early enough to join me for coffee, I had my doubts that Scott was fully awake.

“It was a good night last night,” he said. With both hands wrapped around his mug, he stared out across the quiet kitchen as though reliving the evening.

“I don't understand what's got you worried,” Bruce said after I'd explained a second time Anton's visit to Marshfield. “Nothing he told you makes him seem particularly guilty. Besides, he doesn't strike me as the murderous type.”

“They never do,” I said solemnly. “I know I'm overreacting and, the truth is, I don't believe Anton killed Gus, either. But we've all been involved in too many close calls over the years to take chances.”

Scott zoned back in. “That's true.”

“If he calls, put him off for a few days, all right? At least until the final lab results come in and we find out, once and for all, if Gus died a natural death.”

“You got it, Grace,” Bruce said. “But what about you? Are you being careful?”

I nodded. “I asked Tooney to find me whatever he can on Anton. In the meantime, I need to talk with Percy. I think he may be able to shed light on the whereabouts of that moonshine. I'd like to know what else he may be hiding.”

*   *   *

The drive to Indwell seemed to be getting shorter with each visit. Maybe because, after so many trips in so few days, I no longer needed to pay close attention to road signs.

When I knocked at Percy and Kyle's apartment and received no answer, I headed for the nurses' station down the hall. Maybe, if I asked nicely, they'd use Percy's locator bracelet to find out where he was.

A nurse I'd never met before, dressed in typical staff scrubs, was in such close consultation with Debbie and Cathy that none of three noticed my approach. They were all huddled around a trifold brochure laid open on the desk. When Debbie pointed, the unfamiliar nurse gave a gasp of surprise. Cathy grinned, as though she'd scored the exact reaction she'd expected.

When I cleared my throat, all three looked up.

“Hi.” I pointed over my shoulder. “Do any of you happen to know where Percy is right now?”

Cathy patted the unfamiliar nurse's arm. “That's Grace. Frances's friend.”

Debbie seemed puzzled. “We heard Frances was released on bail,” she said. “We didn't expect to see you.”

“Just following up on a new development.”

“Oh?” Debbie's interest was clearly piqued. “What happened?”

I wasn't about to mention Anton's moonshine to staff members. “Nothing major.”

The nurse asked, “Did you really solve a bunch of murders in Emberstowne? Is that why you're here? Because you're trying to solve Gus's murder now?”

Put on the spot, I demurred. “I'm only here to help.”

She flicked a glance down at the trifold brochure. “Wait until you see what they found in Gus's room today.”

“What is it?” I turned my head in an attempt to read the brochure upside down. “Who found it? Harland and Joslyn?”

“We found it,” Cathy said, snatching the paper up from the desk. “Harland and Joslyn hadn't gotten to cleaning the bathroom yet.” Waving the brochure near my face, she said, “You're going to love this. Frances is going to love this. It's the answer to her prayers.” Grinning at Debbie, she added, “I only wish Santiago was here today. I'd love to see the look on his face when we show it to him.”

My patience was thinner than the flimsy sheet Cathy flapped between us. “I give,” I said. “What is it?”

A chime dinged softly behind Debbie. She turned to silence it. “Mrs. Anderson's occupational therapist will be here in five minutes.” She focused on the other nurse. “Would you please get her ready?”

Looking disappointed to be kicked out of the conversation, the woman scuttled away.

“What did you find?” I asked again.

“Take a look,” Cathy said with more than a little pride. “Won't Santiago be disappointed.”

She handed me the trifold brochure. It wasn't the sort of glossy, high-quality handout used to promote everything from day trips to home security systems. This looked more like it had been downloaded from the Internet and produced on an ordinary inkjet printer.

The lack of weight and professionalism wasn't what drew my attention most, however. What made me gasp a little was the crisp blue title on the front of the fold-out page:
Your Life, Your Decision. A Helpful Guide to Death When You Choose
.

“What is this?” I didn't really expect an answer. From its bullet-point list offering links to assisted-suicide centers in Oregon, to the gentle words of support for the patient who prefers to “chart his or her own course through the end of life,” I could tell precisely what it was.

Cathy and Debbie didn't say a word as I flipped the printout back and forth. “You say you found this in Gus's room?”

“Today,” Cathy said.

“It looks as though Gus may have committed suicide after all,” Debbie said. “I never would have expected that of him.” She held up both hands and shrugged. “But we never really know what another person is thinking, do we?”

I listened only absentmindedly. “How did Harland and Joslyn miss this?” I asked.

“Like I said,” Cathy said, “they hadn't finished clearing out the bathroom yet.”

“Cathy called the police,” Debbie said. “They're coming by to pick it up.”

“I'm sure they'll dust it for fingerprints,” I said, disappointed in myself for touching it without thinking. “Unfortunately, our prints will be all over it.”

“They can dust paper for fingerprints?” Debbie asked.

“Definitely,” I said. “I wish I would have thought of that sooner.” Pinching the upper right corner, I asked, “Could you make a copy for me?”

Cathy's eyes widened. “What do you plan to do with it?”

“I'll read it over,” I said. “This feels odd. I want a chance to study it.”

As Cathy turned away to make the requested copy, Debbie's attention was drawn to something behind me. Her face registered surprise. “Dan,” she called.

I glanced up to see him on a purposeful path to his father's former apartment. He wore a vexed expression and carried a small, empty cardboard box in one hand.

“Dan,” she called again as she waved him over, “come see what we found in your father's room.”

Dan halted midstride, then trotted over. “What's going on?” he asked, looking as surprised by my presence as Cathy and Debbie had been. “Nice to see you again, Grace.”

“You're here to clean out more of your father's things?” I directed my gaze to the box.

“Yeah,” he said. “We still have a long way to go.”

“Wait until you see this,” Cathy said.

She started to hand him the folded sheet.

“Give him the copy,” I said. “Put the original in a plastic bag until the police get here.”

She rolled her eyes but acquiesced, handing him the reproduction.

Agitated, probably by my directive, Dan grabbed the proffered sheet with both hands. “What is this?”

“Good news,” Cathy said. Her brow furrowed. “Or maybe not good news. I guess it depends on your perspective. Your dad had it in his room. Hidden in the bathroom.”

It didn't take long for Dan to grasp the obvious. “This is ridiculous. My father didn't commit suicide.”

Cathy seemed pleased as punch. “That probably doesn't help with your dad's insurance policy, does it? But at least he wasn't murdered.”

Dan pulled in his lips.

“This isn't proof,” I said.

“But it could help Frances,” Debbie said. “Maybe even enough to get the charges dropped.”

“Who found this?” I asked.

Cathy raised a tiny pink hand. “Me and Debbie. We found it together.”

“You found it together?” Dan asked.

Debbie shrugged. “The administration wanted us to assess how much longer we thought you and your family might need to clear the room out. Cathy and I went in to take a look around.”

Dan kept turning the paper over and over as though he couldn't believe what it said. “This looks like it was printed from a computer,” he said. “My dad didn't use computers.”

“Maybe he had someone print it for him? Maybe Kyle did it?” Cathy said helpfully. “That kid is always messing with technology.”

Dan frowned.

“Where did you find it?” I asked. “Would you mind showing me?”

Another chime sounded. Debbie silenced it. “I have to take care of a patient.”

“I'll show you,” Cathy said. “Follow me.”

Dan and I fell into step behind her, and I was surprised that she didn't bother knocking before entering the apartment. She did, however, call out, “Yoo-hoo, anyone here?” before allowing us in. “Percy and Kyle must be out,” she said with a careless shrug. “Not surprising.”

“Any idea where Percy could be?” I asked. “I have a couple of questions for him.”

Cathy wrinkled her nose. “Either playing cards in the Sun Gallery or out at one of the other buildings. Flirting with the ladies, most likely.”

“He does that?”

She laughed. “He's a hoot, that one.”

As we followed Cathy into Gus's room, Dan asked, “What kind of questions do you have for Percy? Does it have to do with my dad's death?”

“A couple of tangential issues,” I answered vaguely. “Probably nothing. I hope to find out for sure today.”

I got the impression Dan intended to press the issue. I shook my head with a pointed look at Cathy. She missed the silent interchange entirely. He gave a quick nod.

Cathy led us into Gus's bathroom. “It was in here,” she said, tapping the cabinet beneath the sink. She crouched in front of the vanity doors and opened them. “Right there.”

She pointed to the stack of toilet paper I'd sorted through on Monday. I knelt down next to her and peered in. “Where, exactly?” I asked.

She picked up the two top rolls of toilet paper and rested her hand on the two that remained. “In between these rolls,” she said. “Like he was trying to hide it so nobody would notice.”

“You're sure?” I asked.

“I saw it myself. I'm the one who found it,” she said with a hint of defensiveness. “Of course I'm sure.”

“This doesn't seem at all like something my dad would look into,” Dan said again. His tone had taken on a quality that suggested stating something enough times would somehow make it true.

As we returned to Gus's bedroom, Cathy's pager went off.
She took a look at its display. “Oops, gotta run,” she said. “One of our patients is going home today. Almost forgot.” Pointing at Dan, she said, “You can stay, because you're still cleaning out your dad's room.” She waved her extended finger at me. “But you have to go. I can't allow you in here unsupervised when the residents aren't home.”

“I'd like to stay a minute and talk with Dan,” I said.

He startled. “You do?”

“You have to take responsibility for her, then,” Cathy said. “Do you?”

“Grace? Are you in there? Debbie said you were looking for me.”

Percy. Perfect timing.
“In here,” I called.

Cathy grinned. “I guess it's okay for you to stay now.”

“Give me a minute,” Percy shouted when she was gone. “I need to go to my room.”

Dan wore a guarded expression. “What did you want to talk with me about?”

“That pamphlet you're holding.”

“My dad didn't commit suicide.” The paper made
whoppy
noises as he shook it. “This is wrong.”

“Someone put it there,” I said. “After your father died.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. “How do you know that?” He tilted his head. “Do you know
who
put it there?”

“No idea,” I said. “That's what I wanted to talk with you about. If your father committed suicide, his insurance policy is invalid, right?”

“He didn't commit suicide. Not my dad.” He shook the paper again. “How do you know someone put this here?”

“Remember when you caught me looking around in your father's bathroom on Monday?”

He rubbed his shar-pei face looking like a man who had lost all patience. “I remember.”

“I had already gone through that cabinet,” I said. “I emptied its entire contents onto the floor and poked through it all before replacing it. I'd planned to do the same thing with his linen closet but you walked in and interrupted me before I could get started.”

“Are you saying that this pamphlet wasn't there?” he asked.

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

He blinked several times as he digested that information. “What do you suppose is going on?” he asked.