Last Licks (22 page)

Hearing a gasp behind her, Sunny turned to see Rafe Warner and Frank Nesbit staring into the room.

“Did you guys hear that?” she demanded. “I’d call that a pretty explicit confession.”

It was several
days later when Ollie Barnstable finally got to enjoy the gardens at Bridgewater Hall. Will Price pushed his wheelchair, and Sunny strolled along beside. A lot had happened. Frank Nesbit had taken Camille Thibaud into custody, where she’d given a detailed, clinical account of her activities in the nursing home. It made for some sensational newspaper reading and TV news viewing.

“She started off just making patients sick,” Will explained. “Then she figured she could come in and be the hero. That really didn’t get her anywhere, though . . . except to show how easy it would be to kill a patient right under everybody’s nose.”

“Camille was on the very bottom of the totem pole, earning peanuts, in debt, afraid of losing her job, powerless. I could see why she wanted to strike back.” Sunny noticed an uncomfortable expression on Ollie’s face.
Yeah, it’s not too far from my own situation.
Her reporter’s alter ego was grimly amused.
Maybe he’s afraid I’ll be sneaking up on him with a pillow.
Aloud, she went on, “Stress can do some pretty weird things to people.”

Ollie shook his big head. “I still don’t understand why she came after me. That was just plain nuts.”

“Well, Frank Nesbit would like to think so,” Sunny said. “It might help him put five murders in a different pigeonhole. I think Camille made a string of bad choices. She wasn’t what you’d call a criminal genius. The murders were more crimes of opportunity. She never really had a plan.”

“And she was scared silly,” Will added. “She’d been afraid ever since you got the investigation started on the mortality statistics, Ollie. Then Camille overheard me on the phone with headquarters . . . and talking with you about Sheriff Nesbit coming to the facility.” He glanced over at Sunny. “When you tried to calm her down, saying that Ollie and Nesbit had something to discuss, Camille jumped to the conclusion that she was the something to discuss, and so she decided to try and deal with Ollie before Nesbit got here. She decided on her usual trick—she’d give you an air embolism to create the symptoms of a stroke.”

Will shrugged. “In the other cases, she gave the injections at night, when there were fewer people around—and less help available. But she was rushed and desperate, and you know what happened.”

“It is sort of sad,” Sunny said. “Camille loaded herself with debt hoping for a career where she could help people. Instead, she ended up working for minimum wage in a nursing home that might go bust right out from under her.”

“Yeah, even a legal aid attorney could make a real sob story out of that.” Ollie glanced over at Will. “Then there’s the whole whadeyecallit—diminished capacity thing. You think Nesbit is really going for that?”

Will gave him a thin smile. “You know your politics. If you’re stuck with a killer, better crazy than cold-blooded.”

“If anything good came out of the situation, all the attention Camille is getting pretty much pushed Luke Daconto into the background.” Sunny turned to Will. “Tell Ollie about the results from the lab.”

He nodded. “The lab rats in Augusta said the tonic isn’t as toxic as Luke feared. Looks as if he did actually follow his mom’s recipe, so he’s out from under on the accidental murder charge.”

“Of course, Luke told me there may be some other legal problems—practicing medicine without a license, stuff like that,” Sunny said. “And, of course, he lost his job.”

Will tilted his head, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “Luke told you, huh? What’s this? Making up to the new all-purpose Scatterwell heir?”

“He is a friend,” Sunny defended herself. “And considering his legal expenses, I think Luke
will
put in a claim against Gardner’s estate.”

“That should give old Alfred fits.” Will grinned.

“But I don’t think Luke is going to stay around here,” Sunny said. “He may have found his father, but he’s pretty disillusioned.”

“That’s too bad—Luke’s a good kid. I’ll miss him.” Ollie reached up to mop his brow with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “Can we find a little shade? This sun is getting to me.”

“Sure.” Will steered a course for a bench overshadowed by a spruce tree.

“That’s better.” Ollie sat back, fanning himself with his hand, looking out over the various plants and flowers. “You don’t think they have any monkshood out here, do you?”

Sunny looked around for the deep blue flowers she remembered so well. “I don’t see any.”

“Good,” Ollie said. “Having them around might give some people ideas. Mike told me your mom had to dig up a whole part of her garden because she was afraid for you.”

“Better to dig up a corner of the garden than go through a restructure like this place is doing,” she replied.

Bridgewater Hall had lost a number of residents after the story of Camille’s angel of death act hit the news. In response, Dr. Reese and the board of directors decided to put more emphasis on the rehab services that had gotten the place such a good reputation in the first place. In the future, one floor would be rehab and one floor devoted to residents.

“They’ll probably have to hire more physical and occupational therapists,” Will said.

Sunny grinned. “Or hire back some of the ones who left.”

Ollie looked more serious. “I don’t think they’ll be hiring a music therapist anytime soon.”

“And I wonder if they’ll be cutting down the number of therapy animals.” Will sat down on the bench. “The critters don’t have a union.”

“Speaking of therapy animals, what’s going on between Shadow and Portia?” Ollie asked like an expectant godfather.

“I’m supposed to bring Shadow over tomorrow for a ‘playdate,’” Sunny said. “Depending on how well behaved he is, Rafe Warner will decide on visitation.”

Ollie nodded. “You don’t think there’s a chance of . . . kittens, do you?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Sunny replied. “Shadow was neutered back when he was a kitten.” She paused for a moment with a shamefaced grin and then went on, “I am having Jane Rigsdale check it out, though, to make sure it took. When he’s around Portia, Shadow acts pretty . . . male.”

“Huh. That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Ollie laughed.

“They told me I’d find you out here,” a voice called from the door back into Bridgewater Hall. They turned to see Elsa Hogue stepping into the garden. “I’m giving up the last minutes of my lunch hour tracking you down,” she said, pretending to scold Ollie. “I expect to see you in the therapy room in fifteen minutes, ready to work—and work hard.”

Ollie smiled, sat up straight, and gave her a snappy salute. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sunny looked from him to Elsa. She had blossomed after her persecution ended, and as for Ollie, his eyes were clearer than Sunny ever remembered, and between the pain from his leg and the healthier diet here, he’d lost some weight. It made a difference.
Could it be my imagination, or is there love in the air?

Elsa walked back to the building, and Sunny noticed Ollie’s eyes following her.

Hmmmm.

“How’s the office doing, Sunny?” Ollie finally asked.

Normally, that would have been the first thing out of your mouth,
Sunny thought.
Maybe you have mellowed.
She glanced over to where Elsa Hogue had been.
Or maybe you’ve been distracted.

“Well, we finally had the computer catastrophe I’d been expecting,” Sunny told him. “I spent a good part of yesterday finding the problem and fixing it.”

The boss nodded. “And how’s Nancy working out as your backup?”

“Pretty well,” Sunny said with a grin. “With her to keep an eye on things, I have the chance to come out and see you.”

“Just don’t get too dependent on her,” Ollie warned. “She’ll be back to school come September.”

“Yeah, but a little help is nice,” she replied. “Of course, she’ll go just in time for things to pick up again in the fall.”

“So, Will,” Ollie said, suddenly changing conversational gears, “how has this big case affected the political landscape?”

“I don’t think Frank Nesbit can squirm his way out of this one so easily,” Will said. “We’re talking about a series of murders that took place over years, almost right on the doorstep of his office.”

Ollie gave Will his best poker face. “So you think Frank is vulnerable for this primary.”

“I sure intend to find out,” Will replied. “Sunny’s dad and a lot of other people in Kittery Harbor have been pushing me to make a run. That’s why they brought me over from Portsmouth. So I’m going to give it a try.”

Sunny looked on and said nothing. She and Will had talked over the idea of him running for sheriff. They probably would never have met except that Mike and his cronies had persuaded Will to sign on as a town constable. Sunny’s reluctance over the political fight had surprised her. It was as if, having fallen back into the predictability of her old hometown, she’d become afraid of any change.

Which is ridiculous, considering how much my life has changed in the time since I came back. Change is life, and life goes on, even here in Kittery Harbor,
she told herself.
If Will wants to go ahead and make his try for sheriff, the least I can do is help him.

“I’ve been thinking.” Ollie’s air of elaborate unconcern didn’t fool Will or Sunny. “Maybe the time has come to align my interests more with my neighbors. Think you could use my support?”

“Oh, I could definitely use it,” Will replied, his face wary.

Ollie gave him a toothy grin. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Will still regarded him warily. “I think it will depend on how many strings are attached.”

Ollie made an airy gesture. “We can talk, we can talk.”

Sunny glanced over at Will.
And if Ollie gets to be too much, we can always remind him that we saved his life.

“Right now, we’d better get rolling,” she said. “After all, you promised Elsa you’d be present and ready to go.”

“That’s right, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Elsa.” Will took the handles of the wheelchair and began pushing Ollie back to the building.

They dropped him off at the therapy room and said good-bye, then headed for the front door of Bridgewater Hall. Rafe Warner stood behind the security desk, smiling at them. “Mr. Barnstable doing okay?”

“If he were doing any better, they’d have to invent some new kind of therapy for him,” Sunny replied.

As she reached for the pen to sign out, Patrick the cat appeared on the countertop. The black-and-white tux cat was looking less gaunt and better groomed. “He’s coming along,” Sunny said, trying to avoid his aggressive attempts to be petted. “Maybe too well.”

She turned to Will. “Would you mind doing a little scratching and patting on this little guy? I don’t want to come home to Shadow smelling of his prospective brother-in-law.”

Will sighed but ran a hand along Patrick’s back. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “In-laws can be such a pain.” He glanced over at Sunny. “On the other hand, I hear it’ll be a clear sky this evening—the only showers are meteorites.”

“Maybe we can go and watch,” Sunny said, “as long as we pick a place that’s cat-free.”