The Butcher (24 page)

He had to acknowledge that it couldn't be that way now. But that didn't mean he couldn't work around it. And old Donald Martini had always been on his nerves.

He headed back to the recreation room, where Don was waiting with his mug of hot, steaming tea. He was currently flirting with Helena, and between the two of them and their bad hearing, the conversation was a few decibels louder than it needed to be. Gloria was nowhere to be found, but there was a small folded slip of paper on the table on Edward's side of the chess board. It was a note.

HOW ABOUT SIX P.M. INSTEAD?

I'LL COOK DINNER. GLORIA.

Edward grinned, and stuck the note in his pocket.
Perfect
. Deftly, while Don's back was still turned, he withdrew the paper filled with Viagra powder into his opponent's mug, where it dissolved quickly. The taste might be a little bitter, but he doubted Don would notice with all the honey he put into his tea. Finally, Helena left, waving at them both.

Chuckling, Don turned back around to face the table. “We still got our charm, don't we, Edward?” he said with a wink. “The ladies just love us. Wish my pecker still worked. They said I can't take nothin' right now with my heart condition, but boy do I miss a good go-round.”

“Helena definitely likes you.” Edward grinned. “But I thought you and Millie had a thing. What's she doing over there with that bastard Jack Shaw?”

“Apparently he's quite the ladies' man,” Don said, reaching for his tea. “She dumped me when she found out the pecker don't work.”

“For that geezer? He looks like a retired midget wrestler.”

“But he's got more money than a rich Jew and he promised to take her to Europe this summer. And apparently the ding-dong still works without any help. That's the rumor, anyway.”

“Started by who, Jack Shaw?”

The two men shared a laugh. Don shrugged good-naturedly. “She let me feel her tits, so I don't mind. On to the next.”

Edward watched as Don sipped his tea. Making a face, Don said, “Bitter. I didn't put enough honey in it.”

“I'm going to get a snack anyway. I'll grab you some.”

“Appreciate that, Edward.”

He was back in two minutes with a slice of cheese and a few crackers, and a few packets of honey for Don's tea. The old guy stirred all of it in, then sipped again. “There, that's better. It's your move, by the way.”

Edward moved his knight and the two men continued to play. After about twenty minutes or so, he said, “Don, you're looking a little flushed, my friend.”

“You know what, I do have a headache.” Don squinted and rubbed his temples. “Oh boy. Haven't had pain like this in a while.”

“You want to call it a day?”

“No, I'll manage, let's just finish. You've won four in a row, I gotta try and win one this week, at least.” He picked up his mug again and drained the last of his tea.

A few minutes later, Don said, “You know what, Edward, maybe I will lie down.”

“Are you all right?”

“I—” Don reeled back in his chair, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with panic. Then he fell over, onto the floor, landing on the carpet soundlessly.

“Nurse,” Edward said, his voice raised just a little. “We need a nurse.”

The recreation room was a loud place—the volumes on the televisions were always turned up, and since half the Village residents were deaf, everyone talked loud as well. Nobody moved. Nobody was paying attention. Edward waited another few seconds while Don lay on the floor, his hand over his heart. The man's eyes finally closed. He was losing consciousness.

Edward waited an extra beat before finally shouting, “Nurse! We need help here!”

It was loud enough that there was a momentary pause of silence before the whole room exploded in commotion.

Edward backed away, letting the two nurses on staff—there were always two, usually a female and a male—do their job.

He knew they wouldn't be able to save him. One hundred milligrams of Viagra combined with all the medications for his heart and blood pressure that Don was already taking . . . the old guy didn't stand a chance.

By the time the paramedics arrived, old Don was dead.

Edward soaked up every moment of the exhilaration. He watched as the ambulance carted Don away, his face appropriately somber, but his insides brimming with pleasure.

“He's already gone,” said the male nurse to the female nurse. Miguel, his name was. “Damn. Poor guy.”

“I can't believe it,” someone beside Edward was saying. He turned. It was Helena, mascara staining her cheeks. “We were just talking. He seemed fine.”

She turned to him for a hug, but Edward moved away. He didn't want her feeling what just sprouted up in his pants.

“There now,” he said instead, reaching out and patting her shoulder “It's terrible, but to be expected. Don wasn't in the best health. He was on so many medications.”

She nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

He turned away from her, heading quickly down the hallway toward the elevators. Checking his watch, he saw that it was five minutes to six. Perfect timing. Like Don had commented earlier, Edward had a hot date.

By the time Gloria opened the door, his cock was throbbing.

“Oh my,” she said, when she saw the look on his face. Edward reached for her, kissing her hard, before shutting the door behind him.

A moment later, when he pulled down his pants, she said even louder, “Oh my!”

“Oh my, indeed,” Edward said. “Now stop talking. Don't make me gag you.”

Who needed Viagra?

It was the third reported death at the Sweetbay Village Retirement Residence, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if Matt's grandfather knew something about it. How could Edward Shank not know? You'd think that if anyone would be suspicious about three deaths so close together, he would be.

According to a news report she'd read online, three Village residents had died in the past month. The first was Greg Bonner, age eighty-eight, who'd fallen and hit his head in the middle of the night while hunting for a snack in the kitchen, something he was known to do. Ruled accidental.

The second death was Donald Martini, age seventy-nine. Martini hadn't been in the greatest health and he'd suffered a massive heart attack while playing chess with another resident. The article suggested he'd suffered complications from all the medications he'd been taking. Ruled accidental.

The third death, which happened just last night, was Gloria Marsh,
a once-divorced, once-widowed seventy-eight-year-old who'd been found dead in her bed. Cause of death was still unknown, but Village staffers had confirmed that Marsh had been in excellent health and was still very physically active up till the day of her death. The police were conducting an investigation.

Sam pulled up to the retirement home and cut the engine. She hadn't visited the Chief since their last awkward conversation about the Butcher and she was worried that the old man was annoyed with her. She also wanted his advice about Matt.

Her phone buzzed as she was reaching for her purse, and she saw she had a text message from Jason.

What are you up to?

Sighing, she switched her phone to silent. She still hadn't fully processed what had happened between the two of them the night before, and she couldn't let herself think about it right now. Not until she made some decisions about Matt. She and Jason hadn't even kissed, but somehow everything was . . . different.

She hadn't called Edward to let him know she was stopping in, but he always seemed pleased to see her. Hopefully today would be no different. Entering the elegant, warm reception area of the Village, she nodded to the male nurse she'd chatted with the last two times she'd visited.

“Well well, look who just walked in and made my day. Hello, sunshine. Here to see me?” Miguel said with a grin.

“Careful,” Sam said, returning the smile. “If the Chief hears you, he won't be pleased.”

“I know, he's protective of you. Can't say I blame him. It's nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Sam signed in with the receptionist. “Say, what's going on over here?
I saw something online about three deaths in the past couple of weeks? Is that normal?”

Glancing at the receptionist, Miguel placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her away from the front desk. “It depends. We do have some special care residents here but not too many, as we're really not equipped for it. This is supposed to be a retirement home for
active
seniors, remember, not sick seniors.”

“That's what I thought,” Sam said with a frown. “That's why I was surprised to read the article this morning about you guys losing three people. One of the deaths is under investigation?”

The nurse gave her a look. “Someone has her journalist hat on today.”

“No, not at all. You know I'm not a journalist. Just a writer with an overactive imagination, fortunately or unfortunately.”

“It's definitely under investigation, as the cops were here and everything. I was the one who found Mrs. Marsh.” Miguel grimaced. “She'd missed breakfast and her friends were worried, so they had me unlock the door to check on her. She was dead, lying naked on her bed. Wasn't pretty, let me tell you. You ever seen someone who died from asphyxiation? It was gross, and I'm not even that squeamish.” He shuddered.

“Asphyxiation?” Sam stared at him, not sure she'd heard correctly. “As in strangled?”

“Yep. They're not confirming it, but I know strangled when I see it. You could see the bruises around her neck, clear as day.”

“What the hell? So she was murdered? Wow.” Sam was quiet for a moment.

“Well now, nobody said anything about that.”

“You just said she was strangled.”

“She was, but she wasn't necessarily murdered.” Miguel leaned
closer to her and she got a whiff of his musky aftershave. “Mrs. Marsh, she was . . . how do I put this delicately? She was quite sexually active. She might not have been killed on purpose, know what I'm saying?”

“Oh jeez. You're kidding me.” Sam knew exactly what he was saying, though death by sexual asphyxiation was hard to imagine considering the woman's age. “But wasn't she in her seventies?”

“Seventy-eight,” Miguel said. “And age doesn't matter anyway, not when you have Viagra. Which, as coincidence would have it, is what the other resident died of.”

Sam looked at him, not comprehending.

“Mr. Martini overdosed on the little blue pill.” Miguel's tone was somber. “He shouldn't have even been on it in the first place. He had heart issues and was taking way too many medications.”

“So why did his doctor prescribe it?”

“I highly doubt his doctor did, unless he wanted to lose his license, as would the pharmacist who would have dispensed it. No, Mr. Martini probably got the Viagra from one of the other residents here. Or he ordered it online from Mexico or some other country where you don't need a prescription. Nothing surprises me about old folks anymore, especially not Mrs. Marsh. That lady used to look at me like I was a steak and she was starving.” Miguel shuddered slightly at the memory. “Anyway, whoever she was with before she died used a condom. I have a friend who works with the medical examiner, and he confirmed it.” He paused, waiting for her reaction.

“Uh . . .” Sam wasn't sure how to respond.

“Nobody at their age uses condoms,” Miguel explained earnestly. “Seniors can't get pregnant, so they never think it's necessary.”

“Oh, right,” Sam said. “A benefit of having geriatric sex.”

“Yeah, but they
should
use protection. The senior population is
rampant with STDs. It's pretty disgusting, when you think about it. God knows everybody here is doing it with everybody else. That's a lot of bodily fluids being exchanged.”

“Okay, that's seriously gross. Thanks for that.” Sam wrinkled her nose. “Any idea who the Chief's doing it with?”

Miguel laughed. “You'd have to ask the Chief. He's one of the few I haven't heard rumors about. If he's fooling around with anyone here, he's been pretty discreet about it.”

“Hmmm.” Sam thought hard. She couldn't help but be intrigued by everything Miguel was saying. “So if Mrs. Marsh had sex right before she died, then you guys can probably figure out who she was with. What did the visitors' log say?”

“It said nothing. Nobody signed in to see her yesterday. Which would suggest that whoever it was is from here.”

Sam shook her head in disbelief. “Who would have thought something like that could happen here? Maybe we should get the Chief to investigate. He'd probably find out who it was in two minutes.”

“No kidding. Whoever her lover was, he hasn't come forward. Probably too scared. Maybe we'll never know.”

Sam smiled at Miguel and squeezed his arm before stepping back. “Anyhow, I should go see Edward. But thank you for satisfying my curiosity.”

“Anytime. Don't be a stranger.”

“You said that last time.”

He winked. “And I'll mean it every time.”

Sam caught the elevator to Edward's floor. The receptionist had obviously called up, as the Chief's door was already open when she arrived. Entering his small room, Sam's mouth dropped open when she caught sight of Matt's grandfather,
who was in the kitchenette boiling water for tea.

She blinked to make sure her contact lenses weren't foggy. The Chief looked completely different than the last time she'd seen him, which had only been a couple of days earlier. She could hardly believe her eyes as she took him in. He was moving around the kitchen easily, no trace of any hip pain, and he was rosy-faced and relaxed. It seemed impossible, but somehow, the Chief looked . . . younger.