The Ghost and Mrs. Fletcher (10 page)

E
ve picked up a square pillow and draped a length of turquoise and orange patterned material across it. “What do you think about this for the living room sofa, Jessica?”

“I don't know if I'm the right person to give you decorating tips, Eve. You know more about this than I do.” We were standing in front of a bin of pillows in the home furnishings section of Charles Department Store.

“It's not really decorating. That would require more time and money than I have for this project. We're
staging
, adding just a few right touches to make it more interesting. The living room furniture is so dark. This would bring in nice contrasting colors against the burgundy velvet sofa. Don't you think?”

“If you're asking my opinion, I think it looks more Miami Beach than Cabot Cove,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Quel dommage,”
she said, folding the fabric and tucking it under her arm. “What about that one?” She pointed to a round pillow covered in pleated white silk with tiny red flowers on it.

“Eve, I didn't meet you here to talk about pillows.”

“You wanted to know about Tony Tonelero.”

“Yes. Where did you meet him? What do you know about him? Did he give you the names of other people he's worked for?”

“Honestly, Jessica. Meeting him was an absolute blessing. It was right after Evelyn ran that article in the
Gazette
about the house being haunted and my repair people refusing to work there. It was an incredible stroke of luck. He came to me after those other people walked out. He was like a knight in shining armor riding to my rescue. And he's not bad on the eyes, is he? I've always been attracted to a man with a mustache.”

“A bushy mustache is not a recommendation for a handyman. How do you know he can do the work? Did he give you any references? Show you photographs of work he's done before? Where is he from anyway?”

“You think his mustache is bushy? I kind of thought he looked like that actor Tom Selleck.”

“Looking like a television star is not a guarantee he can fix what needs to be fixed. Did you pay him in advance? Did you say he could stay on the premises?”

“Well, he said he needed money to buy the wood for fixing the window sashes and paint for the trim. And there was no point in his traveling down the coast and back every day. He said he'd be fine in the barn. He said there's a storage room he can use.”

“And how will he transport that wood to the house? He told me he had to wait for the rain to stop before he could get to the hardware store on his motorcycle.”

“He doesn't have a truck?”

“Did you see one?” I asked.

“Then I assume he'll have the material he needs delivered.”

“How much money did you give him? Don't answer that. It's none of my business. I just don't want you to get taken in by a handsome face. Cliff left valuable tools in his workshop. You don't want this person selling them off when you're not looking.”

“Oh, dear, I hadn't thought of that.”

“I'm not saying Tony is a thief, just that you need to know a little more about him before you give him the keys to Cliff's house.”

“It would be awkward to ask for them back at this point, don't you think?”

“No doubt. But I'd like us to protect Elliot's assets as much as possible. I'm concerned so many people have access to that house, myself included. How many sets of keys did you have made?”

“Me? Only four or five. The Conrad twins already had a set of Cliff's keys. He gave them to Lucy and Lettie.”

“And what did you do with the sets of keys that you had made?”

She began counting on her fingers. “I have one. You have one. I gave one to Tony.” She winced at me. “He couldn't very well fix the windows without going inside, now could he?”

“I hope that's all he's doing.”

“The painters and the roofers never had keys. I let them in.”

“That's good.”

“I got back the set I gave to the cleaning service.”

“Okay.”

“But I gave them to Aggie, only temporarily of course.”

“Aggie! For heaven's sake, Eve, why would you trust her with a set of keys to Cliff's house? She's a stranger. She has no business being there.”

“She said she needs a location to shoot her Internet show. She's thinks it won't take more than a day or two, Jessica.”

“And if it does?”

“We made a deal. She even paid me a location fee. Well, she said she wouldn't charge me for the sageing. She's going to come back and finish the job and make sure all—now, what did she call them?—all ‘nefarious spirits' are rousted. Then we can sell the house guaranteed ghost-free.”

“But, Eve, the house isn't yours to rent out. Did you check with the lawyer?”

“Not exactly. But if you think I should, I will. I'm only trying to get this real estate nightmare off the ground, Jessica. You don't know how difficult it is to sell an old house needing so much work.”

“You could ask less for the house and tell prospective buyers that they'll need to do most of the repairs themselves.”

“You're the one who talked about protecting Elliot's assets, Jessica. Lowering the price might save me some headaches, but it will net him a lot less in the end.”

And a lot less for you in commission,
I thought. Instead I asked, “What happens when Elliot comes home and so many people have the keys to his house?”

“I can get them back, of course. But if I do, how will you finish packing up the books? And how will Tony do the repairs?”

“And how will Aggie do her show?” I asked.

“Oh, I know you don't cotton to her, Jessica, but we haven't had any trouble with a ghost since she came.”

“And you didn't have trouble with a ghost
before
she arrived.”

Eve pouted. “You don't know that. All kinds of strange things were going on there.”

“I think you were the victim of a lot of overactive imaginations on the part of the cleaning and repair people,” I said. “And Evelyn Phillips didn't help your cause with that fanciful article in the
Gazette
.”

“Or your cause either,” Eve added, “since it kept away volunteers for the book sale.”

“Perhaps. But we're still responsible for protecting Elliot's inheritance. I don't see how allowing Aggie to film her show in the house is helpful to Elliot.”

“
Peut-être
. But this way we're double-insured in case you're wrong and there is a ghost in the house.”

A saleswoman approached us. “Hello, ladies. Do you need assistance with these pillows?”

“Not really,” Eve said. “Oh, wait! We could use your opinion on something.”

“Certainly. I'm happy to help.”

“What do you think of this fabric?” Eve spread the turquoise and orange patterned cloth over the square pillow again and cocked her head.

The woman looked from Eve to me and back at the fabric. “Well,” she said, trying to be diplomatic, “it's bright and colorful, isn't it? It reminds me a bit of those decorator houses they show on the home channel on TV.”

Eve raised her eyebrows at me and smiled.

“You know the ones I mean,” the salesclerk continued, “the beach houses in Miami, Florida.”

Eve's face fell.

“I have another appointment,” I said, looking at my watch. “Eve, please ask Tony for some references. It's not too late to do that. And I'd call Fred Kramer, if I were you, just to be on the safe side.”

“I'll get to it as soon as I can, Jessica.” She turned to the saleslady, plucking a pillow from the pile in the bin. “How do you think this would look against a burgundy sofa?”

C
abot Cove Hospital had recently gone through a series of expansions to better reflect its growing status as more of a regional hospital, serving a wider range of patients than only those from our community. There was a time when I knew almost everyone who worked there, and they knew me. But with a series of wings built on, and an influx of additional medical staff, that was no longer the case. And, of course, security had been beefed up considerably.

Seth's view of the expansion was two-sided. On the one hand, he appreciated the increasingly cutting-edge technology that accompanied the growth, but he also confided to me many times how he missed the small-town feel of the facility. But no matter how large the hospital became, Seth was still considered one of its best diagnosticians, the physician to consult on the most difficult cases.

In the afternoon, Seth was meeting Mort Metzger at the hospital where Cliff Cooper's body was being held in the morgue, and I'd invited myself along. I wasn't certain whether Mort wanted me there, but since he hadn't voiced an objection when I'd asked to come, I proceeded to make arrangements. I'd called a cab to pick me up and drive me out to the campus where the hospital and other medical buildings were located. As was my usual practice, I left myself plenty of time to get there. As it turned out, I was glad that I had. There was a lot of traffic leading out of town, and at one point cars were stopped altogether. I could see the buildings a half mile ahead, but only one lane of the two-lane road was usable.

“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. Fletcher. Looks like we got a work crew inspectin' the road bed,” my driver, Dimitri, informed me. “They're fixin' all the breaches in the blacktop to get ahead of the job before the winter weather starts to come in. Want me to turn around and try another route?”

I looked at my watch. “That's not necessary, Dimitri. I have plenty of time before my appointment. I'm sure they'll let us pass soon.”

Up ahead, officers waved through northbound traffic, while those of us in the southbound lane waited our turn, all except a helmeted man on a motorcycle—at least I assumed it was a man—who threaded in and out of the stopped cars, sometimes riding along the shoulder, gunning his engine as he passed the stranded motorists to warn them of his presence.

“Don't you hate guys like that?” my driver said. “No one else's time is as important as theirs.”

“He'd better hope no one swings open a car door and steps out to get a better view of what's ahead,” I said.

“That'd knock him off his perch, that's for sure,” Dimitri said, chuckling, “He'd probably get to the hospital a lot faster that way, only he'd ride in the back of an ambulance instead of on his fancy wheels.”

Luckily for the motorcyclist, the drivers stayed in their seats, although several rolled down their windows to express their disapproval of the selfish individual who put his own needs ahead of others on the road.

Eventually there were no more oncoming cars, and our lane began to move, inching forward at first, and then going slightly faster as flagmen waved us around the tie-up and back into our proper lane. A little cheer went up from the driver's seat, and I saw that one of Mort's deputies had pulled over the motorcyclist and gone back to directing traffic, making the scofflaw wait to get his ticket until all of the south-bounders had passed.

“I gotta remember to give Deputy Chip a pat on the back next time I see him,” Dimitri said, grinning as we sailed on down the road. He was still smiling as we pulled into the circular driveway, then drove past the front entrance of the hospital and around to the new rehabilitation wing.

“Sometimes it's the little victories that make it a good day,” I said.

“You said it! Will you need me to pick you up later, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“No, thank you, Dimitri. I think I'll be able to catch a ride back with Dr. Hazlitt.”

The rehabilitation wing where Cliff had been a patient had a separate parking lot and public entrance in addition to the connection from inside the hospital. I pressed the automatic door button, and the heavy glass doors slid open. A stream of warm air poured down from above, serving as a curtain to keep the weather outdoors from chilling the vestibule. I walked through another set of doors. To my right, there was a waiting room where Seth had said he'd meet me—although our appointment was not for another half hour—and a glass enclosure where the admitting staff worked.

Every time I'd come to visit Cliff, I'd abided by the rules, stopping at the security desk, signing the guest book, and receiving a visitor's pass. I thought of the motorcyclist who'd declined to follow the rules and who was now about to pay a fine for his self-centered behavior.

But what about the person who had come to the hospital with the intention of taking Cliff's life? Would that person have signed in as required? Unlikely. Chances were that he or she would have found a way inside without alerting anyone to their presence.

How easy would it be to enter the hospital without the required visitor's pass? And without one, would a person be able to get around without someone in authority asking to see it? If I could make it into the hospital unchallenged, how long would it be before someone questioned my reason for being there? Or could I sneak in, explore the territory, and escape undetected, as the killer apparently had?

Because there was time before I was to meet Seth and Mort, I decided to put it to the test. Since no one was sitting at the security desk, I waited until the staff in the glass enclosure was occupied and not looking my way, and used the opportunity to walk down the hall without stopping for a pass. Had anyone questioned me, I would have told them truthfully that I was looking for a nurse on the afternoon shift named Carolyn, or an aide called Theresa. Those were the names written on the whiteboard hanging in Cliff's room when I'd visited him.

I hadn't met Theresa, but I assumed that the woman who'd threatened to chase me out of Cliff's room should he become upset was his nurse, Carolyn.

I didn't see her at the nurses' station, but she could have been in a patient's room. The department secretary, the only staff member in street clothes, was typing on her computer when I approached. A badge on her shoulder identified her as Ursula.

“Good afternoon, Ursula,” I said when she looked up momentarily from her work. “Is Carolyn here today?”

“She has Tuesdays off,” she said, her fingers resuming a rat-a-tat on the keyboard.

“What about Theresa?” I asked. “The aide?”

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “She's here, but she took an early break.”

“Oh, good. Do you know where she takes her break?”

She shrugged. “Where everyone does, I assume, the cafeteria. Unless she's a smoker. If you didn't see her outside on the far end of the parking lot, she's probably in the cafeteria.”

I thanked Ursula and walked down the hall toward the connection to the hospital. Although I'd recognize Carolyn if I saw her again, I had no idea what Theresa looked like. Asking the department secretary would likely have raised alarm bells, and she might have demanded to know why I wanted to see her and perhaps checked for my visitor's pass. But I hadn't asked, and she hadn't noticed my lack of credentials. So far so good.

I've always found that the best way to make your way around someplace where you don't belong is to look as if you do. As a consequence, I walked swiftly down the hall, keeping my eyes in front of me and nodding with a smile at anyone I passed.

Once inside the hospital proper, I went to the nearest elevator bay and pressed the down button. The cafeteria was on the ground floor and was used by both staff and visitors, although those wearing a staff badge paid lower prices for the food. What I wasn't certain of was how long Theresa's break would last, and whether it would be over before I found her.

The elevator came, and I stepped into it in front of a group of white-coated staff. When the doors opened on the ground floor, I exited and pretended to read the directory on the wall to allow them to get ahead of me. They followed the arrow indicating the location of the cafeteria, and I followed closely, hoping anyone in authority would think I was part of their group.

At the entrance to the cafeteria, my luck ran out. A hand grabbed my elbow.

“Madam, where's your visitor's pass?” The tall guard in a blue uniform looked at me sternly.

“Oh, my goodness, isn't it here?” I said innocently, patting my shoulder and looking around as if my pass might have fallen off. “Wait! Let me see if I stuck it in my bag.” I made a big show of digging through my shoulder bag, checking both the inside and outside pockets. “I must have left it in his room,” I said. “I just came down to get him a cup of tea.”

“They have tea on the floors. Why would you need to come to the cafeteria for tea?”

“And a slice of chocolate cake. They don't have cake on his floor. And he has such a sweet tooth. The doctor said it was all right if I brought him up a slice of cake. Just this time. He promised he wouldn't ask again.” I flapped my hands in distress. “He hasn't had any appetite at all, but he said he would try some cake.”

“All right. Calm down, lady. I'll let you get your husband some cake. But make sure you find that visitor's pass and wear it so I can see it.”

“Thank you so much, Officer.”

“I'm not an officer. Go on inside. Make it fast.”

I stepped into the cafeteria and took a tray from the pile inside the door. I slid it along the metal counter of the hot foods buffet, walking behind a doctor in blue scrubs. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Doctor, but would you happen to know an aide named Theresa? She works in the new rehabilitation unit.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I'm in the OR today. Don't know any of the rehab staff.”

Two nurses debated items from the dessert section. “That custard looks good,” one said.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do any of you know a rehab aide named Theresa? She would be on her break now.”

“Sorry, no,” they answered.

I glanced behind me to see the security guard leaning through the door, his eyes scanning the cafeteria. I picked up a plate with a big piece of vanilla cake with chocolate frosting, grabbed a cup of water and tea bag from the coffee and tea station, and got in line to pay.

“Do you happen to know a nurse's aide named Theresa? She works in the new rehabilitation unit,” I asked the cashier.

“Honey, I don't know where any of these people work. I only know the kitchen staff.”

“Oh.”

“Listen,” she said, ringing me up, “if you go around the corner, there's always a loud table of ladies. If anyone knows, they will.”

I gave her my best smile and a nice tip, and carried my tray into the dining area, hoping the security guard hadn't spotted the direction I'd taken.

Around the corner were two long tables at which a group of nurses in white slacks and multicolored tops chatted with one another. A loud whoop went up from one table, and the group dissolved in laughter. Smiling, I slid my tray onto the table next to the last nurse and sat down. She gave me a quick look, shrugged, and turned back to her companions.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I hope you don't mind my barging in. The cashier said you know everyone in the hospital, and I'm hoping you can help me find someone.”

“I don't know everyone,” the nurse next to me said, “but Margery probably does. Who are you looking for?”

“An aide named Theresa who works in the new rehabilitation wing. She was working with Carolyn the last time I was here.”

“Hey, Marge, do you know an aide named Theresa?”

“You mean Theresa up in ICU?”

“No, an aide. In the new rehab unit? She works with—” She turned to me. “Who'd you say she works with?”

“Carolyn,” I replied. “Carolyn's a nurse.”

“Oh, yeah. I know Carolyn. The aide who works with Carolyn Helmer in rehab? Name's Theresa?”

“You mean her?” Marge said, pointing to a dark-haired woman two tables removed.

“That her?” the nurse next to me asked.

I nodded, hoping it was the Theresa I was looking for, thanked them, and asked, “Would anyone like my piece of cake?”

“Give it here. It won't last long at this table.”

I left my cake and the cup of tea and walked to the table where Theresa sat reading a book. When I got closer, I saw that the book in her hands was one of mine.

“I believe I gave that book to Cliff Cooper,” I said, taking the chair across the table from her. “Are you enjoying it?”

She smiled. “He gave it to me.”

“I'm delighted he gave it to someone else to read. Do you like it?”

“So far.”

“Oh, good. I wrote that book.”

“You did?”

I nodded. “Cliff and I were old friends. I often gave him copies of my books when they came out.”

“He was a nice man. I was sorry when he died.”

“Yes, I was, too. I wonder if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for me?”

She closed the book and looked at her watch. “I really don't have time to talk, Mrs.—”

“Fletcher. J. B. Fletcher.” I pointed to the book.

“Oh, right. Mrs. Fletcher. I'm afraid I have to get back from my break.”

“I promise I won't take up much of your time. Why don't we talk while we walk back to your unit?”

“Okay.”

“I really appreciate your help. You see, Cliff's grandson is coming home soon. He hadn't seen him in some time, and I'd like to be able to tell him a little about how his grandfather spent his final days.”

Theresa stood and tucked my book under her arm.

I glanced toward the cafeteria entrance. “Is there another exit closer to the rehab unit?” I asked.