Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries) (4 page)

C
onnie Lane stops and stares at us with a confused and panicked expression. “What are you people doing back here? And why are the cops here? They said someone is dead? I’m the charge nurse. I should know what’s going on.”

I ignore her, unable to take my eyes off Hurley. My chest hurts, and for a moment I’m afraid I’m having a heart attack. Hurley looks back at me and our eyes lock. For a few brief seconds, it’s as if we are the only two people in the room.

“Hey, Mattie. Good to see you,” says a voice that’s not Hurley’s.

I finally tear my eyes away from Hurley and shift my attention to Junior Feller, one of the local uniformed cops. I’ve known Junior since grade school.

“Can you tell us what’s going on here? The 911 center said some woman called to report a murder.”

“Yeah, can you tell us what’s going on here?” Connie echoes. The words seem to register with her and she pales. “Murder? There’s been a murder?”

It takes every iota of strength I have not to look back at Hurley. I want to stare at him, to drink him in, to lock that vision in my mind forever so I can torture myself with it for months or years to come. Instead, I try to focus on Junior and the situation at hand. “It appears someone killed Bernard Chase, the owner and administrator here. He’s in the bathroom.” I gesture toward the men’s room.

Connie gasps and clutches a hand to her chest. “That can’t be. Mr. Chase isn’t even here today. It’s Saturday. He would have let us know if he was here.”

“Trust me, he’s here.” I walk over and open the bathroom door. Junior and the other uniformed cop, a new guy I don’t know whose name tag reads P. F
OSTER
, push past me to enter the bathroom. Hurley starts to follow and I finally risk another look at him. Our eyes meet again and I feel a pressure in my chest . . . and an odd heat in my loins. My mind briefly flashes on the last time we were together and I feel my entire body flush hot. Then he turns away from me and focuses on the body of Bernard Chase.

Irene is standing close to me and she looks shaken. I slip an arm over her shoulders, as much for my support as hers. My legs still feel like jelly after last night’s S&M session with Gunther, and even the act of raising my arm causes a grabbing pain in my mid-back region.

Connie follows close on the heels of the cops and stops just inside the doorway with a gasp, staring at Bernie’s body on the floor. “Oh my God!” she says, her eyes huge. She looks over at Hurley. “I knew something like this would happen,” she adds, her voice decisive.

“Why is that?” Hurley asks, and just the sound of his voice makes my legs start to quiver.

“Because I had lunch with him yesterday and we ordered Chinese takeout. I was there when Bernard opened his fortune cookie.” Her voice drops to an ominous level. “The fortune was blank.”

There is a pause and then Junior says, “And?”

“And what?” Connie says, looking confused.

“What made you think something was going to happen to Mr. Chase?”

She stares agape at him, and then looks at the rest of us. “Really?” she says finally, with an expression of disbelief. “Come on, people. His cookie had a blank fortune in it for heaven’s sake. I mean, that pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?”

That it does,
I think, though it says more about Connie’s mental status than it does Bernard’s victimhood.

“You had takeout?” Irene snaps. “Why is that? You didn’t want to eat the same crap that gets served to the patients here?”

Connie shoots Irene a menacing glare that makes me slip my arm off Irene’s shoulders and back away a step, fearing she might burst into flames.

“You should see what passes for food around here,” Irene says. “They’re constantly doling out all kinds of ground-up mystery meat that they hide under gravy so no one will notice the weird taste. The bread they use in their sandwiches is always stale. Plus they overcook everything. The vegetables they serve are limper than most of the wangers in this place.”

Connie and Irene engage in a stare-down that lasts an uncomfortable length of time. It’s obvious there is history and no love lost between the two women.

Hurley turns suddenly and exits the bathroom. He takes me by the arm and pulls me a little way down the hall, making my aching muscles protest. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So it would seem. Why haven’t you called me?”

“I needed some time.” I look away.

“And now you’ve had it. We need to talk. Don’t go anywhere.” With that, he heads back into the bathroom.

Irene has apparently released Connie from her dark-side death glare because the woman is scurrying off to the main part of the building, no doubt to act as the town crier. Irene walks over to me and says, “What’s going on with you and Hurley?”

“Nothing.”

“The hell you say.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Anyone can feel the sparks coming off the two of you. What’s up?”

I sigh. “Not now, Irene. I’ll tell you later.” I step over to hold the bathroom door open so I can watch and get a little more eye time with Hurley.

Junior Feller says, “How is it you’re involved with this, Mattie?”

“Irene nabbed me and had me come by.”

“Why did she do that?” Hurley asks, looking from Bernard to me.

“We just happened to run into one another,” Irene says.

Hurley narrows his eyes at her. “You just happened to run into Mattie here at the nursing home?”

“Not exactly,” I say. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.”

Hurley opens his mouth as if to say something more, but after a moment he apparently decides otherwise. He turns his focus to Bernard’s body and cocks his head to one side as he studies it. “What is that in his mouth?” he asks of no one in particular, squatting beside Bernard’s head.

“I think it’s isolyser powder,” I say. “It’s that stuff that turns a liquid into a solid.”

Hurley looks at me with a grimace. “You mean that stuff we use in the back of the squad cars if someone pees or pukes in there?”

“Probably,” I say with a shrug. I’m not sure what the cops use for those purposes, but since health care facilities use it the way Hurley just described, I imagine it’s all the same stuff.

“Eww,” Junior says with a shudder. “Is that what killed him? If it was, it couldn’t have been a nice way to go.”

“I’m not sure if that’s what killed him, but it looks like it might have been,” I say.

“Who found him?” Hurley asks.

Irene shoots me a panicked look and after a moment’s hesitation I say, “Irene did.” Technically it’s the truth as far as I know since we don’t know if Bernie was dead when Bjorn fled the restroom.

Hurley doesn’t miss the exchange of looks. “So Irene, what reason did you have to enter the men’s bathroom?”

Crap!
Clearly I hadn’t thought my answer through. But Irene is saved from having to answer by the arrival of several more people who enter the administrative wing from the front inside doorway: Izzy, another uniformed cop named Brenda Joiner, and my brother-in-law Lucien.

Lucien’s arrival, as usual, is problematic. I know there will be awkward explanations of how he knew to come here at all. Plus, because of my history with him, I’m always nervous whenever he’s around, anticipating some obnoxious comment or leering look. His appearance usually adds to the level of discomfiture because it’s never what anyone would call professional. His clothes are always wrinkled, stained, and frayed-looking, and his strawberry blond hair has a vigorous natural wave that Lucien tries to tame with enough grease to deep fry cheese curds for the entire town.

Today he looks worse than I’ve ever seen him. His clothes are messier than usual, his hair is weeks past the need for a cut, and his chin is covered with several days’ worth of stubble. Plus his face looks haggard and tired. There are large, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin has a pale, sagging look to it. He looks ill and that frightens me. Lucien may be a big pain in my ass much of the time, but he is my brother-in-law and in some small part of my heart, I feel affection for him. I’ve long suspected that his obnoxious behavior and apparent misogynistic attitudes are nothing more than a cover he uses to protect his true feelings and to scare the bejesus out of everyone he meets. It’s part of what makes him such an effective and successful lawyer, and such an annoying human being.

Hurley, not surprisingly, moans in frustration at the sight of Lucien. “What are you doing here, Colter?”

“Mattie called me to represent certain folks here who feel they need someone to look out for their best interests.”

Hurley shoots me a venomous look, to which I shrug.

“All I did was track him down for Irene,” I say. “It was her idea and at her request.”

Izzy looks in the bathroom and then at me. “How did you get here already?”

“Irene got a hold of me. Long story.”

“Have you done anything yet to process the scene?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t know what I was walking into,” I explain, “so I had Irene call the cops first thing when I saw the body.”

Izzy sets down his scene kit, opens it, takes out a camera, and hands it to me. “Why don’t you start shooting pictures while I do the preliminary exam.”

I step into the bathroom and quickly fire off several shots of Bernie’s body and the bathroom. When I’m done, Izzy gloves up and kneels next to Bernie to begin his exam. I’m about to join him, but Hurley grabs me by the arm and hauls me out into the hallway again, letting the bathroom door close. He drags me closer to the outside exit and away from the huddle of Irene and Lucien.

“Hey,” I protest, shaking my arm loose. “What the heck?”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Hurley says. “What the heck has been going on with you? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. The only phone number I had was your work cell phone and Jonas Kriedeman ended up with that. I came by a couple times, but you were never home and I haven’t seen you anywhere around town.”

“Well, now that I’m back on the job, you’ll be seeing me plenty.”

“What about us?”

“There isn’t any
us
.”

“How can you say that after our . . . after we . . . you know.” An exasperated breath practically explodes out of him. “Come on, Mattie, you can’t tell me that our time together wasn’t magical and amazing.”

“That it was,” I admit, “at least up until the moment where your wife and kid showed up.”

Hurley sighs and his shoulders sag. “I told you, I had no idea Kate didn’t go through with our divorce. That was almost fifteen years ago. I don’t have any feelings for her anymore. Nor did I know we had a kid together. I promise you, this was as much of a shock to me as it was to you.”

Somehow I doubt that
. “Are they still staying with you?” I ask, though I know the answer already. I’ve done my share of spying on Hurley’s house over the past couple months.

“Yes,” Hurley admits. “But only until Kate gets back on her feet. I can’t just throw her and Emily out on the street. That’s where they’d be if they weren’t staying with me.”

“That’s very kind of you.” I turn away to head back to the men’s room, but Hurley stops me by grabbing my arm again and hauling me into Bernard’s office. He shuts the door behind us, and whirls me around so that my back is against the door. He leans toward me, one arm on either side of me.

I’m vaguely aware of my aching body screaming at me, but something about Hurley’s body coming in full frontal contact with mine makes it seem vague and distant. “That was a bit rough,” I tell him, trying to sound angry though the truth is I’m rather titillated. “And this is a crime scene.”

“We’re not disturbing anything and I need to talk to you. I can’t take this anymore, Mattie. I’ve been going crazy, thinking that you’re so angry about what happened that you’ll never see me again. Please tell me that isn’t the case.”

“Obviously not, since we’re going to be working together again.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, his voice rife with frustration. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’ve been avoiding everybody, Hurley, not just you.”

“Where have you been all this time? Every time I went by your place your car was gone.”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time at the North Woods Casino.”

Hurley frowns and I anticipate a lecture about the evils of gambling. Instead, he moves his body in closer to mine. “Are you seeing someone else? Is that it? Are you and Joe Whitehorse an item?”

Joe Whitehorse is an investigator for the Indian Gaming Commission. Hurley and I met him during the last case we worked together and Hurley’s suspicion that Whitehorse and I might be an item is understandable since there was some serious flirting going on. I did try to get something going there, but after one short, awkward date during which Whitehorse told me, “I’m really not that into tall women,” I knew it was a bust. I later found out from some of the staff at the casino, some of whom now know more about me than my family does, that Whitehorse is a compulsive flirter and a serial dater.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” I say to Hurley, my tone thick with sarcasm. “I jumped right out of your bed and into his. Yep, Whitehorse and I are an item all right. We’re so much an item, everyone is calling us MatJoe.” I stop, take a breath, and shake my head. “Geez, Hurley, just what kind of slut do you think I am?”

“The kind I like,” he says, and before I know what’s happening, his lips are on mine. In a flash, two months of anger and confusion disappear. There is nothing in my head except the delicious sensations Hurley is triggering all over my body. I reach up and pull him to me; his hands run through my hair.

Then I hear a voice call out on the other side of the door, from out in the hall. “Hurley?” It was followed by, “Where the hell did he go?”