Grace Sees Red (24 page)

Frances had a few errands to run Saturday, so I picked her up a little after noon. “I made reservations for both of us at the hotel,” she said when she got in. “Not that Rosette is a hotbed of entertainment or anything, but you never know when some local event fills a place up. I didn't want to risk you being shut out.” She faked a shudder. “Or, heaven forbid, we have to share a room.”

When we got to Indwell, a new face greeted us at the lobby desk. “Cathy's not in today, I take it?” I asked her.

The young woman, barely out of her teens, smiled up at us. “She called in sick. Did you need her for something?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “We're fine.”

“Who are you here to visit?” she asked with a glance at the registry where Frances was signing us in.

“Percy Sliwa.”

“Do you know the way?”

Frances snorted and rolled her eyes.

“We do, thanks,” I said.

We knocked at Percy's apartment. He called out, “Be right there.”

When the door swung open, I watched his expression
shift from relief at seeing Frances, to dismay at my presence, to resignation that manifested itself into a tepid smile.

“Good to see you,” he said, rolling to accompany Frances as she made her way in. “I wasn't sure you'd be willing to come out this weekend.”

“When has anyone been able to stop me from what I want to do?” she asked.

“True enough.” He slid me a sideways glance. “Although I didn't expect a chaperone.”

“Hmph,”
Frances said. “Turns out when Grace sets her mind to do something, there's no talking her out of it. She's a lot like me that way.”

If he intended to protest my presence further, he held back. “I suppose she told you about the moonshine too, did she?”

Frances positioned herself in front of her ex-husband, feet set shoulder-width apart, fists at her hips, peering at him over the tops of her half-moon glasses. “What else do you have in your room that you shouldn't have?” she asked.

“Not a thing.”

“Oh, really,” she asked without budging. “So you won't mind me doing a little spring cleaning in there today, will you?”

Kyle emerged from his room just then. “Hey, cool. Fireworks.” He grinned up at me. “How ya doing, Grace?” he asked. Before I could answer, he zipped past me to join Frances. “What was it like in jail? Did you get strip-searched?”

“Certainly not,” she said, her cheeks flaming red. “What is wrong with you?”

He smiled again. “We get bored here all day doing nothing. Gus's murder and your arrest are the most exciting things that have happened here in forever. I heard about that assisted-suicide brochure. Any idea who put it in Gus's room?”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Ha!” Kyle seemed amused by the idea. “No, but I wish I'd thought of it. People are going nuts about it. That's all everybody talked about yesterday.”

“I imagine,” I said. “Who's here today? I know Cathy called in sick.”

“Did she?” He twisted his head from side to side. “I know Santiago's here; I've seen him. I think it's Debbie's day off. Maybe Tara's, too.”

“Did any of them have anything of interest to share about the brochure?” I asked. “Was there discussion as to who may have planted it in Gus's room?”

He shook his head. “Not that I can remember. They had a lot to say about that moonshine, though. Debbie thinks the police will probably arrest Anton next.”

“Speaking of the moonshine,” Frances said to Percy, “your friend here is trying to distract me, but I'm not falling for it. What else do you have in your room? Or should Grace and I head in there now to have a look?”

“Sorry, bro. I tried,” Kyle said as he headed away. He hit the metal panel on the wall and turned back to us as the door swung open. “Don't miss me too much while I'm gone, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Percy dragged his attention back to us when his roommate was gone. “It's beautiful outside today, Frannie. Want to go for a walk?” With a glance at me, he added, “You can come, too.”

Frances sidestepped his wheelchair and made a beeline for his room.

“Okay, okay,” Percy said as he zoomed after her. “I give.”

Curious as to what would happen next, I followed. Percy's room was as cluttered as it had been the last time I was here. The only difference between that visit and now was Frances's glowering presence in the room's center. “Well?” she asked. “Where is it? Or should I start digging on my own?”

Percy took his sweet time. I hadn't realized what an unpleasant sight a pouting man could be. He rolled to the cabinet opposite his refrigerator and leaned forward to open its right-hand door. I got the distinct impression he was exaggerating the difficulty accessing his storage spaces, but every time Frances attempted to assist, he snapped a refusal.

“Have a seat,” she said to me. “This may take a while.”

She claimed the easy chair with the wildlife afghan, while I settled myself in the one with the motorcycle-themed throws. We talked a little about the case, about Marshfield, anything to pass the time. All the while, she watched Percy's movements with such attentiveness I wondered if she was making a mental log of his hiding spots to remember later.

By the time he'd completed his slow-motion collecting, Percy had amassed seven airline-sized bottles of liquor. One by one, he painstakingly transferred them from his lap to Frances's. Three vodkas, four gins.

“That's all of it,” he announced with a measure of pride. “Happy now?”

Frances picked up each of the bottles in turn, examining them. “And not one of them have been opened yet,” she said.

“See?” he said sounding like a plaintive four-year-old. “I haven't been pushing any limits at all.”

“Imagine that.” She gathered all seven bottles as she got to her feet. “Hold on to these, will you?” she asked as she placed them in my lap. “I have a feeling he may have missed a spot or two.”

Percy's silent pout morphed into an all-out whine. “Wait, no. Frances, come on. You know I didn't—”

Too late. She removed a small stack of books from atop a shoe box that sat on a waist-high shelf near the windows. Lifting the shoe box, she shook it. Even sitting across the room, I could hear the sloshing liquid inside. She replaced the box on the shelf, lifted the lid, and smiled beatifically at Percy. “Oh, look what I found here.” She hoisted a bottle of gin and swirled it around. About half its contents were still intact. “Haven't been pushing your limits at all, have you?”

She placed the bottle on the floor next to me and returned to digging.

By the time Frances finished searching the room, she'd amassed three half-full bottles of vodka, two of gin, and two unopened bottles of anisette, all of which she piled up around my chair.

“How many of these did you take from Gus's room?” I asked.

Percy didn't answer me.

“We have to give these to the police, Frances.”

“Hello in there?”

The three of us turned to face Santiago in the doorway. He held a blue-capped syringe aloft. “I'm looking for Kyle—again—it's time for one of his special meds.” Before any of us could answer, he noticed the mountain of liquor at my feet. “Well, what do we have here?”

“I didn't take these from Gus,” Percy said. “He gave them to Kyle but his parents get all worked up if they find liquor in his room. They think alcohol is the work of the devil. So he keeps it in here.”

“You really expect us to believe that?” I asked.

“It's the truth.”

“Kyle's not here?” Santiago asked. “His locator bracelet says . . .” The nurse shook his head. “That kid. He left it here again, didn't he?”

At that moment, my cell phone rang. Bruce. I left the little bottles on my chair and stepped out into the man-cave to take the call.

“Grace, good news,” he said when I picked up. “The bank says they'll have preliminary paperwork ready for us next week. Would you be able to swing by their offices Monday morning to sign a few documents?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “What time?”

“We can make it whatever time is convenient for you. The documents they're requiring are basically you promising to fund the purchase of the Granite Building if the inspection goes through. Because Scott and I can't afford the purchase on our own, the bank won't move forward without proof that you're committed to this venture.”

“I'll be there. Can we do it early on Monday? Maybe about eight in the morning? I can stop at the bank on my way to work.”

“Perfect, I'll set it up. How are things going with Frances?” he asked.

I turned as she, Percy, and Santiago emerged from Percy's room. Frances carried five of the liquor bottles. She
deposited them on the floor near the sofa and returned to Percy's room for the rest.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Got it. You can't talk.”

Frances stacked the two unopened bottles next to the first five, then went back for the seven little airline versions.

“That's right. See you when I get home tomorrow,” I said.

As I ended the call, the apartment door opened, and Kyle rolled in. He spotted Santiago at the same moment the nurse spotted him. “There you are,” Santiago said with an exultant grin.

“I was just coming back for my locator bracelet,” Kyle said, fooling no one.

“Sure you were.” Santiago raised the syringe he carried. “Don't worry—this won't hurt a bit.”

“Liar,” Kyle said.

Frances returned. From the clinking sounds coming from her purse, I knew she'd stuffed all the small bottles inside.

After donning purple latex gloves from a box on the wall, Santiago approached Kyle. He grimaced.

I don't know why I chose to watch, but I did. Santiago rolled up Kyle's sleeve, ripped open a sanitizing wipe, and cleaned the young man's upper arm. “If Kyle here would agree to wear a heparin lock,” Santiago said, “we could administer these injections without any pain whatsoever.”

“Stick me all you like, I refuse to wear one of those things. They get in the way when I'm playing video games.”

Santiago held Kyle's skin taut with one hand and brought the still-capped syringe up with his other. Using his teeth, he yanked the blue cap off the top of the syringe and plunged the needle into Kyle's smooth arm.

Kyle clenched his eyes.

Two seconds later, it was done. Santiago removed the needle. “There, that wasn't so bad, was it?” As he spoke, the blue cap tumbled from its perch between his teeth. Santiago swooped to pick it up.

I turned to Frances whose brows had jumped high on her head. She'd seen it, too.

“What?” Percy asked.

“Nothing,” we said in unison.

“What is up with you two?” Santiago asked as he bandaged Kyle's arm and rolled his sleeve back down.

“Not a thing,” I said.

Frances stood staring, eyes wide. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

Santiago shrugged and pointed. “What do you plan to do with all that liquor you found?”

Kyle noticed the pile on the floor. “They found my liquor?”

Frances regained her composure. “Yes, we did,” she said. “And we're getting rid of it.”

Santiago made a
tsk
ing noise. “And now that Gus is gone, good luck replenishing your stash, boys,” he said. “Nice job, ladies.”

“You won't really get rid of it all, will you?” Kyle asked. Like Percy had earlier, he sounded like a whiny toddler. “My parents don't understand. I may be disabled, but I'm an adult. I have every right to drink in the privacy of my own home.”

Santiago had deposited the used syringe in the medical waste box on the wall and began stripping off his latex gloves. “The only reason we go through Kyle's room searching for contraband is because his parents demand it. There's no medical reason Kyle can't enjoy a drink now and then. In moderation, that is. But because his parents are the ones paying the bills, we have to do what they say. Of course, if Percy keeps all this in his room, then Kyle's parents will have nothing to complain about, will they?” He gave one of his scary giant grins. “I won't tell if you won't.”

“Frannie, honey,” Percy said. “You can't be so hard-hearted. Leave us the open bottles, will you? I promise I won't overdo. Kyle promises, too, don't you, Kyle?”

“I know my limits,” Kyle said. “I don't get drunk. I just want to feel like a normal person. Don't take that away from me.”

“I don't know,” she said, but I could tell she was wavering.

“You can take those two unopened bottles,” Percy said.
“Gus loved anisette, but neither Kyle nor I can stand the stuff.”

“Then why did you keep it?” I asked.

Percy shrugged. “Any port in a storm, you know? If we ran out of the good stuff, we'd still have that, at least.” Turning his pleading face toward Frances, he said, “If it makes you feel better, take it away. But leave us the open stuff. We're adults, Frances. Disabled maybe, but still adults. Don't treat us like children.”