Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (18 page)

Matilda hopped up out of her chair like some spring chicken. Her statement was clear;
‘
get off my back,
’
or in her case,
‘
get off my bunions.
’
She had a doozey of one on her right foot. I told her about my bunion-removal surgery, but Matilda dug in and said she’d suffered with it this long, she’d go ahead and die with it. I’d like to think I’ll never be that stubborn, which is why it bugs me when Hardy tells me he married a woman who had as much gumption as his momma.

When I left, Hardy had corralled Dr. Kwan in a corner of the cafeteria. The good doctor’s complexion seemed somewhat pale, but it might have been my imagination.

Matilda slipped into her bedroom first thing, leaving me to do my packing in silence. I fetched the overnight case from the bathroom and emptied out the things Hardy always left inside, fearful of forgetting them should he take them out, and packed the few items I’d need for the night. Every bit of evidence or motive charged around in my brain like a bull waiting for the flash of red.

With the stash of my toothbrush being the last item, I zipped the bag closed. I gave myself the once over in the mirror, noting the gray hairs encroaching faster and faster. It was okay. I could live with looking older, it was the feeling older I didn’t like, but one had to do the first in order to qualify for grandbabies, and grandchildren were worth the price.

I ducked my head into Matilda’s room satisfied to hear her soft snuffling, and closed the door behind me. She would sleep through the night.

A surge of excitement lifted my spirits. Home. I was finally going home, even if only for a night, it still signaled the beginning of the end of Matilda’s stroke and the months of rehab. It would be nice to be cooking in my kitchen again. I also wanted to check on little Sara Buchanan.

Before we’d left, Sara’s mother Suzanne had confided her fears that her daughter’s lethargy might signal the return of the leukemia. I’d make up a good spinach salad for her first thing on my return.

Mentally I flipped through the list of things I had packed and
all
I had to do when I got back to Maple Gap. The shirt! I went back to my bedroom and
grabbed
the baggie holding the shirt with the powder taken off the handles of the treadmill
.I
stuffed it into the side pocket of my bag
and waited
.

I figured I’d need fifteen minutes to get to The Nuthouse.

Hardy didn’t appear in time for me to say good-bye, so I decided to call him, but the phone kept right on ringing and I ended up leaving a message. “You got this thing now
,
why don’t you keep it turned on?” So what if I’m the pot calling the kettle black. As a matter of fact, my cell needed a good charging before it started that annoying beeping. I plucked up the charger and stuffed it in my bag, then thought better of it and pulled it back out. At least in Maple Gap I’d have a good old-fashioned phone. If Hardy needed me
,
he could call me at the house.

I set my cell phone to charging
then
beat it out the door before anything else distracted me and
caused me to be
late for my appointment at the coffeehouse. I needed a good mocha.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I arrived late anyhow. Turns out The Nuthouse happened to be about a five foot wide hole-in-the-wall store crammed between a huge bookstore and a drugstore
,
and I walked right by it the first time. The clerk in the drugstore told me to go back the way I came and follow my nose. Funny thing, that, because I did smell the coffee before I got to the store but thought it was from the little coffee bar in the bookstore.

When I opened the door of the coffeeshop my watch read 9:05. Sue Mie waited at a small booth for two. Mm-mm. I can tell you that small booth was going to get stretched to its limits as soon as I settled my wide bulk down on the blue vinyl seat. Sue Mie waved a hand as if I hadn’t seen her the first time and motioned toward my mocha. What can I say? The thought of that smooth, chocolatey beverage called to me like the sirens of the Iliad, or was that the Odyssey? Whatever. Literature wasn’t my strong subject, give me science any day. And math.

Sue Mie and I eyed each other for a full thirty seconds. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was thinking about booths being made by little people. I could just imagine these petite people running around with their
tape measure, sizing
each other
up
as they put garish vinyl over flimsy pressboard. Sue Mie was a little person.

“I hope that table has some give in it.”

Sue’s brow creased in question.

“Because if it doesn’t move now, it will when I’m done with it.” To emphasize my point, I pushed my body into the tight little space, knuckles white on the edge of the table. “Better rescue those drinks,” I warned. Sue picked up her drink and mine as I gave a great heave in her direction. The table scraped and creaked about five inches before I had enough room to finish maneuvering my body. When I got settled, I noticed Sue Mie’s red face and that every person in the place had turned our direction.

I leveled a glare at everyone staring. “You best stop gawking and get back to your talking.” I raised my mocha in salute to my little audience.

People ducked their heads and returned to their conversations. I took a nice sip of the mocha and had to admit it was the smoothest, most mellow I’d ever tasted. Probably better than the mix I made up at home.

Setting my cup on the table, I glanced over the iced something or other in the clear cup Sue Mie clutched. Probably Chai. Stuff made me burp, though my girls drank the
watery brew
. They even wanted me to make a Chai punch at Christmas. Not happening. We had a nice, tangy, fruit punch instead.

Sue seemed reluctant to start the conversation, I had no such hang-up. “Best mocha I’ve tasted in a long time.” I slurped to emphasize my words. “But this meeting needs to explain why you left me in that second floor room by myself.”

Her face morphed from an expression of shy sweetness to one of hard professional. The same expression you see on someone concentrating hard. “I am not a CNA, LaTisha.”

“What you mean you’re not a CNA? I’m leaving my momma at an institute that doesn’t even make sure the people they hire are qualified?”

She put her hand up, palm out. “Please, let me finish.”

In a nano-second I realized something else. Her speech had changed. She’d lost the broken English accent. Now that I gave it some thought, even when she’d called her speech had been different. Between the swell of confidence in her demeanor and her change in speech pattern, I thought she might tell me she was an Ivy Leaguer and a lawyer.

“I’m a private investigator.”

Who-whee! I ran with it. “Let me guess, you were hired by your family to look into the allegations that Dr. Kwan somehow messed up your uncle’s medications, which caused his fall.”

She chuckled. “Close. I was not hired by my family, but the person who did hire me wanted me to investigate Dr. Kwan.”

“Are the rumors true about him mixing medications?”

She shrugged. “From what I’ve discovered, no. It is much more serious than that. That’s all I can say right now.”

I took another long pull on my mocha. “Why this meeting then?”

Sue’s eyes lit. “Because I know a kindred spirit. I’ve heard of how you helped with the investigation in Maple Gap and how you caught the murderer. Someone like that is someone I want on my side.”

I nodded. Satisfied. I scooted my mug out of the way and leaned as far forward as I could. “Mitzi Mullins is sick. Rumor is the doctor isn’t trusted. You’re saying there’s no reason for him not to be trusted? If you want me on your side, I want to know the scoop
,
and you’re the one to provide me with it.”

She pressed her lips together.

I leaned back real slow and let my sweetest smile grow on my lips before trumpeting my next words. “You’re a CNA at Bridgeton Towers.” My peripheral vision caught the patrons’ heads turning our direction. “Funny you don’t look like one. You look more like a
—
”

Sue Mie’s hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, eyes flashing a controlled panic.

I lowered my voice. “I’m wanting that scoop, girlfriend, and you’d better give it to me or I’ll blow your cover from here to California.”

In the silence that followed my outburst, tension burgeoned between Sue and me. This little girl didn’t like my ways, and I actually felt a twinge of guilt for backing her into a corner.

Before my very eyes, the hard edge of her face melted. Sue clasped her hands together on the table and stared at her plain, unpolished nails. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Mrs. Barnhart. I’m just building my investigation portfolio.”

“How many cases have you handled?”

Sue’s posture deflated. “One.”

Um-hm. “Let me guess, this one, right?”

Her dark gaze reminded me of spilled oil. “I’m a single mother. My husband is in the service.” Her lip trembled and she lowered her eyes. “Was in the service. He got shot and killed nearly two years ago.”

Interesting story, but I wondered if there was more to it. Her lithe body and youth didn’t lend itself to my vision of the stodgy old detective with years of worldly wisdom to back up his naturally inquisitive nature, let alone a married woman with a child. “Why a PI? And what’s the deal with being a CNA?”

“Before I married I was going for my RN, but Phil wanted to get married before he left. Since he’s been gone, I’ve taken courses to get a degree in forensic science while my aunt watches my boys.”

“Two children?”

A smile tugged at her lips, coming into full bloom as only a proud mother’s smile can. “Twins.”

“Woo-wee! You had your hands full.”

Her smile went brittle. “Phil never got to meet them.”

Before I melted into a sympathetic puddle, I knew I needed to continue my game of hardball. Understanding her motives for being a CNA at Bridgeton Towers had little to do with answering the real question. Why did she call me here? “What was it about that storage room
,
and why did you leave me?”

“I’m sure you noticed that the treadmill in that room is the one Polly Dent was on when she fell. Someone made the switch in machines.”

Should I let on that I suspected that already? Even if her confirmation helped boost my confidence it still didn’t explain why she took me up to that room. I was the amateur after all. “You took me up there. . .why?”

Her expression became cautious. “How do I know I can trust you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Do I need to remind you that you called me here?”

She heaved a heavy sigh and shook the ice in her cup. “You’re right. I wanted you to know about my undercover work because I hoped you would help me.” She sucked in a breath. “I think Dr. Kwan killed Polly because she was on to him.”

Stunned, that’s what I was. Completely stunned. But never speechless. . . “On to him for what?”

She leaned in close and dropped her voice. “I. . .can’t. . .tell.”

I pushed in hard against the table until our foreheads touched and my eyes lasered into hers. “Then. . .we’re. . .not. . .a. . .team.”

I’m not sure who pulled back first, all I remember was turning toward the front door of the coffee shop in time to see a brassy blond slink inside. I’d recognize that hair anywhere. Just as my pipes filled to honk out a greeting, it was like an invisible hand slapped down on my mouth and rendered me speechless. Good thing, too, because another person came through the front door right behind Louise Payne. Tight t-shirt. Jeans with a hole in the knee. Tattoo on his right bicep. Dark brown hair and lots of it. Definitely not Otis.

Louise barely raised her head as she crossed the room and swept across the vinyl seat of a booth adjacent to Sue and me. Speaking of Sue, I turned my head to see her reaction. Surely she would know what Louise Payne looked like. Sue’s brown gaze met mine. No smile. No recognition of any sort to give away her inner thoughts. One thing I liked less than tea was a person capable of playing stone-face better than me.

Sue gave me a nod and made her exit. I watched her leave, wondering if I’d made the right decision. What if she knew something essential to the investigation? Being a CNA gave her an “in” that I didn’t have.

I huffed and slid further into the booth, wedging myself in with my back to the wall so I could peek at Louise and Mr. Tattoo, as he slid in across from her. At least with her back to me I didn’t have any reason to think she’d see me gawking. Mr. Tattoo faced me though, so I kept busy with my mocha trying to maintain the show of a content patron relaxing for the evening. I couldn’t let my brain jump to conclusions
.
A
fter all
,
this young man may just be her oldest
son
. Or a friend. Or her little brother. Very little.