The Trouble With Murder (5 page)

I left the coffee shop and scooted
over to 24 Hour Fitness. After the beefcake at the front desk gave me a
detailed tour of the facility, I was set up with a woman in her thirties, who I
guessed was blessed with natural slimness and was more concerned with her dyed
blonde hair, tanned skin, and designer clothes than with exercise. And she’d
definitely picked up on the Axe, which I could see didn’t help her opinion of
me. We didn’t talk much while she took my information.

Then I spent thirty terrible
minutes sweating and panting on an elliptical machine. When I reached the point
of either puking or crying, I hobbled back out to the scooter and decided to
head home and finish packing. Tomorrow was moving day, and I still had quite a
bit to box up. Sitting astride the Cushman, I used the collar of my new 24 Hour
Fitness t-shirt to wipe away the sweat still running down my face and dialed
Margaret Fischer, the leasing agent I was working with for my rental.

“It’s Zoe Grey,” I said when she
answered. “I wanted to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow.”

I heard a couple pages shuffle,
then she said, “Oh, yes. I’ve processed your application, so everything’s set
as far as that goes. As we discussed, a security deposit of eight hundred
dollars and the first and last month’s rent is all required up front.”

“Or I could just sign over my
first-born child,” I said.

She didn’t reply.

“How’s nine o’clock?” I asked.

“Fine,” she said, a little coldly.
“I’ll meet you at the property then.”

I didn’t have keys yet. Fischer was
unwilling to hand over the keys until I handed over a couple thousand dollars.
I was unwilling to give her any money until I was sure the agreement would go
through. We’d arranged to do the paperwork first and the key/money thing on the
day of move-in.

I was stuffing the phone back into
my backpack when it rang. I crossed my fingers it wasn’t Fischer calling back
to announce she would no longer be leasing me the house, that our deal was off.
Instead it was Mark White.

“I take it you got my message.”

“I did. And I’m glad you called.
There are some things I need to speak to you about. Can you come by my office?”

White has a pleasant, smooth voice,
which I suspect is part of the reason he does so well in business. Today he
sounded drawn. Theft and subsequent legal troubles didn’t suit him.

“What time?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I kicked the Cushman to life and
motored out of the parking lot.

Mark White has an office in the Key
Bank building on Howes Street downtown. Real estate mogul that he is, he has
lots of business ventures. He oversees them all from this central location. I
parked on the street, which was relatively empty, and went in. When the
elevator let me out on the fifth floor, I made a left and let myself into White
Real Estate headquarters.

A smart-looking brunette greeted me
then pushed a series of buttons on her keyboard. As usual, Tandy, White’s
long-time secretary, looked perfectly attired and groomed, as attractive as she
was intelligent. I have always liked and respected her. Today, however, I
noticed her hair seemed a little flat and her suit slightly wilted. Even she
was feeling the stress of the current situation.

A minute later, I heard a door open,
and White strode out to meet me. Our greeting was awkward. Then I followed him
into his office.

“Can I offer you anything? Coffee?
Water?”

He settled behind his desk and
smoothed his tie before folding his hands on the blotter. Always as smartly
dressed as Tandy, he, too, showed small signs of wear that would have gone
unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t seen him at his usual best.

“No, thanks.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet
me,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to call you back immediately.”

White is nearing sixty, but only a
handful of people actually know this. He looks forty-five. No doubt his
religious workout routine and green goop vegetable shakes play a part in that.
Maybe some genetics, too. Tall, trim, athletic, he’s barely graying around the
temples, and his brown eyes are clear and sharp. He smiles easily, most days,
and has a friendly, open face. Behind it is a shrewdly intelligent mind that has
taken him far in life.

“I’m sure your life is more
complicated since this morning.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You
have no idea. I can’t believe
—
”
He stopped and sat forward again. “Let’s start at the beginning. First, I know
you didn’t take that money.”

“Thank you,” I said. That was a big
relief.

He shook his head. “But I’m afraid
it isn’t that simple.” He took a breath. He seemed uncharacteristically
hesitant to tell me what was on his mind. “You should know, after Paige ‘fired’
you, he took all the ‘evidence’ to the police.” He used air quotes as he spoke,
and his face clearly conveyed his annoyance.

“Paige,” I said on a sigh. I should
have known.

“Berry Paige has officially been
suspended. My attorneys tell me I can’t fire him. Not at this point, anyway.
Either way, he’s finished at White Real Estate. But the damage has been done.
The case he laid out for the police seems pretty black and white. You are the
one and only suspect. And they’re moving on it pretty quickly.”

“And why wouldn’t they, when
everything came gift wrapped and tied up with bows?”

“I’ve been trying to focus on
problems I can deal with,” White went on. “I have an independent accounting
firm reviewing my books. As soon as Paige showed me those documents, that was
the first call I made. I want to know where that money came from and where it
went. They should have information for me soon.

“Meanwhile, I have a business to
run. I can’t close the Fort Collins office while this is sorted out, so I need someone
to take Paige’s position. I’m also opening a Weld County office in Greeley next
month. I’m going to need someone to run it.”

Translation: I’m offering you either
job; take your pick.

“Why don’t you have Spinulli take
over for Paige?”

Frank Spinulli is Paige’s
equivalent in the Loveland division of White Real Estate and Property
Management. He’s better than Paige and might one day be as good as me.

“Eventually I will fold the
Loveland and Fort Collins divisions into one,” White said. “But that isn’t a
strategic move right now. Growth from the Fort Collins office has been less
than ideal, far less than projected. I need someone who can make up for lost
ground and gain more still. You’re that someone.”

“Is promoting me right now a good
idea?” It would be hard to manage the office from jail, which was where the police
seemed to want me.

“I think it will be good to see the
company is backing you. I told the police more than once today I know you
didn’t take the money.” He gave me an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, it’s
going to take more than my word to convince them. Plus, I need you. What’s it
going to take, Zoe? I don’t mind telling you I’m in a tight spot here; I’m
willing to make a deal.”

I’d been considering a vacation
anyway. And I don’t mind admitting, after the last couple days, some time off
held its appeal. I’m normally one to plow ahead, but I decided to take
advantage of the opportunity. White was willing to deal; he’d give me what I
asked for, even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

“I’d like to think about it,” I
said.

He was nodding as if this was good
news.

“Absolutely. Take all the time you
need.”

“I’d like two weeks off. I’ve got
some things I need to sort out.”

He didn’t like this request, but he
granted it. Apparently “take all the time you need” didn’t mean two weeks.

“Fine. I’ll have Henry Davis step
in for the interim for Paige, then we’ll make more permanent arrangements in
two weeks.”

“Davis is an all right guy,” I said
reassuringly. “He’s learning quickly, and he has some good ideas.”

“I know. He’s a serious candidate
for the Greeley office, assuming I don’t get my first choice.”

I stood. “Will you let me know what
your accountants find?”

White stood with me, then moved
around the desk. He pulled a card from his pocket. “Of course. You’ll be my
first call. I asked my attorneys to represent you, but they tell me it’s some
kind of conflict of interest in this case. They gave me this guy’s name;
apparently he’s one of the best. Call him. I’ll pay for it.”

I accepted the card, slipped it
into my pocket, and tried for my most positive, confident smile. “Thank you,
but I’m sure it isn’t necessary. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Better not to take any chances.”

I left the office and returned to
the Cushman. I was stopped by the first light. My head was busy with a hundred
thoughts, most of them slanted by my own problems, but in moments of
inactivity, some of those thoughts consistently veered to Stacy. As I sat waiting,
I wondered how she was doing. Guilt pulled at me. When the light changed, I
buzzed down to Mulberry and made a left. The hospital was only a short distance
away.

I knew I needed to let the whole
thing go. I knew I’d done all I could, given the circumstances, and that I
couldn’t go back and change anything. But the feelings persisted all the same.
The police were looking into her case, and if the way they picked apart the
crime scene was anything to go by, they appeared to be taking the attack
seriously. There should have been no doubt on my part that they would discover
the assailant. But someone needed to answer for what happened to Stacy Karnes.
I wanted to make sure that happened.

Traffic from the front door of Poudre Valley Hospital is
funneled down a long hallway to a desk manned by purple-shirted volunteers
during regular business hours. Today was no different; a hunched-back volunteer
with blue hair and thick glasses sat there. A sign told me this was the place
to ask about patient room numbers.

“Can I help you?” the volunteer
asked from her chair, her voice warbling with age.

“I’m looking for patient Stacy
Karnes.”

“Do you know which floor?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Though I
guessed she’d be in ICU. That seemed appropriate given her injuries. I said as
much to the volunteer, who had turned her steadied attention toward the
computer hulking before her small, fragile frame.

With fingers knotted from
arthritis, she tapped out a few keys and clicked at the computer. I felt the
Earth move under my feet in the time I stood there waiting.

“All right,” she finally announced
with such victorious pride I couldn’t help but smile. “5608. Fifth floor,
Medical. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” I lied. I thanked her for
the information and hurried away from her desk toward the elevators. The line
had grown behind me, and I didn’t want to spend any more time there.

I crowded into the first available
elevator car with a large Hispanic family, a young couple I guessed to be newly
dating, and some teenagers. I was pretty sure at least one of the teenage boys
was wearing the same scent as me: Axe Phoenix. The couple and I got off on the
fifth floor, the last stop. The couple knew where they were going and quietly
made their way down a hall to the left. I followed the posted signs until I arrived
at the Medical Unit. Then I navigated by room numbers, counting off doors until
I arrived at number eight.

I glanced up and down the hall, but
there was no one in sight. And I saw no one at the desk. I wanted to ask if Stacy
was up for visitors, but I didn’t have the patience to wait for any more
information.

The door was open an inch or two
and I heard voices inside. I knocked and pushed the door open slowly,
listening. A sure voice rang out.

“Come in!”

Whoever this woman was, it was
clear she was used to being in charge.

Some instinctual part of me was
compelled to obey. Another, more familiar, part wanted to rebel. In the end, I
pushed the door open.

“Okay,” the voice was saying. “This
will be Carrie with those pain meds. Last cold wipe here. Good. Now, take a
deep breath and try to relax. You’ll feel some pressure.”

I saw two people dressed in scrubs
standing on either side of the bed, which had been elevated to waist-height. I
saw bare feet on the end of the bed. Bare,
hairy
feet. And they seemed
too big.

The woman on the far side of the
bed, a brunette in her forties wearing clear gloves, pulled a beige-colored,
flexible tube out of a white plastic container positioned on the bed between
the feet. She glanced up at me briefly as she gripped the tube. I noticed there
was something clear and jelly-like dripping from the end.

“Oh,” she said, having realized I
was not the person she was expecting. “Can I help you?”

After a couple steps, I saw enough
to put it together.

With her other hand, she was
holding a penis. Bringing her hands together, she put the end of the tube into
the end of the penis and shoved. My mouth dropped open as the patient shot up
off the bed.

“Aaaahhhh!”

The sound had come from both of us.
Him in a scream, me in a panic.

The patient (obviously a male) with
pain etched into every part of his face, struggled against the second
scrub-clad figure who tried to push him back down on the bed. He caught sight
of me, question in his eyes. But I was already moving backward.

I banged into the door, which had
drifted shut. Crying out again, I spun around and practically flung myself through
the doorway. I jerked the door closed behind me then stood leaning against the
wall, my hands over my eyes. I knew the image was permanently burned into my
brain.

“Can I help you?”

The frosty tone cut into my
thoughts, drawing me back to the present.

I peeked through my hands and spied
a woman an inch taller and several pounds lighter than me who screamed
“high-maintenance.” Everything from her hair and makeup to her skin and nails
to her clothes and shoes cried time, money, and deliberateness. I instantly
disliked her. And I had the depressed feeling she would give me further reason
for this opinion by the time our exchange was through.

“I was just leaving,” I said,
attempting neutrality. I pushed myself from the wall and sucked in a deep
breath as I started walking.

“Who the hell are you?” she
snapped. Then I saw her flinch slightly, her nose working. She’d picked up on
the shampoo. “What were you doing in my husband’s room?”

What were the chances the man in
the room I’d been mistakenly sent to also wore Axe Phoenix?

A long, painful howl rolled out of
room eight. Both of us looked at the door. I took a subconscious step backward.

“Baby!” she cried under her breath.
Then she turned back to me, fire in her ugly brown eyes. “What did you do to
him?”

Standing up a little straighter,
pushing my shoulders back a bit further, I stared at her head-on and gave a
little smirk. “He has enough company at the moment, and he’s more than
entertained. Guess he wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” I infused this with
enough suggestion to cause her blood to boil. It would be temporary, but I was
satisfied.

She wanted to have a few more words
with me, but her jealousy and hatred consumed her. Spinning on her expensive
heel, she marched her (slightly dimpled) bottom, stuffed into pants just a bit
too small, through the door into the room.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly to
myself as I turned to continue on my own way. I was greeted by a young blonde
girl smiling at me.

“I see you’ve survived your run-in
with the Wicked Witch of Medical.”

“Aw, and I hoped it was just
something
I
brought out of her.”

The girl laughed and shook her
head. “Not even close. I’ve never seen her that mad before, though; you really
got under her skin.”

I’ve heard this before.

“You must not be a friend of the
family.”

I shook my head. “No. The volunteer
sent me to the wrong room.”

And I’d suffered permanent damage.
Maybe it all worked out for the better that I’d never finished college and
become a nurse. Had I, it would have been
me
doing the penis-and-tube thing.
I shuddered involuntarily.

The blonde nodded knowingly, as if
this sort of thing had happened before. She indicated I should follow her as
she walked to a nearby computer.

“Which patient are you looking
for?”

“Stacy Karnes.”

“Karnes with a
K
?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the problem. The volunteer
heard Barnes with a
B
. She sent you to Stacey Barnes. Was it Millie?
Sometimes she forgets her hearing aids.”

I confessed I didn’t know the name
of the blue-haired volunteer. The blonde looked up the correct room number and
sent me with directions. I thanked her and beat a hasty retreat. Suddenly I was
ready to run out of the hospital and never return. But I hadn’t done what I’d come
to do yet. So instead of
1
, I hit
4
when I got back on the
elevator.

Stacy was, in fact, in ICU. Now
that I was on the right unit, I counted off room numbers until I found Stacy’s.
This time I peered inside cautiously before going in; lesson learned. Inside I saw
a middle-aged man and woman sitting together beside Stacy’s bed, their hands
grasping hers. I guessed these were her parents. The woman in particular bore a
striking resemblance.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked
softly on the open door and stepped inside. They both turned to look at me, and
I saw their eyes were wet and bloodshot. I couldn’t imagine what they were
going through.

“Can we help you?” the man asked.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I was
there when
. . .
it
happened. I’ve been worried about her. How is she doing?”

They rose and walked toward me. He
grabbed my hand and shook it, squeezing it tightly. She wrapped me in a tight
hug. They were both crying again.

“We can’t thank you enough,” he
sobbed. “Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

Who knows what would have happened
had I been there on time.

The woman was crying now, too. They
clutched one another’s hands. This wasn’t what I’d envisioned. And I was
uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.
How is she?”

“The doctors say it could be much
worse,” the man began, turning to look at Stacy. “She was in surgery for six
hours, but they say they got everything cleaned out and closed up. They had to
remove a small portion of her intestine, and her liver was bleeding pretty
badly, but nothing truly vital was damaged. So, we just have to wait.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“You bet,” he said firmly. The
woman was bobbing her head in affirmation. “Our Stacy, she’s strong. She’s a
fighter.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” I was
truly relieved. And now it was time to go. “I don’t want to take too much of
your time. I better go.”

The woman sniffed and wiped at her
nose with a tissue.

“You’re welcome anytime. If there
is anything, anything at all, that you ever need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The man nodded vigorously in
agreement.

After another long minute of
thank-yous and hugs, I finally pulled myself away from the parents and headed
for the door.

I retreated to the elevators. My
mind was a whirlwind of thought. I wondered where the police were in their
investigation and if any progress had been made. I wondered who their suspects
were, and what they were doing to follow up. Not for the first time, I wondered
why Stacy had been in that lobby to begin with. Why had she wanted to see the
apartment? Why did she want to move? I remembered her voice on the phone.
“Panic” was too strong a word, but she was stressed. She wouldn’t take no for
an answer; she’d been determined to submit her application and see the
apartment that day.

What was bothering her? Why was she
in such a rush? Was she running? Did that have something to do with her attack?
Was her attacker someone she knew? I tended to think so, but that was mostly
because I couldn’t fathom a masked attacker randomly stopping by the lobby of
Elizabeth Tower to stab someone. Who did she know that could do something like
that?

What am I doing?
I asked
myself.
Am I trying to figure out who assaulted Stacy Karnes?

If I was doing this,
why
was
I doing it? Did I think finding the person responsible would make me feel
better, would absolve me of some degree of guilt? I couldn’t deny somehow
that
math added up in my head. But I had other things to figure out, things in my
own life, like my job. My musings were interrupted when I saw Detective Ellmann
turn the corner and walk toward me.

He was dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt, his gun and badge casually clipped to his belt. And he was hot. I had
no other choice than to admit it to myself. I was also very much aware of the
fact that I was dressed in my sweaty gym clothes and still smelled like a man.

“What are you doing here?” he
asked.

“I didn’t know you also policed the
hospital and its visitors.”

He stopped in front of me and
planted his hands on his hips. He wasn’t amused. And I saw him discreetly
sniffing at the air. Undoubtedly, he’d also detected the Axe. Despite the fact
my hair was still wrapped tightly on my head, it was pretty powerful.

“Tell me you’re not here seeing
Stacy Karnes.”

“Nope. Stacey
Barnes
. The
volunteer sent me to the wrong room.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over
his eyes. “You can’t be here; you can’t visit the victim of the crime you’re
involved with. It looks bad and complicates things.”

“Involved? Whoa. You can’t
seriously think
I
hurt her, . . . can you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.
We’re investigating an assault, maybe an attempted homicide; we have to rule everyone
out. That includes you.”

I sighed and did a mental head slap
as a couple pieces fell in place.

“That’s why you were at the office
this morning, talking to Paige,” I said. “You can’t talk to me because you
think I had something to do with it.”

“I need to rule you out,” he
repeated. “And you still need to come to the police station and sign paperwork.”

“The sooner you ‘rule me out,’ the
sooner you get back on track.”

“Right. When were you planning to
come to the station?”

“Isn’t it sort of a twenty-four-hour
place? I have stuff I need to do, so I can come by later tonight.”

He reached into his pocket and
withdrew another card, which he passed to me. “I wouldn’t want you to
inconvenience yourself or anything,” he said, stepping around me. “Call me when
you’re planning to come in and I’ll meet you there.”

“It’s on my list,” I shot back.
“I’m going to get my hair and nails done now, then I have a massage and
shopping to do, but maybe sometime after that, you know, unless something else
comes up.”

He lifted a hand and waved it without
slowing or turning around.

I was almost overwhelmed by the
urge to give him a hand sign of my own but managed to resist, taking the
elevator and exiting the hospital without any gestures.

_______________

It was a relief to discover the house empty when I got home.
I had no idea where anyone was, and I didn’t care. It was two o’clock in the
afternoon, and, with any luck, they’d all stay gone for another couple hours.