Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) (5 page)

“What things?”

“Well, about this time each year I hook up the heat lamps for my girls,” she replied. “Chickens can stand a lot of cold, but just like people, they’d rather be warm than not. Then there’s a man who brings me firewood. He dumps it in the yard and I stack it myself, in a rack close to the house where I can get at it no matter how much snow we get.”

“You stack your own firewood?” Clara weighed ninety-eight pounds, if that.

She smiled. “It takes longer than it used to, but yes. I work for an hour or so at a time until it’s all where I want it.” Her smile faded. “If I don’t move that wood before it snows, it’ll be a mess to get at it all winter.”

Despite my doubts, ideas were forming. “Any more things you need to get done?”

Clara chuckled. “A dozen at least. It’s work running a place all by myself, but I like it. Keeps me young.”

That was true. If not for an ankle-bracelet that would sound a warning to the staff if she tried to leave the facility, Clara looked perfectly competent and years younger than her age, which had to be mid-eighties. Promising to return with a decision as to whether we’d take her case, I headed for the exit.

Twenty feet down the hall, I was reconsidering my promise. Had I listened with my heart instead of my head? I tried to imagine how Barb would have reacted to Clara’s story. With hard questions, no doubt. “How did your niece manage to convince your doctor you need full-time care, Mrs. Knight?” or “Why didn’t you demand a second opinion?” There had to be ways to prove yourself competent, even if a relative claimed otherwise.

Brandy, a CNA I knew well, was at the front desk, filling in a chart. “Hey,” I said, “can you tell me why Clara Knight is here?”

It was clearly a violation of HIPAA’s privacy regulations, but the girls at the Meadows knew me enough to understand I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have good reason. After looking around to be sure no one else was listening, Brandy slid the file into its metal sleeve with a snap and said, “She was quite the wacko when we first got her. Thought there were lizards crawling over everything. On the bed, on the walls, everywhere.”

“She seems fine now.”

She shrugged. “Twice since she came she’s had hallucinations and talked gibberish for a day. The rest of the time, she’s as sane as me—if that’s sane. Of course she insists she’s going home soon, but—” Brandy tapped her pen on the chart. “—wanting to go home isn’t exactly rare around here.”

I left the building, glad there wasn’t a monitor on my ankle to stop me. It wouldn’t be a big job for the agency to look into whether Clara’s niece was up to something, and in addition, there were a few things I could do for Clara myself.

Faye called me about Clara Knight’s case before she told Barbara anything. That was a first, since she and Barbara Ann are usually the Wonder Twins and I’m just Gleek. Clearly, Faye was looking for support. We all have to agree before we take a case on, and she was afraid Barbara would dismiss a nursing home resident’s insistence that her family was plotting against her. Since I’d met Clara, Faye thought I’d be less likely to reject her story out of hand.

“I met the niece,” I reminded Faye. “She didn’t exactly come across as a criminal mastermind.”

“When money’s involved, some families aren’t warm and fuzzy.”

“I did sense Gail isn’t emotionally connected to her aunt.”

“Then we should look into what she might be up to.”

I promised to get to the office by eleven so we could present our argument to Barbara together. It was nine-thirty, so I had plenty of time to do a little online shopping before then. Making another cup of coffee in my Keurig, I settled into a soft chair and sipped pumpkin spice as I shopped.

The next time I looked at the clock it was ten forty-eight. Now, some people can change and be out the door in fifteen minutes, but that’s not me. I mean, my nails were a mess and my hair needed attention from the curling iron. Anyway, it was eleven thirty-ish when I pulled up in front of their house, just a few blocks from Lake Huron. I made a little grimace in the mirror, knowing Barbara Ann would be all grumpy. The woman’s never been late for anything in her life.

There was no way I was going to hurry to soothe her feathers, so I sauntered up the walk like I had all the time in the world. I paused to admire Faye’s mums, bursting with autumn colors. Some Bourbon roses she was trying to nurture were benefitting from the mild fall weather, filling the air with delicate scent from their round, pink blooms.

The house was attractive, though I’m not a fan of older homes. Painted white with some dignified burgundy gingerbread on the corners, it had a wide front porch that led to a front door with narrow stained-glass side-lights. The door led to the offices, where Faye usually manned the desk in the foyer while Barbara sat in the room behind, prim and unapproachable.

Both my sisters were in Barbara’s Ice Palace. While I don’t like to criticize someone else’s taste, the cream-and-pale-blue room doesn’t have a single scrap of fabric to soften it or a splash of brightness to dress it up. For once I got no flak for my lateness, because they were deep in conversation with a nice-looking man.

“Hi,” I said, stopping in the doorway. “Sorry to be tardy.”

Barb introduced me as Faye pulled up the extra chair. “Retta, meet Rick Chou from Grand Rapids. He’s interested in hiring us to do some work.”

Mr. Chou stood and turned to shake my hand, and I reassessed my first impression. Not just attractive, he was gorgeous: dark hair with a little gray at the temples. A jaw square enough to cut corners with. And inky-black eyes you could fall right into and swim around in.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs.—”

“Ms. Stilson, but please call me Retta.” I caught his scent, expensive and manly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Chou.”

“Rick, please.” He smiled like he’d just drawn the card he needed to fill an inside straight.

I heard an irritated huff of air before Barb spoke. “Mr. Chou is hoping we can locate his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” he corrected, still looking at me. “As I told your sisters, Ms. Stilson, my wife left me for greener pastures. At the time, I forget she’s listed as co-owner on property we own just south of here on the lakeshore. Now I’ve decided to sell the place, but she needs to sign off, and I’ve lost contact with her.”

The Lake Huron shoreline south of Allport is dotted with exquisite homes in all styles of architecture from Tudor to ultra-modern. Not only was Mr. Chou movie-star handsome, he was apparently loaded as well.

“Didn’t your divorce decree specify who got what?”

He made a comical grimace. “Apparently that means nothing if her name is still on the deed. It’s just a matter of a signature, but as I said, I have no idea where she is.”

“Will she agree to sign?” Barbara asked.

“The value of the property was taken into consideration in the divorce.” Chou raised a crow-black brow. “She hated the house, said log homes belong in the 1800s. She hated the location, too, said it was always cold with the wind off the lake. She’ll sign.”

A house on Lake Huron was guaranteed a lovely view. The ex-Mrs. Chou sounded like a spoiled brat to me.

“It was an angry parting?” Barbara leaned forward abruptly, causing her chair to make a snapping sound. She examined the poor man as if he were a virus in a laboratory.

“The angriest.” He put up a hand to forestall her next question. “You don’t have to tell me where she is, since she obviously doesn’t want me to know. I just want you to get Candice’s signature—at my expense, of course.” He smiled disarmingly. “You three can take a weekend in the Bahamas and I won’t care, as long as you accomplish that.”

Barbara didn’t warm to his attempt at humor. “We’ll let you know if we think we can help, Mr. Chou. Possibly today, but tomorrow morning at the latest.”

When he stood, I noticed he was the perfect height for dancing, just a couple of inches taller than I am. After shaking hands with all of us, he left, flashing me an extra smile as he closed the outside door.

“What do we think?” Barbara asked.

“He’s great,” I said.

“It’s a case, Retta. We’re talking about a case.”

“Of course. We’re going to look up his ex-wife and ask her to sign off on property she already agreed to give up. Shouldn’t be a problem once you and Faye hit your computers and track her down.” I smiled mischievously. “I’ll be glad to report our findings to the client.”

“Then we’re agreed we’ll take Mr. Chou’s case.” I imagined her rapping a gavel on her desktop to signify the verdict was official.

Faye made a little gesture like she was trying to get the teacher to call on her. “I have a case to consider, too.” Briefly she recounted her meeting with Clara, ending with, “I don’t think it will be a lot of trouble to look into this. If she’s a crazy old lady, we drop it. If the niece—”

“Gail,” I supplied.

“If Gail is pushing for Clara to be declared incompetent just so she can sell the property, we need to stop her.”

Faye spoke mostly to Barbara. A person might look at the agency and see three equals, but in practice, we deferred to our eldest. Faye, Barbara’s biggest cheerleader, never made a move without her approval, and because my full membership in the agency was due to what Barbara Ann called blackmail, I tried to tread lightly.

Though she pondered for some time, I was pretty sure Barbara would say yes. It was obvious Faye wanted to help the old woman out, and Barbara’s soft spot is Faye. “All right,” she said, pulling open the bottom drawer of her desk with a grind of wood against wood. Taking out her purse, she said, “Faye can start the search for Mrs. Chou. I’ll visit Gail Sherman.”

“What are you going to do,” I asked, “suggest she’s trying to cheat her aunt out of her home?”

With that look that says she’s got things all figured out Barbara replied, “Would you rather we take the word of a possibly delusional octogenarian?”

“I guess not,” I admitted, “but if Ms. Sherman is crooked, she isn’t going to tell you the truth.”

“That’s where being an investigator comes in, Retta. You have to ask the right questions.”

The So-Rite Realty office was compact in size and utilitarian in design. As Retta had described, two desks faced each other on opposite sides of the room, but today one was empty. Luckily for me, the occupied chair was Gail Sherman’s. She looked up as I entered and flashed a professional smile, probably because I didn’t look like someone collecting for the local Fireman’s Ball.

Gail wore Power Red, a good color choice with her ash blond hair and green eyes. I cringed at the drawn-on brows, but I try to let other people be who they think they have to be fashion-wise. What irritated me was the assessing look I got, the up-and-down glance that let me know I was being assigned to a shelf in her personal filing system. From the way her eyes went flat, I guessed I was judged a woman of substance but no style.

Nonetheless, she found a hook meant to establish rapport. “I love your coat.” She got up, and for a second I thought she was going to come out from behind the desk and feel the fabric. “Did you get it online?”

I had no memory of where the coat came from. It was rain-resistant, had roomy pockets for the tissues I carry at all times due to allergies, and a hood so I didn’t have to remember to bring along a hat. Ignoring the question, I put out a hand. “I’m Barbara Evans.”

She stood to shake my hand. “Gail Sherman. What can I do for you today?”

“I’ve been asked to investigate Clara Knight’s competence.” I purposely didn’t say who’d initiated the investigation, and she accepted my statement without question. That told me Clara’s mental state had been called into question by formal petition.

“You people work faster than I expected.” Further evidence Gail had expected a visit from the authorities. She sounded happy about it.

I didn’t correct her assumption that I was from the court. “What can you tell me about your aunt’s recent behavior?”

Gail tried for a regretful expression but achieved something more like smugness. “Well, I first noticed it about six weeks ago. I went out to visit, and Aunt Clara was down by the lake. She’d waded in almost to her waist, fully clothed. When I called for her to come back to shore she did, but she insisted one of her chickens was out there drowning. I had a terrible time convincing her the birds were in their pen and perfectly safe.”

She paused for a moment, ostensibly to overcome emotion. “She’s always been so together, you know? The family was so proud of her and everything she accomplished in life, and now to have her lose it—it’s really sad.”

“I assume you had her doctor examine her at that time.”

Now she looked—or tried to look—ashamed. “Well, no. I thought maybe she was just having a bad day, you know? I took her inside and made her a cup of tea, and we sat and talked for a long time. She seemed okay, especially if I let her go on about when I was a kid. We’d go out to visit sometimes, and Clara loves to tell what a scaredy-cat I was about the lake.” Gail shivered. “I can’t help it. When I get close to water I feel like it’s pulling me in and trying to suck the breath out of me.”

Nodding to acknowledge her phobia, I asked, “Was that the only time Clara seemed mentally unstable?”

Brushing some dust off her desktop, she rubbed her hands together. “Oh, no. Every time I went out there, she seemed a little less aware. I started trying to convince her to move into Allport. I told her she could get a little apartment where there’d be people to talk to.” Leaning toward me she confided, “She needs to be supervised for her own safety, but I didn’t put it like that.” Gail’s lips tightened. “She insisted she was fine out there.”

So far, Ms. Sherman’s concerns were the concerns of many who feel responsible for an older relative unwilling to admit she’s slipping mentally. At her age, Clara could easily get into a situation she couldn’t get herself out of.

I could almost hear Faye’s voice in my ear.
And Clara would rather drown in Sweet Springs than live for weeks, months, or years at the Meadows.

“What will happen to the property if Mrs. Knight remains in the nursing home?”

Gail adjusted the calendar on her desk until it was perfectly aligned with the edges. It took a long time to get it exactly the way she wanted it, and I heard her breathing in the momentary silence. “Since I’m Clara’s last living relative, I assume I’ll be appointed to look after it. I’ll have to assess what’s best for her and everyone else involved
.
”

Since “everyone else” was apparently Gail, that was a roundabout way of saying she’d do what pleased her. It wasn’t all that nice, but if she became Clara’s guardian, it would be perfectly legal.

I asked a question investigators from the court are supposed to ask. “Do you think Clara is happy at the Meadows?”

A big sigh preceded her answer. “I doubt it. She’s concerned about who’ll watch her chickens, but I’m worried about who’ll watch her.” She raised her palms as if to end any discussion. “I put her somewhere she’s well cared for. What else could I do?”

What else, indeed? My instincts said Gail Sherman was a self-centered woman with no empathy for her elderly aunt, but if Clara was safer at the Meadows than she was at home, society would not fault Gail’s decision.