Cadbury Creme Murder Read online

  “I really don’t know,” she demurred. “It’s better to leave investigating to the police.”

  “Not always,” Eva said. “Sometimes, they need a little help.”

  “What would you want me to do, exactly?” she hedged.

  “Just look into things. Talk to people. Do whatever it is you do to get to the bottom of things.”

  Heather stared at a pen that lay on her desk. She picked it up and clicked the ballpoint on and off. “Eva…” she began.

  When Eva didn’t answer, Heather glanced at her. Eva sat straight up in her chair, a sad smile turning up the corners of her lips. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can understand why you might feel reluctant about getting involved in another murder investigation. I understand.” She stood up. “Thank you for considering it. I believe I’ll go have my donuts now.”

  Heather sighed. “Eva, please stay,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me more about Verna. If I’m going to have anything to do with this, I need to know more about her. What was going on in her life recently? Was she upset about anything?”

  “Well, there was something,” Eva said. “But I don’t know what it was. She told me it was keeping her up at night. She said she had a decision to make. But she wouldn’t even tell me. At least, not then. She said I’d find out someday.”

  “And you don’t have any idea what she was referring to?”

  “No idea at all.”

  “Other than that, she seemed happy?”

  “As far as I could tell. And I think I would have known if something were going on. I would have sensed it.”

  “How long had you known Verna?”

  “45 years.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Yes, it is. And now, she’s gone. I can’t imagine my life without her.” Tears spilled from Eva’s eyes, and she bowed her head.

  Heather handed her a Kleenex from the box on her desk. But when Eva’s shoulders continued to shake with silent sobs, Heather knelt in front of her and embraced her.

  ***

  How in the world did I get myself into this? Heather wondered later as she sat in her office, staring at the sheet of paper on which she’d made notes.

  She knew the answer to her question. If Eva believed Verna’s death should be looked into, then somehow, she believed it too. Eva might be a petite, elderly lady, but her mind was as sharp as anyone’s. She’d never revealed much about herself in all the times she’d come to Donut Delights, other than that she’d been married to her husband, with whom she was very much in love, for 52 years, but Heather could tell that she possessed a wisdom and depth born of life experiences.

  So if Eva wanted her to look into it, she’d do it. Not to mention the dream she’d had last night about Verna begging her to help. She didn’t generally put much stock in dreams; she saw them as the brain’s way of combining events and imagination. But maybe this dream was a little different. Maybe she was supposed to get involved.

  Would Ryan mind? Well, maybe. Depends on how involved she got. But at least he’d mind less if she told him in advance that she was going to be asking around.

  You busy? she texted him.

  Working on a case. What’s up? came his response.

  Never mind. I’ll tell you next time we talk.

  She laid her phone on the desktop and picked up the sheet of scratch paper. On one side were some inventory reports she’d printed from her computer; on the reverse were the things she’d jotted down about Verna.

  The first two jottings read Hospital and Hospice. Those were Verna’s volunteer activities. Apparently, Verna had worked in the ICU at Hillside Regional and as a companion with Caring Hearts, Hillside’s hospice organization.

  She was there when people’s lives hung in the balance, Heather thought. Why would anyone have wanted to put an end to hers?

  Chapter 3

  Heather circled the parking lot of Hillside Regional Hospital twice in her car before finally pulling into a space that was farther away than she had hoped for. She knew walking was supposed to be good for you, but how much good could it do you to walk for a mere minute? She would much prefer to park closer to the door and save her exercising for another time. Like, never.

  An elderly lady wearing a pale blue scrub-type jacket with a round patch on the shoulder that said Volunteer looked up as Heather approached the desk. Her name tag read Phyllis. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Is the volunteer coordinator in?” Heather asked.

  “She’s out to lunch. Is there some way I could help you?”

  “Rats. I had wanted to talk to you about one of your volunteers. Verna Dixon.”

  Phyllis’ mouth drooped, and her eyes softened. “Verna doesn’t volunteer with us anymore, unfortunately,” she said. “Verna passed away recently.”

  “I know,” Heather said somberly. “That’s what I wanted to talk to the volunteer coordinator about.”

  “Like I said, she’s out to lunch. But if you need to talk to somebody about Verna, you might try the nurses in ICU. That’s where Verna worked. I imagine they know her pretty well up there.”

  “Thank you, I’ll try that,” she said. “Do I just take those elevators right there?”

  “Third floor, and follow the signs for ICU,” Phyllis said, pointing.

  “Thank you.” She crossed the lobby to the elevators and pushed the button.

  As she waited for the doors to open, a man in business casual clothes, with a hospital badge clipped to his shirt pocket, came to stand next to her. He leaned in front of her and pushed the elevator button again. When the doors opened, he gestured to Heather to precede him inside, then darted inside himself and pushed the 5 button. “What floor?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  He pushed the 3 button, then stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. What was he in such a hurry about? Heather wondered as the doors slid open on the third floor.

  Right in front of her were arrows pointing both left and right to various destinations. Following the arrows to ICU, she turned right, then left, then left again before coming up short at a set of double doors. Please ring for admittance, read the sign next to a red button.

  Heather pushed the button and waited. In a few seconds, a voice came over the intercom. “May I help you?”

  “I was sent to speak to the ICU nurses about one of your volunteers,” she said. “Verna Dixon.”

  “Come through the doors and straight back. Nurses’ station is on your right.”

  Heather heard a faint metallic click, and pushed against one of the doors. It opened, and she followed the tile floor past tiny, glass-fronted ICU rooms until she came to the nurses’ station. One nurse, whose blond hair was pulled into a twist and clipped against her head by a barrette, looked up from her computer station. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Heather Janke. I was sent to talk to the ICU nurses about Verna Dixon,” she repeated.

  “That was me you talked to a minute ago. Who sent you? And how can I help you?”

  “The lady at the reception desk downstairs sent me. I assume you know about…”

  “Yes, I know Verna passed,” the nurse, whose name tag read Kristen, said. “Such a shame. She was an amazing volunteer.”

  “It is a shame,” Heather said. “And I’ve been asked to look into her death by a friend of her family. I know she volunteered here at Hillside Regional, so I wanted to talk to some people who knew her.”

  “Are you a detective?”

  “No. Not exactly. Well, not at all, really. Unless you count amateur.”

  “If a friend of Verna’s asked you to look into her death, then whatever your credentials are, they’re good enough for me.”

  “Did you know Verna well?”

  “Pretty well. We didn’t socialize outside of work or anything, but we always talked every time she came to volunteer. Tuesdays and Thursdays. But I guess you know that.”

  “What kind of work did sh
e do here?”

  “Anything we needed. She’d run to the cafeteria for us, or sit with a patient for us, or just anything at all.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill her?”

  “None at all. Verna was the sweetest woman I ever met. She really cared about all the patients here. She had her favorites, but she cared about everybody.”

  “Who were her favorites?”

  “I can’t give you any names. But over the past few years, she became quite attached to several of the patients. Recently, she had one patient in particular she would spend a lot of time with. This patient had no one. So Verna would just sit with him when there was nothing else to do, even if he was sleeping. She said when he woke up, it meant a lot to him to know someone was there.”

  “I bet,” Heather said.

  “When he died—that was a few days ago—Verna was really upset. She didn’t come in that next Thursday. Said she needed some time. We thought she’d be in on Tuesday, but…” Kristen shrugged.

  “Did Verna have any troubles while she was volunteering that you knew of? Any arguments with people, here or anywhere else?”

  The nurse was already shaking her head. “Not that I knew of. Nobody could argue with Verna. She was too sweet. She just wouldn’t engage.”

  “Did people try to argue with her?”

  “Not really. Every now and then, a patient’s family member would get upset about something and yell. It happens. They’re under a lot of stress. Verna would just listen, then talk to them, and somehow, it would always come out all right.”

  “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

  “She was.”

  “Kristen, thank you for your time,” Heather said. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck with finding out whodunit. I hope you do.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said, and turned to walk back the way she’d come.

  ***

  When Heather got to Giovanni’s, the lunch crowd had thinned, and there were plenty of parking spots. She chose one and walked toward the door.

  This was the site of her first date with Ryan. He’d suggested coming here, and she’d agreed, because she loved Italian food in general and Giovanni’s in particular. Heather paused in the foyer to allow her eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dimness of the restaurant.

  “One today?” the black-clad hostess asked, grabbing one menu.

  “I’m looking for someone,” she said, scanning the diners. “Okay, I see him. Thanks.”

  As she threaded her way through the tables toward him, Ryan stood up to greet her. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek and waited until she was seated before sitting back down himself.

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

  “Only a couple minutes. I asked them to bring us ice water.”

  “Thanks,” she said as the waiter arrived at their table with two glass of ice water, each garnished with a slice of lemon.

  “Good afternoon,” he said to Heather. “My name’s Seth, and I’m going to be taking care of you two this afternoon. Can I bring you anything else?”

  “We’re good. Just give us a couple minutes to look over the menu,” Ryan said.

  “Not a problem. Take your time, and I’ll be back.”

  When he had gone, Heather faced Ryan. “How’s your day been?” she asked. “Any progress on the investigation?”

  “It’s moving along,” he said, taking a long sip of water.

  “Any details you can share with me?”

  “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “You already know most of what we know.” He lowered his voice so that none of the other diners would overhear. “Verna was shot once, in the chest. The piece of wood found sticking out of her was not what caused her death. Somebody placed it there later, possibly to attempt to throw us off the track. Though how anyone could have thought we wouldn’t figure it out right away, I don’t know.” He snorted in disgust.

  “Maybe it was someone who didn’t know much about guns? Didn’t know how distinctive a bullet hole looks?”

  “Maybe. Who knows?” He shrugged.

  “I went to the hospital today,” she offered.

  “What for?”

  “To try to talk to someone who knew Verna. To learn more about her. See what she was like.”

  “Are you investigating her death?” Ryan’s right eyebrow rose.

  “Well…sort of. Eva asked me to.”

  “Who’s Eva?”

  “One of Verna’s friends. And a regular customer at my shop.”

  “Oh. That Eva. Why did she ask you to investigate?”

  “I guess she thought I could be some sort of help. Don’t worry; I told her that any real investigating was best left to the police.”

  “You’re right about that,” he said.

  Silence fell. Ryan took another sip of water. Heather plucked the lemon off the rim of her glass, laid it on the table, and took a sip of her own water. When he still hadn’t spoken, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  There came his smile—a tired smile. Tired, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Long day, not much sleep last night,” he said.

  “You’re off tomorrow, right?”

  “That depends. There’s no such thing as days off when you’re in the thick of an investigation.”

  “Maybe you’ll solve it before then.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  Seth came back then and took their orders. Heather managed to keep the conversation going with little help from Ryan, but she was relieved when their food arrived and she could busy herself with eating. Something was wrong. But what? Was the case bothering him? Or was it something else?

  “Care for any dessert?” Seth asked, returning to their table.

  “I have to go,” Ryan said. “Could you just bring us the check?”

  Having been about to order the chocolate fudge brownie, Heather kept silent as Seth said, “Sure. One check?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Be right back.”

  “Where are you rushing off to?” Heather asked lightly.

  “Everywhere and nowhere,” Ryan said. He reached for his wallet just as his cell phone rang. Ryan laid his wallet on the table and answered the call. “Hello? Uh-huh. Okay. Be there in a few.”

  Taking two twenties out of his wallet, he handed them to Heather. “Would you mind paying? I have to go.”

  “Okay,” Heather said, as he stood up and pushed his chair back. “Be safe.”

  “Will do,” he said, coming around the table and leaning down to brush a kiss against her cheek. Then he was gone.

  Heather sat silently until Seth came back and she handed him the money. “No change,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

  “Thank you,” Seth said. “Have a nice day. Come back and see us.”

  Heather nodded and tried to smile. When Seth walked away, she headed for the door. And wondered if she would, indeed, be back.

  Because unlike the first time they were here, this time, Ryan had seemed distant. Preoccupied. And a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that there was more on his mind than just the case.

  Something was wrong. Something he wasn’t ready to tell her.

  She could only hope it wasn’t something she didn’t want to hear.

  Chapter 4

  Heather made it to Caring Hearts with fifteen minute to spare before her appointment with the hospice supervisor. After finding out that the hospitals’ volunteer coordinator was at lunch, she had decided that maybe it would be a good idea to call and make an appointment next time she wanted to talk with someone.

  Not that things had turned out badly at the hospital; quite the opposite, in fact.

  Talking with Kristen, the ICU nurse, had been what Heather considered quite productive, even if it hadn’t led to any specific clues. At least she felt that she now understood Verna better, as wel
l as the impact Verna had had on others.

  Heather gave her name to the receptionist and sat down to wait. She hadn’t even gotten bored enough to pull out her phone before a door down the hall opened, and a smiling woman in dress slacks and a loose-fitting top came toward her. “Are you Heather?”

  “Yes. Claudia?”

  “That’s me. Come on back, and let’s talk.”

  Claudia led the way to her office, ushered Heather inside, and shut the door behind them. Heather sat down in a comfy chair in front of Claudia’s desk and glanced around. Plants shared space on the bookshelves with a few books. A painting of a field of bluebonnets, the Texas state flower, graced one wall. Pictures of people Heather assumed were Claudia’s children and grandchildren occupied pride of place on her desk.