“Exactly what I needed to know.” That put Lowell in the clear for Rex’s death, and making a case for Lowell’s wife being a killer seemed beyond far-fetched. “Thanks, and sorry for interrupting your lunch.”
“Glad to help,” Heather said as she clambered out of the chair. “And now I have to go train a new CNA. Hope I can break her of habits she learned when she was a home health aide.”
That was a problem I’d never thought about. “I figure you’re talking about bad habits?”
Heather shrugged. “Every organization is different, and what’s okay in one place is against the rules in another.”
That didn’t make sense to me. “Aren’t the rules about health care the same no matter where you are?”
Heather had been about to open the door, but she paused. “Let’s just say in some places the procedures are more relaxed.”
“Like what?” I asked, frowning.
“Medications are a big one. I hear some places, like assisted living facilities, let CNAs distribute medications, but we certainly don’t.”
“And home health aides? Can they?”
She sighed. “I’m sure it happens.”
“But they shouldn’t?”
“Not in a million years. They shouldn’t be touching any medications, they’re not trained for it. Um, Minnie, are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said automatically. “Just . . . thinking. Thanks for your help.”
The entire time I walked back to the library, all I could think about was Courtney doling out Rupert’s medications. It worried me so much that when I got back to my office, I dug out Rupert’s application for outreach services and called the phone number he’d put on the form.
“Hello,” Ann Marie said.
“Hi, this is Minnie Hamilton, and—”
“Sorry, but we can’t come to the phone right now . . .”
I waited through the message, then left one of my own. To call me as soon as they could.
* * *
At six o’clock sharp I left the library, making the day an occasion of sorts—the first day in recent history I’d actually left work at the time I was scheduled to be done. I’d also traded hours with Donna so I could take most of the next day off, sacrificing my Sunday afternoon for the sake of Friday investigative efforts.
This was not as much a sacrifice as it sounded, because the upcoming weekend forecast of cloudy with a serious chance of rain was not nearly as attractive as the forecast for the next two days, which was abundant sunshine with the ideal summer temperature of seventy-six degrees.
I took the long way back to the marina, skirting downtown and its accompanying crowds. Another couple of weeks and the people would start to thin out, but now it was still full-bore tourist season.
“Huh,” I said out loud. In the six years I’d lived in Chilson and the many summers I’d spent here as a youngster, I’d enjoyed the crowds. Welcomed them, even. The tourists and summer people brought an energy with them. Added excitement. Created an atmosphere that was completely absent in winter. But this summer I’d been annoyed by the masses of humanity.
A broad smile spread across my face. It had taken a while, but I was becoming a local! Not to other locals, of course, because I hadn’t been born in Chilson, but to the unknowing outsider, I would be tagged as Being from Here.
“What do you think?” I asked Eddie, shutting the houseboat’s door quickly to keep him from slipping outside. Of course, if he’d been determined to get out, nothing I could do would prevent that, but I felt a need to make the effort.
My furry friend, who was curled in the middle of Kate’s sleeping bag, lifted his head half an inch. “Mrr?”
I smiled and rubbed the side of his face with my index finger. “What’s your opinion on tourism? A boost for many local businesses and therefore we should do our best to increase the numbers? Or are tourists changing the very fabric of our community and we should do our best to diversify the economy?”
Eddie sighed and sank deeper into his nest.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of his fuzzy head. “The answer to both is yes, isn’t it?”
“Mrr,” he said, yawning.
I patted his hip and stood. “Hope you’re okay that I leave you alone again. But . . .” My voice trailed off, because I’d turned while talking and was now reading Kate’s whiteboard message.
Working late at Benton’s. Closing and doing end-of-month inventory, so don’t wait up.
This was followed by a drawing of a curly-haired stick figure lying in a bed. I peered at the sketch, trying to make out what was on top of my stomach, then smiled. It was a stick figure Eddie.
* * *
I was still smiling when I parked in the side lot of Mason Hiller’s convenience store. It lasted as I walked to the front, and remained stuck on while I opened the door and walked inside. Then it dropped off.
“Oh,” I said. “Um, hello.”
The kid I’d met the first time I’d stopped looked up. “Hey.” As I approached the counter, he put down what he’d had in his hands, which wasn’t his cell phone, but a graphic novel.
This, of course, distracted me completely. I nodded at his choice of reading material. “Is that Mooncop?”
He eyed me, suspicion clear in his expression. “Yeah. You know it?”
“Sure.” The bookmobile carried a healthy stock of graphic novels, and I enjoyed reading them. “I won’t tell you the ending, but it’s great. Have you read the Sandman series?”
The kid’s face lit up. “Neil Gaiman is, like, the best ever!”
I did not disagree, and we launched into a rousing discussion of his work. “This is so cool,” he eventually said. “My parents tell me to read a real book. I can’t wait to tell them the bookmobile lady reads graphic novels, too.”
“If they don’t believe me, have them give me a call,” I said, laughing. “But I have to confess that I stopped by to talk to your cousin.”
“Mason?” The kid made a face. “Yeah, he almost fired me that day after you were here the first time. Sorry. I was nervous about being here on my own and it came out all wrong.”
I nodded. Understandable. Not commendable, but understandable. “Is there anything else you remember?”
“About Mr. Stuhler and Ms. Price?” He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t know them. Mason, though. He’s worked here for a long time, and I think he said he knew them both.”
I tried to remember exactly what Mason had told me. Hang on, he’d said he didn’t know either one of them. And that’s when he’d turned all cranky on me. “You sure?”
The kid shrugged. “Pretty sure. But it’s hard to hang with Mason these days. All he talks about is money, money, and again, money. And how he doesn’t have it.”
Though we chatted a little longer, he didn’t have any more information. As I drove toward Chilson, I thought about what I had learned.
Mason was focused on money, which seemed like a red flag, at least of a sort. But why would that make Mason nervous to talk to me about Rex and Nicole?
Did any of it connect to murder?
And if so, how?
Chapter 18
Halfway to town, my cell phone beeped with an incoming text. When I saw it was from Rafe, I pulled into an old-fashioned roadside park and read the message.
Rafe: Cars
Minnie: What about them?
After a moment, the dots started blinking, then up popped a message.
Rafe: Suspect
Minnie (typing while frowning in a puzzled manner): Complete sentences, please. What do you suspect about cars? That mine needs new struts? That the one my mom is thinking about buying is nice? That we’ll be able to buy completely autonomous ones in ten years?