J. Jance - Fire and Ice

He paused for a moment, as if he wasn’t ready to go on with the story. Finally he did. “Then Mother started slipping,” he said. “At first it was just little things, like putting her purse in the freezer or not being able to remember whether or not she’d eaten lunch. Then, one night, I came home and found her in the living room cussing like a sailor and breaking up the furniture. That’s when I knew I couldn’t handle it any longer.”

“And that’s when you went looking for Caring Friends?”

Bobby shook his head. “Actually, no. Mother had already found it on her own. She had been looking for places to go if she ever needed to. She wanted something that wouldn’t break the bank, a place she could pay for out of her Social Security and her pension. And Caring Friends was it. She was already signed up and on their wait-list. Once they had an opening, they admitted her.”

“That was when?”

“Three years ago.”

“Your mother’s death certificate says she died of sepsis,” Deb Howell said. “Your sister claims she had bedsores.”

“How would Candace know anything about it? Was she there every day, holding Mother’s hand and feeding her lunch? No, ma’am, she was not, but I was. I went there every single day and I didn’t see any sores. This is all sour grapes, you know. That’s why Candace is doing this. She wanted me to take Mother home. When Caring Friends started going downhill, Candace said keeping Mother there was just a waste of money, but Mother liked it. The place was familiar. Besides, Candace doesn’t understand what Alzheimer’s does to people. You have to watch them like a hawk. They’re like little kids, you know. They get into everything.”

“So you knew the people running Caring Friends sometimes used restraints?”

“They had to,” Bobby said with a shrug. “Otherwise the patients would just run away-like that Brinson woman did the other night.”

“You said Caring Friends started going downhill,” Deb put in quietly. “Does that mean it used to be better than it is now?”

“Lots better,” Bobby said. “Then the new people took over. They started letting people go-you know, the workers-the aides and the cleaning ladies and the cooks. After they took over, the food wasn’t as good as it was before and the place wasn’t as clean. But Mother didn’t want to leave. And since Mother had put me in charge of her affairs, there wasn’t a thing Candace could do about it. Then when she found out about the house-”

“What about the house?” Joanna asked.

“Two days after mother died. We hadn’t even had the funeral yet, and Candace sent a real estate lady over to see about listing the house. I told her to take a short hike. You see, Mother had set up something that gave me a lifetime…” He paused, searching for the word.

“A lifetime tenancy, maybe?” Joanna offered.

Bobby nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it-a lifetime tenancy. It means I can live in the house until I die. Then it gets sold and the proceeds are divided up among the remaining heirs.”

“And Candace thought this was a bad idea?” Joanna said.

Bobby half smiled. “I’ll say,” he said.

“Do you remember anything about your sister requesting an autopsy at the time?” Joanna asked.

Bobby shook his head. “Not a word. All she wanted was to get Mother buried as fast as humanly possible.”

Joanna glanced at her watch. The Board of Supervisors meeting would be starting in a matter of minutes.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to go soon, Mr. Fletcher,” Joanna said. “I have another appointment.”

The man lumbered to his feet. “You do understand, don’t you?” he asked. “I just want my mother to be left in peace.”

“I think I do,” Joanna said.

He let himself out. “He’s a lot different from what I expected,” Debra said, once the door closed behind him.

“You mean he’s a lot different from what his sister led you to believe.”

Debra nodded.

“Do you have the sister’s address?” Joanna asked.

“Sure,” Deb said. “It’s right here in my notebook.”

“Read it to me.” Joanna said, pulling her computer closer. “Let’s see what Zillow has to say.”

When Deb found the address and read it, Joanna typed it into a Web site. A few minutes later she nodded. “Interesting,” she said. “Look at this. The home at that address is currently valued at $784,000.” She did a few more clicks. “And here’s the photo from Google Earth. Foothills location. Swimming pool. This lady has way more money than her poor brother does, but she’s ready to sell the house out from under him.”

“If she has enough money to live in a house like that, how come she claimed she couldn’t afford to have an autopsy at the time of her mother’s death?”

“Because she didn’t really care that much back then,” Joanna answered. “But now she’s got a chance to get that autopsy on our nickel.”

“But why?” Deb asked.

“My guess is that once Caring Friends hit the news, Candace saw a chance to make some money out of the deal. She’s hoping we’ll help her make a case for a wrongful death suit. And she probably figures she won’t have to go to court-that just threatening to do so will be enough to get Alma DeLong to send some money Candace’s way just to get her to shut up. And I’m guessing if we scratch Candace’s surface, we won’t have to go very deep to find a personal injury lawyer.”

“No wonder Bobby Fletcher is pissed,” Deb said. “I would be, too.”

Joanna stood up and grabbed her purse from the credenza behind her. “Gotta run,” she said. “I’m off to do my weekly song and dance with the Board of Supervisors.”

As I put down the phone, Mel came into the room, sat down beside my desk, and crossed one shapely stocking-clad leg over the other.

“I just spoke to Marcella’s brother, Mr. Carbajal. The family is eager to make funeral arrangements. He’s planning on coming up later today to collect the remains. I told him to send us his flight time and number-that one or both of us would be glad to pick him up and drive him to Ellensburg.”

“Picking his brain all the while.”

Mel grinned. “Sure,” she said.

We both know that it’s often easier to elicit information in a casual setting than in a more formal one.

“Any luck locating Paco Castro?” I asked.

Mel shook her head. “None so far,” she said.

Just then Brad Norton poked his head into my tiny office. “Is it safe to come in?” he asked. “No office hanky-panky, right?”

Being the only newlyweds on the S.H.I.T. squad leaves Mel and me open to a lot of good-natured teasing from our associates.

“None whatsoever,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I just had a call from Frances Dennison, the woman who’s the registered owner of that abandoned 4-Runner. She said when her grandson brought it down to Tucson, it was a mess-full of trash and garbage. She said when they cleaned it out, she found a man’s wallet. She didn’t tell me about it when I first talked to her because she had put it away somewhere and wasn’t sure she could find it again. Now that she has, she wanted to know if she should open it and tell me what’s inside. I told her to leave it be, that opening it or handling it might destroy possible evidence. I also told her that I’d send someone by her place to pick it up and log it into evidence. Here’s the address. She lives on East Helen Street in Tucson.”

“Tucson?” Mel repeated. “How far is that from where your friend Joanna Brady is? Maybe she could go by and pick it up.”

I could have gone into a whole song and dance about Joanna Brady being a colleague rather than a friend. After all, I had already come clean with Mel about Joanna Brady. But then I remembered that old line “Methinks she doth protest too much.” I certainly didn’t want to make that mistake. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed.