Valerie Wolzien - Death In Duplicate

“And one of your best friends as well,” Susan finished. “I understand.” She paused. “Perhaps she was the teacher that I heard… read about,” she corrected herself.

“Yes, I believe there was more mention of Carolyn Breen’s life than the lives of the others who were murdered. She was a remarkable woman.”

“How long was she at the nursing home?” Susan asked gently.

“Almost ten years.”

Her answer came as a complete surprise to Susan. “Really? I thought most people… well, to tell the truth, I thought most people in nursing homes didn’t live in them that long, that they would be in assisted living or something less…” She didn’t finish, realizing that she really had very little idea of what she was talking about.

“I know what you mean. You think of becoming infirm, needing some help, as something that happens gradually. And it does for many people, maybe for most of us. But that wasn’t true for Carolyn. You see, she had multiple sclerosis. And, in her case, it meant that she needed a lot of care at a fairly young age.”

“Oh. So not everyone in a nursing home is old,” Susan said.

“Heavens no. There are three residents at P.I.C.C. younger than thirty.”

“Why are they there?”

“Two are in comas. It takes a lot of care to keep someone unconscious alive. And one is a young woman, Molly Reilly-she’s quadriplegic. She just turned twenty-four last week. I was at her birthday party.”

“So she’s a friend.” Susan spoke slowly, trying to digest this information.

“Sort of. She’s been at P.I.C.C. for three years and I used to see her when I was there dropping off books and visiting Carolyn. The staff at P.I.C.C. is wonderful, but of course it is impossible for Molly to have any sort of normal life living there. They make a big deal out of her birthdays. Half the island was invited to the party.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Actually it is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Molly so happy. But, of course, in her circumstances, I probably wouldn’t be perky either.”

“No, I guess not.” Susan was silent for a minute, sipping her coffee and thinking. “Does she get many visitors?”

“Not enough. Some of the people around here do make a point of stopping in to see her a few times a month, but that’s about it.”

“What about her family?”

“Her parents are divorced. Her father lives in California and manages to make a flying visit once or twice a year. Her mother lives in Groton and comes to see her about once a month. I gather those visits are very painful for both of them.”

“Poor girl,” Susan said.

“Yes.”

“About the murders…,” Susan began.

Mandy Duncan ’s open, welcoming expression faded. “I don’t like to think about them.”

“But if Mother is going to live at P.I.C.C., well, I have to ask.”

“They were an aberration. Nothing like that has ever happened on the island before. You don’t have to worry about your mother’s safety.”

Susan was astounded. “Why? How could you possibly know that?”

“Because the murderer killed the person he-or she-wanted to kill and then killed everyone who knew who had done it, including Carolyn.”

Susan didn’t mind repeating herself. “How could you possibly know that?”

Mandy Duncan got up, locked the door, flipped over the OPEN sign, and proceeded to answer Susan’s question.

“ABOUT TWO DAYS BEFORE SHE DIED… BEFORE SHE WAS killed… Carolyn called me at the store; she said she needed to talk to me and asked that I come over to P.I.C.C. that evening. I didn’t suspect that anything was wrong, but I should have. She had never done that before.”

“Never asked you to come to P.I.C.C.?”

“Not without a reason. She frequently ordered books and asked me to either have them delivered or to deliver them myself. I loved talking to Carolyn so, unless it was completely impossible, I always made the trip over there myself.”

“And she knew that?”

“Yes, I’m sure she did. Anyway, she called around four-thirty-half an hour before I usually close the store-and asked me to come over sometime after six-thirty. I said yes and asked her if there was anything she needed. I often picked up things for her at the drugstore or the grocery when I was delivering books. She said no, nothing, so I ate dinner early and arrived at P.I.C.C. around six-thirty-five.”

“Did she tell you what she wanted to talk with you about?”

“No. I didn’t have a single hint what was coming.”

“Which was?”

The bookstore owner didn’t answer right away and when she did it was with a question of her own. “Are you investigating the murders at P.I.C.C.?”

Susan didn’t answer immediately and Mandy continued. “I don’t only carry books. In the summer I carry newspapers for summer people who want to keep up with what’s going on in their hometown. I recognized you from an article about the murder of the building inspector in Hancock a few years ago. There was a photo layout.”

Susan nodded. She remembered both the article (inaccurate) and the photo (was it possible that she actually looked that awful today?). “Yes, I am.”

“Why? Why not just put your mother in a different nursing home and forget about P.I.C.C.?”

“My mother is an excuse.” Susan decided to trust this woman with her secret. “I just became a grandmother-twins-and the baby nurse was here at the time of the murders. She’s wonderful, but I’m worried about what happened here.”

“You think she might hurt your grandchildren?”

“No. I’m afraid she will be accused of murdering my next-door neighbor who was stabbed to death in her kitchen two days ago.”

Mandy’s eyes widened. “You do live an interesting life, don’t you?”

“Too much so,” Susan agreed.

“Well, I don’t know about your nurse, but I’ll tell you what I do know. I’m happy to do anything that might help capture Carolyn’s killer.”

“That’s wonderful. You were telling me what happened when you went over to P.I.C.C. to see Carolyn.”

“It was an odd visit. There was an after-supper program going on. Supper is very early at P.I.C.C. It begins around five and is usually over by six. After-supper programs begin at six-thirty and take an hour or so. Sometimes there’s a late-night snack after the program-well, as late night as things get in a nursing home. Anyway, there was a pianist and a singer that night who were performing old Sinatra songs. I knew that sort of thing wouldn’t appeal to Carolyn so I avoided the living room.”

“There’s a living room at P.I.C.C.?”

“Sort of. That’s what they call the large room if you turn right when you enter the building. It’s furnished with comfortable sofas and chairs and there’s a fireplace that is sometimes turned on in the winter. It’s about as close to a living room as you can find in an institution.”

“But Carolyn wasn’t there.”

“I didn’t even bother to look. She used to say that her musical taste ran more to the baroque than the banal.” Mandy paused and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m making her sound like a snob and Carolyn was anything but. She read mystery novels as avidly as she reread Elizabeth Gaskell and Jane Austen. She adored going to art museums, but she collected Mickey Mouse watches. She played in a weekly poker game that the staff at P.I.C.C. has been holding for decades-completely outside of their officially sanctioned functions.”

“She sounds like an interesting person.”

“She was. And she had a Ph.D. in Victorian lit and had taught at one of the most respected private schools in the country for decades.”

“Brilliant and practical?”