Chapter Seven
Trixie arrived at the Golden Life Center about ten minutes early. She sat in the parking lot, surveying the property through her windshield, noting that despite whatever efforts both the original architects and the staff and crew currently responsible for the general upkeep had made, there was something undeniably depressing about the place, a sense of sameness and monotony that no amount of blooming annuals along the driveway and cheery potted plants by the main doors seemed able to combat. With its tan brick walls and plain rectangular windows dressed in identical, utilitarian mini blinds, the Golden Life Center looked like any other commercial or public building constructed sometime during the 1970s, where the pinnacle of design, as far as Trixie could tell, must have been something along the lines of, “It might not look like much, but the builders sure saved a bundle.”
She grimaced at the heat that rapidly built up in her Jeep as soon as she’d parked and cut the engine. Off in the distance, she could see dark clouds forming, signs of a possible storm blowing in from the east, but for now the morning sun continued to bake the landscape with blistering intensity. It didn’t help that she’d decided to wear a long-sleeved blouse for the day. She’d removed the bandages that covered the scratches left by Mr. Tibbles, but reasoned it would be best not to wear anything that left the long red marks on full display. She closed her eyes for a moment against the glare reflecting off the hood of her vehicle and sighed, hoping the rain would eventually reach the Sleepyside area. She wasn’t willing to bet on it, though, and she resigned herself to another sweltering day.
Diana pulled up in a free spot on the next row and immediately hopped out of her car, fanning herself with her hand as she waited for Trixie to join her. “I’m thinking an Alaskan cruise would be nice right about now,” she said, puffing out a breath. “It’s so hot, my AC never even had the chance to really work before I got here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Trixie replied. “At this point, I don’t think it would be too hard to convince me to run off and take a cruise, no matter what the consequences would be when we got back home.” She paused to study her friend with slightly narrowed eyes. “So? You didn’t call me last night. I’m hoping this is a good thing?”
“It was fun. We had a nice time.”
“And?” Trixie prompted after several seconds of silence in which Di struggled to maintain a bland expression.
“And we’ve decided to give it a shot. See what develops. We’re going to take it slow, but I’ve got a very good feeling about it.” She smiled brilliantly as she said this, and Trixie felt a tension in her shoulders she’d not even consciously recognized lessen considerably. She would call Dan later and hear what he had to say, but for now she was relieved to know things had not gone disastrously wrong for their first date and that apparently there would be more.
“I will say this,” Di added with a light chuckle. “Dan’s awfully cute when he’s trying to impress a girl and gets all tongue-tied in the process.”
Trixie grinned and nodded. “I’ll bet. Although, to be fair, Dan’s just awfully cute in general, so there is that to take in account.”
“True. And he’d probably die if he heard us describe him that way.” Di turned and looked toward the parking lot entrance as she adjusted the strap of the large hobo bag she’d swung over one shoulder. “Where’s Honey? She’s usually the first one to arrive wherever we go.”
Glancing at her watch, Trixie shrugged. “It’s only ten now. I’m sure she’ll show soon.”
“I got four boxes of generic greeting cards and signed them all over breakfast this morning. They just say something like ‘Thinking of you and wishing you a happy day.’ We should be able to hand them out without looking too suspicious, so hopefully, this plan will work. It did occur to me, though, that maybe we should’ve called in advance?”
“I did. I spoke with a woman in their administrative office who told me we were welcome to come for a visit this morning and that they’d be delighted to have us. I’d stake my next paycheck that a lot of that probably came from my blatant name-dropping. ‘Wheeler’ and ‘Lynch’ both go a long way in opening doors in this town.”
“Oh, please,” Di scoffed. “And ‘Belden’ doesn’t? Especially ‘Chief Belden’?”
“Acting Chief,” Trixie said pointedly.
“What-ever.” Di gave her best impression of a Trixie eye roll and grinned as her friend returned the gesture.
As it turned out, Honey was uncharacteristically late, though only by a few minutes. She pulled into the lot and quickly found an available space, parking at an angle that nearly put her left tires over the white line. When she joined Trixie and Di by the glass door entrance, they both immediately noted her frazzled appearance.
“Are you all right?” Di asked, taking in Honey’s jeans, somewhat wrinkled blouse, and sloppy pony tail.
“Yes,” Honey replied, her tone exasperated and rueful. “I’m fine. I promise. It was just a crazy morning up at the house. We got a call from the baker at about eight o’clock. Something about a death in the family and he’s leaving town and suddenly we needed to find a last-minute replacement to do both the bride and groom cakes. I’m sure you can imagine the panic this caused.”
“Yikes,” Di said, brows raised. “Did you find another baker who could have the cakes by this Saturday?”
“Fortunately, yes, though it’s a woman in the city. We couldn’t get anyone local. Mother and McKayla are on their way there now to pick out the designs. I begged off so I could still come meet you here.”
“Thanks,” Trixie mumbled, looking away. “I appreciate it.” She turned and stepped up to the automatic doors, waiting for them to slide open. Behind her, Di sent Honey a pointed look.
“What?” Honey whispered as Trixie walked into the center’s reception area. “You can tell me to not talk about wedding stuff any more, but it’s not like that means it will suddenly make the wedding not happen.”
“I know,” Di replied quietly. “And I know she doesn’t really want to get back together with Jim, but you can’t expect her not to have some moments where it sorta hits her all over again that her girlhood dreams didn’t play out the way she always imagined.”
Honey pressed her lips together and nodded. She trailed after Diana into the cool interior of the building where they were met by a perky middle-aged woman dressed in slacks and a collared green shirt embroidered with the Golden Life Center logo. She introduced herself as Laura Foster and asked them to sign in at the front desk. “We keep a record of all our visitors,” she explained. “And I’m sorry to ask, but we will need you to show some form of photo identification.”
“Of course,” Honey said, flashing a small smile at the young woman sitting behind the counter. She pulled her wallet from her purse and flipped it open. "Hey, Norma.”
Norma Nelson returned Honey's greeting, barely glancing at the presented driver’s license. “Hi, Honey. How are you?”
“Good. A little bit overwhelmed at the moment.” Honey glanced over to see that Trixie was apparently engrossed in reading a sign that detailed rules for visitors to the center. “I’m going to be so glad when this wedding is over next weekend,” she said in a softer tone.
Norma laughed at that. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when you and Brian finally get around to planning your own.”
Honey adopted a horrified look. “No. No, no, no. After this? I totally see the merit in eloping in Vegas.”
Di nudged Trixie to get her attention and dutifully produced her own ID as Norma made note of their names in a computer log before printing out name tags she handed across the desk. “You need to wear these at all times.”
“Okay, here’s mine,” Honey murmured as she accepted the tags. “And Di’s. What about Trixie?”
“You don’t need one,” Norma said, addressing Trixie directly. “Your badge is an all-access pass here as long as you keep it visible.” She pressed the button that would unlock the security door to the main part of the building. “You can go on in. At this time of the morning, a lot of our residents are in the games lounge, if you’d like to start there.”
“Thanks, Norm,” Honey called over her shoulder as she tugged the heavy door open. “See you on Saturday.”
Laura followed them as they entered a wide corridor that ended in a wall of windows overlooking a small, shaded courtyard with white metal benches surrounding a bubbling fountain. Carpeted hallways extended off in both directions. “Down here are the public areas,” she told them. “The dining room, lounges, library, and exercise studio. And our private rooms are in this direction.” She turned and pointed to the left. “You’re free to go to any of the lounges, or go from room to room. If you choose to see the residents in their rooms, please only go to those with open doors. That’s how they let us and one another know they’re receiving visitors.”
Trixie considered her options. She needed to locate Chloe Butler and speak with her, and if at all possible, Hal Derring as well. The Chief’s former partner probably had a great deal he could tell her about the Cold Lake killings, if his health hadn’t declined too much since Chief Molinson had last spoken with the man. The problem was, she needed to conduct her interviews without the Golden Life Center’s director hovering about, and Laura Foster was making no signs of leaving them to their own devices.
Well aware of Trixie’s current dilemma, Di turned on Laura with a wide smile. “If you aren’t too terribly busy, would you mind giving me a quick tour?” she asked pleasantly. “I have a widowed great-aunt considering moving here from Albany, and I’d like to see what Golden Life can offer her as a resident.”
Laura stepped quickly to Diana’s side. “Oh, absolutely! Why don’t we start with the dining hall, so you can see what our menus are and have a few words with the chef and staff before they start serving lunch?”
“Sounds good to me.” Di pulled the boxes of cards from her bag and handed two to Honey and two to Trixie. “Here. Start delivering these while I check the place out. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
As the two women moved away with Laura launching into a spiel about healthy, tasty meals, Honey shook her head, laughing quietly. “Does it ever scare you how good Di is at lying and looking completely sincere? An aunt in Albany? Seriously?”
“I credit the acting in high school,” Trixie responded with her own smile. “Shakespeare kicked her butt, but remember how good she was our junior year when they did The Wizard of Oz?”
“She was good, wasn’t she? All right. So let’s not waste time here. Di’s given you the diversion you need.”
“Yeah. Now I have to figure out how to find Chloe Butler without making it obvious to anyone that I’m looking for her in specific. Are the residents’ names on their doors, by any chance?”
“She’s in room 124,” Honey said, waving a hand toward the private wing. “Well, unless she’s in one of the public areas at the moment.”
Trixie stared at her friend. “And you know this… how?”
“Miss Trask. Don’t worry. You know she’s the picture of discretion. Once I told her this concerned a case of yours, she gave me the room number with no questions asked. She comes over here every so often to do volunteer work and she knows most of the residents.”
Trixie frowned in concern. “Hmm. Thank her for me, but please next time you see her, stress just how important it is that she doesn’t discuss this with anyone, okay?”
Honey held up one hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Sure. I will. Promise.” She gave Trixie a piercing look. “I have to admit, I’m practically dying from curiosity, though. Why can’t you simply flash that handy badge of yours and ask whatever questions you need?”
“Sorry. I can’t answer that right now," Trixie said, shaking her head. "All I can say is I need complete secrecy for the time being. I probably shouldn’t have even told you and Di who I’m looking for.” She hesitated for a moment, blowing out a short breath. “But since I have, there’s someone else on my list. I’d like to speak with Hal Derring, too. Any chance you know where he is?”
“No. I don’t even know who Hal Derring is. Do you want me to call Miss Trask and ask her?”
“Please. I don’t know how much time I have and I don’t want to waste it wandering around looking in every room. But again… tell no one else.”
“Why don’t you go on to Mrs. Butler’s room and see if she’s in? I’ll step outside and make the call in privacy and I’ll find you once I have an answer.”
Trixie nodded her agreement and set off down the hallway, following the posted room numbers as they climbed from 100 up. The smell of flat, recycled air and some kind of antiseptic cleaner combined to give her a mild headache and reminded her of her candy striping days. Room 124 was on the corner of an intersecting hall that led to an additional parking lot in the back of the building, and Trixie watched as an elderly woman made her way along with the help of a wheeled walker. A plump woman in a shocking pink t-shirt was at her side, cajoling her in a tone that set Trixie’s teeth on edge.
“C’mon, Mom,” the woman said brightly. “Just a little bit further and we can meet Dave with the car. We’re taking you to the Junction Stop today for their buffet. Isn’t that exciting? One of your favorite restaurants!”
It took a good deal of self-control for Trixie not to call out to the woman and remind her that she was speaking to the person who had at one time changed her dirty diapers and wiped the snot off her face. She could never understand why some people insisted on talking to older men and women as if they were imbecilic toddlers. It was demeaning and unnecessary.
Chloe Butler’s door was open and Trixie found her sitting in a chair, watching a TV talk show. She turned faded blue eyes toward Trixie and her expression conveyed mild surprise to see her visitor.
“Hello, ma’am. My name’s Trixie Belden.”
“Helen’s daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My goodness. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were just a little girl. Your lovely mama used to bring you to our garden club shows. I remember one year, you were dressed like a fairy princess and we set you in a wagon surrounded by daisies and petunias and pansies. It was simply adorable. Everyone wanted your picture!”
“Wow. It must have been completely traumatic for me,” Trixie said, grinning. “I’ve blocked the memory entirely.”
Chloe laughed merrily at her statement. “Yes. Well, you were probably only about two or three years old at the time. And I do seem to recall your mother telling me one year that you’d announced you were no longer willing to be our little Trixie Pixie.”
“I’m not much in to dressing up. At least not like fairies or princesses.” Trixie shuddered dramatically at the thought, wondering if her mother had kept any photos hidden away somewhere, planning to spring them out in some embarrassing way somewhere in the future.
Chloe waved her hand toward the other chair in the room as she used her remote to turn off the television set. “Please, dear, be seated, and tell me what brings you calling.”
Trixie pulled a card from one of the boxes and held it out. “My friends and I are delivering these,” she said, hoping her acting skills were at least comparable to Di’s. “As a way to pass on some good thoughts and cheer.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet of you?” Chloe opened the card, smiled as she read the inscription, then set it on the small table at her side. “And how is Helen doing these days?”
Her mother was not the topic Trixie wanted to address, but she thought perhaps she could find a way to bring the conversation around in the direction she wanted with a little bit of luck. “She’s good. Thanks for asking. My youngest brother graduated high school on Saturday and he’ll be leaving for college in a few months, so I think she might be starting to worry about empty nest syndrome. I don’t know if you remember, but I have three brothers in all. Brian is the eldest, then Mart, and Bobby is the youngest of us all.”
“Hmmm. I believe I remember one of your brothers. Dark hair? Takes after your father?”
“That’s Brian. Mart, Bobby, and I all look like Moms.”
Chloe shifted her gaze to a framed photograph on her dresser. “That’s my boy there,” she murmured so softly Trixie had to strain to hear her. “He… died many years ago. Before you were even born.”
Trixie felt a sharp twinge of conscience. She was forcing this woman to dredge up bad memories based on nothing more than a wild hunch. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if Stephen Butler had been killed by someone else, if his death was not a suicide like had been believed for all this time, surely his mother would want the truth? “I know a little bit about that,” she responded sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
For a moment, they sat in silence, both staring at the photo of a teenage boy in a striped orange shirt with a fringed leather vest. He wasn’t smiling for the camera. Instead, his attention was focused on a book he held in his right hand.
“We found him in a barn,” Chloe declared suddenly, surprising Trixie with her bluntness. “Hanging from a rafter.”
“I know. Suicide is a terrible thing. I’m so sorry.”
“Humph. It never made sense to me. Even after all these years, it still makes no sense. Why would he do that? Why?”
“Did he… uh, did he leave a note?” Trixie asked, aware of her quickening pulse. Perhaps her hunch wasn’t so wild after all, if Stephen’s mother felt his suicide was inexplicable.
“No. There wasn’t a note. Nothing of the kind! And it happened at such an awful time. We’d just had those dreadful murders, you know. The little girls who were killed out at that camp ground. The town was in an uproar. For months that was all anyone talked about. My husband was the judge who presided over the killer's trial and he was gone for twelve or more hours a day.” She paused and sighed. “No one seemed to have much time for my Stephen. No one wanted to ask any questions. Everyone kept prattling nonsense at me about how he must’ve been ‘troubled’ but he was in a better place now. They even suggested drugs were the cause! A week after he died, we had the funeral and that was the end of it. It was like he’d never existed at all.”
Trixie studied Chloe intently, weighing her next words carefully in her mind, considering the wisdom of saying them aloud. “Ma’am?” she said finally. “Do you believe there’s any chance at all that your son’s death was not a suicide?”
“Oh, yes,” Chloe replied without the slightest hint of hesitation. “I’ve always believed he was murdered."
Trixie arrived at the Golden Life Center about ten minutes early. She sat in the parking lot, surveying the property through her windshield, noting that despite whatever efforts both the original architects and the staff and crew currently responsible for the general upkeep had made, there was something undeniably depressing about the place, a sense of sameness and monotony that no amount of blooming annuals along the driveway and cheery potted plants by the main doors seemed able to combat. With its tan brick walls and plain rectangular windows dressed in identical, utilitarian mini blinds, the Golden Life Center looked like any other commercial or public building constructed sometime during the 1970s, where the pinnacle of design, as far as Trixie could tell, must have been something along the lines of, “It might not look like much, but the builders sure saved a bundle.”
She grimaced at the heat that rapidly built up in her Jeep as soon as she’d parked and cut the engine. Off in the distance, she could see dark clouds forming, signs of a possible storm blowing in from the east, but for now the morning sun continued to bake the landscape with blistering intensity. It didn’t help that she’d decided to wear a long-sleeved blouse for the day. She’d removed the bandages that covered the scratches left by Mr. Tibbles, but reasoned it would be best not to wear anything that left the long red marks on full display. She closed her eyes for a moment against the glare reflecting off the hood of her vehicle and sighed, hoping the rain would eventually reach the Sleepyside area. She wasn’t willing to bet on it, though, and she resigned herself to another sweltering day.
Diana pulled up in a free spot on the next row and immediately hopped out of her car, fanning herself with her hand as she waited for Trixie to join her. “I’m thinking an Alaskan cruise would be nice right about now,” she said, puffing out a breath. “It’s so hot, my AC never even had the chance to really work before I got here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Trixie replied. “At this point, I don’t think it would be too hard to convince me to run off and take a cruise, no matter what the consequences would be when we got back home.” She paused to study her friend with slightly narrowed eyes. “So? You didn’t call me last night. I’m hoping this is a good thing?”
“It was fun. We had a nice time.”
“And?” Trixie prompted after several seconds of silence in which Di struggled to maintain a bland expression.
“And we’ve decided to give it a shot. See what develops. We’re going to take it slow, but I’ve got a very good feeling about it.” She smiled brilliantly as she said this, and Trixie felt a tension in her shoulders she’d not even consciously recognized lessen considerably. She would call Dan later and hear what he had to say, but for now she was relieved to know things had not gone disastrously wrong for their first date and that apparently there would be more.
“I will say this,” Di added with a light chuckle. “Dan’s awfully cute when he’s trying to impress a girl and gets all tongue-tied in the process.”
Trixie grinned and nodded. “I’ll bet. Although, to be fair, Dan’s just awfully cute in general, so there is that to take in account.”
“True. And he’d probably die if he heard us describe him that way.” Di turned and looked toward the parking lot entrance as she adjusted the strap of the large hobo bag she’d swung over one shoulder. “Where’s Honey? She’s usually the first one to arrive wherever we go.”
Glancing at her watch, Trixie shrugged. “It’s only ten now. I’m sure she’ll show soon.”
“I got four boxes of generic greeting cards and signed them all over breakfast this morning. They just say something like ‘Thinking of you and wishing you a happy day.’ We should be able to hand them out without looking too suspicious, so hopefully, this plan will work. It did occur to me, though, that maybe we should’ve called in advance?”
“I did. I spoke with a woman in their administrative office who told me we were welcome to come for a visit this morning and that they’d be delighted to have us. I’d stake my next paycheck that a lot of that probably came from my blatant name-dropping. ‘Wheeler’ and ‘Lynch’ both go a long way in opening doors in this town.”
“Oh, please,” Di scoffed. “And ‘Belden’ doesn’t? Especially ‘Chief Belden’?”
“Acting Chief,” Trixie said pointedly.
“What-ever.” Di gave her best impression of a Trixie eye roll and grinned as her friend returned the gesture.
As it turned out, Honey was uncharacteristically late, though only by a few minutes. She pulled into the lot and quickly found an available space, parking at an angle that nearly put her left tires over the white line. When she joined Trixie and Di by the glass door entrance, they both immediately noted her frazzled appearance.
“Are you all right?” Di asked, taking in Honey’s jeans, somewhat wrinkled blouse, and sloppy pony tail.
“Yes,” Honey replied, her tone exasperated and rueful. “I’m fine. I promise. It was just a crazy morning up at the house. We got a call from the baker at about eight o’clock. Something about a death in the family and he’s leaving town and suddenly we needed to find a last-minute replacement to do both the bride and groom cakes. I’m sure you can imagine the panic this caused.”
“Yikes,” Di said, brows raised. “Did you find another baker who could have the cakes by this Saturday?”
“Fortunately, yes, though it’s a woman in the city. We couldn’t get anyone local. Mother and McKayla are on their way there now to pick out the designs. I begged off so I could still come meet you here.”
“Thanks,” Trixie mumbled, looking away. “I appreciate it.” She turned and stepped up to the automatic doors, waiting for them to slide open. Behind her, Di sent Honey a pointed look.
“What?” Honey whispered as Trixie walked into the center’s reception area. “You can tell me to not talk about wedding stuff any more, but it’s not like that means it will suddenly make the wedding not happen.”
“I know,” Di replied quietly. “And I know she doesn’t really want to get back together with Jim, but you can’t expect her not to have some moments where it sorta hits her all over again that her girlhood dreams didn’t play out the way she always imagined.”
Honey pressed her lips together and nodded. She trailed after Diana into the cool interior of the building where they were met by a perky middle-aged woman dressed in slacks and a collared green shirt embroidered with the Golden Life Center logo. She introduced herself as Laura Foster and asked them to sign in at the front desk. “We keep a record of all our visitors,” she explained. “And I’m sorry to ask, but we will need you to show some form of photo identification.”
“Of course,” Honey said, flashing a small smile at the young woman sitting behind the counter. She pulled her wallet from her purse and flipped it open. "Hey, Norma.”
Norma Nelson returned Honey's greeting, barely glancing at the presented driver’s license. “Hi, Honey. How are you?”
“Good. A little bit overwhelmed at the moment.” Honey glanced over to see that Trixie was apparently engrossed in reading a sign that detailed rules for visitors to the center. “I’m going to be so glad when this wedding is over next weekend,” she said in a softer tone.
Norma laughed at that. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when you and Brian finally get around to planning your own.”
Honey adopted a horrified look. “No. No, no, no. After this? I totally see the merit in eloping in Vegas.”
Di nudged Trixie to get her attention and dutifully produced her own ID as Norma made note of their names in a computer log before printing out name tags she handed across the desk. “You need to wear these at all times.”
“Okay, here’s mine,” Honey murmured as she accepted the tags. “And Di’s. What about Trixie?”
“You don’t need one,” Norma said, addressing Trixie directly. “Your badge is an all-access pass here as long as you keep it visible.” She pressed the button that would unlock the security door to the main part of the building. “You can go on in. At this time of the morning, a lot of our residents are in the games lounge, if you’d like to start there.”
“Thanks, Norm,” Honey called over her shoulder as she tugged the heavy door open. “See you on Saturday.”
Laura followed them as they entered a wide corridor that ended in a wall of windows overlooking a small, shaded courtyard with white metal benches surrounding a bubbling fountain. Carpeted hallways extended off in both directions. “Down here are the public areas,” she told them. “The dining room, lounges, library, and exercise studio. And our private rooms are in this direction.” She turned and pointed to the left. “You’re free to go to any of the lounges, or go from room to room. If you choose to see the residents in their rooms, please only go to those with open doors. That’s how they let us and one another know they’re receiving visitors.”
Trixie considered her options. She needed to locate Chloe Butler and speak with her, and if at all possible, Hal Derring as well. The Chief’s former partner probably had a great deal he could tell her about the Cold Lake killings, if his health hadn’t declined too much since Chief Molinson had last spoken with the man. The problem was, she needed to conduct her interviews without the Golden Life Center’s director hovering about, and Laura Foster was making no signs of leaving them to their own devices.
Well aware of Trixie’s current dilemma, Di turned on Laura with a wide smile. “If you aren’t too terribly busy, would you mind giving me a quick tour?” she asked pleasantly. “I have a widowed great-aunt considering moving here from Albany, and I’d like to see what Golden Life can offer her as a resident.”
Laura stepped quickly to Diana’s side. “Oh, absolutely! Why don’t we start with the dining hall, so you can see what our menus are and have a few words with the chef and staff before they start serving lunch?”
“Sounds good to me.” Di pulled the boxes of cards from her bag and handed two to Honey and two to Trixie. “Here. Start delivering these while I check the place out. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
As the two women moved away with Laura launching into a spiel about healthy, tasty meals, Honey shook her head, laughing quietly. “Does it ever scare you how good Di is at lying and looking completely sincere? An aunt in Albany? Seriously?”
“I credit the acting in high school,” Trixie responded with her own smile. “Shakespeare kicked her butt, but remember how good she was our junior year when they did The Wizard of Oz?”
“She was good, wasn’t she? All right. So let’s not waste time here. Di’s given you the diversion you need.”
“Yeah. Now I have to figure out how to find Chloe Butler without making it obvious to anyone that I’m looking for her in specific. Are the residents’ names on their doors, by any chance?”
“She’s in room 124,” Honey said, waving a hand toward the private wing. “Well, unless she’s in one of the public areas at the moment.”
Trixie stared at her friend. “And you know this… how?”
“Miss Trask. Don’t worry. You know she’s the picture of discretion. Once I told her this concerned a case of yours, she gave me the room number with no questions asked. She comes over here every so often to do volunteer work and she knows most of the residents.”
Trixie frowned in concern. “Hmm. Thank her for me, but please next time you see her, stress just how important it is that she doesn’t discuss this with anyone, okay?”
Honey held up one hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Sure. I will. Promise.” She gave Trixie a piercing look. “I have to admit, I’m practically dying from curiosity, though. Why can’t you simply flash that handy badge of yours and ask whatever questions you need?”
“Sorry. I can’t answer that right now," Trixie said, shaking her head. "All I can say is I need complete secrecy for the time being. I probably shouldn’t have even told you and Di who I’m looking for.” She hesitated for a moment, blowing out a short breath. “But since I have, there’s someone else on my list. I’d like to speak with Hal Derring, too. Any chance you know where he is?”
“No. I don’t even know who Hal Derring is. Do you want me to call Miss Trask and ask her?”
“Please. I don’t know how much time I have and I don’t want to waste it wandering around looking in every room. But again… tell no one else.”
“Why don’t you go on to Mrs. Butler’s room and see if she’s in? I’ll step outside and make the call in privacy and I’ll find you once I have an answer.”
Trixie nodded her agreement and set off down the hallway, following the posted room numbers as they climbed from 100 up. The smell of flat, recycled air and some kind of antiseptic cleaner combined to give her a mild headache and reminded her of her candy striping days. Room 124 was on the corner of an intersecting hall that led to an additional parking lot in the back of the building, and Trixie watched as an elderly woman made her way along with the help of a wheeled walker. A plump woman in a shocking pink t-shirt was at her side, cajoling her in a tone that set Trixie’s teeth on edge.
“C’mon, Mom,” the woman said brightly. “Just a little bit further and we can meet Dave with the car. We’re taking you to the Junction Stop today for their buffet. Isn’t that exciting? One of your favorite restaurants!”
It took a good deal of self-control for Trixie not to call out to the woman and remind her that she was speaking to the person who had at one time changed her dirty diapers and wiped the snot off her face. She could never understand why some people insisted on talking to older men and women as if they were imbecilic toddlers. It was demeaning and unnecessary.
Chloe Butler’s door was open and Trixie found her sitting in a chair, watching a TV talk show. She turned faded blue eyes toward Trixie and her expression conveyed mild surprise to see her visitor.
“Hello, ma’am. My name’s Trixie Belden.”
“Helen’s daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My goodness. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were just a little girl. Your lovely mama used to bring you to our garden club shows. I remember one year, you were dressed like a fairy princess and we set you in a wagon surrounded by daisies and petunias and pansies. It was simply adorable. Everyone wanted your picture!”
“Wow. It must have been completely traumatic for me,” Trixie said, grinning. “I’ve blocked the memory entirely.”
Chloe laughed merrily at her statement. “Yes. Well, you were probably only about two or three years old at the time. And I do seem to recall your mother telling me one year that you’d announced you were no longer willing to be our little Trixie Pixie.”
“I’m not much in to dressing up. At least not like fairies or princesses.” Trixie shuddered dramatically at the thought, wondering if her mother had kept any photos hidden away somewhere, planning to spring them out in some embarrassing way somewhere in the future.
Chloe waved her hand toward the other chair in the room as she used her remote to turn off the television set. “Please, dear, be seated, and tell me what brings you calling.”
Trixie pulled a card from one of the boxes and held it out. “My friends and I are delivering these,” she said, hoping her acting skills were at least comparable to Di’s. “As a way to pass on some good thoughts and cheer.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet of you?” Chloe opened the card, smiled as she read the inscription, then set it on the small table at her side. “And how is Helen doing these days?”
Her mother was not the topic Trixie wanted to address, but she thought perhaps she could find a way to bring the conversation around in the direction she wanted with a little bit of luck. “She’s good. Thanks for asking. My youngest brother graduated high school on Saturday and he’ll be leaving for college in a few months, so I think she might be starting to worry about empty nest syndrome. I don’t know if you remember, but I have three brothers in all. Brian is the eldest, then Mart, and Bobby is the youngest of us all.”
“Hmmm. I believe I remember one of your brothers. Dark hair? Takes after your father?”
“That’s Brian. Mart, Bobby, and I all look like Moms.”
Chloe shifted her gaze to a framed photograph on her dresser. “That’s my boy there,” she murmured so softly Trixie had to strain to hear her. “He… died many years ago. Before you were even born.”
Trixie felt a sharp twinge of conscience. She was forcing this woman to dredge up bad memories based on nothing more than a wild hunch. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if Stephen Butler had been killed by someone else, if his death was not a suicide like had been believed for all this time, surely his mother would want the truth? “I know a little bit about that,” she responded sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
For a moment, they sat in silence, both staring at the photo of a teenage boy in a striped orange shirt with a fringed leather vest. He wasn’t smiling for the camera. Instead, his attention was focused on a book he held in his right hand.
“We found him in a barn,” Chloe declared suddenly, surprising Trixie with her bluntness. “Hanging from a rafter.”
“I know. Suicide is a terrible thing. I’m so sorry.”
“Humph. It never made sense to me. Even after all these years, it still makes no sense. Why would he do that? Why?”
“Did he… uh, did he leave a note?” Trixie asked, aware of her quickening pulse. Perhaps her hunch wasn’t so wild after all, if Stephen’s mother felt his suicide was inexplicable.
“No. There wasn’t a note. Nothing of the kind! And it happened at such an awful time. We’d just had those dreadful murders, you know. The little girls who were killed out at that camp ground. The town was in an uproar. For months that was all anyone talked about. My husband was the judge who presided over the killer's trial and he was gone for twelve or more hours a day.” She paused and sighed. “No one seemed to have much time for my Stephen. No one wanted to ask any questions. Everyone kept prattling nonsense at me about how he must’ve been ‘troubled’ but he was in a better place now. They even suggested drugs were the cause! A week after he died, we had the funeral and that was the end of it. It was like he’d never existed at all.”
Trixie studied Chloe intently, weighing her next words carefully in her mind, considering the wisdom of saying them aloud. “Ma’am?” she said finally. “Do you believe there’s any chance at all that your son’s death was not a suicide?”
“Oh, yes,” Chloe replied without the slightest hint of hesitation. “I’ve always believed he was murdered."
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie found Honey standing in the main hall, near a large bulletin board that announced upcoming activities for the month. Her friend was not alone. A stooped, grey-haired man leaning on a heavy cane was at her side. As soon as Honey saw Trixie approaching, she hurried to meet her. “There you are!” she exclaimed, reaching out to grab Trixie’s arm. “Well, we must be going, right?”
Trixie could see the silent plea in Honey’s eyes. “Yes,” she said smoothly. “We’re a bit behind schedule.”
Honey turned back to the man. “It was nice speaking with you, Mr. Camden, but we’ve got a rather important appointment.”
He beamed at her warmly. “Of course. Of course. But come back and see me soon! It’s always delightful to have such a pretty young thing attending to my every word.”
Honey led Trixie back down the hall, her hand still wrapped tightly around Trixie’s wrist. “Oh, holy heck,” she breathed once they were out of hearing range. “Do you know who that was?”
“He looked vaguely familiar,” Trixie replied, “but his name meant nothing to me.”
“You may have seen him on the evening news when you were in elementary school. He told me he used to be an anchor for one of the local stations. Can that man talk! I think he must miss his job.”
Trixie grinned at her friend. “And there you were, attending to his every word.”
“I couldn’t think of a polite way to excuse myself! Not that he would’ve let me get a word in edgewise in any case.” She came to a stop and looked around to make sure no one was paying them any attention or listening in on their conversation. “I talked to Miss Trask. She says that Hal Derring was moved to the north wing a few months ago. It’s the hospital portion of the center, and only family members of patients are allowed in as visitors.”
Trixie slowly nodded. “His health isn’t good. I knew that.”
“Yeah. So, I don’t know what to tell you. Does he have any relatives who could get you in?”
Trixie glanced down at the badge pinned to her belt. “Maybe I don’t need anyone to get me in. Norma did say this would get me ‘all-access.’”
“That’s right! I’d already forgotten. So maybe you could walk right in?”
“Well, I don’t suppose it would be quite that simple, but it’s worth a shot. Why don’t you track down Di and you guys can go around and hand out the rest of the cards. I’ll meet up with you back at the front of the building as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Did you get to see Mrs. Butler?”
“Yes… but I’m sorry. Right now, I really can’t discuss it.”
“It’s okay, Trix,” Honey said evenly. “I understand. I won’t press you.”
Trixie found that the entrance to the north wing had a separate sign-in area. A young man in scrubs sat behind the counter, typing furiously on a computer she thought looked about ten years out-of-date. “Help you?” he asked disinterestedly, without looking up from his screen.
Trixie unclipped her badge and held it up. “You can buzz me through,” she said with a curt nod to the double doors behind him.
He did look up then, though only long enough to give her one assessing glance. He reached over and pulled a large ledger-style book from a slot on the shelf next to his desk. “Sign in. Name, date, badge number, and name of patient.”
Trixie flipped the book open. She was unsurprised to note the infrequent number of police visitors. The first entry on the current page was over four years old. Further down, she saw the captain’s illegible scrawl, noting his last visit. Interestingly, there was another name following his. Micky McClain. A badge number was listed next to McClain’s name and Trixie wondered if it was legitimate. Was he now working for another force in some other city or town? As the man named by Derring as his co-conspirator in planting evidence on Morton Grody, McClain was absolutely someone Trixie wanted to track down.
McClain had visited Derring only three weeks earlier. Was it a coincidence? Was he simply dropping in on an old partner? It was possible, certainly, if McClain had heard about Derring’s failing health. Still, something about it made Trixie uneasy, and she decided to move McClain up on the list of her priorities. She would be looking for him as soon as possible.
She deliberately made her own writing as difficult to read as possible, especially when she wrote out Hal Derring’s name. This she scribbled in a manner that would do any doctor proud, forming the H of his first name and then trailing off in a series of small, rounded peaks. The less people who knew about her activities, the better.
The hospital was small, with only twelve rooms for patients who needed twenty-four hour, long-term care. Trixie supposed those with more serious conditions or needs could also be moved to Sleepyside General. She found that each room was only “semi-private” with beds for two patients separated by heavy curtains. Many of the rooms were currently empty, however, and those which were occupied only had a single patient in each. She found Hal Derring without much difficulty. Patient charts, with their names written in a large, bold hand, were tucked into holders mounted on the walls directly outside each room.
Derring was connected to several machines through a series of wires and tubes. Trixie suddenly wished Brian were with her, so that he could explain Derring’s condition, though she could see easily enough that it was not good. His skin had a sallow, yellowish tinge and his face was marked with the shrunken look of someone who had not eaten a proper meal for a very long time. It was readily apparent that he was past the point where she could interview him about his role in the Cold Lake killings.
There was a sympathy card propped up on the table near the foot of his bed. Frowning slightly, Trixie picked it up. Had someone actually sent the man’s family a sympathy card before he’d even shuffled off his mortal coil?
“Hal, so sorry for your loss,” the card read. “You are in our thoughts and prayers. Robin will be sorely missed.” It was signed by a “Mary Elizabeth.”
Lost in thought, Trixie replaced the card.
“Excuse me, but who are you?”
The voice came from behind her, and Trixie started in surprise. She turned to find a woman in a long white lab coat standing in the open doorway.
“Acting Chief Trixie Belden,” she said, waving a hand at her badge.
The woman moved further into the room. “I’m Doctor Pham. Sorry for the bit of rudeness there. I’ve been working with Hal for some time now and know his family pretty well. I wasn’t expecting to find a stranger in here today.” She studied Trixie with open curiosity. “You look a little young to have been one of the officers who worked with him.”
“Ah, yeah. Hal used to be partners with Chief Wendell Molinson. I, uh… I didn’t know if anyone had thought to let him know that the chief lost his battle with his cancer. The funeral was last Wednesday.”
Dr. Pham nodded. “He knows. His daughter told him.”
“So he does have moments… where he’s awake?”
“Did,” Dr. Pham said with a small sigh. “He slipped into a coma Saturday night. Honestly, we don’t expect him to come out of it. Usually at this stage, it’s a few days or sometimes even a few weeks and then the patient slips away from us entirely and passes on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And for intruding. I’ll get out of your way now.”
“It was nice of you to drop by to see him. Shall I let the family know?”
“No. That’s all right,” Trixie replied with a shake of her head. “They don’t know me, anyway.” She stepped quietly from the room and made her way back to the door that connected with the assisted living side of the center. A few minutes later, she located Honey and Di in one of the larger lounges. They were sitting side-by-side at a long table, bingo cards in front of them, surrounded by other players.
“Do I want to know how you got roped into this?” Trixie asked them with a laugh.
“It’s actually kinda fun,” Honey said. “We only just joined in and I’ve already won a music CD!”
Giggling, Di scooted over and patted the space on the bench seat next to her in invitation. “They’re about to start another round if you want to play. And wait until you see what CD she won. Can you believe there’s really something called The Very Best of Easy Listening?”
“It’s actually three discs,” Honey added with a grin of her own. “If you can imagine that. I’ll give them away before we leave. Honestly, I’m strictly an iPod girl now.”
“Well, gosh, Honey, I’m sure you could find a copy at iTunes,” Trixie said with mock seriousness. “Because I know how much you love that Easy Listening sound.”
“Oh, be nice. Some of it isn’t that bad.”
“Uh, huh. Well, you two have fun with this, but I’ve got to get moving. Di, I still have to drop in at the hardware store and have a key made for you. You can come by my place tonight and pick it up.”
“Thanks, Trix. I’ll give you a call first and make sure you’re in.”
Trixie felt instantly drained by a wave of heat that struck her the moment she stepped out of the building. The storm clouds had grown, but they were still many miles away, a distant smudge of darkness in an otherwise clear blue sky. She exhaled heavily and started across the parking lot. She was just reaching into her purse for her keys when her phone buzzed.
“This is Acting Chief Belden,” she said crisply upon answering. “Holt?”
“Ma’am. We need you out here at Randy’s ASAP.”
“There’s a problem?”
“You might say,” he replied tersely. “We’ve been combing through the fire’s wreckage and we’ve found some remains. Charred past recognition, but definitely human.”
Trixie gripped her phone tightly as she swore under her breath. She pulled the door open on her Cherokee and slid behind the wheel. “Cordon off the area. I’m on my way.”
Trixie could see the silent plea in Honey’s eyes. “Yes,” she said smoothly. “We’re a bit behind schedule.”
Honey turned back to the man. “It was nice speaking with you, Mr. Camden, but we’ve got a rather important appointment.”
He beamed at her warmly. “Of course. Of course. But come back and see me soon! It’s always delightful to have such a pretty young thing attending to my every word.”
Honey led Trixie back down the hall, her hand still wrapped tightly around Trixie’s wrist. “Oh, holy heck,” she breathed once they were out of hearing range. “Do you know who that was?”
“He looked vaguely familiar,” Trixie replied, “but his name meant nothing to me.”
“You may have seen him on the evening news when you were in elementary school. He told me he used to be an anchor for one of the local stations. Can that man talk! I think he must miss his job.”
Trixie grinned at her friend. “And there you were, attending to his every word.”
“I couldn’t think of a polite way to excuse myself! Not that he would’ve let me get a word in edgewise in any case.” She came to a stop and looked around to make sure no one was paying them any attention or listening in on their conversation. “I talked to Miss Trask. She says that Hal Derring was moved to the north wing a few months ago. It’s the hospital portion of the center, and only family members of patients are allowed in as visitors.”
Trixie slowly nodded. “His health isn’t good. I knew that.”
“Yeah. So, I don’t know what to tell you. Does he have any relatives who could get you in?”
Trixie glanced down at the badge pinned to her belt. “Maybe I don’t need anyone to get me in. Norma did say this would get me ‘all-access.’”
“That’s right! I’d already forgotten. So maybe you could walk right in?”
“Well, I don’t suppose it would be quite that simple, but it’s worth a shot. Why don’t you track down Di and you guys can go around and hand out the rest of the cards. I’ll meet up with you back at the front of the building as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Did you get to see Mrs. Butler?”
“Yes… but I’m sorry. Right now, I really can’t discuss it.”
“It’s okay, Trix,” Honey said evenly. “I understand. I won’t press you.”
Trixie found that the entrance to the north wing had a separate sign-in area. A young man in scrubs sat behind the counter, typing furiously on a computer she thought looked about ten years out-of-date. “Help you?” he asked disinterestedly, without looking up from his screen.
Trixie unclipped her badge and held it up. “You can buzz me through,” she said with a curt nod to the double doors behind him.
He did look up then, though only long enough to give her one assessing glance. He reached over and pulled a large ledger-style book from a slot on the shelf next to his desk. “Sign in. Name, date, badge number, and name of patient.”
Trixie flipped the book open. She was unsurprised to note the infrequent number of police visitors. The first entry on the current page was over four years old. Further down, she saw the captain’s illegible scrawl, noting his last visit. Interestingly, there was another name following his. Micky McClain. A badge number was listed next to McClain’s name and Trixie wondered if it was legitimate. Was he now working for another force in some other city or town? As the man named by Derring as his co-conspirator in planting evidence on Morton Grody, McClain was absolutely someone Trixie wanted to track down.
McClain had visited Derring only three weeks earlier. Was it a coincidence? Was he simply dropping in on an old partner? It was possible, certainly, if McClain had heard about Derring’s failing health. Still, something about it made Trixie uneasy, and she decided to move McClain up on the list of her priorities. She would be looking for him as soon as possible.
She deliberately made her own writing as difficult to read as possible, especially when she wrote out Hal Derring’s name. This she scribbled in a manner that would do any doctor proud, forming the H of his first name and then trailing off in a series of small, rounded peaks. The less people who knew about her activities, the better.
The hospital was small, with only twelve rooms for patients who needed twenty-four hour, long-term care. Trixie supposed those with more serious conditions or needs could also be moved to Sleepyside General. She found that each room was only “semi-private” with beds for two patients separated by heavy curtains. Many of the rooms were currently empty, however, and those which were occupied only had a single patient in each. She found Hal Derring without much difficulty. Patient charts, with their names written in a large, bold hand, were tucked into holders mounted on the walls directly outside each room.
Derring was connected to several machines through a series of wires and tubes. Trixie suddenly wished Brian were with her, so that he could explain Derring’s condition, though she could see easily enough that it was not good. His skin had a sallow, yellowish tinge and his face was marked with the shrunken look of someone who had not eaten a proper meal for a very long time. It was readily apparent that he was past the point where she could interview him about his role in the Cold Lake killings.
There was a sympathy card propped up on the table near the foot of his bed. Frowning slightly, Trixie picked it up. Had someone actually sent the man’s family a sympathy card before he’d even shuffled off his mortal coil?
“Hal, so sorry for your loss,” the card read. “You are in our thoughts and prayers. Robin will be sorely missed.” It was signed by a “Mary Elizabeth.”
Lost in thought, Trixie replaced the card.
“Excuse me, but who are you?”
The voice came from behind her, and Trixie started in surprise. She turned to find a woman in a long white lab coat standing in the open doorway.
“Acting Chief Trixie Belden,” she said, waving a hand at her badge.
The woman moved further into the room. “I’m Doctor Pham. Sorry for the bit of rudeness there. I’ve been working with Hal for some time now and know his family pretty well. I wasn’t expecting to find a stranger in here today.” She studied Trixie with open curiosity. “You look a little young to have been one of the officers who worked with him.”
“Ah, yeah. Hal used to be partners with Chief Wendell Molinson. I, uh… I didn’t know if anyone had thought to let him know that the chief lost his battle with his cancer. The funeral was last Wednesday.”
Dr. Pham nodded. “He knows. His daughter told him.”
“So he does have moments… where he’s awake?”
“Did,” Dr. Pham said with a small sigh. “He slipped into a coma Saturday night. Honestly, we don’t expect him to come out of it. Usually at this stage, it’s a few days or sometimes even a few weeks and then the patient slips away from us entirely and passes on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And for intruding. I’ll get out of your way now.”
“It was nice of you to drop by to see him. Shall I let the family know?”
“No. That’s all right,” Trixie replied with a shake of her head. “They don’t know me, anyway.” She stepped quietly from the room and made her way back to the door that connected with the assisted living side of the center. A few minutes later, she located Honey and Di in one of the larger lounges. They were sitting side-by-side at a long table, bingo cards in front of them, surrounded by other players.
“Do I want to know how you got roped into this?” Trixie asked them with a laugh.
“It’s actually kinda fun,” Honey said. “We only just joined in and I’ve already won a music CD!”
Giggling, Di scooted over and patted the space on the bench seat next to her in invitation. “They’re about to start another round if you want to play. And wait until you see what CD she won. Can you believe there’s really something called The Very Best of Easy Listening?”
“It’s actually three discs,” Honey added with a grin of her own. “If you can imagine that. I’ll give them away before we leave. Honestly, I’m strictly an iPod girl now.”
“Well, gosh, Honey, I’m sure you could find a copy at iTunes,” Trixie said with mock seriousness. “Because I know how much you love that Easy Listening sound.”
“Oh, be nice. Some of it isn’t that bad.”
“Uh, huh. Well, you two have fun with this, but I’ve got to get moving. Di, I still have to drop in at the hardware store and have a key made for you. You can come by my place tonight and pick it up.”
“Thanks, Trix. I’ll give you a call first and make sure you’re in.”
Trixie felt instantly drained by a wave of heat that struck her the moment she stepped out of the building. The storm clouds had grown, but they were still many miles away, a distant smudge of darkness in an otherwise clear blue sky. She exhaled heavily and started across the parking lot. She was just reaching into her purse for her keys when her phone buzzed.
“This is Acting Chief Belden,” she said crisply upon answering. “Holt?”
“Ma’am. We need you out here at Randy’s ASAP.”
“There’s a problem?”
“You might say,” he replied tersely. “We’ve been combing through the fire’s wreckage and we’ve found some remains. Charred past recognition, but definitely human.”
Trixie gripped her phone tightly as she swore under her breath. She pulled the door open on her Cherokee and slid behind the wheel. “Cordon off the area. I’m on my way.”
