A small but modern hospital, Blueberry Cove Medical Center was located on the crest of the hill overlooking downtown and the harbor. I drove us up there in Beverly, Grammie cradling the bouquet she had bought earlier for Eleanor.
“Are you nervous about tonight?” she asked me as I turned into the hospital lot.
“A little,” I said, acknowledging the knot of excited trepidation in my gut. It was a familiar feeling, one I experienced every time I had to speak in public.
The fashion show was two hours from now, giving me barely enough time to visit Eleanor before going home to shower and change. After the show, I was planning to attend the semi-formal dinner and dance under the stars with Ian as my date. I could hardly wait for that part of the evening. We almost never dressed up, so it should be fun.
Ian looked great in a dinner jacket. With a sigh, this time of anticipation, I pulled into the visitor slot and turned off the car. We gathered our handbags and the flowers and made our way to the lobby.
Both of us faltered slightly when the big doors swished open, inviting us to step inside. We hadn’t been to the hospital since last winter, before Papa Joe died. Thankfully they’d released him under the hospice program and he had spent his last days in his own home. But the mingled aroma of disinfectant and floor wax was still all too familiar.
Then Grammie lifted her chin and charged across the squeaky clean floor to the front desk. “Good evening,” she said to the attendant. “Eleanor Brady’s room, please.” Judging by her pleasant, steady tone, one would never know the heartbreak she had experienced in this place.
We took the elevator to the second floor, to the unit where Eleanor was staying. At the station, a nurse directed us to her room. “Miss Eleanor is doing great,” he said. “We’re going to miss her around here.”
I took away two things from his comment. Eleanor was well-liked by the staff and she was being discharged soon. Thanking him for his help, we continued down the corridor and found Eleanor’s room. The door was open, but we knocked. A pulled curtain was blocking our view of the bed.
“Come in,” Eleanor called. My heart lifted with joy. She sounded so much stronger and clearer than the last time we had seen her.
She was propped in bed, reading a magazine, her eyeglasses up on her head. To her left, the curtains were open, revealing a view of the harbor. Not bad at all for a hospital room.
Grammie set the extravagant bouquet on the wide windowsill, next to a few others. Eleanor exclaimed in delight. “Those are lovely. Thank you.”
We both gave her a kiss on the cheek, then settled to visit. Grammie sat in a chair and I leaned up against the windowsill.
“I understand you’re getting out of here soon,” Grammie said. “Well, the nurse didn’t say that explicitly but we read between the lines.”
Eleanor closed the magazine and scooted upright a little more. “I’m being discharged tomorrow afternoon. And though everyone has been wonderful here, I’m eager to get home.” She glanced in the direction of the room door. “Do you mind closing the door, Iris?”
I hurried to comply, wondering what she didn’t want anyone to overhear. I shut the door gently and returned to my perch.
Eleanor’s expression was grave. “They found Valium in my blood work. Someone has been drugging me, and three guesses who.”
We both gasped at the news, although we’d suspected something like this all along. “Valium can cause confusion, can’t it?” Grammie said. “I know there are some medications that affect us even more when we get older.”
Eleanor lifted a brow, a glint of humor in her eyes. “You mean when you’re as ancient as me? But you’re right, Anne. The doctor explained it to me.” She leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice. “And it was in my herb supplements, the ones in capsules. Isn’t that a dirty trick?”
“It sure is,” I said, angry at whoever had done such a heinous thing. It had to be Craig Brady, the only person I knew with something to gain—all of Eleanor’s property, including the diamonds he didn’t even know about. That reminded me of the other reason why we were here.
“The police have been informed,” Eleanor said. “I don’t know how they can prove anything, but it’s certainly been a warning for me. And I’m taking steps.”
“Good for you,” Grammie said. “We’re here if you need anything.” She turned to look at me. “Do you want to do the honors?”
“I’d love to.” I slid off the sill and moved closer to the bed. Then I wasn’t sure how to begin. Eleanor didn’t even know about her grandfather’s horrible death. “Lukas helped us do some research into Claudia’s life. It was easier for him since he can read Flemish, French, and German.”
Eleanor was listening intently, her gaze never leaving my face. “What a nice young man he is,” she commented. “How fortuitous he was here to help.”
“It was,” I said. “He soon learned that Claudia did come from a noble family. Her father was a baron.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly. “Wow. That is not what I was expecting to hear. I’m related to European royalty?” Her laugh was disbelieving.
“We could always tell,” Grammie joked. “You’re so queenly.”
“Bossy, you mean,” Eleanor said, smiling at her friend. “Don’t hold back, Anne.”
After they were done laughing, I cleared my throat. “There’s more, Eleanor. And I’m afraid it’s a tragic story.”
Her face sobered as she clasped her hands together in her lap. “Go on.”
“Your grandfather was killed in 1932, during a robbery, they think. He was a diamond dealer.” I hurried to tell her the rest. “Claudia had left the country before it happened. She was on the Lapland when he died.” I didn’t bother to connect the dots. Eleanor was capable of doing that for herself. “Lukas found an engagement announcement. She was supposed to marry another baron.”
Eleanor thought for a long moment, her eyes distant. “She must have been very unhappy,” she said, “to leave her luxurious lifestyle and become a nursery maid, of all things. Poor Mama. I’m glad she at least had us.” She paused. “Now I know why she never spoke of Belgium or her family. She wanted to put it all behind her.”
Maybe the murder was why Claudia had kept a low profile in the United States. She didn’t want to be dragged into the scandal. Or found by her fiancé. Without any real evidence, I sensed she’d been running away from him. Maybe it had been an arranged marriage.
“And then she had a fairy-tale ending to her story,” Grammie said softly. “She met and married a handsome prince and had a darling daughter.”
Eleanor greeted Grammie’s fanciful words with a snort, but she was smiling. “I’d like to think she had a happy ending. We all deserve that. Well, most of us, anyway.”
On the other hand, I couldn’t help thinking, some of us deserved jail time, including Craig Brady. A gentle knocking sounded on the room door, and I went to answer, thinking it was a nurse. But Cookie Abernathy, attorney-at-law, stood there, holding a buttery leather tote. “May I come in, Iris?” she asked with a smile. Cookie had been Grammie’s attorney when Grammie was a murder suspect earlier this year. Not that Cookie’s practice was confined to criminal law. Like many rural attorneys, she served clients in a number of ways.
“Please do,” I said, standing back to let her into the room. I closed the door again, figuring that other people didn’t need to know Eleanor’s business with Cookie. And in fact, Grammie and I should excuse ourselves so they could talk in privacy.
“Eleanor. How are you?” Cookie shook her client’s hand gently. Grammie had risen from the chair and Cookie sat, setting the bag by her feet.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Eleanor said. “I got the word that they’re going to spring me from this place tomorrow.” She and Cookie laughed, but then fear flickered in Eleanor’s eyes. “I want to make sure everything is written in stone before I take a step out of this room.”
“We can do that.” Cookie pulled a sheaf of documents from her bag. “I have what we discussed right here.” She handed a document to Eleanor. “If you’re happy with that, you can sign.” She glanced up at us. “Do you mind hanging around for a few minutes? We need two witnesses to Eleanor’s will.”
“We’d be happy to do that,” Grammie said. “Why don’t we step out into the hall, Iris? Cookie, let us know when you’re ready for us.”
At home, I took a leisurely shower and dried my hair, then padded about in a robe getting my outfit ready. Curled in the middle of my bed, Quincy looked on. “What do you think, Quince?” I held up the vintage coral semi-formal dress I’d bought to wear tonight. The bodice was ruched and fitted, the skirt a froth of organza. A pair of matching T-strap pumps and a clutch bag completed the outfit.
My phone rang, and expecting Ian or Bella, I picked it up to look. Lars Lavely? With a sigh, I answered. Otherwise he’d continue to call or worse, stalk me at the fashion show. I might as well get it over with.
“Hello, Lars,” I said. “What’s up? I’m kind of busy getting ready for tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, the fashion show.” Computer keys clattered. “I’ll only keep you a minute. I understand you were at the scene when Theo Nesbitt was arrested. How did you happen to be at the lab?”
I plopped down on the bed, not wanting to answer his question at all. But if I blew him off, I would lose the opportunity to find out what he knew. The paper might have updates from the state police.
“Well,” I said slowly, reaching out to rub Quincy’s chin. “Jamaica asked us to swing by because she got a security alert and we were closer to the lab than she was. She didn’t know if her new system was working. But it works great. Make sure to put that in the article.”
He grunted. “You do get yourself right in the middle of things, Iris. Ever think about being a reporter?”
“Not really,” I said honestly. But I probably would make a good one. I was nosy enough and yes, I did have a knack for finding trouble. “So, I have a question for you. Any updates on the BOLO for Patrick Chance?”
“Bunch of unconfirmed sightings,” he said. “Both his truck and boat are missing, which is a neat trick when you think about it.”
“He must have an accomplice,” I blurted. Then, realizing I’d said that out loud, I quickly added, “That’s off the record, by the way.”
“It’s the obvious conclusion,” Lars said loftily. “Nesbitt was released on bail this morning. No one has seen him since.” Keys clattered again. “Want a preview of my article about the BOLO? I found a great picture of Patrick to use.”
“Sure,” I said. “Send it over.” Now Lars was treating me like a colleague. Odd, but I ran with it. “I’m always impressed with your articles, Lars.” Though not always in a good way, Mr. Tabloid Man.
“Lay it on, Iris, lay it on,” he muttered. “Sent it. Take a look.”
The picture of Patrick made me bark a laugh. He stared wide-eyed into the camera, unshaven and his hair a mess, looking completely unhinged. Lars had framed it with BOLO—WANTED.
“Wow. Where’d you find that?” I could hear the door and window locks clicking shut all over town.
Lars gave a satisfied chuckle. “Social media. Taken during a binge, I reckon. I cropped out the beer bottles in both hands.” He chuckled again. “When are people going to learn?”
Maybe after Lars featured their worst moments in the Blueberry Cove Herald. But tactful me didn’t say that, and I signed off, reminding him I had to get ready. My stomach clenched with anxiety again. I really didn’t like speaking in public, especially into microphones. Quincy butted my hand with his head, a signal to keep patting him. “But it will be over soon,” I told him. “Only a couple of hours and I’ll be off the hook.”