Sunday Afternoon
River Crest Community Hospital
Molly carried a hanger of clean clothes and a small duffel bag containing George’s undergarments, wallet, and toiletries into the River Crest Community Hospital. She hesitated a moment as the sterile smell invaded her nostrils, and memories of her mother’s last days flooded over her. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before stopping at the information desk for George’s room number. On her way to the elevator, she ran into Tony Shannon.
“How nice to see you again so soon,” Tony said.
“Have you been here all day? I thought you were coming earlier.”
“I did, but he was still passed out. So, I had lunch with my mother and grandfather and stopped back on my way home.”
“How is he?”
“Except for a colossal headache, he’s dehydrated but otherwise fine. They’re going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“That’s good to hear, except, of course, for the headache. I’m sure it’s a doozy.” Molly pushed the elevator button.
He gestured toward the garments she carried. “It’s awfully nice of you to bring in his clothes.”
“Well, I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave in a hospital gown. They’re drafty, and besides, he was supposed to check out today anyway.”
The elevator door opened, and Molly stepped inside, followed by an older woman.
“I’ll see you later,” Tony said.
She waved as the elevator doors slowly closed.
“What a nice young man,” the woman said.
Molly smiled at the woman. “Yes, he is.”
“He’s a policeman. I saw his badge clipped to his belt.”
“He’s a detective in the sheriff’s office.”
The woman’s eyes widened so Molly could see the white circling her hazel irises. She clutched her purse and glanced around as if someone else were in the elevator. The tight curls of her permed white hair bounced with each head movement. “Is there a convict here at the hospital? I heard they take inmates from the jail.”
Molly stifled a giggle. “Perhaps the detective is merely visiting someone.”
The woman nodded. “You never know who you’ll see at the hospital. My husband is upstairs, and I ran into my second cousin twice removed just this morning. I haven’t seen her in pert near twenty years.”
The elevator stopped on the third floor. “You have a nice day, ma’am,” Molly said, exiting before the doors were fully open.
Molly wandered the taupe hallway, past the nursing station and the half-closed doors of patient rooms. Hearing the beeps of the machines, instructions from a soft-spoken caregiver, and the drone of the noon news anchor from a television, she continued down the hall to room 326. She knocked on the door and heard a weak, “Come in.”
She stepped into the darkened room, illuminated only with a dim light by the bed. George was semireclining, with IV lines and a blood-pressure cuff on his arm. Molly had estimated his age to be midforties, but he looked much older lying on the white hospital sheets. His eyes were closed when she walked in, but he opened them as she approached.
“Molly. I’m so sorry you saw me in such a state.” His chin fell to his chest. “I’m extremely embarrassed by my behavior.”
“No apologies necessary.” She raised her hand, holding the hanger. “I’ve brought you a change of clothes. I’ll put them in the closet. The rest of your stuff is in the laundry.”
He hit the button to raise the bed. “You washed my clothes! How can I repay you?”
“Write a great review on social media.” We need all the help we can get.
“That’s a given. You and Elise have been wonderful to me…and to Aubrey.” His voice cracked.
“What will you do when you’re discharged?”
“They say I can leave tomorrow or the next day. Monitoring the old ticker.” He patted his chest. “I’ll go back home to Chicago and see what happens.”
“Did you call your family?”
He hung his head. “I told my wife I’d be held up for another day because of what happened to Aubrey.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell her you’re in the hospital.”
“It’s better I explain everything in person.” He raised his left arm with the IV and glanced around the room. “She wouldn’t handle all of this very well.”
Molly nodded. What he tells his wife is none of my business, she thought as she pulled a straight-backed plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“Did you know Aubrey was meeting someone after the party?”
George rubbed his hand over his stubbly cheeks. “I’ve been racking my brain since it happened as to who could have done this to Aubrey, and I’ve come up with no one.”
“Was Aubrey seeing anyone?”
He shook his head. “No one exclusively—that I know of, anyway.” Laying his head back on the pillow, he closed his eyes.
“It must have been someone from the party,” she said, trying to keep him talking.
“But who?” He rose and looked at her, his eyes narrow slits. “There were so many women there wanting his attention.”
“Tony—Detective Shannon has officers talking to everyone who came to the party.”
“Yeah. He was just here.” George shook his index finger at her. “You know…there is someone.”
“Who?”
“Lindsay Luttrell. The way she was crying and carrying on. That’s not normal. You’d think she was his wife, not his Facebook-page administrator. That’s barely a paid position.” George’s head bobbed. “Yep, and she’s sneaky, too. Skulks around behind everyone’s back, eavesdropping on conversations. Acts like she’s trying to get the dirt on anyone and anything. She’s just weird.”
“She’s a total fangirl, all right. But why would she hurt Aubrey? She seems totally into his social media.”
“You know Aubrey’s reputation with women.” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe she was jealous. She could be delusional. Wanted him for herself. I bet it was her.”
“I’ve heard a lot from my Aunt Vanessa and Betty McElvey from the bookstore. They’ve known each other since kindergarten,” she said. “Aubrey was very charming when he wanted to be. But he could be mean, too. I’ve heard him yelling at Betty and Tracy.”
George sighed. “We’ve all been at the wrong end of Aubrey’s temper.” He reached for his water glass. Molly retrieved it and held it while he drank through the straw. “When he’s angry…no one has ever talked to me the way Aubrey has on occasion.”
She bit her lip, deciding whether to ask the next question. “George, I assume you’ve read Aubrey’s book.”
He finished drinking, and Molly returned the cup to the bed table. “I’ve read all his books from the first pitch to the final galleys. Why?”
“He thanked my mother in the acknowledgments. I wondered about that.”
“Aubrey was in the beginning drafts of the book and was in town over the Thanksgiving holiday two years ago,” George said. “He stopped by and had a long chat with your mother. For research on the house.”
“At the party, he mentioned Harrington House as the influence for the house in his book, but I didn’t realize he’d visited with my mother.” They’d had a big family dinner on Thanksgiving Day that year, and then Molly had returned to her apartment in the city the day after because of work. Her mother never mentioned a visit with Aubrey.
A nurse pushed open the door and entered, carrying a full IV bag. “Mr. Roark, I need to hang another.”
Molly stood. “George, call me when you know your discharge time, and I’ll drive your rental car down for you.”
“I don’t want to impose on you any further. I’ll call for a car to drive me up, especially if I need to stay another night.”
She nodded. “You rest, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
On her way to the elevator, Molly mentally reviewed her conversation. Why would he want to stay at the B and B another night? If he were planning on leaving, wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to return the rental car and stay at a hotel near the airport? That is, unless Tony had asked him not to leave town. And he didn’t answer my question regarding his knowledge of Aubrey’s late-night visitor. And he tried to throw attention to Lindsay Luttrell.
She thought about the conversation she’d overheard between George and Tracy and wondered if George truly had been in the dark about Aubrey hiring a new agent.
Elise could be right. Perhaps George went into Aubrey’s room after his visitor left. Things got out of hand, and George hit him over the head.
Molly stopped in the middle of the hallway, oblivious to the clanging of lunch trays, the chatter of staff, and the dinging of patient call bells.
It’s a real possibility that George killed Aubrey.
Molly jabbed the elevator down button.
And he will not be returning to Harrington House.
***
Molly’s stomach growled as she pulled out of the hospital parking garage. She glanced at her watch—not too late for lunchtime at the Riverview Senior Living Community, a great time to visit Nana. After checking in at reception, she found her grandmother in the dining room with her two friends, Miss Cordelia and Miss Ruth Ann.
Nana’s face beamed when she saw her granddaughter. “Molly, if I had known you were coming, I’d have waited for you.”
She slid onto the empty chair next to Nana. “It was spontaneous. I finished my errands and thought I’d drop by.”
An aide stopped at the table and asked Molly if she wanted lunch.
“The chicken salad is pretty good today,” Nana said.
“I know there’s some left,” the aide said.
Miss Ruth Ann leaned in. “Get the toasted muffin with it. It’s best that way.” Miss Ruth Ann, the oldest, was in her mideighties.
“Sounds wonderful.” As wonderful as assisted-living food can be, Molly thought as she gave the aide her order.
Miss Cordelia leaned forward. “And how are you doing, sweetheart? I hear there is all kinds of commotion up at the big house with Aubrey Rhodes gettin’ himself kilt.”
“Yes, ma’am. And this morning, I found his agent, Mr. Roark, unconscious in his room.”
The women clutched their bosoms and uttered, “Oh my goodness,” in unison.
“I was at the hospital bringing him a change of clothes because he was only wearing an undershirt and boxer shorts when the ambulance took him.”
Nana put her hand over her heart. “And you walked in on that?”
“Yes. Well, not by myself. Detective Shannon was with me. He opened the door. I’d brought the key and was right behind him.”
Miss Cordelia glanced from Nana to Miss Ruth Ann. “Isn’t he Carl Shannon’s grandson?”
“Wah-yeah,” Miss Ruth Ann said. “He was here earlier this mornin’ with his mama.”
Nana patted the table. “I recognized him up at the house Saturday morning. He’s a mighty fine-lookin’ young man right there.”
Molly laughed. Nana and her friends were constantly playing matchmaker. “Nana, don’t get your hopes up. He’s only coming around because he’s investigating a murder.”
Molly’s lunch arrived with a glass of iced tea. She took a bite and proclaimed it delicious, as they’d said. Halfway through her salad, Nana’s companions left, saying it was time for their afternoon Hallmark movies and they were off to watch television.
“Nana, did Mom ever tell you that Aubrey Rhodes came by to talk to her about the house? Maybe two years ago, around Thanksgiving. I hear he spent quite a lot of time with her.”
“Lord, honey. That was two Thanksgivings ago. I can barely think of what I had for supper last night. Why are you asking about this now?”
“He dedicated the book to Mom, and she was in the acknowledgments. He thanked her for her help.” Molly bit her lip and watched Nana give her a squinty-eyed look. “Nana, in the book, he also mentioned a secret room in the basement. I’m wondering what she could have told him.”
“Secret rooms? In your house? I never heard of such a thing.”
“So, you don’t remember anything?”
Nana sipped her tea and thought for a minute. “She mentioned something about Aubrey dropping by, but I didn’t pay it much attention and don’t remember what else she said.” She patted Molly’s hands, resting on the table. “I’m sorry, honey.”
Molly’s eyes met her grandmother’s as she blinked back the tears. “And Mom was gone before the next Thanksgiving.”
***
Molly heard the guests talking upstairs on her evening rounds through the house. The Chiassons and Diana’s brothers and their wives had returned from their family events and were enjoying a nightcap in the upstairs foyer. Following her usual routine, Molly went to check the kitchen door before retiring to her apartment. Lit with an under-counter light and drenched in moonlight, the black-and-white tile floor seemed to glow and then fade into shadow. She checked the kitchen door and peeked out the window. Across the driveway, the cottage was dark. Elise had probably gone to bed as the guests had requested an early breakfast. Elise would be in the kitchen before six the next morning, meaning Molly should be awake by then. She bemoaned the early alarm clock as a movement across the yard caught her eye. Then, the motion sensor light on the barn flickered on.
She wondered what critter had triggered that. Raccoons, foxes, squirrels, coyotes, dogs, and the occasional escaped cow ran loose in the woods around Harrington House. Molly strained her eyes, peering at the two hundred yards of open space between the house and barn. The barn light cast a yellowish glow in the near-black night. Then it switched off, enveloping the barnyard in shadows from the moon and clouds. Molly blinked and turned to leave, but another flash caught her eye.
She wondered if her eyes were playing tricks. She blinked and saw it again. A light swayed back and forth on the hill behind Elise’s cottage as if someone were scanning the ground with a flashlight, looking for the path. It disappeared into the trees halfway up the hill. She waited a minute, but the light didn’t come back on.
Why would anyone risk an injury walking that trail in the dark to poke around our barn?