Christmas Cloches and Corpses Read online

  He got out his phone and searched the internet to see what he could find as well. “Listen to this case: Investigators determined Ms. Poole’s death was hastened by unnecessary doses of antipsychotic drugs, which may have lethal side effects for seniors.”

  “Was this Ms. Poole in a nursing home too?” I asked.

  Jason nodded.

  “But antipsychotic drugs require a prescription, right? How was she being given the medication without a doctor’s consent?”

  “The doctor was the one who was being investigated for misconduct in Ms. Poole’s case,” he said.

  As we sat on the sofa, we forgot all about the football game and learned some more disturbing facts. According to one news article, we learned that doctors often err regarding cause of death in elderly patients. The piece cited a study in which nearly half the doctors surveyed failed to correctly identify that an elderly patient had died from a brain injury caused by a fall. One reporter concluded that medically reasonable assumptions and bias were responsible for the lack of investigation into nursing home patients’ deaths.

  At last, I snuggled up under the blanket and nestled against Jason’s side. Rascal dozed at Jason’s feet as the football players battled on the TV screen. I wished I could be a fly on the wall and know how Dwight was being treated. And then it dawned on me—I couldn’t, but maybe Max could.

  Chapter Nine

  I went in to work early on Monday morning hoping to talk with Max before Ford and his niece arrived. After unlocking the door to Designs on You and letting Jazzy out of her carrier, I gave her some kibble and water before going into the kitchen and making a pot of coffee.

  “You know, I always thought coffee smelled better than it tasted,” Max said, materializing by the refrigerator. “But I imagine it’s tastier now than it was in my day. We didn’t have all the flavored blends and creamers that are popular now. Mother’s java was as dark and thick as motor oil.”

  “I wish you could have a cup to see for yourself.” Knowing I might be interrupted soon, I said, “I’m really glad you’re here, though.”

  “It’s unusual for you to be here this early, so I figured there was something on your mind.”

  I quickly told her about the funeral home visits, the meeting with Deputy Hall, and what Jason and I had read online. “I found myself wishing I could be a fly on the wall in Dwight’s room. That way, I’d know what was going on when the staff thought Dwight was the only one there.”

  “I wish there was some way I could be that fly,” Max said.

  “I believe you can.”

  She squinted. “You know I’m tethered here, darling.”

  “Not to the extent you used to be.”

  Max caught on quickly. “I see where you’re going, but I don’t understand how I can be at the nursing home virtually without the staff thinking my poor nephew is bananas.”

  “If you aren’t visible, Dwight won’t even be aware you’re there,” I said. “I was hoping maybe Zoe could leave her muted phone in his room for a full day.”

  “Would that work?” Max asked. “Even if we could have me be there virtually, would Zoe be willing to give up her phone? She’s positively glued to that thing.”

  “I’ll try to talk with her when she gets out of school today.” The coffee finished brewing, and I poured myself a cup. “I considered a nanny cam, but—”

  “A what?” Max interrupted.

  “A small, hidden camera to record what happens when someone is away. The term was coined because parents use them to ensure their children are being properly cared for by the babysitter when they’re away.” I stirred cream and sugar into my coffee.

  “Wow.” She shook her head. “What a sad commentary on the world. But why did you decide the hidden camera wouldn’t work?”

  “It would, and we might resort to it yet,” I said. “But if something happened and you were virtually there, you could let me know and I could immediately put a stop to it.” I heard Ford’s truck pull into the lot and sighed. “You know how I hate confrontation.”

  “I know, darling. But chin up! I’m going to stay and walk you through this.”

  “Good morning!” Ford’s voice boomed through the hallway.

  “Hey, Ford,” I responded. “There’s fresh coffee.”

  “Fantastic.” He came into the kitchen. Trailing in his wake was a sullen little girl of about nine or ten years old. “Sienna, say hello to Amanda.”

  “Hi.” Sienna crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Hi, Sienna,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you looking forward to spending time with your Uncle Ford this week?”

  “No. This place is boring.” The child heaved a dramatic sigh.

  “Amanda has a cat,” Ford said.

  Max gave a cry of indignation. “Don’t sic the child on our precious Jasmine!”

  “So?” Sienna scowled at Ford. “I don’t like cats—they’re mean.”

  “Since when?” he asked.

  “Since my friend April’s cat scratched me.”

  “Give that child a job,” Max said.

  “What kind of job?” I asked. Naturally, my words made Ford and Sienna look at me like I was crazy. I cleared my throat. “What kind of job would you like to have when you’re older, Sienna?”

  “I’m going to be a spy…or a detective. I read spy and detective books all the time, so I’m already pretty good at it.” She jutted out her chin as if daring me to contradict her.

  “Perfect.” Max clasped her hands together. “Have her find out what to get Ms. Snooty Britches for Secret Santa.”

  “That’s a great idea!” You’d think I’d have learned by now not to respond to Max when we were in the presence of others, but it was a reflexive response. “You could be a spy for me! I can pay you.”

  Sienna’s eyes brightened and she unfolded her arms. “How much?”

  “Does five dollars a day sound fair?” I asked. “Plus, I’ll buy you a notebook and colored pens from Everything Paper to keep your observations in.”

  Ford frowned. “Amanda, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m offering your niece a job to find out what I can get Ms. Oakes for a Secret Santa gift,” I said.

  “Hey, that is a great idea.” He poured his coffee. “I need a little spying done myself.”

  “Fine. I’ll work for both of you. But, Uncle Ford, you’ll need to pay me seven dollars a day instead of five because you didn’t offer to buy me a notebook and pens.”

  “I think I like this kid,” Max said.

  “Would you do it for five a day and a book from my shop?” he asked.

  “Maybe. You got any detective books?”

  Ford couldn’t quite hide his smile. “We’ll have to go see.”

  “As soon as I put my coat and things away upstairs, I’ll be down to get the details of my assignment,” Sienna told me. “Are you okay with me working for Uncle Ford at the same time I’m on your clock?”

  “Sure. As long as you get the job done, your time is your own.”

  She thrust out her small hand. “I’ll do my best for you.”

  I shook her hand. “I have the utmost confidence in your abilities.”

  When Sienna turned and started down the hall toward the staircase, Ford gave me a look of astonishment and mouthed, How’d you do that?

  I smiled and shrugged.

  When Max and I were back in Designs on You and I’d heard Ford and Sienna clomping up the stairs, I said, “You’re an absolute genius, Max. How’d you know giving her a job would work?”

  “Darling, I don’t care how old a person is—or isn’t—she wants to feel valued. Giving her a job gives her something to keep her occupied during the day while she’s stuck here with her uncle, and the pay provides a reward she can happily anticipate.” She perched on the worktable beside Jazzy. “Having her spy on Oakes was inspired, though. What a gasser!”

  “Thanks, but I’d have never even considered giving her a job if you hadn’t suggest
ed it.” I laughed. “I was able to avoid an awkward conversation, and I might gain some insights into what makes Trish Oakes tick.”

  Within minutes, Sienna the Spy came knocking. “I’m ready.” She came inside and closed the door. “I read the note.”

  I had notes on both entrances to Designs on You requesting visitors to keep the doors shut so Jazzy couldn’t get out. I doubted the cat would have much interest in wandering around Shops on Main—especially since Max spent her time here with us—but I couldn’t risk her getting outside and into the busy highway.

  “Where is your cat?” Sienna asked.

  Jazzy was still sitting on the worktable with Max.

  I nodded in their direction and asked, “Would you like to pet her?”

  “No, thank you. Not until I’m sure she won’t bite or scratch me.” She rubbed her nose. “Everything Paper is open now.”

  “Then let’s go introduce you to Frank and Ella and get your supplies.”

  “I’ll pop back in later,” Max said.

  I waved goodbye.

  “Do you always wave to your cat?” Sienna asked.

  The tinkling of Max’s laughter reverberated in her wake.

  “Fairly often,” I said.

  Frank and Ella were still hanging up their coats when Sienna and I went into the shop.

  “Good morning. This is Sienna, Ford’s niece.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Frank said. “I’m Frank, and this lovely lady is my wife, Ella.”

  “Hi.” Sienna was already looking at notebooks. “I’m in a hurry because I need to get to work.”

  Frank grinned. “Ford has your nose to the grindstone already?”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I am working for Uncle Ford and for Amanda.” She put her notebook and pens on the counter.

  “What sort of work do you do?” Ella asked.

  “I have a fledgling detective agency. They want me to find out what they should get for their Secret Santa people.”

  Ella raised her brows. “What’s your going rate?”

  Max popped back in as I was cutting out Ruby’s coat. “That’s going to be gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. Where’s our little spy?”

  “She’s in Trish Oakes’ office.”

  “Already?” I laughed. “I’m impressed.”

  “So am I. The kid’s got moxie.”

  “Does she ever. We went to buy the notebook and pens, and now she’s working for Frank and Ella too,” I said. “I think maybe one of them got my name because they scheduled their meeting with Sienna after lunch—of course, lunch is included in their payment.”

  “I love it! That’s the elephant’s eyebrows.”

  Jazzy yawned, stretched, and got out of her bed to come see Max.

  “Hello, lovely,” Max said. To me, she asked, “Would you like to know which one of the Petermans drew your name?”

  “No.” I waffled. “Yes.” I waffled again. “No.”

  “Which is it, Toots?”

  “No.” I bit my lip. “No. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “All right. Frankly, I’d want to know. I hate to be kept in suspense.”

  “So, it’s Frank.”

  She pursed her lips. “I didn’t say that.”

  My cell phone rang. I frowned when I saw the caller identification—it was Zoe. She shouldn’t be calling this time of day when school was still in session.

  “Hey, Zoe. Is everything okay?”

  “No. I spoke with Papaw before school this morning. Another one of his friends died last night.”

  Chapter Ten

  A fter calling Grandpa Dave and asking him to meet me at the nursing home, I put a note on the doors saying I’d gone to lunch and headed toward Winter Garden. Max promised to stay with Jazzy. Although Max couldn’t physically restrain Jazzy if the cat started to get into something toxic, she could move. That’s all Max ever had to do—wherever she went, Jazzy followed. Not that there was anything particularly dangerous to Jazzy in the shop—no poinsettias and only one small artificial tree on the mantle, keeping the picture window free for displaying clothes. Jazzy had never been a cord-chewer, but it was always best to err on the side of caution; and I felt better knowing Max was there with her.

  These were the banalities I flooded my brain with to avoid wondering what I might find when I reached the nursing home. Mainly, I was afraid Dwight might be heavily sedated by the time I got there. If he was upset before Zoe left for school, had he been able to hide his agitation from the nurse with the penchant for administering sleeping pills?

  Grandpa Dave was already there when I arrived. He was waiting for me in his truck. Luckily, there was an empty parking space beside him. I pulled in, parked, and locked the car. Grandpa motioned for me to get into the truck.

  I opened the door and hopped up onto the passenger seat. “Thank you for coming. I hope this isn’t disrupting your day.”

  “Not at all, Pup. Glad I can help. But after all your sleuthing over the weekend, what do you think is going on here?”

  “Honestly, it could be nothing more than our buying into Dwight’s fears,” I said. “I do know the one nurse I spoke with on Friday was more than willing to give him a sleeping pill he didn’t need. But who knows? Even that could’ve been regulation—I’m sure nursing home staffers want to keep their residents calm and happy.”

  “And sedated patients are calmer,” Grandpa said. “Yet that solution should be the exception rather than the rule.”

  I told Grandpa about some of the horror stories Jason and I had found online.

  “Just because you read a news article or two about some isolated cases doesn’t mean anything untoward is happening here.” He opened his door. “Now, let’s go make sure it isn’t.”

  We went inside, signed the visitors’ log, and hurried to Dwight’s room. He was sleeping.

  “Should we wake him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s ring for a nurse.” He pressed the nurse call button on the bedrail.

  A voice came over the intercom. “Yes, Mr. Hall?”

  “Could I see you please?” Grandpa asked.

  There was an audible sigh before the voice responded, “I’ll be there momentarily.”

  Within two minutes, a chipper woman with a warm smile strolled into Dwight’s room. “Hi, there.” Her eyes darted from Dwight’s sleeping form to Grandpa and me. “Did he fall asleep that quickly?”

  “He was sleeping when we got here,” Grandpa said. “I’m the one who rang for you.”

  “You certainly seem more cheerful now than you did over the intercom,” I said.

  The woman chuckled. “That wasn’t me. You spoke with Penelope—I’m Sally Jane.”

  I noticed Sally Jane wore jeans and a sweater rather than scrubs or a nurse’s uniform. “Are you off-duty? We don’t want to bother you if you aren’t on the clock.”

  “No, honey, I’m a volunteer. I come here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays to help out.”

  “That’s awfully thoughtful of you,” Grandpa said. “Do you have family here?”

  “No, but that’s all right.” She gave another throaty chuckle. “I feel like I get back more than I give.”

  Jerking my head toward the bed, I asked if there was somewhere we could talk where we wouldn’t disturb Dwight.

  “Sure. Let’s go to the cafeteria.”

  Grandpa and I followed Sally Jane down the hall and into the lunchroom where many residents sat with their trays of food. It appeared they were having chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas today. As we passed the tables, Sally Jane spoke to many of the diners, calling them by name. They seemed to adore her.

  We made our way to a small corner table.

  “I can get y’all a plate if you’re hungry,” Sally Jane said, pulling out a chair and sitting where she could keep an eye on the residents.

  Grandpa and I thanked her but declined the offer.

  I searched his eyes seeking some sort of reassuranc
e. He knew me so well that he gave me a brief nod letting me know that he, too, trusted Sally Jane.

  “Sally Jane, is Dwight feeling well today?” I asked.

  “He was upset when I first got here this morning,” she said. “One of his friends died up in the night. I know the staff tries to keep residents from knowing right away when someone passes, but they always know.”

  “Did one of the nurses give him a sleeping pill?” Grandpa asked.

  “Maybe. They do that sometimes—it’s common. In Dwight’s case, if they did, I think it was a good idea. It was apparent to me that he’d been awake most of the night. It was almost as if he felt afraid to go to sleep.” She picked a napkin up off the table and began tearing it into tiny scraps. “I feel sorry for these sweet souls, living here in this place…knowing they’ll never—well, you know.”

  “You told us you thought in Dwight’s case it would have been a good idea for him to have been given a sedative today, if he was given one,” I said. “Do you ever feel the staff doles out sleeping pills unnecessarily?”

  Sally Jane’s sharp eyes looked from me to Grandpa before scanning the room. When she spoke, her voice was just above a whisper. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “We don’t either.” I gave her an abbreviated version of Dwight’s behavior since Friday. “We’re not sure if Dwight is simply being paranoid or if he’s right to be concerned.”

  She bit her lip. “He’s correct in assuming that if he gets too rowdy or contentious, he’ll be given a sedative. But I don’t believe anyone would purposefully harm him.” Scanning the room again, she added, “That said, I do believe some of the nurses are too quick on the draw when it comes to sedation.”

  “The resident who died last night,” Grandpa said, “was the cause of death heart failure?”

  Shaking her head, she answered, “He fell and hit his head.”

  “That’s terrible.” I decided to go ahead and ask the question I’d been dancing around. “Sally Jane, do you think there are any shady practices going on here?”