Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) Page 6

  The paramedics began packing up their equipment as partygoers slowly made their way to the door. There would be no entertainment tonight.

  In the aftermath, I’d asked one of Keay’s friends if the man was diabetic and found out that he was not.

  “Then why would he have said, ‘injection,’ I wonder,” I murmured to Frances.

  “It’s a mystery. And look,” she said with a sour lemon grimace, “here come Mutt and Jeff. Maybe they’ll help you solve it.”

  I glanced up. Our local homicide detectives, Rodriguez and Flynn, were making their way over to us. I’d worked with the pair before and had always found portly Rodriguez to be affable and kind, though slow to react. His younger partner, Flynn, was jumpy, wiry, and prone to quick accusations and reluctant backpedaling.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “It looks like Dr. Keay died of a heart attack. Natural causes. For once, thank goodness, your services aren’t needed.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Miz Wheaton,” Rodriguez said. He took out a plaid handkerchief and wiped sweat from the side of his face. “How about after that warm welcome, you tell us what happened here tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. That was no way to greet you. Maybe I’m still in shock.”

  “No worries, amiga,” he said.

  I gave him a quick rundown about how Dr. Keay had gone missing and how we’d come upon him here in the auditorium moments before he collapsed. “That’s really it,” I said.

  “How long was he missing?” Flynn asked. The tenor of Flynn’s question set me on edge. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

  “I don’t know precisely,” I said. “We needed him to make a speech and when the time came, he was nowhere to be found.” I pointed. “Unfortunately, when he showed up, it was too late for anyone to help.”

  Rodriguez labored across the room to take a closer look at the scene surrounding Dr. Keay’s body. Speaking over his shoulder, he added, “The station was alerted when the 9-1-1 call came in. We’re here simply as a precaution. With all that happens at the estate, you never know.” Gesturing to the wing on his left, he asked, “He came out from here?”

  I nodded.

  “Anybody back here with him?” Rodriguez asked.

  “No,” I said. “While one of the doctors tried to revive Dr. Keay, Frances went to check. She wanted to see what Dr. Keay might have been doing back there. She said it was completely vacant.”

  “No way out?” Rodriguez disappeared behind the wing.

  I raised my voice. “Solid brick walls.” I turned to Flynn. “Is this really necessary? It’s bad enough that a man died in front of us all. Having you here makes everyone queasy.”

  “Can you blame us for being careful?” he asked. “Never a dull moment at Marshfield.”

  “Your high opinion of us leaves me breathless,” I said.

  Flynn was as cocky as ever, but this time, at least, he didn’t sneer. “As well it should.”

  While we waited for the stout detective to reemerge, I lowered my voice. “Is Rodriguez okay?”

  My question must have surprised Flynn. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He looks pale. He’s gained weight, hasn’t he?”

  “What are you, his mother now?” Before I could snap back a reply, Flynn gestured with his chin. “Who’s that?”

  Behind me, Serena sat in the same folding chair she’d been in since we’d arrived, both hands clutching her face. She moaned quietly, rocking back and forth in her seat.

  “The deceased doctor’s date for the evening,” I said. “After we”—I faltered—“after we knew that Keay wasn’t coming back, I got her a drink of water and asked if there was anyone she wanted me to call to pick her up.”

  “And?”

  “A friend is coming. From Westville. She’s stuck here for a while.”

  Rodriguez came around from the right and took a knee next to the corpse.

  Flynn shot a glance at him. “I’ll talk with her.”

  Had I not known Flynn, I would have assumed that the younger detective was eager to swoop in and play knight on white steed to Serena’s damsel in distress. But this guy was all business all the time, and from the glint in his eye, I could tell he intended to interrogate the distraught girl. Serena wouldn’t stand a chance under the detective’s harsh tactics.

  I made it to her side two steps before he did. “Serena,” I said, “this is Detective Flynn of the Emberstowne Police Department.” When she looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, I asked, “Are you doing okay?”

  “I knew he was older,” she said, “but I didn’t think he was old enough to die.”

  Flynn whipped out a small notebook and pen. “What was your relationship with the deceased?”

  Serena turned to me, mouth open in surprise, bottom lip quivering.

  “Detective Flynn wants to ask you a few questions,” I said, doing my best to keep her tears from starting up again.

  “You’re a detective?” she said to Flynn. To me, she asked, “Did Leland do something illegal?”

  “No,” I said. “Not that I know of. The police are simply here to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  She blinked and nodded. Turning to Flynn, she said, “Leland is my boyfriend.” She held a hand up as though to shield herself from seeing Keay’s motionless form on the stage floor across the room. “I mean, he was.”

  Serena didn’t see the judgmental smirk on Flynn’s face, and for that I was grateful.

  “How long were you two a couple?” he asked. Could the man ever pose a question without sounding so snarly? “How long had you been seeing each other?”

  “We had our three-month anniversary last week. I was really excited because he took me to a special dinner and then dancing.”

  I tried to envision that. Couldn’t.

  “Where did you first meet Dr. Keay?” Flynn asked, still taking notes.

  “At a club in Westville.”

  Flynn stopped writing. He looked up. “Dr. Keay went clubbing?”

  She gave a tiny shrug. “I guess. I’d seen him there a few times before we met. He came over and introduced himself one night. We’ve been together ever since.”

  I decided to join the conversation. “Do you know if Dr. Keay needed to take any injections? Do you know if he had any illnesses he was fighting?”

  She shook her head.

  Flynn looked like he was about to cast me away, but remembering the smell I’d noticed when trying to rouse the doctor, I pressed on. “Was he a big drinker?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, eyes wide. “That was the weird part about meeting him at a club. He never touched alcohol. He’d buy drinks for me if I wanted them, but he stuck to soda and stuff.”

  “Really?” I said. I looked over at Flynn.

  He’d fisted one hip and now gestured with the hand holding the notebook. “Oh, please. Proceed with your line of questioning, Detective Wheaton.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, I continued, “Serena, you saw how he stumbled onstage right before he collapsed. It looked to me as though he’d been drinking. Heavily.”

  “I was with him all night,” she said. “He ordered club soda with a twist of lime from the bartender. That’s all he had.”

  “What about when he left you alone? He could have been drinking then.”

  She gave me a skeptical look, which I deserved. There was no way she could know what he’d done when he’d been on his own. Plus, she pointed out the obvious: “That would have to be a lot of drinking in a super-short period of time. I’ve never seen anybody get that drunk that fast. And some of my friends can really pound down a lot of liquor super quick.”

  “Did Dr. Keay say or do anything before he left you alone that could explain where he was going?”

&nbs
p; “He said he needed to talk with someone privately, and that it was better if I stayed back.”

  Flynn went back to note-taking and took a step forward, effectively, though gently, elbowing me out of the way. “Who was he meeting?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A friend?” Flynn asked. “Coworker?”

  “I don’t know,” she said again.

  Flynn’s voice hardened. “He must have told you why he was leaving you alone for so long.”

  She shook her head. “He kissed me on the cheek and told me to wait for him at the bar while he talked with someone. He said he’d be right back.”

  “How long was he gone?” I asked, ignoring Flynn’s glare at my interruption.

  “I’m not sure. It seemed like a long time. I didn’t know anyone else at the party so I wandered around for a while, then came in here to wait.”

  “Why would you sit here if the rest of the party was in there?” Flynn asked, gesturing.

  “When I came in here to look for him, I saw all the empty chairs.” She pointed. “My feet hurt.”

  Flynn rolled his eyes.

  “Partner,” Rodriguez called. Whether or not Flynn expected me to stay with Serena, I didn’t care. I accompanied him as he made his way to the stage. Rodriguez grimaced, struggling to get up from his position on the floor. When he was upright, I noticed how much the man was perspiring. His breathing was fast and shallow.

  “Are you all right?” I asked him. Some maternal instinct caused me to place the back of my hand against his forehead. Cold and clammy, a lot like Keay had been seconds before he died. “You don’t look so great.”

  He massaged his chest and quirked up one side of his mouth. “Indigestion,” he said. “Too many hot peppers with dinner tonight.”

  “You had a turkey sandwich,” Flynn said. He moved closer, assessing his partner. “Maybe we need to take you in.”

  Rodriguez waved a pudgy hand. “No worries, amigo. Catching my breath is all.” He showed teeth, but I couldn’t tell whether he was smiling or experiencing pain. “I wasn’t prepared for more excitement at Marshfield tonight. I’m fine.”

  I could tell Flynn didn’t believe it. I didn’t, either.

  At that moment, someone touched my arm. I turned to face Jack. “You need any help?”

  I looked past him to see Becke waiting far back, in the doorway. “I think we’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

  “You and I need to talk,” he said.

  “I don’t think we do.”

  “I invited Becke only because you were bringing a date,” he said quietly. “Davey wasn’t using his ticket so I asked him for it. If I would have known—”

  “Jack, this is not the time or the place.”

  His expression tightened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let me know if I can do anything. I mean it.”

  “I will,” I said. We both knew I was lying.

  When he was gone, I left Flynn and Rodriguez to go find Frances. She and Bennett had formed a sort of anti-receiving line, thanking guests for attending the benefit, expressing their sorrow at the loss of Dr. Keay, and promising to keep everyone updated about the man’s sudden demise, as details became available.

  The music had been silenced, the waitstaff had begun to clean up, and there were only a few stragglers left, waiting to say good night.

  “I’m sorry for Dr. Keay’s family,” I started to say to Frances, then blurted out, “Joyce! His ex-wife. Someone ought to let her know.”

  Frances sniffed. Bennett, overhearing, leaned closer. “I’ll call her as soon as we’re wrapped up here. Better coming from a friend than hearing it secondhand, I’ll wager.”

  Serena’s friend, a young man about her age with unruly hair and silver chains hanging from his low-slung jeans, came in, escorted by one of Terrence’s staff.

  Frances said, “I’ll get her.”

  There was a lot of activity at once: The paramedics carried the unused gurney past me out the door and up the stairs as my assistant made her way toward the auditorium. Serena’s young friend remained silent except for a quick chin-lift and a muttered, “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Serena will be here in a moment,” I said. “She’s upset.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she tell you why she needed you to pick her up?”

  “No.”

  I took a deep breath. “The gentleman she was with tonight”—I had a tough time using the word boyfriend where Dr. Keay was concerned—“collapsed and died.” I gestured. “In the other room. In front of her.”

  His eyebrows almost rose. “No kidding?”

  “Be nice to Serena, okay? I think she probably needs to go straight home.”

  He made a face. “Whatever.”

  Bennett shook hands with the gastroenterologist I’d been talking with earlier. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, to at least the twentieth person in the past fifteen minutes. “It’s a shame. A terrible loss for us all.”

  “Grace!” From behind me, Frances shouted, an edge to her voice I’d never heard before. I turned to see my assistant gesturing violently from the auditorium doorway. “Come quick.”

  Chapter 8

  She grabbed my arm. “It’s Rodriguez. He needs help. Have the paramedics left?”

  “They’re on their way out now,” I said, moving past her.

  “I’ll get them. You know CPR. Get in there and do what you can.”

  With that, Frances was gone, moving faster than I thought she was capable of. I raced past Serena, who had stood up on wobbly legs. She said something as I hurried across the room, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “Go.” I pointed back the way I’d come. “Your friend is here.”

  Up at far end, there were now two men lying on the stage. The one on my left, Keay, was dead. The one on my right, Rodriguez, clutched a bicep, his eyes squeezed shut.

  Flynn crouched by his side. “They’re going for help,” he said, “hang in there.”

  I knelt on Rodriguez’s other side. “What happened?” I asked as I loosened his tie and pulled it away. “You’re okay,” I said softly, pressing my hand against Rodriguez’s damp cheek. He was still breathing, still conscious. “The paramedics haven’t left yet. They’ll be here in a second. You got lucky.”

  Through gritted teeth, he fought to get words out. “Don’t feel lucky right now.”

  I glanced up at the doorway as the paramedics raced back in. One of them was shaking his head as he took up a position next to Rodriguez and Flynn. I backed off, giving them room to work.

  “Thought maybe the dead guy had come back to life or something,” one said to the other.

  His partner made a face. “The first guy is way past help.”

  “I’m not,” Rodriguez said. “Quit talking and get the pain to stop.”

  They’d begun working even as they conversed, taking Rodriguez’s pulse, stripping the detective’s shirt to bare his furry chest, and setting nodes all over the man’s body to send telemetry to the nearest hospital.

  “Good thing they were still close by,” I said to Flynn.

  His attention trained on Rodriguez, the younger detective ran a hand up through his hair. He worked his jaw, but didn’t respond.

  Frances and Bennett had followed the paramedics into the auditorium. I met them halfway across the room. “Is everyone gone?” I asked.

  Bennett stepped sideways to be able to watch the goings-on. “I hope he’ll be all right.”

  “He’s talking. I’m no medical professional, but I assume that’s a good sign.”

  We chatted idly the way people do when they’re forced to stand by, helpless, during a crisis such as this. I was sure none of us would remember later what we talked about. All we could do was watch the paramedics in action, doing what they did best. It could have been ten minutes, it could have b
een a half hour—I lost track of time—but soon they had him sitting up, and I was relieved to see that the detective’s color had improved.

  Behind us, one of Terrence’s team cleared his throat. “The coroner is here,” he said. “What do I do?”

  The paramedics had begun preparing Rodriguez for transport. I knew that the narrow corridor and steps between the front door and the party room wouldn’t accommodate two stretchers at once, so I said, “Bring them in and have them wait off to the side, okay? Dr. Keay isn’t going anywhere.”

  Flynn still hadn’t said much. He stood apart from us, constantly rocking onto the balls of his feet as though preparing to sprint. He rubbed his chin and stretched his neck, watching the medics attempt to lift his half-naked partner onto the gurney. Rodriguez was a big man, and they were working hard to move him without disturbing Keay’s body, not four feet away.

  “Let me help,” Flynn said. Though wiry and slim, the guy had muscle. Within seconds the heavyset detective was safely in place. The paramedics began strapping him in.

  The coroner and his assistants hurried by, apparently unaware of Rodriguez’s health crisis. “Coroner coming through,” they said, then asked, “Where’s the body?” loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  The awkward silence that followed was broken by Rodriguez’s labored though wry exclamation: “Whatever you do, don’t get us mixed up!”

  * * *

  Once Rodriguez had been rushed off to the hospital with Flynn by his side, and Keay’s body had been removed to the morgue, Bennett, Frances, and I pulled folding chairs from the auditorium and set them up near the buffet while the waitstaff worked to clear the detritus and pack up the remaining food.

  Frances fixed herself a plate of appetizers and sat down. “Shame to let all this go to waste.” She lifted a mini beef Wellington and took a bite. “Still hot,” she said around the mouthful.

  “Any suggestions for what to do with it all?” Bennett asked.

  One of the waiters had been listening in. “There’s still quite a bit that we haven’t even unpacked from the hotboxes,” he said. “I know of a homeless shelter on the outskirts of town. I’ve volunteered there a few times. I’m sure they’d be willing to accept a last-minute donation.”