Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (5 page)

Harvey growled something unintelligible and stomped up the
rear stairs. Bea waddled, short winded, into the doorway of Rosalie’s bedroom
and announced there were two police officers insisting they speak to Miss
Rosalie.

The police must have followed Bea into the hall; Cassie
could hear their murmured voices. Dorothy snapped into military mode and blocked
the bedroom door with her body nearly as well as Harvey had blocked the house when
Dorothy and Cassie arrived.

“I insist you show your identification before you come into
this room,” she demanded.

Rosalie’s eyes flew wide in alarm at the sound of Dorothy’s
bark.

Cassie stayed crouched on her knees and tugged the fat
envelope free from beside the chair. She hugged it to her chest, and carefully
scooted a few inches closer to the wall hoping to be inconspicuous.

“My name is Detective Gorduno and this is Detective Baxter,”
the older of the two men said, and displayed his badge under Dorothy’s nose. He
looked about the same age as Cassie’s dad, the same little paunch at the
beltline, thinning dark gray hair. He wore a dark suit that looked like he had
slept in it.

“We’re here to talk to Ms. Rosalie Baylin,” he said. “Are
you Rosalie Baylin?” He stood toe to toe with Dorothy Kennelly even though his
nose was below her chin. He outweighed her at least fifty pounds and it was
obvious he knew his badge outranked whatever authority she thought she had.

The second man, Detective Baxter, moved into the doorway
behind Detective Gorduno. He was half a head taller than Dorothy and drop-dead
gorgeous with great shoulders, dark hair and dark eyes, also wearing a dark
suit, but all Cassie could really see was an open necked pastel blue shirt. He
looked more like a GQ cover than a cop.

He flipped open a badge wallet and held it out for anyone
who wanted to look, briefly scanning the path into the room over the top of
Gorduno’s head. He ignored Dorothy as though she were part of the furniture.

His gaze settled on Cassie kneeling in front of Rosalie’s
chair, then on Rosalie, then to Cassie again with the faintest lift of one
eyebrow. He squeezed around the others and moved into the room. His eyes
flicked on Cassie again just long enough; she felt a wave of lusty warmth that
was unwelcome under the circumstances, and instantly hated the expression on
his face.

“Ms. Baylin is very ill,” Cassie hissed, rising to her feet,
still hugging the fat manila envelope. “This is not a good time, Detective.”

“Then we’re sorry to intrude. This is police business, Miss
. . ?”

Well, double-cripes, Cassie really liked the deep bell sound
of his voice! But she still didn’t like him coming into Rosalie’s room. “My
name is Cassandra Crowley,” she answered tersely. “Do I need to spell that for
the record?”

He ignored her attitude as easily as he had ignored Dorothy.

Dorothy glanced over her shoulder into the bedroom, slowly
working Detective Gorduno toward the living room, promising to answer whatever
questions he wanted to ask.

“Then this must be Ms. Rosalie Baylin?” Detective Baxter
stepped in front of Rosalie’s chair, wedging himself in front of Cassie so that
she had to move another foot away to avoid being stepped on. She had a flashing
wish for a baseball bat, staring at the back of his head. His suit jacket was
badly wrinkled in back, and his body scent was old – not stinky bad, but definitely
this was not the beginning of his work day.

He was still holding out the badge in front of him when he
squatted down to Rosalie’s eye level. Cassie was forced another few inches
aside to make room for him, and had to look away to keep from staring down at
leg muscles pressed against the fabric of his slacks; not bulging like a weight
lifter, but long and strong like a runner or a swimmer.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Ms. Baylin, but I need to
ask if you know a man named Brady Irwin. Is that name familiar to you?”

“Brady?” Rosalie asked weakly, raising her head to peer
through her fog at the Detective. Her eyes looked dazed, and she frowned as she
struggled to comprehend.

She blinked, gasped for a deeper breath, and then whimpered.
“Police? Did you say police? Dear God! Is Brady all right?”

Her eyes flared, still unfocused; her mouth moved with no
sound; she was working herself into hysteria trying to sit up, trying to
understand why police were asking the question, fighting hard against the kind
of sleep that comes from a strong dose of something powerful. Now she was
panting; her lungs not working in sync with the breath she struggled to gain.

“Bea . . .” Cassie called with just enough volume to get Bea’s
attention.

Then she growled at the Detective, “Do you have any idea
what you’ve done?”

Detective Baxter raised to his feet, avoiding Cassie’s eyes,
his face emotionless.

Bea came through the door first, followed closely by Harvey.
Cassie was surprised at how careful Harvey was to press himself against the
wall in the narrow space behind Rosalie’s chair, avoiding physical contact with
Detective Baxter. Rosalie appeared barely conscious now after her frightened
exertion.

“Beee,” Rosalie slurred when the rotund little woman edged
her way to the other side of the chair pushing the Detective out of the way, “Beeee,
wha’happen to Brady?

“Shhhhh, Miss Rosalie, you stay calm now. Nothing’s happened
to Brady that we know of.” Bea quickly drew a stethoscope from her pocket and
pressed it to Rosalie’s chest. She listened for a very brief moment, and then
whispered close to Rosalie’s ear, “You just take a nice deep breath and think
about that lovely cloud you were watching earlier today. We’ll take care of
everything here.”

Rosalie took the deep breath as instructed. She was calmer
with Bea and Harvey beside her, though the lines in her face still furrowed and
her voice still keened. “Bea, you’ll see what Brady needs, won’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Rosalie, we surely will. Don’t you worry about anything;
just rest yourself and you will see everything is just fine when you wake up
tomorrow morning. Harvey will help you into your bed now.”

Bea signaled to Harvey; he leaned down to scoop Rosalie from
her chair into his arms. Rosalie laid her head against his chest easily. Cassie
realized how frail she was inside the yards of fabric, and that this must be a
normal nightly procedure. Harvey held her like a child as he brushed around the
far side of the chair, still avoiding contact with the Detective, and moved to
the side of the bed.

Bea pulled open the covers and Harvey gently lay Rosalie
down. Cassie watched him affectionately slide Rosalie’s slippers off her feet,
then pull a pink sheet across her body before he slid her arms from the
dressing gown with tender movements Cassie wouldn’t have thought possible for a
man his size.

Rosalie was peacefully asleep by the time he tugged the last
of the dressing gown from under her and tucked the sheet up closer to her chin.
Cassie watched in awe as the big man eased himself into the chair beside Rosalie’s
bed, and draped his bulky arm on the bed beside hers and tenderly stroked her
hand, droning a deep voiced whisper to soothe her into deep, deep sleep.

“Her meds are taking over now. Please come with me,” Bea
said to the Detective. Cassie followed them out of the room, still glaring up at
his back, and fighting mixed emotions of unwanted lust, and acidic anger from a
long day of frustration.

Dorothy and Detective Gorduno stood together in the living
room, speaking calmly to each other. “Bea, I’ve been able to explain the nature
of Baylin House and about Rosalie’s illness to Detective Gorduno, but you’ll
have to answer his questions about Brady Irwin. He hasn’t been injured or
anything. The Detectives are investigating a Homicide case and Brady’s name was
mentioned, that’s all”

Cassie ground her teeth – Dorothy had been ‘able to explain the
nature of Baylin House’ to the Detective?  So why couldn’t she explain it to Cassie!
Because it was just another of Dorothy’s tactics to maintain control, Cassie
recognized. It must have broiled the old witch’s brass knowing Cassie recognized
the name
Brady Irwin
after having lunch with Lawrence this afternoon. Brady
was the man described as ‘mildly deficient’. Dorothy probably loved telling the
Homicide Detective that Brady Irwin had spent half his life in a mental
institution.

“Yes?” Bea inquired, walking up to the older Detective. “What
about Brady?”

“We’re investigating a Homicide and Mr. Irwin’s name was
mentioned as possibly knowing the victim. Mr. Irwin, in turn, gave us the names
of Rosalie Baylin and Harvey. We’re following up on that information.”

“Well, I don’t think . . . I mean Brady doesn’t know anybody
except the people he works with and the ones from here . . . ,” Bea’s eyes flew
wide as a new possibility hit her. “Oh my God,” she sputtered, “who is the
victim? What happened?”

Cassie moved to the far side behind Dorothy. Detective
Baxter stood outside the tight circle and pulled a small notebook from his
pocket. He scratched a few notes while Detective Gorduno tried to answer Bea’s
questions.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of our case, Ma’am,”
Gorduno said. “We just need to get some answers.”

“Is it Rudy?” she pleaded. “Or Jonathan? Did something
happen to one of them?” Her tone had lost its authority and now was only full
of worry. Cassie could guess those were more men Lawrence Baylin released to
his sister and now were in Bea’s care.

Detective Gorduno looked as pained as Bea sounded, but not
for the same reason. “We don’t have that information, Ma’am; we just need to
ask a few questions. I understand from Mrs. Kennelly that Harvey is a caretaker
employee and you’re the person in charge here due to Rosalie Baylin’s illness. Could
I have your full name. . . and may I see your ID . . ?”

 “Yes, my name is Beatrice Morgan,” she said, tugging a
lanyard out of the opposite pocket from where she kept the stethoscope. At the
end of the lanyard were three plastic cards; “Here is my Texas Driver License,
my Health Department card, and my RN license.”

Detective Baxter reached for the cards and stretched the
lanyard far enough to hold them in view while he scratched more in his little
notebook.

“How long have you worked at this residence, Ms. Morgan?”
Gorduno asked.

“Barely a year. Dr. Lawrence Baylin hired me in Austin.”

“And you’re here because . . .?”

“Dr. Baylin hired me to move down here and take on the tasks
that Miss Rosalie has been doing herself since she founded Baylin House more
than thirty years ago. She’s too ill to do them now, but they still need to be
done.”

“I see. Could you describe your job here?”

“Yes I can. I take care of Miss Rosalie’s nursing needs, I
take care of this house, prepare meals, make daily contact with Miss Rosalie’s
charges, and--.”

“Daily contact?” Detective Baxter queried.

“Yes, part of my job is to telephone each man in our
supervisory care every morning, and if they need help of any kind, to
facilitate. I keep records of the calls and all assistance provided; that’s
part of our state requirement as well as the operating procedure for Baylin
House.” She paused, watching Detective Baxter work on his little notebook. When
he looked up she said, “I can make those private records available when I see a
proper request from the court.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Baxter said. “Can you confirm that you had
personal contact this morning with the two men you named?”

“Yes, I did,” she answered.

The two Detectives looked at each other; Gorduno nodded. Baxter
nodded back, and then said, “I can confirm neither of them was the victim in
this case if you spoke to them this morning.”

Bea blinked a couple times as that information registered. Maybe
she considered it a kindness that they bothered to tell her that much, because
now she was willing to be more cooperative. “There are five men living away
from our residence that still receive some measure of supervision through
Baylin House,” she told them. “I phone each man every morning at a specified
time to see that they are well and if they need anything.”

“And if one of these men doesn’t answer when you call . . . ?”
Gorduno asked.

“Then Harvey drives to their home address, and sees to
whatever they need.”

Detective Baxter asked, “Does that happen often?”

Cassie shifted her bag on her shoulder, trying to be
nonchalant about moving the fat manila envelope into the deepest pocket to get
it out of sight. It was awkward in her hands, and her careening imagination said
the police would confiscate it if they thought it had information they were
looking for.

“That would be very rare.” Bea answered the Detective. “They
pretty well stick around the phone that time of day, waiting for it to ring.”

“So everyone has been there to answer, no one missing in the
past two days?”

“They have answered every morning, including this morning,
yes.”

Baxter asked, “Is that the extent of your supervision of
their activities? Phone calls?”

“Well there’s a great deal more to our operation than just
phone calls. As I said, each of the men in our care is a ward of the state. Two
still live here full time, and I expect a third will move back at the end of
this month and--”

“Why is he moving back?” Detective Gorduno asked.

“He has new neighbors that play loud music, and because he
is nearly blind his hearing is very acute. Loud noises are actually painful to
him. We planned to bring him back before the holidays anyway. The issue with
the neighbor just lets us move him sooner, and at his own request rather than
ours.”

Gorduno absorbed what she said. Baxter kept scratching in
his notebook.