Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (6 page)

“For all the men who live away,” Bea continued, “Harvey goes
to visit each man at least once a week just to make sure they have the right
foods in the cupboard and that they’re keeping their residences clean and sanitary.
They have all learned to do very well, but we still monitor them. We supply a
few prepared meals from here, and Harvey takes each man to the grocery store at
least twice a month to replenish supply. If one of the men should become ill,
and mind you, we’re talking about men in their seventies and eighties now, if
they become ill with even a minor cold, they need help deciding whether to just
rest for a few days or to make a doctor appointment. They have state insurance
for that, but not all of them understand how to fill out the forms to use it. I
make the appointments and Harvey drives them and helps with the paperwork. Doctors.
Dentists. Eyeglasses. Even clothes shopping is supervised by Baylin House. That’s
in our contract with the state.”

“So most of the tasks away from the residence are Harvey’s
job,” Detective Baxter said, nodding. “We’ll need Harvey’s full name and ID.”

“His name is Harvey Richards. He needs to stay with Miss
Rosalie a while longer, but I could go and get his ID cards if that will do for
now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Gorduno said.

When Bea went to the hall and disappeared, Cassie took
advantage of the short silence. “So your investigation somehow led you to Mr.
Irwin?”

Dorothy cleared her throat loudly; Cassie pretended it
wasn’t aimed at her.

Detective Baxter glanced from one to the other with the
beginning of a smile, but then quickly concentrated on his little notebook
again, his ballpoint moving steadily on the paper.

“Well?” Cassie demanded.

Gorduno and Baxter flashed each other a look.

“Cassandra!” Dorothy sputtered, “This is really none of our
b--”

Gorduno cut her off. “We just have to follow up on all the
names that come to our attention, Ms. Crowley. It wouldn’t be helpful to read
any more into it than that.”

Bea returned with another lanyard. “These are Harvey’s ID
cards. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you,” Baxter purred, taking the cards. He
didn’t raise his eyes; he read each of Harvey’s ID cards and made more of his
endless notes in that little notebook. Cassie was surprised it wasn’t all used
up by now.

“Brady Irwin seemed pretty easy going when we talked to
him,” Gorduno ventured, talking to no one in particular. “Does he handle anger
pretty well? I mean in stressful situations. Does he do all right as far as you
know?” Gorduno was obviously offering bait and not being subtle about it.

Bea opened her mouth to answer. Then her eyes narrowed, her
jaw went tight. “If you spoke to him as you say, then you know his personality
is like a happy child around twelve years old. That does not change. He doesn’t
stress.”

“He takes medication for--”

“No, he does not take medication for anything. That’s just
the personality he was born with. He has a friendly soul.”

“Uh-huh,” Gorduno said, frowning pensively. “But how does he
handle unusual situations? Like if someone yells at him, or makes him feel
threatened? Does he become violent then?”

“Brady Irwin has never been violent in his life. He simply lacks
that capacity in his brain, and that’s a congenital condition, not a choice.” Bea
spoke through her teeth, clearly angry at the inference. “Really, Detectives,
if there’s something specific that I need to address on Brady’s behalf, please
tell me now. Otherwise, I’m asking you to leave. In fact, I’m asking everyone
to leave so I can finish my evening tasks before bedtime.”

That took everyone by surprise. Dorothy recovered quickly. “We’ll
be back on time for our appointment in the morning, Bea,” she said. “You can
call me at the hotel if you need anything before then.”

Dorothy snagged Cassie’s arm and turned toward the front
door. “We’ll walk out with these Detectives, Cassandra,” she said clearly for
their benefit. “It’s getting dark outside. We need to get back to the hotel
before we lose our dinner reservations.”

Gorduno and Baxter followed them out the door, across the front
gallery, down the steps and onto the cracked concrete driveway.

“Both of you are staying at a hotel?” Detective Baxter asked
casually.

“We can be reached at The Marlin,” Dorothy acknowledged. “Detective
Gorduno has the information.”

Baxter’s voice had come from behind, but not very far away.

Also coming from behind was a faint click . . . click . . .
click . . . that paced their footsteps. Cassie wondered if one of the cops had
a rock stuck in the bottom of his shoe.

Gorduno’s unmarked sedan was behind the rented Explorer. Even
in the semi-glow of streetlight, Cassie could make out side-mounted spotlights
and a dash-mounted strobe.

It was not a good idea to make a U-turn in front of the cops,
so she drove away from Baylin House going straight ahead.

“You have to go back to West Bend to connect with Bayside
Boulevard, Cassandra,” Dorothy reminded.

Cassie rolled her eyes, wondering why it bothered her so
much that Dorothy had this need to have complete control; it really was Dorothy’s
problem.

“The police are still behind us,” Cassie told her.

Dorothy glanced into the side mirror on her door and nodded
quietly; Cassie took that to mean she had Dorothy’s permission.

She turned right at the first cross street; the unmarked
car’s headlights followed. Two blocks later she turned right again, onto Mayfair
Boulevard, and again the tan sedan stayed right behind them.

The signal at West Bend was visible now; the digital clock
in the Explorer’s dashboard said 8:06; Cassie had not realized they were at
Baylin House that long. Dorothy must be tired; maybe that made her temper brittle.

The signal changed. Cassie made the left turn, and then kept
one eye on the speedometer, the other on traffic; the Detectives were still on her
bumper.

“What time is our appointment with Rosalie tomorrow
morning?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay a normal tone.

“Eight o’clock. Bea will have her up and bathed and ready by
then, so please be sure you’re ready to leave the hotel by seven-thirty.” Dorothy’s
tone was audibly strained.

“Yes I will thanks.”

“My body stays on Florida time,” Dorothy said next, a little
less strained, more like glib. Maybe everything she said just grated on Cassie’s
nerves. “I’ll have room service breakfast when I wake. You might want to put in
your order tonight for delivery quickly when you get up. With your body on
Nevada time, they may already have more than an hour backlog for service by the
time you’re awake.”

“Ok,” Cassie acknowledged.

Dorothy grunted something under her breath. Cassie ignored
it.

After that they were both quiet for half a mile or so. When Dorothy
spoke again there was high frustration in her tone. “Cassandra, I must tell you
I’m very disappointed in you trying to become involved with police business
this evening.”

Cassie clamped her teeth knowing the response she really
wanted to make would be a big mistake.

“Those men are Homicide Detectives investigating a murder,
and it’s pretty clear they suspect Brady Irwin had something to do with it. I
won’t hazard a guess whether he is capable of that sort of thing. No matter how
much Rosalie thinks she controls her little collection of Frankenstein Monsters
from Oakwood -- retarded people are not always one-hundred percent predictable.
Whatever problem brought the police to Baylin House is not our business, and I
want you to stay completely out of it. Your job is to work on Rosalie’s
autobiography and nothing more. Absolutely
nothing
more! Is that
understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cassie answered carefully. “Understood.”

“And I’m not at all happy that you asked Rosalie for the
manuscript tonight.”

“Really, I . . !” Cassie barely caught herself.

“Yes, really, Cassandra! Your interaction with Rosalie will
be limited to the morning hours when she has had her rest and feels up to it. Do
not arrive before eight in the morning, and make sure to leave every afternoon
by two so Bea can take care of her afternoon medication. Do not bother Rosalie
for anything outside those hours, and do not ever ask her for anything like
that again.”

“But I thought you brought me here tonight specifically so I
could--”

“I took you over there so you could meet her . . . so she
would begin to feel comfortable with you and what you’ll need from her to earn
your paycheck. Not so you could badger her into--”

“Mrs. Kennelly, I’m sorry, but I didn’t badger Rosalie for
anything!” Cassie’s voice was louder in the confines of the car than she
intended.

But, dammit, she did not badger Rosalie Baylin! Rosalie had seemed
perfectly comfortable and didn’t hesitate to let Cassie take the manuscript. Why
was Dorothy so upset about it?

Cassie just could not take any more for one day. Her mood
grew worse by increasingly heavy traffic, and by the unmarked police car still riding
on their bumper. Cassie’s hands gripped the wheel so hard her fingers began to
cramp.

They drove in silence. Just short of the signal at Bayside
Boulevard Cassie began carefully working into the left turn lane; the
Detectives moved to the right, and finally turned away.

Cassie took a deep breath. “I do appreciate you making it
possible for me to meet Rosalie and get started right away, Mrs. Kennelly.”

“To meet her,” Dorothy growled.

Cassie grunted under her breath. “You created a schedule
that demands I not waste any precious minutes, not even today, so please
forgive me if I seem too eager to begin the work.”

Dorothy sniffed but she did not speak.

Cassie took another deep breath and sighed heavily. She was
sorry, but not enough to say it. She did deliberately bypass the Valet Lane,
and found space in self-parking fairly close to the north door.

As soon as she cut the engine, Dorothy climbed out of the Explorer
and marched to the hotel’s side entrance without a word.

Cassie stayed behind, taking time to gather her bag from the
back seat, and make sure the car doors were locked. Part of her wondered if she
should run to catch up and kiss Dorothy’s hand, and beg for her job back.

An even stronger part simply hugged her bag tighter, loving
the feel of its bulk because
the job
, Rosalie’s manuscript, was inside.

Slowing her pace even more, Cassie waited outside until
Dorothy Kennelly had marched all the way down the hall and stepped into the
elevator at the end, and the elevator door closed in front of her. She was gone
before Cassie entered the building.

There were two vending machines next to the elevator. Cassie
grabbed an ice cream bar from one of them and took it upstairs. Her stomach would
not handle any kind of meal tonight, but she needed something.

She ate sitting cross-legged in the middle of the extra bed,
reading and sorting pages from Rosalie’s envelope. Ninety-three pages so far,
typed in single-space lines – difficult reading anyway, and made worse because Rosalie’s
paragraphs ran long. Not one word that Cassie could see was about Rosalie’s
life before the day she found the house on Fullmer Street and began remodeling.
Cassie’s assignment, to extract details of something that took place before
Baylin House, was defined well enough by Dorothy. But it was going to take a
lot more than ‘filling in’, as she had described it.

When Cassie finished the ice cream she washed her hands and
re-read through the pages where Rosalie wrote of locating the old house, and struggling
with finances because her own money ran out before the building was usable. She
had enlisted different groups to help: Contractor’s Associations, University
Sororities, Petroleum Club Ladies Auxiliary, and an impressive list of corporate
giants in Houston. She was clever enough to ask for small amounts from many
sources, and most often succeeded on the first call.

Another group of pages told of the first six men released, describing
them as unable to do anything beyond put food in their mouths and wipe their
bottoms. She wrote that she was grateful they were able to do that much
considering the environment they came from. She named them as they had arrived,
and Cassie recognized the first four names – Neil Cooper, Tom Anderson, Calvin
Dodd, and Brady Irwin. Two more names she recognized because Bea had asked the
Detectives about them: Jonathan Wilbur and Rudy Cole. The rest of the names didn’t
register in her head.

Cassie’s eyes burned from following words on tightly typed
pages. She really needed to give it up for tonight; the laptop’s digital clock
said 9:03PM.

She laid down the pages and closed the computer’s lid. It
was bedtime and she had to be up and ready on time tomorrow.

A glance at the TV reminded her Texas was two hours later
than her computer thought -- the Eleven O’clock News was beginning. Cripes! She
needed to find an old sitcom to play in the background so she could force herself
to fall asleep quickly. She reached for the remote control to change channels. Then
she froze, watching the screen, and fumbled to turn up the volume.

Detective Gorduno stood in bright sunlight talking to a
reporter. Several yards behind him was broad-shouldered and lanky Detective
Baxter, half-turned away and talking to someone else.

Gorduno already looked tired in the interview, though not as
tired as he looked hours later when he was confronted by Dorothy Kennelly in
the hall outside Rosalie’s bedroom. By the time Cassie got the volume control
figured out Gorduno was walking away to join Detective Baxter inside a fence
near a car with its trunk lid open.

The glamour-coifed female reporter faced the camera to recap
her story – adding another half minute of airtime to her credit. “As you can
see, the body was found in the trunk of an older model car left in the parking
lot of the QuickStop Market in the old San Miguel Ranch community south of the
Cordell River. The Coroner’s office has determined Cause of Death as internal
bleeding from a ruptured spleen, possibly from one or more blows by unknown
persons, with death estimated between midnight Saturday night and noon Sunday. In
other news the family of Michelle Cozz-ee-aay Thornton will celebrate her 100
^th
birthday next month by . . . .”

Cassie turned the sound back down.

Cause of death was a ruptured spleen? That explained why
Detective Gorduno wanted to know if Brady Irwin could be pushed to violence. It
didn’t mean Dorothy’s description of them as Frankenstein Monsters was valid,
but Cassie had to admit even Rosalie’s description of how they started out was
grim.

Cassie wrote the names ‘
QuickStop Market
’, and ‘
San
Miguel Ranch south of Cordell River
’, on a back page in her steno book, not
sure why she wanted it, but needing to make sure she could find it when she
figured that out.