Moonlight Becomes You

59

On Monday morning, Lara Horgan asked an assistant in the coroner’s office to run a check on Zelda Markey, the nurse employed at the Latham Manor Residence in Newport who had found Mrs. Greta Shipley’s body.

The initial report was in by late morning. It showed she had a good work record. No professional complaints ever had been filed against her. She was a lifelong resident of Rhode Island. During her twenty years of practice, she had worked at three hospitals and four nursing homes, all within the state. She had been at Latham Manor since it opened.

Except for Lathem, she’d done a lot of moving around, Dr. Horgan thought. “Follow up with the personnel people at the places where she’s worked,” she instructed the assistant. “There’s something about that lady that bothers me.”

She then phoned the Newport police and asked to speak to Chief Brower. In the short time since she was appointed coroner, they had come to like and respect each other.

She asked Brower about the investigation of the Nuala Moore murder. He told her they had no specific leads but were following up on a couple of things and trying to approach the crime from all the logical angles. As they were speaking, Detective Jim Haggerty stuck his head in the chief’s office.

“Hold on, Lara,” Brower said. “Haggerty was doing a little follow-up on Nuala Moore’s stepdaughter. He has an expression on his face that tells me he’s onto something.”

“Maybe,” Haggerty said. “Maybe not.” He took out his note book. “At 10:45 this morning, Nuala Moore’s stepdaughter, Maggie Holloway, went into the morgue at the Newport Sentinel and requested to see the obituaries of five women. Since all five were longtime Newport residents, extensive features had been written on each of them. Ms. Holloway took the computer printouts and left. I have a copy of them here.”

Brower repeated Haggerty’s report to Lara Horgan, then added, “Ms. Holloway arrived here ten days ago for the first time. It’s pretty certain she couldn’t have known any of these women except Greta Shipley. We’ll study those obits to see if we can figure out what might have made them so interesting to her. I’ll get back to you.”

“Chief, do me a favor,” Dr. Horgan asked. “Fax copies of them to me too, okay?”

60

Janice Norton observed with a note of cynicism that life in Latham Manor did manage to survive the momentary upheaval caused by a recent death. Spurred on by her nephew’s lavish praise for the assist she had provided in relieving Cora Gebhart of her financial assets, Janice was anxious to dip once more into Dr. Lane’s applicant file, which he kept in his desk.

She had to be careful never to be caught going through his desk. To avoid being found out, she scheduled her furtive visits at times when she was sure he was out of the residence.

Late Monday afternoon was one of those times. The Lanes were driving to Boston for some sort of medical affair, a cocktail party and dinner. Janice knew that the rest of the office staff would take advantage of his absence and would be scurrying out at five o’clock on the dot.

That would be the ideal time to take the entire file to her own office and to study it carefully.

Lane’s in a really sunny mood, she thought as he popped his head into her office at three-thirty to announce he was leaving. Soon she understood the reason for his upbeat manner as he told her that someone had been by over the weekend to look at the big apartment for some clients and then had recommended it to them. The Van Hillearys had called to say they would be coming up next Sunday.

“From what I understand, they’re very substantial people who would use the residence as their base in the northeast,” Dr. Lane said with obvious satisfaction. “We could wish for more guests like that.”

Meaning much less service for all that money, Janice thought. It sounds unlikely that they’ll be much good to Doug and me. If they like this place, then they already have an apartment available to them. But even if they were just going on the waiting list, there is too much risk in ripping off a couple with major assets, she reasoned. Inevitably they were surrounded by financial advisers who kept a hawk-eye watch on investments. Even her charming nephew would have a tough time softening them up.

“Well, I hope you and Odile enjoy the evening, Doctor,” Janice said as she turned briskly back to the computer. He would have been suspicious if she had stepped out of character by making small talk.

The rest of the afternoon crawled by for her. She knew it wasn’t just the anticipation of getting at the files that made the day drag. It was also the faint, nagging suspicion that someone had gone through her briefcase.

Ridiculous, she told herself. Who could have done it? Malcolm doesn’t come near my room, never mind his turning into a snooper. Then a thought came that brought a smile to her face. I’m getting paranoid because that’s exactly what I’m doing to Dr. Lane, she reasoned. Besides, Malcolm doesn’t have enough brains to spy on me.

On the other hand, she did have a hunch he was up to something. From now on she resolved to keep her personal bank statements and her copies of the files away from any place where he would have a chance to happen on them.

61

Neil’s two early meetings on Monday morning kept him out of his office until eleven o’clock. When he finally arrived there, he immediately called Maggie, but got no answer.

He then called the Van Hillearys and briefly gave them his impression of Latham Manor, concluding with a recommendation that they visit there so they could judge the place for themselves.

His next call was to the private investigator who worked on confidential assignments for Carson amp; Parker, requesting a dossier on Douglas Hansen. “Dig deep,” he instructed, “I know there’s got to be something there. This guy is a world-class sleaze.”

He then called Maggie again and was relieved when she picked up. She sounded breathless when she answered. “I just got in,” she told him.

Neil was sure he could hear agitation and anxiety in her voice. “Maggie, is anything wrong?” he asked.

“No, not at all.”

Her denial was almost a whisper, as though she were afraid of being overheard.

“Is someone with you?” he asked, his concern growing.

“No, I’m alone. I just got here.”

It wasn’t like Maggie to repeat herself, but Neil realized that, once again, she was not going to let him in on whatever was bothering her. He wanted to bombard her with questions, like “Where have you been?” and “Have you come up with any answers to the things you said were bothering you?” and “Can I help?” but he didn’t. He knew better.

Instead, he said simply, “Maggie, I’m here. Just remember that if you want to talk to someone.”

“I’ll remember.”

And you’ll do nothing about it, he thought. “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He replaced the receiver and sat for long minutes before punching in the number of his parents’ home. His father answered. Neil got straight to the point. “Dad, have you got those locks for Maggie’s windows?”

“Just picked them up.”

“Good. Do me a favor and phone over there and tell her you want to put them in this afternoon. I think something has come up that is making her nervous.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

It was a mixed comfort, Neil thought wryly, that Maggie might be more willing to confide in his father than in himself. But at least his father would be on the alert to pick up any hint of problems.

Trish came into his office the moment he was off the phone. In her hand she held a stack of messages. As she