Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 17

          A gray cloud hung overhead that Sunday. Sure, the sun was bright and the sky beautiful, but my mind was clouded with negativity. Not only had two of my favorite people been lying to me for two weeks but my only evidence had gone belly up in one two-minute phone call.

          Thankfully Taste Teas was less crowded than most Sundays. Practically empty, in fact. I wasn't in the mood to socialize with any other humans and the universe had mostly complied. Except for Johnny but he was busy painting upstairs.

          I sat behind the counter, staring across the room at a bouquet of golden irises. Courtesy of Manny and stuffed into an odd geometric black vase—the only vase I could find. When the delivery man had dropped them off, I'd thought of trashing them but the cheapskate in me couldn't be wasteful not even on principle. And besides that, they were beautiful. He knew yellow was my favorite color.

          I sat staring at them and releasing my body's pressure valve every so often with a melodramatic sigh. My phone sat on top of the counter—face down ironically—on silent and vibrating about once an hour.

          That was an improvement from the once every five minutes he was calling last night. At least he hadn't stopped by. Not the apartment. Not here. Manny was astute like that and perfectly understood my need for space even though his constant calls suggested he really didn't want to give it to me. I appreciated it, but some part of me, I admit, longed to see him.

          I looked down to the spiral notebook opened in front of me and sighed again. My plan to take my mind off my interpersonal problems was to try to work out my professional problems. Like who killed Diana Dupont and why.

          So far, I'd worked out that murder was probable and that one of our will conspirators was likely the culprit. What I didn't know was how and when.

          The lined paper in front of me was graffitied with scribbles and doodles and scratch outs. Names, places, opportunity. What I'd worked out was mostly the inner workings of the conspiracy. It was motive that was shaky.

          From what I figure, this started with Corrine selling Gabe prescription drugs. She got fired and Gabe promised his friend a job working for his sick mother. They flubbed the employment documents or disregarded it and she's in. Robert wrote up the first will and passed the info to Malik. Malik was furious and concocted a plan to change the will, but they needed the help of a nurse. They pulled Corrine and Gabe in with a promise of money. One night, Corrine or Gabe let the other two into the house. Corrine drugged her just enough so that's she was lucid enough to sign the new will. Corrine maybe accidently overdosed her.

          Something was missing from the picture here, but I wasn't sure what.

          I was pulled from my thoughts by a mild clearing of a throat. Johnny stood to my side in his work boots and jeans; his hands splattered with paint.

         "Do you like these flowers?" he said, pointing to the bouquet.

          "What?"

          "Do you like these flowers?"

          It was a Herculean task not to sigh again. "Do I like these flowers? What a thing to say."

          "Could I borrow them? For a still-life?"

          "Sure. Knock yourself out."

         Johnny for his part had spent the morning tip toeing around me as if I would blow at any minute. I was grateful. As much as I enjoy teasing him, I wasn't really in the mood. And if he took the flowers out of my sight maybe they'd stay out of my mind long enough to get some work done.