Rip Your Heart Out Read online

  I was going to call Regina when we got home and insist on paying her back however much she was charged for the taxi service—hopefully without having to reveal that we never got in the white SUV she'd arranged to have pick us up.

  When we pulled over at one of the bus stops, Itsy nudged me and pointed to a couple of women walking out of an office that had "Joe B. Vise—Attorney at Law" etched on the glass door. I instantly recognized Sydney and Adelaide Combs. Both were wearing identical scowls and looked as if they'd been involved in a dispute. We watched as they picked up their pace in order to catch the bus before it pulled away from the curb.

  "Duck down!" I told Itsy. "I don't want them to see us."

  "I wonder what they were doing at that lawyer's office," Itsy whispered as we crouched behind the seat in front of us.

  "I don't know. But I'm sure it has something to do with Mabel's estate. The girls didn't look too happy, did they?"

  "Nope. They were definitely pissed off about something." Itsy smiled. She was clearly pleased the twins were upset about their meeting with the attorney. "Probably found out they couldn't get what they wanted, even if they contested their aunt's will."

  We weren't surprised when the girls got off at the stop closest to the Heart Shack. I was certain they were about to commence on another fortune-hunting flurry. I didn't want them to know we'd witnessed where they'd been that morning, so I asked Itsy if she'd mind walking the few extra blocks if we waited until the next stop to get off the bus.

  "Not at all, Rapella. I owe you that much."

  You owe me a lot more than that, I thought, but kept my opinion to myself.

  * * *

  Rip was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in the door. He was concerned because he'd expected me to be back an hour or so earlier. He looked tired, as if he'd overdone it at his rehab session. He asked, "Did you two run into some kind of trouble, honey?"

  "No trouble. It was just a slight hiccup that made our trip take a little longer than expected. Don't you think you should be upstairs, relaxing in the recliner?"

  "Yes, but I wanted to get Goofus back in his cage first."

  "Why isn't Goofus in his cage?"

  "You must have left the cage open after you fed him this morning. He's been flying around the house since you left. All three of the Combs kids were running around, trying to capture him for a while. Then they just threw their hands up and went back to their rummaging. Shortly afterward, the twins left for an appointment they said they couldn't miss, and Tasman continued going from one bedroom to the next upstairs, sorting through closets and drawers. When he started to search our room I told him there was nothing in there he needed."

  "What'd he say to that?"

  "Nothing. Just glared at me, muttered under his breath, and headed to the next room up the hallway. I guess the knot-head thinks his aunt was incompetent enough to stash two million dollars' worth of gold into a chest of drawers in a guest bedroom. I even heard him up in the attic for a while. I knew it was him because I heard his phone playing some kind of crap music when a call came through for him."

  "I think you meant rap music, not crap."

  "Is there a difference? Anyway, I'd heard the same song last night when he told the caller he was worried about someone finding out about something."

  "Itsy and I saw the twins come out of an attorney's office before they boarded the same bus we were on. Where are they now?" I asked.

  "Who knows? When they came in, they headed straight to the basement. I don't know if they're still down there. They've been going through the place with a fine-toothed comb. I've been waiting for them to ask me if I'd consent to a cavity search. Did you say you two boarded a bus? Why'd you–"

  "Cavity search? That's so funny." I responded quickly because I didn't want to go into the details of our trip to town. Before Rip could revert the conversation back to the bus ride, I told him he was free to go upstairs and rest now that I'd returned. I'd try to catch Goofus and take a sandwich up to him for lunch after I got the bird back in his cage. "I could swear I shut the door on Goofus's cage after I refilled his water bottle this morning. Are you sure you didn't see one of the kids open it?"

  "Nope. Why would they do something that would delay their search for the gold or whatever they're all determined to find? You've been under a lot of pressure, dear. Don't feel bad if you forgot to shut the door on the bird cage."

  His attempt to pacify me irritated me instead. Yes, it was true I'd been under a great deal of stress the last few weeks, but I would never forget to close Goofus's cage door. The last thing I'd want is for that obnoxious bird to get loose. Now I had to figure out a way to capture him without being clawed or pecked to death.

  "Yeah, whatever, Rip. I'll be up with your lunch in a bit."

  "Okay, thanks," Rip said wearily. "Oh, and can you ask Sydney about hiring an electrician to check the wiring here? She mentioned there was a fund for the repairs and maintenance of the place. The lights have been flickering on and off all over the house. The phone is messed up, too. It rang several times, but I couldn't hear who was on the other end of the line when I answered it. Plus, I think the contractor missed a hole in the roof. I've heard loud wailing several times that sounds like it's coming from the attic. Wind blowing through a gap, I'd guess. If I felt up to it, I'd check it out myself."

  "I know, dear. Until you're feeling stronger, it's probably best to let a professional handle something like that." Although I'd never say so out loud, I didn't want my husband, who wasn't the handiest guy in the world, messing with faulty electrical wiring. I didn't want him to survive the heart incident only to be fried by a red wire that should have been black. "You know, I'm beginning to believe this place really is haunted. Mabel, Norma Jean, or someone doesn't seem to want us here."

  Rip laughed, as if he thought I was kidding. I wasn't. There were too many odd things going on in the house. In the previous week, I'd heard the piano playing several times at night. I didn't bother trying to get Rip to go down and check it out. Through no fault of his own, he was slower than frozen molasses right now. Even at his best, prior to his operation, he was no faster than room-temperature molasses.

  I went downstairs myself once to try and detect who was tickling the ivories in the wee hours of the morning, and thought I'd seen a ghost disappearing around the corner as I inched my way into the drawing room. It had frightened me so much, I hadn't even considered going down the next couple of times I'd heard the music.

  Itsy had given me an idea when she'd made a comment on the bus ride home about concealing myself and waiting to see who came into the room to play the piano. Apparently she thought I was more courageous than I was. I'd been locking our bedroom door every night, and although Rip slept with a loaded pistol on the nightstand beside the bed, I'd considered asking him to install a deadbolt on our door.

  But Itsy's suggestion reminded me of the motion-sensing game camera I'd purchased at a garage sale in Buffalo, Wyoming, earlier in the year. It had served to help us identify a suspect then, so maybe it could help identify a piano-playing prowler now.

  After throwing a blanket over Goofus as he pranced back and forth across a shower curtain rod in one of the guest suite's bathrooms forty minutes later, I wadded him up inside the material, careful not to hurt him. I might occasionally wish him dead, but I never wanted to see him injured.

  The task wasn't graceful, and it wasn't pretty. It wasn't without bloodshed either. After I bandaged the hand Goofus tried to annihilate with his beak, I prepared a ham salad sandwich and added a small Tupperware container full of apple slices to the plate before taking it upstairs. As expected, Rip was out cold. I sat the plate down on the table and then went back downstairs.

  I needed to go outside and get the spare container of cat litter out of one of the under-carriage compartments in the Chartreuse Caboose. Dolly had been staying in the house with us and had become best buds with Gallant, who tiptoed around her as if she were a full-sized mountain lion
instead of an overfed tabby. He'd stepped out of line with her once, and in return he'd been unmercifully bitch-slapped by our undaunted cat. Initially I'd been afraid Gallant would hurt Dolly. Now it was Gallant I worried about. He was too much of a softie; laid-back, obedient and loving. He'd let Dolly have her way with him if she so chose.

  While I was in the trailer, I took the game camera out of the storage compartment under the queen-sized bed. Before I turned in for the night, I'd try to conceal the camouflaged device as well as I could in the drawing room.

  In the meantime, I needed to decide what I would prepare for supper. I was expecting Father Cumberland to arrive around six, and I wanted to have everything ready by then. I could hardly wait to hear why he'd thought it necessary to be so ambiguous with me the afternoon he'd come into the Heart Shack uninvited.

  I'd soon discover the answer was a zillion and eight light-years away from what I was expecting.

  Chapter 25

  I decided to serve a fruit salad with garlic bread and vegetable lasagna for supper, just in case our dinner guest was a vegetarian or vegan. It was a healthier option for us, as well. The lasagna recipe I used called for a variety of different veggies, all of which I had, except for frozen chopped zucchini. I didn't feel like making a trip to Safeway, even though the store was less than a mile from the house.

  I needed to figure out something I could substitute for the zucchini. During the bus ride, Itsy had told me Mabel had maintained a large garden in her back yard until her heart issues began to incapacitate her. Itsy had indicated that Mabel grew ten times more than she could consume on her own, so there was a chance she'd frozen some of the garden produce and stored it in the chest freezer in the garage. Despite the fact the frozen veggies might be a decade old, once blended with the rest of the ingredients, they probably wouldn't taste too awful.

  As I walked out the front door, I saw that all three of the Combs kids' vehicles were gone. I was glad to have the search party out of our hair and the house to ourselves. It would make our dinner conversation with the priest much easier.

  I went into the garage, which had moss growing on its roof from built-up dirt and debris. Its interior was dank, dark, and smelled of mildew and old gasoline. Sorting through the various packages inside the chest freezer, I found meat that looked as if it'd been purchased the year the house was built.

  In a Safeway bag on top were four bags of frozen vegetables: two of broccoli florets, one package of Brussels sprouts, and a bag of cubed zucchini. Bingo! The last bag was exactly what I had hoped to find. It looked new and would be ideal for the lasagna dish.

  I noticed the receipt from the purchase was still in the bag. It'd been wadded up, and there was a black smudge on the back of it. I always scrutinize any purchase receipt to make sure I hadn't been screwed over by an inattentive or opportunistic sales clerk. Out of pure habit, I glanced at the receipt. It was dated one week prior to Mabel's passing, which seemed odd to me. Along with the packages still in the bag, there were other items listed on the receipt: two more bags of Brussels sprouts, two cans of spinach, and several pounds of fresh broccoli.

  The list of products sounded like a healthy mix of vegetables for an elderly person, or nearly any person, for that matter. But, they were the absolute wrong foods for someone who'd just had a double-bypass and was taking a blood-thinning medication. Everything on the list was extremely high in Vitamin K, which Sydney had warned us worked against the medication by thickening the blood and making clotting a risk. The physician on the news, Dr. Gupta, had said the same thing.

  Mabel had died from a pulmonary embolism, according to the post-exhumation autopsy. Had she eaten the produce that was now missing from the bag? If so, I could understand the medical board's decision to question the cardiac center's staff. Why hadn't they informed Mabel of the dangers of foods high in the risky vitamin? Granted, she was beginning to show moderate signs of Alzheimer's, but she had Sydney taking care of her after her operation.

  There was also Patricia Lankston, the day nurse, who took care of Mabel when Sydney couldn't be present. Hopefully, even Tasman had enough brain cells left to know he couldn't feed those vegetables to his aunt on the two Sundays he covered for Sydney.

  Had Patricia Lankston been brought up to speed on the specifics regarding Mabel's diet and medications? Could she have made an honest mistake? Was Tasman aware of the dangers of those items? These were the questions racing through my head as I dug through the chest freezer's contents. I found nothing else of interest, other than a bag filled with approximately five hundred dollars worth of paper money.

  I removed the bag so I could turn the cold-hard cash over to Sydney. I suppose I'd have found this discovery odd had I not currently had a roll of twenty-dollar bills hidden in the hollow leg of our trailer's kitchen table. People from our generation found it hard to completely trust banks after hearing horror stories from our parents about the stock market crash of 1929.

  Suddenly, an unfathomable thought hit me like a tire iron to the noggin. I grabbed the bag of zucchini, tucked the receipt into my bra for safekeeping, and rushed back into the house. I went upstairs to the master suite, checked to make sure Rip was resting, and then quietly opened the closet door.

  When I'd placed our toiletries in the drawers of the restroom vanity a couple of weeks earlier, I'd gathered the items that belonged to Mabel and placed them inside a plastic grocery bag. I'd then placed the bag inside an unused pillow case and thrown it into the bottom of a laundry hamper in the closet. I needed to make sure those personal items were given to Sydney, as well. I retrieved the bag and carried it into the bathroom and closed the door so Rip wouldn't be bothered by any noise I made.

  I dumped the bag on the counter and sorted through the items until I located the three medication bottles I'd remembered removing from the top drawer of the vanity. The medications consisted of a statin for lowering cholesterol levels, a blood pressure medication, and a popular anti-coagulant. All three bottles had Mabel Trumbo's name on the labels. It could've been Rip's medicine drawer, as he was currently taking the exact same medications. Not surprising, since they were both patients of the same cardiac surgeon, Dr. Manual Murillo.

  I wasn't particularly interested in the first two medications, but I studied the pharmacy label on the anti-coagulant bottle and dumped its contents onto the counter. It took some calculating to figure out that Mabel had not taken all of the medication she should have. It looked as if she'd missed two days' worth during the two weeks between her release from the hospital and the day of her death. But that wasn't a significant enough finding to conclude an improper dose of medication had been a factor in her death. An untaken pill or two could have easily been an oversight, but doubtfully a fatal one.

  I felt an enormous sense of relief and returned all of Mabel's toiletries and medications to the plastic bag.

  It occurred to me as I dropped the pillow case containing the bag into the hamper, if anyone had been looking for the medication bottles so they could remove them from the premises and dispose of any evidence they might provide, they probably never would've thought to search in a hamper that appeared to contain nothing more than a few pieces of laundry. I doubted any of them, even that halfwit boy, were interested in keeping their elderly aunt's dirty underwear as a family keepsake. If Tasman had entertained that thought, he had even more serious issues than I'd given him credit for.

  While I was standing in the closet, I heard the sound of footsteps on the ceiling above me. I assumed one of the kids was up there searching through the attic. Those three were persistent, I'll grant them that. Then again, two million smackaroos was a powerful incentive.

  I checked Rip once more, covering his bare feet with the blanket haphazardly spread across his slumbering body. For once, Dolly was not attached to Rip like a furry parasite, but was curled up in the middle of our bed. I smiled and hurried back downstairs to resume the task of preparing supper.

  As I gathered the ingredients for the lasag
na, I closed the pantry door and leaned over to scratch the snoozing dog's head. When something jumped out of my cleavage and came to rest on his muzzle, Gallant's eyes popped open in alarm. I straightened up instantly and grabbed my chest because, to be honest, the suddenly-appearing grocery receipt startled me, too. I laughed at both of our reactions and tossed the receipt in the junk drawer next to the refrigerator.

  Chase Cumberland was due to arrive in two hours. I couldn't see how he could've had anything to do with Mabel Trumbo's death. Nor could I think of any reason her death might benefit him, but that didn't eliminate my curiosity about why he had led me astray as to his true identity. According to Sydney, he may have done some searching in the house, as well.

  It promised to be an interesting evening. Rip and the priest had not yet met, and it was important that Mr. Cumberland be judged fairly. I'd have to remind Rip to keep an open mind, remembering his own words about people who were skilled at putting up a front.

  As I was placing the final layer of noodles across the top of my lasagna, another disturbing thought crossed my mind. I'd assumed the footsteps I'd heard coming from the attic had belonged to one of the Combs kids. But I recalled noticing their vehicles were gone when I'd gone out to the trailer and then the garage. Which meant the trio was already gone prior to the footsteps I'd heard in the attic. As I ruminated over the significance of that, I raced over to the window to peer toward the street. The curb was void of vehicles.

  So who is in the attic? I wondered, not sure I wanted to know. But I had to be proactive about it, since Rip was not yet strong enough to do much. I couldn't just pretend I hadn't heard the footsteps. I realized I was going to have to go upstairs and see if I could crawl into the attic through the opening in the guest bathroom, whether I wanted to or not.

  In the meantime, I'd try to summon up the courage to act on my plan. It was going to take a heap more than I currently had at my disposal.