Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) Read online

  Cassie wondered if Rosalie’s larger collection was from the same place. She would ask that question some other time; tonight it was enough simply to be here.

  “Did you have a nice flight?” Rosalie said, extending her hand.

  “Yes, thank you. I--”

  “I told you we flew into Austin and spent an hour with Lawrence this afternoon, Rosalie,” Dorothy said, cutting her off. Cassie was not sure whether Dorothy was afraid she might say something wrong, or was just being Dorothy, positive that no one else had anything to say that was important. Her bullying was about to break Cassie’s last ounce of patience, but she was not going to show it in front of Rosalie Baylin.

  “Yes, thank you, Ms. Baylin, I did have a nice flight. And a very nice visit with Dr. Baylin.”

  Dorothy harrumphed.

  Rosalie chuckled in her soft voice. “My God, you are Noreen all over again aren’t you! I can see it’s going to be fun working with you.”

  “Thank you,” Cassie said, smiling broadly.

  Rosalie gave a slow nod.

  Then Cassie noticed Rosalie’s eyes beginning to droop. Her face slackened, her jaw relaxed, her head began to tip downward. Harvey’s angry reference to six-o’clock could have come from Rosalie’s medication schedule, not just his orneriness.

  Whatever it was, it was suddenly progressing fast, and Cassie panicked that Rosalie would be zoned out too soon.

  “Ms. Baylin,” she asked in a gentle voice, bending down on her knees to look into Rosalie’s face, “Mrs. Kennelly told me you have some of the manuscript already written. May I take what you have back to the hotel with me?”

  Dorothy gasped.

  Rosalie gave a chuckle sound that came out more of a ‘haaaaa’. Her arm dropped down the outside of her chair, and her hand struggled with a fat manila envelope leaning against it. “Knew you’d want this,” she slurred.

  Cassie leaned forward to retrieve it, afraid Rosalie was about to completely pass out. She barely had her fingers closed on one corner when a sudden cacophony of noise swelled from the living room, coming fast toward the hall outside Rosalie’s bedroom.

  Chapter Five

  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.

  “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.