A Case of Murder by Monte Carlo
A Case of MURDER by Monte Carlo
TEXAS GENERAL COZY CASES
OF MYSTERY
BOOK 1
Becki Willis
As always, my family deserves special recognition. Roger, Winter, Jerry, Korbin, Kennedi, Kambri, Laramie, Casey, Weston, Colt, and my sweet Mother, thank you for your support and encouragement. Thank you for indulging me in my research (often incorporated into a family vacation!) and the many times I confine myself to my office or steal away on a writing retreat. Your love and support means more to me than any award or sales ranking.
For this series, I am relying on first-hand experience (and a few borrowed stories) from my daughter-in-law, Casey Willis, R.N. I always depend on my son Laramie to help spot those lingering pesky typos. Please know I love and appreciate you both!
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, shared, or reproduced without written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction. All characters, businesses, and interaction with these people and places are purely fictional and a figment of the writer’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes only.
Cover Design by Anelia Savova (annrsdesign)
Editing by Elizabeth Oakes (greeneye editing)
Copyright © 2019 Becki Willis
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987902-3-7 E-book
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987902-4-4 Print
A CASE OF MURDER by Monte Carlo
TEXAS GENERAL COZY CASES
Becki Willis
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Becki
Forgotten Boxes
Plain Roots
Tangible Spirits
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not
Mirrors Don’t Lie Series
The Girl from Her Mirror – Book 1
Mirror, Mirror on Her Wall – Book 2
Light from Her Mirror – Book 3
The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series
Chicken Scratch – Book 1
When the Stars Fall – Book 2
Stipulations & Complications – Book 3
Home Again: Starting Over – Book 4
Genny’s Ballad – Book 5
Christmas In The Sisters – Book 6
The Lilac Code – Book 7
Wildflower Wedding (With a Killer Reception) – Book 8
Spirits of Texas Cozy Mystery Series
Inn the Spirit of Legends – Book 1
Inn the Spirit of Trickery – Book 2
Chapter One
“Yum,” the lab tech murmured, stuffing a chip laden with spicy avocado and shrimp dip into his mouth. “This may be the winner right here.” He closed his eyes to savor the explosion of flavors upon his tongue. “Perfection.”
“Thanks!” Laurel Benson beamed. “I hear Ayla in Respiratory has a spinach dip to die for, so I’m anxious to see how this one compares.”
It had become a tradition here at Texas General on Game Day, a sort of ‘competition behind the competition.’ While thousands of college football fans trekked to Kyle Field for their grand scale tailgating parties, each department within the hospital hosted a party at their prospective nurses’ station. The Emergency Room where Laurel worked was no exception.
The hospital itself—fully embracing the time-honored tradition of Aggie football—provided health-conscious versions of fan favorites, but it was up to staff members to bring “the good stuff”, the dishes oozing with cheese and calories and enough cholesterol to guarantee job security for health professionals worldwide. Creamy dips, gourmet salsas, and calorie-rich finger foods fought for space among the platters of veggie sticks and salt-free chicken wings. Decadent desserts weighed down one end of every table, tempting even the staunchest dieter with sugary fruit toppings, cream fillings, and the lure of a chocolate-induced coma. The offerings were so diverse (and so delicious) that it quickly became a competition to see who could bring the best and tastiest dish. Just one year in, and the highly anticipated contest already had a coveted trophy worth fighting for: a massive maroon and white wreath awarded to the station providing the best snacks.
“If I weren’t already married,” the technician claimed, eyes still closed in reverence, “I would propose marriage, right here on the spot.”
“A marriage can’t survive on dip alone, my friend,” Laurel reminded him, reaching around his extended belly to swipe a cookie. “And if you weren’t married to Glenda, I couldn’t indulge in these scrumptious cookies of hers. These,” the petite nurse proclaimed, palming a second cookie as reserve, “I could survive on.”
“We may have to send the trophy home with you, Jim,” a second nurse agreed, moving in behind him to fill her plate. “Glenda is like our very own secret weapon.”
“Small bit of compensation,” he agreed around another mouthful of dip, “for having to put up with Football Fandemonium.”
It was a term they coined for the added influx of patients each Game Day, one of a half dozen or so sacred Saturdays strung between August and December when the fighting Texas A&M Aggies hosted their opponent for the week. Saturdays were naturally busy in the ER, but with tens of thousands extra footballs fans in town, the excessive celebrations, after-parties, and snarled roadways always doubled, if not tripled, their load. The bigger the school rivalry, the crazier the reason for the ER visits.
Laurel checked her watch, sinking into the rolling chair behind the desk. “It’s been relatively quiet, so far,” she said. The cookie made a satisfying snap! as she sank her teeth into it. “But I imagine the Fandemoniums will start rolling in within the hour.”
The words barely cleared her lips before they heard the ambulance’s wail.
“Thanks a lot,” Mary Ann said, already abandoning the plate she just filled. “Look what you did.”
Laurel had the grace to look apologetic, needlessly taking blame for the incoming. “Sorry. You eat. I’ll take this one,” she offered.
“I’m already up,” Mary Ann said, motioning her to sit back down. She gave one last mournful look at her abandoned plate. “I didn’t need the extra calories, anyway.”
The siren’s sharp trill grew louder, bleeding in ahead of the gurney as the sliding doors flew open and paramedics rushed their patient inside. “Hit and run victim!” one of the medics called over his shoulder. “Heart rate 288 with 12-lead showing V-fib, blood pressure unsteady. In and out of consciousness. Bring a crash cart, stat!”
Laurel jumped to her feet, just as a familiar chime announced the door opening from the waiting room, most likely to admit a walk-in patient. Even as she heard the rustle of fabric and voices approaching from the front, she would have abandoned her post and offered aid to the hit and run victim, had someone not beat her to it. The on-duty doctor and two more nurses rushed toward the gurney before she could round the counter.
Satisfied that the hit and run had adequate help for the moment, Laurel turned her attention to the walk-in. A thin woman followed timidly behind the medical assistant from Admissions, her steps unsteady. One glance told her that the woman was as much frightened as she was in pain.
Before returning home to the Bryan-College Station area, Laurel started her nursing career in Houston, working in one of the busiest and most acclaimed hospitals in the nation. Over six years of experience had honed Laurel’s
assessment skills. Almost unconsciously, she could look at a patient and make an immediate assessment call. Today was no exception.
One hundred-ten pounds soaking wet, poor posture, stooped shoulders. Possible early signs of osteoporosis. Sallow skin color, dark circles under eyes. Could be exhaustion, could be drug use. No visible signs of injury or physical trauma, so must be internal. Looks more nervous than in pain. Either way, in dire need of a hot meal and a hot shower, not necessarily in that order.
Laurel suspected the woman’s hair had once been dishwater blond, but the dishwater definitely needed changing. Unkempt locks hung in disarray, streaked now with gray and a layer of grease. Her clothes weren’t the tattered rags of a homeless person, but the dirt had been there long enough to set in. Making a mental note to offer a shower and change of clothes before releasing her, Laurel was thankful Texas General took a holistic approach to health care. The woman looked forty if she was a day, but Laurel suspected she might be several years younger. Hard living had a tendency to age women before their time, and something in her weary eyes and lined face told Laurel that life hadn’t been easy for this woman.
A lanky boy in his teens trailed behind them, his eyes enormous as they found the commotion on the other side of the corridor. Intent on the buzz of activity around the hit and run accident, he walked past the room the assistant led his mother into.
“We’re right here,” the assistant said brightly, redirecting the youth.
With a sheepish expression, he shuffled into the small space, but his eyes never quite left the other room.
Well aware of the drama unfolding across the hall, Laurel put as much warmth as she could into her smile when she greeted the newcomers. She knew how disconcerting it could be for other patients when they heard a crash cart mentioned.
Helping the woman settle onto the narrow bed, she noted how her small frame barely made a shadow, much less an indentation.
“My name is Laurel. Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” She read the printed information on the hospital band, waiting for verbal confirmation.
The woman’s voice was scratchy and wavered with either pain or fear—Laurel would bet on the latter—but the words were clear. “L…Lily Moses. 2-25-1982.” Sure enough, younger than the forty she looked.
“What brings you in today, Lily?”
Lily darted a nervous glance toward her son. “Uhm, I got a hurting in my gut and all,” she said. Almost as an afterthought, she clutched at her mid-section and offered a grimace. “It hurts something powerful.”
Laurel suspected something wasn’t quite right with her new patient. As she fitted the blood pressure cuff around her skinny arm, winding the binding a second time to hold it in place, she asked, “How long has this pain been bothering you, Lily?”
“Oh, uhm, it started a few days ago.” Another darted look toward her son, who seemed to be more concerned with what happened across the hall than what happened here with his mother. “But it got real intense about an hour or so ago. Ain’t that right, Harold?” When the boy made no reply, she called his name again sharply. “Harold!”
“Huh?” He reluctantly dragged his attention back to his mother.
She repeated her claim as Laurel clamped the oximeter onto the tip of one finger. “I said ain’t that right?” There was a pointed insistence in her voice as she needled the boy with her laser-like glare.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” the boy said. “’Bout an hour ago. I remember, because we were watching the game. On Channel 3.”
Laurel studied the numbers on the monitor, watching as they made a valiant effort to record a stable blood pressure. She was careful to keep the look of censure off her face; even though Harold made a point to mention the channel, their local network couldn’t carry the game. The boy obviously wasn’t telling the truth, but why? She overtly checked for needle marks on Lily’s arm as the machine failed to get a reading. When the pressure built and the cuff tightened for a second time, Laurel saw the first real look of pain cross Lily’s face.
“Sorry. Sometimes it has to pump a second time. Can you describe your pain for me?” she asked, wondering if the woman was experienced in the art of hiding signs of drug abuse. She knew some addicts preferred to shoot up in the soft tissue between their toes. While she contemplated a way to talk Lily out of her shoes, the woman offered a very vague description of what she called ‘terrible bad’ abdominal pain.
Maybe she’s just nervous. Heart rate slightly elevated and pressure 178/86. Neither necessarily indicative of severe pain or drug use, but I’ll give her the benefit of doubt. The vagueness could be attributed to nerves. Emergency rooms had a tendency to do that to patients.
“Is Harold your son?” Laurel asked, offering the teen another warm smile. His attention had wandered back across the hall, where things were obviously deteriorating. The Code Blue warning still echoed in the corridor, muffled only by the sound of running feet and hurried bodies. One glance across the hall told Laurel that their patient was in dire condition.
“My oldest. Got three more at home, and all,” Lily offered.
“Oh, my. Four children. What a blessing!”
Lily’s quiet harrumph spoke volumes, but her son was too busy watching the other room to notice the slight.
“How old are they?” Laurel asked.
“Harold’s sixteen, Danny’s thirteen, Paulie’s twelve, and Jill is ten.”
“Is their father at home with them?” The question came out innocent sounding enough, as Laurel listened to the steady thump of the woman’s heart.
“Ain’t seen none of their fathers in at least five years,” Lily snorted. “Don’t know where two of them are, and don’t care. Know exactly where Harold’s old man is. State Penn in Huntsville.”
“And none of them pay child support? I could put you in touch with—”
Lily interrupted her before she could finish her offer of help, doubtful though it was. “Ain’t none of them got a dime to their name, much less the gumption to claim their own blood.” She raised her chin a fraction and made a bold claim. “We’ve done just fine without ‘em. Don’t need the likes of none of them, coming around after all this time. Not after all the hard stuff’s done been done, changing diapers and wiping snotty noses and losing a night’s sleep to teethin’ babies. No, ma’am, I don’t need them now.” She set her jaw stubbornly, but Laurel saw the slight quiver in her chin.
“Good for you, Lily,” Laurel said softly. She made another mental note, this one to find a business card for an organization that specialized in helping single mothers in need. “If you’ll answer a few more questions for me, I’ll let you settle in and rest for a few minutes until a doctor can see you. Are you comfortable, or do you need a few more pillows?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” Now Lily craned her neck, trying to see across the hall. “What’s the commotion and all over yonder?”
“Car accident, I believe. Now, Lily, tell me more about this pain. Would you say it’s more of a stabbing pain or a radiating pain?”
“Ain’t never been stabbed before, so don’t know how that would feel, and all.” She nibbled on her lower lip, still watching the hustle of activity taking place across the way. “You reckon that fella’s gonna make it?”
It wasn’t unusual for one patient to be curious about another. Often, it helped to ease their own fears by transferring their worries to a stranger. Other times, any sign of bad news—even if applied to a stranger— was enough to send a patient into a panic attack.
No matter the reason for Lily’s pointed concern, she was in no position to supply her nosy patient with answers. Strategically positioning herself in Lily’s line of sight until she could tug the curtain fully shut, Laurel’s answer was non-committal.
“I certainly hope so, but my concern at the moment is for you. I need you to tell me more about the reason you came in this afternoon, Lily.”
A wary look moved into the woman’s eyes. “Why? You don’t believe me? You think I’m makin
g all this up? I got better things to do than come down to some emergency room, I can tell you that!”
“I’m sure you do. And I’m not suggesting your pain isn’t real. I just need to know more about it, so we can help you feel better.”
“Maybe I oughta put on one of those gowns you offer,” Lily said, cutting her eyes to her son. “Harold, step out in the hall while I change, and all.”
The teen scrambled out of the chair, moving faster than Laurel had seen him do so far. No doubt, he was eager to be on the other side of the curtain, ogling the scene as it unfolded across the way.
“Do you need help changing?” Laurel asked, retrieving a folded gown from an upper cabinet and placing it on the foot of the bed.
“Nah. Never did like anyone seeing me in my skivvies,” Lily said. “I’ll be fine. You trot on along and see if you can help that man yonder. He looks to be in bad shape.”
“Use this button here to call me if you need anything.”
“Just go, and don’t mind me none.”
Laurel stepped out of the room, a frown crinkling her forehead. Most patients demanded prompt attention, yet Lily Moses insisted she leave her alone to tend another patient. Somehow, Laurel suspected it was hardly a magnanimous act of selflessness on her part. She couldn’t help but remain skeptical.
Harold had wandered closer to the hub of activity. While he stood just far enough away not to interfere, his avid curiosity pushed the bounds of propriety. Privacy was the least of the ER team’s concern as they fought to save the man’s life. The curtain hung abandoned, as personnel rushed to and from his bedside.
Grabbing the plate Mary Ann had recently abandoned, Laurel took a ‘round about path to meet Harold head on and herd him back in the right direction. “I thought you might enjoy a bite to eat,” she said, deliberately walking between the nosy teen and the disturbing scene no one should have to witness, particularly an impressionable youth.