Nothing as it Seems “A Novel of Suspense”

Chapter One

Megan Gallagher’s life was going to end today.

Of course when she awoke this morning she had no reason to suspect that was even the remotest of possibilities. Like most young people of her generation, her own mortality rarely crossed her mind. And why would it? It wasn’t as if she’d been diagnosed with some terminal illness months before and therefore knew that each subsequent day could be her last. And she wasn’t the type to engage in risky behavior—no driving drunk, no illegal drug use, no skydiving. And it wasn’t even a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No.

Megan was going to lose her life because someone was going to murder her in her own home.

Megan’s day had started off like any other. She arrived at the Horizons Rehabilitation and Nursing Center where she worked just before 8:00 a.m. Megan signed in and immediately headed for the wing that housed the elderly patients. Most of the other nurse’s aides tended to steer clear of the elderly wing if they could, but not Megan. In fact, she had requested the assignment.

Although she had never consciously analyzed the reasons for her choice, if she had it would have been obvious as to why she gravitated to the older patients. Megan had been raised by her maternal grandmother from the age of four. Megan’s mother had been a single mom who had trouble coping with life, or more precisely, with the life she was living. She ended up running off with some biker, and Megan never saw her again.

Fortunately, Megan and her mother were already living with Nana Helen when Megan’s mother took off, so the transition wasn’t as traumatic as it could have been. And if the truth be told, it wasn’t really that traumatic at all. Megan loved Nana Helen as much as, or even more than, she loved her own mother. In fact, Megan loved Nana Helen so much that she continued to live with her even after she became an adult.

The little two-bedroom house was all Megan knew growing up; it was her home. And it was where she still lived now at the age of twenty-seven, nearly five years after Nana Helen had passed away. So it was no wonder that Megan enjoyed her time with the elderly patients. They reminded her of her grandmother whom she missed terribly.

But it was more than that. Megan thoroughly enjoyed hearing their stories and watching the way their eyes lit up when they told them. Of course, with some of the patients Megan heard the same stories nearly every day, often exaggerated beyond believability. But she didn’t care. Who did it hurt? And besides, the ridiculous things passing for reality these days on TV certainly stretched credulity far beyond any embellishment her patients came up with.

Megan’s first stop, as it was nearly every day, was Mrs. Andrews’ room. Mrs. Andrews had been at Horizons for almost five months as a result of a broken hip from a fall she had taken. And while Mrs. Andrews had senior moments from time to time, Megan marveled at how sharp she was, especially for someone nearing eighty. But not everyone at Horizons shared that opinion.

Dr. Belkin, who was an adjunct psychiatrist at Horizons, had indicated to Megan that Mrs. Andrews was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. And although he conceded that it was somewhat unusual that Mrs. Andrews had not exhibited any symptoms in front of Megan, Dr. Belkin continued to assert that Mrs. Andrews’ mind was slowly deteriorating. She’s definitely benefiting from the attention you’re showing her, but that’s not going to change her ultimate prognosis.

Megan had difficulty accepting Dr. Belkin’s pronouncement. But who was she to challenge the opinion of a doctor? And she had to concede that her judgment was probably compromised because of her fondness for Mrs. Andrews. Nevertheless, Megan made it a point to try to be in Mrs. Andrews’ room during Dr. Belkin’s weekly rounds.

Most of the other female staff members assumed that Megan showed up during Dr. Belkin’s visits for the same reason that they often did: Dr. Belkin was 6’4 tall, weighed in at about 210 pounds, and looked like a young Tom Selleck. Certainly, Megan couldn’t deny that Dr. Belkin was very handsome, but that wasn’t her motivation for being there. She wanted to see for herself what he was talking about in regard to Mrs. Andrews’ mental state. And besides, even though Dr. Belkin didn’t wear a wedding ring, Megan had been told that he was married. When she brought that up to the other nurse’s aides, one of them responded with a phrase her Nana Helen had used from time to time, but in a different context, Just ’cause you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu."

As soon as Megan entered the room, Mrs. Andrews smiled broadly. I was hoping I’d see you this morning.

You see me almost every morning.

I won’t see you tomorrow; you’re not working tomorrow or Saturday or Sunday.

It was Megan’s turn to smile. You know my schedule better than I do. Now, how did you remember that?

I always remember when I won’t see you.

At that, Megan went over and kissed Mrs. Andrews on the forehead. You’re very sweet, you know that?

You keep telling me that, but I don’t think everybody here feels exactly the same way you do.

Now why would you say that? Everybody here loves you.

I’m not so sure that’s true.

Well, I am, Megan paused. What about Ms. Simmons and Ginger and Dr. Belkin? You don’t think they care about you?

I suppose. And I like Ms. Simmons and Ginger. Mrs. Andrews got an impish expression on her face. And as far as Dr. Belkin is concerned, I just want him to keep showing up, even if he does think I’m losing it. He’s not too tough on the eyes, that one.

Megan smiled again, and then with feigned shock said, Mrs. Andrews!

What? I may be old, but I’m not dead.

With that, Megan burst into laughter. She stayed with Mrs. Andrews for another fifteen minutes, helped her get into the bathroom, fluffed up her pillows, and took away the trash, all the while listening to Mrs. Andrews offer a critique of her favorite soap opera. As always, Megan saw no signs of a diminished mental capacity.

Megan visited four more patients that morning, did some paper work, took a break in the cafeteria, and then went to a staff meeting. After lunch she saw seven more patients, and then around 2:00 p.m. she headed back to Mrs. Andrews’ room, knowing that Dr. Belkin was due any time.

Megan didn’t have long to wait. Dr. Belkin arrived five minutes later with an entourage of four nurses. Except for Dr. Belkin’s presence, Megan suspected that at least two of the nurses would not have been in Mrs. Andrews’ room, even if there had been a Code Blue and she’d gone into cardiac arrest. Megan mentally chastised herself. Maybe that assessment had been a bit harsh, although she guessed it was not entirely untrue.

As Dr. Belkin and the four nurses filed into the room, Mrs. Andrews gave everyone the once-over and said, Am I having an operation I didn’t know about?

The doctor smiled. Nothing like that. We’re just checking in to see how you’re doing.

Not bad for an old lady who probably needs a new hip.

Well, I see from your chart that it’s continuing to heal quite nicely. It looks like you’re going to be able to leave sooner than we originally thought, Dr. Belkin paused. So, as I mentioned last time, you’re going to have to figure out some other living arrangements once you’re discharged. Going back to that big house is out of the question. But you don’t have to decide anything right away. We’ll talk some more as the time gets closer.

Mrs. Andrews’ eyes widened. We never talked about that before.

Dr. Belkin signaled for one of the nurses to give him Mrs. Andrews’ chart. He looked it over and said, I wrote it in my notes. I’m sure we did. You must have forgotten.

Mrs. Andrews looked as if she were beginning to doubt herself. I guess… but I’m sure I would have remembered something like that. A pause. But where will I go? How…

The doctor covered Mrs. Andrews’ hand with his own. For now don’t give it another thought. Don’t upset yourself. We’ll talk again.

He then looked over at Megan, or at least at her nametag. You’re still keeping Mrs. Andrews company I see… uh… Megan.

Yes, as much as I can.

Well, keep up the good work. I’m sure she appreciates it.

As he was leaving, Dr. Belkin squeezed Megan’s shoulder, smiled at her in a patronizing way, and then before he was out the door asked one of the nurses, So, who’s next?

Once everyone was gone, Mrs. Andrews turned to Megan. He never talked to me about that. You’ve been here almost every time with me. He didn’t say anything about that, did he?

Not when I’ve been here.

Mrs. Andrews fought back the tears. What am I going to do?

Megan came closer. I’ll contact the social worker. I promise we’ll figure something out. It’s going to be okay.

After finally calming Mrs. Andrews down, Megan took a break before going to see her other patients. But even when she was attending to them, the look in Mrs. Andrews’ eyes continued to haunt her. She couldn’t imagine that Mrs. Andrews would have forgotten the conversation that Dr. Belkin had claimed they’d had. But maybe Mrs. Andrews was starting to fail mentally, and Megan hadn’t seen it or hadn’t wanted to see it.

As she promised, Megan left a message for the social worker, and then tried to get the issue out of her head, but to no avail. She went to see Mrs. Andrews twice more before she left for the day. Both times Megan tried to assure her that it was going to be all right and that she would come up with some solution. Mrs. Andrews’ eyes again filled with tears, but this time Megan sensed that they were more tears of appreciation than fear.

As Megan was driving home, she still couldn’t get Mrs. Andrews out of her mind. That poor woman, what’s she going to do? It didn’t take more than another moment for an idea that had been forming in the back of her brain to finally crystallize—If need be, she could have Mrs. Andrews come live with her, at least temporarily. That idea put a smile on Megan’s face. Why not? I could make that work. I’m going to stop by tomorrow and tell her. I don’t want her to have to worry all weekend.

With that decision behind her, Megan’s thoughts turned to her upcoming three days off, something she was very much looking forward to. She had been so preoccupied with Mrs. Andrews’ plight that she drove past the supermarket where she had intended to stop. She backtracked a couple of blocks, and then turned into the Shaw’s parking lot. Once inside, she bypassed the milk and bread aisles and headed straight for the frozen food section. This weekend Rocky Road ice cream would constitute as much of a staple as anything else, especially since she was planning a Twilight movie marathon.

Megan ate an early dinner around 5:00 p.m., checked her e-mail and was about to turn on the TV when the phone on the kitchen wall rang. She rarely got calls on the landline; it was a remnant of the years when Nana Helen was alive, and Megan simply hadn’t gotten rid of it.

Megan answered tentatively. The caller identified herself and told her why she was calling. Megan was somewhat surprised, not only by the identity of the caller but also by the nature of the call. Nevertheless she thanked the caller and said she’d see her in a little while.

Just as it was getting dark, a figure wearing a gray hoodie approached Megan’s front steps. She rang the bell and less than fifteen seconds later Megan opened the door. She eyed the hoodie and said, Has it gotten that chilly out? Well, never mind. Come on in.

Megan let her guest enter the house ahead of her. I really appreciate you doing this.

Megan had no reason to suspect the irony inherent in the words she had just spoken.

Chapter Two

The woman in the gray hoodie arrived home about twenty minutes after leaving Megan Gallagher’s house. She entered her apartment, turned on the lights, and immediately headed for the bathroom where she started to remove her clothing. Once she was naked, she ran the water in the bathtub.

As the tub was filling, she picked up her clothes and brought them to the small alcove off the kitchen which housed the compact washer and dryer. She didn’t bother to check her clothing for blood or any other signs of what she had done. There was no need; there wouldn’t be any. The killing had not been violent; she had planned it well, and it had gone very smoothly.

When the woman returned to the bathroom, she stared at her body in the mirror. As she turned slightly, her eyes moved to the recently acquired tattoo on her lower back. The sleek blue, black lines of the panther seemed to shimmer with the perspiration that had formed just below her waistline. The woman smiled at the way the tattoo looked, and she was convinced that her lover would like it even more. She continued to think of him as she climbed into the tub.

She lowered herself into the warm water, moved her hand between her legs, and began to pleasure herself. That’s how she always thought of it when she was alone, but never when she had a partner. With a partner it took on words not nearly as euphemistic. She started to smile at the thought, but then the first wave of ecstasy washed over her. Her mind went blank, and she allowed herself to just feel for the next few minutes.

When it was over, she continued to lie in the tub as she considered the scene at Megan Gallagher’s house. She felt no remorse; there were no recriminations. In fact, she felt nothing at all. It was just something that had to be done, so she’d done it. But she also recognized that it was only the first part of the plan, and the rest of it might not be as easy.

She exited the tub and started to dry herself off when she spotted the panther again. She hesitated a moment, then dropped the towel and climbed back into the warm water. She could plan later; for now she wanted to feel something again.

***

A little after 8:30 on Monday morning Mrs. Andrews pressed the call button wrapped around her bedrail. A few minutes later a young nurse’s aide named Ginger came into the room.

Do you need something, Mrs. Andrews?

No, not exactly. I was just wondering if Megan was here yet.

I haven’t seen her. Is there something I can help you with?

No. I just needed to talk with Megan. Could you check to see if she’s available?

Sure.

Ginger looked in on one other patient who had also punched the call button, and then headed back to the nurses’ station. She found the sign-in sheet, fingered down the list, and found Megan Gallagher’s name, but there was no signature next to it. Ginger glanced around and then said, Has anyone seen Megan this morning?

A number of staff members shook their heads, and a couple responded, No.

Just at that moment, the nurse’s aide supervisor arrived at the nurses’ station. She hadn’t heard the specifics about what was going on, so she said to Ginger, What seems to be the matter?

Ginger hesitated, not wanting to get Megan in trouble for being late. Uh… Mrs. Andrews was looking for Megan but… she hasn’t signed in yet.

The supervisor picked up the clipboard and looked down the sign-in list. She then glanced at her watch and said, That’s not like Megan. She then returned her gaze to Ginger. I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you go check on Mrs. Andrews again?

I think she just wants to see Megan. She didn’t seem to need anything else.

Okay, but just double-check anyway.

The nurses’ station was an open area that didn’t allow for much privacy. There was, however, a small room adjacent to it that had a separate telephone line that the staff used for personal or confidential conversations.

The supervisor went to one of the computers, found the personnel directory, copied down Megan’s home phone number and cell number, and then headed for the room next to the nurses’ station. She tried Megan’s home number first. After six rings she heard a click and knew that it was about to prompt her to leave a message. She hung up before she heard the prompt, deciding that Megan had probably overslept and was in her car on the way to work. But just to be sure, she tried Megan’s cell.

This time it was only four rings before she heard the click. She was about to leave a message, but then decided against it, reasoning that Megan might have shut off her phone while she was driving and would probably show up any minute.

For the next half hour the supervisor went about her job but had trouble getting the Megan situation out of her head. It just wasn’t like her. She couldn’t recall Megan ever being late to work. She tried to call four more times between 10:00 and 11:00, but there was still no answer.

Finally, just before 11:30—her lunchtime—the supervisor checked the personnel directory on the computer again and found Megan’s address. Then she went out to the parking lot and hopped into her car. Megan lived in a very small town about eight miles away. It took the supervisor less than twenty minutes to get there.

As she pulled up, she noticed a car in the driveway, but she couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad sign. She parked at the curb and headed up the walkway. When she reached the front steps, despite the cool November air, something foul smelling attacked her senses as if it had been left out in the summer sun too long.

She started to reach for the doorbell when the realization of what might have occurred started to register. She tried to fight against the realization, not wanting it to be true. But her medical training overwhelmed the emotional barrier she had tried to erect. She pulled her hand back from the doorbell, descended the steps, and approached one of the front windows. She tried to look inside, but the shade was drawn. It didn’t matter though. She knew.

As she took out her phone and dialed 9-1-1, she asked herself, What could have happened? She’s the picture of health, and she’s only in her twenties. She… The call connected.

This is nine-one-one, Chandler Police. What is your emergency?

The supervisor hesitated. Uh… I’m at one fifty-two Oak Street in Chandler. I think something may be wrong with Megan Gallagher. She lives here… and—

The dispatcher interrupted. What’s your name, ma’am, and why do you think something’s wrong?

My name is Janet Simmons. I work with Megan at Horizons Rehabilitation Center. She didn’t show up for work today. I tried calling but there was no answer, so I came out to her house. I can’t see inside… but I think something might have happened to her. I think it’s possible that… she might be dead.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and then, Why do you think that?

Janet Simmons was starting to become emotional, but she was able to force out the next sentence. I’m a nurse, and… the smell… even outside… I think she may have been dead for a while.

Another slight hesitation from the dispatcher. Okay, Ms. Simmons. I’m going to send someone right out, or I’ll come out myself. Please remain where you are.

I will.

It took less than ten minutes for a Chandler police car to show up. The lone occupant pulled in behind Janet Simmons’ car, got right out, and approached her. Ms. Simmons, I’m Chief Prescott. I’m the one you spoke with on the phone. Did you try to go inside? Is the door locked?

I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I rang the bell. I did try to look in the window, but the shade was down. I hope to God I’m wrong, but with the odor… She was unable to finish the sentence.

Okay, I’m going to ask you to stay here while I check things out.

Janet nodded.

Once the chief got to the front door, he raised his left hand and covered his nose and mouth. In the back of his mind, he concluded that Janet Simmons had probably assessed the situation correctly. He then removed his gun from its holster with his right hand, took his left hand away from his mouth, and knocked loudly on the door. Ms. Gallagher, are you inside? This is the police.

There was no response, so he repeated both the knock and the verbal inquiry. Again, there was no response. He tried the door, but it was locked. He then attempted to look in the front window as Janet Simmons had. When that was unsuccessful, he circled the house, checking each window as he went, as well as the back door. Once he returned to the front of the house, he announced his presence again as he assessed the sturdiness of the door and its frame. He concluded that it might take some effort but that the door wouldn’t be able to withstand a well-placed shoulder assault.

The chief took a half step back and put his 205 pounds behind a thrust at the door. It gave slightly on the first try; the frame started to splinter on the second, and the door flew open on the third.

Chief Prescott pulled back once the door was open, raised his gun again, and said, Police. I’m coming in. He sensed, however, that there was no living person inside to hear his words. That was confirmed when he saw a body on the floor next to the couch. Nevertheless, with his gun drawn, he cleared the rest of the house.

When he returned to the living room, Chief Prescott holstered his gun and knelt down next to the body, but only for a moment; the odor threatened to overwhelm him. He noted that there were no obvious injuries. And although he couldn’t see any signs of decomposition, his nose told him some of that was already taking place.

He got up, stepped outside, and took out his phone. He pressed the number three and was immediately connected. The voice on the other end said, Chandler Police.

Hi, Joe, it’s Chief Prescott. We definitely have a dead body. I don’t have the number handy, so I need you to look up the county coroner’s office number and have them send somebody out to one fifty-two Oak Street as soon as possible. Who’s on standby?

Steve.

All right. Call him and have him meet me here. I have an evidence kit in the cruiser, but tell him to bring one also. It doesn’t look like there was any foul play involved here, but I want to preserve the scene as best I can just in case.

I’ll get right on it.

The chief ended the call and headed toward Janet Simmons. He was about ten feet away when she asked, Is she dead?

He nodded. There’s a body in there. He hesitated. I know this may be difficult, but would you be willing to come in and try to identify the body to see if it’s Megan Gallagher?

It was obvious from the initial expression on her face that Janet Simmons wanted no part of that. But the chief also saw her take a deep breath and appear to steel herself. She nodded then said, I think so.

As soon as Janet Simmons crossed the threshold into the house, and even before she looked at the body, she began to cry. When she stepped closer, the tears flowed more freely. She turned away from the body and was barely able to speak. It’s her. It’s Megan.

The chief helped Janet back outside. Do you know who might be her next of kin? Was she married?

No, she wasn’t married. She used to live with her grandmother, but her grandmother died a few years ago. I don’t know of any other relatives. Actually, the person she was closest to was probably one of the patients at Horizons. With that, Janet broke down. The chief put his hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her. After a moment Janet spoke again, This is so unbelievable. What could have happened? She’s only twenty-seven years old.

Although the chief was aware that it was a rhetorical question, he responded anyway. I don’t know.

Janet was quiet for another minute, and then asked herself out loud, And how am I going to tell Mrs. Andrews?

This time the chief didn’t respond.

Chapter Three

There are more than 350 cities and towns in Massachusetts. The town of Chandler is ranked eighth from the bottom in terms of population and fifteenth from the bottom in terms of area. And yet it still maintains its own police force.

Many of its neighbors had long since given over their law enforcement responsibilities to the state police. Some of those same neighbors suspected that Chandler’s reluctance to make a similar change was born out of a misguided sense of local pride or tradition or just plain Yankee stubbornness. And while all of that probably would have made the decision to abdicate local control somewhat difficult, the police force would have been gone in a heartbeat except for one fortuitous event: The town had received a huge infusion of tax dollars, an infusion that would continue every year for the foreseeable future.

This new tax revenue came from the construction of a distribution center owned by one of the Internet’s major online stores. Chandler’s proximity to both the Massachusetts Turnpike, which bisects the state, and to I—91, which goes through Hartford before ending reasonably close to many affluent New York City suburbs, made the location ideal. It also didn’t hurt that the land was cheap, and that the city of Springfield was less than fifteen miles away, thus providing a built-in workforce.

So when Jim Prescott saw the ad for a police chief in a town with a population of less than 1000 citizens in a relatively quiet part of Massachusetts, he jumped at it. It wasn’t that he was necessarily unhappy as a police sergeant in Laconia, New Hampshire, but the Chandler position paid $15,000 a year more than his current salary and promised to provide a Mayberry RFD-type of environment for his wife and two kids. And even though he was certain that the chief of police would have far more headaches than the four officers he’d be supervising, Prescott still suspected that those headaches would be even less severe than the ones he’d been experiencing as a sergeant in Laconia.

And all of that had been true for the past eighteen months that he had served as Chandler’s chief of police; that is, until the death of Megan Gallagher. The uncertainty of this case found him second-guessing himself. He had very limited experience with anything like this and had no idea where it might be headed. Still, he knew the basics. So he went about his business as professionally as possible. He secured the scene after the coroner left, arranged to have the front door boarded up, and put up the yellow crime tape, even though there was no evidence that a crime had been committed.

***

Two days later he got a call from the county coroner’s office, and it was the coroner himself. Chief Prescott, I thought I’d let you know about my preliminary findings and also that you can advise the next of kin that we’re ready to release the body.

"Actually, we’re still