Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

an open door to an office, and I eventually made out other offices with closed doors that were marked E XECUTIVE A SSISTANT , V ICE P RESIDENT , C HIEF F INANCIAL O FFICER , V OLUNTEER D IRECTOR , and N URSING D IRECTOR .
    “Are you glad to be back with Izzy?” Irene asked me as she started down the hallway.
    We passed an open office, which was quite spacious. The sign on the door said P RESIDENT.
    “I am.”
    “Why did you leave?”
    “Because I’m an idiot.”
    Irene stopped so suddenly I almost ran into her. She turned and stared at me, eyeing my hair with what I can only describe as a look of disgust. “Barbara says you haven’t been in lately. You know that keeping up your appearance is important to your state of mind and your mental health, don’t you?” She palmed a sadly thin curl of hair beneath her ear, pressing it into place. “Take it from someone who works hard at it, your appearance is everything.”
    It was hard to take her too seriously given that I have dust bunnies at home with more hair than she has on her whole head. Her comments about mental health made me wonder if she knew things about me that she shouldn’t, but I decided I was just being paranoid and wondered what Dr. Naggy would make of that whole train of thought.
    “I’ve been busy,” I said in my defense. “And my mental health is just fine, thank you.”
    “Humph.”
    “Where is the dead person?” I asked impatiently. We had passed all the offices and were nearly at the end of the hallway. All I could see up ahead were restrooms, a small copy and mail room, and the doorway that led to the reception area at the front of the building.
    “He’s in here,” Irene said.
    I was only mildly surprised when she strolled into the men’s restroom. I sensed early on that this whole situation was going to be weird and this proved me right. I followed her in, and stopped short when I saw the dead man slumped on the floor by the sink. His bald head was wedged between the wall and cabinet, his blue eyes wide and staring out of a face the color of a ripe plum. His legs were splayed, but his arms were bent and his hands were frozen into clawlike shapes that were resting on his chest. There was a white powder of some sort sprinkled on his face, and inside his mouth, which was gaping open, I saw a large, white mass. He was of average height, reasonably well built, and looked to be in his mid-to late forties rather than in his golden years, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t a resident of the place. He looked vaguely familiar, but the white powder all over his face made it hard for me to figure it out. Out of habit, I squatted beside him to probe for a carotid pulse. It was a stupid move, one born of years working at the hospital. It was unnecessary for two reasons: one, this guy was clearly dead, and two, the act of squatting made my body scream out in pain when I used muscles that were still in shock after last night. Once the agony abated and I got a closer look at the victim’s face, it hit me who he was.
    “Oh my God,” I said. “Is this Bernie Chase?”
    “It sure is,” Irene said.
    Bernard Chase was the current CEO and owner of the Twilight Home. He bought it six or seven years ago when the guy who used to own it died and his family put the place up for sale as part of the estate settlement.
    “What the hell happened to him?” I asked Irene.
    “That’s the problem,” Irene said. “Nobody knows for sure, except maybe Bjorn, and he isn’t telling . . . if he remembers.”
    I pulled my hand back from Bernie’s neck and wiped it on my pants. “Do you think that stuff on his face is cocaine?”
    “Pretty sure it’s not,” Irene said, and then she pointed toward Bernie’s feet. Hiding under one of his pant legs was an empty plastic container that once contained isolyser powder, a substance that when sprinkled on anything wet, quickly turns the liquid into a solid. It’s used to make it easier to clean up hazardous spills, or