The Death at Yew Corner Read Online Free

he tried to shift mental gears and align himself with her fears. She made her decision and dialed the Murphysville Police Department. “Chief Herbert, please.”
    A connection was made quickly. “Herbert.” The voice was deep and robust in keeping with the massive bulk of the man.
    â€œBea Wentworth, Rocco. There’s been a death at the Murphysville Convalescent Home.”
    â€œUnfortunately there often is, Bea. It’s hardly a police matter.”
    â€œGive me a moment.” She quickly recounted her discovery of Dr. Bunting’s body and the circumstances. She voiced her misgivings over the lack of chart notation and the time sequence between when Kim last saw the old lady and the approximate time of death.
    â€œThat hardly constitutes murder, Bea.”
    â€œThe way things stand now, once the death certificate is signed, you won’t even be involved, will you?”
    â€œNo reason to be. You know, they have a strike over there. Things are probably in a real mess, which might account for her being left unattended.”
    â€œI think it’s more than that, Rocco.”
    â€œA motive of any sort?”
    â€œI don’t think so, but I’d still like you to come.”
    Rocco sighed. “All right, Bea. Give me a couple of minutes to tie up some loose ends.”
    He hung up and Bea stood by the phone for a few moments thinking about possible motives. Fabian Bunting had been a tenured professor at her alma mater. There was a husband somewhere back in the dim past, but Bea wasn’t sure if the marriage had been dissolved in divorce or death; either way it must have been over thirty years ago. She didn’t believe Fabian had a private income and assumed she probably subsisted on the modest pension the college provided. What possible motive could there be? Who would want to kill an eighty-four-year-old woman—irascible as she might have been sometimes?
    Kim had paid for the coffee when Bea returned to the booth. They left the restaurant and walked back toward the picket line where Bea would wait for Rocco Herbert.
    The van had stopped outside town where another man climbed into the cab. The man had glanced back toward the rear, where he was tied, and then they had driven on. He knew they were going to kill him. He was not particularly surprised. He had been threatened, beaten, and spat on before during his years of union organizing, and this was not totally unexpected. He knew who they were and why they were doing it, but perhaps they would only beat him. A few blows with a baseball bat across the knees, a tire iron across the face, something that would hurt and maim but still allow him to survive. It was possible that he might live. He would hold on to that—it was all he had .
    The strikers were clustered in groups. Their conversations erupted in angry buzzes, and Kim knew something was wrong. She left Bea and ran over to the first group. Her body shook with rage as she heard the accusations the nursing-home administrator had made. She turned to face Bea with her hands balled in tight fists.
    â€œThat bastard blames us.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œDr. Bunting’s death. He claims the noise of the strike upset her and caused her to become extremely agitated. Damn it, Bea! That woman was with us.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that guy?” someone yelled.
    â€œHe says we’re responsible.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous.”
    â€œI know it, you know it, and he knows it. But that’s the word that’ll go out to the newspapers.”
    The police cruiser swerved to a halt in front of the home and was immediately surrounded by a score of strikers. Rocco Herbert unlimbered his mammoth body from the vehicle to face the gesticulating workers. He listened with his six-foot-eight height slouched toward a short Puerto Rican as the man’s torrent of words shifted uncontrollably from Spanish to English. Rocco nodded, nodded again,