Night Shift

Book 2: Helping Hands Mystery

by Annelise Ryan

Genres: Female Sleuths; General Fiction; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

When social worker Hildy Schneider commits to an after-hours side job, she finds herself drawn into the darker side of small-town Sorenson, Wisconsin—and the twisted mind of an unnamed killer . . .



Strange things have been happening since Hildy started moonlighting with local police, but a desperate late-night call involving a former patient from Sorenson General Hospital tops the list. Although Danny Hildebrand has been tormented by hallucinations for years, he swears he's being haunted for real by the victim of a grisly murder . . .



The rambling ghost story seems like another delusion. But after a body turns up in a neglected farmhouse crawling with secrets, Hildy and the magnetic Detective Bob Richmond rush to explain Danny's knowledge of the incident. As the crime-solving partners unwittingly grow closer while examining a series of eerie leads, they realize that surviving past sunrise means shedding light on a criminal willing to do whatever it takes to stay in the shadows . . .

Release date: July 28, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

“He’s coming. He’s mad and he’s coming for me! Help me! Please!”

The man before me, his huge, blue eyes ablaze with fear and panic, is pacing back and forth, wearing a path through dingy shag carpeting. His hands hang at his sides, one opening and closing into a fist with each step, the other clutching a triangular box from the local Quik-E-Mart. The shape of the box is a dead giveaway, but the tangy smell of tomatoes, oregano, and melted cheese leave little doubt that there’s a slice of pizza in that box. It’s almost midnight, and the Quik-E-Mart is the only place in town to get any food at this hour. Despite their small size, the stores make very tasty breakfast sandwiches, hot dogs, brats, pizza, and soups. The aroma of the pizza makes my stomach growl loudly, and I hope no one can hear it over the rants of the pacing man, because this is neither the time nor the place.

The man’s dark hair stands out from his head in what looks like a cartoonish testament to the fear he’s displaying, though this is often what his curly, unkempt hair looks like. I know this because I know him. His name is Danny Hildebrand and he knows me, too, though you might be hard put to prove it right now. If eyes truly are the windows to the soul, one look at Danny’s makes it clear that reason and sanity have left that particular building. At least for now.

I take a step closer and the police officer standing next to me, grabs my arm. “Hold back, Hildy,” he warns. “This guy is twice your size.”

This is a bit of an exaggeration, though not much of one. I barely hit the five-foot mark and Danny is around six-four. He’s a big guy, no doubt about that.

“It’s okay, Devo,” I say in a side whisper, using Officer Patrick Devonshire’s nickname. “I know the guy. He’s never been violent.”

“Still,” Devo says, “stay a safe distance back.”

I see Devo unholster his Taser and I give him a chastising look. “Please, give me a few minutes before you resort to that.”

Devo frowns at me, but he keeps the Taser down at his side.

“Danny,” I say, turning my attention back to the pacing man. “It’s Hildy Schneider, remember? You and I have met before at the hospital. I’m the social worker there who always works with you. I helped you figure out a problem with your medications just a few months ago.”

Danny doesn’t acknowledge me with any words or even a look my way, but his pacing slows almost imperceptibly. I count it as progress. I look over at the woman standing off in one corner, watching Danny with a heartbroken expression, chewing on her stubby fingernails. Her eyes are the mirror image of Danny’s, and I idly wonder which parent they inherited them from.

“He lives with you now, Allie, doesn’t he?” I ask.

She briefly shifts her gaze to me, nods spastically, and then goes back to watching her brother.

“Is he off his meds again?”

“No,” she says with a hitch in her voice. “I help him with them every day to make sure he takes them like he’s supposed to.”

The man standing next to Allie, a tall, slender fellow, thirtyish, with thinning blond hair, lets out a loud sigh. “He’s been doing really well lately,” he says, looking at Allie with a sympathetic expression. “We don’t know what’s set him off, but whatever it is, I don’t think he can stay here tonight. His behavior is too erratic. He’s clearly unstable and as much as I love the guy, I love you more, Allie. I’m worried for your safety.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” Allie insists with a look of annoyance.

Joel gives us an imploring look. I don’t know who he is, but he is clearly worried about both Allie and Danny, though his allegiance appears to lean more toward Allie. A boyfriend, perhaps? Could that be what’s set Danny off this time? I know he and his sister are very close. Could jealousy be playing a role here?

I’m guessing, grasping at straws, and Devo weighs in with his opinion in a whispered aside to me that is louder than I like. “This guy’s off his rocker. A total nutcase.”

Danny stops pacing and whirls on Devo, his hands clenched, his eyes wide with desperation. “I’m not crazy!” he yells, spittle flying off his lips. Then, in a quieter but still panicked tone, he looks at me and says, “I... I saw his ghost. It... it...” He squeezes his eyes closed, and his face contorts into a grimace, as if he’s trying to crush the memory into oblivion. “It came out of the tree,” he blurts out in a panicked tone, half sobbing. “Right out of the trunk!” He slaps his free hand on his forehead several times and stands there, taking huge gulping breaths. His eyes widen. “I saw him get killed and didn’t do anything. Now he’s haunting me!”

Danny suffers from schizophrenia, so bizarre claims and actions aren’t too far outside his wheelhouse when things flair up. He’s had these kinds of episodes before and I’ve seen and cared for him in the hospital ER during several of them, including one that happened just a few months ago. Though in the past he’s always been haunted by voices, never actual ghosts.

“You know,” I say to Devo, “I think this is a situation where Roscoe might be able to help. He’s been effective with Danny in the past.”

Devo stares at Danny for a few seconds, indecision stamped on his face. Then he looks at me and nods. “Yeah, okay. Go get him.”

I hurry out of the living room and through the front door of the house we are in. Outside, parked at the curb, is the police cruiser Devo and I came in. It’s an SUV, and my golden retriever, Roscoe, a trained therapy dog, is in the back. The hatch opens as I approach, no doubt from Devo hitting a button on the remote he has on him. Roscoe, contained inside a large carrier, thumps his tail with excitement when he sees me.

I open the carrier and hook him up to a leash that is kept in the back. Together we head inside and reenter the house without knocking. The tableau I left hasn’t changed much. Danny is now squatting on the floor, one hand still palm-slapping his forehead, the other clutching that triangular box. His body trembles and I hear periodic sobs emanating from him. The slapping speeds up and it’s almost as if he’s trying to knock the demons that are haunting him right out of his head.

I realize the pizza box will need to be dealt with lest it provide too much of a distraction for Roscoe. He’s trained to ignore food—or any other items he may encounter—and not eat anything unless he’s told it’s okay, an important bit of training for a hospital-visiting therapy dog who may come across food or pills in the course of his visits. But that smell is bound to be a distractor if he’s too close to it. When I reach Devo, I tell Roscoe to sit and stay, and he does both. Then I walk up to Danny, take the box from his hand—he offers no resistance, which shows me just how out of his mind he must be because I’d die before letting go of a box that smelled that good—and carry it over to a side table.

With that done, I return to Roscoe, who whimpers a little, his head cocked to one side as he watches Danny sobbing on the floor. I undo his leash and quietly say, “Go to him.”

Roscoe drops down and does a belly crawl toward Danny, nuzzling his nose against Danny’s feet. Danny drops the slapping hand and looks at Roscoe with his tear-stained face. A hint of a smile forms on one side of his mouth. Roscoe sees it, too, and he gets up and sniffs around Danny’s face for a few seconds before gently licking one salty tear that’s about to drop from his jawline.

I’m not sure how Danny will react to this and my muscles tense. I’m ready to call Roscoe back if need be, but a moment later I see it won’t be necessary. Danny reaches up and strokes Roscoe’s furry head, eyeing him with affection. With one long, shuddering breath all the tension leaks out of Danny’s body. Roscoe thumps his tail, lies down, and rests his chin on one of Danny’s knees.

Devo holsters his Taser, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. As Danny strokes Roscoe’s head, I can see that his eyes look calmer and his muscles are more relaxed. After a minute or two, Danny lies down on the floor, stretching his body out alongside Roscoe’s.

I look past Danny to Allie and Joel and, with a sideways motion of my head, gesture toward the kitchen, which is just off the living room. I say to Devo, “Let’s talk to his sister. He’ll be fine, and we can keep an eye on him from the other room.”

Devo nods and we all make our way into the kitchen. Allie gestures toward a small table, the surface of which is nearly covered by a large bowl filled with fresh fruit—oranges, kiwis, apples, bananas, and grapes—and says, “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine here,” I say. There are only two chairs around the table, and I figure Allie and Joel might need to sit in them. “I want to stay where I can keep an eye on Danny.”

“Me, too,” Devo says, positioning himself directly across from me on the other side of the doorway.

Joel walks over to the fridge and says, “I’m going to have a beer. Allie?”

Allie shakes her head. “I’m on call. I’ll take a cream soda, though.”

As Joel removes the drinks from the fridge, I gesture toward him with a nod and give Allie a questioning look.

“Oh, sorry,” she says with an apologetic grin. “I should have introduced you.” She gestures toward Joel. “This is Joel Niedermeyer. He’s my fiancé.” She proffers her left hand and shows me the small diamond on her ring finger, smiling at it for a few seconds before continuing. “And this is Hildy Schneider, the social worker I told you about.”

“Congratulations,” I say to the two of them. “You are a lucky guy, Joel.”

Joel walks over and hands Allie her soda, then comes over to me and extends his free hand for a shake. “Don’t I know it,” he says with a smile. I take the offered hand, trying not to wince at the clammy wetness of his palm from holding the cold can of soda. “Allie has mentioned you. She says you’ve been a big help to her and Danny in the past. We really appreciate that.”

“Well, that’s what we social workers do,” I say, using all my willpower to not yank my hand away from him. When he finally releases me, I quickly wipe my palm on my pants as surreptitiously as I can. What I want to do is run over to the sink and stick my hand beneath a full-running faucet with water as hot as I can stand and then scrub it with soap. It’s my OCD kicking in and I work at subduing the urge. I’m so focused, in fact, that I don’t hear any of the introductory exchange between Devo and Joel until Joel says, “Hell of a way to meet you folks.”

I try to keep my attention on the topic at hand, focusing on Allie’s hand instead of mine. “So, when’s the big day?” I ask her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, popping the tab on her drink can. “I need to get Danny straight before I can even begin to think about planning something like that.” She looks at Joel and smiles. “Joel is living here with us now, to help out.”

Joel reaches over and massages one of her shoulders, then he leans in and kisses her on the temple. “She doesn’t accept my help as much as I wish she would,” he says, looking at Allie with an adoring smile.

“Tell us what happened,” I say to Allie. “What led to you calling us tonight?”

Allie leans back against the counter in front of the sink and takes a drink of her soda, squeezing her eyes closed as she swallows. Joel walks over to the table and settles sideways into a chair, his long legs extended out and crossed at the ankle. Holding his beer in one hand, he raises it toward Allie and says, “Go ahead, hon, tell these people what happened. I would, but I’m not sure I fully understand it.” He looks at me and adds, “I didn’t hear or see the start of all this. I’m a nurse and I work the evening shift at the Sunrise Nursing Home. I got home right before you guys showed up.”

Allie takes another gulp of her soda, and then, with a deep, bracing breath, begins. “Danny came home from a walk about ten minutes before I called you. He takes long strolls nearly every night now, and for a while it seemed like it was helping him, you know?” She gives me a look as if she’s appealing for my understanding, so I nod. “Anyway, something clearly happened tonight that set him off, though to be honest he’s been off for the past two nights. I could tell something was bothering him and I asked him yesterday, but all he said was that he was tired and thought maybe he was coming down with a cold or something.”

“Was he displaying the usual behaviors that precede one of his episodes?”

Allie frowns and shakes her head. “Not really, no. He’s been oddly sullen and withdrawn, and he seems to be unusually scatterbrained. That’s not like him. Then tonight he came in from his walk and he was all wild and panicky. He was as pale as a ghost, which is ironic I suppose, because he started ranting about seeing one, saying that this ghost was after him, that it wanted him dead.”

She pauses, taking another drink of her soda. Then she sets the can down on the counter and crosses her arms in front of her. “He kept saying that he saw someone get killed and didn’t do anything about it. And now the ghost of the man who was killed is haunting him.” She sighs and shakes her head, a mirthless smile on her face. “I tried to calm him down, telling him there was no such thing as ghosts, reminding him that I should know given my line of work.”

Devo looks at me, eyebrows raised in question.

“She works at the Olson Funeral Home,” I explain.

“I mostly do funeral planning,” Allie tells him. “You know, meeting with families to help them figure out the specifics. Sometimes it’s preplanning, older folks who come in and want to make arrangements ahead of time, so their family won’t have to deal with it. There’s a lot to it from choosing between burial and cremation, picking out a casket, deciding what clothes the deceased will wear, choosing the burial plot location, and of course, the fees associated with all of that. It can get intense at times.”

“I can imagine,” Devo says.

“Anyway,” Allie goes on, “I kept trying to convince Danny that whatever he had seen, it wasn’t a ghost. But he kept escalating, and then he started talking about needing to run and hide. The last time he said something like that he ran off and lived in the woods on the north side of town for two weeks. By the time we found him he’d been half-eaten alive by bugs, lost thirty pounds, and his illness was way out of control because he hadn’t been taking his meds. We had to have him admitted to a psychiatric hospital for three months to get him back on track, and I don’t want to have to go through anything like that again.”

“I remember that episode,” I say. “It was my first encounter with Danny. And Allie is right. He was in really rough shape that time.”

“Maybe he should have stayed in the psych hospital,” Devo says, sotto voce, glancing back into the living room. “At the very least he should be in a halfway house where he can be monitored and cared for by people who know what they’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Allie snaps at him. “I promised my parents that I would look after my brother if anything happened to them. That’s what I’m doing. Nobody knows him better than I do.”

I lean toward Devo and say, “Their parents died in that plane crash in Montana five years ago.”

“Oh, sorry,” Devo says.

Allie gives him a wan smile. “It’s been an adjustment, that’s for sure. I swear I’ve been on top of his meds. I set them out for him and check each day to make sure he’s taken them. I use one of those calendar pill dispensers with the days of the week on it to make sure he takes them all. He’s usually fine when he’s on his meds.”

“I remember him saying he didn’t like the meds the last time I saw him in the ER,” I say. “He said they made him too lethargic. I talked with his physician and asked if there was something different he could try that might lessen that effect. His meds were changed then, weren’t they?”

“They were,” Allie says. “And Danny was really happy with the new meds. I saw a difference in him. He was perkier and more animated.”

“It’s possible that the meds aren’t working any longer, or that his dose needs adjusting,” I say. “I think it would be wise to take him to the ER tonight and get him checked over. Maybe there’s something else going on. Physical illnesses can interfere with certain medications and you said he felt like he was coming down with something.”

Allie nods, looking concerned. “Think he’ll go without a fuss?” she asks.

I glance into the other room and see Danny and Roscoe stretched out on the floor together, Danny slowly petting the dog from head to tail repeatedly, Roscoe on his side, tongue lolling. Both look relaxed, happy, and serene.

“I think he’ll go along if Roscoe goes with him. Let’s give it a try and see what happens. Will you come with us?”

“Of course,” Allie says.

“Do you want me to come?” Joel asks Allie.

She hesitates a moment, and then says, “Why don’t you hold down the fort here at home for now. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Okay,” Joel says, sounding dejected. He punctuates his comment with a long slug of beer.

I turn to Devo. “There isn’t room in your car for all of us to ride, so why don’t I ride to the ER with Allie in her car and Roscoe can ride in the back seat with Danny. You follow us and meet us there, okay?”

Devo looks unsure of this arrangement. “What if the guy goes off again?”

“He won’t. Look at him.” Devo does, and I can tell from his expression that he’s relenting. “It’s what, a five-minute drive at most? We’ll be fine, but you can stay right behind us just in case, okay?”

“Fine,” Devo says with lingering reluctance. “But you better be right about this. The chief said your safety is our responsibility, so if anything happens to you, my butt is in a sling.”

I see Allie give me a curious look. “Yeah, so why are you here with the cops?” she asks. “I mean, I’m glad you are but we don’t usually see you outside of the hospital.”

“I’m here because it’s part of my new job, a second job really, because I still work at the hospital. It’s a new program that the police department is launching called Helping Hands and it involves me and Roscoe riding around with them and offering up whatever services might be useful to the community at large, at least the parts of it that are dealing with the police. We can provide counseling, referrals, resources... that sort of thing.” I pause and glance into the other room at my dog, still stretched out alongside Danny. “And, of course, Roscoe provides his own unique service.”

“And a valuable service it is,” Allie says, walking over and looking through the doorway at her brother. She studies the tableau for a few seconds and then says, “I think the program is a great idea. And I think you’re the perfect woman for the job.”

“Yeah, if she doesn’t get herself killed,” Devo grumbles.

“My brother is not a violent person, at least not intentionally,” Allie protests, her hackles rising.

“It’s the unintentional that worries me,” Devo says.

“I’ll be fine, Devo,” I insist. “I took that self-defense class, and I have my pepper spray if I need it. But I won’t.” I’ve spent the past two weeks going through training for the new job: learning police procedures, taking self-defense classes, and getting taught basic safety measures.

Devo gives me his best skeptical look, one that says he’s smelling cow dung and lots of it. “I know you,” he says. “You won’t use that pepper spray with your dog in the car, so, don’t imply that you will.”

“If it’s a matter of life and death, I most certainly will,” I tell him in my most convincing voice. “But trust me, everything will be fine.”

Famous last words.

Danny is subdued as we walk him out to the car and settle him in the back seat with Roscoe. I strap Danny in, and Roscoe stretches out on the seat beside him, his head in Danny’s lap. I don’t have the means to strap Roscoe in but given the short drive and the fact that we won’t be going much over twenty-five miles an hour, I think it will be okay. Hopefully, Allie is a good driver.

As soon as Allie and I are strapped into our respective seats in the front, she starts the car, backs out of her driveway, and pulls out at a nice, leisurely pace.

“How often do you ride around with the cops?” she says, once we’re on the street.

“For now, I’m doing four shifts a week, Thursday through Sunday, from eleven at night until seven in the morning. My hospital hours got cut back some, so I don’t work Fridays there now. Overall, the two jobs mesh well. It’s going to be a little dicey on Thursdays because I have to work my regular hospital hours and then in the evening, when I could potentially sleep before the cop gig, I have my grief support group. By the time I get done with everything on Friday mornings, I will have been up for over twenty-four hours.”

“Yuck,” Allie says. “That must be hard to do.”

“I’m hoping it will get easier,” I say with a chuckle. “Last night was my first Thursday into Friday shift and I managed okay, but I was also excited about starting the new job and I think that gave me a bit of extra oomph. Once the newness wears off, I might have to rethink things. Maybe my grief support group will be willing to change the night we meet to Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“Well, I’ll say it again. I think it’s a great idea to have you riding around with the cops. I know they mean well, but they just don’t get Danny and his illness. There have been some difficult and scary confrontations in the past.” She flips on her turn indicator—something I’m starting to think is a rarity among drivers these days—and takes a shortcut down a road that backs along the river and skirts along the length of the city cemetery.

I hear a whine from the back seat and I’m not sure if it came from Danny or Roscoe. When I turn to look, I see Danny’s eyes widen with fear as he stares out his side window at the cemetery. Crap! Clearly the drive past the cemetery wasn’t a good choice given Danny’s issues, but it didn’t register with me at first, and obviously it didn’t register with Allie either.

Danny starts breathing faster, and shallower, moaning slightly.

“Danny, it’s okay. There’s nothing there,” I say, twisting my body around so I can see him.

Roscoe pushes his head higher onto Danny’s lap, but there’s no comforting him at this point.

“Look!” Danny whispers, pointing toward the cemetery. “There he is.” His voice breaks and he is practically whimpering. One hand reaches for the door handle. I sense he’s ready to whip that door open and jump out of the car, an insane and illogical move if he thinks the ghost is here. His chances of escape are far better in a car, but logic isn’t putting in much of an appearance for Danny right now.

I reach back and take hold of the wrist closest to me, knowing that if Danny makes up his mind to bolt, I won’t be able to stop him. But I’m hoping my touch will have a steadying, grounding effect. “Danny, look at me,” I say in my best commanding voice. “Right now! Look... at... me.”

He doesn’t. His eyes are glued to the cemetery. Allie has slowed the car down to nearly a crawl and I fear she’s about to pull over. Part of me thinks that’s a smart move in case Danny does try to jump out, but another part of me realizes that we need to get as far away from the cemetery as we can, as soon as we can.

Behind us, Devo turns on his lights.

“Danny, look at me!” I say again, more sternly this time. I squeeze his hand hard to try to break his concentration on the cemetery. This works. He turns and looks at me, his eyes wide with fear. Beads of sweat have broken out. . .