The Grandpa Killer

Book 10: A Luca Mystery

by Dan Petrosini

Synopsis

Two eighty-year old victims...

...had roofies in their system.

Why would someone give the victims a date-rape drug?

Luca has heard the rumors and now there's an official complaint. A high-end assisted-living community's ownership has been accused of abuse. It seems like a straightforward matter to investigate, but is there something more sinister going on?

Is this about euthanasia or greed?

Luca thinks there may be a third option.

With a plate full of burglary investigations, one of which, led to the victims being pistol-whipped, Luca is swamped. Will he be able to unravel the clues and get to the truth?

His gut says there's a connection...

...but who is behind it?

Is it only about a payday?

You'll love this next installment in the Luca Mystery series, because of hard-nosed, relentless, detective work and his mind for unraveling the lies and deception.

Get it now.

Release date: January 15, 2020

Print pages: 246

Sample

Chapter One

It shouldn’t seem a surprise when someone in their eighties meets their maker, but when a string of otherwise healthy octogenarians made that meeting sooner than expected, I got an itchy feeling that somebody had a thing against grandpas.

***

It was one of those perfect spring evenings, with plenty of daylight to spare. The lakes were high, the humidity low, and everything was as green as it could get.

The combination was one of the things I loved most about Southwest Florida, but instead of reveling in it, I was unsettled.

I knew what Dr. Bilotti said about being present was true, especially with your kids, or you’d miss half of life. But here I was, playing Trouble with my daughter but feeling like a sinkhole was about to open.

“Daddy, it’s your turn.”

I pressed the plastic bubble. “Here comes a six.”

Mary Ann opened the slider and stumbled coming out.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you should stop wearing flip-flops.”

“Come here.”

“I’ll be right back, Jessie.”

Mary Ann whispered, “Ronnie’s father, Bill Coby, died.”

“What? Bill was in great shape.”

“I feel so bad for him.”

“When I helped Ronnie move him into Palm Shores, he carried more stuff than me.”

“I figured he’d live till a hundred.”

“Poor guy just bought that place. It’s massive; you should see it.”

“They said he liked it, that there was a lot to do there.”

“The funeral’s Wednesday. They’re going to do just one day.”

“Good. I remember as a kid sitting in a room with the casket for three days. And nobody said a word back then. It was creepy.”

***

I got back to the house after dropping off the babysitter. Mary Ann was tiptoeing out of Jessie’s room with a finger to her lips. I followed her into the bedroom. She said, “I thought she was going to get up when she heard the garage door.”

Taking my tie off, I said, “Ronnie took losing his father harder than I expected.”

“They were close. He had him around a long time.”

“Ronnie said they’re going to lose ninety grand on the apartment.”

“What do you mean?”

“His father paid over three hundred thousand for the place, and they’re only going to get back two and a quarter.”

“Why is that?”

“His dad paid a higher price to get lower monthly fees, but he didn’t live long enough for it to make sense.”

“But he was only there for a couple of months.”

“I know, but according to him, that’s the way it works with a lot of these places.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Maybe. You know, Maria said someone called Ronnie and told him their father died at Palm Shores a month ago. He was supposedly in phenomenal shape, and they think something funny is going on.”

“A conspiracy to kill old people?”

“That’s what she said.”

“How old was this other guy?”

“I think eighty-one.”

“Still above average.”

“Not for Naples.”

She was right. The lifespan for people living in Naples was about eighty-four, one of the highest in the country.

***

I dreamt Jessie was in her fifties. She looked like an older version of Mary Ann. She was cutting up the food on the plate in front of me. She stabbed a string bean and was telling me to open my mouth, when my cell phone rang.

It was just after three in the morning. It was the sheriff, and he rarely called unless there was a body. I scooted into the closet.

“What’s going on, sir?”

“Looks like the burglary ring struck again, in the Moorings. Only this time, the homeowners were sleeping when they broke in.”

We had a team of thieves that were hitting vacation getaways or homes only used during the winter season. The gang would storm a house, disable the alarm system, and be out in minutes. It was a serious crime ring, but nobody had been hurt—yet. Sheriff Chester’s brother-in-law was the president of the Naples Real Estate Association. That relationship, and the fact we hadn’t had a homicide in eight months, prompted the sheriff to have us drop a cold case and focus on the bandits.

“It might not be them if it’s a home invasion.”

“The homeowner flew in with his wife earlier tonight.”

“And the thieves thought the home was empty. Anybody hurt?”

“Unfortunately, they pistol-whipped them.”

Ouch. “I don’t like that; they’re armed.”

“I know. It could have been worse.”

“Where are the victims?”

“NCH Baker. Joe and Clara Williams. I’d like you to get what you can from them.”

“I’ll be there before seven, sir.”

“We have to shut this ring down, and fast. The housing market is slowing down already.”

Was there really a need to remind him that real estate always slowed down as the days in May fell away? “We’ll do what we can, as fast as possible.”

“Keep me in the loop.”

“I will, sir.”

“Sorry to get you out of bed.”

“That’s okay, sir. Good night.”

It wasn’t all right to wake us up in the middle of the night. It was a serious crime, but there was nothing we could do until the morning.

Walking into the bedroom, Mary Ann said, “What’s the matter?”

“Another home break-in. The homeowners were sleeping when it happened.”

“Scary.”

“Go back to sleep.”

Before I could adjust my pillow, I could tell by her breathing that Mary Ann was already out. It would take me a good hour to get to sleep with the thoughts romping around in my head.

If it turned out that it was the same gang who had beaten the homeowners tonight, it meant their intelligence gathering wasn’t sophisticated. Maybe it was nothing more than a landscaper tipping off the ring that a home was empty.

The gang was getting more brazen by the month. When Chester asked me to take over the investigation, the thieves had ramped up their activity from one home a month to two. It was troubling, but it could lead them to a mistake.

Assaulting homeowners was an aggressive escalation that didn’t fit. Why not restrain them, take what you wanted, and leave? The couple had been sleeping and were stunned to find someone in the house. It was unnecessary violence, and though reckless behavior led to arrests, it also led to people getting killed.

 

 

Chapter Two

Sipping my coffee as the sky began to brighten, I called the station and had the break-in report emailed to me. I read through it, letting the java work its magic. I took another gulp and made a call to NCH’s Baker Hospital.

The news was good; the couple had been released after being treated. They weren’t seriously injured, just shaken up. As expected, they were up when I called.

Over a bowl of Cheerios, I looked over the report. It was six thirty, and my girls were still asleep when I headed to the Moorings to interview the couple.

The Moorings was a community with a big reputation and price tags to go with it. It had its own feel and was close to the Gulf of Mexico. They even had a private beach to use, which was valuable during high season. Riding through the center of the area, I admired the homes on either side of Crayton Road.

Just past the Moorings Golf Club I turned onto Putter Point Drive. The home where the crime had occurred was sitting at the end of the cul-de-sac. Backing up to a golf course, the off-white home was the size of a boutique hotel. The landscape lights were on as I pulled onto a circular driveway anchored by a tiered fountain.

Getting out of the Cherokee, I checked the fountain for algae. It was clean. Fountains needed regular maintenance or they’d grow hair. Someone was looking out for this palace while the king and queen were away.

My thoughts shifted to what these people did for a living. Surveying the outside of the mini-castle, Joe Williams swung open the Mediterranean home’s ten-foot door.

Light streamed onto the driveway. “Good morning, Detective.”

“Morning, Mr. Williams.” The sixty-two-year-old had a three-inch square of gauze taped to his right cheek. The area was red but would turn purple before the sun set.

“Come on in. Clara just put a pot of coffee on.”

The foyer and main room were covered in a checkerboard pattern of black and white marble. All the lights were on. The interior had a contemporary feel. My eyes gravitated to the empty spaces on three walls. A museum light was shining on a blank wall.

This was some home. I could understand why thieves would target this place.

“Do you have a security system?”

He frowned. “Yes, but we don’t use it. I don’t know why. Up North, we always alarm the house.”

He seemed like an everyday guy, not someone who lived in a home of grandeur. Was he really grounded, or had the robbery knocked him off his horse?

We stepped into a kitchen with two islands. “This is my wife, Clara. This is Detective Luca.”

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She had a nasty bruise on her neck just below the jawline. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Just a splash of milk, please.”

We sat around a kitchen table with a floral centerpiece. It seemed too fancy for coffee.

“Last night must have been frightening.”

Clara’s chin began quivering, and Joe reached for her hand, saying, “It was, but we thank God we weren’t seriously hurt.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Clara went to bed around ten thirty. I sat on the lanai reading for about forty-five minutes before turning in. Something woke me up; it was one forty. It was a cracking sound. Then I heard voices. I woke Clara up and told her someone was in the house. I went to lock the master door, but this man burst in and cracked me right here.” He pointed to his cheek. “Clara started screaming, and he told her to shut up and he—he hit her.”

“Did you see what he looked like?”

“He had a black ski mask on. He pointed the gun at us and said to hand over our phones. Then he made us get in the bathroom, telling us not to turn the lights on.”

“What about his build?”

“He was big. I’m five ten, so he was about six foot but broad.”

“Any limp? Tattoo?”

“He was wearing a black, long-sleeved sweatshirt with a hood.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No, but there were two other voices. One had a Spanish accent; the other, I’m not sure what it was, maybe East European or something like that.”

“The statement you gave last night listed what was stolen. Was there anything else?”

“Not that we can tell.”

“The paintings that were stolen. What can you tell me about them?”

“We’re not collectors, but we enjoy art. We like the contemporary stuff, not too far out though.”

“Were they by well-known artists?”

“Not really, more like up and coming.”

“Expensive?”

He shook his head. “Just a couple of thousand each.”

That was expensive to me, but it wouldn’t bring more than a couple of hundred from a fence.

“Did you buy them from the same dealer?”

“No. We hunt around, and if we find something, we’ll get it if we really like it.”

“Got it. How often do you use the home?”

“As often as we can. Clara retired from teaching, and I’m doing my best to slow down.”

“What do you do for living?”

“I have a landscape company in Maryland.”

Must be a large enterprise. “How long was it since your last visit?”

“About four weeks ago, right, honey?”

“Yes, we left right after Easter.”

“You came in last night?”

“Yes, we arrived about nine o’clock.”

“Did you tell anyone you were coming in?”

“No, I mean, just a few friends, to get together with.”

Joe said, “And the club, I called for a tee time this morning. Oh geez, remind me to cancel that.”

“Do you use a home watch service?”

“Yes, AAA Home Services. They’re supposed to come once a week.”

“I’m going to need a list of any service companies that would know you were not around. Not that you notified, like the home watch people, but anyone who comes around and can tell the home is empty. Landscapers, pest control, your fountain service, the pool company, things like that.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “You think it was someone we use, that we pay?”

“We don’t know. At this point, we believe someone is feeding information that the homes are empty. If we can identify a pattern, it could lead to catching these thieves.”

Clara grabbed a pad off the counter and began writing.

 

 

Chapter Three

After the funeral mass and interment, the family held a repass luncheon at Brio’s. It was a long day, but the process undoubtedly helped dent the grief. Bill was just about to turn eighty-five. His death shouldn’t have been a surprise, but everyone there, including Mary Ann and me, were stunned.

Considering his physical shape and energy level, most people thought he’d be around for a decade longer.

I didn’t know about another ten years, putting him at ninety-five. It was possible, but like a baby, there was a world of difference in an octogenarian with each passing year.

It was always tough being the first to leave an event like this, but the story about the new crime had gotten around. It provided cover and I left. Mary Ann would hitch a ride with a neighbor.

***

Derrick was standing in front of a map that marked the location of the burglaries. A handful of pins was concentrated in the area between Livingston Road and the gulf to the west, and Golden Gate Boulevard and Pine Ridge to the north.

“How was the funeral?”

“It was sad; he was an amazing guy. You should have seen him. The guy went to the gym every day.”

“You can’t live forever, but at least he had a good quality of life.”

“He did. It took him a while when his wife died, but he bounced back. Even just moved into Palm Shores.”

“Where’s that?”

“A little past Tin City, kind of behind that Naples Grande place.”

“Oh, I know where. How did it go with the Williamses?”

“You should see that house. I bet it goes for two, maybe even three million.”

“What’s he do?”

“The wife’s a retired teacher. He owns a landscaping business, but unless he does government work, he probably inherited the money.”

“How bad were their injuries?”

“They got lucky. He got whacked on the cheek, and she got it on the neck. I don’t know if the thug was being nice, but she’s lucky he didn’t hit her face.”

“It’s the same gang, right?”

“Probably. They could have surprised them, or they’re getting ballsy.”

“I cross-checked service companies. There’s a couple of overlaps but no pattern.”

“We have to focus on the stolen goods. It’s mostly electronics and paintings. Who’s going to buy the paintings? They paid a couple of grand each, but what are they going to get for them on the street?”

“Every home had pictures taken off the walls.”

“Cross-check the places where they bought them. See if there’s a common thread.”

“I’ll get on it. Hey, you missed the action before.”

“What action?”

“Guess who was here?”

I had been up since five. The last thing I wanted was to play a guessing game. “You really got to stop it with this guessing stuff.”

“Sorry. A whole group of people came in, some kind of advocacy group for people in nursing homes. They wanted to meet with the sheriff. They say there’s abuse and deaths from neglect.”

“I saw something on the news about a week ago where some woman was suing Lake View Care because her mother had fallen and broken her hip. Poor woman never recovered and died. The daughter claimed Lake View was negligent because they knew she was at risk to fall. I felt bad hearing about it, but these places can’t control everything.”

“I saw this post on Facebook where this guy’s dad got one of those viruses that are resistant to antibiotics in a place in Atlanta. This guy said his father and two others died from it. He sued, and they settled because the place didn’t put the person who got it first into quarantine.”

“What are they going to do with all of the baby boomers when they need care?”

“We’re going to go broke. I’m not for it, but maybe this euthanasia thing, you know, maybe there’s a way to find some middle ground.”

“I get it for those in pain, for sure. Terminal illnesses that cause tremendous suffering. There’s no way anyone should have to go through that. That said, it’s a slippery slope. Other people deciding on what is a good quality of life for someone else is dangerous.”

“I couldn’t pull the plug on someone.”

“Me either. Unless someone was in a coma and brain dead, I wouldn’t be able to take them off life support. I’d be haunted by it.”

***

Reading Cat in the Hat to Jessie put us both to sleep. It wasn’t the story; it was the lack of sleep. At least for me. Mary Ann took Jessie from my lap and put her to bed. I took a sip of water. When Mary Ann came back in, I put the TV on.

She grabbed the remote, lowering the volume. “She’s restless.”

Looking for something to watch, I began cycling through channels.

“Put the news on. I want to see the weather for tomorrow. We’re going to Clam Pass.”

I wanted to tell her to check her phone. It was at least as accurate as the fifteen minutes of nonsense the news spent on the weather. “How can you go without me?”

“Take the day off.”

“You know we have to give a week’s notice.”

“Look, it’s Chester.”

The sheriff was talking to a reporter. It concerned the demands that he look into the nursing home deaths and the reports of abuse.

“Derrick said a group came to the station today. I’m surprised they didn’t go to the press.”

Chester told the reporter he was going to appoint a task force to look into the allegations. Task force was a reassuring phrase, but it could mean one detective. I thought it was a good idea, as long as I wasn’t involved.

 

 

Chapter Four

Derrick brought a folder over. “Frank, it’s not every burglary, but take a look at this.”

It was a list of the burglaries and the names of the places where each victim had bought their artwork. He’d drawn a red circle around a name that provided more than half of the stolen pictures.

“Um, interesting, but I don’t know what this commonality means. It could be these are the go-to places if you want something nicer than what Wilson has, but you don’t want to get crazy with a zillion-dollar painting from Sotheby’s.”

“I’m going to take a ride down to the art district by J and C Boulevard and stop in a couple of these places. You never know.”

I didn’t believe it would advance the case, but as he said, you never know. “Go for it.”

“You mind if I take off after that? Lynn has a doctor’s appointment. They’re concerned about her blood pressure and sugar levels.”

“No problem. Don’t be too concerned about it. Many women, Mary Ann included, get diabetes and high blood pressure when they’re pregnant. It usually goes away after they give birth.”

“That’s what the doctor said. I’m not worried, just want to be there for her.”

“Take as much time as you need. Let me know how it goes.”

When Derrick left, I began cross-checking the landscapers who took care of the burgled homes. It was easy to suspect a worker of selling info to supplement their pay, but the chances of the same crew working on each home were slim. Just over half the homes used WLM, but they were a large company in the space.

The dispatcher for WLM told me that there were four different teams that maintained the houses in question. It didn’t seem to be them. I grabbed the list of pool companies. You couldn’t drive a mile without seeing a vehicle from a pool service or air-conditioning outfit.

I don’t know how the pool maintenance companies made any money. We paid eighty dollars a month. They came once a week, and the fee included all the chemicals. They knew when someone was away and would skip a week when it happened.

My cell rang. It was my neighbor Ronnie.

“Hey, Ronnie. How are you guys doing?”

“We’re okay. Half the time I still think Pop is around.”

“It’s tough. I’m sorry. If we can help, let us know.”

“Thanks. Look, I don’t want to sound like a lunatic, but I just couldn’t let it pass.”

“What’s going on?”

“It could be nothing, but I got a call from this guy, John Martin. His father also lived in Palm Shores. He passed away about a month before my dad did. Anyway, he tells me his father was the picture of health, and he died suddenly, just like my pop.”

“What was the cause of his death?”

“They told him it was natural.”

“And he thinks otherwise?”

“Yeah, he thinks something is going on at Palm Shores. He even said that there was a woman who died the month before, and she was only seventy-nine.”

Only? “You want me to check around a little?”

“I know you’re busy, but if you could, I’d appreciate it. I owe it to Dad. If anything is going on, it’s got to be stopped, and I know it’s not related, but I saw the news about Lake View last night.”

He was right; it was unrelated. “Let me have Mr. Martin’s contact info.”

***

The home on Longboat Drive stuck out. It was new and fashionable. The coastal contemporary style was accelerating, and it was one change I approved of. The houses on either side were at least thirty years old. If their owners weren’t old-timers, they might be shamed into knocking their homes down or doing a major remodel.

A squad car blocked the home’s driveway. In the front and in the rear of the home was water that was part of the Gordon River system and led to the Gulf of Mexico. The thieves had targeted another home in an expensive neighborhood.

In this case, the burglary probably happened a day before anyone realized. A neighbor saw an open rear slider. The woman knew the owners were away and called 911.

No matter what direction you turned, there were water views. The place had wide plank flooring throughout the entire home. I liked it but wasn’t sure how it would hold up with a six-year-old dropping juices every other day. My eyes zoomed in on a glass wine closet that was tucked under a staircase. It wasn’t big, but it was sweet.

Opening the door to see how cold it was, I got a blast of sixty-degree air. Half of the shelving was empty. Was the owner a wine lover, or was this a designer’s idea?

I counted three empty picture hooks. It appeared a table lamp was missing along with a sizable TV. The kitchen looked to be intact. I stepped onto the lanai. An infinity pool appeared to flow into the Gordon River. To the left, a forty-foot boat was raised above the water.

After discounting the use of a boat, I headed in and checked upstairs. The master had a deck that would capture amazing sunsets, though I doubted anyone traipsed up to see them.

The master closet had been ransacked. It was impossible to assess without the owner’s input. Two other bedrooms seemed untouched, and I went back to the main level.

Forensics would dust for fingerprints, but this gang had always worn gloves. I didn’t think anything would come of it. The owners were flying in from Denver. I’d speak with them after they assessed the loss.

Thankfully, no one had been hurt, but if it was the same gang, it was the second time their MO had changed. First, they’d broken in when someone was home, injuring them. Now, they had dramatically sped up the time before striking. The Longboat home had been hit right after the Moorings one.

 

 

Chapter Five

The owners of the Longboat Drive home, Sally and Robert Crenshaw, were in their early fifties. Flying time from Denver to Fort Myers was four and a half hours. The Crenshaws were so fresh, I wondered if they took a private jet.

“As I mentioned, we believe the same group is responsible. We’re following several leads.”

The husband nodded shakily, but I caught the wife rolling her eyes. They were understandably traumatized by the burglary, but she looked like someone who would complain that a pool was at eighty-five degrees, not eighty-six.

“Who knew the home was going to be vacant?”

She said, “It’s not like we broadcasted that we were leaving.”

“Who was aware you were not home? Landscapers? Pest control?”

He said, “The Klines, they’re our next-door neighbors. We always tell them in case they see something, and they did. But other than that, we’re both very busy in Denver and keep to ourselves while we’re here.”

“He doesn’t even like to go out to dinner much.”

“Is there anything missing that had a high value?”

She said, “Our artwork is the only thing we care about.”

“That’s not true, Sally.”

I said, “There were six pieces stolen. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Any of them more valuable than the rest?”

“Yes—”

The husband cut her off. “Caroline was particularly fond of a piece that reminds her of the place we met, but it didn’t cost any more than the others.”

“Do you have a list of the pieces and where they were bought?”

He looked at his wife and said, “Uh, I think we do somewhere. I’ll have to look around for it.”

“That would be helpful. I’d like a list of anyone who services the home for you. Pool company, landscaper, that sort of thing.”

They conferred for a moment and jotted down a list of names. I thanked them, telling them I’d be in touch as the case developed.

On the way out, I scanned where the artwork had been hung. Heavy-duty hooks marked each location, but there was just one museum light hanging over an empty spot.

***

Back in the office, I noticed the yellow Post-it with John Martin’s telephone number on it. I didn’t want to call him, but I had told Ronnie I would, and when I gave my word, it meant something.

A pet peeve of mine was people saying they were going to do this or that but never did. Most of the time it was harmless, but it reflected on the person and their reputation. Instead of declaring you’re going to do something that you probably won’t, just add a qualifier and you’re off the hook.

“John Martin?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Detective Luca with the Collier Sheriff’s Office.”

“You’re Ronnie’s neighbor, right?”

“Yes. He asked me to speak with you about your concerns regarding Palm Shores.”

“They’re more than concerns. Something is going on there. Healthy people, like my dad and Ronnie’s, are dying just a couple of months after moving in there.”

“That is troubling, but I’d imagine there’s quite an adjustment moving into a facility like that.”

“Facility? It’s a country club for seniors, is what it is. My dad was happy there until they killed him.”

“What leads you to believe his death wasn’t natural?”

“Dad was in perfect health. He played tennis three days a week, for God’s sake. Then, all of a sudden, they say he passed during the night? You know, when it happened, we were stunned, but I just thought something inside him gave out. But then I get a call from this woman, Yolanda. Her mother died a couple of weeks before my father. She tells me her mother died a month after she went on Medicaid. She said she knows of at least two other cases like that.”

“I don’t understand the Medicaid reference. How is that relevant?”

“It’s all about the money. You see, Palm Shores wants you to pay out of your pocket; they call it private pay. When you run out of money, they can’t just kick you out. You go on Medicaid, but Medicaid pays like half what a private payer does.”

The financial gain to be had by eliminating residents the state paid for was an interesting angle. However, it implied a large conspiracy. Whoever owned the place would benefit, but they’d need a death squad to carry out the executions.

“I understand your concern about the reimbursement rate, but killing someone over a couple of thousand dollars a month would be a stretch.”

“Yeah? First off, it’s more like five thousand a month, but what about the money they get to keep for guys like my dad and Ronnie’s father? They take a huge haircut when they die.”

I recalled what Ronnie said: his dad opted for lower monthly fees, paying over three hundred thousand for an apartment that could only be sold back to Palm Shores for twenty-five percent less. Considering his health, it seemed like a good bet as he’d save two thousand a month. He needed to live three years to break even but died just two months later.

“I’ll look into this. Give me Yolanda’s contact information. I’d like to speak to her as well.”

After hanging up, I leaned back in my chair. This sounded crazy. The place where you’d go to be taken care of would kill you? Though I understood the financial gain side of such a scheme, it seemed incredibly difficult and dangerous to pull off.

Losing a loved one was emotional, and we needed someone to blame for the pain we felt. In this case, it appeared the bogeyman was a faceless institution.

I didn’t want to talk to this Yolanda, but if Chester pulled me into the nursing home investigation, I might learn something about Medicaid from her.

“Yolanda Sykes?”

“That’s me.”

“Detective Luca from the sheriff’s office. Mr. Martin said I should speak to you.”

“I can’t believe it. Somebody’s finally waking up.”

“Tell me what you believe happened to your mother.”

“Palm Shores killed her because she couldn’t pay anymore.”

“And how did they do that?”

“I don’t know. They just did and said she died naturally.”

“You could have requested an autopsy if you felt there was something suspicious about it.”

“I wanted to, but my brothers didn’t want to have my mom go through that.”

“I understand. Do you have any evidence foul play was involved?”

“Look, not even a month after she goes on Medicaid, she’s dead. And she’s not the only one.”

“It could have been a coincidence.”

“No way. You know, some lady who works there warned me to get my mother out since she was going on Medicaid.”

“Did she provide specifics as to why?”

“No, she said she couldn’t talk; she needed the job.”

If the employee said anything, she could have been referring to the quality of care or even the food. “An accusation that your mother was murdered by Palm Shores because of her inability to pay is a serious charge. In order for the sheriff’s office to investigate, we’re going to need more than what you’ve told me. Is there something concrete I can work with?”

She gave me the name of the woman who worked at Palm Shores and pleaded with me to speak with her. To display concern for her allegations, I asked her to forward the death certificate to me and to ask her mother’s doctors for her health records.