Dead by Dinner Time

  Dead by Dinnertime

  By Jeff Shelby

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dead by Dinnertime

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2018

  Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Books by Jeff Shelby

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  Thanks for reading DEAD BY DINNERTIME! If you enjoyed it, please consider taking a few minutes to review it wherever you purchased it! | And want to make sure you never miss a new release and find out about other book-related news? Sign up for Jeff's newsletter right here. | And if you missed the book where Sunny was introduced in the Moose River series, keep reading for a special sneak peek at DEAD IN THE WATER.

  ONE

  Books by Jeff Shelby

  The Joe Tyler Novels

  THREAD OF HOPE

  THREAD OF SUSPICION

  THREAD OF BETRAYAL

  THREAD OF INNOCENCE

  THREAD OF FEAR

  THREAD OF REVENGE

  THREAD OF DANGER

  THREAD OF DOUBT

  The Noah Braddock Novels

  KILLER SWELL

  WICKED BREAK

  LIQUID SMOKE

  DRIFT AWAY

  LOCKED IN

  IMPACT ZONE

  WIPE OUT

  The Moose River Mysteries

  THE MURDER PIT

  LAST RESORT

  ALIBI HIGH

  FOUL PLAY

  YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

  ASSISTED MURDER

  DEATH AT THE DINER

  SCHOOL OF MURDER

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  The Rainy Day Mysteries

  BOUGHT THE FARM

  WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

  CRACK OF DEATH

  PLANTING EVIDENCE

  ONE BAD EGG

  BALE OUT

  LAST STRAW

  CUT AND DIED

  SOUR GRAPES

  The Capitol Cases Mysteries

  DEAD ON ARRIVAL

  NATIONAL MAUL

  DARK HORSE

  The Sunny Springfield Mysteries

  DEAD BY DINNER TIME

  The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

  STAY AT HOME DEAD

  POPPED OFF

  FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

  Novel for Young Adults

  PLAYING THE GAME

  Short Story Collections

  OUT OF TIME

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  ONE

  The glass sliding doors to Oasis Ridge opened, and I had never been happier to step foot inside my place of work.

  Considering my ambivalence toward my job, it was kind of a weird feeling for me. Okay, more than kind of.

  The small retirement community just outside of Niceville, Florida where I spent the better part of my working hours did indeed feel like an oasis, a respite from the storm, after the week I’d just endured.

  My nose twitched at the familiar smells of air freshener and antiseptic, of lemon-scented wood polish from the just-polished grand staircase and the faint hint of coffee wafting out of the dining room. An aide, someone I didn’t recognize, pushed a wheelchair down the hall, stopping briefly so the woman in the chair could stop and admire a landscape painting on the wall. I wondered if it was new, because it was a piece I didn’t recognize, and I’d walked down that hall hundreds of times over the last twelve months.

  “Morning, Sunny.” Kelly, one of the daytime receptionists, greeted me from behind her desk. “How was your trip?”

  I thought about the last seven days, cruising around the Caribbean and being wrongfully accused in a murder mystery at sea.

  “Fine,” I lied, taking a sip of the iced latte I’d picked up at Starbucks on my way to work.

  “Just fine?” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she squinted up at me. Her blue eye shadow was more navy than royal blue today, and she’d used a wobbly hand to apply the black eyeliner ringing her eyes. “You were on a cruise. You went to amazing ports of call. And it was just fine?”

  Fine was definitely a stretch. It hadn’t really been fine at all, but it wasn’t like I could tell Kelly this. After all, the reason I’d even considered going on a cruise had been because I was looking for new employment. Activities director for a cruise ship had a nice ring to it, and I was beyond frustrated with my position at Oasis Ridge. Of course, I hadn’t gotten the position but I’d already booked the trip...and then the woman who had gotten the job instead of me was found dead in her office and well...the trip had quickly taken a definite turn south.

  In more ways than one.

  “The weather was beautiful,” I finally said. “And the food and staff on board were amazing.”

  Those statements were true.

  “And to think the sun is sort of wasted on you, isn’t it?” Kelly shook her head, clucking her tongue like some hen strutting around a farm. “That red hair and pale skin of yours.”

  Kelly was a true Floridian, born and raised, and fifty years in the sun had taken its toll on her skin. Well, that and her penchant for cigarettes. I’d take my ivory-colored complexion over her leathery skin any day.

  “I still enjoyed it,” I told her with a forced smile.

  “I’m sure you did,” she said. But I could hear she had her doubts.

  “Anything happen while I was gone?” I said, trying to redirect the conversation.

  “Not a thing. No new residents and no one died.” She almost sounded disappointed.

  “Well, that’s good.”

  She frowned, and the wrinkles in her skin looked like crevasses. “Good? We have a five percent vacancy rate. Ten units that are sitting empty. And the residents that are here aren’t gonna stick around forever, if you know what I mean.”

  It was too early in my day—in my week, really—to start listening to complaints. Besides, increasing occupancy rates wasn’t my job at Oasis Ridge. My job was to keep the residents we did have living there entertained and happy. And I wasn’t going to be able to accomplish that if I spent my days listening to Kelly go all doom and gloom on me.

  The phone rang and Kelly reached for it. “I’m sure Anne will fill you in,” she said, her hand hovering over the phone. “She asked me to have you check in this morning after you get settled.”

  I mouthed a thank you as she picked up the phone and then started toward my office. A sea of weathered, wrinkled faces greeted me as I walked past the Gathering Room, the large area that served as both a lobby and large living
room for the sprawling building. I said hello to the residents seated in the rocking chairs by the fish tank and waved hello to the ladies playing cards at one of the four-top tables in the room.

  Billie, a spry lady with red hair of her own, called out to me from across the room. “How was your trip?”

  I gave her a thumbs up. She was a little hard of hearing so if I wanted to be heard, I would have to scream...which would then startle the residents sitting closer to where I was standing.

  “You can tell me all about it this afternoon,” she hollered.

  I smiled and nodded. Monday afternoons were Movie Mondays, where residents watched a film and then held a discussion afterward. I usually popped in to see how the conversation was going, and to get feedback on the choice of movie. A group of residents sat on the Movie Advisory Board and had taken on the task of selecting the films for the event, but as the Recreation Director for Oasis Ridge, the authority ultimately rested with me.

  My sandals padded down the carpeted hallway, to the third door on the left. A metal placard mounted on the wall read Sunny Springfield. My name. My office. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, knowing exactly what I would see inside.

  Nothing special.

  It was a standard office. Desk, computer, a chair for me and two chairs for guests. Cream wallpaper covered with small flowers adorned the walls, the same as every office in the facility. There was a simple metal filing cabinet tucked in one corner, a wood laminate bookcase in the other. A small fern sat atop it, its fronds brown and wrinkled at the tips. Another plant I was bound to kill.

  I sat down in my chair, an ergonomic design whose promises of comfort had not been met, and stowed my purse in the locking drawer in my desk. I powered on my computer and flipped my planner forward a page so I was on the right week. I knew what was on the agenda—the same things that were always on the agenda—so my action was more a habit than a necessity.

  I scanned the activities for the week. Movie. Concert. Cooking. Bingo. Yoga. Water aerobics. Poker Night. There were multiple events each day, with activities to appeal to a wide range of interests, but I still felt this sense of listlessness, this sense of ambivalence.

  I sipped my coffee and sighed.

  Why did I feel so bored? Stuck?

  It was a question I asked myself with growing frequency.

  It was the question that had led me to apply for a job on a cruise ship, a job I wasn’t particularly interested in and a job I probably wasn’t qualified for.

  I glanced at the Oasis Ridge logo emblazoned on one of the envelopes sitting on my desk.

  I was working in my field of choice. I’d graduated with a degree in therapeutic recreation, and that’s what I was doing: providing recreation opportunities to enrich the lives of the seniors residing at Oasis Ridge.

  I’d known early on that I wanted a career working directly with people. I was social, I liked to engage with others, and I also had a desire to help people. Therapeutic recreation had seemed like a degree that had been tailor made just for me. I would be able to enrich people’s lives, all while providing activities that would enhance their quality of life and promote healthy living. Although I’d originally set my sights on working with a community rec program, maybe serving disadvantaged youth, I realized pretty quickly that the best way to get real-life experience would be working with the geriatric community. Living in Florida, retirement homes and assisted living communities were a dime a dozen, and it would be easy to secure an entry-level position in one of the many facilities in the state.

  But, after six months of working at a small nursing home and then a year here at Oasis Ridge, I wasn’t sure planning activities at a retirement community was my cup of tea.

  It had nothing to do with the residents themselves. I loved the people I planned activities for, and I loved making a difference in their lives. What I didn’t like was the bureaucracy I’d run up against.

  Anne Engle, the executive director and my direct boss, was definitely old school. I’d come to Oasis Ridge with plans to completely revamp the activities program. Instead of filling up the calendar with the same old activities seniors had been doing for years, I wanted to try newer, more innovative things. Things that would stimulate residents’ minds as well as their bodies. Things that would challenge them, things that would spark memories for them.

  I was pretty sure I could get the residents on board, but administration was another story.

  If it were up to Anne, activities would consist of bingo nights and movie nights, and maybe the occasional spa day where female residents could get their nails painted. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to approve new events, and even now, after twelve months of trying, she was still slow to give me permission to spice things up. Cooking events had been a particular challenge. She’d been worried about residents’ safety, about them cutting themselves with knives or accidentally starting fires. I’d had to secure a 3:1 resident/ aide ratio to assuage her fears and get the go-ahead, despite the fact that I’d pointed out that most of our residents had kitchens in their own units, and most of them had spent the better part of their lives cooking and baking for their families. We didn’t have many residents with severe memory issues, and it wasn’t as if we were having them blowtorch crème brulees.

  The cooking events I’d lobbied for—both group cooking and cooking classes—had been a resounding success, and I still wasn’t sure if Anne was happy about it or not.

  She’d admitted the cooking class “experiment” had worked. But change wasn’t always a good thing, she told me, because what if residents didn’t like it? They would leave. And Oasis Ridge’s sole goal was to fill units.

  I was glad that wasn’t my sole goal. My sole goal was to ensure the people living there had fun, engaging things to do.

  I just wished I had an administrator who could at least try to align her goals with mine—and my job description.

  There was a knock on my door and Anne poked her head in. She must have known I was thinking about her.

  “Welcome back.” She strolled into my office. She was a heavyset woman, with short-cropped brown hair and matching brown eyes. “How was your trip?”

  “Good,” I told her. I probably should have stuck with “fine” as my response, because I was gritting my teeth as I forced the word out of my mouth.

  Her smile was tight. “Bet you just wanted to keep on sailing.”

  “No, I was ready to come back.” It was a partial truth. I mean, I was at least ready to get off that ship if not to return to work. After my experience on the Stupendous, I didn’t know if I’d ever be stepping foot on a cruise ship again.

  Anne adjusted the glasses on her nose. They were a red pair, and matched the blouse she was wearing. She had glasses in every color of the rainbow. “Well, let me know when you get settled back into things. I can give you a recap of how last week went.”

  I nodded, and with one final glance at me, she left.

  I sat back in my chair and took a long sip of my coffee.

  I didn’t need any time to get settled back in.

  And I knew for certain that I wasn’t going to need a recap.

  Because everything stayed the same at Oasis Ridge. Nothing ever changed.

  Even when I wanted it to.

  TWO

  Lunch was in full swing by the time I left Anne’s office. I’d spent forty-five minutes with her, sinking into the under-stuffed, lumpy guest chair in her office as she went over how each activity had gone during the week I was cruising the Caribbean and trying to avoid being arrested for murder.

  I’d been right about last week and the current state of affairs at Oasis Ridge.

  Everything was just as I expected.

  Fine.

  Everything was fine.

  I followed Aidan, one of the personal care assistants, as he wheeled a resident down the hall in front of me, heading toward the dining room. He was close to my age, somewhere in his mid- to late twenties, and I knew he was in school,
finishing up his bachelor’s degree. In what, I didn’t know.

  He must have heard me behind him because he turned around and smiled over his shoulder. “Welcome back. You all refreshed and relaxed and ready to get back into the swing of things?”

  “I don’t know about that,” I joked as we stepped into the dining area. Even though we worked in completely different departments, our paths tended to cross several times a week, since one of his jobs as a PCA was to transport residents to and from activities.

  The tables in the dining room were already half-filled with residents, many of whom were already spooning soup from steaming bowls. Monday was always tomato soup, and several diners had paper napkins tucked into their shirts to serve as makeshift bibs.

  Denise, one of the serving staff, carried a tray filled with plates of food. Breaded chicken cutlets and rice pilaf and glazed carrots were on the menu.

  Her face lit up when she saw me. “Sunny! Welcome back!”

  I was beginning to feel like I’d been gone a month, not a week, based on the way people were greeting me. I had to admit, it was sort of nice to be missed.

  “Find a seat, missy,” Denise told me as she served the residents sitting at one of the four-top tables in the room. “Gonna fill up fast. There’s chocolate cake for dessert.”

  Oasis Ridge always served dessert, and most were hit or miss in the taste department. But the chocolate cake was always good, and residents who often opted to stay in their units or go out for their noonday meal would stick around just for this particular dessert.

  I saw an empty seat at the table where Earl Lipinski was sitting.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  He shook his head. Earl was in his mid-seventies, with a thick shock of white hair and a matching moustache and beard. With his rounded cheeks and twinkling eyes, he looked like Santa Clause’s thin twin.

  “Where you been?” he asked. “Missed you around here.”

  “I was on vacation. A cruise.”

  His bushy eyebrows arched high. “A cruise, eh? Never been on one of those.”

  “You aren’t missing much,” I told him with a smile.

  He guffawed. “Spent a bunch of years in the Navy and sailed all over the world. I've seen enough of the ocean.”