Dead by Dinner Time Read online

  Which led me to one startling conclusion.

  Mary wasn’t a possible suspect in Arthur’s death.

  It looked like she was the suspect.

  Period.

  TWENTY

  It was Monday morning and Denise was in my office five minutes after I sat down behind my desk. I was immediately wary. She never came in this early.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  She pushed my door closed and then settled herself in the seat across from me. “You know why I’m here.”

  I did, as much as I wanted to feign ignorance.

  “You find any of those extra details you said we needed?” she asked. “You were barely here on Friday so I didn’t get a chance to get an update.”

  “I was at a conference,” I reminded her. “And then I had to go in for my debriefing with Anne.”

  She made a face when I mentioned her name. “Does that mean you didn’t have time to look into it?” Her hands were in her lap and she twisted them nervously.

  I was once again conflicted. I knew she would freak out the minute I mentioned what I’d learned about Mary, but keeping it to myself was making me a nervous wreck.

  “You know something,” she announced.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “I can see it in your eyes.” She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as they locked on mine. “What do you know? Tell me.”

  I sighed. She’d made the decision for me, because there was no way she was going to let me out of her laser beam stare without spilling.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “I found out some new information about Mary.”

  “What about her?”

  I told her what I’d learned in my conversations over the weekend, and what I’d witnessed between her and Earl on Thursday night.

  Denise practically bounced out of her chair. “We are calling the police right now. She’s the one. The one who killed him!”

  I was glad she’d thought to close my door because the level her voice was reaching would definitely be audible out in the hallway.

  “Shhh,” I said, bringing my finger to my lips. In a low voice, I said, “Sit back down. Please.”

  Her frown was deep but after a moment’s hesitation she dropped herself back in the chair.

  “I know it all seems pretty damning,” I admitted.

  “Seems?” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Honey, this is about as solid of evidence as you could get.”

  But it wasn’t, and I had realized that on my way into work that morning.

  Yes, the information I’d uncovered pointed to Mary as someone the police would definitely consider a person of interest. But they still didn’t prove anything.

  “What about the leaves?” I said to Denise.

  “What about them?”

  “Where would Mary have gotten them from? How did she know they were poisonous?” I asked.

  Denise shrugged. “No idea. The police can figure that out.” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She’d switched cases, to a gold glittery one, and it sparkled like a thousand tiny crystals in her hands.

  I sprang out of my chair and reached across the desk, ripping it out of her hands.

  “What are you doing?” she practically screeched. “Don’t be taking my phone!”

  “I’m not taking it.” I swallowed. “I mean, I am. But only for a minute. We can’t make a rash decision here.”

  “Oh yeah? Watch me.” She lunged for the phone but I wheeled my desk chair backward, just out of reach.

  Denise emitted something that sounded like a low growl.

  “Just hang on,” I pleaded. “Hear me out. I don’t want this to come back and bite us in the rear. Both of us.”

  “And how would that happen?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I said, “Do you need this job?”

  She frowned. “Of course I need this job. I got bills to pay, don’t I?”

  “I do, too,” I told her.

  “What does that have to do with having a murderer on the loose?”

  “Look, we have to be careful about flying off the handle here. Jumping to conclusions.”

  Denise was shaking her head, opening her mouth to object.

  “What happens if we report this and tell the police what we suspect about Mary...and we’re wrong?”

  “But we’re not.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” I reminded her. “And if we’re wrong...all hell would break loose. For us. For Oasis Ridge. Who would want to live here if they find out employees go around falsely accusing residents of crimes? And who would want to keep us employed for doing such a thing. Not Anne.”

  Denise blanched.

  And I smiled.

  Because I could tell my words were sinking in.

  “We just need a little bit more,” I said.

  “A little more what?”

  “A little more information. Evidence.”

  “And where you gonna find that?” she barked.

  I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Denise. Not when I had her so close to agreeing with me.

  “I have a couple of ideas,” I said. “But what I need from you is a promise that you won’t go running to the authorities until I say so.”

  “What, so you just get all the time you need to dig around and expect me to stay quiet? There is a murderer walking these hallways.” Her voice was rising again and I brought my finger to my lips, trying to quiet her down. “I can’t work under these conditions for much longer.”

  “What conditions?”

  “The stress.” She ran a hand over her forehead. “It’s killing me. All I think about is who might be next. Flora? Walter? Billie?”

  My pulse quickened at the last name. I didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to one of my favorite residents.

  “Or will it be me?” Denise whispered dramatically.

  I chewed on my lip, mostly so I wouldn’t break into a grin. She should have really been an actress.

  “Two days,” she declared.

  I stared blankly at her.

  “I’m giving you two days.” She pushed herself out of her chair. “And then I’m calling the cops.”

  She must have noticed my hesitancy because her expression hardened. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine,” I said with a nod. “Two days.”

  “And then I’m calling in SWAT, the FBI, whoever will answer,” she told me. “They can turn this place upside down for all I care. So long as they figure out who killed Arthur.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Fine,” I muttered.

  She marched around the desk and held out her hand.

  “Now gimme my phone back.”

  TWENTY ONE

  I’d told Denise I had ideas to pursue, to convince her that we needed more time before going to the authorities.

  It was a lie.

  I thought about the situation on and off throughout the day, between popping in at different activities, finalizing the calendar I was currently working on, and sending off reports for Anne to approve.

  And I kept coming up empty-handed.

  Sure, I could go and talk to Mary, ask her about her supposed fiancés and demand to know why she’d lied to people about being engaged. But that seemed like a rather combative way to go about getting information, and I wasn’t convinced she would be forthcoming about anything if she really was the one who had poisoned Arthur and now knew she was under suspicion for doing it.

  What did that leave me?

  I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I went around trying to solve murder mysteries in my spare time. Heck, I’d barely been able to figure out directions on how to build the IKEA furniture that filled my bedroom at home.

  I skipped meals again, despite the fact that Lola had dropped way down on my suspect list. I was still a little uneasy about eating food in the dining room, and probably would be until we’d either given up on Arthur’s case or we’d found the person resp
onsible for spiking his food.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was ready to leave. I knew I was one day down on my countdown calendar with Denise, but I was also starving and I knew that looking for new clues would be a lot like looking for a parking spot close to the beach on the 4th of July. I wasn’t going to find any.

  With my office safely locked and my purse slung over my shoulder, I headed out into the hallway.

  And froze.

  Because twenty feet ahead, two women were engaged in a heated conversation.

  Ruth and Mary.

  As quietly as I could, I unlocked my door and slipped back into my office. I stayed close to the hall, my ear parallel to the doorframe, and strained to hear what they were saying.

  “—fault for ruining my chances,” Mary was saying.

  “My fault?” Ruth squeaked.

  “If you hadn’t been so dogged in your pursuit of him, he would have been able to concentrate on me!” Mary exclaimed. “And we could have gotten married!”

  “You are so daft,” Ruth told her.

  “I am not.” I could hear the anger in Mary’s voice.

  “Arthur liked my attention,” Ruth said.

  “You are the one who is daft,” Mary retorted. “He tolerated you.”

  Ruth let out a little gasp. “Tolerated?”

  “He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Mary sniffed loudly, and I could imagine the prim expression on her face. “He didn’t want to throw our engagement in your face.”

  “Why, I never—”

  “But he was never interested in you,” Mary continued in a steely voice. “Despite your attempts to seduce him.”

  My eyes widened. Seduce? Unwanted images flashed through my mind and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make them go away. Those were pictures I did not want to see. Ever.

  “It’s not my fault Arthur dragged his feet over you,” Ruth snapped. “Maybe he came to his senses. Realized he didn’t want to be coerced into a relationship. And realized the last thing he wanted was to marry a psychopath whose only goal in life was to find a man to marry.”

  It was Mary’s turn to gasp.

  I debated stepping out into the hallway and putting an end to their fight. It was looking like a very real possibility that it would soon devolve into hair pulling and scratching.

  “Well, at least I didn’t scare a man into getting a restraining order!”

  I stayed put. A restraining order?

  “That...that was all a misunderstanding.” Ruth sounded defensive. “Even Dexter would say that.”

  I straightened. Dexter? Dexter Levine?

  I knew Dexter...or at least I knew of him. He was a resident at Oasis Ridge, very active in the drama club I’d started.

  Was he the Dexter these two women were talking about?

  And if so, what had Ruth done to him that was so bad he felt he needed a restraining order?

  I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

  TWENTY TWO

  As luck would have it, the Oasis Ridge Players, our very new drama club, was scheduled to meet Tuesday morning.

  So I made sure that activity was on my list of things to do when I got to work the next day.

  Dexter Levine was not hard to find. A rotund man in his mid-seventies, he was the first person to embrace my idea of a drama club and had scrawled his name on the sign-up sheet the very first morning I’d set it out at the announcement table.

  And today, he was in full costume, a very accurate—albeit older—representation of Teddy Roosevelt. With pince-nez glasses and a pasted on Walrus moustache, and dressed in a tweed sports coat and khaki pants, he mostly looked the part. However, Dexter’s hair was a silvery brown, and thinning on the top, with several age spots visible underneath his careful comb over.

  Still, it was a valiant effort.

  Dexter was standing in front of the small group of people gathered in the room, engaged in a monologue that I assumed was a speech given by the former president.

  He spoke eloquently, and with an accent that made Roosevelt sound slightly British, but he received a rousing round of applause when he finished. He grabbed his walker and made his way back to his seat just as Billie took the stage. I immediately guessed who she was. With her red hair recently curled and sporting red lipstick and a polka dot dress, it was easy. Lucille Ball.

  I wanted to take a seat and watch the performance, but I had much more pressing matters at hand, matters that demanded my attention.

  I waved to Dexter. He gave me a questioning look, and I motioned him over. His progress was slow, especially because he kept ramming his walker into the various obstacles in his path. I made a mental note to ask the custodial staff to create some more space between the tables to accommodate the various equipment the residents required in order to stay mobile. If Dexter was having difficulty maneuvering the room with his walker, I could only imagine how hard it might be with something like a wheelchair.

  Dexter eventually made his way to where I was standing and I pointed to the hall. “Can I talk to you out here for a minute?”

  If he thought the request was odd, he at least didn’t show it. I stepped out of the room and waited as he pushed the walker over to where I was standing.

  “Did you see my performance?” he asked. His normal voice was a little nasally, with no trace of an accent.

  “I did,” I told him. “You were an excellent president.”

  He puffed up like a peacock and gave a slight bow. “I’m glad you were able to see it. Next week, I think I’ll be doing a brief performance as Abraham Lincoln. He always was my favorite.”

  That would be a little harder for Dexter to pull off in the looks department, but I just grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Silence descended on us and I knew I needed to tell him the real reason why I was there.

  “Say, Dexter, I was just curious as to what you know about Ruth Simpson.”

  The color drained from his face. “What?”

  “Ruth Simpson,” I repeated. “I—”

  But he cut me off. “Is she here?” he asked, his eyes sweeping from side to side as he scanned the hallway.

  “No, but—”

  His shoulders sagged with relief, but then he immediately stiffened. “She’s supposed to keep her distance. She’s not coming up here, is she?”

  His reaction took me by surprise. Dexter seemed genuinely...scared.

  “She’s not coming here,” I said, doing my best to reassure him. “I promise.”

  “She’s not supposed to come near me or communicate with me.” He gave me a suspicious look. “She didn’t send you with a message, did she?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good.”

  “I understand you have a...a restraining order against her?”

  He gave an emphatic nod. “Had to. To protect myself.”

  I couldn’t imagine what someone like Ruth could do to a man Dexter’s size. Sure, he was a senior citizen, but he was tall and robust, and seemed to be in mostly good health. Well, if you didn’t count the walker against him.

  “Protect yourself how?”

  He cringed. “From her attention. Her affection. She pursued me like a lion attacking one of them gazelles.”

  It wasn’t the best analogy, since I was pretty sure Ruth didn’t want to snap Dexter’s neck or take out his jugular, but I got the meaning.

  “She...pursued you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Did she ever! I was fearful of my life because that woman would not take no for an answer!”

  What I was gathering from this conversation was that Ruth had demonstrated some dogged behavior. Not deadly.

  “Boy, was I ever glad when she shifted her attention to Arthur,” Dexter said. He’d pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and was wiping it across his forehead. “It really is a shame what happened to him.”

  The hairs on my neck stood up. Did he know something I didn’t?

  “What happened t
o him?” I asked cautiously.

  He frowned. “Why, he died, Miss Sunny. Last Monday. Did you not know this?”

  “Yes, I knew that,” I said.

  His frown deepened. “Then what did you mean?”

  I couldn’t explain it, even if I wanted to. The last thing I needed was for residents like Dexter—especially residents like him, who tended to overdramatize events and situations—to be clued in on the idea that Arthur’s death might not have been by natural causes.

  “I don’t know,” I said hastily, giving him a non-answer that I hoped he wouldn’t question.

  “It is a shame,” he repeated. He was still wearing the Roosevelt glasses, and his eyes widened behind the lenses. “Because now that he’s gone...” He swallowed audibly. “What if Ruth renews her interest in me?”

  TWENTY THREE

  I was on a mission.

  A mission to find Mary.

  My conversation with Dexter had confirmed what she had said during her and Ruth’s overheard conversation, but it had also shaken my conviction that Mary was the one responsible for poisoning Arthur.

  It was still a possibility—I wasn’t ready to take anything off the table just yet—but this new development with Ruth gave me a reason to chat with Mary. Something specific to talk to her about...and something that would probably go over far better than asking her if she had any access to or knowledge of poisonous plants.

  I mulled all of this over as I dealt with some paperwork in my office, and knew it was the best option.

  It was almost eleven o’clock, and I knew the dining room would be opening soon. The smell of cooked meat and onions was heavy in the air, and I went through my mental list of possible dinners Lola would be cooking. I sniffed the air. Probably Salisbury steak.

  Definitely not one of my favorites.

  I strolled past the Gathering Room, taking note of the residents seated on the couches and at the tables. Billie was there with Flora, and she waved enthusiastically at me.

  I waved back.

  “Come sit with us, Sunny!” she yelled from across the room.