Dead by Dinner Time Page 9

  I'd always envied my dad's enthusiasm for his work and for his company. That's what I wanted, to be excited when Monday morning rolled around.

  As I picked up my bag of chips and started snacking again, I wondered if I'd find that excitement at Oasis Ridge.

  And if I didn’t, what the heck I was going to do about it.

  SIXTEEN

  It was the next day and I was still trying to figure out where to go with the information I’d discovered in Lola’s file when Aidan stuck his head into my office.

  “Afternoon,” he said with a smile. His brown hair was still damp, almost as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “Did you just get to work?” I asked.

  His brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

  “Oh, I just wondered. Your hair is wet.”

  “Had to jump into the pool unexpectedly.” He smiled. “Good thing I keep an extra pair of work clothes in my car.”

  I was immediately concerned. “You jumped in the pool? Why? Was someone in danger?” I hated to admit it but the first thought I had was that Anne would get wind of whatever happened and either close down the event that had precipitated it or simply close the pool down in its entirety.

  “No, nothing like that,” he reassured me. “Billie lost her earbuds.”

  “Her earbuds?”

  He chuckled. “She was doing some water exercises. Had her phone on the ledge and somehow the earbuds dislodged from both her ears and her phone. She couldn’t reach them and she didn’t want to dive under and get her hair wet.”

  I grinned. “That sounds like Billie. And that was very nice of you to do that.”

  “I don’t know what good it did,” he said with a shrug. “Her earbuds might be shot from the water exposure.”

  “Still, you did it. And that’s what matters.”

  “It was refreshing, considering it’s like a million degrees out today.”

  One of the nicest things about working at Oasis Ridge—anywhere indoors, really—was that I could easily escape the heat of a Florida summer.

  “Anyway,” Aidan said, “I just thought I’d stop by and see if you had any more leaves or plants for me to take a look at.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He grinned. “It was a joke.”

  Denise poked her head in the door, and I was starting to feel like I was in the most popular office in the building.

  Aidan noticed her. “Guess I should get going,” he said after giving Denise a small wave and a smile. He turned back to me. “You let me know if you find any more poisonous leaves you need me to identify.”

  He strolled out of the office, leaving Denise standing there, gaping at me.

  As soon as he was gone, she marched inside and closed the door.

  “Poisonous leaves?” she said. “What is he talking about?”

  I slumped into my chair.

  This was not the way I’d wanted Denise to learn about the leaves found on Arthur’s dinner plate.

  “You better start talking,” she commanded as she dropped into the chair across from me. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Because I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

  I stifled a sigh.

  Denise wasn’t bluffing.

  She would literally sit in that chair until nightfall. Heck, I’d probably find her in my office the next morning.

  “Fine,” I finally relented. “Aidan is studying plant biology. Over at Crestview.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient.”

  “I gave him the leaves and asked if he could identify them.”

  Her expression was hard. “And you didn’t think any of that was important to tell me?”

  “What? That he was a plant bio major?”

  “No,” she snapped. “That you gave him the leaves and he was able to identify them!” She took a deep breath. “What did he say? What kind of plant is it?”

  I pressed my lips together. I still didn’t it was a good idea to tell her what I’d found out, but I also knew that ship had sailed. She wasn’t going to let it drop. And I also knew that I wasn’t making much progress on my own with the information I currently had.

  “It’s a plant called monkhood.”

  “Monkhood?” She wrinkled her nose. “What kind of name is that?”

  “I didn’t ask,” I said dryly. “I was mostly concerned with the fact that he said the entire plant is poisonous.”

  “How poisonous?”

  “Deadly poisonous.” I relayed the symptoms Aidan had mentioned to me.

  Denise’s eyes were as big as I’d ever seen them. “Oh, lordy, this is bad.” She slapped her palm against my desk. “I just knew something was going on! I knew it!”

  “Now, hold on,” I cautioned. “We still don’t know anything.”

  She looked at me incredulously. “What on earth are you talking about? There were leaves on Arthur’s plate. Poisonous leaves. And guess what? Arthur is now dead. Literally died eating that food!”

  “I know,” I said with a nod. “But the problem is, we have no idea who put it there, or if anyone did. And we certainly don’t know if Arthur ingested any of it.”

  Denise rolled her eyes. “Of course he did. He’s dead, ain’t he?”

  “He was also seventy-something years old,” I pointed out. “Any number of things could have caused his death.”

  “Including being poisoned,” she said stubbornly.

  “Including that,” I agreed. “But what are we supposed to do? Go to the authorities and tell them we found these leaves on his plate? And go to them several days after the fact? Don’t you think that’s going to make us look bad?” I saw her brow furrow with concern so I forged ahead. “I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want the police suspecting me of any kind of...of foul play.”

  She licked her lips. I could see she wasn’t too thrilled about that idea, either. “So what do we do?”

  “We need more information,” I said.

  Denise shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not cut out for this.”

  “Cut out for what?”

  “For being patient. For looking for clues.” She glared at me. “Wanna know how many times I won Clue when I was little? I’ll tell you. None.”

  If the situation weren’t so serious, I would have burst out laughing. I didn’t think the success rate of winning a kid’s board game had anything to do with our ability to poke around and figure out a few more details before deciding whether or not contacting the authorities made sense.

  “So you think we should go to the police and tell them what we know?” I asked. “Without having a suspect in mind? Without knowing much of anything?”

  She cradled her hands in her lap. “What about Ruth?” she asked.

  “What about her?”

  “I told you she was upset about Arthur,” she reminded me. “Isn’t she a suspect?”

  “Sure,” I said, nodding. “And she has a ton of plants in her apartment.”

  Denise’s face lit up.

  “Of course, she doesn’t have a clue what any of them are,” I continued. “She just grows them because they’re pretty, but maybe she just decided to clip some leaves and toss them in Arthur’s food and hope something would happen.”

  Denise seemed to be seriously considering this.

  “Of course she didn’t do that,” I snapped.

  Denise gave a little shiver. “No?”

  “Highly unlikely,” I said. I thought about what Lola had told me about Ruth, that she’d hated Mary.

  Mary.

  Mary had her own reasons for being upset with Arthur.

  “Then there’s Mary,” I said.

  Denise’s eyebrows lifted. “She was Arthur’s girlfriend. They were gonna get married.”

  “Except he had no intention of marrying her,” I told her. “At least according to my sources.”

  Denise considered this. Apparently she wasn’t as surprised by this news as I had been.

  �
��Supposedly she was upset about that,” I said, remembering Ruth’s words. “So maybe she was the one who killed him. She was sitting at the table with him, remember? She would have had access to his food. And she conveniently left the table that night...”

  Denise stroked her chin thoughtfully.

  “And then there’s Lola.”

  “Lola?”

  I nodded. “You said yourself that Arthur was a pain in Lola’s side. Always complaining about the food. But Mary said he had been on a mission to get her fired.” I paused. “Guess who had access to the food itself? To making it?”

  “Lola,” Denise muttered.

  “Yep.” I leaned toward her and lowered my voice to a whisper. “And guess who has a note in her personnel file about a prior case of food tampering?”

  To my surprise, Denise did not seem surprised by this announcement.

  “She’s tampered with food before,” I repeated.

  “Oh, I know,” Denise said with a wave of her hand.

  I stared at her. “You know this?”

  “Of course,” she replied. ”She’s forever messing with people’s food.”

  I was astonished. “Are you serious?”

  “Nothing serious,” she said quickly. “It’s not like she’s feeding peanuts to people who are allergic. But picky eaters drive her nuts. There was this one resident who insisted he didn’t like mushrooms. Said they were slimy and gross and tasted like dirt. Told her under no circumstance would he eat them, and to make sure she never put any in his food.” Denise chuckled. “Guess who had seven dinners in a row with mushroom as an ingredient?”

  “That’s terrible.” I was still aghast, especially at Denise’s apparent lack of concern. “What if this resident didn’t like them because he was allergic? Maybe he just didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t eat them so he said he didn’t want to eat them.”

  “Oh, she was careful about that,” Denise said. “She always made sure it was dietary preference and not medically-related.”

  I still wasn’t convinced. “So do you think Lola could have taken it to the next level? Put poison in someone’s food instead of just a food they claimed not to like?”

  Denise was silent for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know,” she finally said.

  “I mean, if she thought her job was on the line, and Arthur was the one who was making her life miserable, would it be so hard to imagine that she’d want him out of her hair? Permanently?”

  Denise swallowed hard. “I don’t know that Lola would do something like that.”

  “Oh, I know,” I said, nodding. “It’s hard to imagine someone you know, someone you work with on a daily basis, could do something so heinous.”

  “Do you really think she’s the one who did it?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes. “But that’s exactly my point. We can’t do anything yet because we don’t know enough. And turning over what little evidence we have is going to put us—the both of us—under the microscope.”

  Denise gave a slight nod.

  “I’d prefer to wait,” I said. “See if we can uncover any more details before we do anything more.”

  “Where are we gonna find these extra details?” Denise asked.

  It was a great question.

  And I didn’t have an answer for her.

  SEVENTEEN

  I stayed at work later than I’d wanted to.

  Because most of my day had been spent playing Nancy Drew.

  By the time I finally finished my work, it was closing in on seven o’clock. I’d missed both lunch and dinner, opting to not expose myself to Lola’s food while she was under suspicion—at least in my eyes—and I was starting to feel weak and light-headed. A bag of pretzels and a diet Coke from the staff vending machine had not been enough to fill me up.

  I grabbed my purse and my workbag. I would stop at a drive-through on the way home, and hope I didn’t pass out from hunger before I got there.

  I hurried down the hall, noting the quiet that had already descended on the building. We rarely scheduled evening activities, simply because most of the residents preferred to spend their time after dinner in their apartments.

  At least that was what Anne had insisted when I suggested concerts and evening book clubs and non-alcoholic nightcap events.

  I rounded the corner, the building’s entrance in sight, when I noticed a couple sitting in the Gathering Room. A small lamp on one of the side tables was the only real light that illuminated the area, but even in the dimness, I could see that Mary was one of the people seated on the floral loveseat.

  And Earl Lipinski was sitting next to her.

  I slowed my steps, sticking close to the wall. I didn’t want to startle them—or have them notice me.

  “Mary.” Earl’s voice wasn’t loud, but I could hear him clearly. I watched as he struggled to get off the couch. I covered my mouth when he lurched forward, awkwardly getting down on one bony knee. He reached out for her hand. ”Would you do me the honor of being my bride?”

  “Oh, Earl.” Mary’s free hand flew to her mouth. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  Someone could have knocked me over with a feather.

  As far as I knew, Mary had been engaged to Arthur at this time last week. And yes, she had mentioned earlier that she was over him...but now someone new was proposing to her?”

  “It’s just so sudden,” she said

  I nodded. At least she and I were on the same page there.

  “”What do you mean?” There was an edge to Earl’s voice. “You want to get married.”

  “I do, but—”

  “You’ve said that since you moved here,” Earl said. His voice had gotten even louder. “You practically begged Arthur to marry you.”

  Mary stiffened on the couch. “Do not mention that name to me,” she hissed.

  Earl looked visibly taken aback.

  “That man didn’t know how good he had it,” Mary spat. “He was stupid to pass up an opportunity to marry me!”

  “I agree—”

  But Mary wasn’t finished. “I am a fine catch, thank you very much,” she said primly.

  “I know—”

  “And if that man was too stupid to realize that,” she said, “then he is better off dead!”

  I leaned against the wall, and not just because I was weak from hunger.

  Mary Ulrich didn’t sound mad.

  She sounded furious.

  The wrath of a scorned woman.

  And I wondered.

  I’d considered the possibility of her involvement in Arthur’s death.

  Was she angry enough to have killed him?

  I took a deep breath.

  I was beginning to think the answer was yes.

  EIGHTEEN

  I watched as Mary pulled herself into a standing position. She did her best to storm off, but she was slow on her feet so it looked more like an angry shuffle. She walked straight ahead, past the dining room, and disappeared down the hall that led to the north wing.

  I let out a shaky breath.

  And Earl heard me.

  His head whipped in my direction.

  I stepped out of the shadows and offered a weak wave.

  Even in the dim light, I could see the blush blossoming on what little of his cheeks were visible underneath his thick beard.

  “How much did you hear?” he asked.

  “Not much,” I lied.

  He got himself back on the couch. “I...I shouldn’t have lost my temper with her.”

  I frowned. If anyone had lost their temper, it was Mary. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

  “Still,” he said, rubbing his hands. “I upset her. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  I sat down next to him and touched his shoulder. “I know you didn’t,” I said gently.

  “I know how important getting married is to her.”

  “Is it?”

  He nodded. “She’s never been ma
rried before.”

  “She hasn’t?” This was news to me. “How do you know this?”

  “We started talking almost as soon as she moved in,” Earl said. “We were talking about our lives—you know, what we did before we ended up here—and she told me.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I admitted.

  “She said she was close at the last place she lived. Had found a fellow she liked, and they were due to get married. But he died and they hadn’t gotten the chance.” He looked at me and I knew we were thinking the same thing. Arthur had died, too. “Anyway, I was just trying to do her a favor.” He glanced at his hands. “She’s a nice enough lady, and I just thought it might be nice to give her the one thing she wants out of life before...well, before it’s too late.”

  My eyes filled with tears. Maybe my hunger was making me delusional...or maybe his sweet gesture really was tear inducing.

  “That is a very nice thing to offer,” I told him. “But I don’t think it’s your job to sacrifice yourself for someone else’s happiness.”

  I might still be in my twenties, but I’d definitely learned this little bit of wisdom after some of the relationships I’d suffered through.

  “It wouldn’t be a sacrifice,” Earl said. “I like Mary. She’s a nice lady.”

  I didn’t think liking someone and thinking they were nice were reasons enough to marry someone.

  But, I reminded myself, I was in a different stage of life than Earl and Mary. For all intents and purposes, I was at the beginning of mine: starting a career, thinking about if I wanted a family. Earl and Mary were facing the end of theirs. Maybe not immediately, but the stark reality was probably staring them in the face.

  I didn’t know Earl’s marital history, but he had just told me Mary’s. She’d never tied the knot, and she’d made it clear to him—and to others—that getting married was important to her. I thought about the stories I’d seen on social media, of terminally ill young adults who’d married their high school sweethearts so they could cross that off their bucket list. They knew their lives were being cut short, and they wanted to experience as much as possible before their time was up.