Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery (18 page)

It took a few seconds, but the
full meaning of his words finally penetrated my misery. My tears dried up in
mid-hiccup. I blew my nose and glared at him over the wad of damp tissues.

“We don’t have to move to
Florida?”

“No. I am to remain right here in
Connecticut, although new office space will need to be secured. They have a
place in Glastonbury in mind, very close to where Emma now works.”

“The trip to Florida is only to
visit the headquarters?”

“And perhaps to enjoy a little
vacation after you meet some of my new colleagues.”

My eyes narrowed, and I gave my
nose a final honk. “I don’t think so, Armando.” I yanked away from him and
flounced to the sink, where I ran cold water into a glass and gulped it down
before turning back to him. “That was about the meanest thing you’ve ever done
to me. You knew perfectly well I would assume you meant we were going to have
to relocate, and I would be terribly upset, but you had to have your little
joke. Admit
it,
some part of you actually enjoyed
watching me suffer. I think you’d better plan on going to Florida by yourself.
Stay as long as you want to, in fact. I need some time to myself.” Two can play
this
game,
I thought meanly and took satisfaction in
watching his handsome face fall.

 
“
Cara
,
you cannot mean it!” he exclaimed. “Tell me this is not happening all because
of my few careless words.”

He looked so crestfallen that I
took pity on him. I walked over and took his face between my hands. “Okay, I
was just kidding, ha
ha
. It doesn’t feel good to be
on the receiving end of that sort of joke, does it? I don’t mean it … this
time. But if you ever pull a dumb stunt like that on me again, I’ll … I’ll
fricassee Gracie and serve her to you for dinner. Speaking of which, are you
ready to eat? I made your favorite chicken.”

He pulled me into a hard embrace,
his relief evident. Then he swatted my backside—hard. “Dinner can wait. I need
a shower.” He picked up his suitcase from where he’d dropped it inside the door
and stalked toward the stairs. Uh oh, maybe I’d gone too far in trying to make
my point about bad jokes.

Or not.
Halfway
up the stairs he called out over the banister, “Perhaps you would care to join
me?”

Fifteen

On Friday I once again covered for
Margo at Vista View. She was close to making sales on two of our listings, so I
was happy to free her to do her thing. We each had our strengths, and selling
houses wasn’t one of mine. Besides, now that Armando had relieved me of a major
worry, I’d switched gears. I was determined to learn the reason behind Isabelle
Marchand’s
mysterious shunning of May, who didn’t
deserve it. We had an inkling of what it might be about, but we were far from
certain. If I’d learned anything from the events of Monday evening, it was that
victims aren’t always the objects of revenge. Very often, they’re simply convenient
targets.

I made it a point to get to Vista
View early, planning to purchase two cups of coffee and knock on Isabelle’s
office door, which stayed closed for the most part these days, and have a
little heart-to-heart. I dropped off my laptop and sweater at the sales desk in
the lobby and hustled to the dining room. The sight of Isabelle’s office door
standing wide open gave me pause. Maybe she wasn’t in yet, but how could that
be? She lived here. Then I spotted her a few yards in front of me. She probably
intended to grab an early cup of coffee and scuttle back to her lair before the
usual gang assembled. Gotcha, I thought.

“Good morning, Isabelle,” I called
out cheerily, lengthening my stride to catch up to her. She turned around in
surprise, and her expression, upon seeing that speaking with me was
unavoidable, became wary.

I gestured for her to precede me.
“It’s hard to resist the aroma of Dominick’s pastry, isn’t it?” I plucked a
tray from the stack on the service counter and busied myself selecting a cup
and a lid to fit it, which always turned out to be harder than it sounds. They
all looked alike, and people were forever grabbing the wrong size lids and
discarding them in a jumble, which made it even harder for the next person.

“Let me.” Isabelle looked at the medium-sized
cup in my hand and chose the correct lid for it, first try. I was impressed.

“How did you do that? They all
look about the same to me.”

“It’s the dots,” she told me. She
pointed to the yellow spot on the lid she’d chosen for me. “They’re green,
yellow and red, just like traffic signals.”

“Now you’ve really lost me. Don’t
those mean go, caution and stop?”

“Same thing, the way I think about
it.” She filled both our cups from a spigot on the gleaming urn. “Green for the
small cup means go right ahead and enjoy your coffee, no problem. Yellow on the
medium lid means you should probably exercise a bit of caution with regard to
your caffeine intake, and red on the large one means stop, for heaven’s sake,
before you go into cardiac arrest.” Her eyes glinted with mischief as she
helped herself to sweetener, a stirrer and a napkin.

I was charmed by the analogy,
which I knew I would remember henceforth, and by her unexpected humor.

“Come and sit with me for a
minute,” I invited. I might not know for sure what had soured her budding
friendship with May, although I had my suspicions, but the frosty relationship
between her and the Vista View residents was making everyone uncomfortable.
Maybe I could do something about that, at least.

Without waiting for her reply, I
strode purposefully to the large window table that was preferred by Bert
Rosenthal and his ladies and took a seat. Isabelle trailed after me, wearing an
uncertain expression. She looked around the room, clearly wondering if this was
a good idea.

I patted the seat next to me and
threw her what I hoped was a persuasive smile. “It’s such a beautiful morning.
Let’s enjoy the sunshine for a few minutes before beginning the day.”

Although it was
obvious that she’d rather not, Isabelle sat in the indicated chair.
Her
back was toward the dining room entrance, but I could see over her shoulder the
arrival of
Lavinia
Henstock
and Bert. Doubtless the rest of his entourage would be along soon.
Time to move my impromptu plan forward.

“Bert,
Lavinia
—over
here!” I called and waggled my fingers at them. They both spotted me and waved
back.

“Be with you in a flash, Gorgeous.
Got to get my java, or my doctor won’t have anything to complain about when I
see him.” Deftly, Bert escorted
Lavinia
to the
service counter.

“Oh, no,” said Isabelle. “Why did
you ask them to join us? They won’t be pleased to see me here.”

I decided that candor was my best
shot. “I know you’re uncomfortable, but the time has come to clear the air,
Isabelle, and I can’t think of a better venue. Bert and
Lavinia
are two of my favorite people at Vista View, and you and I seem to have a
rapport, so it doesn’t make sense for all of you not to get along. Let’s find
out what the problem is, and maybe we can fix it. Chances are, it’s just some
sort of misunderstanding,” I finished up as Bert guided
Lavinia
in our direction.

Isabelle squirmed a little but
kept her seat. I’d half expected her to vacate it and flounce back to her
office, but come to think of it, she wasn’t the flouncing type.

“What’s a misunderstanding,
Gorgeous?” Bert demanded as he circled the table to sit next to me and helped
Lavinia
, the younger of the two
Henstock
sisters by a couple of years, get settled on his other side. She fluttered into
her chair and gazed at him with adoration.

Only then did Bert look closely
enough at my companion to recognize her. His smile dimmed, but, gentleman that
he was, he didn’t let it disappear completely.
Lavinia
merely looked confused. Now in her late eighties,
Lavinia
was beginning to show signs of short-term memory lapses, but they came and
went, so it was hard to say when she was experiencing one. Although she must
know who Isabelle was, she didn’t show any sign of recognition.

As usual, Bert handled the
situation with grace. “Good morning, Ms.
Marchand
.
The rest of our Halloween party committee will be along soon.
Lavinia
, you remember our new business manager, don’t you?
She replaced Ginny Preston,” he prompted
Lavinia
smoothly, filling in any possible gaps. He emptied a packet of sugar into his
coffee and refused to look at me.

“Oh, yes, dear Ginny.”
Lavinia
glommed onto the familiar name and ignored
Isabelle. “Have you heard from her, Kate? How we all miss her.”

Beside me, I felt Isabelle stiffen
at the unintended slight and had a flash of insight.

“No, I haven’t heard from her, but
I’m sure she and her husband are still busy getting their new place organized
in North Carolina and catching up with the grandchildren.” Pointedly, I turned
my attention to Isabelle. “It must be tough for you to take over a job that was
practically created by someone else, especially when it really isn’t the same
job at all. I’ll bet a lot of folks around here expect you to do everything
Ginny did and don’t understand that the position has been completely
redefined.”

A little of the tension left
Isabelle’s shoulders, and she sipped some coffee. “That’s so true,” she said,
quick to pick up on the opportunity to set the record straight. “Ginny Preston
is a tough act to follow. After all, she helped create Vista View, and she did
an incredible job here. Replacing her would be next to impossible. Fortunately,
that’s a challenge I haven’t been asked to meet.” She took another sip.

Lavinia
was attentive but puzzled, and Bert gave Isabelle a quizzical look. “How so?”
he asked her.

Isabelle explained how most of
Ginny’s management and decision-making functions had been reassigned, which
left primarily administrative duties on her job description. “Essentially, I
crunch numbers and prepare spreadsheets and reports for the directors,” she
finished up. “I don’t make the rules, like Ginny did. I’m simply tasked with
reminding staff and residents about them from time to time, even when I don’t
agree with them.” She smiled into Bert’s eyes to good effect. “The one about no
guests at resident parties is a good example.”

“Is that a fact?” he said, waving
two more women into the remaining seats at our table, which had been quietly
filling up while Isabelle spoke. “Did you hear that, girls?
Izzy
…
er
, Ms.
Marchand
isn’t
any happier about the no guests rule than we are.”

Quickly, he went around the table
making introductions. “Helen, Dotty, Estelle, Marjorie—say hello to Ms.
Marchand
.”

“Isabelle, please,” she responded,
reaching across the table to shake each extended hand in turn, “although my brothers
did call me
Izzy
years ago.” She gave Bert a sly
glance, and I laughed as his cheeks grew a bit rosy.

“You got me,” he admitted. “So
what can we do about this new no guests policy? Our shindig is going to be one
big yawn without any new blood in attendance. It’s no fun putting up all the
decorations, renting a jukebox, figuring out costumes and all that just for
ourselves. We see each other every day, and we look forward to getting
outsiders in to appreciate our hard work. Besides, who’s going to dance with
all of these beautiful women? I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.” He nudged
Helen, who tittered appreciatively.

Half a dozen graying heads turned
toward Isabelle, and I held my breath. How would she handle this?

“Well,” she said slowly, “I’ve
been giving this some thought, and I might have at least a partial solution.”

“Really?”
Lavinia
gasped with delight, and Bert blinked behind
his thick spectacles.

“What is it? We can’t wait to
hear,” said Dotty, or was it Marjorie, as the heads bobbed enthusiastically.

“Atta girl,
Izzy
.
Let’s hear it.” Bert grinned at her
encouragingly.

Isabelle flinched at the nickname
but decided to ignore it. “I’ve been reviewing the rules about visitors,” she
began.

“What rules?” demanded Helen, or
perhaps Estelle. “This isn’t an institution, it’s a residential community.
Except for the Phase Three building, which, let’s call a spade a spade, is a
medical facility, visitors can come and go as they please.”

Lavinia
piped up amid a chorus of assent. “Bessie Kozlowski had a man stay overnight
just last week,” she informed the group brightly.

I doubted that Bessie would be
thrilled at having this news broadcast over coffee in the dining room. Beside
me, Isabelle held up a hand.

“As I was saying, I’ve been
looking over the rules, and you’re all quite right. Except for Phase Three,
which understandably requires visitors to check in and out at reception,
residents are free to invite whomever they please into the complex, so long as
they don’t cause a disturbance.”

“So why can’t we have guests at
our party?” demanded a resident whose name totally eluded me at this point.

“The regulations only get sticky
when a group function, such as the Halloween party, takes place in a Vista View
facility like this dining hall,” Isabelle explained. “Then we get into areas
such as insurance regulations and maximum capacity set by the fire commissioner
and so on. The directors feel that because the annual party has become so
popular, allowing guests would almost certainly exceed the legal maximums in
one or more areas. They don’t want to risk a lawsuit if anything unexpected
happens.”

The group fell quiet for a minute
as we considered the administrative realities Isabelle had laid out. Bert and I
exchanged a glance.

“Okay, that’s the problem. What’s
the solution? You said you might have one, or at least a partial one,” Bert cut
to the chase.

Isabelle allowed herself a small
smile. “According to the regulations, relatives are permitted to visit at any
time. You could all suddenly acquire lots of nieces and nephews and cousins.”

That got a laugh, but Bert shook
his head. “No good,
Izzy
. We can’t risk overcrowding
in case there’s an emergency. I should know. Last year I
was
the emergency.”

We turned solemn, remembering.

“Bert had a serious heart attack
at last year’s party,” I filled Isabelle in quietly.

“So we keep track, issue guest
passes, first come, first served, until we hit capacity,” said Helen. Yes, I
was almost sure it was Helen. “We get to have our guests, and the directors
have no legal problems. What do you think? Can you sell it to management?”

We all looked at Isabelle
expectantly.

“I can certainly try,” she
responded.

Bert and the ladies cheered and
applauded, turning every head in the now crowded dining hall toward our table.

“Hey,
Izzy
,”
Bert teased. “How about I invite my nieces, Kate and Margo, and my sister
Maybelle
? She seemed like a nice gal, and she might enjoy
getting to know a few of us old farts.”

I felt Isabelle’s tension return.
She looked at her watch and stood up abruptly. “I’ll see what I can do, but I
can’t make any promises. Now, please excuse me. I really must get back to
work.”