Laced with Poison (21 page)

“Everything will work out okay,” Emma said with more conviction than she felt.

Liz pulled a tissue from her purse, dried her eyes and opened her door. She smiled
at Emma. “Thanks for listening.”

Emma opened her own door. “Let’s see if we can dig up any information on Gladys Smit.”

They approached Gladys’s door although they knew that any knock would go unanswered.

“That makes me feel so sad.” Liz pointed at the dilapidated wreath.

“I know. I wonder what kind of a life she had.”

“Pretty humdrum, I’d imagine. She probably worked
hard, came home and watched her favorite television shows and then did it all over
again the next day. If it weren’t for the fact that she saw someone go into Deirdre
Porter’s garden that afternoon, she’d probably have lived to a ripe old age.”

“You never know, though. Maybe there was another reason she was killed, and it’s not
related to Jessica’s murder. Maybe it really was a random accident.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Liz looked Emma straight in the face.

“No,” Emma said in a subdued voice. “I don’t. Somehow this all does relate to Jessica
Scott’s death. But we have to make sure that there wasn’t another reason for someone
wanting Gladys dead.”

Liz nodded her head. “And then we can spoon-feed it to the police.”

Emma looked up and down the narrow street. One or two cars were parked along the curb,
but no one was out and about—no dog walkers, joggers or mothers with strollers. Not
even a curtain twitching in any of the apartment windows. Emma bit her lip. “Do you
suppose there’s a rental office somewhere?” She turned to Liz.

“Bound to be.” Liz looked right and left then stopped and squinted at something in
the distance. “What’s that over there?” She pointed toward a small clapboard building
hardly bigger than a shack. “Can you read the sign?”

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s too far away.”

“Could it be an office of some kind?”

“Could be. Or a place where they keep the garbage cans.”

Liz laughed. “Well, let’s hope for the former.”

As they got closer, Emma was able to read the sign. She grabbed Liz’s arm. “It
is
the rental office. Let’s just hope someone is there.”

They pushed open the door.

An older woman sat behind an old-fashioned metal desk. She looked up when she heard
the door open. Her gray hair was sparse but neatly permed, and her cardigan had been
visibly darned several times.

“No vacancies. Best come back next month.” She bent her head over the book open on
her desk.

“We’re not interested in renting,” Emma said, looking around the small space. There
was a leather love seat with black electrician’s tape mending a tear on one of the
cushions and an automatic coffeemaker on a table with the dregs of what looked like
days-old coffee in the bottom of the pot.

The woman sighed, folded down the corner of the page in her book and closed it. “What
are you doing here, then? This is the rental office. You have a problem with your
bill, you’ve got to call corporate. Number’s on the back of your statement.”

“Actually, we’re not here about that, either,” Emma said, searching her mind for a
way to introduce the topic of Gladys Smit.

“We’re looking for one of your residents,” Liz piped up. “Gladys Smit.”

“I’m Emma Taylor.” Emma held out her hand and Liz quickly followed suit.

“Liz Banning.”

The woman smiled, and the way her face spasmed, it looked like smiling was something
she hadn’t done in a long time. “Name’s Billy. Short for Wilhelmina. When Granny heard
they’d named me that she accused Ma and Pa of getting way ahead of their station.”

Emma and Liz laughed politely.

“We were looking for Gladys Smit. Did you know her?”

“Did I? Why? Something happened to her?”

Emma explained about the hit-and-run.

Billy put a trembling hand to her lips. “Oh dear. That’s just awful. Awful.” She fussed
at the collar of her blouse.

“We were wondering if Gladys had any enemies that you know of?” Emma said.

“Someone who might have run her over on purpose,” Liz added.

Billy shuddered. “It hardly bears thinking about.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine
anyone wanting to harm that poor girl—so quiet and polite. Always stopped in to say
good morning and good afternoon and to see if there was anything I needed.” She shook
her head again. “No. It must have been an accident. I can’t imagine anyone wanting
to hurt such a gentle creature.”

“Well!” Liz said as they retreated back to her car. “That rather settles that, doesn’t
it?”

“I would think so. Gladys was hardly the type to go around collecting mortal enemies.
That leaves only two choices: the accident was just that—an accident, or the person
who put the poisonous flower on Jessica’s cupcake murdered poor, unsuspecting Gladys.”

“That person most likely being Crystal Davis.”

“We can’t rule out some of the other people at the trunk show,” Emma cautioned. “Lotte
Fanning was apparently quite steamed at Jessica for getting that job at Sunny Days.”

“That’s true.” Liz was thoughtful. “And who knows how many other people might have
had a motive?”

“I don’t think our detecting is nearly done.”

“No. But I hope we figure this out before poor Bitsy goes under.”

*   *   *

EMMA was taking Saturday morning off. Arabella was going to handle the shop herself,
and Emma was going
to do a very different sort of volunteering stint at Sunny Days.

To introduce the new administrator, they were holding a pancake breakfast for all
the residents. Emma would be flipping flapjacks, but her main objective was to ask
questions and eavesdrop. It had certainly proved fruitful in the past.

Although the breakfast was slated to start at 9:00 a.m., residents were already lined
up outside the dining hall at 8:30 a.m. when Emma arrived. Emma noticed Sylvia and
Earl about three quarters of the way down the line.

“How are you two this morning?”

“Eh. The arthritis in my knees is kicking up a bit, but I can’t complain.” Sylvia
put a hand on Emma’s arm. “Say, I heard this new administrator, Missy something-or-other,
was one of the gals at our shape wear show.”

“Yes, her mother is in the same crowd as Marjorie Porter.”

Sylvia stuck her nose in the air. “Oh, la-di-da, indeed.”

Earl gave a deep chuckle. “She still puts her pants on one leg at a time, like everyone
else.”

“And from what I hear, she definitely is the one wearing the pants.” Sylvia huffed.
“Alfred Porter, her husband, is something of a milquetoast. His brother, Wyatt, got
all the spirit.”

“Or, the spirits,” Earl joked. “I heard he was arrested for drunk driving again.”

Emma noticed someone waving at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Looks like I’m needed behind the assembly line. I’ll see you two later.”

Emma made her way through the increasingly restless crowd toward the long table at
the front of the room. A
handful of electric griddles were set out with pitchers of pancake batter next to
them. Bacon sizzled in electric skillets, and aides were going around the room filling
coffee cups and juice glasses.

Emma poured her first batch of pancakes. Two of them ran together slightly, but the
rest were okay. As soon as the tops were covered in tiny bubbles, she flipped them
over and cooked the other side. By the time they were done, a gentleman was already
standing in front of her with his plate out. He winked at Emma as she flipped the
four pancakes onto his dish.

Missy Fanning, the new administrator of Sunny Days, was wearing an apron, but as far
as Emma could tell she was doing almost nothing to help. At the moment she was standing
in the corner whispering with her mother, who looked as if she were dressed for afternoon
tea as opposed to breakfast at a senior retirement community. Both of them sported
the regulation strand of outsized pearls, diamond stud earrings and gold bangle bracelets.

Emma blew a lock of hair off her forehead and poured another batch of pancakes. An
endless stream of plates appeared in front of her, and after forty-five minutes she
began to wonder which was longer—the line of residents waiting for their breakfast
or the Great Wall of China. At the moment she was putting her money on the Sunny Days
seniors.

Finally the last plate had been filled. Emma looked around at the other limp volunteers
standing behind their electric skillets. The woman next to her glanced over as Emma
poured a fresh batch of batter.

“We might as well make some for ourselves,” Emma said.

Emma slid the spatula under the edge of one of the pancakes. It looked to be a perfect
golden brown. She scooped
the four of them onto her plate and headed toward the table where the bacon, sausage
and maple syrup were set out.

“There’s a spot at my table.” Eloise Montgomery breezed up behind Emma. She was wearing
black slacks and a beige quilted satin jacket sashed at the waist. She was in great
contrast to most of the other women, many of whom had come down in sweatshirts and
jeans or even housecoats.

Emma helped herself to some rashers of bacon and poured a modest amount of syrup over
her pancakes, then followed Eloise to a small table for two in the corner. Eloise
unfurled her napkin and draped it across her lap. She picked up her fork but stopped
with it halfway to her mouth.

“What do you think of Missy, our new administrator?” she asked before popping a crisp
bit of bacon into her mouth.

Emma was slightly taken aback. “She seems nice enough. I understand she applied for
the job before, but Jessica got it.”

Eloise put her coffee cup down with a clang and rolled her eyes. “Jessica!” she said
in dismissive tones. “That girl did nothing all day long but file her nails and take
pleasure in making poor Crystal cater to her whims.” She raised a penciled eyebrow.
“Of course, now we know why Crystal was so willing to bear the brunt of Jessica’s
ill will.” She picked up her coffee cup. “There must have been something terribly
wrong with her to take all those things and hoard them like that.”

“It is very bizarre.” Emma tasted a bite of pancake.
Not bad
. “I heard that Jessica was the niece of the chairman of the board. I imagine that’s
why they never got rid of her.”

Eloise threw her head back and laughed deeply. A few heads at the nearby tables turned
in their direction.

Emma raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Is that what they’re saying?” Eloise dried her eyes with
the edge of her napkin. “That Jessica was Jim Calhoun’s niece?”

Emma nodded, confused.

“She wasn’t his niece.”

“Then how—”

“She was his mistress. They were having an affair,” Eloise added when Emma continued
to stare at her.

“So that’s why—”

Eloise nodded. “Jessica could do no wrong with Calhoun protecting her.”

“No wonder Lotte Fanning was so mad when her daughter didn’t get the administrator
job and Jessica did.”

Eloise laughed again—a hearty guffaw that had the heads at the other tables turning
again. “Not only that.” She sipped a bit of her ice water and dabbed at the end of
her nose with a tissue she pulled from her sleeve. “Jessica stole Jim Calhoun right
out from under Lotte Fanning’s nose.” She sat back in her chair with an air of triumph.

“What?” was all Emma was able to squeak out. She swallowed a bit of pancake a little
too hastily and began to cough. She reached for her water glass. “But isn’t Lotte
married? I thought I noticed a wedding ring.”

“Noticed? Honey, how could you miss that thing? There are enough stones in it to fill
the Grand Canyon.”

Emma nibbled a piece of her bacon and thought furiously. Maybe Lotte Fanning
was
the person who had murdered Jessica, not Crystal Davis. And perhaps Crystal’s leaving
town was purely coincidental. She was going to have to see if she could find out what
kind of car Lotte drove.

Emma had finished her pancakes and was throwing her trash in the garbage bin when
Missy rushed up to her.

“Thank you so much for volunteering today. Everyone
here at Sunny Days appreciates your sharing your valuable time with us.”

Emma had noticed Missy going around to some of the other volunteers as well. She was
shaking Emma’s hand when Lotte came up to them.

“Missy, darling, I’m going to run out to the car and get that rug we bought for your
new office.” She had a set of car keys dangling from her right hand.

Perfect
, Emma thought. She would follow her. She quickly ended her conversation with Missy,
and as soon as Lotte had disappeared through the door, she made her way in the same
direction.

Emma was about to leave the building when a middle-aged couple stopped her. “Can you
tell us where 401B is?” He was frowning at a piece of paper that fluttered in his
hand, as she clutched his arm worriedly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t live here,” Emma said abruptly and tried to edge around them.

“It says here”—the man gestured at the scrap of paper in his hand—“to go in the north
entrance.” He looked around the hall. “This is the north entrance, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Emma was beginning to sweat. How long would it take Lotte to
get to her car and retrieve the rug?

“You’ve got an employee badge on.” The man pointed a nicotine-stained index finger
at Emma’s name tag.

“I’m a volunteer,” Emma protested.

“Still. Can you tell me if this is the north entrance or not?”

“Honey, please.” The woman tugged on his arm. “Let’s go ask someone else.”

She managed to distract him long enough for Emma to
slip past and out the door to the parking lot. She shaded her eyes with her hand and
scanned the rows of cars. Lotte was coming toward her, a rolled-up area rug tucked
under her arm.

Emma groaned. She’d missed her golden opportunity. She was about to go back inside
when she remembered the keys swinging from Lotte’s hand. There had been a Mercedes
emblem on the fob. How many people visiting Sunny Days were likely to be driving a
Mercedes?