Laced with Poison (8 page)

“They haven’t made any accusations, but they did ask her not to leave town.”

Arabella gasped again. “Oh, but that sounds as if they must be serious.”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Liz was devastated. When I left she was sitting in the
dark in the living room just…staring. I offered to stay and help get Alice and Ben
to bed, but Matt said he could manage. I wish I could do something.”

“So do I.” Arabella frowned. “Liz wouldn’t have mistaken foxglove for an edible flower.”

“Absolutely not. She’s had years of experience and has taken dozens of classes. She’s
a Master Gardener. But if it wasn’t an accident, that means someone did it on purpose
to make Jessica ill or…or to kill her.”

“That’s so hard to believe!” Arabella sagged against the counter. “Liz didn’t even
know that woman, did she?”

“That’s what she said, but other people at the party knew Jessica. And maybe one of
them had it in for her for some reason.”

“How will we ever find out who that might be?”

“We could start with her colleagues. She worked at that retirement community Sylvia
moved to.”

Arabella gave a glint of a smile. “I think it’s high time we checked out Sylvia’s
new apartment, don’t you?”

Emma smiled back. “Brilliant idea. Let’s ask her when she comes in for her shift later.”

“We could have a pizza party!” Arabella enthused. “It would be fun.”

*   *   *

SUNNY Days Retirement Community did everything possible to live up to its name, Emma
noticed when she and Arabella pulled into their driveway early that evening after
work. The façade—a main building with several wings branching off of it—was a bright
red brick, and brilliantly colored asters and mums bloomed in pots on either side
of the front entrance.

Emma turned into the parking lot and found a spot for the Bug, the interior of which
was perfumed with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked pizza. Emma grabbed the
pizza boxes, and Arabella clutched a box of Bitsy’s devil’s food, vanilla and carrot
cupcakes as they made their way back toward the entrance.

“The place looks cheerful enough,” Arabella said as they entered the small lobby filled
with furniture covered in a bright floral fabric. She took an experimental sniff.
“And there’s no smell except for that lemon air freshener.”

Emma looked around. Arabella was right. The place looked comfortably homelike and
very clean. She approached the front reception desk where an older woman with a halo
of thin white hair and imperfectly applied red lipstick sat reading a magazine. A
name badge with
Volunteer Resident
written on it was pinned to her gray cardigan. She looked up at Emma and smiled.

“Can you tell me how to get to Sylvia Brodsky’s apartment?” Emma asked.

Emma was surprised when the woman smoothly typed Sylvia’s name into the PC on the
desk. Emma realized it was vanity to assume that only the young knew how to use computers.

The woman smiled again. “She’s down that hallway toward the end. Number 204.”

Emma thanked her, and she and Arabella began the journey down the long hallway, trailing
the scent of pizza behind them. Most of the doors had some sort of decoration on them—a
seasonal wreath, bells or fake flowers. All in all, Emma thought the place was rather
nice. They passed a room with
Activities
written on a plaque next to it. The scene outside the door reminded Emma of the time
the Hells Angels rode into town and stopped at the bar on Route 69, although instead
of a mass of Harleys parked at the curb, here it was a tangle of walkers, wheelchairs
and motorized scooters.

They found Sylvia’s apartment easily enough, and Sylvia’s deep rumble greeted their
knock immediately.

“Come on in.” Sylvia was wearing a rich burgundy caftan and had a paisley scarf tied
around her hair. Her bright gold hoop earrings caught the light from the hallway and
reflected it back.

“This is very nice.” Arabella stopped on the threshold and took in the small living
room, neatly arranged with Sylvia’s things—her silver samovar taking pride of place
on a round table covered with a brightly colored fringed cloth.

To Emma everything looked almost the same as it had in Sylvia’s old apartment over
the Taffy Pull but without the sickeningly sweet smells of sugar and vanilla permeating
the air.

“Eh, it’s not bad,” Sylvia admitted.

An older gentleman with an ebony-topped walking stick stuck his head through the open
doorway. “Oh, you’ve got company. Pardon me.”

Sylvia patted her kerchief. “Don’t be silly, Earl. Come on in. These are a couple
of friends of mine. Arabella”—she swept a hand in Arabella’s direction—“and her niece,
Emma.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ladies.” He gave a sharp bow. “Don’t let me disturb your party.
I’ll see you later tonight at cards?”

“Sure.” Sylvia waved good-bye and shut the door as Earl ambled away.

“Everyone seems quite friendly.”

“Bunch of nosey parkers you mean,” Sylvia grumbled, but Emma noticed the smile hovering
around her lips. “You want a tour before we eat?”

“We’d love one, wouldn’t we, Emma?”

“There’s not a whole lot to see.” Sylvia grabbed her keys from the small desk by the
door and tucked them in the pocket of her caftan. She led them out to the hallway.
“This wing is all independent living. A lot of us still have cars, and we can all
manage without any help.”

“Yes, but if you need it, it’s close at hand, I imagine,” Arabella said.

Sylvia nodded. “Now on the other wing you’ve got your assisted living types. We have
a kitchen in our places, but they don’t. They take their meals in the main dining
room. Some of them may need help bathing or dressing or have to have someone remind
them to take their pills. Thank God I’m not there yet.”

“What’s in the main building? I noticed it must be four or five stories.” Arabella
glanced through the open door of an apartment.

“That’s your nursing.” Sylvia led them around the corner toward the reception area.
“The poor stiffs there need a lot more care than the rest of us. Frankly, I’d rather
check out than end up there. Half of them don’t even know where they are.”

They were about to head back to Sylvia’s apartment when they heard shouts coming down
the corridor.

“Thief! Stop! Thief!” A woman in a pair of mint green pants, a matching print top
and white flats yelled at the top of her lungs. Her head of teased white hair quivered
with indignation.

Sylvia turned to stare in her direction, and Emma took a step forward. Before anyone
else could move, a woman in a pleated plaid skirt, cotton crew neck sweater and loafers
came out of one of the rooms marked
Office
. Emma thought she looked familiar but couldn’t immediately place her.

The woman stared at Emma, Arabella and Sylvia for a moment, a horrified expression
on her face, before turning her attention back to the resident in the mint green outfit.

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Decker. Has something happened?”

“Has something happened?” Mrs. Decker spit out furiously, her white frizz bobbing
with each indignant shake of her head. “My brooch has been stolen! The one Arthur
gave me for our fiftieth. It’s gold with diamonds and pearls. Arthur always knew what
I liked.”

“Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?” the woman, whom Emma finally recognized as
Jessica Scott’s secretary, who had been at their trunk show, responded soothingly.

“I most certainly did not.” Mrs. Decker’s delicate coif swayed mightily. She turned
around and pointed a finger at Sylvia. “You!”

Sylvia pointed to her own chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you! Nothing ever went missing before you got here. And now my brooch is gone,
Mrs. Henry has lost that new radio thingie her grandson bought her, and Mr. Mason’s
Korean War medals have disappeared.”

“I’M so sorry,” Jessica’s secretary said as soon as she got Mrs. Decker calmed down
and back to her own room. She smiled at Emma and Arabella. “I’m Crystal Davis. We
met at Deirdre’s party. Jessica Scott is…was…my cousin.” She gave a delicate sniff
and wiped a hand across her eyes.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Arabella said. She dug in her purse, produced a
clean, hand-embroidered handkerchief and held it toward Crystal.

Crystal shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Arabella looked at her doubtfully. “Are you going to allow that woman”—she pointed
in the direction Mrs. Decker had taken—“to make accusations like that?”

“Oh, she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s getting a little dotty, I’m afraid.” Crystal
made a circular motion with her finger by her temple as she said this.

“Still! What about Sylvia’s reputation?”

“And to think I was almost starting to like it here,” Sylvia said.

Crystal glanced this way and that, like a cornered rat. Finally, she excused herself
and scurried back toward the safety of her office.

“Useless!” They heard someone snort behind them.

They turned around to see a very tall, imperious-looking woman with a dark gray chignon
headed toward them. She was wearing silver flats, black slacks and an oversized, tailored
white shirt with the collar turned up. She was the most elegant-looking older woman
Emma had seen other than her aunt.

She pointed a red-tipped finger in the direction of Crystal’s closed office door.
“That woman is totally useless.” With an effort she changed her frown to a smile and
held out her hand. “Eloise Montgomery.”

They made introductions all around. Eloise turned to Sylvia.

“I’m so sorry that happened. Mrs. Decker is not, contrary to what that sniveling idiot
Crystal said, dotty in the least. She’s a nasty piece of work, that’s what she is.
Every time someone new moves in, she comes up with some slanderous rumor to spread.”

“You would think Crystal would be onto her by now,” Arabella said.

Eloise shuddered. “Not that girl. If brains were leather, she wouldn’t have enough
to saddle a June bug.”

“I supposed being Jessica’s cousin…” Arabella said, and Emma had to hide a grin when
she saw the sly look on Arabella’s face.

Eloise swallowed the bait smoothly. “I don’t know why Jessica kept her on. Treated
her downright poorly, too. Always yelling at her, telling her to hurry, making her
run
errands. Once she even insisted poor Crystal polish her shoes. I can’t imagine why
Crystal put up with it.”

“Maybe she couldn’t get anything else,” Emma suggested.

“Rumor has it,” Eloise lowered her voice, “that she’s embezzling from Sunny Days,
and that’s why she stays. Frankly, I don’t think she’d have the brains to pull it
off unless she’s the best actress to come along since the Barrymores.” She glanced
at her watch and smiled. “I must be off. Lovely to meet you. Sylvia, I hope I’ll see
you at cards tonight?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Emma was glad to see that Sylvia’s expression had lightened slightly.

“Our pizza must be getting cold,” Arabella said.

“Let’s go back to my place.” Sylvia turned toward the hall. “I’ve got some vodka on
ice, and we can pop the pies in the oven to warm them.”

They followed Sylvia down the hall and back to her apartment.

“You know what I’m wondering?” Arabella said after they’d been settled on the sofa
and Sylvia had poured out tiny glasses of iced Stolichnaya. “I’m wondering if Crystal
didn’t have a good reason for killing Jessica. Polishing her shoes, indeed! I would
have felt like killing her, too.”

“I know.” Emma took a cautious sip of vodka. “Talk about nerve!”

Arabella put her empty glass down on the coffee table. Her cheeks were tinged with
pink and her eyes were bright. “Sylvia, maybe you can do a little snooping?”

“Sure.”

“And I had an idea while I was walking down the hall.” Emma turned toward Arabella.
“There was a sign up asking
for volunteers to help with activities, game night and other things. I could sign
up, and it would give me an excuse to talk to both the staff and the residents.”

“That’s a wonderful idea! Let’s get you signed up right away.”

“Pizza first,” Sylvia called from the kitchen, where she was pulling the pies from
the oven. “Who knows what you’ll uncover around this place. Maybe you’ll even find
Mrs. Decker’s missing brooch.”

*   *   *

EVERYONE was on tenterhooks for the rest of the week wondering what the police might
find next. Emma jumped every time the door to Sweet Nothings opened, and she could
tell Arabella felt the same way.

Finally the week went by, and it was Saturday. Emma woke early, yawned, stretched
and slipped into the window seat that looked down over Washington Street. She lifted
the edge of the curtain and peered out. The skies were blue with huge, puffy clouds
floating past. The perfect day for a wedding.

Emma felt butterflies stir in her stomach at the thought. She would be spending the
whole afternoon and evening with Brian. Who knew what might happen?

Emma and Liz had hoped to take a shopping trip to Memphis, but Ben came down with
strep throat, and Liz couldn’t leave him. Besides, the police had asked her not to
leave town for the near future.