Scam Chowder (19 page)

“I'll give you the headlines. Scott died of arsenic poisoning. The TV reporter who was at the chowder dinner, Junie May Jussup, was shot dead.”

Gunnar's jaw dropped. “
What?
Another murder?”

Val nodded, moving her fork aimlessly around her plate. “A murder masquerading as a suicide, though the police have yet to release that information, so don't spread it around. I'm sure the same person who killed Scott did it. Junie May was looking into his death.”

Gunnar winced. “Please tell me
you're
not looking into his death . . . or hers.”

“I'll leave it to the police, unless they suspect my grandfather.”

“If they suspect your grandfather, you can hire a private investigator, but I wouldn't worry. The police aren't likely to take your grandfather for a gun-toting arsenic poisoner.”

“You saw him toting a gun once.”

“Don't remind me. Fortunately, he didn't pull the trigger.” Gunnar reached across the gap between the two Adirondack chairs and covered her hand with his. “Promise you won't let any of those chowder dinner guests into your house or be alone with them anywhere.”

She'd heard similar warnings from him after the murder in June, and she'd disregarded them. “Last month you told me I needed a bodyguard. I guess you don't think the danger is as great now.”

“Last month somebody tried several times to kill you. No one's done that yet, or you haven't told me about it.”

“No one's done it. Trust me, though, I'm looking over my shoulder.”

“The guests at your grandfather's dinner are dropping like flies. Tell your grandfather to stay away from them too.”

“I'll tell him, but I doubt he'll bar Lillian from entering our house.”

Gunnar glanced at her plate and released her hand. “Let's talk about something else. This topic is an appetite-suppressant, and we still have lots of food. Bethany told me about the trivia game at the Village. How did it go?”

“Most of the participants enjoyed it. I'd like you to look at the questions and some answer sheets. See if you gain any insights into people based on what they know and don't know.”

Val took a sheaf of papers from her bag and gave him the question list and Lillian's, Ned's, and Thomasina's answer sheets. “Here are the responses from three of the top scorers.”

He finished the food on his plate while studying the answer sheets. “Can I see everyone's answers?”

She gave him the whole set, ate the rest of the food on her plate, and took seconds of the veggies and salad while he flipped through the answers.

He pointed to the question sheet. “Your Hollywood questions were difficult, and the health questions medium. Any conclusions about the multiple-choice questions are suspect because people might have guessed right.”

“I had to give choices for some of the questions. Otherwise, they would have been too hard. I didn't want the participants getting depressed because they didn't know anything. I refused to spell the answers, though, figuring someone who knew the answer would spell it right and the guessers might not. So, do you have any conclusions based on who knew what?”

“Lillian is a local person who knows the health field. Thomasina isn't local and aced the Hollywood questions. Ned missed those, but got the sports questions, and named all three nonvital organs. Half the people there did that.”

“The older you are, the more likely you know people who've had those organs removed. Everybody in the room got appendix right. Thomasina chose that and the spleen.”

Gunnar took a sliver of cheese. “Lillian, Thomasina, and Ned all picked ethylene glycol as the antifreeze ingredient, and they spelled it right. The few others who put that down spelled it wrong.”

“Ned knows what's in antifreeze because he probably sold it in his hardware store. With a health background, Lillian may know it because people show up in emergency rooms with ethylene glycol poisoning. Thomasina may have guessed which answer was correct, and she's a good speller. She made a nine-letter word out of a bunch of letters—
chameleon,
not easy to spell.”

“She was the only person to spell Alan Smithee's name right. She knew that answer. A couple of others guessed it, but spelled it with a
Y
at the end.” Gunnar gave her back the answer sheets. “I'm not sure I helped you by looking at these.”

“You confirmed my conclusions.”

He stood up. “I'll get the cannoli out of the cooler if you're ready for dessert.”

“I'd rather go for a walk. If we leave now, we can watch the sunset from the town dock.”

“I'll take the cannoli with us so we can eat it while the sun's setting.”

Gunnar stowed the leftover picnic food in the cooler and they set off, hand in hand, for the ten-minute walk to the dock.

They were eating the cannoli when Val got a call from Chief Yardley.

“Hey, Chief. Thanks for calling me back. You got my message about Omar?”

“I got it. Not calling about that. I'm on my way to talk to your granddaddy. He said you were out, but I'd like you to go home if you can. I have a few questions.”

Chapter 20

Val and Gunnar walked hurriedly from the town dock to Granddad's house and made it in less than ten minutes. Chief Yardley's car was parked behind hers in the driveway.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Gunnar asked.

“Better not. Granddad will be more comfortable without you there.”

“I'll call you later.”

Val went in by the front door and heard her grandfather's voice coming from the sitting room.

“I don't know how it got there. It's a plant.”

She rushed into the room and found him and Chief Yardley both on the edge of their seats, Granddad in his unreclined recliner; the chief on the tweed sofa. “What's going on?”

The chief's mouth puckered as if he had a sour stomach. “Your next-door neighbor's brother was visiting today from Baltimore.”

“I saw the pickup in the driveway this morning.” Val turned toward her grandfather. “Why are you talking about Harvey's brother?”

Granddad took his bifocals off. “Harvey said if I had any hazardous waste, his brother would drop it off at the landfill near Baltimore. I threw some stuff from the shed into a box and took it over to him. Then his brother took my box to the police. Earl can tell you the rest.” Granddad pointed his thumb at the chief.

“The brother heard on the news how Scott Freaze died. When he saw rat poison containing arsenic in the box that came from the shed here, he brought it to us. Your granddaddy says someone planted the arsenic in the shed.”

Val was speechless, but only for the two seconds it took her to remember Junie May's investigative report. “I have an idea how it got there. Remember the junk you cleared out from the attic a few months ago, Granddad?”

“I remember when you nagged me into going up there and getting rid of stuff.” He put his glasses back on. “Mystery solved. The poison came from the attic. I found a few bottles up there with a skull and crossbones on them. Old medicines and rat killer. The labels were faded so I couldn't read them in the dim light. I threw the bottles in a box and locked them in the shed. I didn't know there was arsenic in them.”

“That makes more sense than someone planting the poison in your shed.” Chief Yardley folded his hands in his lap. “You ever been to Junie May Jussup's house?”

“Never. My lady friends are a little older than that.” Granddad's smile died when he looked at the chief's grim face.

“What were you doing yesterday between five and six?”

Val's stomach wound itself into a knot. Apparently, explaining where the poison in the shed originated hadn't taken her grandfather off the suspect list. He could have used the poison he'd found in the attic to kill Scott. Now the chief wanted to know Granddad's alibi for Junie May's murder.

Granddad gripped the arms of his chair. “Between five and six yesterday, I was cleaning up and getting dressed to take a lady friend to a movie. Why are you asking me these things? First the question about the rat poison. Now this. You know I'm not a murderer, Earl.”

“I know that, but you will hear the same questions from people who don't know it. You'd best prepare yourself for that and get a lawyer.”

“Why would I kill Scott?”

“You lured him here under false pretenses. According to his mother, you hinted that your other guests had money to invest so that Scott would come to the dinner. Is that true?” When Granddad nodded, the chief continued. “You also talked about stopping people who've gotten away with crimes.”

Val threw up her hands. “Holtzman lured him into saying something like that. That doesn't mean Granddad took justice into his own hands.”

“People are convicted, even with a weak motive.” The chief stood up. “If the sheriff's deputies ask to talk to you, Don, tell them you want your attorney present.”

Granddad leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as if to shut out the world.

Val walked the chief to the door. “Thank you for stopping by and alerting us.”

“I owe your grandfather a lot. Take care of him. Get him a lawyer.”

Val went back to the sitting room and sat on the sofa near Granddad's chair. “I don't know what's making the police think you could have killed anyone, but I'll get to the bottom of it. I'll fix it.”

“You're always trying to fix things. Fixing stuff just opens a can of worms. I didn't have to clean out the attic in the spring. All that stuff could have stayed there like it did for years.”

“True, but that's not the only reason the chief came to see you. He also wanted to see if you had an alibi for Junie May's murder, and you don't.” Val's cell phone chimed in her bag. “I'd better get that.” She went into the study to take the call.

Gunnar's name appeared on the display. “Everything okay at your place, Val?”

“Uh-huh. The chief had some advice for my grandfather that I had to hear, to make sure Granddad follows it.”

“Turn on your TV to the station where Junie May worked. Right before the last commercial, they promised breaking news about her case.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Val went back to the sitting room. She picked up the remote from the table next to her grandfather's chair. “There's something about Junie May on TV.” By the time she tuned the remote to the right station, the news anchor had already launched into the story.

“According to the sheriff's spokesman, an investigation is under way into the suspicious death of our colleague Junie May Jussup, found shot last evening in her home. The sheriff provided no details. We have tracked down a teenager who visited a friend on the street where Ms. Jussup lived. Shortly before six yesterday, the teen noticed a white sedan race out of Ms. Jussup's driveway.”

Granddad's jaw dropped. A vise squeezed Val's insides. Her grandfather and Lillian both drove white sedans. No wonder the chief had asked if Granddad had ever gone to Junie May's house and if he had an alibi. Val turned her attention back to the TV.

“The witness could not identify the car's make and gave only a sketchy description of the driver, who wore a dark baseball cap with white or light gray hair sticking out from under it. The witness couldn't say if the driver was a woman or a small-to-average-sized man. Police have requested that the driver of the white vehicle contact them. Sheriff's deputies have asked the media not to reveal the name of the witness.”

Good idea. They'd want to keep the kid safe until they arrest the murderer.

“We'll bring you more as the story unfolds.”

Granddad's face looked ashen. “You know what kind of car Lillian drives? A white sedan, same as mine. Whoever murdered Junie May borrowed or rented that car to frame Lillian or me.”

Or Lillian killed Junie May. Val wouldn't say that to Granddad tonight. He'd already had enough shocks, and he might be right about someone framing him. “The driver could have been Irene, Thomasina, or even Omar with talcum-powdered hair or a wig.”

“If we had pictures of them, we could have some computer whiz put wigs and baseball caps on them. Then the witness might be able to tell if any of them were driving that car.”

“The police may do that.” Only they'd use real people in a lineup.

“Where did you get the photo of Thomasina that we're going to show folks at Spring Lake?”

“Bethany took pictures at the Brain Game.”

Granddad pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Did she take one of Lillian?” At Val's nod, he said,

“We should show the folks at Spring Lake her picture too. If we only show Thomasina's, it'll be too obvious we're trying to get information about her.”

Maybe he had suspicions about Lillian after all, but couldn't bring himself to say it. “Good idea. People might look more closely if they're asked whether they know either of two women.”

Granddad stared at the mantel with its collection of family photos, a reminder of happier times. “The chief thinks I need a lawyer.”

“I'll phone Althea. She doesn't do criminal law, but she knows other lawyers who do.”

“
Criminal lawyers.
How did I get in such a fix that I need one of those?”

Val put the blame for that on the chief architect of the chowder dinner—Lillian.

 

 

At nine-thirty Friday morning, Val pulled up at the guard gate for the Spring Lake Retirement Community. Her grandfather told the guard he'd visited the community yesterday and was coming back for a second look. The guard waved the car on.

She drove Granddad's Buick along a tree-lined street flanked by brick buildings three to five stories high. “This looks like a college campus. Those are the dorms.”

“Not as much partying as in colleges. Take the next left to the campus center and park in a visitor spot. Yesterday I spent all my time in the Woodview Lounge there. Today I want to go to the Lakeside Lounge on the other side of the building. I'm hoping for a different crowd.”

Inside the four-story building, they stopped at the reception desk. Artificial flower arrangements and precise chair groupings made the reception area look like a hotel lobby. She signed the visitors' log and looked up to see an African-American woman staring at her. “Fayette?”

The woman broke out in a smile. “The William and Mary coffeehouse. That's where I know you from.”

Val introduced Granddad to her. “We managed a student-run coffee shop for a year. Fayette also played guitar and sang there.”

“And your granddaughter ran the trivia nights. What brings you two here?”

Val would let her grandfather answer that one. He could lie more glibly than she could to her old friend.

“I'm looking into options for when I move out of my house. I heard the sales pitch and took the tour here yesterday. I liked it so much I wanted Val to see it.”

“It's a great place. I should know. I work here as the director of community relations. If you have any questions, I'll be glad to answer them.”

“I just want to talk to some folks who live here and see how they like it,” Granddad said. “You two can catch up while I go to the Lakeside Lounge and get to know people.”

“Great idea.” Fayette checked her oversized watch. “I'm free for the next half hour.”

“I'll join you in the lounge, Granddad, when we're finished talking.”

“Okay. Nice meeting you, Fayette.” He left with a wave.

“He's so darling, Val. That's where you get your cute genes, and you haven't changed a bit in the last decade.”

“The extra five pounds don't count?”

“Not to someone who's put on fifteen. I get to blame my two kids for that. Let's go to my office.” Fayette led the way through a corridor to a small room with a big desk and three leather armchairs grouped around a glass-covered wood table.

She sat at the table with Val and talked about her marriage and children. A military wife, she'd worked as a troubleshooter in a variety of volunteer and paid positions over the years. She described her current role in the senior community as a problem solver for residents and their family members.

Val talked about being a cookbook publicist in New York, her move earlier in the year to her grandfather's house on the Eastern Shore, her current work as a café manager, and her hope of publishing her own cookbook.

“If you publish it, Val, I'll buy it. It surprises me that your grandfather is looking at a retirement place so far from where he's been living. Does he have family or friends in this area?”

Val hesitated, hating to lie but seeing no way around it. “He thought two women he knew lived here. Yesterday when he was here, he mentioned them to the receptionist and the other residents. No one had heard of them. Of course, his memory for names isn't as good as it used to be.”

“I can relate to that. Faces stick in my mind. Names? In one ear and out the other.”

“I have pictures of the women. You mind looking at them?” Val handed her a print of Bethany's photo of Lillian.

“Looks familiar. Not a resident. A visitor.” Fayette closed her eyes and popped them open after five seconds. “I know who she is. A geriatric care manager. It's been months since I've seen her here.”

“What do geriatric care managers do?”

“They're hired, usually by the family, to check on elderly relatives. They alert us and the family of any needs that aren't being met.”

They could also alert con artists about elderly clients with money and no family members watching over the finances. “What kind of background do geriatric care managers have?” Val asked.

“Most come from nursing, social work, or psychology. They usually have training and experience in eldercare.” Fayette waved to a woman passing by her door. “Hey, Nina, got a second? Look at this photo and see if you recognize this woman.”

A fiftyish woman came into the office, donned glasses that hung from her neck, and examined the photo. “Mr. Tunbridge's care manager.”

Omar's father-in-law.
A surge of excitement shot through Val. At last, she'd found what connected Lillian to Omar.

“Mr. Tunbridge. Right.” Fayette stared at the ceiling as if trying to summon a memory from above. “Didn't he move here from another retirement community?”

Her colleague nodded. “In Maryland. The family wanted him nearer to where they live. The woman in the photo was his care manager there, and they kept her on for continuity.” She put an index finger on her pursed lips and gave Fayette a pointed look.

Val could interpret the silent message, though it wasn't intended for her.
Don't talk about the man who killed himself here.