Scam Chowder (21 page)

Chapter 22

Val gave Irene the table diagram. “I put down the kind of chowder each person requested and crossed it out if they ended up eating a different type.”

Irene put an index finger on her own name and pointed to each of the other names. “Yes, that's where everyone sat. When we first went to the table, your grandfather was in the kitchen and Lillian was going back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room.”

Now for the key question. “When Lillian started serving, where did she put the chowder bowls?”

“She put the light chowder by me and the creamy chowder by Thomasina.”

“But then both of you changed your mind about what kind of chowder you wanted.”

“Yes. I wanted to try small portions of both chowders. I passed the light chowder to Scott. He set it at Lillian's place. Thomasina said the creamy chowder looked so rich that her gallbladder might act up and she'd be better off with the light chowder. She passed her bowl to Junie May, and I went to the kitchen to tell your grandfather and Lillian about the change.”

Val pointed to Junie May's name on the diagram. “When did Junie May switch to a cup of each chowder?”

“She called out to me while I was going to the kitchen. By the time I returned to the table, the creamy chowder was in front of Scott.”

According to Irene's version of the traveling-bowl tale, her hands never went near Scott's chowder. No surprise that she would give the story that slant. The surprise was that the creamy chowder had gone to Junie May before it went to Scott. Junie May hadn't mentioned that to Val, talking instead about who could have poisoned the chowder once Scott had it. Maybe Junie May had poisoned Scott, as Thomasina claimed, but why would she have waited until the chowder dinner instead of doing it when they met for coffee in the afternoon? Possibly because she'd had no chance to slip anything into his coffee. And if she'd poisoned Scott, who had killed her? Thomasina would have had a motive, avenging her son's death, but wouldn't she have tried to keep that motive secret? Instead, she'd described a scenario involving Junie May as Scott's killer.

Val rubbed her temples, feeling as if she was going in circles. “You saw Scott and Junie May in town on Saturday afternoon. Where and what time?”

“They were drinking coffee at the Bean and Leaf around four-thirty. Half an hour later, on my way back to the car, I saw them go into the vintage jewelry shop on Main Street.”

Val remembered Junie May fingering a cameo pendant on Saturday night. Maybe it had come from that shop. The clerk there might remember her and Scott if they'd bought anything or browsed for a while. Val foresaw a trip to the jewelry shop in the near future. She'd enjoy that more than poking through dusty bottles at thrift shops or visiting retirement villages.

She glanced toward the counter to see if Bethany needed help, but a woman entering the café caught her attention.
Petra.

Val stiffened. “Excuse me, Irene. Gotta see someone.” Or rather, see her out.

“If you have any other questions, call me.” Irene left a ten-dollar bill on the table.

Val took it and was about to get up when the spandex-clad Petra maneuvered between the bistro tables toward her. The café's male customers tracked Petra's progress with hungry stares.

Gunnar's ex sat in the chair Irene had just vacated. “I'll make this brief. I've just spoken to the club manager and taken responsibility for the complaints about the food, the water on the floor, and the bug on the salad. I apologize.”

Val felt as if she was listening to Petra audition for a part that demanded insincerity. “Is that all you did?”

“My sister was the one who did everything.”

Her sister with spiky hair and bulging biceps had certainly planted the worm, but surely Petra had put her up to it, and played some of the other tricks herself. “What about the fish in my car?”

Petra stared at the wall above Val's head. “I guess my sister did that too.”

Val didn't believe it. “Why would she do all those things?”

“She thought that by hurting you, she would help me. You'd leave town to avoid the harassment, or you'd lose your job and have to move. Gunnar wouldn't stay in this Nowhere Ville if you weren't here. He'd go back to Washington.”

Val caught sight of Gunnar near the café entrance. He watched them with his arms crossed. “How come you're apologizing for your sister?”

“She doesn't do apologies. Or
please
or
thank you
.”

“She also didn't cheat on the tennis court.”

“I took my name off the tennis ladder.” Petra stood up, turned to go, and nearly ran into Gunnar.

He blocked her. “Did you apologize, Petra?”

Her parting words didn't belong in a PG-13 movie.

Val kept a cork on the happiness bubbling inside her, afraid to let it out after the ups and downs of the last few days. “How did you get involved in this?”

“When I stopped by here yesterday afternoon and you weren't here, Bethany told me about the bug in the salad and the water on the floor. I brought in two motion-sensitive cameras. She and I set them up.” He tilted his head toward the counter. “Come on, I'll show you them and tell Bethany the upshot of our spying operation.”

He pointed out the two cameras. One looked like a CD player on the food prep counter, the other a tiny eye affixed to the TV on the wall. Val hadn't even noticed them, though she might have if she'd spent more than a minute near the counter.

This morning, one camera had caught musclewoman slipping the nutmeg shaker into her pocket, leaving the café, and returning later to put the shaker back. When Gunnar looked at the video, he recognized Petra's troublemaking sister. With previous arrests for drug possession and theft, she couldn't afford another run-in with the police. Gunnar coerced Petra into confessing to the club manager and apologizing to Val by threatening to show the police evidence of her sister's vandalism.

“Petra isn't all bad,” he said. “I admire her loyalty to her sister. Too bad I had to exploit that loyalty. I'm sorry you had to go through this, Val.”

“I still think you should check that shaker for poison.” Bethany waved a pair of tongs. “I used these to pick it up, in case there were fingerprints. They would sew up the case.”

“Thank you both for your help. The case has gone as far as we need to take it.” Making a case against a murderer still loomed for Val, and with more suspects than for the nutmeg caper.

“In other good news,” Gunnar said, “Mrs. Z is going to rent me her house for six months. I signed up for an improvisation workshop in Philadelphia this weekend. I'm going to drive up there this afternoon. And I got a part in the Treadwell Players' October production.”

“Congratulations!” Val threw her arms around him. He hugged her, lifting her off her feet.

Granddad cleared his throat. “Where's my smoothie and when are we leaving for the Village?”

 

 

Val perched on the love seat in Lillian's tiny apartment, barely denting its firm cushion. Granddad sat in one of the swivel barrel chairs at right angles to the love seat; Lillian was in a matching chair across the coffee table from him. She'd given them tall tumblers of ice water.

Val put hers on the glass coffee table and plunged into the questions she wanted to ask Lillian. “What led you to become a geriatric care manager?”

Lillian's hand clutching a glass of ice water froze on its way to her lips. “Nursing. I became interested in eldercare when I worked as a private-duty nurse. How did you discover I'm a care manager?”

“Granddad and I visited the Spring Lake Retirement Community. We're wondering why you didn't tell us you were the care manager for Omar's father-in-law.”

The ice cubes in Lillian's drink rattled. “I couldn't tell you without violating a client's privacy rights.”

“You also didn't tell us about Scott's connection to a man who'd committed suicide.” Val glanced at her grandfather, giving him a chance to say something, but he didn't. She shifted on the hard cushion, angling herself toward Lillian. “How did you end up here, in the same village where Thomasina lives and where Scott was giving investment seminars?”

“Coincidence.” Lillian crossed one leg over the other and jiggled her sandaled foot.

Val remembered from her last visit here that Lillian's twitching leg betrayed when she was lying. “You didn't know Scott before you moved here?”

“I knew
of
him. Omar told me the name of the man who bilked his father-in-law. When I moved here, I read that same name on notices for an investment seminar.”

Probably true statements, but also evasive. “I'm surprised you didn't report Scott to the staff here,” Val said.

“I couldn't prove he was dishonest. And any specifics I gave would intrude on Omar's family's privacy.” Lillian swiveled her chair toward Granddad. “When you told me that Scott impressed you with his financial expertise, Don, I warned you against giving him any money.”

Granddad put his glass on the coffee table. “How did we go from a warning to an action? I just wanted to throw a dinner party for friends. It was your idea to invite Scott and pressure him into returning Ned's money.”

Val had detected Lillian's manipulating hand in the chowder dinner from the start. Granddad must have noticed too, though without admitting it to himself . . . until now.

Lillian thrust out her chin. “You agreed to it, Don. You even invited a reporter who could investigate his scams and put more pressure on him.”

No surprise that Lillian had gone on the offensive. Val hoped her grandfather wouldn't cave.

He crossed his arms. “I get to invite people to my own house. You don't get to sneak them in, like you did Omar, for secret purposes. If you hadn't used my dinner as a way to get back at Scott, two people would be alive, and I wouldn't be accused of murder.”

Lillian leaned forward in her chair. “I'm not responsible for those deaths, and I'm sorry you're in that position.”

Not the same as saying sorry for putting him in that position. Val reached for her water glass. The tumblers of ice water, sweating and making puddles on the glass coffee table, reminded her of the water glasses Lillian had put out Saturday night. She'd also filled those glasses. Could she have added an arsenic solution to Scott's tumbler without Granddad seeing her? Would Scott have noticed a slight metallic taste in his water?

Lillian stood up. “I've thought a lot about the dinner since Junie May died. I kept asking myself how anyone could have poisoned Scott's chowder in front of so many people. This afternoon I realized how.”

She paced the small living room like a caged animal. When she told small lies, her leg twitched. Did her full-body movement signal a big lie?

Val hoped her voice wouldn't betray her skepticism. “Tell us your theory, Lillian.”

“As I said Saturday night, I couldn't recall who wanted what type of chowder. But I know I carried the creamy chowder in my right hand and set both chowders on the end of the table nearest the kitchen. Thomasina was on the right side of the table. She got the creamy chowder before Scott did.”

That tallied with what Val had heard from Irene. “Yes, but then Thomasina changed her mind and asked for light chowder.”

Lillian stopped pacing. “So I heard. I brought her a bowl of light chowder and saw her sprinkle salt substitute on it from a small packet.” Her tone suggested a dramatic announcement.

Granddad shrugged. “A lot of people use salt substitute.”

Lillian looked like a teacher exasperated that her students didn't know an answer. “She might have done the same thing to the creamy chowder, but with a salt substitute packet containing arsenic. It would look similar.”

One form of arsenic looked like white powder or crystals, as Val knew from her research. Granddad's girlfriend had apparently done similar research, but that didn't make her theory valid. No one else had mentioned seeing Thomasina sprinkle anything on either chowder.

Granddad frowned. “A mother killing her child is unnatural. Why would Thomasina do such a terrible thing?”

Lillian paced again. “Maybe she depended on him for financial support. He could have forced her to move from one retirement place to another to give him access to investors. He'd gain their trust more quickly with his mother living in the community. As soon as any investor got wise to him, though, she'd have to decamp. If she didn't go along with his schemes, he'd stop supporting her.”