Deadly Reunion
Page 6
“You’re going to make me get up now? I just sat down.”
“It’s gotta be you. If we want to get Coco up, we’re going to need a crane.”
“I heard that,” Coco mumbled with her lips pressed into the upholstery. They were the last words we heard out of her for the next hour.
* * * * *
The diet book turned out to be impossible. It contained long, complicated recipes full of ingredients you couldn’t possibly buy for just one usage. Since the condo is cleared of food between rentals, we’d need to buy everything right down to the salt, for goodness’ sake. I looked through the whole thing and found only three recipes we could use, one of which simply instructed you to soak granola in low-fat milk overnight in the refrigerator and garnish it with berries in the morning. I do that on a regular basis, and I don’t even cook.
I dropped the book onto the kitchen counter and looked at Patty hopelessly.
“Maybe we could go back to that bookstore and find another diet book?” she said meekly.
“We don’t need a stupid diet book. All complicated diet programs are designed to give you a lot of razzle-dazzle to distract you from the fact that you’re eating less. And getting a little exercise helps, but that alone won’t do the job. We’re both grown-ups, battle-hardened veterans of the diet wars. Have we learned nothing? Have we acquired all that knowledge just to push it aside and eat burgers and fries? We are not helpless children, letting ourselves be fed anything that comes on a plate in a diner and saying thank you ma’am, may I have another. We own our mouths, dammit, and we decide what goes in them!”
It was turning into a girl-talk version of the “band of brothers” speech from Henry V, but I could see it was getting to her. A fire was igniting in her eyes.
“We can do this together!” I said. “Sure, this is supposed to be a vacation for you, but while I’m razzle-dazzling you with the sights of St. Augustine, we’re going to be white-knuckles dieting, and whenever we pass a gelato shop and somebody starts to go weak in the knees, the other two will be there to put her in a hammerlock and pull her past the door. Are you with me?”
Patty took the diet book from the counter beside me and dropped it into the kitchen garbage can, then turned back to me with a strange light in her eyes. “I’m with you, Taters! We’ll send this five pounds back to Fat Hell, where it belongs, and by the time I get home I’ll have myself under control, and the next time you see me, I’ll be wearing Coco’s clothes.”
In addition to being built smaller, Coco was a good four inches shorter than Patty, but that wasn’t the time to point it out. I liked Patty’s attitude, and as we high-fived, we feverishly believed.
Of course, we weren’t having hunger pangs at the time.
Coming back down to earth, I looked around at the spotless kitchen.
“Now that that’s settled, I really need to know what happened at the party before Michael and I got here. If we don’t figure this thing out, it’ll nag us all week and spoil our time together. When I first came in here last night, most of the food was picked over and the place was a mess. What did it look like when the party started?”
“It was a light buffet. A couple of party trays from Publix and hot apps arranged on whatever pretty plates we could find in the cabinets. All the little cocktail napkins and plastic utensils were just so, and there was a divided dish with celery and carrot sticks and a ranch dip. Nobody ate those, but they looked pretty. The little boys went into the fridge after the canned cheese when nobody was looking, and started smothering the apps they didn’t like with it, the little darlings.” She turned to me earnestly. “Really, Taylor, I don’t think it was the food. Everybody ate everything, even the dog, and nobody else got sick. When dogs eat something that’s off, they yak it up right away, don’t they?”
Speaking as an expert, I told her, “Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes they just throw up and you don’t even know why. Hmmm. Since the food was in here, out of sight of the party group, it could have easily been tampered with by anybody here. I think we’re going to have to go at this another way. How many people seemed to know Fred well?”
She stared at me. “All of them. It was like he owned the place; like it was his condo, and he was the one throwing the party. He was like that at the pool Sunday night, too, come to think of it. I think he was just one of those guys. Always the life of the party. You know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, remembering him. Age apparently hadn’t slowed him down. I’d stopped dating him because when we were in a public place, I had about 10% of his attention, and when we were alone, he was like an octopus. “How about this? How many of the ladies seemed to know him well? You know what I mean.”
“Well, we told you about Candy.”
“I didn’t meet her. Come to think of it, she’s the only person at the party I didn’t meet, besides the family with the dog.”
“Oh, you know the type. Face-lift, flaming red dye job, clothes too dressy, too short and too young. I liked Betty much better, and now that I’m remembering, Fred did, too. He got kind of a warmth to his voice when he talked to her. Candy didn’t like that at all. Even that really hot guy from the maintenance crew treated Betty differently.” She paused, trying to get the right words. “Betty’s a lady.”
“I could see that too. By the way, what made you invite the maintenance guy?”
“Coco invited Jason. You saw him. Hot. Single. Need I say more? But he seems to have a thing going on with Terri – you know, the real estate lady who rented us the condo? She was the first to arrive, and he came in the door right after her, like they didn’t want it to look like they were together, but they were together? Let me see, who was next? Actually, it was Fred. And then . . . ah, yeah, the Footes.”
“Eh?”
“The Footes. Edith and Harold Foote. Edith is kind of a handful. Now they knew Fred really well. They all went to school together, back in the day. They were the ones who insisted on going to the hospital with him. During the party, when he was talking to them, he acted kind of normal. All the rest of the time, he was on the lookout. Know what I mean?”
I nodded. “‘On the lookout’ is a good way to describe him at a party. He’d be talking to one person and looking around the room for somebody better.”
“Exactly. But when Edith went over to talk to him, he softened up and got real. And got interested. You know? He lost that phony look. He was much taller than her – everybody is – and he bent down to talk to her in such a nice way. Like he was talking to his favorite little girl. Gentle, almost affectionate. But serious at the same time.”
“That I can’t picture. Not the Fred I knew.”
“He was very different with the ladies he knew well – Betty, and then Edith. Especially Edith. They were deep in conference about something. He got a really sharp look on his face all of a sudden at one point and looked around, like the room was full of spies. They were whispering about something, until Candy came over and got between them.”
“Ah. So Edith would be a good one to tackle.”
She gave me a cynical look. “Good luck with that. Edith is the Anastasia Resort badmouth.”
“Perfect. So why good luck?”
“All she does is complain, mostly about how the Resort is run. I don’t know how much of that you can handle, and it’s impossible to steer the conversation to anything else. You may want to know about the party, but if she wants to complain about the landscapers, that’s all she’s going to do. You can’t change the subject.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I have my ways. But if she’s like that, her husband might be the better one to tackle.”
“Harold? He hardly says anything at all. Have you noticed that the talkative ones are always married to the quiet ones? I spent about three minutes stuck in a corner with Harold last night, and it was the longest three minutes of my life. I couldn’t get him to say anything but yes or no, and sometimes I couldn’t even get that. He’d just smile and nod at me like a bobblehead.”
“I guess. He had the strangest way of maintaining eye contact without saying anything, but it was like nobody was home. Know what I mean?”
“I think so. I’ll have to meet him.”
“Think of an escape plan first. I couldn’t wait to get away from him.”
“Okay, who came in after the Footes?”
“I don’t know. All of a sudden we had a roomful and the party took off.”
I went over things in my mind, then said, “So you didn’t notice when Betty and Candy came in?”
“No. They were already here when Crystal and her husband and the kids came in and things got out of hand. Crystal and her husband, (sorry, I can’t remember his name), just shared a can of pop and the kids kept asking for nachos. Not the little girl; just the boys. They had two little boys and a girl, and the girl was adorable. The precocious type. She didn’t ask for anything, she just mixed in with the other guests like a little grown-up and looked like she was enjoying herself.”
“How old?”
“Young. The older boy was about ten and the younger one was about five. The girl was in between. After a while, I noticed the boys weren’t around anymore and I went looking for them. I’m a mom. Alarms start going off in my head when kids get quiet. I found them in the kitchen with the cheese. Crystal was mortified, but I’ve had a lot of experience with kids. I didn’t mind, and Coco didn’t notice until after they were gone. They were only here for about half an hour. Maybe even less; it just seemed longer. The kids got bored right away and the dog was getting underfoot, begging. After the episode with the cheese, the parents got them out of here. Crystal and Jerry – that’s the dad’s name! – apologized and left. I didn’t get boys’ names. The little girl was Kate, and the dog’s name was Smokey, as in, ‘No, Smokey,’ ‘Don’t eat that, Smokey,’ and ‘Stop sniffing her, Smokey.’”
I grinned. “Sounds like he was just doing his job as he understands it. I’m sorry I missed him.”
“Thank God they were all gone by the time Fred collapsed. Can you imagine three little kids seeing that? And a dog running around on top of it all?”
“And nobody except for Fred got sick. Hmmm.”
“Oh, come on, Taylor, you’re acting like we poisoned him.”
“Patty,” I said, quietly and gently, “we have to consider that possibility. Did anybody leave early?”
“Only Crystal and the gang.”
“Nobody else came and went before Michael and I got here?”
“I don’t think so,” Patty said, thinking hard but showing signs of exasperation. “It all happened so fast, and I didn’t know any of them. No.”
“You weren’t paying attention? And with nobody paying attention to what was going on in the kitchen, either, we’re not going to figure out if the food was tampered with before the boys got in there. We’re going to have to look for motive.”
“Nobody murdered him,” Patty said flatly. “You just like playing the master detective.”
I reared back. “I hate having these things happen. They just . . . do.”
I came this close to telling her what Bernie had said, but I just couldn’t. Maybe Fred just fell down and died because it was his time, after all. Bernie’s a reporter; she’s always hoping for tragedy. It’s her bread and butter.
I decided to put the sleuthing on hold until we heard the actual cause of death. After all, I hadn’t seen Coco and Patty in decades. We hadn’t had any time to reminisce. We hadn’t talked about our bucket lists. I didn’t even remember how many grandchildren Patty had.
“You’re right,” I said at last. “Maybe I’ve just developed some bad habits. Let’s forget all this and go out to the beach.”
“Oh, do we have to?” she whined. “I’m exhausted.”
“Come on! It’ll be fun. I won’t make you walk; we can just lay around. Everybody loves the beach. Why did you rent an ocean condo if you didn’t want to get sand between your toes? We’ll bring a beach blanket and some towels and lay down on the blanket and gossip about the old days, you can read one of your new books, or if you want, you can just have a nap. How about that?”
“You’re on. I think I saw a beach umbrella in the closet.”
“Good. Let’s go roll Coco off the couch.”
“I heard that,” said a muffled voice from the living room.
Chapter 8
The beach was beautiful, and so were a lot of the people on it. It was a Tuesday, so there weren’t the mobs you get on the weekends. Apparently the summer class schedule at Flagler College was light, because a lot of the students were running around in their skivvies, playing volleyball, surfing, flirting and generally improving the view. Active young bodies cavorted all over the place in front of us, and the ocean behind them was sparkling and fresh.
Although she had no intention of sticking her toes in the ocean, Coco was wearing a new swimsuit and looked positively smashing. I know, because she told me so.
“Yeah, you look good,” I told her blandly, “but you’d better stay under the beach umbrella if you don’t want to get skin cancer all over your body, because all of it’s exposed in that suit.”
She simpered. “Yes, Mommy.”
Patty had an attractive and modest suit, and I was in a cotton tee and capris, so we were ready to stay in the background while Coco lit up the beach. By that time it was past the really hot part of the day, and there was a nice onshore breeze. We all relaxed and had fun, especially Coco, who was all over the stray volleyballs that came our way. I was surprised she didn’t jump up and get in the game, but by the end of our beach-sit, she was on a first-name basis with most of the hotties. Patty and I managed to get us packed up and out of there before Coco could learn enough about them to hunt them down later.
It was fun. I congratulated myself for suggesting the interlude on the beach. I didn’t know it at the time, but they turned out to be the last carefree hours of Patty’s and Coco’s vacation.
* * * * *
We had left our sandals at the top of the stairs going up to the walkover. We ended up carrying them back, dangling them from our fingers because our feet were sandy and there was no place to rinse them off until we got inside the security gate at the condos. So there we were, strolling along without a care in the world, carrying beach totes and the green-and-white striped beach umbrella, just three old friends coming back from an idle few hours by the sea.
Coco tapped in the security code and the gate slid aside grandly, as if we were special. The shower pole was just inside the gates, and we were almost done taking turns at it when I looked up and noticed little Edith Foote marching toward us with a grim look on her face.
When she got to us she just stood there silently, glaring, while we all said awkward things about how sorry we were about her old friend.
“Are you all right?” Patty said at last, touching the old lady’s arm.
She didn’t answer. She just stood there, staring, until we began to wonder what on earth to do with her. Finally she blurted, “Well, it was poison.”
Patty dropped the umbrella, but Coco just said, “Oh, Edith, it was not. Who says it was poison?”
“The Medical Examiner. And he oughtta know.” She turned abruptly and started to walk away.
I slipped my sandals on over my wet feet and slapped across the asphalt after her. Coco was ahead of me, but Patty was immobilized, standing and staring. I turned and quietly told her to come on; we had to know whether or not the little warrior was just dramatizing herself.
When I turned back, I saw Coco steering Edith toward their rental. I got close enough to hear Edith making a remark about not eating or drin
king anything they tried to give her in there, and I just kept my mouth shut. After all she was grieving, and still in shock.
Somehow we got her inside, but she wouldn’t sit down.
“I’m not going to stay,” she said, looking around the living room darkly. “It’s too soon. I don’t think I can handle being here long. I knew Fred Rambo all my life. Now he’s dead. And he died right there.”
She struck a pose and pointed down, as if beneath the concrete pad the condo rested on was a tunnel straight to Hell.
“Isn’t it kind of soon for the M.E. to know that it was poison?” I said. “I thought chemical analysis took longer than twenty-four hours.”
“They already suspected what it was,” she said. She stopped, waiting to be begged for information.
I would’ve gotten stubborn about it, but Patty wanted to know.
“How?” she asked. “I mean, what made them suspect whatever it was. What was it, by the way?”
Silently Edith lifted an arm and aimed a forefinger at the patio doors.
“Sorry,” Coco said. “I don’t get it.” She sat down and crossed her legs, and Patty and I sat down too. Edith stood where she was, making us look up at her.
“Those beautiful, tall bushes out there, with all the pretty pink flowers. Oleanders. Somebody brewed up poison from the oleanders. All the parts of the plant are poisonous. The doctor in the emergency room had treated some kids who brewed tea from oleander flowers just a couple of months ago. They survived because it wasn’t strong enough. Fred,” she said sepulchrally, “died. Somebody made sure it was strong enough to kill him.”
“Those pretty flowers are toxic?” Coco said.
But for some reason, Edith was looking at me.
“I didn’t get here until late, and I spent most of my time in the kitchen, remember?” I said. “I never got near anything Fred ate or drank. He was fine when I talked to him. Better than fine. Having a great time. Although,” I added thoughtfully, thinking of it for the first time, “he was sweating. Is that one of the symptoms?”