Gin Mill Grill

by Marja McGraw

  ~ * ~

  Stanley called around eight-thirty. He’d spoken to the assisted living facility where Estelle lived.

  “They said she’s sharp as a tack and she loves visitors. The nurse said she constantly amazes them. You can go see her this morning, whenever you have the time. They added that she naps frequently, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. Bear that in mind.”

  “Thanks, Stan. We’re just finishing breakfast and then we’ll head over to Glendora.”

  And that’s exactly what we did. We finished eating, I cleaned up the dishes, and we headed for the San Gabriel Valley where Glendora is located.

  It was a quaint, smaller assisted living home. I had a feeling the tenants, or patients, received more personal attention because of the size of the place.

  We approached the front desk.

  “Good morning,” I said. “We’re here to see Estelle Bachman. Do you think she’s up to having visitors today?”

  The nurse smiled at us. “Estelle is always up for visitors. Follow me.”

  She walked out from behind her desk and headed down a hallway. The woman seemed to be a tiny ball of energy with a ponytail that bobbed while she walked. We had to step lively to keep up with her.

  “Let me warn you, though, that Estelle falls asleep at the drop of a hat. Be prepared. Other than that, she’s sharp, she’s curious, and she’ll ask a lot of questions. I’m assuming you’re the people that investigator called about this morning?”

  “Yes, we are. Do you think she’ll mind answering some questions?” I asked.

  The woman chuckled. “She’ll talk herself hoarse if you let her.”

  We stopped in front of a door and the nurse quietly opened it.

  I assumed it was in case Estelle was sleeping.

  She wasn’t. She was sitting in a chair by the window, watching the birds in a tree. Her cane sat next to her chair.

  She looked up at the sound of the door. Apparently hearing wasn’t one of her issues. She waved us in.

  “Who did you bring to see me, Margaret? Come in. Come on in.” Her voice was soft, but mine would be, too, at her age.

  “These folks want to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I love to gab. Introduce yourselves so I know who I’m gabbing with.”

  The nurse excused herself and left the room.

  “I’m Sandi Webster and this is my husband, Pete Goldberg. We’re private investigators. We’re working for Eloise Neuchase, the daughter of Archie Glosser.”

  “Nutcase? What kinda name is that?”

  I smiled at her. “It’s Neuchase. For some reason no one seems to get her name right.”

  “Ah. Thought my hearing was going for a minute. Archie Glosser you say? I haven’t thought of that kid in years. Well, I guess he’s no kid anymore. He used to run errands for his cousins, Horace and Harley. Now there’s a story you’ll want to hear. Harley murdered his brother, Horace, and then took off with Loretta, the little hussy. Why I remember – “

  I decided not to let her ramble on and interrupted her. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Estelle. Are you up to hearing it?”

  “Trust me, young lady, I’ve heard it all. Nothing shocks me after all these years. What’s the scoop?”

  Deciding to get right to it, I spit out what we knew. “Harley didn’t kill his brother. He was murdered, too. So was Loretta.”

  “Well, I’ll be… Ya think it was a love triangle?”

  “No, ma’am,” Pete said. “They were all stabbed to death. It seems like it might have been a crime of anger rather than passion.”

  “Say, young man, my eyes aren’t what they used to be, but you’re kinda cute from what I can see.”

  I had to fight back a laugh when Pete blushed. I don’t think I’d ever seen him do that before.

  “I have to ask. After all these years, how do you know Harley and the hussy were killed? I’m sure this will be a good story, one I’ll have to share with my friends here at the home. They love a good story.”

  “There’s not much to it,” I said. “We found a hidden room in Horace’s and Harley’s old house, and Harley was still there.”

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  I was pretty sure she wanted the gory details to share with her friends, so I obliged her.

  “Yes, he was mummified. Then we found Loretta at the old speakeasy in the back room. There was a suitcase with a lot of money, but it hadn’t been taken.” Well, duh, if the suitcase was there, then obviously it hadn’t been taken.

  I watched Estelle. She looked like she was ready to rub her hands together.

  “And someone has been threatening Archie’s daughter, warning her to stay out of things.” It seemed that Pete had gotten into the swing of things. “Do you remember anything from those days that might help us figure this out?”

  I looked into her red, watery eyes. I’d been trying to think of a word since meeting these seniors, and it finally popped into my head. She had rheumy eyes. I’d seen that word used in books.

  “Let me think on it for a minute or two.”

  Her head dropped down.

  I waited and she didn’t say anything. My heart began to speed up.

  “Pete, you don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

  She answered my question by snoring.

  My heart slowed down.

  She suddenly sat up as straight as a person of her years could. “I do recall something. It might not mean anything, but I recall something that happened one early morning after we closed, not long before old Horace was killed. Everyone had left except me and Horace. I decided to stay and clean up a little. He was in the back room checking on supplies. You know, if you tell someone they can’t do something like drink, then they want to in the worst way. We went through a lot of liquor.”

  I hoped she’d hurry up and get to her story.

  “I heard Horace arguing with someone in the back room. How that person had gotten past me, I don’t know.”

  And she dropped off again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I have a feeling this is going to be a long morning,” Pete said, watching Estelle to make sure she was still breathing.

  Her dropping off suddenly was going to take some getting used to. It was kind of like watching television, and when you got to the best part of a story, it broke for commercials. Patience would be the key with Estelle.

  She lifted her head and looked from one of us to the other. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  I nodded.

  “Where was I?”

  “Someone was arguing with Horace, but you hadn’t seen them come in,” Pete reminded her.

  “Oh, yes.” She made a chewing motion with her jaws before continuing. “I could hear two men’s voices, but I couldn’t hear them well enough to make out who they were. I figured one musta been Horace, but I couldn’t recognize the other man’s voice.”

  She made the chewing motion again, making me wonder if she was chewing on her tongue while she thought.

  “The voices got louder and I knew one was Horace, and he was hot as a firecracker. The other voice got louder, too, and it sounded like someone young. It was a young man’s voice. He didn’t have the deep, mature sound yet. Well, he kinda did and yet he didn’t. Next thing I know, Horace comes out from the back and tells me to skedaddle. He was all red in the face and I recall his lips were real tight.”

  “Did you leave before seeing who the other person was?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. The look on Horace’s face told me I didn’t want to cross him. I never did see who was in the back room with him. A couple of days later, he was found dead.”

  “And you never had an idea of who he might be arguing with?” I asked.

  “I guess I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Who did you think it might have been?” Pete asked.

  Her head wobbled and dropped to the side.

  I thought she was going to fall off the chair so I jumped up a
nd held my hands out, ready to catch her.

  The nurse stopped in to check on things, laughing at me. “Honey, Estelle often sleeps like that. She won’t fall. You can relax.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded in the affirmative and left the room.

  “This is nerve wracking,” I said. “I’m not taking a chance.” I stayed in position to catch her if need be.

  Pete’s comment? “I hope I don’t live to be that old.”

  “Are we sure her memory is intact?”

  “No way to know. We’ll have to rely on what the nurse told us and hope for the best.”

  “My memory is good.”

  We both turned to look at her and she was watching us, smiling. Her wrinkles had deepened quite a bit with the expression on her face.

  “I remember everything, mostly, of those days. This stuck in my mind because of what happened to Horace a few days later. I would have thought he was arguing with his brother, but the voice sounded too young.”

  I found it interesting that she’d fallen asleep and yet knew exactly the point she was at in her story when she’d nodded off.

  “You said you had an idea about who the voice belonged to,” Pete said. “Would you mind sharing a name with us?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I think it might have been Rusty Windsor. He was always spoiling for a fight, and he didn’t think Horace was paying him enough for his liquor.”

  She closed her eyes and I thought she was nodding off, but she slowly opened them and began to speak again.

  “I never did like that kid. He was real handsy, you know what I mean? He’d pat my rump and then say he was sorry, that it was an accident. I’d slap his hand and he’d walk away laughing.”

  “We met Mr. Windsor yesterday. He hasn’t changed.”

  Actually, if he was ninety-nine and she was one hundred and three, there wasn’t that much difference in their ages.

  “How old were you when you worked at the speakeasy?” I asked.

  “Never ask a woman her age,” she replied. “Or her weight.”

  “Yes, but – “

  “It was a speakeasy. My age didn’t matter. All that mattered was if I could do the job, and I was good at it.”

  That told me she’d been pretty young and she didn’t want to admit it. Was she really one hundred and three or was she lying about her age? Not that it mattered.

  Pete sat forward on his seat, appearing to be uncomfortable from sitting on the chair for so long. “You’ve called Loretta a hussy, and Windsor called her a tramp. Why is that? What did she do?”

  “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but from the sounds of it she’s been gone a very long time. Loretta was a good singer, but her personality? She was full of herself. Thought she was better than the rest of us. She loved having men hang all over her. I think that gimpy leg of hers had something to do with it. It seemed like she did everything she could to make people see her instead of the way she walked.”

  Pete and I sat quietly and let her gather her thoughts.

  She sighed. “Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as we all made her out to be. She tried to be chums with a couple of us and we didn’t go for it. I remember turning my back on her and walking away. She left and went outside to smoke a frog.”

  She glanced at Pete.

  “Did you know they used to call cigarettes frogs?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh. Anyway, when she came back inside, I kinda thought maybe she’d been crying. I was young and I ignored her. Now that I look back, I feel guilty. Maybe the reason she was so friendly to the men was because she was lonely. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t very nice.” She paused. “I kinda think someone might have hit her.”

  It seemed she was becoming introspective, looking inside herself and not liking what she saw.

  “It was a long time ago,” I said. “We all do things we’re not particularly proud of when we’re young.”

  “Thank you. You’re a kind woman.”

  “Do you remember anything else that might tie the brothers together so someone would want to get rid of both of them?” Pete asked.

  “Now that you mention it, they did everything together. There wouldn’t be much that wouldn’t tie them together. And that includes Loretta. They both had a crush on her. Well, I guess it was more than a crush. Loretta kind of played them against each other. Maybe that’s why I didn’t like her.”

  Estelle tipped her head down, slightly, and grinned while she looked up at us.

  “I had a crush on Harley, and I didn’t like Loretta getting in the way. But if I think on it, Harley wasn’t interested in me. I was too young for him to care about. I was just a pair of hands able to do a job.”

  Thinking we’d tired her out, I said, “I think it’s time we head out, Pete.”

  The old woman waved her hand at me. “Now you’ve got me thinkin’ about the old days. Would you give your phone number to Margaret so we can call you if I think of anything important? There’s something nagging me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It seems like it’s important.”

  “I’ll give her my number, Estelle, and thank you for talking to us.”

  She shook her head. “I was just so sure that Harley and Loretta had run off together. Everybody thought that’s what happened. Although, looking back I kinda think she and Horace mighta gotten together.”

  I gave the nurse my phone number on our way out, and Pete and I walked to the car without speaking.

  I stopped him before we reached the car. “Do you realize how fortunate we are that some of these people are still living? I do feel bad about Edgar, though. I hope we didn’t hurt him by bringing up the past.”

  “According to his son, it made him happy. Don’t worry about it, Sandi.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  We left Glendora and headed home.

  I needed to sit and write down some of the things we’d learned from everyone and try to make sense out of them – at least come up with some kind of timeline – and figure out all the relationships.

  “We need to pick up the dogs and check in with Eloise, too,” I said. “I hope things have been quiet at her house.”

  Pete glanced at me and nodded, but he had a look in his eyes like his mind was on other things. Maybe he was trying to put all the pieces together, too.

  “We need to call the office,” he said. “Maybe Stan has come up with more information. Maybe he’s found another senior to talk to.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Stanley, putting the call on speakerphone.

  “Anything new to report?” I asked.

  “I found another survivor, so to speak, but she’s got late stage Alzheimer’s and doesn’t recognize anyone. From what her daughter said, she barely speaks anymore and she doesn’t make sense when she talks.”

  “That’s so sad. We just spoke to Estelle, and she’s probably sharper than I am. Maybe our luck is running out and she was the last one who could talk to us.”

  “I found records on a couple of other people, but they died years ago. You asked me to find out what I could about Sylvester Humin, the police officer, and he died in the sixties, under somewhat mysterious circumstances. He went out on a call and it appears that someone was waiting for him. He was shot in the back of the head. It was a bogus call, by the way. Oh, and he was just getting ready to retire. His partner stated at the time that he’d been working on an old case that he said was personal to him.”

  “Interesting,” Pete said. “I’ve got connections. I’ll look into it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I need to update Rick, too,” Pete said. “He might be able to dig up some information about Humin’s death. I’m sure he’s already looked into the records about Horace’s murder, even if he hasn’t done anything about it, and I want to let him know that Eloise has been threatened – “

  “You’ve got a lot to talk to Rick about. Maybe you can meet him for lunch tomorrow w
hile I try to put some of what we’ve learned in order.” I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but I knew he was on a roll and I wanted to talk about Estelle.

  “I’ll give him a call when we get home,” he said.

  “About Estelle,” I said, “she’s quite a woman. I hope I’m as sharp as she is during the end of my life.”

  “You think you’ll live to be that old?” Pete asked.

  “Probably not. I’d like to be independent rather than live in a facility, though. I’m sure most people feel that way.” I laughed. “Can you imagine my mother or Aunt Martha at that age?”

  “They’d run the place with an iron fist, even though they’d be patients.” Pete was probably right.

  “I have a feeling that if we come up with the right questions, Estelle can tell us more, too. What is it with these people? They all seem to look on those days as happy times. Like those are their best memories.”

  Pete shrugged, lost in his own thoughts again.

  We stopped at Eloise’s house and picked up the dogs. Everything had remained quiet and with her new locks, she felt safe.

  We arrived home to find the front door standing wide open.

  So much for safety.

  Pete made me wait in the car while he went inside to see what was going on. He returned to the car looking grim.

  “Someone broke out a side window, searched the house and left by the front door,” he said.

  “You know it must have something to do with the case,” I said. “Someone really wants something, and I think you’re right. They want names, or I should say, they want to get rid of the names. Someone doesn’t want to be connected to the three murders.”

  “Your office seems to have gotten the most attention,” Pete said, opening the back of the Jeep and letting the dogs out.

  Both of them sensed something wasn’t right and made a beeline for the house, sniffing as soon as they reached the front door.

  “Why don’t you put the dogs in the backyard and I’ll see if Dolly is home. Maybe she saw something.”