by Gayle Leeson
“Does the sheriff think Ms. Pridemore died of natural causes?”
“No. He thinks she was poisoned by a gas leak or something.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
She raised and dropped one well-toned, mahogany shoulder. “Just curious.”
“I know you better than that. What are you thinking?”
“It’s probably nothing, but Ms. Pridemore came into the office to talk with Billy a few days ago.”
Sarah worked for Billy Hancock, Winter Garden’s one and only resident attorney.
“And?” I prompted.
“Well, Billy wasn’t even her attorney. She just wanted some legal advice about the rent-to-own agreement she’d entered into with Harry and Nadine Ostermann.”
I added the cheese, transferred the mixture to a casserole dish, and placed the dish in the preheated oven. “Was she unhappy with the agreement?”
“She wanted to dissolve it.”
“Can she do that?” I asked, setting the oven timer and motioning for Sarah to follow me into the living room.
“Under certain conditions.” Sarah explained that a rent-to-own agreement is basically two agreements—a lease agreement and a purchase option. “The title remains with the landlord until the tenant exercises the option and buys the property. But in Ms. Pridemore’s case, she didn’t charge the Ostermanns an upfront fee for the purchase option. Instead, the Ostermanns were to take possession of the property upon her death.”
She and I sat on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table, and I opened the Yahtzee box. We were lucky that Rory was occupied outside at the moment because, otherwise, he’d be fighting us for the dice. I had to be really careful with small objects around that dog.
“You don’t think the Ostermanns did Ms. Pridemore in so she wouldn’t break the agreement, do you?” I chuckled when I said it, but Sarah didn’t look amused.
“I don’t know what to think.”
I rolled one die to see who would go first. I got a four. “Aren’t agreements like that designed to be almost impossible to break?”
“For the most part, yes.” Sarah rolled a three and handed me her die. “But there are clauses, as in any agreement, that can invalidate the contract. And since Billy and I got the impression that Ms. Pridemore’s attorney drew up the rent-to-own agreement, then there were probably more clauses skewed to her benefit.”
“Okay.” I rolled and decided to try for a straight since I had a one, a two, and a three. “I take it Ms. Pridemore found some sort of loophole?”
“Maybe. She came to Billy with the contract because her attorney is currently in the Caribbean, and Billy thought her argument was tenuous,” Sarah said. “Ms. Pridemore had a clause stating that the Ostermanns were not permitted to open up the mobile home to boarders.”
My next roll gave me two fours. “And did they? Move in boarders?”
“Not exactly.” She sighed. “Harry Junior—HJ—and his wife had a falling out. I understand they’re in the process of divorcing. HJ moved in with his parents.”
I gaped at her. “She can negate the contract because Harry and Nadine allowed their son to move in with them?”
“Billy didn’t think so. The legal definition of a boarder is one who is provided food and lodging for a price. It’s doubtful that HJ is paying rent to his Mom and Dad. I believe the contract originally intended that the Ostermanns remain on the property in the mobile home and not lease it out to someone else prior to Ms. Pridemore’s death.”
“That sounds like one mixed up contract to me.” I finished up with a five and was able to claim a large straight. I handed the cup to Sarah.
“It was. Of course, everything I’m telling you is in confidence—even though Ms. Pridemore wasn’t Billy’s client, I don’t want him to think I’m spreading gossip—but I think the woman simply changed her mind and was looking for a way to break the contract.”
“Did she have any heirs? I mean, I wouldn’t have thought she’d have made the agreement with Harry and Nadine Ostermann if she had children to whom she could leave the property.”
Sarah shook out the dice. “She didn’t.”
“Then why did she change her mind?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
ONCE WE’D FINISHED our game of Yahtzee—I won, yay!—Sarah and I sat on the sofa and drank chocolate-coconut flavored tea. Rory had tired himself out and had come inside to doze by my feet.
“This tea is really good,” Sarah said. “I never even knew chocolate flavored tea was a thing. Leave it to you to make the most interesting discoveries.”
“I’m glad someone appreciates my ideas today.” I told her about meeting Dr. Bennett, thinking he’d be a great match for Mom, and then feeling frustrated when Shelly met him and had seemed to wrangle him onto her hook.
Sarah folded her legs beneath her and sipped her tea. “So, what did you do?”
“I told Jackie.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Sarah laughed.
I explained how Jackie had called Mom and told her I was making her a special breakfast but had failed to warn me before Mom arrived at the café. “To make a long story short, Mom now has a date with Dr. Bennett, but Jackie and I have been volunteered to stay with Aunt Bess on Wednesday evening.”
“And what is Aunt Bess thinking of all of this? Has she met the new doctor yet?”
“She hasn’t met him, and your guess is as good as mine as to what she’s thinking. I’m sure I’ll find out on Wednesday.”
“I wouldn’t mind a front-row seat to that,” Sarah said. “If you’d like me to join you, let me know.”
“That’d be terrific. We could play cards.” I figured Jackie and I would need all the help we could get to keep Aunt Bess’s mind off the fact that Mom had a date and she didn’t.
My thoughts abruptly shifted to Gladys Pridemore.
“Also, would you and John be interested in going to the corn maze on Friday night?” I asked.
“I’ll ask him and get back to you. We talked about visiting one last year but never got around to it. Which one are you considering?”
“The one on Gladys Pridemore’s property.”
Sarah grinned. “Do you want to find your way through a corn maze or investigate a suspicious death?”
“Who says we can’t do both?”
THE FIRST THING JACKIE said to me when she came through the door on Tuesday morning was: “I got a call from Aunt Jenna.”
“Consider yourself lucky—I got a summons and had to appear in person.”
“So, I guess we’re babysitting Granny on Wednesday.”
“Looks that way. I told Sarah about it last night. She’s up for joining us for a card game.” I finished wiping down the counter.
“A card game would be fun.” She paused to consider. “We could have some good food...maybe convince Granny that Aunt Jenna is the one missing out.”
I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
“I don’t know why Aunt Jenna got so ticked off at us. We were trying to do the woman a favor.” She readied a pot of decaf coffee since I was working on the dark roast. “And, apparently, we did do her a favor since she accepted a date with the guy.”
“She said we made her look desperate.”
Jackie scoffed. “We did no such thing.”
Since I could kinda see both sides, I changed the subject. “Do you and Roger have plans for Friday?”
“Nothing in stone.” She finished up the decaf and moved on to making a pot of French vanilla. “Why?”
“I’d like to go to the corn maze on Friday night. I haven’t spoken to Ryan about it yet, but Sarah said she and John might be free.”
“The corn maze at the Pridemore farm?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I...um...I’ll let you know.”
It wasn’t like my cousin to be squeamish, so I doubted her hesitation stemmed from our finding Ms. Pridemore on Saturday. I didn’t have time to question her about it—I had too much
kitchen prep left to do before our patrons began arriving. Besides, I could tell from her closed expression that I wouldn’t get any answers right now anyway.
IT WAS SUCH A BUSY morning that I barely had any time to even step out of the kitchen. When I did, it was to hear Homer telling a dour-looking man wearing a black toupee, “’You can’t help getting older, but you don’t have to get old.’”
My eyes widened as I hurried over to Homer. “Is that a quote from today’s hero?”
“It most certainly is.” He favored me with a broad smile. “Today’s hero is George Burns, nee Nathan Birnbaum. Did you know that man was successful in vaudeville, radio, television, and film? And he lived to be a hundred years old.”
“That’s remarkable.” I smiled. “Mr. Burns was a funny man.”
Homer nodded. “Before you came out of the kitchen, I was explaining to Mr. Pridemore here that Mr. Burns had a humorous take on aging. He once said, ‘When I was a boy, the Dead Sea was only sick.’” He laughed.
I managed a chuckle before turning to the man seated at Homer’s right. “Mr. Pridemore...you’re related to Gladys?”
“By marriage. My name is Malcolm Pridemore. Gladys was my sister-in-law.”
Though he’d introduced himself, he didn’t offer to shake hands, so I didn’t either. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you just get into town today?” I asked.
“No. I’ve been in the area for the past month.”
“Oh?”
He sniffed. “I’ve been subjected to the Golden Age of Comedy hour and been forced to engage in a game of twenty questions. Might I get some service now?”
“Of course,” I said. I took Mr. Pridemore’s precise order for eggs slightly over easy, bacon that was crispy but not burned, and orange juice that was freshly squeezed with no pulp.
“If my order is in any way incorrect, I absolutely will not pay,” Mr. Pridemore said.
As I turned to go back to the kitchen, Homer cleared his throat. I froze and then risked a peek over my shoulder.
“Another thing Mr. Burns said was, ‘I was brought up to respect my elders, so now I don’t have to respect anybody.’ I reckon you must adhere to that same philosophy, Mr. Pridemore.”
I hurried on into the kitchen to start on the breakfast order for which Mr. Pridemore would likely refuse to pay.
A few minutes later, as I delivered Mr. Pridemore’s meal, I noticed Homer paying his bill. Jackie, who was at the register, handed him a bakery bag. They exchanged some quiet words before Homer grinned and left.
Jackie joined me in the kitchen afterward and asked me if I needed any help.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” I said. “By the way, what was in Homer’s takeout bag?”
“A blueberry muffin and two oatmeal raisin cookies.” She gave me a mischievous grin. “I overheard his conversation with Malcolm Pridemore and felt like he deserved them.”
“Agreed. Thanks for rewarding him.”
She glanced through the window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Well, if that man who is eating his breakfast like someone who hasn’t had a bite in days thinks we’re going to comp him for a meal he has nearly finished, he’s sadly mistaken.”
“Today is the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Pridemore, although he says he’s been in this region for a month.” I whisked together eggs and milk. “Do you think he recently moved to Winter Garden?”
“I think he’s trying to,” Jackie said. “Before he got tired of talking with Homer, I heard him say he’d hoped to buy his sister-in-law’s property.”
“Huh.” Although I didn’t mention it to Jackie, I wondered what would become of Gladys Pridemore’s property now that she was dead. Had she had the opportunity to revoke the Ostermann’s rent-to-own agreement? Or would the Ostermanns now inherit in accordance with the agreement and Ms. Pridemore’s will? I also wondered if it had been Malcolm Pridemore who’d urged her to break the contract in an effort to get her to sell him the property.
{ }
Chapter Six
I
t wasn’t until nearly two-thirty that afternoon that I got the chance to ask Jackie why she didn’t want to go to the corn maze. She and I were alone in the kitchen, and the few patrons left in the dining room were finishing their meals.
“You didn’t seem enthusiastic about visiting the corn maze.” I put the lid on a container of chopped onions and avoided eye contact. I didn’t want Jackie to feel like I was pressuring or criticizing her.
“I just think it’s in poor taste for the Ostermanns to proceed as if nothing happened,” she said. “I realize Ms. Pridemore wasn’t family, but it was her land. The woman’s funeral is tomorrow. Hosting a celebration two days later seems disrespectful. Don’t you agree?”
“To an extent.” I put the onions in the refrigerator. “But, one, I imagine the Ostermanns spent quite a bit of money designing the corn maze and everything. They probably can’t afford to miss a weekend if they want to come out in the black.”
“And what is two?”
I couldn’t mistake the note of suspicion in her voice. “Two is that I want to know what—or who—killed Gladys Pridemore.”
Jackie grasped my arm. “Has her death been ruled a homicide?”
“Right now, I believe the police are calling it a suspicious death and are investigating,” I said.
“And you feel the need to stick your perky little nose into the investigation because...?”
“Because we found her, Jackie! And because whatever killed her could’ve harmed us too.” I looked up into her dark blue eyes. “I want to know what caused that woman’s death, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” She sighed. “I’ll go to the bonfire, but no way are you getting me to waste my time wandering lost in a stupid maze.”
I grinned. “We’ll see.” I seriously doubted I’d be able to talk my stubborn cousin into going through the maze, but maybe Roger could.
Shelly came to the window between the kitchen and dining room. “Sheriff Billings is here to see you, Amy.”
I thanked her, wiped my hands on a dish towel, and went out to greet the sheriff.
“Afternoon, Amy,” he said.
“Hey, Sheriff. The special of the day was stuffed pepper casserole. Would you like to sample it?”
“No need. I love stuffed peppers, and I figure if you made it, it’s bound to be good.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence.” I went back into the kitchen and filled a plastic bowl with the remainder of the casserole. I returned to find Sheriff Billings sitting on a stool at the counter.
“Thank you.” He spoke distractedly.
“Something on your mind?” I asked.
“Just Molly.” He gave me a tight smile. “I’ll be glad when she gets back home.”
“I’m sure you will.” I paused. “I understand Gladys Pridemore’s funeral is tomorrow.”
He nodded. “It is.”
“Will you be attending?”
“I might stop in and pay my respects.” He arched a brow. “What’re you trying to beat out of the bushes, Ms. Flowers?”
His switch to formality had me thinking he’d put his guard up, and it made me feel defensive too.
“Ms. Pridemore’s brother-in-law, Malcolm Pridemore, was here this morning,” I said. “He wasn’t the nicest person I’ve ever met.” I shrugged. “But I imagine he’s grieving.”
“Yes...that sounds about right.”
“He said he’d been hoping to buy Ms. Pridemore’s property.” In fact, I’d just about bet that he was the one who tried to get Ms. Pridemore to renege on her rent-to-own agreement with the Ostermanns. I smiled slightly. “It’ll be interesting to see if Mr. Pridemore tries to convince the Ostermanns to sell.” I shrugged. “Oh, well. Would you like some pie or cake?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a slice of that apple pie.”
“Would you prefer that here a la mode? Or
to go?”
“To go, please, Nancy...I mean Amy.”
Of course, I caught his sarcastic Nancy Drew reference, but I ignored it and cut the sheriff a generous slice of pie.
AT HOME THAT AFTERNOON, I took my laptop out onto the front porch and sat on the swing. Even though one of the wicker rockers might have been the better choice for the laptop’s stability, the side of the porch with the swing was shadier and allowed me better screen visibility.
I opened a search engine and typed the name Malcolm Pridemore into the search bar. Results for other people with similar names were returned, but there was nothing relevant to the prickly man I’d met at the café this morning. Malcolm Pridemore wasn’t even mentioned in connection with Gladys Pridemore’s funeral. I thought perhaps he’d be listed as a survivor but Ms. Pridemore’s obituary didn’t name any. It stated only that she was preceded in death by her husband Lawrence. That was it. No siblings, no children, no “special friends.” How sad.
I considered attending the funeral, but the service was tomorrow mid-morning—our busiest time of day—and I hadn’t made the necessary arrangements with Jackie or other members of my staff. Surely, the Ostermanns would attend the ceremony. Wouldn’t they?
I closed the laptop. There was a pound cake in the freezer that might just help me get some answers.
“COME ON IN!” NADINE Ostermann called when I knocked on the door of the mobile home.
I opened the door and found myself in a surprisingly spacious living room. Nadine emerged from the doorway to the kitchen and motioned me back.
“I’m making spaghetti squash.” Nadine wore a short-sleeved t-shirt dress, woven brown sandals, and a white apron. Her maple-colored hair had been pulled up into a bun on top of her head.
I followed Nadine into the kitchen. After the relative neatness of the living room, I was shocked to find that the table and countertops were cluttered to capacity. Not knowing where I should put the cake, I continued to hold onto it.
