by Sam Cheever
“Yes it does,” Celia agreed.
The waitress settled a large plate of garlic bread onto the center of the table and left.
Agnes tucked into the food as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Flo was in awe as the other woman downed half the contents of the platter in a few short minutes.
Celia took half a slice and picked at hers, looking thoughtful.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Flo said, smiling.
“Oh. I was just trying to remember something Mass was telling me about Betty...”
Massimo Angonetti was Celia’s gangster husband. He was something of a celebrity in Silver City due to the fact that he’d been implicated in several ongoing crimes but nobody could exactly pin anything on him. As far as Flo knew he and Celia were divorced, which was why Celia lived at Silver Hills and he didn’t. But Flo guessed he might keep his whereabouts kind of fluid, given his business. “About Betty? How does he know her?”
Celia shook her head. “No, I misspoke. It wasn’t about Betty, per se, but about her workplace.”
“Ah. She told us her boss died a couple of nights ago.”
Celia nodded. “Brad Carey. He and Mass went to school together.”
“Small world,” Flo said. “Betty couldn’t tell us how her boss died. Did Mass know?”
“No specific details,” Celia responded. She wiped her fingertips with a napkin and shoved the bread away as their food arrived. Once the young waitress had left, Celia picked up her fork and looked at Flo. “He only heard it wasn’t a natural death.” She let her eyes go wide to convey her meaning.
“He was murdered?” Agnes asked way too loudly.
Celia cringed.
Flo winced. “Keep your voice down, Agnes. There are always big ears around here.”
Sure enough, several gazes skimmed their way, conversations stopped in mid-stream.
“Mass hears things,” Celia said in a lowered voice. “Word on the street is that Brad was stabbed to death.”
“Oh my,” Flo said, setting her fork down. “Do they know who did it?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Such a shame.” Flo had a thought that made her suddenly lose her appetite. “Oh Lord.”
“What is it?” Celia asked.
“Betty said she’d nearly been run down by someone yesterday.”
“And now she’s sick,” Agnes said, her eyes widening. “She might be next on the killer’s list. We should tell the police!”
Again, eyes swung their way as Agnes’ voice boomed out over the restaurant.
Celia went pale. But Flo wasn’t sure if that was because people were staring or because of Agnes’ suggestion to bring in the police.
“No police,” Celia said in an urgent whisper. “Mass would kill me.”
Flo frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would Mass care?”
Celia sighed. “Let’s just say the two men have crossed paths recently.”
“Mass and Brad?” Flo exclaimed in a stage whisper. “Celia, Mass didn’t...?”
“No, of course not, Flo. But his proximity to Carey’s business would put him in the highly uncomfortable spot of becoming a person of interest. Mass assured me the business he did with the company was mostly legal. He had nothing to do with the man’s death.”
Mostly legal. Flo grimaced. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being in the middle of a cop show on TV. “I see your point.”
“Then we’ll need to find out,” Agnes said, dropping her napkin over a miraculously empty plate.
Flo gawked. “That plate was overflowing three minutes ago.”
Agnes shrugged. “I was hungry.” She looked at Celia. “What’s good here for dessert?”
Flo glanced at her watch. “You can get it to go. We need to get back to Silver Hills and speak to Betty again. If she’s in danger we need to warn her.”
Celia signaled to the waitress and ordered three orders of chocolate cake to go. She told the young woman to put the meals on her account. “You’ll love the cake,” she told a surprised Flo and Agnes.
“You don’t need to buy our meals, Celia,” Flo told her.
The other woman dismissed her objections with a brisk wave of her hand. “It’s my pleasure. I was sitting here feeling lonely and you two saved me. Besides, I’m looking forward to finding out what’s going on with Betty.”
~SC~
Nobody answered Betty’s door when they knocked. Flo was thinking about going to the office and seeing if they could call the sick resident when Agnes reached out and turned the door knob.
It was unlocked.
Celia frowned. “That’s not good.”
Flo told herself that Mrs. Peoples had simply forgotten to lock the door behind her when she left, but as they stepped into the unnaturally quiet apartment, a sense of foreboding slipped along her spine.
“Betty? It’s Flo and Agnes again. With Celia Angonetti. Can we come in?”
Silence met her question. She looked at Celia and the other woman frowned. “I don’t like this,” she whispered.
Flo told herself Celia was just jaded from living with a gangster but she felt it too. The silence was more than silence. The darkness was fraught with more than the absence of light.
The apartment felt like a tomb.
She took a deep breath and moved down the hallway, stopping at the door to Betty’s bedroom. She took a quick look at the recliner to make sure Old Mrs. Peoples hadn’t passed while they were gone.
The chair was empty.
Flo’s relief was short lived.
The mound of covers on the bed were still, the sock-covered foot sticking out from under them unmoving.
“Betty?”
There was no unhealthy breath rasping on the air like when they’d been there before. No rising and falling of the chest beneath the blankets. When Flo finally stood beside the bed and looked down at Betty Marlowe, she felt bile rising into her throat.
Flo gasped, flinging a hand up to cover her mouth.
“Is she...?” Celia stepped up beside Flo and frowned. “Looks like she was poisoned.”
Flo blinked. “How would you know that?”
Celia pointed toward the sprawled form. “If I had to guess I’d say she seized, maybe more than once. Look how tangled the covers are. And that crusty stuff around her lips...”
Flo gagged.
“She clearly vomited. But the real clue is the smell of garlic in the room. That tells me it was probably arsenic poisoning.”
Gagging sounds erupted behind Flo and she turned to find Agnes looking a little green. “I thought she’d had garlic for dinner.” Agnes gagged again, turning away and running from the room.
Watching the big woman flee, Celia frowned. “What’s wrong with her?”
Flo would have laughed if the situation weren’t so horrible. “Not everybody’s as comfortable with dead bodies as you are Celia.”
Celia shrugged.
“Besides, I think Agnes is probably thinking about how the garlic smell when we were in here earlier made her crave spaghetti.”
Celia grimaced. “I can see how that would be off-putting.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t know Agnes very well. But from what I’ve seen, I doubt it will put her off food for long.”
“True dat,” Celia said nodding. “I guess we should call the office.”
Flo nodded absently. She was staring at the crushed box of saltines on the floor beside the bed. If what Celia said was right, Flo figured Betty must have knocked the box to the floor when she was having her seizure. But then how did it get crushed?
The rug under the box was wet too. She bent down and looked under the bed, finding Betty’s water glass sitting among a few dust bunnies.
Flo was distantly aware of Celia speaking in the background as she straightened, casting her gaze toward the empty bedside table. The small lamp was still there, perched on the back edge and leaning at a sharp angle. The wall had saved it from falling and probably breaking.
“Vlad will be here shortly,” Celia reported.
Flo swung around, shivering under a sudden cold. “Great.” Vladwick Newsome was the night manager at Silver Hills and easily one of Flo’s least favorite people. She wondered if it would be poor taste for her to disappear before he arrived. She was sorely tempted to ask Celia to handle it. But she knew Vlad would probably have questions about her earlier visit.
Besides, it wasn’t fair to dump it all on Celia.
“He’ll want to question us about earlier I’m sure. When Betty was still alive.”
Celia nodded. “I can stay with you if you want.”
Flo did want. “That would be wonderful, hun. Thank you.”
There was no sound of footsteps on the tile of the hallway. Nobody called out. There was no hint that they’d been joined by another person.
But suddenly Flo knew he was there.
Her head jerked up and she saw the lean, dark form in the bedroom doorway. She yelped softly with surprise and fear before she caught herself. “You did that on purpose.”
Vladwick, or Vlad as they called him, glided forward, the light from the parking lot beyond Betty’s window catching him just below the eyes and framing the black orbs of his gaze and the slicked back hair with the dramatic widow’s peak.
He looked like something from an old time Dracula movie. Flo half expected him to say, “Good eevvenning...”
But of course, he didn’t. Niceties were not Vlad Newsome’s thing. He glided over to the bed and glared down his long, pointed nose at the dead woman. His thin lips curled contemptuously. “How annoying.”
Flo and Celia shared a look and Celia shook her head, clearly disgusted.
“I know,” Flo said in her most rigid tones. “It’s such a shame when people die and disrupt your scheduled draining of unsuspecting villagers. Hopefully, it won’t affect your ability to stay ahead of the pitchforks and torches.”
He turned his glare on her. “Are you finished?”
Flo let contempt fill her gaze and focused it on him. “Maybe.”
“Good. Then tell me what you know about this.”
“I’ll tell the police when they arrive.”
His black eyes went wide. “Police? Why would we need them?”
“This woman was murdered,” Celia told him with a little too much relish.
Vlad blinked slowly, like a lizard. “And you know this how?”
Fortunately, Celia didn’t go into the specifics of how she knew. Flo wasn’t sure she could hear it again without hurling.
“Just trust us. She was alive when we were here earlier.”
Vlad peaked a slender black eyebrow, his thin lips twisting with disdain. “You were here earlier, when she was alive?”
Flo turned to Celia. “Do you hear an echo?”
“I do...I do...I do...” Celia responded.
Grinding noises came from the creature standing beside the bed. Flo really hoped he didn’t fracture a fang.
CHAPTER THREE
Detective Brent Peters was a handsome man. But anything he had in the way of good looks was extinguished by the sour look on his face.
And Flo didn’t really like his attitude either.
“Why are you just now reporting this?” He asked Flo and Agnes, who as predicted had recovered nicely from her earlier stomach troubles and was popping the last bite of powdered sugar donut into her face.
When Flo eyed the donut, Agnes shrugged. “What? Sugar settles my stomach.”
It had settled it right down onto her knees, Flo thought uncharitably.
“Ma’am?” Detective Peters prompted.
“I’m not sure how to answer your question since we called you as soon as we found the...erm...body.” Flo slid a sad gaze over the gurney that was carrying Betty away. In a matter of only a couple of hours, a sweet, friendly woman had been transformed into just another case number in a morgue bag.
“You were first on the scene?”
“Except for the murderer,” Celia told him.
Peters swung his hostile gaze her way, seemingly taken aback by the Barbie doll with the clear blue gaze and the hardened cop’s perspective. Flo had to admit she was discovering there was much more to Celia Angonetti than she’d assumed from casual acquaintance.
“There was no one else here when we arrived,” Flo agreed.
The detective’s gaze softened infinitesimally. “Do you ladies realize that, if this woman has been murdered, and we haven’t confirmed that yet so I’d appreciate you not spreading the rumor around...”
“I’ve confirmed it,” Celia said with a frown.
“Are you a Medical Examiner?”
“No, but...”
“Then please keep your opinions to yourself.”
Celia opened her mouth and then slammed it shut, frowning prettily.
Flo was glad Celia didn’t give him her true qualifications, which were that she was married to a small-time mobster who was probably connected more closely to Al Capone than the theory of six degrees of separation might imply. Murder and its accoutrements were probably fairly common topics of conversation between Ce and her husband. Though Flo really doubted Mass would be involved in murder himself.
Unlike the company he kept.
“You could have walked in on a killer,” Peters finished.
“But we didn’t,” Flo said. “And visiting a sick friend is not a crime, Detective.”
Expelling a long-suffering sigh, Peters gave up on Celia and refocused on Flo. “Do you know if the victim was involved in drugs?”
Flo felt her eyes go wide. “Betty? I’d be shocked if she was. Although I guess I don’t know about prescription medicines. She did have pretty bad arthritis.”
Peters frowned, his gaze skimming toward Agnes and resting there, turning speculative. “What about cocaine?”
“Why do you ask?”
The detective held up an evidence bag with something powdery and white inside. “This was all over her face and on the bedclothes.”
Flo glanced toward Agnes, an uncomfortable thought bursting into her brain. She jerked her gaze away as Agnes’ eyes went wide. “I...um...I have no idea, Detective.”
He nodded and handed the bag to a woman wearing a Crime Scene Unit jacket. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the victim? Did she indicate in any way that she was afraid, or that someone had threatened her?”
“No.” Flo shook her head. “You’re aware her boss was killed yesterday.”
He frowned, nodding. “Quite a coincidence.”
“That’s what we thought too,” Flo agreed.
“Maybe the two of them were selling cocaine,” Agnes offered with studied off-handedness.
Flo nearly groaned. Clearly the other woman was trying to distract the Detective. It wasn’t going to work. Flo didn’t know the man very well. She’d only spoken to him once before. But from what she’d heard he was smart and intuitive.
Sure enough, he narrowed his gaze suspiciously on Agnes. “You say that as if you know something, Miss Willard.”
Agnes’ gray eyes went wide. “Me? Oh no. I just moved into the building. I’ve never met the woman before today.”
Flo nodded. “It’s true. Agnes just moved in this morning.”
“And already she’s embroiled in a suspicious death investigation.” Peters arched an eyebrow in silent accusation.
Flo battled an urge to smack him on the back of the head. “Detective, surely you realize this is just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Maybe.”
“She also mentioned being run off the road yesterday,” Flo said. She was hoping the new information would distract him from Agnes and her “cocaine”.
He nodded. “Another coincidence. Too many coincidences if you ask me.”
Flo couldn’t disagree.
Finally, he nodded. “Okay, you three can go. But stay available just in case I have any further questions.”
They didn’t waste any ti
me skedaddling out of there. In the hallway, Flo glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine PM. Too late to visit Betty’s place of business.
“What are you thinking, Flo?” Agnes asked.
“I’m thinking we need to talk to some people in Betty’s office. If there’s something nefarious going on, it has to start there. With Betty’s boss.”
“Mmff, bmff mm.”
Flo looked up to find Agnes taking a bite out of another donut. “Where in the world did you get that?”
“It was in my pocket.” Powdered sugar burst from Agnes’ mouth and formed a tiny cloud in front of her face.
Celia grinned. “You didn’t by any chance walk over and munch on one of those over the body before the detective got here did you?”
Agnes flushed guiltily. “I might have taken a bite or two.”
Celia burst out laughing.
Flo wasn’t nearly so amused. “He’s going to come down on you like a ton of bricks when he finds out that was powdered sugar all over his crime scene, Agnes.”
She shrugged. “He can’t prove it was my powdered sugar.”
Celia broke into laughter again. “Her powdered sugar... I need to call and tell Mass that one.” She lifted a hand in a wave and headed toward the elevator. “Going home. See you ladies tomorrow.” Her laughter drifted back to them until the elevator doors closed.
Flo sighed.
“I guess I’ll turn in too,” Agnes said. “I’m not feeling too well.”
Flo bit her tongue about the donuts and simply nodded. “Night, Agnes. Sleep well.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Betty Marlowe had been a clerk at a small, local trucking company. Located on the outskirts of Silver City, Carey’s Truck ‘n’ Store consisted of a trailer for an office and a large warehouse building that probably served as the Store part of the equation.
The trailer sat off to one side, with a huge gravel parking lot spread between it and the warehouse. Only a few box trucks were parked in the lot, their cabs dented and worn, with the company logo on the doors.
Flo parked in front of the trailer and looked at the “Office” sign tacked up to the door. “I guess Betty worked in there?”
