by Amy Vansant
At least she didn’t have to show up at work like Declan and the other nine-to-fivers. One of the joys of becoming a private investigator was she could keep a “retired” schedule. Poolside at ten in the morning was a luxury she’d hate to lose.
Music played in the background as the locals went through the paces of their water aerobics. Instead of exercising, Mariska and Darla had spent the last ten minutes bandying back and forth ideas on how they might prove Crystal had killed her grandmother. Not only would pinning a murder on Crystal clear Mariska, but legitimate excuses to avoid water aerobics were like gold. Whenever one of the other ladies asked them if they were getting in, Mariska told them they were helping Charlotte with a big case.
“Crystal can’t stay here whether she killed Alice or not. She’s too young,” said Darla, invoking Pineapple Port’s fifty-five-plus rule.
Charlotte clucked her tongue. “I stayed.”
Darla dismissed her with a wave. “You’re a nice girl. And you were too young to go anywhere else. She’s old enough to get an apartment like a normal person.”
Mariska agreed. “Though I feel terrible I’m sitting here hoping she killed her grandmother. It’s awful. But I know I didn’t bring any nuts with me.”
“Uh oh,” said Darla, lowering her sunglasses.
Mariska and Charlotte followed her gaze to a woman entering the pool area.
“What?” asked Charlotte.
“That’s Gina. Dirty Dirk’s weekend nurse.”
All three of their heads swiveled towards the pool, where Helen, Dirk Skiff’s regular housekeeper and cook, stood in the pool hopping from one foot to the other with the aerobics ladies. The neighborhood had nicknamed her ‘Helen Bed’ when the scandal of her romance with her employer first hit the gossip mill, but that was nearly eight years ago. Now, she was just Dirk’s housekeeper-slash-girlfriend.
Until Dirk hired Gina for the weekend shift.
Darla shivered with what looked like excitement. “This should be good.”
“What’s going on?” asked Charlotte.
Mariska jumped to answer. “You know Dirk’s been planning that trip to Naples, right?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why Mariska and Darla imagined she kept up on the more salacious gossip in the neighborhood. “No, but okay.”
“Well, he promised to take both of them but he can only take one. He’s been playing them off of each other all week.”
Charlotte’s lip curled. “Surely both of them can do better than some old horndog like Dirk.”
“He’s got money,” said Darla, shrugging. “And those housekeepers are both first class gold-diggers.”
“But Helen’s getting a little long in the tooth for him, I think,” said Mariska.
Charlotte studied Helen. She was a good ten years younger than Dirk. Shifting her attention to Gina, she decided the new housekeeper had to be at least fifteen years younger. All of them were well over fifty-five.
“Gross,” she mumbled.
Darla continued, still as excited about the gossip as when she’d started. “When Helen found out he’d hired Gina to work on her days off, she nearly lost her mind.”
“Look at her. She’s built like Sophia Loren,” Mariska added, nodding to Gina, who’d picked a lounge chair and removed her cover-up to reveal her curvy figure, hugged by a two-piece bathing suit. Charlotte guessed her to be about fifty-seven, but Dirk was in his seventies, so for him she was quite the young chickie.
From the pool, Helen watched Gina as she bounced through her routine, her gaze locked on her rival as if she were an F-16 targeting system. Certainly if she could release missiles from her eyes, she would. Helen was in her mid-to-late sixties. For years she’d traveled everywhere with Dirk, but if now he was threatening to take Gina instead...
Oh boy.
Charlotte closed her eyes and rested her chin on her chest. Time to change the subject before Mariska and Darla leapt up and started cheering for blood as if they had ring-side seats at an MMA bout. “Frank said it was almond flour.”
“What?” piped Mariska.
“It wasn’t nuts, per se, that killed Alice. It was almond flour in the batter.”
Mariska poked a crooked finger at her. “See? I’ve never bought almond flour in my life. It couldn’t have been me.”
“It was probably hidden in Crystal’s room,” muttered Darla. “We should go look. It’s probably full of weird powders.”
Charlotte cocked open an eye. “Was she on drugs?”
Darla shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Addiction is a motive. Drugs aren’t cheap,” said Mariska. “It’s always drugs.”
“Exactly,” agreed Darla.
Charlotte opened her eyes. There was no point in trying to nap with the ladies yammering about drugs, romantic rivals and murder. “Was Crystal around while you were baking?”
Mariska swatted away a fly. “I remember Crystal wasn’t there because in the middle of baking I got to thinking why doesn’t she get Crystal to help her? Young, healthy girl like that, living in the house and being no help. It’s shameful. I asked her where her granddaughter was and Alice got that look on her face that said don’t ask.”
“Alice was the best thing that ever happened to that girl. If it hadn’t been for her, she would have ended up in an orphanage,” said Darla.
Charlotte smiled. “We could have been roommates.”
Mariska huffed. “You were never going to end up in one of those horrible places. But even without us, you wouldn’t have turned out like that girl. You’ve always been so sweet. Remember how sweet Charlotte was as a little girl, Darla?”
Darla nodded. “Darling. Cutest little—”
“All right, all right.” Charlotte held up her hands in protest. She had to nip the lovey-dovey talk in the bud, or the ladies would have her baby albums out within the hour.
Time to change the subject. Again.
Charlotte nodded towards the pool.
“Gina’s getting in.”
Darla and Mariska’s gazes whipped to the pool as they watched Gina enter the water to join aerobics. She took a spot directly behind Helen.
“Ooh, she is cheeky,” muttered Mariska, clearly enjoying every second of the unfolding drama.
Mission accomplished. Darla and Mariska had forgotten all about her as a little girl.
Now back to business.
“I never asked, how did Crystal end up with Alice? Did her parents die?”
Mariska pulled her gaze from Gina and bobbed her head from side to side. “That’s not exactly how it happened. Alice’s son was a good enough boy, but Alice didn’t approve of his wife. Crystal’s mother was a wild child. When he died—”
“Car accident,” interjected Darla.
“—his wife went even crazier. Doing the needle drugs.”
“Wrong crowd,” said Darla, pressing her lips tight and adding a disapproving head shake to drive home her point.
“And she overdosed?” guessed Charlotte.
“No. Worse. She started sleeping with men for money to buy the drugs. Endangering little Crystal.”
“There were rumors she tried to sell Crystal to men,” added Darla in a fierce whisper.
Now it was Mariska’s turn to frown and shake her head.
No one could do synchronized disapproval like Mariska and Darla.
Mariska continued. “Those were rumors…too awful to even think. I don’t know if they were true, but Alice called the police on that woman for one thing after another. Eventually she had the child taken away, took custody and had her mother arrested.”
Charlotte straightened in her seat. “So doesn’t that make Crystal’s mom a terrific suspect?”
Darla slathered some sunblock on her nose, careful not to disturb the puppy on her lap. “Sure, if she wasn’t dead. She got out of jail and overdosed a few years later. Never came back for the girl before that, though, from what I heard.”
�
��How old was Crystal then?”
Darla mused on this for a moment. “Maybe nine? Ten?”
Mariska nodded. “Crystal was old enough to know Alice had taken her away from her mother, but not old enough to appreciate why. She probably never forgave her.”
“Fighting like cats and dogs since I can remember,” agreed Darla.
“It got worse when Alice fell ill. The girl used to take her antics up to the line and then pull back whenever Alice threatened to kick her out. Once Alice grew too weak to fight, Crystal just ran all over her.”
Charlotte slipped on her sunglasses as a beam of sunlight found a way to sneak past the palm leaves waving above the clubhouse. “So it isn’t crazy to think Crystal may have wanted Alice gone?”
“Other than the fact I can’t imagine anyone killing their flesh and blood, not at all,” said Mariska.
Charlotte recalled the scene she’d discovered earlier that morning. Crystal certainly seemed to be in a hurry to rid herself of everything Alice. “I walked by Alice’s house this morning with Abby and the curb was lined with trash bags filled with Alice’s things. It looked like she was building a sandbag levee.”
Mariska raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh no. Alice had such lovely things.”
Darla clucked her tongue. “Body is barely cold.”
“If I died and Bob tried to throw out a single one of my things, I’d come back to haunt him,” said Mariska.
Darla chuckled. “I’d haunt Frank either way. If he wasn’t doing something wrong at that second, I’d know it was coming. Might as well start early.”
“How can we prove she made another stollen with nuts?” continued Charlotte. She was talking to herself more than asking the ladies a question, which was good, because they had started arguing over whose husband would buy the cheaper coffin.
“You’re right. Bob would definitely go for the plywood,” said Darla, relenting.
Mariska scowled. “Are you calling Bob cheap?”
“You were the one calling Bob cheap.”
“But I’m allowed to.”
Darla huffed and looked at Charlotte. “Did you just say something?”
“I was wondering if there is a way to prove Crystal made an additional stollen. One rigged with almond flour.”
“I know how to tell,” said Mariska. “There was half a bag of dried fruits left. I left it right next to all the other baking things in the pantry. No reason she wouldn’t have used them if she’d decided to copy the recipe.”
Charlotte grimaced. “I dunno. Not exactly iron-clad proof. But it might be something to check.”
“I know how I left every last thing in that kitchen. I took pains to put everything neat so Alice wouldn’t have to bother herself with any of it. If I took a peek, I’d know for sure if someone had baked after me.”
Charlotte tapped her knuckles against her lips as she considered the possibilities. “So it would make sense to get you in there. Though, somehow I doubt we can just knock on the door and ask Crystal if we can look around.”
“I’ll tell Frank to let us in,” suggested Darla.
Charlotte shook her head. “He could ask her to let us in, but she wouldn’t have to say yes. Then he’d need a warrant and no judge is going to give him one based on half a bag of dried fruits.”
“Did you learn all that becoming a private eye?” asked Mariska.
“I learned that from every police procedural show ever on television.”
Darla clenched her fist. “That party-muffin is out every night. That means the house is empty every night. We’ll just sneak in there and take a quick look around.”
Charlotte scowled. “Did you just call Crystal a party-muffin?”
Darla arched an eyebrow. “It’s a nice way to say she’s a—”
Charlotte held up a hand. “Got it. Nevermind.”
There was a scream and the three of them jumped.
“Get her, Helen!” called someone from the far end of the pool.
The crystal turquoise water had erupted into a frenzy of splashing. Gina had Helen by the hair, the latter thrashing at her foe, trying to break free. Several of the aerobics ladies encircled the two fighting women, some trying to pry them apart, others cheering support for Helen against the new young upstart.
“Oh for crying out loud,” muttered Charlotte.
Darla slapped her leg. “Use your left, Helen!”
The puppy on her lap jumped to his feet and then toppled over again. Darla grabbed him to keep him safe as she bounced in her chair.
As Helen and Gina were pulled apart, Charlotte reached down into her bag to grab the paper she hadn’t had time to read that morning, hoping she could hide behind it and pretend there weren’t two retired women in the pool trying to whup each other out of Dirty Dirk’s life.
The front page screamed at her with oversized black font: Philanthropist Dies.
Hm. Potential client.
“You’re a tramp!” screamed someone. Charlotte guessed Helen.
She tried harder to concentrate on her reading. She wanted to take the high road, but couldn’t deny that the urge to see who won the wrestling match wasn’t pulling at her.
Kimber Miller was found dead in his home last night. Miller, best known for his show horses, philanthropy and prize-winning Yorkshire Terriers—
Charlotte turned from the paper and looked at the puffball in Darla’s hand.
Yorkshire Terriers?
Chapter Eight
Jackie Blankenship, grudging leader of pool aerobics, had her arms wrapped around Gina while two other women, one of whom Charlotte knew for a fact had had a hip replacement in the last six months, wrestled Helen away.
“Helen Bed’s got a heck of a left,” mused Darla, as if she were considering becoming the woman’s fight manager.
“Did you see this?” asked Charlotte holding out the headline for Mariska and Darla to see.
Mariska nodded. “The millionaire. Yes. They found him dead in his bedroom.”
“But it says he bred Yorkies.”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
Charlotte pointed at the box of puppies. “These are Yorkies.”
Darla clucked her tongue. “So he died the same time someone was stealing his puppies? That’s an awful day.”
“Maybe he saw them stealing the puppies and that’s what gave him the heart attack,” suggested Mariska.
Charlotte poked the paper. “It didn’t say he had a heart attack, did it?”
Mariska shook her head. “I made that part up.”
“Maybe he was murdered for the puppies.” Charlotte scanned the article looking for more information, but as usual, the local paper’s crack team of journalists had failed to include any meaty facts. It was little more than a puff piece about a rich guy.
Mariska’s attention moved from Charlotte to the box sitting on the table. “You really think those are his puppies?”
“They have to be, don’t they? It would be a heck of a coincidence if puppies showed up here the same night he died.” Charlotte lowered her paper as the gate slammed shut at the opposite side of the pool. Gladys Sorenson and her broad, Swedish cheekbones entered the area with a beach bag over one arm and something small, furry and brown tucked in the crook of the other.
A puppy.
Gladys struck up a conversation with another woman who began fawning over the dog.
Charlotte tucked the paper under her arm, plucked the puppy from Darla’s grasp, replaced it in the box and carried the box towards Gladys. Darla barely registered her loss, so engrossed was she in the aftermath of Helen vs. Gina.
Gladys smiled as she approached. “Hi Charlotte, have you met Max?” She held up the dog.
“You can’t keep him.”
Gladys paled. “What?”
Charlotte lowered the box so she could see inside. ‘Max’ peered into the box and began whining, eager to return to his littermates. His pleas awoke his brothers and sisters, who pawed at the sides of the
box hoping to reach him. Gladys pulled him away.
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Gladys, but he’s stolen. Look.”
Charlotte put the box on a patio table and laid out the paper beside it so Gladys could see.
“I don’t have my glasses,” she said, beginning to pout.
“You can see the headline?”
“Philharmonic Days.”
Charlotte scowled. “It says Philanthropist Dies.”
“I told you I didn’t have my glasses.”
“Right. Anyway, point is, he bred Yorkies. I think these puppies are his.”
“Max is a purebred?”
“That’s not the point. Max isn’t Max. He has to go back. He’s stolen and he could be part of a murder investigation.”
Gladys sighed, staring at the puppy in her hand. “Roger wasn’t thrilled. I told him it was a sign, though. That we were supposed to have a dog.”
“Maybe it is. It just can’t be this dog. At least not yet. Maybe you could buy it from the estate when everything gets figured out.”
Gladys looked at Charlotte as if she’d sprouted a second head. “I’m not paying for a purebred dog.” She held out the puppy and Charlotte took it to place it in the box with the others.
When she looked up, Janice Rocco was standing at the gate, a puppy in her arms.
“You have to give it back,” said Gladys, jerking a thumb towards the box.
Janice spun to leave, tucking the dog beneath her beach coverup as she fumbled with the gate. Charlotte had never seen the woman move so fast.
“Janice, you have to give it back,” she called, running after her.
Chapter Nine
“I’m going to need a bigger box.”
It had taken some work, but Charlotte had finally convinced Janice Rocco to turn over her puppy. Now five dogs jumbled in her cardboard box.
“How many siblings do you guys have?” she asked them. “Did any of you take a head count?”
“What are you going to do with them?” asked Mariska.
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know. Maybe I should stay here and see if they just keep showing up at the pool. Maybe I should go knock on doors.”
