Frankie suddenly stopped arguing and sat straight up in her chair. “News? What news? And what do you mean, Violet’s coming? She’d never show up here unless it was something bad.”
Now Dorothy’s face had plenty of expression—mostly horror, Summer decided—but just for a nanosecond. “There, there, Frankie, dear,” she said, patting the woman’s arm. “Your daughter will be here soon, and you two can talk. Would you like me to get you a nice cup of water from the cooler?”
Frankie threw the cards on the floor. “I don’t want to talk to Violet. I don’t want her anywhere near me. And somebody better spill the beans quick on whatever it is you’re all hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything except my winning hand here,” Ernie said. “Grace isn’t, either. Nobody is. Right, Dot?”
Dorothy looked guilty again. Summer knew she probably did, too. But the worst of them had to be Val. The Pink Lady stood behind Dorothy’s chair, jittering like a cocktail shaker. How could she have been so stupid, blabbing like that?
“I’d better go get Lucinda,” Val said.
“No one’s going anywhere,” Frankie said. “Not until I get an answer.”
Summer saw Angelica’s mom slide her walker a tiny bit closer with her foot, under the table. Was she going to try to make another break for it?
“Oh, this is terrible.” Val was literally wringing her hands now as she looked at Dorothy for help. “I’m going to get fired. We have to tell her now.”
“Darned straight you do,” Frankie said. “Don’t even bother trying to bluff. I always know when people are lying.”
So do I, Summer thought. Pretty much always, anyway. And she was a zillion percent sure now that Frankie didn’t have a memory problem. She was putting on some kind of weird act.
The fake antique grandfather’s clock in the far corner chimed four o’clock and Val abruptly quit sniveling. “My gracious, it’s medication time for Mrs. Edelman. She likes me to grind the pills into applesauce for her, so I’d better go.” She backed away from the table, giving them all a wobbly smile. “Why don’t you ladies chat with Frankie about…the situation,” she added to Summer and Dorothy. “Since you’re family friends and all.”
The receptionist scurried toward the door like a crazed pink Easter bunny, almost tripping into the wall as she lunged for the keypad.
“I’m waiting.” Frankie tapped the green felt table, as the revolving Christmas tree suddenly groaned and came to a creaky stop.
Uh oh. Summer didn’t want to look at Dorothy. This was not going to end well.
Her friend cleared her throat. “Frankie, there’s been an accident,” she said. “We were waiting to tell you until Violet could be here with you. I still think that’s a much better idea…”
Frankie turned to Summer. “You’re my goddaughter, aren’t you? Out with it.” Her chin pointed up in a definite challenge, but Summer could tell the woman was scared. Really scared.
She took an extra deep breath. “Why don’t we go somewhere else where we can sit down?”
“We are sitting down,” Frankie pointed out, but her voice sounded a little less sharp now.
“Dot, what is going on?” Summer heard Ernie say, in a low voice. “What accident?” Dorothy shook her head to discourage him.
Frankie was right. She deserved to know. “Come on, Godmother,” Summer said, helping Angelica’s mom out of her chair. “Here’s your walker. If you go back to your room with me”—she fumbled in her bag—”I’ll give you some lollipops. I brought them just for you.”
No need to mention she’d picked them up at the reception desk. But she doubted a lame bribe would work, anyway.
Frankie took the lollipops Summer held out to her and dumped them in her canvas walker bag on top of all the dimes and nickels. “Okay, let’s go.”
“I’ll come with you two,” Dorothy offered quickly.
“No need,” Frankie said, as she shuffled toward a hallway off the activities room, with Summer beside her. “My goddaughter here always takes good care of me.”
I do? Summer thought. Well, that was nice of her to say. But how was she going to break the terrible news to her about Angelica? She reached to help guide the tiny woman, but Frankie slapped her hand away and started down the hall so quickly that Summer had to hustle to catch up with her.
“Hey, wait, put that thing down,” she said, as Frankie lifted the walker above her head and took a sharp right turn down still another long, carpeted hallway. “You might get hurt.”
Frankie snorted, and Summer gave up. Fine. She’d just have to catch her if she fell.
It seemed like a long way to Frankie’s room. Most of the residents had their doors open, probably so the staff could keep a better eye on them. One lady in a wheelchair with a holiday bow in her hair gave Summer a cheerful wave, and she waved back.
Wait a minute. They’d taken a few turns, and they were almost at the end of the last hall now. “Frankie, where are we going?” she asked. “We must have passed your room. We need to talk, remember? It’s really important.”
“I don’t want to hear any news,” Frankie said. “We’re going someplace else first. Here we are.” She stopped in front of a large red door. “Open it, please.”
“That’s an emergency exit,” Summer said. “There’s an alarm and everything.”
“Big deal. I’ve already done it once today, and you can help me move a lot faster. By the time anyone shows up we’ll be miles ahead of them.” Frankie shook her walker. “You’re busting me out of here. Then maybe I’ll listen to whatever it is you’re so eager to tell me.”
This was nuts. Frankie already knew the news had something to do with Angelica—and that it probably wasn’t good. Didn’t she care? Or did she just not want to face it?
Maybe, if Angelica put her mom in here to keep her safe from a killer who was after both of them, Frankie already suspected the worst. If the murderer knew she was here in Hibiscus Glen, he or she would probably come here next. And neither the staff nor the cops would believe a supposedly crazy woman’s story that someone was out to get her. Was that why Frankie was so anxious to escape?
This might not be the world’s most fabulous place to hide, but Angelica’s mom would probably be safer here than running around out in Milano somewhere.
“Open the door,” Frankie demanded. “When they look back, you’ll be on the security cameras letting me out.”
“Open it yourself,” Summer said, crossing her arms.
“I have a gun.”
Now Frankie was the one who was bluffing. Summer hoped so, anyway, as she eyed the bulging bag on her walker. This was a gamble she did not want to take. But she didn’t have much choice.
She lunged past the tiny woman to cut her off from the emergency exit. Unfortunately, she hit the bar by mistake, and she muttered under her breath as the alarm began to sound through the hallway.
A heavily muscled forearm reached over her shoulder and pulled the door shut. “Going somewhere?” a deep voice said.
Chapter Seven
“I wasn’t helping her escape or anything,” Summer told Detective Donovan, as the door alarm in the memory unit finally quit blaring. “I swear, this isn’t how it looks.”
“It never is with you, is it?” The detective sighed, and ran a tired hand through his dark brush cut. Then he turned to Frankie, who looked as annoyed as Dorothy’s cat, Mr. Bitey, when she locked him in his cat crate to take him to the vet. “I was very sorry to hear about your daughter, Mrs. Downs. My condolences.”
“Condolences?” Frankie’s whole face dropped. “What do you mean? Angelica’s really…dead?”
Oh, nooo. Summer muttered under her breath again. This was no way for the poor woman to find out her daughter had been murdered. “Dorothy and I were going to tell you before but…” she began, then stopped. What was the point? She’d just sound lame again.
Someone should have told her. Waiting for her other daughter to show up had been a stupid idea.
> “I’m afraid so.” Detective Donovan used his professional voice but she saw the flash of sympathy in his intense blue eyes. “I apologize, ma’am, for giving you bad news this way. I thought you knew.”
“I’m really sorry, too, Frankie,” Summer said, as Angelica’s mom slumped against her with a muffled wail. She patted the full-out sobbing woman on the shoulder and looked over at the detective for help.
He just stood there looking uncomfortable. “We’ve got to get her to her room,” she told him, above Frankie’s head. “She needs to lie down.”
“I don’t want to lie down. I want to know what happened. Where is Angelica? I want to see her.”
Detective Donovan cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s possible right now.”
“You’re wrong about my Angie,” Frankie said, stepping away from Summer. “I’m getting my purse with my money and my cigarettes and then you two are taking me out of here, right past that simpy Val’s nose. We’re going to clear up this big misunderstanding real soon.”
At least she wasn’t crying anymore. Now she just looked ticked off. Summer wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse. Then Frankie whirled around and zoomed back down the hall like she was off to the races at Santa Ana. Summer immediately jogged after her.
“Come to think of it, going back to her room may not be such a good idea,” Detective Donovan muttered, striding along behind Summer.
“Too late,” she said, as the three of them reached the open door of Room 308. Obviously, he was clueless about old people. Or maybe all people, come to think of it. Especially almost-girlfriends, who might appreciate a text or call or checkin every once in a while.
But that wasn’t important anymore. All she cared about right now was the case. And maybe-crazy Frankie.
She glanced back over her shoulder and stopped for a second when she spotted the old black-and-white photo hanging outside the door. It showed a tiny, dark-haired woman in a polka-dot blouse with two pigtailed little girls. It might have been taken in the fifties or something, judging by the retro swoop of her hairstyle, the heavily penciled brows and dark lipstick.
There was another photo hanging next to it, but that one was colorized. It showed a tall woman with flaming red hair wearing a navy blue coat and holding a folded American flag. She was surrounded by a bunch of dark-haired police officers in dress uniform who looked super solemn.
A funeral, obviously, with an honor guard. Or maybe they were family members, because they all looked alike. The woman in the middle wasn’t Frankie Downs, but all of those guys with brush cuts seemed weirdly familiar.
Uh oh. No way. Summer peered closer at the photo behind the glass as Frankie and the detective headed into the room. Was that family…?
“What, the card game’s over already?” a husky woman’s voice said from inside the room.
Yep, she’d been right. Frankie’s roomie was Peggy Donovan, the detective’s piece-of-work grandma. What was she doing here?
Summer was pretty sure Peggy lived near Dorothy over at Hibiscus Gardens. And the woman’s memory, unfortunately for Summer, was perfectly fine. Shane’s grandma wasn’t a big fan of hers, for no reason at all.
Except maybe that she’d sort of dated her darling grandson.
And maybe also that she’d interrupted a stupid tennis tournament by mistake and wrecked Peggy’s chances of winning the Ladies Wheelchair trophy.
But probably mostly that she wasn’t sweet, perfect Jennifer Margolis, the Hibiscus Pointe resident services manager. Peggy already had her picked out to make Shane an amazing, goody-two-shoes wife.
“Can’t you go back and play another couple of hands?” Peggy was saying to Frankie, as Summer squeezed into the room behind the detective. She tried to make herself as invisible as possible.
“I was trying to visit with Shane Junior here,” Peggy went on, “before he up and ran out on me without a shred of explanation.”
Summer heard the detective give a very tiny sigh. “Nana, please.”
“There’s no privacy in this heck-hole whatsoever,” Peggy added. “It’s worse than prison.”
“No, it’s not,” Frankie muttered, heading over to the nightstand next to the empty bed and yanking open the bottom drawer. “But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your carrot-juice hair in a jiffy, if I can ever find my purse.”
“What?” For some reason, Peggy didn’t sound happy that her roommate was planning to take off. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave, you know.”
Well, Shane’s grandma definitely wasn’t going anywhere. The woman’s wheelchair, her usual mode of transport, was folded up against the wall and her left foot was encased in a ginormous black splint.
“Nana,” Detective Donovan said. “We have a situation here. And no one is going anywhere.” He turned to Summer. “Except you, Ms. Smythe-Sloan. I’ll take things from here, thanks.”
Summer’s face burned. “I’m trying to help.” He was treating her like some stranger, not someone who’d already helped him solve two murder cases. And he wasn’t hot enough to get away with it.
Okay, so maybe he was. But she wasn’t going to let that little fact keep her from finding Angelica’s killer. Plus, she and Dorothy had to make sure Frankie, loony or not, stayed safe.
“Now, hold on just a New York minute,” Peggy said to her grandson, as Angelica’s mom kept moving around the tiny room, opening more drawers and slamming them shut. “You’re on vacation, remember? You don’t need to be the big hero down at the PD for once. You need to be here taking care of me.” She pointed to her ugly black boot. “I’m completely helpless.”
Talk about a play for attention, Summer thought. She would never stoop to acting like that. Unless it was for a case, of course.
“He thinks my daughter is dead,” Frankie said, peering under her pillow. “But she isn’t.”
That shut Shane’s grandma up fast. For about two seconds. “The nice dark-haired lady who brought you in here or the blonde one?”
“The nice one.” Frankie was feeling around the lumps in the diamond-print bedspread now.
“That’s not good, if my grandson says she’s dead,” Peggy said. “He never lies. So what happened, Shane?” She twisted back toward Detective Donovan too fast and jerked her ankle. “Ouch. Out with it, Junior.”
“It’s not officially my case and I’m not at liberty to share any details right now,” he said. “With anyone.” He glanced over his shoulder at Summer.
“Pfft.” Peggy gave a dismissive wave.
Summer silently seconded that. “Okay,” she told everyone. “I’m, um, leaving now.”
None of them seemed to care or even hear her. Peggy was peppering her grandson, whose lips were clamped in a thin line, with questions like bullets as Frankie triumphantly pulled a tiny black drawstring handbag from an empty plastic vaporizer. “Got it!” she announced.
Jeez. Everyone in this entire room—except her, of course—was bat crazy. Summer started to back her way slowly out the door.
There was nothing she could accomplish here right now. Frankie was safe with Detective Donovan and she needed to find Dorothy so they could follow some other leads.
Of course she felt totally sorry for Angelica’s mom, who was about to find out for real that her daughter was dead. But now definitely wasn’t the right time to question Frankie. They’d never get anywhere, anyway, with Peggy and her precious grandma’s boy around.
Plus, she and Dorothy needed to find Zoe Z, who’d been lurking around backstage at Waterman’s right before Angelica was killed. That girl had some explaining to do, especially since Esmé was probably in jail by now because of her.
“Bye, Goddaughter!” Frankie called to Summer, cheerfully, as she stuffed the little black bag into her bra. “See you later.”
Much later, hopefully. Summer forced a smile before she turned and fled down the swirly Hibiscus Glen carpet.
*
Dorothy hoped it hadn’t been too terribly rude of her to l
eave Ernie and Grace alone at the card table with the non-players, all of them dozing. But Summer had disappeared with Frankie for what seemed like quite a long time, and Violet had to be speaking with the staff by now.
A food service aide was struggling to balance a tray load of tall drinks in foam cups as she pushed the buttons on the keypad lock outside the reception area.
Perfect timing. “Here, let me hold those drinks for you,” Dorothy told her, reaching for the tray.
“Oh, thanks so much,” the aide said. “I need to bring them to the family conference room, stat.”
“Happy to help.” Dorothy slid into the reception area behind the aide and headed straight to the desk. A glance into the glass-walled meeting room to her left told her that Angelica’s sister had indeed arrived.
The petite woman with the tight helmet of blonde hair, voluminous pieces of gold jewelry and crisp navy suit had to be Violet. She was speaking and gesturing across the conference table in a highly animated fashion to a nervous-looking Lucinda.
“Mrs. Westin?” The receptionist’s voice was practically a whisper as she slid open the plastic divider at the reception desk. “I don’t think you want to go in there right now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dorothy said. “What seems to be the trouble, if I may ask?”
Val beckoned her closer. “Violet wants to take Frankie back to Vero Beach with her tonight,” she said, in a confidential tone. “But Lucinda thinks that’s too soon, under the circumstances.”
“Of course,” Dorothy murmured.
“Besides, only Angelica was authorized to sign their mom out, and we’ll need to make sure all the paperwork is in order,” Val went on. “The Hibiscus Glen physician on call has to give his okay, too, and his answering service said he hasn’t returned their page yet.”
“Ah,” Dorothy said. No doubt he was still out on the golf course, with half the other doctors in Milano. “Will Violet talk with her mother soon?”
“I hope so,” Val said. “We just don’t know how Frankie may react. She can be a little…volatile sometimes.” She nodded toward the conference room. “Like someone else in there.”
Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin) Page 7
