Jeopardy in July: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Venkataraman

  As the automatic doors whooshed open, a blast of cold air greeted me like an old friend and I stopped in the foyer to catch my breath. This was my third visit to the assisted living facility (ALF for short, not to be confused with 'Alien Life Form') and the lobby looked the same as it had the first time. Nobody had moved since then, or so it seemed. The same elderly people were parked next to the same walkers, wheelchairs, and oxygen tanks, in the same spots, wearing the same bulky sweaters. Wait a minute--sweaters? I was fainting from heat prostration and they were dressed for light snow flurries. Unreal.

  Dazed from the heat, I scanned the room trying to figure out where my seminar would be held. I glanced at Wilma's picture on the wall hoping for some guidance but it had nothing to say on the matter. That left Glenda, guardian of the front desk, who disliked interruptions, especially from me, to tell me where to go. I got the impression she'd like to tell everyone where to go. I was heading her way when I ran into someone I had met on my first visit.

  "Hello, Herb!" I said, "Fancy meeting you here."

  Herb Lowenthal shook his head with his usual enthusiasm. "Where else am I going to be, Jamie Quinn, at a Broadway Show? Maybe out dancing? Are you here for the seminar?"

  "No, I'm not here for the seminar," I said matter-of-factly. "I am the seminar." Herb smiled at that. "Do you know where I'm supposed to be?"

  "I know everything. Stick with me, kid, and you can't go wrong."

  Herb's bushy eyebrows were more active today but his two tufts of hair looked like soft clouds had touched down above his ears and might fly away at any moment. As I followed my guide down the main corridor, we walked past the Bingo hall before stopping in the next room, which held a conference table with ten chairs and smelled of antiseptic. The only indication that this was the right place was the box of pens on the table. Then again, maybe those pens were always there. We were the only occupants.

  I turned to Herb. "I know I'm early, but…"

  ""They'll be here, don't worry," he said, making his caterpillar eyebrows dance. They just don't move so fast. Believe me, your seminar is the highlight of their day."

  "Surely, there's something better to watch on TV," I joked. "Like The People's Court or Judge Judy."

  "Nah," he said, "they get tired of yelling at the TV after a while."

  I didn't know what to say to that so I started unpacking my briefcase. An eternal optimist, I'd brought fifty sets of forms with me, but only took out ten. Then I pulled out the paper plates, napkins and fruit salad I'd bought that morning and arranged them artfully on the table.

  "You brought food? What kind of lawyer serves food?" Herb asked, surprised.

  I smiled. "I figure if this law stuff doesn't work out, I can always go into catering."

  "Makes sense," Herb said. He took a plate and started helping himself. "Don't mind if I do."

  "Oh, good," I said, "does that mean you're staying? I could use the moral support."

  "I wouldn't miss it," he said stabbing at a piece of pineapple with his plastic fork. After two tries, he scooped it up with his hand and popped it in his mouth. "Besides, I have to point out the loonies for you." He circled his finger near his head in the universal gesture for crazy. "In lawyer-speak, they're non compos mentis."

  "I was told nobody like that was coming," I said, annoyed. "I can't be responsible for--"

  "Not to worry," Herb said with a shrug. "There are all kinds of crazies in this world, am I right?"

  "You're not making me feel better, you know." I chided him.

  While we waited, I wondered if Herb was going to leave any fruit for the rest of the group. I tried to make small talk.

  "So, what's your story, Herb? You seem like an interesting guy."

  Without missing a beat, he said: "Why, you writing a book? How about you make it a mystery and leave my chapter out."

  Unfazed, I replied: "But my book is about this cool guy who saves the day--and I was planning to name him Herb."

  With a gravelly laugh, he pointed his plastic fork at me. "You've got moxie, Jamie Quinn, I like that. You're fast on your feet, too." He gave me a shrewd, appraising look which included some eyebrow action. "Okay, you're hired."

  "Hired to do what?" I asked, but I didn't have the chance to find out because my students had arrived en masse, all four of them. Herb's warning notwithstanding, they looked competent to me. The three women and lone man were all neatly dressed, well-groomed, and wearing sensible shoes. Naturally.

  I gave them a welcoming smile. "Good morning, my name is--"

  "Hey, where's that handsome fellow who's usually here?" One of the women interrupted. "The one who looks like Alex Trebek. Where's Miles?"

  Before I could respond, the woman in the beige pantsuit and tortoise shell glasses answered for me. "Miles left, Tillie, don't you remember? He moved to Costa Rica with his husband."

  "His what?" the third woman asked, confusion all over her face.

  "Now, girls, don't y'all be rude to our guest," said the tall man with a lion's mane of white hair and a Carolina accent. He took my hand in a faux-handshake which was more of a squeeze. "This here is our new lawyer lady. She's quite the improvement over Miles, if you ask me."

  "And who asked you, Mr. Casanova?" Herb said.

  Mr. Casanova laughed. "I don't need to be asked. Charming the ladies is what I do." He tipped an imaginary hat in my direction and I suddenly realized who he reminded me of.

  "Pleased to meet ya, ma'am. My name is Lucas Merriweather Jones but all my friends call me--"

  "--Luke?" I interjected gleefully. I couldn't believe it--this guy was Duke in about thirty years--and still hitting on women.

  "Maybe his friends call him that," Herb said with a dismissive wave, "but the rest of us call him Mr. Casanova. There's no fool like an old fool, am I right?"

  At that moment, Jodi Martin's strawberry blonde head appeared in the doorway. "Hey Jamie, can you come see me when you're done?"

  "Sure," I said. "In the garden?"

  She gave me a nod and then she was gone. I hoped she had news for me since I didn't have any for her. I turned to my 'students' who were munching on fruit and arguing about something or other. It dawned on me that I wasn't teaching a seminar, I was herding cats. Time to call this class to order. Reaching into my briefcase (my bag of tricks) I pulled out a recent purchase, the silver bell with the Pegasus on top, and rang it loudly in case anyone had a hearing issue. (I also had a whistle to keep people in line at mediation. It was kind of a joke, but I did have to use it one time when things got nasty.)

  Once I had everyone's attention, I said "Let's get started, shall we? My name is Jamie Quinn and I'm here today to explain this packet of forms--"

  "This fruit is delicious!" Tillie said. "Where did you get it, if you don't my asking?"

  "Well, I'm glad you like it. I--"

  "Oh, for Pete's sake!" Herb said. "It's a fruit salad. Don't act like you've never had fruit salad before. What are you, from Mars? Let her talk."

  If Tillie's feelings were hurt, it was hard to tell as she'd gone back to eating.

  "The first page," I said, "is a Durable Family Power of Attorney. This form allows you to appoint a family member to act on your behalf by signing legal documents, transferring property, etc. The benefit of having this is--"

  "I'm sorry to interrupt," said the woman in the beige pantsuit, her tortoise shell glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights, "but you don't need to--"

  A sharp knock on the doorframe made us jump. It was Wilma and she was dressed in a lime pantsuit that clashed terribly with her dyed red bouffant. If it was attention she was after, that was one way to get it.

  "How are we doing this morning?" she chirped. "Everyone pay attention today to learn about these important legal documents." Then she gave us a phony smile, clapped her hands to make sure everyone was awake, twirled on her heel and left.

  "Okay, where were we? You were saying something?" I said to the nice beige lady.

  She nodded and sm
iled. "Yes, I was saying that you don't need to explain these forms to us."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "Because we already signed them a long time ago."

  Chapter Thirty

  "Huh?" was all I could manage, proving I wasn't as fast on my feet as Herb imagined. "Is that true?"

  Herb shrugged and the rest of them nodded. Tillie was busy eating , using my forms packet as a placemat.

  "Then why did you come today?" I asked them. "Was there a misunderstanding? If so, I'm sorry I wasted your time."

  Luke flashed a dazzling smile and I could see why he was such a hit with the ladies. "Waste of time? This is the most fun I've had all week. Now that we broke the ice and all, want to hear a joke?" He drummed his long fingers on the table in anticipation.

  I was skeptical. "Is it rated G, as in safe for grandmas?"

  "Not on your life." He grinned.

  "Then the answer is no, Duke--I mean, Luke." I grabbed a handful of grapes from the bowl and ate one. "Let's start over. If you already signed these forms, what did Miles talk about when he came?"

  Tillie beamed. "Oh, Miles was wonderful! He told us funny stories and made us laugh and laugh. Such a handsome man, too!"

  "Yeah, you mentioned that," I said. "Did the other residents ever come to the seminars?"

  "Eh, once in a while," Herb said.

  "What you're saying is that this isn't a seminar at all, it's more like a koffee klatch or an open mike night for Luke?"

  "Yep, you nailed it." Luke said. He had pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and was doing tricks for Tillie's amusement.

  I stood up. "This isn't right, I'm getting paid to teach a seminar, not goof around. Does Wilma know about this?" I directed my question to Herb.

  "Relax, my young friend, she knows, of course she knows." Herb paused and took his phone out of his pocket to check on something (yet he still liked to read an old-fashioned newspaper; some habits die hard). He went on, "Believe me, if Wilma wanted people here she would have combined it with Bingo. It's not your problem, Jamie Quinn. You just show up and if they come, they come. As a side note, I admire your integrity. You sure you're a lawyer?"

  I sat down again. "I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult, Herb."

  He laughed. "My brother Myron was a lawyer, but I didn't hold it against him either. Look at it this way, you're like an insurance policy, you're there if we need you. Feel better now?"

  I shook my head. "I'll get back to you on that." I pulled my packet apart using my nails to loosen the staple and held up the three forms. "Are you all positive that you filled out these forms?"

  Everyone nodded, even Tillie who didn't know what she was agreeing to and who was still clearly pining for Miles.

  "Okay then, class dismissed. See you next month, I guess. Bring your friends!"

  Luke tipped his imaginary hat on his way out and Tillie took the tray of fruit with her. Only Herb stayed behind.

  "You could've warned me," I scolded him.

  "True," he said with an unconcerned nod. "What, are you waiting for an apology?"

  "Maybe." I began wiping the sticky table with a wet napkin.

  "You know, lawyers are supposed to be tough," he joked.

  "And old people are supposed to be nice and hand out peppermint candies."

  At that Herb laughed so much the map of wrinkles on his face rearranged themselves into a new country entirely. "You're a kick in the pants, Jamie Quinn! You remind me of my daughter. She was funny and smart too, and talented, oy, was she talented…." His mood had shifted like the wind.

  "Herb," I said from my heart, "I'm honored to be compared to your daughter." Poor man, no wonder he didn't want to talk about himself.

  Herb studied his arthritic hands resting on the table. He finally spoke. "It was drugs that killed her, but she fell in with some very bad people. I blame them."

  I wanted to comfort him, but all I could say was I'm sorry and all I could do was keep him company. So, that's what I did. We sat together a little while before being interrupted in the best way possible. Our favorite chocolate Labradoodle, Marley, trotted in like he owned the place, which he must've thought he did since he was there so often. I forgot that Jessie came every week to do pet therapy--I mean, I knew, but somehow it had slipped my mind. What can I say? A lot had happened since the previous Monday and my head could only hold so much information. I don't know what my brain was so busy doing besides bombarding me with annoying commercials at three a.m.; it was never there when I needed it. I'd be lucky if I remembered where I parked my car.

  Marley lay on the floor, hoping for a belly rub. Herb had cheered up and all he needed were some wet, sloppy dog kisses. Pet therapy really worked.

  Herb stood up to leave. "Well then, it's decided. You're hired, Jamie Quinn. You passed your job interview with flying colors."

  "But--" I trailed off.

  "But, what?" Herb asked, as if this were a normal way to enter a business relationship.

  "I won't be your hired gun," was all I could think of to say.

  "Of course not," he said and shook my hand firmly to seal the deal, a deal I knew nothing about. "Anything else you won't do?"

  I thought about it. "I don't do windows," I joked.

  He nodded. "Me, either."

  "Because you don't have to?" I said.

  "No, because I own a Mac. Bye, Jamie Quinn, see you soon."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  "What was that all about?" Jessie asked. She had walked in while I was talking to Herb.

  "No idea," I said.

  "Yeah, Herb is like that, very mysterious. How was your seminar?" She dropped into a chair and started scratching behind Marley's ears causing his tail to wag like a windshield wiper on a rainy day. They clearly had an understanding.

  "It was a disaster. Or a success--depends on who you ask."

  I polished off my last two grapes wishing Tillie had left me a few more. It hurt to be outsmarted by a senior citizen with a shaky grip on reality. You snooze, you lose, that's the rule.

  "Sorry I didn't get back to you," Jess said, tucking a strand of wavy purple-tinged hair behind her ear. "We had a minor crisis at the shelter and I didn't have a chance to call Uncle Teddy. How did you wind up at Clarence Petersen's memorial anyway?"

  "Bad timing. It turns out I actually knew Clarence back when I was a kid. Isn't that strange?" I reached over to pet Marley's shaggy head.

  Jessie smiled. "Sounds like an episode of The Twilight Zone to me. Hey, I want to find out what Shirley Petersen was ranting about. Let's go ask Uncle Teddy. Come on!"

  With that, she sprung up from her chair and was out the door before I could finish saying okay. Instead of turning toward the lobby, Jessie and Marley headed left down a long serpentine corridor as I valiantly tried to keep up. We were walking at such a fast clip I couldn't look down at the carpet because the pattern was making me dizzy--weren't old folks' homes supposed to be soothing? Jessie zipped past the residents like she was in a movie set on fast-forward and they were on freeze-frame. We finally stopped when we reached the stairwell.

  "Whoa! Where-are-we-go-ing?" I protested, catching my breath. "Is your uncle locked in a tower or something? Why didn't we just take the elevator in the lobby?"

  Jessie burst into giggles. "Oh, sorry, I was imagining Uncle Teddy locked in a tower! Too funny. We couldn't go through the lobby because everyone would've wanted to play with Marley. My uncle's place is three flights up, can you make it?"

  "What am I, eighty? Of course I can make it." I said, slightly winded and mildly offended. I kicked off my pumps and tucked them into the wide pockets of my jacket.

  "If Uncle Teddy can do it, I'm sure you can too," Jess assured me before prancing up the stairs on her nimble little feet. Marley wasn't nearly as graceful but he got the job done. I'd never seen a dog climb stairs before; he looked like a small galloping horse.

  I made it to the fourth floor, pride intact, and followed Jessie to her uncle's apartment. Sh
e called him first to say we were there before letting herself in with her key.

  "He's not feeling great today, so he's taking it easy," she whispered as we stepped inside.

  We found ourselves in a homey living room with an L-shaped brown leather sofa pushed against the wall, a coffee table centered over a small accent rug in front of it, and reproductions of art on the walls. At least, I assumed they were reproductions. Uncle Teddy, clad only in a worn terrycloth robe cinched over old-fashioned striped pajamas, was sprawled in a Lazy-Boy recliner, left leg propped on an ottoman, a bowl of soup cooling on a snack table by his elbow. He still resembled the Monopoly guy but looked a lot less perky--more likely to send you to jail than to take a ride on the Reading. Even his moustache was droopy.

  "How's my favorite uncle?" Jess asked, leaning over to kiss his unshaven cheek.

  "I don’t know, but when I see him I'll ask him," he said playfully.

  Not to be outdone, Marley plunked his front paws in Teddy's lap and panted dog-breath in his face, demanding to be noticed. Teddy fussed over Marley until he was fully satisfied that yes, he was a good boy. Seeing all the attention Marley got made me wonder what I was doing wrong. If this was a dog's life, it didn't look so bad.

  "Is your gout acting up?" Jessie asked, pointing at her uncle's leg. We were sitting on the sofa facing him.

  He nodded. "I wouldn't mind it except my damn ulcer flared up at the same time. Getting' old ain't for sissies, that's for sure."

  "Yeah, it must be hard," Jessie sympathized.

  Her uncle made a face. "Getting old isn't hard, you just have to keep waking up every day. Being old is the hard part."

  "Okay, Grumpy," Jess said, rising from the sofa. "I'm sure Snow White will be here soon with the other dwarves. In the meantime, do you want some tea?"

  Uncle Teddy laughed. "She's a hoot, isn't she?" He looked to me for confirmation before adding, "A cup of tea would be terrific."

  As I studied the décor, I recognized a Picasso print of a mother and child and, next to it, a surreal landscape that might've been a Dalí. One art history class in college had made more of an impression on me than three years of law school. What can I say? I liked melting clocks.