The generously labeled “tour guide” was a four-page black-and-white booklet listing “what to do in Lincoln Point.” It included the grand ball in honor of Mary Todd, should a visitor happen to be passing through on or about December 13. The listing was hardly competition for similar literature from the big cities close by, and certainly none for Steve Talley’s pro-only brochure describing his grand plan for the town.
But Linda was right about the food. I’d eaten in the Mary Todd dining room as a guest of the management while they were setting up and interviewing for instructors for classes. I could attest to the fact that it was run like a fine restaurant (never mind one resident’s comment on their quesadilla recipe).
“Do they still serve Sadie’s ice cream for dessert?” I asked Linda, glancing at Maddie.
“Uh-huh. There’s a sundae bar with ice cream and sauces from Sadie’s.”
That perked Maddie up a bit. “If we eat here, will you tell us the news on the case, Mrs. Reed?” she asked. I wondered if she even knew what the phrase “the case” meant. Either way, it didn’t keep her from negotiating again. She turned to me and reported, “Mrs. Reed wouldn’t say anything about it to me until you were around.”
I shot Linda a grateful look.
So far Maddie had gotten only my standard granddaughter talk about the Sofia Muniz case: every now and then bad people do things that aren’t right and other people are hurt. Meaningless, but it was my way of trying to protect Maddie from nasty words (like “murder” and “bloody corpse”) and nasty deeds (like shooting, stabbing, and slashing). And from a world that was nasty now and then, I mused.
It wasn’t like Linda to use language unfit for a minor, but I wanted to set the stage anyway.
“Is this about the details of the event in that parking lot?” I asked her. Sometimes obfuscation came in handy.
“Yes, but it has to do with finances, not . . . uh, biology.” Linda wasn’t as good as I was at obfuscating, but she did pretty well.
“Sweet,” Maddie said, with a grin at once mischievous and wise.
I tried to shut the image of her parents out of my mind. After lunch and for the rest of the week, Maddie and I would do only fun, granddaughterly things, I told myself.
Chapter 9
The Mary Todd dining room had the same soft rosy hue as the building’s hallways and small lounges. And the same plethora of interdenominational decorations. Looking down from the reception area of the third-floor restaurant, I admired the courtyard, with its stone fountain, manicured gardens, and groupings of outdoor tables and chairs. At this hour the dining room was crowded, but thanks to the plush carpeting and upholstered walls, the room seemed hushed.
As we passed a table of crafters on the way to our own table, Mr. Mooney and two women waved a greeting. Mrs. Sechrest turned her head away from me. I felt bad, but I could hardly blame her.
Service was excellent, and within a few minutes of ordering from a diverse menu we were treated to beautifully presented entrees. Grilled fish for Linda and me, and a hamburger (not fast food, I reasoned, when it was served with linen napkins and fine silver) for Maddie. Linda had spent a good deal of time praising the Mary Todd, its lovely surroundings, and its excellent employee benefits package.
“I can finally have Jason on my health insurance instead of depending on you-know-who.”
The mystery man, I knew, was Linda’s first ex-husband, a rather self-important professor with a penchant for his young coeds. In Peter’s defense, however, he was neither the biological nor the adoptive father of Jason Reed, and had no real obligation to support him.
I made an attempt to send Maddie to the ice cream bar so Linda and I could talk freely about whatever news she claimed to have.
“Not again!” Maddie said. “You promised.”
Rather than argue and spoil the ambience (Christmas music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, attentive waiters and waitresses) I moved to Plan B.
“Okay, Linda, you might as well start. You said you had information on the arrangements for living here?” I gave her a wink that I hoped she’d interpret correctly.
“Right,” she said, with a nod that told me she understood. “Well, first of all, the floor plans are all named after a Civil War battle or a general. For example, the Vicksburg is a studio apartment, about four hundred square feet, with an entrance deposit of one hundred thousand dollars, and three thousand a month in fees. The fees cover weekly housecleaning, two dining room meals a day, and utilities. Not cable though.” Linda used her fingers to tick off amenities, pausing to wave to a woman with a silky red shawl and a fancy cane. “Access to the pool and fitness room and all educational programs. Like yours, Gerry. The Fort Blakely is the next size up, with a separate bedroom. You need two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to get in and then it’s thirty-five hundred a month. Next is the Decatur—”
Maddie cut in. “I thought this was going to be about the case.”
“It is, Maddie,” I said. “I need to know all the details before I can figure out what happened to the woman who lives here.”
Maddie pushed her lower lip forward. “It’s like when you tell me I have to do all the boring parts of building a dollhouse,like gluing every single shingle”—here she flubbed the words and giggled—“not just the fun parts.”
“Exactly.” (Although I hadn’t thought of that.)
“Anyway,” Linda continued, “the Ulysses S. Grant is one of the largest floor plans, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms.”
“May I be excused?” Maddie asked. “I’m ready for my dessert.”
Linda handed her an ice cream ticket in case they were checking numbers today. “Employees get only one sundae per person,” she said.
“Take your time, sweetheart, we’ll just finish up this part,” I said. For the first time since before she learned to walk, I felt I might have put one over on my granddaughter.
As soon as Maddie left the table, Linda, not usually given to physical displays of affection, put her hand on mine. “Gerry, I want you to know I’m sorry about, you know, getting on your case before. About Jason. I started thinking about it and I see what you mean. It’s like a surgeon not operating on his own kid.”
Everyone had good analogies today. And another breakthrough—this was indeed a new Linda.
“Don’t think about it, Linda. In fact, I was thinking I should sort of interview Jason. I’ll see what he’s best at, and that way I’ll know whom to recommend. Or, who knows? Maybe we’ll decide we can work together.”
Linda clutched her prominent white-clad bosom. “Oh, Gerry, thanks. You’re such a good friend.”
“Good job on the catalog of rooms,” I said. Then I had a thought. Maybe the boring descriptions inadvertently served a bigger purpose than getting rid of Maddie. “What’s the most elaborate suite available, Linda?”
A confused look from Linda. “How did you know? That’s what I want to tell you. Not only does Sofia Muniz live in the best suite available—two bedrooms, two bathrooms, thirteen hundred square feet—she got in under the Founders Program.”
“Which is?”
She primped the sides of her many-shades-of-blond beehive. “Offered to the first fifty people who sign up when a new facility is opened. You know there’s a conglomerate that owns, like, two dozen of these homes all through the state.” I waited to hear what was exciting enough to merit the proud look on Linda’s face. “First, I want you to know that I wasn’t just being nosy, Gerry. I wanted to check on whether we had the old Nolin Creek Pines address for Sofia. Dolores was so sure she never gave it to us. Well, in the process, I discovered that Sofia should not have been in the Founders Program.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not finished.” Linda was back to her finger-ticking method. “They have all kinds of extra amenities and choices— carpeting, wallpaper, all that. Their escrow fees from that first entry payment are waived, and they get half of any increase in entrance fees of future residents.”
“It sounds like they’re shareholders.”
“You know I don’t understand Wall Street, Gerry, but yes, it’s a pretty plum deal.”
I glanced over at Maddie, who had stopped to talk to a table full of residents and young guests. Of course she’d stop, I thought, she’s probably showing them her Jaws photo and making arrangements to use one of their tickets for an extra sundae. Maybe I should sic Maddie on Mrs. Sechrest, to smooth-talk her into forgiving me.
“Why do you say Sofia shouldn’t have gotten the deal?”
“When people sign up, there’s supposed to be a chronological list, then it’s cut off right at fifty. But Sofia didn’t arrive until after several others who were told they missed the cutoff, like Mr. Mooney right over there, and a Mrs. Gillespie who is no longer with us.”
Linda’s tone indicated that Mrs. Gillespie didn’t just move on to another facility.
“Maybe they dropped out, then signed up again?” I suggested.
“Nope. I was only part time then but I remember the fuss, and this one guy Mr. Lynch threatened to go to court. He demanded to see the records, with the dates. So they showed him the records, but Nadine—Ms. Hawkes. You met her today—she must have doctored the dates so it looked like Sofia signed up before a lot of other people, including Mr. Lynch.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I didn’t put it all together until I actually saw the papers today. And with my flimsy status at the time, I wouldn’t have taken a chance anyway. What if I was wrong? But I don’t think so.”
“So Dolores may have used pull to move her mother to the front of the line? That’s interesting, but do you think it matters in the long run, as far as this case is concerned?”
Linda brushed bread crumbs from her uniform. More exactly, she tugged at the top of her uniform shirt and shook the crumbs off. “Dolores had a lot more than a little pull, Geraldine. She shelled out a lot of money, I mean a lot of money. Besides being in the first wave to sign up, it takes more than half a million up front to get into that program, plus the monthly fees are quite high for her size suite.”
I looked around at the other diners. They were all nicely dressed, certainly better than we’d see at Bagels by Willie or most of the lunch places in town. The men were in cardigans or pullover sweaters, many with ties. The women wore makeup and had carefully crafted hairdos. But I didn’t get the feeling I was at tea at the Waldorf on Park Avenue or dining with the Trumps at Lincoln Center. “Never mind Dolores and Sofia, how do any ordinary people afford this place?”
“They’ve all sold their big houses. And they’re old, so their former residences were probably completely paid for. They use that as the entrance fee, and if there’s not enough left over for monthly fees, then social security and pensions fill the gap. Think of it, Geraldine, if you sold your home, paid off what little must be left of your mortgage after all these years, you’d have enough money to plunk down on one of these units.”
Nice as the Mary Todd was, I wasn’t planning on leaving my home anytime soon. I was a very young fifty-five-plus, I told myself.
Linda’s explanation made sense, however. The housing prices in California (maybe everywhere, but I knew only my region) were outrageous and most homeowners were sitting on a fortune. The idea that we would one day own a home worth more than a million dollars would have sent Ken and me into gales of laughter in our early days. But in fact a home smaller than ours in our Eichler neighborhood, with a tiny patch of yard space, recently sold for a million two. I’d come to appreciate Lincoln Point for what it offered: proximity to the industry and cultural activities of Silicon Valley, but with a small-town look and feel with a charm of its own. Apparently that cost a lot these days.
I thought back to the Muniz situation. “Dolores and Sofia didn’t have a house to sell,” I reminded Linda. “They moved into their first home, where Dolores still lives, from an apartment at Nolin Creek Pines. And I doubt that Sofia has a pension.”
“Uh-huh,” Linda said, pointing her fork at me, dripping lemon caper sauce onto her uniform. “So where did all that money come from?”
It was a very good question.
It had already occurred to me fleetingly that Dolores’s lifestyle was on the lavish side for a government employee, especially of a small town like Lincoln Point. She had a daughter in college also. Even at a state school, tuition wasn’t trivial, and Ernestine was not a strong enough student to merit a scholarship. I’d figured Dolores was either very much in debt or one of those savvy people who could stretch a paycheck.
But now that I thought of it, the details of the financial investment Linda laid out for me took us well beyond maxed-out credit cards and into the realm of miracle worker. At the moment, however, I couldn’t see how our talk of the money dealings between Dolores and the Mary Todd was anything but gossip, having no connection to Sofia’s involvement (or not) in the gardener’s murder.
“By the way,” Linda said, “about that Nolin Creek Pines address? Dolores was right. She never gave us that information.”
“Well, someone knew,” I said. “Didn’t the van go there directly to pick her up yesterday morning?”
Linda stared into a corner, up and to her right. Her thinking countenance. “I see what you’re saying, Gerry. How did Gus know where to go?”
How indeed?
Maddie was back. She’d joined another table to eat her sundaes, having given up on hearing anything interesting from Linda.
I thought I could cheer her up. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” I said. “We’re going shopping for costumes for the ball.”
“Nuts,” she said.
I knew she didn’t mean the kind she’d piled on her sundaes.
The string of stores that had stood along Springfield Boulevard for as long as I could remember apparently wasn’t enough for the city council. In the past year the strip was expanded. Shops were added to the lot in back, producing an open mall effect, bordered by Springfield Boulevard to the west and Emancipation (no kidding) Boulevard to the east. So far, with our new city council, except for the fast-food giants, Lincoln Point had managed to keep most of the big chains at bay.
As we headed for one of the new businesses, Lori Leigh’s Dress Shop, with Maddie buckled into the backseat, my intentions were to finally do something fun with her.
“Aunt Beverly is going to meet us at Lori Leigh’s,” I told her. “She needs a costume, too.”
“Yeah. Maybe we can go to Sadie’s together afterward.”
“You just had two Sadie’s sundaes.”
“Did you see how small those dishes were? I never saw such tiny dessert dishes. They could go in our Bronx dollhouse.”
After a few more rounds of critiquing Mary Todd dining, we entered Lori Leigh’s shop. Like so many over-forty adults these days, Lori Leigh had been my student at Abraham Lincoln High School. We chatted a few minutes about her classmates and how business was going (very well during the holiday season) while Maddie wandered around the busy, festive store, fingering plastic icicles and tinsel.
Lori Leigh had added a special section for the ball, with both men’s and women’s Victorian (or close to it) clothing. When I caught up with Maddie, she was not impressed with the display. “Nuts,” she said, a look of dismay on her face.
“I thought this would be fun,” I said.
“You didn’t tell me I had to dress up for this ball thing.”
What had I been thinking? That Maddie would enjoy shopping for a Victorian outfit for the ball? Some part of my brain had clearly disengaged and gone back to the days when she was two years old and wore whatever Grandma put her in.
“What did you think a ball was like?”
“I thought it would be like our soccer banquet. Where the coach wears a tie but we all wear our jerseys.”
I suppressed a smile. Maddie was not in a joking mood.
“Didn’t I say ‘costume ball’?”
“Costume means Halloween. I was thinking of that kind of cost
ume. A witch or something. I guess I was confused.”
Maddie’s eyes darted around the store as if she had alighted in a foreign land and was looking for a way out. Which she was. “Couldn’t I stay home tomorrow night? I could stay with June, or Mrs. Reed?”
“Everyone is going to be at the ball.”
“Even Jason?”
Hmmm. I hadn’t given that much thought. Though Linda’s teenage son had begun to measure up to his responsibilities in the last few months, I couldn’t quite picture him in Victorian attire. But if he was not going to the ball, I hardly thought his first choice would be babysitting (a term she hated) Maddie.
Maddie took a seat as far from the frilly inventory as she could, at the front of the store. I cruised the racks listlessly, having lost my desire to try on cumbersome outfits.
When Beverly arrived, Maddie jumped up and began her plea anew. I stood by and watched.
“Wouldn’t you rather do something else on Saturday night, Aunt Beverly?” she asked.
I was fairly sure that would be a dead end, since Beverly loved dressing up. She was always immaculately groomed, her short curly red hair in place, and she had a penchant for fancy hats. The ball was a perfect venue for her. With Maddie’s negotiating skills, however, I feared for Beverly. I imagined the two of them sitting home on Saturday evening watching a hockey game with large dishes of ice cream on their laps while the rest of us ate a Victorian banquet of fish-flavored aspics and nectarine puddings.
That mental picture was shattered by my cell phone ring. I clicked it on. At the same time I poked Maddie and pointed to the phone. She laughed as “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” rang through Lori Leigh’s Dress Shop.
Mayhem in Miniature Page 9
