Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery

by Judith Ivie

  Telling Margo and Strutter about the pending Telecom-OmniFutures merger and its likely repercussions for Armando and me had accomplished nothing, really—and yet, it had. Despite their inability to do anything of immediate practical value, I was sufficiently cheered, after unloading my troubles on them, to resume an outward semblance of calm. After what I suspected had been a hellish two days, Armando didn’t need to come home to a hysterical mate.

  I heard the garage door go up just as I was sliding sheet pans of mustard roasted chicken and fresh asparagus into a hot oven, closely supervised by Gracie. What can I say? The cat has a thing for garlic.

  “Your person is home,” I told her, carefully setting the oven timer for thirty minutes. Whatever Armando’s news might be, a burned dinner wouldn’t improve things.

  “So how did it go?” I asked ever so casually after hugs and kisses and scritches had been exchanged all around. I accepted the glass of chilled white wine Armando held out to me. Gracie and I followed him into the living room, where we lined up in our usual formation on the double recliner.

  “Do you know, it was not bad at all,” he said, and as I searched his face for clues, I could see that it truly had not been a bad experience. He’d been tense and apprehensive when he left me on Monday, but instead of coming home frazzled after two days and nights of jumping through hoops to impress the OmniFutures brass, he seemed calm and relaxed. Serene wouldn’t be too strong a word. Good grief, had the acquisitive fiends brainwashed him? I felt myself frowning and occupied my mouth by taking a large swallow of wine. It was surprisingly tasty.

  “Mmm, this is wonderful. Something new?” I asked.

  He sipped from his own glass and nodded. “Dave and Frank recommended it. It is a blend of chardonnay and pinot grigio. I know you enjoy both of those varieties, so I picked up a bottle on my way home. They were correct; this is very good, light but flavorful.”

  “Wine snobs, huh?” I snarked. “I know the type. Did they spend the whole time showing off for the TeleCom crew, or did they give it a rest once in a while and allow you to order for yourselves like big boys and girls?”

  Armando looked a bit surprised. “They were not like that, Cara. This wine happened to be among the selections at dinner last night, and Dave remembered he had tried it and enjoyed it. When I mentioned your preferences, Frank remarked that his wife liked it a lot, too. She used it to make wine coolers in the summer. That is all.”

  I squirmed under his puzzled scrutiny and changed topics. “Are Dave and Frank OmniFutures people you might wind up working with?”

  “That is very possible,” he agreed, “but then, it is also true of everyone else who was in attendance. I have to say, it turned out to be a very interesting two days.”

  I struggled to keep a straight face as my heart sank. They like him, I realized as he described, not the idiotic games and role playing that had characterized such gatherings back in the days of my corporate servitude, but brainstorming sessions on real, practical issues interspersed with short rounds of golf, volleyball games and lively conversation over excellent meals. Worse yet, he likes them, too.

  “Do you think the merger will go through?” I asked when he finally ran down, carefully keeping my eyes on Gracie as I stroked her. Her toes spread in bliss as she plastered herself even more closely to her favorite person in the world, beside herself with feline joy at having him back.

  Armando’s answer was fast and matter of fact. “I know it will. At the end of our stay it was announced that both companies’ boards of directors were recommending it to their shareholders, who in turn are expected to vote overwhelmingly in favor of the merger. There is no reason to believe there will be any objection from the SEC, so …” He turned his palms up as an ecstatic smile spread across his face. “I have been assured there will be a place for me in the new entity.”

  My heart thudded in disbelief as I stared at him, unable to process his apparent change of heart. Who was this person? I put down my wineglass and spoke through stiff lips.

  “So you will be going to Florida, then?” I wondered if it would be possible to murder one’s husband before dinner on a Wednesday evening in suburban Wethersfield and get away with it. Oh, what difference did it make? My life wasn’t worth living now anyway.

  “We will be going to Florida, yes,” he corrected me, “and very soon, too.” I swear the evil stranger who used to be someone I loved had a twinkle in his eye when he said it.

  The words burst from my mouth without my even trying to stop them. “You may be going to Florida, but I am not going to Florida, not now, not ever! I was lying when I said I’d be willing to move. I hate the heat, and I am not going to spend the rest of my life marinating in sunscreen and my own sweat!”

  The oven timer went off, and I leaped to my feet, dislodging Gracie before I dissolved into tears and ran for the kitchen, where I gulped and sniffled over the stove. Removing hot sheet trays from a four hundred degree oven was beyond my ability, so I turned the thing off and yanked open the door so the hot air could disperse, sobbing with rage the whole time.

  Armando came up behind me and handed me several tissues before turning me gently to face him. I refused to look at him, the uncaring beast, the infidel.

  “Cara, I am so very sorry. How is it possible that I have made you so unhappy by trying to make a little joke of telling you my news? Had you allowed me five more words, I would have said, ‘but only for a visit.’ I thought you would then understand that we will not have to relocate to Florida at all, and we would have a good laugh about it. I did not know how worried you must have been about this possibility. I apologize.”

  It took a few seconds, but the full meaning of his words finally penetrated my misery. My tears dried up in mid-hiccup. I blew my nose and glared at him over the wad of damp tissues.

  “We don’t have to move to Florida?”

  “No. I am to remain right here in Connecticut, although new office space will need to be secured. They have a place in Glastonbury in mind, very close to where Emma now works.”

  “The trip to Florida is only to visit the headquarters?”

  “And perhaps to enjoy a little vacation after you meet some of my new colleagues.”

  My eyes narrowed, and I gave my nose a final honk. “I don’t think so, Armando.” I yanked away from him and flounced to the sink, where I ran cold water into a glass and gulped it down before turning back to him. “That was about the meanest thing you’ve ever done to me. You knew perfectly well I would assume you meant we were going to have to relocate, and I would be terribly upset, but you had to have your little joke. Admit it, some part of you actually enjoyed watching me suffer. I think you’d better plan on going to Florida by yourself. Stay as long as you want to, in fact. I need some time to myself.” Two can play this game, I thought meanly and took satisfaction in watching his handsome face fall.

  “Cara, you cannot mean it!” he exclaimed. “Tell me this is not happening all because of my few careless words.”

  He looked so crestfallen that I took pity on him. I walked over and took his face between my hands. “Okay, I was just kidding, ha ha. It doesn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of that sort of joke, does it? I don’t mean it … this time. But if you ever pull a dumb stunt like that on me again, I’ll … I’ll fricassee Gracie and serve her to you for dinner. Speaking of which, are you ready to eat? I made your favorite chicken.”

  He pulled me into a hard embrace, his relief evident. Then he swatted my backside—hard. “Dinner can wait. I need a shower.” He picked up his suitcase from where he’d dropped it inside the door and stalked toward the stairs. Uh oh, maybe I’d gone too far in trying to make my point about bad jokes.

  Or not. Halfway up the stairs he called out over the banister, “Perhaps you would care to join me?”

  Fifteen

  On Friday I once again covered for Margo at Vista View. She was close to making sales on two of our listings, so I was happy to free her to do her thing. We e
ach had our strengths, and selling houses wasn’t one of mine. Besides, now that Armando had relieved me of a major worry, I’d switched gears. I was determined to learn the reason behind Isabelle Marchand’s mysterious shunning of May, who didn’t deserve it. We had an inkling of what it might be about, but we were far from certain. If I’d learned anything from the events of Monday evening, it was that victims aren’t always the objects of revenge. Very often, they’re simply convenient targets.

  I made it a point to get to Vista View early, planning to purchase two cups of coffee and knock on Isabelle’s office door, which stayed closed for the most part these days, and have a little heart-to-heart. I dropped off my laptop and sweater at the sales desk in the lobby and hustled to the dining room. The sight of Isabelle’s office door standing wide open gave me pause. Maybe she wasn’t in yet, but how could that be? She lived here. Then I spotted her a few yards in front of me. She probably intended to grab an early cup of coffee and scuttle back to her lair before the usual gang assembled. Gotcha, I thought.

  “Good morning, Isabelle,” I called out cheerily, lengthening my stride to catch up to her. She turned around in surprise, and her expression, upon seeing that speaking with me was unavoidable, became wary.

  I gestured for her to precede me. “It’s hard to resist the aroma of Dominick’s pastry, isn’t it?” I plucked a tray from the stack on the service counter and busied myself selecting a cup and a lid to fit it, which always turned out to be harder than it sounds. They all looked alike, and people were forever grabbing the wrong size lids and discarding them in a jumble, which made it even harder for the next person.

  “Let me.” Isabelle looked at the medium-sized cup in my hand and chose the correct lid for it, first try. I was impressed.

  “How did you do that? They all look about the same to me.”

  “It’s the dots,” she told me. She pointed to the yellow spot on the lid she’d chosen for me. “They’re green, yellow and red, just like traffic signals.”

  “Now you’ve really lost me. Don’t those mean go, caution and stop?”

  “Same thing, the way I think about it.” She filled both our cups from a spigot on the gleaming urn. “Green for the small cup means go right ahead and enjoy your coffee, no problem. Yellow on the medium lid means you should probably exercise a bit of caution with regard to your caffeine intake, and red on the large one means stop, for heaven’s sake, before you go into cardiac arrest.” Her eyes glinted with mischief as she helped herself to sweetener, a stirrer and a napkin.

  I was charmed by the analogy, which I knew I would remember henceforth, and by her unexpected humor.

  “Come and sit with me for a minute,” I invited. I might not know for sure what had soured her budding friendship with May, although I had my suspicions, but the frosty relationship between her and the Vista View residents was making everyone uncomfortable. Maybe I could do something about that, at least.

  Without waiting for her reply, I strode purposefully to the large window table that was preferred by Bert Rosenthal and his ladies and took a seat. Isabelle trailed after me, wearing an uncertain expression. She looked around the room, clearly wondering if this was a good idea.

  I patted the seat next to me and threw her what I hoped was a persuasive smile. “It’s such a beautiful morning. Let’s enjoy the sunshine for a few minutes before beginning the day.”

  Although it was obvious that she’d rather not, Isabelle sat in the indicated chair. Her back was toward the dining room entrance, but I could see over her shoulder the arrival of Lavinia Henstock and Bert. Doubtless the rest of his entourage would be along soon. Time to move my impromptu plan forward.

  “Bert, Lavinia—over here!” I called and waggled my fingers at them. They both spotted me and waved back.

  “Be with you in a flash, Gorgeous. Got to get my java, or my doctor won’t have anything to complain about when I see him.” Deftly, Bert escorted Lavinia to the service counter.

  “Oh, no,” said Isabelle. “Why did you ask them to join us? They won’t be pleased to see me here.”

  I decided that candor was my best shot. “I know you’re uncomfortable, but the time has come to clear the air, Isabelle, and I can’t think of a better venue. Bert and Lavinia are two of my favorite people at Vista View, and you and I seem to have a rapport, so it doesn’t make sense for all of you not to get along. Let’s find out what the problem is, and maybe we can fix it. Chances are, it’s just some sort of misunderstanding,” I finished up as Bert guided Lavinia in our direction.

  Isabelle squirmed a little but kept her seat. I’d half expected her to vacate it and flounce back to her office, but come to think of it, she wasn’t the flouncing type.

  “What’s a misunderstanding, Gorgeous?” Bert demanded as he circled the table to sit next to me and helped Lavinia, the younger of the two Henstock sisters by a couple of years, get settled on his other side. She fluttered into her chair and gazed at him with adoration.

  Only then did Bert look closely enough at my companion to recognize her. His smile dimmed, but, gentleman that he was, he didn’t let it disappear completely. Lavinia merely looked confused. Now in her late eighties, Lavinia was beginning to show signs of short-term memory lapses, but they came and went, so it was hard to say when she was experiencing one. Although she must know who Isabelle was, she didn’t show any sign of recognition.

  As usual, Bert handled the situation with grace. “Good morning, Ms. Marchand. The rest of our Halloween party committee will be along soon. Lavinia, you remember our new business manager, don’t you? She replaced Ginny Preston,” he prompted Lavinia smoothly, filling in any possible gaps. He emptied a packet of sugar into his coffee and refused to look at me.

  “Oh, yes, dear Ginny.” Lavinia glommed onto the familiar name and ignored Isabelle. “Have you heard from her, Kate? How we all miss her.”

  Beside me, I felt Isabelle stiffen at the unintended slight and had a flash of insight.

  “No, I haven’t heard from her, but I’m sure she and her husband are still busy getting their new place organized in North Carolina and catching up with the grandchildren.” Pointedly, I turned my attention to Isabelle. “It must be tough for you to take over a job that was practically created by someone else, especially when it really isn’t the same job at all. I’ll bet a lot of folks around here expect you to do everything Ginny did and don’t understand that the position has been completely redefined.”

  A little of the tension left Isabelle’s shoulders, and she sipped some coffee. “That’s so true,” she said, quick to pick up on the opportunity to set the record straight. “Ginny Preston is a tough act to follow. After all, she helped create Vista View, and she did an incredible job here. Replacing her would be next to impossible. Fortunately, that’s a challenge I haven’t been asked to meet.” She took another sip.

  Lavinia was attentive but puzzled, and Bert gave Isabelle a quizzical look. “How so?” he asked her.

  Isabelle explained how most of Ginny’s management and decision-making functions had been reassigned, which left primarily administrative duties on her job description. “Essentially, I crunch numbers and prepare spreadsheets and reports for the directors,” she finished up. “I don’t make the rules, like Ginny did. I’m simply tasked with reminding staff and residents about them from time to time, even when I don’t agree with them.” She smiled into Bert’s eyes to good effect. “The one about no guests at resident parties is a good example.”

  “Is that a fact?” he said, waving two more women into the remaining seats at our table, which had been quietly filling up while Isabelle spoke. “Did you hear that, girls? Izzy … er, Ms. Marchand isn’t any happier about the no guests rule than we are.”

  Quickly, he went around the table making introductions. “Helen, Dotty, Estelle, Marjorie—say hello to Ms. Marchand.”

  “Isabelle, please,” she responded, reaching across the table to shake each extended hand in turn, “although my brothers did call me Izzy
years ago.” She gave Bert a sly glance, and I laughed as his cheeks grew a bit rosy.

  “You got me,” he admitted. “So what can we do about this new no guests policy? Our shindig is going to be one big yawn without any new blood in attendance. It’s no fun putting up all the decorations, renting a jukebox, figuring out costumes and all that just for ourselves. We see each other every day, and we look forward to getting outsiders in to appreciate our hard work. Besides, who’s going to dance with all of these beautiful women? I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.” He nudged Helen, who tittered appreciatively.

  Half a dozen graying heads turned toward Isabelle, and I held my breath. How would she handle this?

  “Well,” she said slowly, “I’ve been giving this some thought, and I might have at least a partial solution.”

  “Really?” Lavinia gasped with delight, and Bert blinked behind his thick spectacles.

  “What is it? We can’t wait to hear,” said Dotty, or was it Marjorie, as the heads bobbed enthusiastically.

  “Atta girl, Izzy. Let’s hear it.” Bert grinned at her encouragingly.

  Isabelle flinched at the nickname but decided to ignore it. “I’ve been reviewing the rules about visitors,” she began.

  “What rules?” demanded Helen, or perhaps Estelle. “This isn’t an institution, it’s a residential community. Except for the Phase Three building, which, let’s call a spade a spade, is a medical facility, visitors can come and go as they please.”

  Lavinia piped up amid a chorus of assent. “Bessie Kozlowski had a man stay overnight just last week,” she informed the group brightly.

  I doubted that Bessie would be thrilled at having this news broadcast over coffee in the dining room. Beside me, Isabelle held up a hand.

  “As I was saying, I’ve been looking over the rules, and you’re all quite right. Except for Phase Three, which understandably requires visitors to check in and out at reception, residents are free to invite whomever they please into the complex, so long as they don’t cause a disturbance.”