Retirement Can Be Murder (A Jake Russo Mystery)

by Phil Edwards

  “What are you preparing for?”

  “A bridge game. I’m sure you heard.”

  “I did.”

  Gary coughed suddenly and started speaking loudly.

  “You may have heard about me,” he said, his chest pushed forward. “I am a photographer. Some say I have my own unique way of seeing the world. I say, perhaps this is so. Some people have prescriptions for their blood pressure or their eyes. I medicate the soul.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “What time is your game?” Jake asked.

  “A half hour. I can’t talk for a long time.”

  “Sheryl,” Gary said dramatically.

  “Yes?”

  “I love to photograph beautiful things.”

  Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. It almost made the pain go away.

  “Sheryl,” Gary repeated. She flapped the tablecloth up and over. It covered the wood in a wave of blue. “Do you normally play bridge tonight?”

  “No,” she said. “We were going to dedicate it to Charlotte.”

  She crossed to the closet and got another tablecloth out.

  “Did you tell anyone that?”

  “Ech.”

  “Sometimes,” Gary volunteered, “I cannot bear to look at the images I’ve made. Such beauty causes me great pain.”

  Jake sat down at one of the chairs and rested his head against the hard wood table. Sheryl walked out from behind the closet and then she looked up slowly. She spoke in a softer voice.

  “Why can’t you bear to look at the beautiful images, Mr. Novak?”

  Jake looked up. Her accent seemed washed out. It was somewhere under the tablecloth, for a second at least. Gary walked across the room, his chest puffed out.

  “I cannot speak of it.” He sat down and let his cane drop. “I don’t talk about my work. The images, they are a part of me. A secret part.”

  “Sheryl,” Jake said. “Don’t mind him. I’m trying to learn more about things at Sunset Cove. Everyday things.”

  She ignored him and walked over to Gary. He had his eyes closed. She stayed a foot away.

  “Why can’t you talk about your work?”

  “Words. They are blunt tools.”

  “They are?”

  “Like using a baguette to hammer a nail.”

  She didn’t flinch, so he continued.

  “Can you describe an open beach? A last birthday? Only my photographs can do that.”

  “Sheryl,” Jake said. “Who will be playing bridge tonight?”

  “Ech.” Her accent returned. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”

  “What?”

  “Rude, inconsiderate. You really are a reporter.”

  She turned back to Gary and her face softened.

  “I was a nurse. I always found it hard to talk about my work.”

  Gary opened his eyes wide.

  “We see the things that other people look away from.”

  They both looked at Jake.

  “What?” he said. “I see things too. I am a reporter.”

  “Well,” Sheryl said, “you think you see things.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you see the soul of the city?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Exactly, my reporter friend.”

  “I don’t talk about it.”

  Jake bit his lip. Sheryl wasn’t even looking at him. She was watching Gary, her eyes sparkling. He started again.

  “When I photograph a setting sun, it is poetry. But only because the night is drawing near.”

  Jake sat down and put his face in his hands as Sheryl leaned toward Gary.

  “Do you photograph the beach?”

  She was close. The frizz of her gray hair almost touched his.

  “The beach? I see it constantly. Waves. Sand. Birds. Waves.”

  Jake sat up.

  “Gary, you said ‘waves’ twice.”

  They both shook their heads at him, their hair almost becoming entangled. Gary looked in Sheryl’s eyes.

  “In fact, a friend of mine just passed away. She took a long walk on the beach and then…”

  He turned his head down toward the floor. Then he looked up at Jake so Sheryl couldn’t see. He winked. Or tried to. It looked like he was wincing. But Jake knew what it was supposed to be. Sheryl sounded cleaner and calmer.

  “Mr. Novak, you knew Charlotte Ward?”

  “I did. Jacob and I both knew her.”

  “I’m sorry. I miss her.” She coughed.

  “Do you?”

  “I’m used to it.” The accent was back. She sat up straight and took the edge of the aqua tablecloth in her hands. She rubbed it against her eyes and the corners turned darker.

  “No,” Gary said. “You don’t have to be saying that.”

  She looked up. Stood up. Then she sat down again.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I just wish there were a way,” Gary said. “A way that I could find out what she was thinking that last night.”

  “I can help you.” Her voice hardened a little. “I know the last man to see her.”

  “I photographed her, you know.”

  “The last man,” she said, “was Abram Samuels.”

  Jake wrote it in his notebook and interrupted.

  “When did Abram Samuels see her?”

  Sheryl rolled her eyes.

  “Excuse me, reporter, we were having a conversation.”

  Gary nodded his head gently.

  “Sheryl, please.”

  “Abram saw Charlotte at dinner that night. From 4:30 to 5:00, right before her death. Then he probably went on one of his night walks.”

  “Night walks?”

  “You see him every night. He walks the sidewalk trail before going to sleep.”

  “Gary, I’ve got to run. I’m going to find him.”

  “Jacob, wait!”

  He ran up the stairs. When Gary tried to follow, Sheryl took his cane and moved it across the room. She smiled at him, showing her teeth.

  “You have to stay a little longer and tell me more about your passions.”

  He shouted from his chair.

  “Get my cane! Please!”

  “Gary, a struggling artist like you could use a little rest.”

  As he went out the door he looked back. Gary was staring at his cane and Sheryl was leaning forward, her chin resting on her hands, waiting to hear more.

  CHAPTER 21:

  It was dark out already, but Jake knew where he was going. A few women passed as they walked to the common building. He waved and started walking faster down the hill. The wind blew the palm tree leaves around in circles, and he could hear the water crashing on the beach. The first day he’d seen Abram Samuels and his red-brimmed hat, he’d been walking out of Building B. Jake bet that he lived in the building too.

  He went down the hill and made sure he had his notebook with him. He almost felt cold in the t-shirt he was wearing. It clung to him in the wind and stuck against his stomach. He glanced at the open page of his notebook—only “Charlotte Ward” was written there. Then he looked down the hill. It couldn’t be happening, not again. But he’d seen it all before—the door to Building B was open.

  He started running. It didn’t make sense that something would happen again, this soon. It couldn’t have happened. And with Charlotte already gone, who else could anyone want? Unless someone wanted to find Abram. The door was swinging in the wind. He could see it flashing underneath the lights that lit the path. He ran to the door and jumped into the hallway.

  “Jake? What are you doing?”

  Mel had a camera in her hands and was standing in front of Charlotte’s room. Jake rubbed his hands on his knees and pushed back his hair. He tucked in his shirt, hoping she wouldn’t notice his exhaustion.

  “Oh, Mel. Hi. I was just coming down this way.”

  She walked closer toward him and he stood still, breathing heavily. Her hair was down and ran to her collarbone. She w
as wearing a dress with blue flowers, and when she got closer she smelled like them too. She twisted the lens cap on her camera.

  “You look like you were in a hurry.”

  “Uh, I was.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Do I look that tired?”

  “A little,” she said and started laughing. “Actually, a lot.”

  “Sorry. I ran down here. I saw the door open and I just got worried.”

  “Worried? About what?”

  She looked him in the eye. Even in the soft light of the hallway, her eyes were bright. Mel was still holding the camera, and he looked down the hallway at Charlotte’s room.

  “What were you doing here?”

  “Oh, I was taking pictures. Charlotte’s daughter—sorry, designee—is coming down soon. And usually they resell. So…”

  She gestured to the camera and shrugged her shoulders. The flowers were an even brighter blue against her tan arms.

  “I see. The process happens quickly.”

  “It does. Lots of paperwork.”

  They stood there for a moment. He put his notebook in his back pocket and made sure not to let her see the page with Charlotte’s name. It had happened a little too quickly. Before either of them said anything, a middle aged man appeared next to Jake.

  “Oh,” Mel said. “Hi Javier.”

  The man walked forward. He was wearing a light blue jumpsuit that looked too tight at the chest and too big at the legs, like they’d come from separate uniforms. Jake moved to the side and Mel introduced them.

  “Javier, this is Jake.”

  The man nodded and walked past. He had a paint can in his hand.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s just touching up the door. There was some damage on the side, and since we can’t go in, we do what we can now to make things nice.”

  “There was damage?”

  “Yes. Charlotte always ran her walker into the frame.”

  Her walker. He didn’t know if he should say anything. He didn’t want to hear what Mel would say back. She spoke first.

  “So wait—what were you doing down here?”

  At the end of the hall, Javier leaned down and started painting.

  “I just…” he started. Then he stopped. Nothing. He was bad at excuses.

  “You said you were worried?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you worried about?”

  She brushed her hair back with one finger. A flick.

  “I thought…I thought I would miss seeing you before the day ended.”

  “You did?”

  She smiled. Even tan skin could blush.

  “I heard you were down here, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss seeing you.”

  Javier painted the door and erased the damage. The traces.

  “Who told you I was down here?”

  “Someone.” He couldn’t think up a name. “An elderly woman.”

  “Who?”

  He was sweating again.

  “She had white hair.” Like that narrowed it down.

  “Mrs. Costello?” Apparently that did narrow it down.

  “Maybe it was her.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  Mel looked good. No bags under her eyes. Just a smile. She parted her lips barely, then thought of something to say.

  “So, your meeting with fate is coming soon, right?”

  “Meeting with fate?”

  “Mr. Rothschild. Aren’t you two having lunch?”

  “Oh. That’s right. I didn’t know he was fate.”

  “Then you don’t know him very well.”

  Javier walked past them, the weight of the paint can causing him to lean slightly to the left. He took the rock out from where it propped open the door and let it close. They were alone now. No one would know what Mel told him. No one would know what he asked her about Charlotte.

  “So the designee is coming soon?”

  “Yes. Then it’s her property. We don’t normally go inside until then. It’s just policy. I haven’t met her before. She sounded like she would be OK.”

  “That’s something.”

  “That doesn’t mean it won’t be a hard conversation.”

  “Right.” He had a hard conversation to start: why had Charlotte died? He couldn’t be that direct.

  “Mel, did the doctors say why she passed?”

  “She had to take her medication regularly. I shouldn’t say what she took. I suppose it doesn’t matter. The doctors think that since she skipped her meds that night, that did it.”

  “Right.” Try another angle. “Is the community OK?”

  “Some are. I think Charlotte had a falling out with some people.”

  “You even knew about it?”

  “I hear too much gossip.”

  She smoothed out her dress and he looked her in the eye.

  “Was Sheryl Goldfein one of them?”

  She grabbed his hand.

  “We’re off the record, right?”

  He just laughed, hoping it would be enough.

  “Sheryl gets upset easily. But it’s understandable.”

  “Why?”

  “She misses her husband. She misses New York. She’s a strong personality without a focus. But I don’t think that she would have stayed upset. She is a grown woman.”

  They both laughed, more quietly. He looked down the hallway past her. Empty. No one. She stepped closer. He took his hands out of his pockets. Be aggressive. Ask her. Tell her about the walker. Find out how the side of Charlotte’s door was really damaged. Get closer to it, whatever it was. It was time to do something. Mel waited.

  Instead he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Long, soft. He felt her warm skin under his hands. She rested her hands on his arms and kept them there. She didn’t push away and he pressed in closer.

  “Jake, wait.”

  “What?”

  “You’re pressing the camera into me.”

  He took the camera in his hands and gently pushed it around to her side.

  “There.”

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her again.

  CHAPTER 22:

  Each time they broke the kiss, they started it again. They said it was too unprofessional, too public, too soon. It didn’t matter. He pressed her softly against the wall and felt the imprint of the wallpaper brush against his hands. He traced the blue flowers on her dress with his index finger. Then he started vibrating. Mel’s voice was a whisper.

  “What is it?”

  “Ignore it.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s just my phone.”

  It stopped. A second later it started again. She moved back to let him answer it.

  “No,” he said and kissed her again.

  It rang another time. He took it out and looked at the screen. He didn’t know the number. It was someone from a Sarasota area code. But he didn’t know who.

  “Do you have to get it?”

  “I don’t know why they keep calling.”

  It stopped. They smiled and looked at each other. She pulled his hair forward and he brushed it back.

  “Did I mess up your hair?”

  “You did.” Then it vibrated again.

  “Damn it.”

  “You can get it.”

  “I better.”

  He pressed the send button and listened.

  “Hello?” a voice whispered. “Is this seventy one ate rake?”

  “What?”

  “718, umm, 7253?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hurry!”

  “Gary? Is that you?”

  “Hurry Jacob, I don’t have much time.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “No time.”

  Mel looked up and Jake shook his head.

  “Gary, what’s seventy one ate rake?”

  “It’s how I remember your number. It’s a pneumatic device.”

  “Do you mean a pneumonic device?”

  “I imagine that the number seven
ty one ate you. Your number spells out your name.”

  “But my name isn’t ‘rake.’”

  “I get around it,” he said a little louder. “I don’t have time to explain. I stole Sheryl’s telephone.”

  “You stole her phone?”

  “She’s playing bridge on the other side of the room. You have to rescue me from her. A good man leaves no soldier behind.”

  He sighed. Mel was pulling chapstick from her purse and running it over her lips.

  “OK Gary, I’ll be there soon.”

  He hung up the phone and Mel nodded. He reached forward and grabbed the hand holding the chapstick.

  “Wait.” He kissed her again.

  “Hi.”

  “I have to go do this.”

  “I know.”

  “But I’ll call.”

  As he walked out the hallway, he still didn’t know what had happened. He ran up the path as quickly as he’d come down. He remembered why he’d come in the first place. Abram. Then he realized it was night. If Abram still walked every night after dinner, he’d find him on the sidewalk, not in the building. Maybe on the same route Charlotte had taken to the beach.

  When he went in the common room, all the women looked in his direction and then immediately looked back to their cards. He quietly picked up Gary’s cane and crossed the room to hand it to him.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Jacob,” he whispered, “thank you.”

  “What happened?”

  “She wouldn’t release me!”

  “Stay quiet, we don’t want them to hear you.”

  “Let’s go, now.”

  He got up and started moving toward the door. He looked exhausted.

  “I talked so much. I don’t know what I meant or didn’t mean.”

  “I can’t believe it, but you seduced her.”

  “I wish you hadn’t made me do it.”

  “No time to argue. We’ve got to find Abram Samuels.”

  “What did you find out about him?” They looked back. Sheryl was staring at her cards. For now.

  “I didn’t find out anything. But I think I know where he is.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “We have to tell them. It would look weird if we snuck out.”

  Jake yelled.

  “Sheryl, we have to run. There’s a news emergency. We have to take a picture of some beaches.”

  She yelled across the room.

  “Will you be capturing the eternal sunsets on film?”