Murder of a Sweet Old Lady srm-2

by Denise Swanson

  “So, you don’t think Mom tried to kill herself?” Gillian ran her fingers through her hair.

  “No, I don’t.” Skye went over her reasons.

  “Well, I don’t know if that makes sense or not, but I knew she didn’t attempt suicide.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a little psychic gift.”

  Before she could stop herself, Skye blurted out, “Maybe you could exchange it for a nice sweater.” Damn, being nice to her cousins was going to be tougher than she thought.

  Conversation deteriorated from that point, and it was a relief when Charlie suggested that they head for the dessert tent.

  As they walked away, he took Skye’s hand and patted it. “You know that cousin of yours is a few peas short of a casserole.”

  “Sometimes I’m afraid it’s genetic.”

  Skye put a couple of chocolate chip cookies on her plate. All the sweets had been donated by the officers’ wives and were made from scratch.

  Charlie picked up a piece of apple pie mounded with ice cream and guided her to another set of tables. Skye broke off a piece of the cookie, which oozed chocolate. She closed her eyes and savored the intense burst of flavor.

  “I been thinking about how to show that picture around. How ’bout if you block out Mona and Minnie and just leave the nurse for people to look at?”

  “What a great idea.” Skye found the photo in her purse. She also managed to find a pad of Post-it notes. After affixing one square to either side of the photograph, she showed it to Charlie. “What do you think?”

  He forked the rest of the pie into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Great. Let’s get to work.”

  The old man shrugged and went back to talking about tractors. So far none of the people they had spoken to had recognized the woman in the picture.

  Charlie seemed to thrive on the noise and the crowds. He greeted most people by name and easily joined their conversations. Skye found it difficult to keep people straight, and although some faces looked familiar, she could rarely remember who they were. Still, it was interesting to hear their opinions and listen to them talk about a Scumble River that existed before she was born. Maybe she’d ask Charlie about doing an oral history with some of his cronies.

  The fairgrounds were bigger than she remembered. People walked on caked dirt and tried to avoid the many spots of mud. Several large pole buildings were interspersed with tents and food stands. These structures were made of huge sheets of metal supported with steel rods.

  Representatives from local farm-related businesses handed out brochures and freebies. Skye spotted a cousin from her father’s side, Kevin Denison. He was there representing his insurance company, which reminded her that she needed to remind him about her checks. Now the company owed her for both her car and her windows.

  Charlie stopped at a group of older women gathered around a picnic table. “Good evening, ladies, do you all know my goddaughter, Skye Denison?”

  The women murmured hello and Charlie told Skye their names. At the last one he said, “And this is Hilda Quinn. I believe she went to school with your Aunt Mona and your Aunt Minnie.”

  “My, yes. I was in Minnie’s class and Mona was two years behind us.” Hilda’s bright blue eyes darted from Charlie to Skye.

  “Skye, would you mind waiting here while I take care of some business? I’m sure these ladies will take good care of you.” Charlie winked and walked away before she could answer.

  With the focus of attention clearly in her direction, Skye smiled and sat down. She wasn’t sure how to start, but the others had no qualms.

  A woman with meticulously styled hair said, “We’re very sorry about your family’s troubles.”

  Skye nodded her appreciation, wondering if she meant her grandmother’s death, her aunt’s attempted suicide, or the fact that everyone thought one of her relatives was a killer.

  The group chatted politely for a few minutes before drifting back into their previous conversations. Skye lowered her voice and directed her question to Hilda. “Did you know my aunts very well when you were at school?”

  “Yes, Minnie and I were pretty close until . . .” Hilda’s voice trailed off.

  It took a moment, but Skye remembered what her father had said on the drive to her grandmother’s funeral. Of course, that must be what the nurse in the picture was about. Minnie’s breakdown. “Until she left school?”

  “Why yes. When she came back she wasn’t the same.”

  “How long was she gone?” Skye studied the other woman intently.

  “About a month or so. I remember she left right around Easter and was back before Mother’s Day.” Hilda took a sip of her coffee.

  “But she didn’t go back to school, did she?” Skye tried to keep things straight in her head.

  “No, Mona did, but not Minnie. It was a real shame too. Not to graduate when you’re so close.”

  “Do you know why they went away?” Skye couldn’t think of a way to ask delicately.

  “We were told it was for Minnie’s health. She had been having spells since she was little. I remember the day she went away, we were walking out of school together after the last bell and your grandfather pulled up in the family car.” Hilda’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if she was thinking of something she hadn’t contemplated in years.

  “Wow, you have an impressive memory,” Skye said, encouraging her.

  Hilda frowned. “Do you remember your grandpa?”

  “No, he died when I was three.”

  “He was an old-fashioned man. Very dignified. He kept himself aloof from most people. It was rare to see him in town without Antonia.”

  “But he came alone to pick up Minnie and Mona on that day?”

  “No, that was another reason why I remember it so well. He had a nurse with him.”

  To Skye, everything suddenly became quiet and still. Her hands shook as she extracted the photo from her purse. “Was this the woman?”

  Hilda leaned forward and adjusted her glasses. “Yes, that’s the nurse. How did you get a picture of her?”

  Ignoring Hilda’s question, Skye crossed her fingers. “Do you know her name?”

  “Well, your grandfather certainly didn’t introduce us.” Hilda scowled. “He always treated people like he was a king and they were his servants.”

  “Like Uncle Neal does.”

  “Right.” Hilda nodded. “That lord of the manor attitude.”

  “So, you didn’t get the nurse’s name.”

  “Well, not verbally, but when Mr. Leofanti and that nurse came up to us on the sidewalk, they each took one of the girls by the arm. The nurse was on my side and I could read the nameplate pinned to her uniform.”

  Skye hardly dared to breathe. “Do you remember it?”

  “We’d been reading The Scarlet Letter in English class and I thought it was an odd coincidence that the nurse’s name was so close to the woman’s in the story.” Hilda closed her eyes for a second. “Her name was Esther Prynn.”

  “You have a remarkable memory. I’m amazed.” Skye could hardly sit still.

  “It helps that I’m an English teacher and my class has read The Scarlet Letter every year for the past twenty-five years.”

  CHAPTER 18

  There Was an Old Woman

  The lawyer was late. Skye narrowed her eyes and crossed her legs. She hated being kept waiting when she had an appointment. If she didn’t have to ask this jerk for a favor, she would be out of there so fast. But she needed to find out the details of her grandmother’s trust and, according to her mother, this bozo was the one who had drawn it up.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and Skye could stand it no longer. She put her purse and book on the chair and went up to the desk. “Do you know how much longer Mr. Ginardi will be? I have other appointments this morning.”

  “I have no idea.” The woman didn’t look up from her magazine.

  “Would it be possible for you to check?” Skye gritted her teeth.
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br />   “He doesn’t like to be interrupted.”

  Before Skye could think of anything else to say, a man poked his head out of the doorway behind the woman. When he saw Skye looking at him he flushed. “Ah . . . you must be Miss Denison. Come in.”

  Skye followed him and sat in the chair he indicated.

  He spoke to her without making eye contact. “I’m Bob Ginardi. I’m afraid we’ll have to be quick about this. I need to leave in a few minutes.”

  Skye clenched her teeth. What nerve. First he made her wait over half an hour, and now he was going to rush her in and out. Still she couldn’t afford to offend him, yet. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.” Skye got out a notepad and pen. “Since you have only a few minutes for me, let’s get down to business. What I need to know is how my grandmother’s trust works.”

  The lawyer frowned. “I really can’t talk to you about it since you’re not named in the trust.”

  She reached in her tote and handed him an envelope. “That’s from my mother, who is a part of the trust, allowing me to act on her behalf.”

  “It’s not notarized.” He slid the paper back to her, a look of relief on his face. “You’ll have to make another appointment.” Ginardi took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “No.” Skye realized this man not only didn’t want to talk to her, but was afraid to talk to her. What was he hiding?

  The lawyer’s features registered surprise.

  “I’m not leaving without this information. We are not talking state secrets here. All I need to know is how my family’s Bypass Trust works. If you feel you can’t tell me, I will call my mother and she’ll ask the questions.” Skye looked at her watch. “But that may take some time.”

  Ginardi laughed nervously. “You can’t hold me hostage.”

  “Maybe not, but are you willing to call the police to get rid of me?” Before he could answer, Skye continued, “Because if I don’t get answers today, the next time I come here will be with my mother, our attorney, and an auditor.”

  He swallowed. “Okay, no need to get so upset. I have to protect confidentiality.” After using his handkerchief again he went on. “I guess I can explain the trust to you, at least in broad terms.”

  “Fine.”

  “A simple Bypass Trust means half of the estate goes to the surviving spouse at the time of the other spouse’s death. And the other half goes into a family trust with the income from that half going to the surviving spouse, as well.”

  “So, except for Grandma, no one got a dime while she was living.” Skye tried to ease him into being more specific.

  “Right.” He stared at a point above her head. “In the case of your grandfather’s estate, most of the value was in land. The land could not be divided except to pay for Antonia’s care, as long as your grandmother lived.”

  “Was that being considered?” Skye clarified her question. “Selling off some of the land to pay for Grandma’s care?”

  “We had been deliberating about the sale of some of the land, yes.” He looked at the contents of the file. “No decision would have needed to be made until fall. It depended on what kind of year the farm had, and how much the crops were sold for.”

  “I know my uncles and my father do all the actual farming of the Leofanti land. Do they get any of the profits?”

  Ginardi became fascinated with the crease in his pants. “Yes, the business is set up as if they were sharecroppers. They put in the labor, your grandmother put in the land, and the profits were divided, fifty percent to her and fifty percent among your father and uncles.”

  Skye made a note. “What happens now?”

  “The heirs can do what they wish as long as they all agree.”

  “And if they all don’t agree?”

  “Then the land will have to be sold and the money divided equally.”

  Skye took a shot in the dark. “Is that what my Uncle Dante wanted to know when he was in to see you?”

  Ginardi squirmed in his seat.

  Skye continued to look him in the eye. She had found that pretending to know more than she actually knew could be very enlightening at times.

  “Yes.”

  Skye’s next stop was the library. She used the card catalog to locate the Dewey decimal number for poisons and found several books on the subject. She sat down at a table and tried to find a match for the name her mother had mangled.

  After she read a few sections she found a likely suspect. Jatropha curcas. The common name was Barbados nut. It was found in southern Florida and Hawaii and the raw seeds had a pleasant taste. There would have been no difficulty getting her grandmother or Mrs. Jankowski to eat them mixed into brownies.

  Farther down the page she found the symptoms. Difficulty breathing, sore throat, bloating, dizziness, vomiting, diarrhea, and drowsiness. Wally’s guess was right, the murderer must have cleaned Grandma up. She needed to ask the chief if vomit and stool were present when they found Mrs. Jankowski.

  The entry ended by saying that the poison, once ingested, took only fifteen to twenty minutes to kill.

  When Skye got back to her car she noticed that there were still two hours before she was supposed to pick up Trixie to go swimming. She decided to see if she could take the local doctor to lunch.

  Doc Zello was semiretired, working only half-days, but she headed to his office anyway. His was the only car in the lot.

  As she walked up the familiar concrete steps and through the waiting area that smelled of antiseptic and cough drops, she felt as if she were ten again. Skye knocked on the closed dutch doors.

  Doc Zello’s voice bellowed in answer. “I’m not here unless this is an emergency.”

  She pushed her way in and found him at his desk. “It’s an emergency. I’m starving and I’m taking you to lunch.”

  He looked at her over his glasses. “Looks like you could stand to skip a few lunches.”

  “Looks as if you could stand to see a barber.”

  His wild white hair stood on end. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through it, making it worse. “Okay, so why do you want to take me to lunch?”

  “I want to pick your brain.”

  “You know I can’t tell you anything confidential.”

  “I’ll work around it.” She took him by the arm and they walked to her car.

  After they had driven to the Feedbag, been seated, and had given their order, Skye started her questions. “You’ve practiced medicine in Scumble River for how long?”

  “Over fifty years. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “Do you remember a nurse by the name of Esther Prynn? She was around here in the mid-sixties.”

  He stroked his beard. “Can’t say as I do, right offhand. Why do you ask?”

  Skye didn’t want to explain, so she ignored the question. “She might have done private duty nursing. Maybe for people who had what they used to call nervous breakdowns.”

  “That was a long time ago. Are you trying to find her?”

  “I don’t want to say too much until I’m more sure of my facts, but I think there might be some link between this woman and my grandmother’s murder.” Unless, of course, Uncle Dante or Hugo did it for the land. Or the twins for the jewelry. Or one of her other relatives for reasons she had yet to discover.

  “Your best bet is to check with the nurses’ licensing board. They might have an address for her.” He held up a hand mottled with age spots. “But if she doesn’t practice anymore, then she probably didn’t renew her certificate.”

  “Could you check for me?” Skye turned her head to one side and looked at him through her lashes. “You know, a well-known doctor such as yourself would get a lot better results than a nobody like me.”

  “Okay.” Doc Zello slapped her lightly on the cheek. “But don’t think you’re fooling me for one minute. I just want whoever killed Antonia to be brought to justice.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  They sat quietly while the waitress d
elivered their order and refilled their iced teas.

  The meal was almost over when Doc Zello spoke again. “You know, I might have been your grandfather.”

  “What?”

  “I dated your grandmother before she married Angelo. I always regretted not asking her to marry me. She was an amazing woman. You remind me a lot of her. Once she got an idea into her head, she’d never let go until she was satisfied. And she always wanted things to be fair.”

  “Mom said the same thing right after Grandma died, but I never noticed a similarity between us.”

  “Antonia saw it. That’s why she was telling you the family history.” He pushed his plate away.

  “It did seem important to her that some kind of permanent record be made.” Skye used her napkin and put it aside. “Too bad it’ll never be finished now.”

  “History is never finished.”

  Trixie was full of conversation and high spirits, halting her chatter only long enough for Skye to show the man at the Scumble River Recreational Club her identification card.

  They drove down a narrow gravel road toward the beach. The lane was bordered by grassy areas dotted with trees and picnic tables. Most of them were occupied by young women and small children.

  Locker rooms bracketed a crude pavilion that contained a soda machine and a pay telephone. They changed quickly into their swimsuits; neither wanted to linger in the slimy, mold-filled building.

  The beach wasn’t crowded. Skye had noted early on that most families seemed to swim in the morning. She and Trixie climbed down the concrete steps and walked along the shore until they found a relatively isolated spot.

  After helping Skye to smooth out an old bedspread on the sand, Trixie peeled off the oversized T-shirt she was wearing. Underneath, a cherry-red bikini glowed against her tan skin.

  Skye glanced down at her pale limbs. “Trixie, how’d you get tanned already?”

  “Tanning booth at your brother’s salon. How come you don’t use it?”

  “No time, I guess.”

  “Want to take a dip?” Trixie was rocking from foot to foot on the hot sand.