African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  If the reporter didn’t know already, Lilliana didn’t think it was her place to tell him. She fell back on the statements she’d made outside the door before he arrived.

  “But surely our viewers have a right to know,” Biff prodded.

  “I think Chief Cartwright would disagree with that.” Although, it might be kind of fun to describe the blood and the bat with just a little exaggeration, if only to see the reporter wet his pants from excitement. Now, now. Act your age. A smile crept to her lips. Actually, that was her age. One of the benefits of being elderly was you were allowed to not care what other people thought. You could get away with an awful lot once you retired. People almost expected some outrageous behavior.

  “Can you tell me what you’re thinking now?”

  Oops! Obviously Buckley had noticed the smile. Lilliana got herself under control and said in measured tones, “I’m thinking I’ve said all I’m going to say. Please leave my table so these people can have a look at my African violets.”

  The reporter, realizing he’d gotten about as much out of Lilliana as he was going to, lowered the microphone and said to the cameraman, “Cut it, Joe.”

  Thankfully, the cameraman doused the spotlight, and the two of them moved off in search of better candidates for their news coverage. Once the spots in front of her eyes cleared, she saw she had gathered quite a large crowd. Or, rather, the TV crew had. Now that they’d moved on, the group started to disperse. Except for the original trio of fifty-somethings and a few others.

  The redhead pointed at the True Blue hybrid and asked, “How much is that one?”

  Lilliana hadn’t intended on selling her prize plant, but, on second thought, she had several more growing in her guest bath, none quite as well-developed as this one, but certainly plants that could be groomed up to show quality within a relatively short time. “Twenty-five dollars.”

  The woman’s friend was outraged. “Oh, Doris. That’s much too expensive for a houseplant.”

  Doris looked at her disdainfully. “This isn’t an ordinary houseplant. It was grown by the woman who discovered the body. Maybe by the murderer herself.”

  All eyes turned back to Lilliana. A wave of dizziness passed over her. She thought about protesting, but the redhead was already digging in her purse. She opened her wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill, added a five, and handed the money over to Lilliana. The dizziness passed, and she shook off the shock.

  “Here you are, madam,” Lilliana said, picking up the plant and handing it to Doris, who took it with a triumphant look. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will.” The three women hurried away, chatting excitedly among themselves.

  Lilliana watched them go, then was called back by the gravelly voice of a middle-aged woman asking, “Do you have another one of those?”

  Those who had not deserted her table when the television crew left surged forward, each one of them eager to buy a souvenir from the suspected murderess.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LILLIANA entered the dining room—which was once again a dining room and not an event hall—and sat down. White, crisp linen covered the round tables returned from the patio, and the flatware at each place gleamed bright and shiny. She picked up the day’s menu from where it lay on the floral-patterned china plate and deliberated between the oatmeal with fresh fruit and scrambled eggs with bacon and toast. Since she had errands to run in town and might decide to stop at the restaurant—there was only one restaurant in Rainbow Ranch—she opted for oatmeal. She could always use the fiber.

  Right after she placed her order, Frank came into the dining room with Nancy Gardner. Frank spied her and headed toward her table.

  “Mind if we join you?” he asked.

  Lilliana shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I was hoping to talk to you this morning.”

  “Oh?” Frank took the seat to her right, while Nancy sat in the next one over.

  “Good morning,” Nancy said. “Did you get a chance to try my peach pie yesterday?”

  As promised, Nancy had shown up with the peach pie with chili powder to share with those eating on the patio yesterday afternoon. Lilliana, who was just finishing lunch with Mary, made a hasty exit, thereby avoiding either tasting something that sounded positively nasty, or hurting Nancy’s feelings by refusing a piece of the pie. “No, unfortunately, I didn’t.”

  “I have some left over,” Nancy said eagerly. “I could bring a piece to your apartment after breakfast.”

  “That would be lovely,” Lilliana replied, “only I’m going out as soon as I finish eating.” She didn’t mention she intended to make a stop back at her apartment to pick up the statement for Chief Cartwright.

  “A secret liaison?” Frank teased.

  “I can only hope.” Lilliana laughed. “No, actually I need to bring my statement to the police department. Did you have to write one, Frank?”

  Frank nodded. “Yes. I gave it to that young officer Saturday when he was here.”

  “Oh.” Lilliana was somewhat disappointed. She’d been hoping Frank would take the walk into town with her. Just for company. “In that case, do you know where the police department is? I’ve never seen it on my walks into town.”

  It was Frank’s turn to laugh. “It’s in City Hall. Everything’s in City Hall—the mayor’s office, the fire department, the police department. You know where that is, right?”

  “Oh, of course.” City Hall was at the opposite end of Rainbow Ranch from the church, near the elementary school, whose baseball field Lilliana and her team used for softball practice every Wednesday. An easy walk from the retirement community. Then again, everything in Rainbow Ranch was an easy walk from the retirement community.

  “Any news on the murder?” Frank paused to order scrambled eggs when the waitress came back with Lilliana’s hot water. “I see they’ve taken down the crime scene tape.”

  Nancy ordered pastries and coffee, then asked if they had Tabasco sauce. The woman must have no taste buds.

  “I hadn’t noticed that. That’s good news. I was afraid I’d miss my apartment cleaning this week.” She stopped to ponder his question about the murder. It seemed her brain was processing the conversation in reverse this morning and had finally gotten to what Frank said first. At least she remembered everything. She congratulated herself for that. Then doubt slipped in. Would she know she’d forgotten something if she didn’t remember it?

  Frank was staring at her. “The murder?” he said.

  Lilliana hastened to reply. “Why would you think I’d know anything new about the murder?” She probably shouldn’t have been surprised, since she was suspect number one, but she was.

  “Oh, you know...” Frank’s voice trailed off and the tops of his ears turned red.

  “I’ll see what I can find out today,” Lilliana said and realized she meant it. She was curious as to what Chief Cartwright had discovered so far, and what his plans were to proceed with the investigation.

  “Such a terrible thing,” Nancy said.

  The waitress showed up with more coffee for Frank and Nancy. “Your oatmeal will be out in a minute,” she said to Lilliana and headed off again.

  “Who would kill Bette Tesselink?” Nancy asked.

  That was the question of the hour, of course. Although Lilliana couldn’t think of a single person who liked the woman, no one disliked her enough to kill her. At least, not to her knowledge. “Well, there must be one person. All we have to do is find out who it is.”

  “We?” Frank asked.

  “Well, the police.” The slip of the tongue disconcerted her. She hadn’t intended to say “we,” but the word had popped out all the same.

  Apparently Frank had the same reservations she did. “If I thought we could help that young man, I’d certainly volunteer.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll manage to handle it,” Lilliana said with more confidence than she felt.

  “You’re probably right.”

  The food arrived
, and the three of them set to eating it, none of them wanting to explore further how the murder would be solved.

  IT felt good to stretch her legs after two whole days spent inside at the African Violet Club Show. She walked around the circle of grass with the gazebo at its center, admiring the way the white wood stood out against the cerulean blue sky. She sometimes brought a book out to the gazebo to read, especially during the week when there wouldn’t be a lot of vehicle traffic to disturb her.

  She shifted the bag she carried over her shoulder. The strap cut into her flesh from the weight of the potted plant inside. Mr. Pulaski had never come back for his purchase, probably because of all the to-do over the murder, and she intended to drop the African violet off after her visit to Chief Cartwright and before lunch at Cathy’s Café. She could make a circle, down Pulaski Street to City Hall, then down School Street to the intersection at Canyon Road, where the church was, and up Canyon Road to Main Street, on the corner of which was Pulaski’s Gourmet Grocery. Then down Main to the café, and, afterwards, a leisurely walk back to the retirement community.

  She stopped at the traffic light on Main Street which needlessly glared red in her direction. There was no traffic to stop at this time of the morning. The “rush hour,” which probably took about ten minutes sometime around seven-thirty, was long over. But Lilliana obeyed the law, so she stood watching the empty roadway in front of her until the light turned green.

  The walk down Pulaski Street went quickly since it was, literally, down. Rainbow Ranch sat in a valley and sloped gently up toward the mountains northeast of the retirement community. You couldn’t miss City Hall. It sat at the end of Pulaski Street, a red brick building dating from sometime in the 1800s. There must be a clay deposit close by, thought Lilliana, for it to be made of red bricks. Most construction in Arizona, especially in the early days, was done with brown adobe. Lumber was too expensive to ship from the mountain country to the north, and steel would have to come in from the east via rail, so it was cheaper to use the materials at hand and make adobe. She wondered why she’d never noticed the red brick before.

  Lilliana climbed the steps, opened the door, and looked left and right. She hadn’t expected to see anything to the right, the large garage doors to the fire department having been obvious from the outside. Although a counter took up most of the center of the lobby, no one stood behind it to ask questions of. Straight ahead, a pair of large frosted glass doors labeled Council Room loomed. In the far left corner, gold letters spelling out Mayor’s Office were etched on another imposing door. Turning her head, she saw a modest door labeled Rainbow Ranch Police Department. Not terribly impressive, but for a one-person department, she supposed it didn’t have to be.

  She knocked, then opened the door a crack to peek inside.

  The weary face of the young police officer met her gaze. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “May I come in?” Lilliana asked.

  He waved a hand toward the chair in front of his desk. “Certainly.”

  It only took a couple of steps for Lilliana to cross from the door to the chair. The office couldn’t have been more than ten feet long by ten feet wide. Most of the space was taken up by the chief’s desk, chair, and a couple of filing cabinets on the wall to her right. A window on her left filtered dim light through a layer of dust. Seeing the state of the office, she checked the chair before sitting on it.

  “What can I do for you?” The chief’s eyes were red from staring at the computer screen in front of him, and his shoulders drooped.

  Lilliana opened her purse, pulled out the statement she’d printed from her computer, unfolded it, and laid it on the chief’s desk, smoothing out the creases before folding her hands in her lap. “I brought the statement you asked for.”

  “Thank you.” Chief Cartwright picked up the sheet of paper and scanned through the statement. When he finished, he looked up, met her eyes with his own, and said, “This seems to be exactly what you told me the day of the murder.”

  Lilliana nodded. “It is, to the best of my ability. May I go now?”

  Before the chief could answer, the mayor stuck his head in the door. He looked harried as he asked, “Any progress on the case yet, Chad?”

  “Not so far, Uncle Dale. I’m waiting for the ME’s report to see if there are any leads there. The CSI unit called me and said there were a ton of fingerprints in the storage room, and it would take a few weeks for them to process them all.”

  “See if you can light a fire under those folks. The media is eating me alive on this.” With that, the mayor closed the door, leaving Lilliana alone with the overwrought police chief.

  The chief seemed to have forgotten she was sitting there. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that the mayor had treated her as if she were invisible.

  “May I go now?” Lilliana repeated.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Chief Cartwright said. “Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?” Although he kept his voice level, his face pleaded with her to come up with something. “Anything about your relationship with the deceased?”

  “We barely had a relationship.” Did the chief really think she was the murderer? “I’m sorry, young man. Everything I know is in my statement.”

  “Well, if you do think of anything else, please call me right away.” The chief took a business card from the holder on his desk and held it out to her. “You can go.”

  After accepting the card and glancing at it, Lilliana put it in her purse and rose from the chair. “Good day,” she said, then added in a more sympathetic tone of voice, “I hope the crime scene people come up with something for you.”

  “Me, too.” He looked younger than ever.

  Well, that’s one mystery solved, she thought as she strode down School Street. Obviously, the reason Chad Cartwright had gotten the job of chief of police was because his uncle was mayor of Rainbow Ranch. It didn’t surprise her. Although technically a civil service position, how many ambitious policemen would be interested in a job in a sleepy town like this one?

  A class on the school playground was enjoying the fine weather. The softball field sat empty, and that reminded Lilliana she had forgotten to ask about her equipment bag. With practice on Wednesday, she would like her ball and glove back. She’d have to give the chief a call later.

  She swung onto Canyon Road and picked up her pace even though the street sloped uphill. She was eager to drop off Mr. Pulaski’s African violet and get to the restaurant for lunch. The thought crossed her mind that maybe the idea of lunch wasn’t the only thing prompting her to hurry, but she quickly pushed it aside.

  Ted Pulaski looked up from a pile of papers on the counter when the bell over the door rang. “Mrs. Wentworth,” he greeted her. “So good to see you.”

  He appeared genuinely glad to see her; a broad smile covered his face and reminded her of the expression grinning from ear to ear. Lillian returned the smile. “Good to see you as well, Mr. Pulaski.”

  “Ted. Call me Ted. Everyone does.”

  “And you should call me Lilliana.” Funny, in all the months she’d been coming into his store, they’d never gone through the ceremony of using their first names before.

  “I got in another shipment of Earl Grey tea,” Ted offered. “And some of that dark chocolate you like.” His eyes went to the display of candy in front of the counter.

  “How nice,” Lilliana said. “But I didn’t come here to buy anything.”

  “Oh?”

  “Did you forget your African violet? When you didn’t come in to pick it up, I thought I’d best bring it to you.” Lilliana carefully put the tote bag on the counter and extracted the plant. She flicked at the leaves with a finger, then turned it to make sure the violet had survived the trip intact.

  “I didn’t think you’d have the show yesterday.” Ted looked surprised. “What with the murder and all.”

  “Fortunately, everyone agreed that the show must go on,” Lilliana said. She’d thought that might hav
e been the reason Mr. Pulaski—Ted—hadn’t shown up yesterday. At least, she’d hoped that was the reason, and not that he’d changed his mind about the plant.

  “Well, then, I’m sorry I didn’t come by and caused you the trouble of making the trip.” He rubbed his face as if trying to scrub away the regret that had come over it. “Let me give you one of those chocolate bars you like so much. We’ll call it a delivery fee.” He took one from the display and held it out to her.

  Flustered, Lilliana said, “Oh, it wasn’t any trouble. I had to come into town and drop my statement off at the police department anyway.” She regarded the proffered chocolate, hesitant to accept the gift.

  “Please take it,” Ted urged.

  She considered for a moment longer, then took the chocolate and put it in her purse. It would go very well with her evening cup of Earl Grey.

  “Thank you. I feel much better about not coming to pick up the plant,” Ted said. “And now I suppose you’ll be heading off to see our fine police chief.”

  “Oh, oh no,” Lilliana said. “I’ve already been. I’m going to eat lunch at the café now. A little treat for myself.” She smiled as if to let him know this was a rare indulgence. Which it was. There wasn’t a whole lot left of her pension check after she’d paid the retirement community for her apartment and meals.

  Ted brightened. “I don’t suppose you’d like some company?”

  If she had been flustered before, she was now completely rattled. Was he asking to go to lunch with her? Calm down, Lilliana, she told herself. You’re behaving like a schoolgirl. Why shouldn’t you have lunch with Mr. Pulaski? It wasn’t as if he was asking her for a date. “Why, that would be very nice. But don’t you have to mind the store?”

  “I always close at noon for lunch. I’m not too busy on most days. Just let me grab my jacket from the back.”

  Lilliana nodded, not sure she could trust her voice, and watched as he hurried down the aisle to the back of the store. For a ninety-year old, he moved nimbly. And he didn’t look too bad, either. He hadn’t gone to fat, like so many men did. In fact, he was a little on the thin side. Not that she should talk. In her younger days, she would have described her current figure as skinny.