African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  Lilliana knew one person—Willie. Xarelto was commonly prescribed to prevent blood clots after hip replacement surgery. But blood thinners were used for many conditions common in the elderly. She decided to divert the chief from her response to that question. Because if Ruby Robinson had a blood thinner in her system in addition to the Aleve Lilliana had seen on her kitchen counter, there was only one conclusion. “Her murder was pre-meditated, then.”

  Cartwright nodded. “Yup. Definitely not a crime of passion or opportunity. Someone made sure that ice pick would kill her.”

  AFTER what the chief had told her, Lilliana couldn’t finish her tea fast enough so she could get back to the retirement home and talk to Willie. Maybe he would know who else was taking Xarelto. But how would the killer have known there was going to be an ice pick at the meeting? Frank had certainly known, and several of the regulars might have guessed. But Lilliana had a hard time believing one of the club members was the murderer. Had he—or she—just gotten lucky?

  She trudged up the driveway, breaking out into a very unladylike sweat in her hurry to get to the bottom of the murder. Besides, she had to tell Willie about the car.

  The hands on the clock behind the reception desk pointed to almost noon as she passed through the lobby. Based on the time, the most likely place to find Willie would be the dining room. Lilliana sighed. She was spending much too much time in eating establishments. The iced tea still sloshed around in her stomach, and she had no desire for food. But she’d have to pretend to eat something or everyone would start asking her if she were ill. They just couldn’t comprehend that some people didn’t plan their entire day around meals.

  She’d been right; Willie, Nancy, and Gordon were sitting at a table with that unpleasant Harlan Taft. Lilliana grimaced, but she supposed she’d have to take the bad with the good. Before she could join them, Frank showed up beside her. “Having an early lunch today, Lilliana?”

  “I thought it might be a nice change.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Frank asked.

  “I was thinking of sitting with Willie and Nancy,” she said. When she noticed his crestfallen expression, she added, “There seem to be plenty of chairs at their table.”

  Taking this as an invitation, Frank followed along as Lilliana crossed the room.

  “Lilliana!” Nancy gave her a broad smile. “This is two meals in a row. I’m so glad you’re finally getting an appetite.”

  Willie said, “Why don’t you sit here next to me? I’d get up, but you’d be done eating by the time I sat down again.”

  Lilliana took the proffered seat, and Frank sat on her other side. She peered at the plates already on the table. They looked like mystery meat and mashed potatoes. “What’s for lunch today?”

  “Meatloaf,” Willie said. “I think it’s left over from last night’s supper.”

  Lilliana wrinkled her nose. “I think I’ll just get some salad.”

  “You’ll never keep up your strength if all you eat is salad,” Nancy cautioned.

  “Rabbit food,” Gordon Brown said disapprovingly.

  Lilliana ignored the remarks and went to the buffet. She filled a plate with the tossed salad, added a bit of shredded cheddar cheese for protein, then drizzled on some balsamic vinegar and a touch of olive oil. The dinner rolls looked fresh, so she added one of those and a pat of butter to the edge of her plate.

  “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” Willie said.

  “Back?” Nancy looked confused.

  “From Sierra Vista,” Willie said.

  Those three words did nothing to relieve Nancy’s confusion.

  “I didn’t go.” Lilliana picked up her roll, split it in two, and started to butter it.

  “Where didn’t you go?” Nancy asked.

  Harlan’s eyes imitated a tennis ball at Wimbledon as he stared from one to the other of the women.

  “I wanted to send a package via UPS. Don’t you remember?” Lilliana explained. “Willie lent me his automobile. Unfortunately, there was a problem with the car.”

  Willie looked surprised, then concerned. “You didn’t get into an accident, did you?”

  After chewing and swallowing the bite of roll and butter she’d put in her mouth, Lilliana shook her head. “No, nothing like that. When I got to the end of the driveway, it just quit on me. I couldn’t get it started again, so I called Mike’s Garage. He seems to think it might need a lot of work.”

  “It was fine when I drove it last,” Willie said.

  “And when was that?”

  Willie thought a minute, then looked down at his plate. “Uh... eight or nine months ago. Maybe more. I always meant to go out and start it up every few weeks, but kept forgetting.” He raised his head and looked at Lilliana. “I’ll pay for whatever it needs.”

  “Let’s just hope Mike can fix it this afternoon,” Lilliana said. “I need to... uh... send that package in time for my nephew’s birthday.”

  “What did you get him?” Nancy asked.

  That was the problem with lies, Lilliana chided herself. One led to another and another and another until you got so tangled up in them, you had no idea what to say next.

  “Apparently something pretty big,” Willie said, rescuing her, “since she couldn’t just drop it in a mailbox.”

  Lilliana had gotten to work on her salad and was enjoying it. Salads tasted so clean and light, not like mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Hoping to steer the conversation in a more productive direction, she asked Willie, “How is your hip doing?”

  “Getting better every day.” A cloud passed over his face. “Of course, I might change my mind about that after my physical therapy this afternoon. Those people seem to think it’s not working unless it hurts.”

  “Can you take anything for the pain?” Lilliana asked, thinking of the Xarelto and how aspirin—or Aleve—wouldn’t be a good idea because of the bleeding.

  “Just Tylenol.” Willie made a face. “They gave me Tylenol with codeine the first few days after my surgery, but said I shouldn’t need it longer than that. Tylenol doesn’t do a whole lot for me.”

  Lilliana had experienced the same thing with her arthritis. While Tylenol worked fine for a headache—most of the time—she’d found it was useless for pain. Plain aspirin worked better.

  “No problems with the Xarelto?” she asked, trying to get around to what she was really trying to find out.

  Willie looked surprised. “No. I didn’t expect any. Of course, they told me to be careful about cutting myself with a razor when I shaved.”

  “Wish they’d had Xarelto after I had my stents put in,” Frank said. Lilliana had almost forgotten Frank was at the table, he’d been so quiet. He had been busy, though. His plate only had a few smears of gravy left on it. “They gave me Warfarin. Had to go for blood tests all the time. Wanted to wrap myself in bubble wrap so I wouldn’t bruise or anything. I hear Xarelto is a lot safer.”

  Willie nodded. “So they tell me. You take Xarelto, too, don’t you Gordon? I thought I saw Kirstie giving you some when I stopped by the clinic the other day.”

  Gordon looked like he had gas pains. “No. Maybe you saw someone else.”

  “I’m sure it was you,” Willie said.

  “Couldn’t have been. I don’t take any Zar-ell-toe or whatever you call it.”

  Willie didn’t argue. Lilliana wondered if the medication was having an effect on his cognitive abilities. She knew some medications did lead to confusion. She was so grateful she didn’t have to take any prescriptions, although she imagined it was just a matter of time. It seemed as if almost everyone started taking pills once they got older.

  “I don’t take Xarelto,” Nancy said. “Good thing, because I’m already taking too many pills. The last time I saw my doctor, he put me on Actos. Now that’s two things I’m taking for my diabetes.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t bake so often,” Lilliana suggested.

  “Oh, baking isn’t my problem. Eating what I bake is my problem.” N
ancy giggled. “That’s why I’m always bringing treats to meetings and giving cakes and cookies to everyone. Baking is like therapy for me. I enjoy it and feel happy when I’m trying new recipes.”

  “I wonder who else takes Xarelto,” Lilliana mused.

  “What’s this preoccupation with Xarelto?” Frank asked. “All I need is eye drops for my glaucoma. And dentures. If I could just grow new eyes and teeth, I’d be as healthy as I was when I was a teenager.”

  Lilliana noticed how Frank ignored those stents he mentioned earlier, but she’d had just about enough conversation about illnesses and prescriptions. If she didn’t change the topic soon, they’d still be talking about someone’s gallstones at dinner. “When should we hold the next meeting of the African Violet Club?” she asked Frank.

  “Do you think anyone will come?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course they will.” Although, thought Lilliana, if Bob’s attitude was typical, the club might be getting a reputation as a dangerous place to be.

  “Since I never did get to finish my talk,” Frank said, “how about we wait another week and then announce the next meeting. So two weeks from the last meeting.”

  “Will you be coming?” Lilliana asked Willie.

  “Me?” Willie looked surprised. “No. I don’t think growing houseplants is something I’d be interested in. I just went because Ruby wanted to go.” His voice frogged up at the mention of his now-deceased friend.

  “What about you, Nancy?” Lilliana asked.

  “I think I have a black thumb,” Nancy replied, her face downcast. Then she brightened. “But I’d be happy to bring some cookies. I’ve been meaning to try a shortbread recipe. Except I thought I’d add more sugar and a little butter and some of those Red Hots, you know, the ones that taste like cinnamon?”

  “I don’t think you need to bake anything specifically for the club meeting.” Lilliana could just imagine what Nancy’s “shortbread” cookies would taste like. When Nancy’s face fell, she amended her statement. “But it would be nice if you did.” Feeling an obligation to be polite, she asked, “Will you be coming back, Gordon?”

  “Might as well. Doesn’t seem to be much to do around here.”

  “Not much to do?” Nancy said. “Why, there’s all kinds of activities going on. Just look at the calendar in the lobby. And we have the pool, and Lenny gives tennis lessons, and you could join Lilliana’s softball team. There’s even the trip to the casino tomorrow.”

  “Casino? When is that?” For the first time since she’d met him, Harlan actually looked happy about something.

  “I think we’re leaving around ten tomorrow morning,” Nancy said. “We’ll get to the Desert Diamond just in time for lunch.”

  Lilliana started to roll her eyes, then quickly glanced at the floor. She wasn’t sure whether medical conditions or food was a worse topic. They certainly were the two most popular.

  “How much does it cost?” Harlan asked suspiciously.

  Nancy looked surprised. “Why, nothing. Except what you lose once you get there.”

  “Sounds good. Where do I sign up?” Harlan asked.

  “At the reception desk. You can do it on our way out from lunch,” Nancy said. “So can you, Gordon.” She gazed at Gordon adoringly.

  Gordon glared back at her.

  Lilliana thought that situation had trouble written all over it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LATE spring heat—a temperature that would be called summer in any other part of the country—kept Lilliana prisoner in her air conditioned apartment. She’d watered her African violets, run the few dirty dishes through the dishwasher, folded a basket of laundry, but was too restless to sit and read. She wished it were cooler outside so she could take her new bat and some balls and practice at the field behind the elementary school in town. She also wished she could recruit at least one other person so she’d have someone to throw the balls to her. Even a game of catch would be more satisfying than being stuck indoors like this. Perhaps she should put on her bathing suit and go down to the pool for a swim. But if she were in the pool or distracted by a conversation or the landscapers came along with their noisy blowers, she might miss the call from Mike about Willie’s car. He had promised to call sometime after lunch. As if reading her mind, her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Wentworth?” a male voice asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Mike. From the garage.”

  “Yes?” She crossed the fingers on her right hand, hoping he’d tell her she could come right over and get Willie’s car.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

  Her heart sank. “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s quite a lot of work to do on the car,” Mike said. “Nothing major, so don’t worry about that. But I don’t have the right battery in stock, and I can’t get one delivered until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “When will you be able to have the car ready?” Every day mattered. If she couldn’t get to the UPS depot in a couple of days, she feared for the fate of the fairies.

  “Not until the day after tomorrow,” Mike said. “But it will be in tip-top shape then. You could drive it across the country if you wanted.”

  Lilliana had no desire to drive across the country. Getting to Sierra Vista would be quite sufficient for her. “Let me know if there’s any change,” she said and ended the call.

  She wondered if anyone else she knew had a car she could borrow. How would she even find out? Perhaps she could ask one of the staff. The only one she knew well was Kirstie. And Kirstie rode a motorcycle. Lilliana heaved a huge sigh. Just as she was wondering about cab fare, there was a knock on her door.

  “Dan!” Lilliana greeted the UPS delivery man. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  “I have a package for you.”

  Lilliana wrinkled her brow as she wondered what in the world it could be. She hadn’t ordered any additional shelves. At least, she hoped not. Her plant room had quite enough shelves now. Then she looked at the package Dan held out toward her, a cardboard box about a foot on each side. She took the package and examined the label. “Oh! My new African violets!” Distracted by the murder and the fairies and the problems with Willie’s car, she’d totally forgotten about the African violets she’d ordered. At least, she hoped it was just the distractions affecting her memory.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dan said. “If you wouldn’t mind signing for it?”

  Lilliana put down the box and took the electronic device from Dan. She signed her name as best she could on the glass screen. She started to hand it back to him, when she had another thought. “I hate to be a bother...”

  “What can I help you with?” Dan’s brows dipped, forming creases on the bridge of his nose.

  He was such a nice young man, thought Lilliana. “The other day I asked you about what happened if a package couldn’t be delivered.”

  Dan nodded.

  “Well, what happens if no one picks up a package after five days?”

  “It gets sent back to the shipper.” Dan’s tone was businesslike, matter-of-fact, and his frown disappeared.

  Lilliana raised a hand to her mouth. She’d been afraid of that. “But isn’t it expensive if the package comes from... oh, I don’t know... say, Italy?”

  “I thought you were talking about domestic shipments,” Dan said. “Yes, it is too expensive to send international packages back automatically. On those, we contact the shipper and ask them what they want us to do with them. Sometimes they just tell us to dispose of the package because it costs more than it’s worth to return it.”

  Lilliana’s heart almost stopped beating for a second. If the package from Scotland wound up in the landfill, she’d never be able to find it. “Ummm... how long does it usually take to know what they want to do?”

  Dan shrugged. “I have no idea. My job is to deliver packages. I’ve never worked inside. I just bring the undeliverable ones back, and someone else handles that par
t.”

  “Of course,” Lilliana said. “Well, I’m sorry to have kept you. Thank you for bringing my African violets.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dan smiled and headed down the hallway.

  Lilliana closed the door behind him. It seemed as if she might have a few days grace. But maybe she ought to call the depot and make sure they held that package for her.

  She retrieved the pink slip from her purse and quickly dialed the number printed on it. While the phone rang, she started rehearsing her story. When a young woman’s voice answered, she said, “Hello. I was supposed to pick up a package today, but I had some car trouble and won’t be able to get there until Wednesday. Is that a problem?”

  The woman asked for the tracking number and warned that they wouldn’t hold it past Friday. That was fine with Lilliana. She was pleased that she hadn’t had to tell another story. She really did hate to lie.

  The package taken care of—or, at least, as much as she could take care of today—she turned to the box containing the African violets she’d ordered. Carefully she slit open the tape and revealed the insulated packaging inside. The odor of damp earth and newsprint wafted up once she peeled back the silvery quilted layer covering the top of the plants. She picked up the first one and started to unwrap it.

  “Oooh!” She couldn’t help herself. Amazingly, there was a bloom on the plant, an incredible double-frilled white flower with patches of pink and blue, what they called fantasies. It must be one of the Russian hybrids she’d ordered. The Russians somehow managed to develop the most interesting colors in their blooms. She set the plant down and eagerly reached in for the next one. She wasn’t as lucky with that one. Once she got the paper off, that one was merely green leaves. She read the label and saw that this was the second Russian hybrid, one that was supposed to produce salmon or coral-colored flowers.

  It felt like Christmas. She soon had all twelve plants unwrapped on the dining room table. None of the others had flowers, but that was to be expected. Soon enough, given good care and time to adapt, they, too, would be covered in beautiful blossoms.