Retirement Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Typical, Carol. Jim does something nice for you, and you put him on the defensive for doing it. What’s the matter with you?

  “That’s so sweet of you, honey. Thank you.”

  He pulled me up from my chair and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s the least I could do for my best girl. Now, why don’t you fill me in on what happened today. Did you see Sheila? How did it go? And before you ask me, no, I haven’t heard anything more from the police.

  Which I assume is a good thing.” That bit of news reassured me that perhaps we could have a “normal” evening at home, whatever that meant under the current circumstances.

  Knowing that the way to My Beloved’s heart was through his stomach, I announced that before I brought him up to date, we were going to order a takeout meal. His choice: Italian or Chinese. And we were going to shoot the budget tonight and pay the extra money to have the meal delivered. Jim started to argue that he could easily go and pick up the order.

  I knew what he was really thinking—bringing me flowers should have been enough. Paying a delivery charge was way over the top. But I stuck to my guns and after just a little more bickering, we agreed on a Chinese feast from The Lotus Blossom, a scant two miles away. Jim grudgingly called and placed our order, warning the woman that if the meal were delivered cold, there would be no tip for the driver. Ordinarily, I would have commented on that, but I let it go. A kinder, gentler Carol, that was the new me.

  “Now,” I said, “do you want to sit down and get comfortable? I have such a lot to tell you. I know that sometimes you think I go on and on without getting to the point, or skip from one subject to another, and that drives you nuts.

  “I have an even better idea,” I said, not giving the poor man a chance to get a word in. “If you want to go upstairs and change and wash up first, go ahead. I’ll make up an agenda for all my news. How’s that?”

  I’ve found that making up an agenda for a discussion with My Beloved can be quite helpful. This may not work for everybody, but it’s prevented several serious arguments for us over the years. For one thing, it forces both of us to focus on the same thing at the same time. A nov-elty in marriage.

  I fired up my computer and, before doing my agenda, sent off a quick e-mail to Mike, assuring him that his father was not about to be fitted for an orange prison jumpsuit and promising to keep him posted on what was going on up north. Then I remembered Jenny’s suggestion about Mike’s Internet expertise, so I added:

  May want to use your sleuthing skills long-distance. Can you track down people on the web if I just give you names, not addresses? That could be a great help.

  Love from your Geriatric Cosmo Girl.

  I could hear the sound of the shower running upstairs. Good, I thought. Hopefully that would relax Jim and put him in a receptive frame of mind for all I had to tell him.

  First on the agenda, the purpose of the meeting. That was an easy one—to keep Jim from getting arrested. But I didn’t think he’d react favorably to that wording, so instead I wrote: To share information on anything pertaining to Davis Rhodes investigation. I hoped that was broad enough. There have been times that one or the other of us has abused the meeting agenda and branched out into other things that were bugging us. Not fair.

  I kept the agenda topics loose:

  Report on Gibson Gillespie/Retirement Survival Center client relationship: Jim

  Report on Davis Rhodes personal data: Carol

  Report on meeting with Sheila Carney: Carol

  Report on conversation with Mark Anderson: Carol

  Next Steps: Carol (with some input from Jim)

  Next Meeting Date

  I put a time limit for discussion by each of the agenda items. It didn’t mean a thing as far as I was concerned, but that tactic pleased Jim immensely. He believes all meetings should be kept to an hour, maximum.

  After that, he says, you’re just wasting time.

  When I read what I had written, I realized that I had given most of the agenda to myself. Oh, well. I knew Jim would interrupt me whenever he felt the urge, which was allowed according to our own unique interpretation of Robert’s Rules of Order. At least, this gave us a place to begin an orderly conversation.

  I made sure there was plenty of room between each agenda item for notes. Then I printed out two copies and put them on the dining room table. In my opinion, serious discussion means an upgrade of locale from the usual kitchen hangout to the formal dining room.

  Just in time. The front doorbell rang and I rushed to let in the deliveryman before Jim could come downstairs and check over the bill. He’s never figured out that there’s a direct relationship between how long it takes him to ponder over the bill before paying it and the temperature of the food when we finally get to eat it. The more bill pondering, the colder the food.

  I needn’t have worried about his checking this one, though. It was written entirely in Chinese.

  I gave the deliveryman a generous tip and sent him on his way.

  By the time my freshly showered husband came downstairs, I had set the table and put his flowers in a vase to use as the table centerpiece. The steaming Chinese food was ready to serve, and smelled delicious. There was an agenda at each of our places. I was set to start my dinner meeting.

  “What’s the occasion?” asked Jim when he walked into the dining room. “We never eat in here.” He looked at me and raised one eyebrow.

  “What are you up to?”

  “I might ask you the same question,” I retorted. “You never bring me flowers. What are you up to?”

  “Touché,” said Jim. “You’re right. We have to start treating ourselves, and each other, better. If there’s one thing this whole Rhodes fiasco has taught me, it’s that no one can predict what’s going to happen in life. We should enjoy each day.”

  Huh? Was this my cynical husband talking? Maybe some good would come out of this mess after all.

  “Where’s Jenny tonight?” asked Jim as he dug into one of his favorite Chinese dishes, Chef’s Special Flavor Chicken. “This is so good. What a treat.”

  “She had more car trouble today.” I watched My Beloved’s reaction as I added, “She called Mark Anderson to help her. He followed her to the mechanic’s and then they’re having dinner together.”

  Jim didn’t even react when I mentioned Mark’s name. He was too busy eating.

  “You realize that Mark will be bringing her home, right?” I asked. “He may come in to say a quick hello. Just so you’re prepared.”

  “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. He’s always treated me respectfully. I wish I could say the same for that partner of his, though. Hopefully, this whole nightmare will be over soon and we can all get back to our normal lives.”

  “Amen to that,” I said fervently.

  I tapped my glass with a spoon.

  “This meeting is now called to order.”

  Since most of the agenda items were mine, naturally I monopolized most of the conversation for the next hour.

  The only piece of information that Jim was willing to share with me about his office situation was, “I’m handling it. It’s not a problem.” So much for My Beloved being forthcoming. Oh, well.

  Jim was amazed to learn that “Davis Rhodes” was really Dick Retuccio.

  “That’s incredible. So he was using an assumed name. I wonder why. That story about the name Retuccio being a turnoff to clients doesn’t sound plausible. I wonder if someone from his past had it in for him.”

  “Someone like his wife Grace,” I said. “I think she’s a prime suspect.

  Plus, she rented a house right around the corner from the Center. Pretty convenient if you wanted to bump somebody off, I’d say.”

  I ticked off items on my fingers. “She had motive and opportunity.

  And if Rhodes—I can’t stop calling him that—had any kind of drug al-lergy or medical condition, who’d know that better than his wife?

  “Now, let’s move on to Sheila.” My favorite suspect.<
br />
  I filled Jim in as succinctly as I could on my meeting. He approved of my taking Mary Alice along with me. “Always good to have someone else with you, Carol. Especially in a tricky situation like this.”

  When I got to the part about Sheila’s suggestions for the memorial service guest list, Jim started to laugh. “She didn’t mention most of these people to me when we last talked. Does she seriously think the entire Connecticut congressional delegation is going to come to this?”

  This was the first time I’d heard Jim say anything negative about Sheila. Instead of tossing off one of my wisecrack answers, I opened my fortune cookie. “A problem clearly stated is a problem half solved,” it read. That was encouraging. At least someone thought I was on the right track.

  “The agency has all these V.I.P.s on our master e-mail list,” Jim said.

  “I guess it won’t hurt to send them an electronic invitation. Maybe also suggest that if they’re not able to attend, perhaps they could e-mail back a tribute to Rhodes to be read at the service. I’ll have the office do that first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll see if any of the big shots respond.

  Did Sheila mention whether she’d gotten any tributes from clients?”

  “She didn’t say a word about that,” I replied, pushing away my plate.

  “She seemed more fixated on the guest list. And playing the role of the broken-hearted lover. She admitted to Mary Alice and me that she and Rhodes had a personal relationship.”

  Jim raised his eyebrow again. He seemed surprised at that revelation.

  And I was equally surprised that he hadn’t figured that out for himself.

  Men don’t have the radar that women have, I guess.

  I refrained from describing Sheila’s Jackie Kennedy-like outfit. I knew Jim would think that was petty of me. Or, more likely, the analogy would go right over his head.

  “I told Sheila I’d take care of ordering any food she wanted. She wants to have a buffet luncheon for the guests after the memorial service. But I can’t actually order anything until we know how many people will be coming. I thought I’d call Maria Lesco and see what she’d suggest. She’s supposed to be coming up with a menu for Mary Alice’s retirement shower, so I can check in with her about that, too. Maybe if she’s doing two events for me, she’ll give me a better price.”

  Jim nodded his approval. Anything I could do to save some money was always great with him. Even if he wasn’t paying for it.

  “Now, one more thing on the agenda before we get to next steps for both of us,” I said. “I want to tell you about my conversation with Mark Anderson this morning.”

  At that exact moment, I heard a key turn in the front door. “Hello?

  Anybody home?” It was Jenny, back from her “dinner date” with Mark.

  “Mark is with me. He’s not feeling well. I think he ate something at that new Mexican place that didn’t agree with him.” Jenny noticed us at the dining room table for the first time. “Oh, there you both are. In the dining room, no less. Pretty fancy.”

  Mark was right behind her. His face was sweaty and pasty white. “Sorry to disturb you both,” he said. “But I wondered if you had some bicar-bonate of soda or Alka-Seltzer or something I could take to settle my stomach. I need to take something or I’ll never make it home. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me but I feel pretty awful. I guess the food I ate was too spicy.”

  I immediately became the solicitous mother. “Mark, I think there’s some Alka-Seltzer in the master bathroom medicine cabinet. Do you want me to get it for you?”

  “That’s ok, Mrs. Andrews,” Mark said. “You don’t have to. If you don’t mind my going upstairs to help myself, that is. I remember where your bathroom is.” It occurred to me that Mark might have other uses for the bathroom and needed some privacy, so I just waved my hand and said,

  “Help yourself. Give us a shout if you can’t find it.”

  Jenny started to help me clear the remnants of the Chinese dinner off the table. Jim hastily folded up our agendas and shoved them in his pocket. So far, he hadn’t said anything, and I know he felt as uncomfortable as I did having Mark here. But we were both trying to put a good face on it, especially for Jenny’s sake.

  Less than two minutes later, Mark was back downstairs. He looked even worse now than he had before, and he was holding something wrapped in a handkerchief.

  “Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Andrews, I’m afraid I have to ask you some more questions. This is very difficult for me.” Mark opened the handkerchief and revealed a little blue prescription pill bottle.

  “Can you tell me where and under what circumstances you acquired this?”

  We all squinted at the label. It was something called Enalapril. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before,” I said. “Nobody in this house is on that medication. What’s it used for?”

  “It’s a heart medication,” Mark said, “and we suspect it’s the drug that caused Davis Rhodes’s death.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 25

  Q: What is a wife’s common reaction to her husband’s retirement?

  A: She realizes she never gave his secretary enough sympathy.

  Jim, Jenny and I started talking at the same time. Even Lucy and Ethel got into the act, adding their yips of moral support.

  Mark finally pulled out a dining room chair and gestured for us to sit down. “All right, everybody. We’re all friends here. At least, I hope you still think of me as a friend. Let’s sit down and take a deep breath and see what we can figure out. I’m not officially on duty now, so think of this as a brainstorming session. Ok?”

  Jenny offered to make a pot of fresh coffee, and disappeared into the kitchen. Jim sat down at the head of the table and put his head in his hands. I sincerely hoped he wasn’t crying, but I couldn’t blame him if he was. I looked down at my hands and realized they were shaking.

  Mark looked at me. I noticed his color was better now. It looked like his upset stomach had improved. My stomach was doing flip-flops, and it definitely wasn’t from the Chinese food.

  “Mrs. Andrews, you’re first. I told you this morning that I wasn’t happy about you asking any more questions, though I didn’t see how I could stop you. No, let me finish,” he said as I started to defend myself.

  “I realize that you and your friends are in a unique position to help clear up this mess. So, I want you to go over everything you’ve discovered, and everyone you’ve talked to, in the last few days, about the Davis Rhodes case. But before you start, I want you to know that I don’t believe for one minute that you, Mr. Andrews, are responsible for Davis Rhodes’s death.

  I think you just were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  We breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “However,” Mark went on, “someone did cause his death, and I believe that same person is setting you up, Mr. Andrews. Unfortunately, my colleagues down at police headquarters don’t share my view of the case.

  If they had their way, you’d be hauled in for more questioning, or maybe even held as a material witness. I’ve had a real tough time keeping that from happening, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep stonewalling them. My partner is really on my back about it, especially after the cell phone arrived.

  “This is a very frustrating case. And I want to come up with the truth.

  But I’m not going to risk losing my job.”

  Jenny poured the freshly brewed coffee into everyone’s cups. I couldn’t help but notice that she served Mark first, and that she also knew exactly how he took his coffee. A little cream and two sugars.

  Mark looked at me again, and said, “From the top, please. And don’t leave anything out.”

  Being me, of course, I couldn’t just tell the story from the top. Not with what Mark had just admitted.

  “It’s so scary that you think someone is setting Jim up. But I have to say that’s the first thing I’ve heard about this nightmare that makes any sense. Thank you
, from the bottom of my heart, for believing in him.

  None of us want to see you lose your job. I didn’t realize how much pressure you were under at work because of this case.”

  “It’s in everyone’s best interests to resolve this as soon as possible,”

  said Mark. He appeared to be slightly embarrassed. Perhaps he thought he’d said too much about his personal situation.

  “While you were talking, Mark, I realized that Jim and Davis Rhodes had a terrific relationship. That was obvious to me at our first consultation.” I refrained from adding the part about the chocolate chip cookies.

  Jim nodded his head vigorously. “That’s right. Rhodes and I worked very well together and I really admired him. It wasn’t until the actual day he died that we had any problems. And I’m sure they could have been cleared up if we’d had a chance to talk.”

  “Mark, don’t you think the person who was responsible for Rhodes’s death had to have planned it well in advance?” Jenny asked. “After all, if it was some kind of drug interaction, and some of these heart pills were planted for Rhodes to take, who knew when he would actually take them?

  Is that what happened, some of this Enalapril was planted among some of his regular medication?”

  Mark looked at Jenny in admiration. “You’d make a good detective.

  That’s exactly what we think must have happened. But so far we have no idea who could have done it. And of course, there’s the matter of proving it, too.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve thought of something else. I’ve been wondering why this blue bottle looks familiar. This isn’t an ordinary prescription bottle, like you’d get at a pharmacy. This is the kind of bottle veterinarians use for animals. I have one in the kitchen cabinet right now that has pills in it for Lucy’s thyroid condition. I think vets use blue bottles so they can’t be confused with medicine for humans.”

  We all pondered that piece of trivial information for a minute. I, for one, was clueless as to what that fact could mean, but I felt that somehow I had added an important piece to the puzzle. Nobody else seemed to share that opinion.