Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors

by Ritter Ames

  What have I done?

  “Why all this interest about Florian’s father? What am I missing?”

  “It’s not about her father. It’s about the lying.”

  “Lella, Florian was at the Manor from hell on police business. She can’t discuss it with you or anyone else who isn’t part of the—operation.”

  “She could have said she was there visiting someone, end of discussion. When I suspected she lied to me I started to think about her phony story and Miss Dolores. With Sabrina poisoned or drugged, I still don’t know for sure, I had to ask myself if there is a connection.”

  “Poisoned? Drugged? Who is Miss Dolores? Wait a minute, the stage name—Miss Dolores, right?”

  I nodded. Busted.

  He reached out and stroked my face with the back of his hand, shifted gears, and eased the Mercedes back on the road, resting his hand on my knee. I knew he meant to reassure me, so I covered his hand with mine and told him the whole story.

  It worked better than an aphrodisiac, even if I’d had to promise Larry I would stay away from Silver Leaf Manor until he gave me the green light. I’d crossed my fingers behind my back while doing that. A trick I learned from Kyle when he was a kid.

  Morning came too fast. The crew from the water damage cleanup company would be at his home by nine, and he had to be there to let them in. I managed to make coffee, but frankly it didn’t matter. Our hours of passion and tenderness more than made up for all the bad coffee and missed breakfasts in the world, or so I told myself while kissing him goodbye at my front door. I picked up my newspaper before going back inside. Someone had stuck a large neighborhood announcement between the pages regarding the acceptable candies and treats to be passed out on Halloween night.

  So tempted to turn off all the lights tomorrow night and go to a double feature. Would cost less than all those bags of candies. Flash had behaved very nicely this morning, mostly because she liked Larry, and I firmly believed she wanted to impress him. Just for that, I gave her an extra treat.

  “Here kitty, early Halloween. You win first prize for best costume.” She looked at me and walked away. What an ingrate.

  Forty-five minutes later I was ringing Sabrina’s doorbell. She opened it herself, and while she was in her pajamas, she looked like the Sabrina I saw every day. I told her so. She smiled and invited me in.

  “Seriously girlfriend, you sure had me worried. Have they figured out what happened?”

  Sabrina avoided looking at me and fidgeted with the buttons of her pajama top.

  “If you’d rather not talk about it, I’ll understand.” Not really.

  “It’s not what you think.” She paused. “Let’s go in the kitchen; we’ll be quiet. My daughter is upstairs studying. She has a test coming up.”

  The kitchen was sunny and cheerful, all painted in cream color with gold-and-rust granite countertops. We sat on chairs of natural rattan.

  “Is Dolores here?”

  She shook her head no. Good.

  “Where is she?”

  Long sigh. “Look, I need to get a few things straight. Dolores and I are related, sort of. Cousins by marriage. Regardless, she is not as airheaded as you probably assumed. It’s all an act. She works in assisted living facilities all over California. As a matter of fact she’s over at the Manor right now, hoping to get a job reading to some of the bedridden patients. The ones with large monthly budgets, naturally.”

  Ah!

  “Wait. What was the story about the principal and her leaving not to cause drama?”

  Sabrina cradled her head in her hands. “God, no. Did I tell you that? I must have been delirious. She is a former schoolteacher. Was in love with the principal, but when he decided to leave his wife for her, Dolores did the right thing. She quit her job and moved to a different city, heck, different state. I haven’t told a soul about it. Besides, it’s stuff that happened decades ago. Just how messed up was I?”

  “Good question. Did you find out what made you so sick? It looked like a hangover, but I’ve never seen you abuse alcohol. Are you okay now? Are you on medication?”

  “No. But I feel much better; they are still running tests. Since it was an isolated episode, the suggestion came up that maybe I ate some bad food.”

  “I was concerned about the cookie you grabbed from the kid at the Manor.”

  She chuckled. “Because it had been on the floor?”

  “No, more like—” I shrugged. What’s the use? “When are you getting the results from the tests?”

  “Soon. Dolores is taking care of it. She has connections.”

  “Dolores. I see. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Have to go buy some Halloween candies. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. Okay?”

  * * *

  I SWEAR, SOMETIMES I think my Mustang has a mind of its own. I found myself heading to the Ralph’s in Laguna Beach off the Pacific Coast Highway. The same Ralph’s where I’d left my car the night of Miss Dolores’s show. And I forgot to ask Sabrina about Dolores’s last name.

  I could see Silver Leaf Manor, high on the hill. Taunting me. Sabrina said Dolores might be there, applying for a job. Such interesting timing. I purchased the Halloween candies, some fruits, and some San Pellegrino just because I felt sort of nostalgically patriotic. Inside the store, the large bags of lollypops and Skittles and what-have-you were piled high on tables next to the counter selling birthday balloons and flowers. A small tropical plant in a basket with a colorful note saying Get Well Soon caught my eye. Hmm, would be a nice gesture to give a man a plant like that, a man recuperating from a stroke.

  Stop it, Lella.

  It was only twenty-five dollars. Before my common sense got too loud, the plant ended up in my cart, and ten minutes later my Mustang climbed the road to Silver Leaf Manor. I found an empty space at the very back of the lot and could have kicked myself for not asking Sabrina what Dolores’s van looked like. I spotted three vans and a smaller version, maybe an SUV? Had lettering on it, something about cookies baked daily. Must belong to the baker who provided the goodies for the residents. My stomach growled; it was past lunchtime.

  Plant firmly in hand, I headed up to the main entrance. My cell chimed. I managed to fish it from my bottomless purse. “Hello. Oh, hi, Larry.” Thank you, God, for the phone not having a two-way camera. Talk about bad timing.

  “Hi, I need to talk to you.” Ouch. Maybe they have cameras connected to the police department after all?

  “I’m listening.” Smile. Act happy.

  “Okay, I spoke to Florian, wanted to straighten out the mix-up. You shouldn’t feel that anyone is lying to you. Florian is working on a case involving other departments. Someone is going to various assisted living facilities and stealing residents’ personal information and more. Last month a resident in a pricey place died of an overdose of sleeping pills, except no sleeping pills were found in the victim’s room, so homicide stepped in. Florian is working the case, and she was at Silver Leaf Manor to talk to personnel. She didn’t want to go into all the boring details. But above all, she wasn’t trying to deceive you. You understand, right?” The plant with the Get Well Soon note began to weigh a ton, or two.

  “I do. I do. Thanks for letting me know. I really appreciate it. And thank Florian for trusting me with the information.”

  “I’m glad we got this straightened out. Where are you, sweetie? I hear engines?”

  “Oh, yes, Halloween candies, remember? Loading the bags in the old Mustang.”

  Liar, liar. Mother must be turning in her grave.

  “How is the water damage repair going?” I heard some man shouting in the background.

  “Well, talk about timing, they need me. I’ll call you later, okay? Drive carefully.”

  He was gone, and I stood there, one foot on the second step to the main entrance.

  “Someone is going to various assisted living facilities...” Larry had said. According to Sabrina, Dolores worked at various facilities. Do the right thing, Lel
la, get back in the car and drive home.

  The ten-ton tropical plant was breaking my arm, so I took the last step and walked into the lobby of Silver Leaf Manor.

  By daylight the feeling was totally different, more like a four-star hotel. The young woman behind the front desk wore a tailored dark-blue uniform, and her blonde hair was done up in a tight bun. “Good afternoon, may I help you?”

  Coming from outside I found myself squinting. I gave her a cautious smile then noticed her glancing at the potted plant.

  Sorry, sorry, Larry.

  “I understand a family friend is here recuperating from a stroke, and I thought I’d stop by to say hi and perhaps leave him a cheerful plant?” I broadened my smile. She smiled back. “Oh, sorry. Mitchell, Bob Mitchell?” My heart drummed to the beat of hummingbird wings. What if there was no Bob Mitchell? Well, I could say I had the dates mixed up, and is my friend Miss Dolores there?

  The blonde scrolled through a computer screen or two. I had no idea what she was looking for.

  Finally, “Mitchell, Mit. Here we are. Yes, he’s allowed visitors. Looks like he just joined our family. Can I please see your driver’s license or some other form of ID?” Did she read the surprise on my face? “Sorry, it’s for the safety of our guests.”

  “Of course, of course.” After she checked that out I had to sign in and was told I would have to sign on my way out. Again, for the safety of everyone involved.

  She pointed to a corridor to her right. “At the end turn left, room thirty-eight. He just finished lunch so you’d better hurry before he takes his nap.”

  I was in—unbelievable. So easy. Suddenly my sense of guilt evaporated, and I headed to room thirty-eight with a new spring in my step. As I came around the corner I glimpsed into the room where Miss Dolores had performed. The comfy chairs sat empty, must have been everyone’s naptime.

  I was sooo hungry, Maybe I could get something to munch on if they had a dessert cart or something. Get real, Lella, it’s a retirement home—not a resort.

  And just like that I caught a glimpse of Miss Dolores, in full regalia, apparently deep in an animated conversation with…the young man with the vest, the one who’d been handing out the baked goodies. What now?

  Better keep on walking, visit dear old Mr. Mitchell and get rid of the plant. Maybe Dolores sensed my staring at her. She turned just as I spotted room thirty-eight at the end of the corridor. I noticed the door ajar. Should I knock? I did, softly.

  “Come in.” A feeble voice.

  I pushed the door open with my elbow and stood on the threshold. The single visible part of the man in the bed was his head, everything else vas covered by white sheets and a white blanket.

  “Who are you?” Only his lips moved in the meaty face.

  I couldn’t find my voice. This wasn’t what I expected. What did I expect?

  “Who are you?” This time he raised his bald head and his voice. “What do you want?”

  I stretched my arms in front of me, the basket with the plant held tightly in my hands, like a shield.

  “Cat got your tongue?” That didn’t sound too feeble.

  I nodded no. My arms still stretched. “Huh, this is for you, Mr. Mitchell. You are Mr. Mitchell, right?”

  “Who are you?” Clearly belligerent.

  This wasn’t going the way I had imagined, not at all. And it felt awkward, carrying on a conversation with a talking head. Well, enough of the nonsense. “I’m a friend of Florian, your daughter. Wanted to cheer you up. Here is the plant, you don’t need to get up, I’ll leave it right here on your night table, and I’ll be gone.”

  “Not so fast.” A buzzing sound. A phone?

  The talking head now had an arm and hand. The hand held a phone. He spoke, his eyes clearly observing me closely. “Uh, uh. Wait.” He spoke into the phone then to me. “Mind moving a bit to the right? Your right.”

  I looked around. There was no one else in the room but us, and like a robot, I stepped to my right. All I really wanted was to turn on my heels and run out of there as fast as I could.

  “Got it?” He spoke on the phone. Shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, if you say so.” To me— “Well, Mrs. York, your phone is about to ring, and I suggest you answer. But first, look right at that picture on the wall in front of you, and smile. They want to get a real good photo of you.”

  They? Maledizione. This was a set up. He must have been undercover, and whoever was monitoring the camera knew my name…they probably knew Larry. Probably?

  I spun around and ran out of the room. Unfortunately, the undercover cop had hopped out of bed, fully dressed minus the shoes, and was chasing after me. On the plus side, by his performance he obviously was not recuperating from a stroke.

  As I ran, still holding the plant with the Get Well Soon card, I was vaguely aware of doors opening and people shushing. He was gaining on me. Damn high heels. I turned the corner and collided with a large, cushy body that promptly fell to the floor amid layers of sheer fabric flying around.

  Miss Dolores. She squealed. “Frankie?”

  Frankie? Who was Frankie? I stopped, feet away from Dolores’s spread out legs. She had on jeans under her seven veils. Huh? And the talking head was helping her up?

  “Well, funny to bump into you here, Dolly.” A big grin and all flush.

  Whatever, this was my chance to make a clean exit. I headed toward the lobby, glimpsed into the multi-activities room where the young man with the vest was displaying his goodies, Great, small detour.

  “I’m starving. Can I buy some of your… What are those? Muffins? Do you have poppy seed ones?”

  He didn’t answer; I wasn’t sure he heard me. That was when I noticed he wasn’t setting up a display—he was packing up. Throwing everything into a large box, not carefully at all, like it was trash. I moved the plant under my arm and dug in my purse for the wallet.

  “I’ll pay you. Come on, just a muffin. I’m in a hurry.” I reached out for the muffin, and he slapped my hand away.

  “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with everyone here?” Now I was talking to his back because he’d lifted the large box full of baked goods and headed toward the exit where I should have been going.

  “Okay then, be that way. I’ll have you know I know your company’s name, and I will complain to the owners.” I trailed behind him, talking like an idiot when I heard Dolores yelling. “Stop. Where do you think you’re going?”

  What now? Why was she yelling at me? The young man with the muffins started to run. She was yelling at him. I turned my head. Dolores and the talking head chased us, screaming for us to stop. No, they were screaming at him to stop.

  I wasn’t sure what got into me, probably the hunger. I get cranky when I’m hungry, but I threw my small tropical plant with the Get Well Soon card at the muffin man. And missed him. The plant hit the large glass door instead and set off a loud alarm. Somewhere in my bottomless purse my cell was chiming. I wasn’t going to answer. Not now.

  It was over quickly. Muffin man stumbled on his own feet, and Dolores made sure he stayed down.

  To Miss Dolores went the glory, the accolades, and probably a fat reward from the owner of Silver Leaf Manor and two similar businesses in Southern California. He was the one who’d hired Dolores’s private investigation firm to make sure his tenants didn’t fall victim to the petty theft and possible poisoning that plagued so many other assisted living residences.

  As for Frankie, AKA Bob Mitchell to me, he was the undercover detective assigned to Silver Leaf Manor while other agents worked other facilities. It was a joint effort of Los Angeles and Orange Counties police districts. And me? I was told to consider myself lucky I wasn’t being charged for the replacement of the glass door I’d broken with the potted plant.

  Not even a thank you for stopping the predator. The cookie man was indeed the culprit. The cookie Sabrina had eaten was laced with Carbamazepine, a drug used to treat seizures and bipolar patients. It acted as a sedative.

&n
bsp; The plan was to serve drugged treats to specific, targeted patients. The drug would put them into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, it caused Sabrina severe side effects, and the little alcohol she drank that night only compounded the problem. Unaware of the reasons of her illness, she’d taken strong migraine medications, and by morning she ended up in the emergency room. Once Dolores saw the test results she knew who the culprit was.

  My phone had stopped ringing before I arrived at the police headquarters to sign the paperwork, and Larry didn’t call the next day either. I couldn’t blame him. I’d lied to him and made him the joke of his old department for sure. I figured my best hope was to wait a few days until the thing died down, then maybe send him a small tropical plant with a card saying Sorry.

  Okay, make that a large tropical plant and a handwritten note saying a lot more than just Sorry.

  Everyone else called—Sabrina to tell me Dolores wanted to thank me for getting involved and for being the reason she hooked up with Frankie. I was sure there was a lot more to the story, but it was Halloween night and every two minutes I had to open the door and hand out candies. So it was hard to carry on a conversation.

  Florian phoned to invite me to an official department breakfast designed to thank civilians who had somehow contributed to solving a problem. I couldn’t work up the courage to ask about Larry’s reaction to my noble contribution.

  It was getting late. The doorbell had stopped ringing, and most of the candies were gone. I locked the door and turned off the outside light when I heard, “Hey!”

  Hey?

  I waited, my ear against the back of the door. I could swear it sounded like Larry. My Larry. But now all was quiet. The doorbell rang. My heart pounded. I forced myself to stay calm and said, “It’s late, Halloween is over. I ran out of candies.” I added that in case it was indeed a late trick-or-treater.

  “I didn’t drive all the way from Orange for candy,” Larry said.

  I unlocked the door and hoped he hadn’t driven over just to lecture me on my lack of truthfulness and loyalty. But when I saw him there, so handsome in the moonlight, I had nothing to say. He stretched out his hand, offered a sort of mini cake wrapped in sparkly orange plastic, topped by a large bow. “I heard you fancy poppy seed muffins. This one serves two.”