by Gina Cresse
I shook my head. “No. She wouldn’t know anything about Lou, or the numbers he played in the lottery. I don’t think it’s her.”
“You don’t think Lou’s son could have told her? Maybe she wanted to eliminate the middleman and get more money for herself. How’d the son die?”
“Suicide. I don’t know the specifics. You think maybe she killed them both? Maybe she made the son’s death look like a suicide and Lou’s look like a heart attack?”
“That’s a lot of maybes.” Jason emerged from under the sink, his face contorted as if he were in pain. “I’m getting too old for this kind of work,” he complained, rubbing his back.
I patted him on the shoulder. “Take a break. I brought a cooler of ice tea.”
We sat at the table in the back yard and I poured the tea.
“So, it could be the daughter-in-law or the mistress. Any other suspects?” Jason asked.
I glanced toward the fence separating us from Agnes and Bob’s yard, and leaned closer to Jason. “Well, the neighbors were friends of Lou’s, and they knew where he kept a spare key,” I whispered.
Jason’s eyes followed my glance.
“And, they were the ones who called us away from home when the ticket was stolen,” I added.
“Really? How’d they get you out of your house?”
“They called to tell us someone was in this house.”
“And you think they did that just to get you out of your house, then rushed over there and stole the ticket?”
“Maybe. All I know is, whoever did it will show up very soon to claim the prize money. All I have to do is prove that Lou was murdered, and the rest should be easy.”
“Did Sam give you any idea how long it would take to check out the pills?”
“No. I’ll call him later on to see if he’s found anything yet. I wonder how long it would take to get Lou’s body exhumed so an autopsy can be done?”
“Not before that lottery ticket expires, I’m sure. How many days left?”
“Three,” I answered.
We were interrupted by Fiona’s shrill voice as she called from the front door, which I had not locked.
“Yoo-hoo. Anyone home?”
“We’re out back,” I called to her. “That’s Fiona. I asked her to stop by and give me her opinion on what I should do with that vinyl flooring in the kitchen,” I said to Jason.
Fiona appeared in the back doorway wearing black bell-bottom pants that were two sizes too small, three-inch platform shoes, and a red-and-white polka dot halter-top with a matching red blazer draped over her arm. The sight of her outfit sent me back thirty years to my youth, when hip-huggers and chokers were all the rage. I invited her to join us, even though I was sure she would not be able to sit down in those pants.
“Thanks, toots,” she said, slowly lowering herself into a chair. I knew she was praying that the seams would not give way against the strain of her thighs. “I checked out that flooring on my way through the kitchen. Want my honest opinion?”
“That’s why I asked you to come by,” I said.
“Ceramic tile. It’s not that hard to install, and it adds enough value to the house to make it worth the effort.”
“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to get it right from the horse’s mouth. Bathrooms, too?” I said.
“Yes. And while you’re at it, you might consider yanking that carpet out and putting something else down. The place is looking better and better.”
“Things are moving right along. This is my friend, Jason. He’s helping me out with the dishwasher and stove.”
Fiona reached across the table to shake Jason’s hand. I noticed she had ten brand new acrylic fingernails, painted bright red to match her outfit. “Well, you’re a handsome thing, aren’t you?” Fiona purred, stroking his hand with her fingers.
Jason blushed. I’d never seen his face turn that shade of red. I pretended to cough so I could cover my smile.
Fiona leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Does he know about the you-know-what?”
“The ticket?” I replied.
Fiona nodded.
“We were just talking about it.”
Fiona grinned, exposing that big gap between her front teeth. “Good. I was glad you called me over. I did some checking after I talked to you last.”
“Did you find out anything?” I asked.
“I went through my calendar. There was one man who looked at the place three times, but never made an offer.”
“Is that unusual?” I asked.
Fiona shook her head. “I’ve had people look at a place five or six times and never make an offer. Buying a house is a big commitment.”
I frowned. “We were just talking and I think finding out the who won’t be as hard as proving that Lou was murdered.”
Fiona gasped. “Murdered? Who says he was murdered?”
I’d forgotten that I hadn’t spoken to Fiona since I found the calendar and the tampered-with vitamin bottles. I explained to her my discovery and filled her in on my theories.
“This is just like one of those murder mysteries you see on TV. What fun. So, how are you going to prove he was murdered?”
“An autopsy would have been nice, but once Sam comes up with poison in those capsules, I’m sure he can get a judge to order the body exhumed,” I said.
Fiona’s chin dropped to her chest. “Oh my God,” she muttered.
Jason and I exchanged concerned glances. “What?” we asked in unison.
“Lou’s body was cremated.”
I had the same feeling I got when I realized I’d probably never get the lottery ticket back. Lou’s body was gone. There’d be no physical evidence to prove he was poisoned. “Are you sure?” I asked.
Fiona nodded. She was adamant. “Yes. Chuck wanted to bury his ashes in the back yard—right over there,” she said, pointing to a shady spot under a California pepper tree. “Can you imagine? Burying his brother-in-law in the back yard like a family pet? I told him no way, of course.”
“Cremated. I didn’t count on that,” I said.
The three of us stared blankly at the center of the table, wondering if our luck could get any worse.
Finally, Fiona shoved her chair back and stood up. “You’re a bright girl, toots. My people-reading skills tell me you’ll find a way.”
I smiled weakly. Being bright doesn’t automatically mean I have all the answers. Whenever someone tries to convince me I can achieve something because I’m bright, it usually turns out that my tenacity, hard-headedness, and strong will are the traits that get the task done. “Thanks, Fiona.”
“I gotta go sell some real estate. Keep me posted on this. Okay?”
“I will,” I assured her.
Jason and I watched her teeter on those platform shoes all the way back to the house. I cringed, afraid she might fall and break an ankle on her way out.
“She’s quite a piece of work,” Jason commented, after she was out of earshot.
I smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, but she’s got a heart of gold.”
Jason and I finished hooking up the range. At ten minutes to twelve, my cell phone rang. It was Sam Wright.
“Where are you taking me to lunch?” he asked.
I chuckled with amusement. “Who says I’m taking you to lunch?”
I could hear him laughing on the other end of the line. “You did. You know those pills you wanted me to check out? Well guess what they were full of. Calcium citrate, magnesium, zinc, ascorbic acid—you want me to go on?”
“No way. That can’t be,” I insisted.
“Yes, way. Little sister, you owe me lunch, and then some.”
Chapter Six
I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course the murderer would have gotten rid of the evidence the first time he broke into the house. He’d have removed any poisoned capsules that remained. The goal was to make Lou’s death look natural. The situation was looking pretty grim. I had no poison. There was no body to autopsy. S
am thought my suspicions were unfounded.
I trudged back to the kitchen to continue helping Jason.
“Was that Sam?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I grumbled.
“So? What did he find in the pills?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? No poison?”
“No poison.”
“Hmm. Guess that means you’ll give it up now?”
I smirked at him. He knows me better than that. It takes more than a couple of setbacks to knock me off track. I dropped my cell phone back in my purse. “You ready to break for lunch?”
Jason chuckled. “That’s what I figured. Too hard-headed for your own good.”
I slung my purse over my shoulder. “You want lunch or not?”
“You buying?” he asked.
“Only if I get to pick the place.”
“Okay, but I don’t want any alfalfa sprouts or tofu. I want real meat and real sugar.”
I slipped my sunglasses on. “How about white bread?”
“Yes. White bread and lots of mayonnaise.”
I headed for the door. “Come on, junk-food boy. Let’s go clog some arteries.”
I sat in the booth across from Jason, staring out the window at the parking lot. He sucked on a chocolate shake and waved his fingers in front of my face. Then he chanted, “Earth to Devonie. Earth to Devonie. Come in Devonie.”
I snapped out of my trance. “I was just trying to think.”
“But nothing happened?”
I ignored his joke. “How am I going to prove Lou was murdered? Sam won’t help.”
Jason slurped the last of his milkshake. “What about your suspects? Maybe you can tail them?”
“And then what?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m not a detective.”
I stared out the window again. “Maybe I should wait till someone claims the ticket, then try to figure out how he did it.”
“You think Sam would help then?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sure I’ll be on my own.”
The waitress placed the bill in front of Jason. He slid it across the table to me. “What’s left to do in the kitchen?” he asked.
“I want to move that old refrigerator out so I can put down the new flooring.”
“You want to put it in the garage?”
“Yes, unless you want to try to sell it in your shop?”
“Nah. Too old. But I’ll help you move it.”
Jason brought in an appliance dolly from his truck while I tried to move the big refrigerator away from the wall. I could barely budge it.
“Here. Let me help,” Jason offered, slipping the foot of the dolly under the huge refrigerator.
We struggled to get a strap wrapped around the avocado-green fridge. Finally, Jason was able to tip it back and move it out of the kitchen. I hurried ahead to the door that led to the garage and helped lower it down the concrete steps. We wrangled it into an out-of-the-way corner and left it there. Jason took the dolly back to his truck, and I returned to the kitchen with a broom to catch the dust-bunnies that had taken up residence under the refrigerator.
I jammed the broom into the corner, then stopped. A rectangular object caught my eye. I picked it up. It was a plastic pill box—the kind that has the days of the week molded into the lid of each compartment. It rattled when I shook it. It wasn’t empty.
Jason returned to the kitchen to see me shaking the box. “What’s that?”
I opened the lids and grinned at him. “It’s the proof I need. What do you want to bet?”
Jason stared down at the container in my hand. “Pills? What makes you think these are any different than the ones you already found?”
I snapped the lids closed and shoved the box in my purse, grabbing my keys at the same time. “I’ve just got a feeling. Could you lock the doors on your way out?” I called to Jason as I rushed out the front door.
Sam inspected the pillbox I’d placed in front of him on his desk. “Where’d you find it?”
“It had fallen off the kitchen counter between the refrigerator and the base cabinet.”
He opened each compartment and looked inside.
“I got to thinking about those bottles I brought you. It makes sense now that if Lou Winnomore was murdered, the killer would get rid of any evidence he knew he’d left behind, but these must have accidentally fallen off the counter without the murderer knowing about it. Maybe Lou had some sort of seizure and that’s when they fell,” I continued.
Sam sniffed the opened compartments. I expected him to toss the box into the trashcan, but he didn’t. He closed all the lids and dropped it into a small plastic bag. “Did you touch any of these?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Come on,” he said, launching himself out of his chair and marching toward the door.
I gathered up my purse and trotted after him. “Where are we going?”
“Lab.”
“Lab? Really? What do you think it is?”
He didn’t answer me. He just continued marching faster down the hall. I had to jog to keep up with him.
Eric, one of the police lab technicians, peered over his thick glasses when Sam and I entered the room. He was very tall, way over six feet. The sleeves on his white lab coat were three inches too short. He was very slim and had curly blond hair. He reminded me of a big Q-tip swab wearing horn-rimmed glasses. “Hey, Sam. What’s up?” he said.
Sam dropped the plastic bag containing the pillbox on his desk. “I need you to check this out.”
“Okay. Tuesday soon enough?”
Sam shook his head. “Now. I think we’ve got something here.”
Eric frowned. “What are you thinking?” he asked as he slipped on a fresh pair of latex gloves.
Sam pointed at the pillbox. “Take a whiff.”
Eric flipped open a compartment and held it near his nose. He eyed Sam.
“Faint bitter almond. You catch it?” Sam said.
Eric nodded. “Cyanide. This related to those vitamins you brought me?”
Sam nodded. “Found these after the fact.”
Eric removed one of the capsules with a pair of tweezers and inspected it closely. “This is strange,” he commented.
“What?” I asked, curious.
“These specs.” He opened the capsule and poured the contents out onto a glass plate, then slid it under a microscope. He lowered his face to the eyepiece and studied the powder. “Check this out.”
I started for the microscope, but Sam elbowed me out of the way. He looked through the eyepiece. “What are those dark specs?”
Eric shook his head. “Can’t tell just yet. We’ll run some tests and tell you exactly what’s in those capsules, but it’ll take a little time.”
“Today?” Sam asked.
“No promises.”
Sam stood up straight and scowled at Eric. I used the opportunity to peer into the microscope.
“I’ll try, Sam,” Eric promised.
I stared at the tiny specs mixed in with the white powder under the microscope. “Some of the specs are red, and some are blue,” I commented.
“Very good. You know your colors,” Sam said, sarcastically. He took me by the arm and pulled me toward the door.
“Eric, I need an answer today. Call me on my cell if you can’t reach me in my office.”
Eric frowned and nodded, returning to the work of identifying the contents of the capsules.
Sam marched me down the hall and out of the building. “Just how many people have you talked to about this?” he demanded.
I pulled my arm out of his grip. “About what? The ticket?”
“Yes, and the pills.”
“Well, let me see. Craig, of course. And Jason, and Fiona,” I listed.
“Fiona?”
“She’s the real estate broker who sold me the house. You might want to talk to her. She knows a little about Lou Winnomore’s family history. Real interesting stuff.”
Sam scribbled something in his little black notebook. “Listen. I don’t want a single word breathed about what we just found out. Got it?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You said that ticket expires in two days?”
I nodded.
“I don’t want the killer to have any clue that we’re on to the fact that Lou Winnomore was murdered. I want him to prance right up to that lottery office and wave the ticket in their faces.”
“Can I tell Craig?” I asked.
“No one. Not Craig. Not Jason. Not even your houseplants. Understood?”
“Understood. But Craig wouldn’t—“
“No!”
“All right. Don’t get so mad. I was just asking.”
“Right now, I want you to take me to the house. I want to have a look around.”
“Okay. Don’t you want to have your team go over it? There’s a lot of stuff there.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t want a bunch of cops milling around the place. That might scare our guy off.”
When we pulled up to Rancho Costa Little, a large garbage bin was parked in front of the house at the curb. I pulled into the driveway.
“Good. The bin is here,” I commented.
“Don’t throw anything away until I say you can,” Sam instructed.
I calculated the cost of the bin on a per-day basis in my head and hoped he wouldn’t make me wait months to use it.
I took Sam through the house and showed him where I found the few pieces of evidence that he’d already seen.
“Where’s that calendar?” he asked.
“At home. I’ll bring it to your office later,” I said.
“Good. Where’d you find the pillbox?”
“Over here,” I said, pointing to the spot on the floor.
Sam studied the kitchen area, then wandered through the rest of the house. “What’s all this stuff?” he asked, staring at a bunch of items piled in the corner.
“That’s slated for a yard sale, just as soon as I sort through the rest of the house.”
“No yard sale until—“
“I know. Until you tell me I can. I’m not stupid.”
He grunted what I assumed was an agreement to my remark.
