Murder Under the Tree Page 6

  Across the room I saw Uncle Ben look over at Aunt Mary and wink at her. How sweet, I thought. They've been married for what, almost sixty years? Then as Elizabeth passed him, I saw Ben wink at her as well, after he gave her the once-over, three times, and ran his hand over his thinning hair.

  I went back in the kitchen and watched Margo work like a whirling dervish, adding salt and other spices, ruining my meal.

  I took the salt shaker out of Margo's hands and put it down on the counter. “Margo, I think that is enough salt. Phil is trying to watch his salt intake. Why don't you go into the living room and sit down and visit with Aunt Mary and Uncle Ben for a while.”

  Elizabeth came into the kitchen. Her face flushed. Her eyes wide and glowing. “Kay, I think John is going to ask me to marry him!”

  “Really? Great!” I gave her a hug. “But you haven't been seeing each other that long.” I thought back to when just a couple of months ago, Elizabeth was dating three other men, all at the same time.

  She gave me her pained stare. Then said, “What should I say, Kay?” She grabbed my arm. “What...should I do?”

  Just then Andy came into the kitchen. He looked between Elizabeth and myself. Elizabeth took her hand off my arm. “Dad sent me in. We need more appetizers.”

  I took out the spinach-artichoke dip I was keeping warm in the oven, spooned it into a small bread bowl, and handed it to Andy. “Thanks, Andy.” I smiled.

  “What makes you think he's going to?”

  After Andy left the room, Elizabeth looked over at Margo. Margo was adding more cream to the chestnut soup. Much more. Probably thinking Margo was too far gone into re-seasoning, she continued. “I was getting dressed in his bedroom. I saw a receipt from a jewelers... for a diamond ring. A big diamond ring.”

  Deirdre walked into the kitchen. “Kay, what can I do to help?”

  “You want to help?” I whispered to Deirdre, looking at the salt shaker back in Margo's hands. The situation with Margo was beyond any damage control. “Make me a drink!”

  Soon we all sat down to Christmas dinner. I said grace. Phil made a toast, reprising last night's “God bless us everyone.” We started with the chestnut cream soup. Margo had allowed the soup to boil, resulting in it curdling. For the main course, rosemary-garlic roast beef and potatoes with horseradish sauce, an abundance of salt overpowered all of the other ingredients. Luckily, I had prepared the asparagus with romano cheese at the last minute and without attracting Margo's notice. The table was also ladened with the other foods Margo had brought.

  “Everything's delicious,” Tommy said.

  Deirdre smiled at me. I watched Phil gulping down water. But as the food was eaten, and the conversations made lively, I smiled and thought, success, even with a whirling dervish in the kitchen.

  “We have a friend, Jim Barnowski, from the Cities who moved to Sudbury Falls recently,” Uncle Ben said. “He's living in a retirement home nearby.”

  “His wife died a few years back,” Aunt Mary said. “Ben, perhaps we should go visit him later, this afternoon. He might appreciate a Christmas visit.”

  “Which retirement home?” I asked.

  “Hawthorne Hills,” Aunt Mary said.

  “The old codger won't be letting the women alone there. He was quite the ladies' man, way back when.”

  Phil looked over at me with pleading eyes, which I could only read as saying, please don't mention the death there.

  “Kay and I have a friend who lives there also,” Deirdre said.

  “Kay told me that a caretaker died there a few days ago. It might even be murder.” Leave it to Elizabeth. I looked over at Phil who was toying with the stem of his wine glass, probably wanting to place his hands around Elizabeth's neck instead. A throbbing blood vessel appearing on his forehead.

  Uncle Ben wiped his mouth with his napkin. “That's awful. Were there witnesses to it?”

  “It wasn't a murder,” Phil said. “Tommy, did I ever tell you—”

  “What did the police say?” Aunt Mary asked.

  “It was an accident,” Phil said. He loosened his tie. “The police investigation called it an accidental death. Case closed!” He glared at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth. Phil cleared his throat. She looked over at Phil, smiled, and closed it.

  Early in the evening, Phil's aunt and uncle left along with Phil's brother and sister-in-law. Elizabeth and John had to go to his family's for a late Christmas dinner. After closing the door, I went back into the living room, sat down on the sofa, put my feet up on the ottoman, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Deirdre, Mike, and us. And Deirdre and Mike were like family.

  “Now, that they're gone. Let's party!” I laughed.

  “Does anyone want to go ice skating?” Will asked.

  “I thought you were going to Frances' house to exchange gifts.”

  “That's not happening until later. I wouldn't mind doing something outside.”

  “Skating sounds like fun to me,” Rose said.

  “Deirdre, Mike?” I asked.

  After we changed our clothes, Rose and Andy, Will, Deirdre, and I left to go ice skating. Phil and Mike stayed behind.

  We drove over to the park. The clean, crisp air gave a feeling of rejuvenation as I sat on a bench and laced up my skates. Something I needed after the day's events. I was surprised at the number of people at the rink on Christmas.

  We all skated around the rink several times, then while playing crack the whip on the ice, I thought about my meeting with Sarah Moeller tomorrow morning and about the friend of Phil's aunt and uncle who lived in Hawthorne Hills. He could prove useful.

  Chapter Six

  Friday, December 26

  I knocked on the door at ten o'clock in the morning and waited. I had called ahead telling Sarah I would take her, Anne, and Martin to the patisserie for coffee. I thought it would be good to talk away from the retirement home after having added Dr. Lee to my list of suspects that I was forming. I wanted to talk to Marissa anyway. Sarah opened the door and greeted me. Anne and Martin were sitting in the same places they were the last time I saw them.

  “All set to go. I have the car waiting out front.”

  “If you don't mind, I'd like to drive,” Martin said, standing up. “I haven't started my car in a week.”

  We took the elevator down. After parking my car in the lot, I headed over to the garage. Martin beeped the car horn to get my attention. I slipped into the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car next to Sarah. Anne sat up front. I ran my hand across the soft, cream colored leather seat.

  Martin headed out of the garage and turned onto the icy street, taking the corner a little too fast for my comfort.

  “With the autopsy showing that Les died of anaphylactic shock,” Anne said, “how can we prove it was murder?”

  “Proving murder is difficult, Anne,” I said.

  “Don't I know,” she quipped.

  “Nancy said they are very careful about peanut products in the kitchen. I know Marissa at the patisserie would never let anything like that slip by.” I told them about going to the police department and finding out they hadn't saved the food.

  “That's not kosher in a police investigation,” Anne said.

  Martin turned around and looked at me. “Remember we said some of the people at the tea were allergic to peanuts. A friend of mine sat at the table next to Les'. He was allergic.”

  “Martin, the road!” Anne said in a hurried voice. He turned his attention back to the street, spinning the wheel wildly and overcompensating his course correction. The car went over the median with a violent bump. I let out a yelp before I could stop myself.

  My right eye started to twitch. I put my fingers up to it to try and make it stop.

  “The police called it accidental. Case closed. They aren't thinking about the others who didn't have a reaction and were also allergic,” Sarah said.

  Phil had also said “case closed” yesterday at Christmas dinner when he was trying to
quiet Elizabeth. Lots of people would be saying that. “So you've continued to ask around about people's allergies?”

  “We call it 'semi-official interviews',” Anne said, smiling.

  “That could be proof someone targeted Les' table,” I said, “or that different tables had different food.”

  “Did Sarah tell you Les had a girlfriend in the kitchen?” Martin asked, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “A real looker.”

  I opened my eyes wide. “I didn't know that.” I should talk to her.

  “Hope that wasn't her way of breaking up with him,” Martin said. Sarah nudged me on my arm. All was quiet for a minute. I couldn't tell if that was Martin's sense of humor or he meant it.

  “Les liked to flirt with the ladies.” Anne put her hand on Martin's shoulder. “Just like Martin here.” She smiled at Martin, hesitated, then continued, “Maybe some lonely woman took Les seriously and later became upset with him.”

  “Oh there's a spot.” Martin went through a stop sign, then slammed his foot on the breaks, sliding into a parking space in front of the patisserie, inches from the car in front of him. I let out a long-held breath when the car finally came to a stop. I escaped from Martin's car with a sigh of relief.

  We walked into the patisserie. “We should find out when Marissa's food was delivered. See if there would have been time for someone to tamper with it,” Anne said, dropping her voice to a whisper as Marissa swept past us with a ladened tray of pastries. Marissa fired a quick greeting at us over her shoulder and told us to sit wherever we liked.

  Sarah nodded her head in agreement with Anne. We chose a table in a corner and settled in.

  “We have the means. Now we need a motive and the opportunity,” I said. “Who hated Les enough to kill him?”

  We looked over the menu for a moment. When Marissa came over with complimentary tea and to take our orders, I asked her, “Marissa, when did the patisserie deliver the pastries to the Christmas tea at Hawthorne Hills?”

  “Someone from the retirement home came to pick them up around ten o'clock that morning.”

  “Do you remember who it was?”

  “I was in the back when they came. Erica gave them the boxes. So what will you four have today?”

  After Marissa left the room, Sarah said, “The Christmas tea started at one o'clock.”

  “Leaving three hours for someone to tamper with the food,” I said.

  “They probably sent someone from the kitchen staff to pick up the order,” Martin said.

  “Or at least someone who would have access to the kitchen,” I added. “Or it could have been poisoned right in the van, before it ever reached the kitchen.”

  We all looked at each other, not saying anything. Anne seemed rather quiet.

  She shrugged. “How would we ever know?” After taking a sip of her tea and putting her cup down on the saucer, she said, “Maybe the lonely woman who was enamored with Les saw him flirting with other women.”

  Anne had said something similar on the way over. She seemed fixated on Les flirting with the old ladies. Could Anne have been one of Les' lonely ladies at one time herself?

  I thought back to the first time I saw her in the lobby of the retirement home when Les told her to save him a seat at the tea. It was a comment in jest that no one was meant to take seriously; it seemed like it was just Les' familiar way of talking with the residents. Maybe that informal joking with the wrong person had indirectly caused his death. Anne was a mystery writer; she knew all kinds of ways to murder people. Didn't she say his food allergy was the perfect crime? But if she had anything to do with his death, why appeal to me for help? To get the heat off herself? But there wasn't any heat, it was an accident. I'd have to ask Sarah about Anne. Everyone had a story. What was Anne's?

  I heard Sarah clear her throat and looked up. She nodded her head, drawing my attention back to what Anne was saying. “If it was someone from outside the kitchen, it would have been faster to replace an item with peanuts, than to doctor it up in the kitchen. I once wrote a mystery about something similar, only it was a tart laced with arsenic.”

  So Anne even wrote about doctoring up food in a mystery book. One of her growing repertoire of murder methods.

  Marissa came back with our orders. “Erica said she left the boxes labeled for “Hawthorne Hills” in the kitchen by the back door. They were gone when she came back from her break, so she never saw who picked them up.”

  “Well, that's a dead end. Now I need to find out if anyone noticed someone—a staff member...or a resident—tampering with the food in the Hawthorne Hills kitchen,” I said, after Marissa left.

  Anne's complexion grew pale.

  “Are you all right, Anne?” Sarah asked.

  “Fine. Fine. I feel a little dizzy, probably low blood sugar. I better start eating.” She turned her attention toward a fruit tartlet.

  While eating, we talked about our Christmases. I told them about Phil's aunt and uncle being friends with Jim Barnowski, a resident at the Home.

  “He's an annoying old trout,” Martin said. “I try to avoid him whenever I can.”

  “What do you mean, Martin?” Sarah said. “He's younger than you.”

  “Only on paper,” Martin replied. “I'm much younger at heart and better looking.”

  “Martin just doesn't like having competition with the ladies,” Sarah fired back with a smirk. “Especially from a younger man.”

  Martin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. He turned and winked at me.

  I smiled; Martin was so incorrigible. “Anyway, I mean to visit him sometime when I'm at the Hill,” I said. “Perhaps he saw or heard something.”

  “Wait until Lent,” Martin said. I gave him a questioning look. “Then you can kill two birds with one stone. Visit him and do penance for your sins.”

  After we were finished, Martin drove us back to Hawthorne Hills, my fists clenched all the way.

  I wanted to get home and spend some time with the family. But first I'd hit a few stores on the way back for the post-Christmas sales. I'd be in and out in no time at all. Before I left Hawthorne Hills, I asked for Les' girlfriend's name and made my way towards the kitchen of the retirement home. I popped my head in the door and asked if I could speak to Lola Castillo. While I waited, I kept hearing Phil's voice in my head, telling me not to involve myself. Well...I was involved.

  An attractive brunette in her thirties with large brown eyes and olive skin came out of the kitchen. I recognized her as one of the servers at the tea. Actually, she was one of the servers who had attended Les' table. “Hello? Did you ask for me?”

  I replied that I had and told her my name. We shook hands.

  “You were Les' girlfriend?”

  She nodded. I could see the pain in her eyes. “Yes.”

  I looked up. A young black woman with beautiful, high cheekbones came out of the kitchen with a cart of dishes and proceeded to set the tables. “I'd like to learn more about Les. My friend and I were the ones who tried to help him at the Christmas tea.”

  “I remember you.” Lola paused. “We were close...very close. Les and I.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She lowered her head then looked up at me. “We were going to be engaged.” She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Why....”

  CLANG! The woman setting the table dropped a tray of silverware. We looked at her then I turned back at Lola. “I'm sorry. It's so tragic.”

  Lola nodded. She wiped her cheek again.

  “Were any of the residents in the kitchen the morning of the tea? Or the director, the doctor, anyone who isn't normally in there?”

  She made a humph sound. “Are you kidding? The director?” I could hear the anger in her voice. “It would be beneath her to grace us in the kitchen. If she wants to speak to someone, she summons us...like a queen, to her office. No. I wouldn't have minded if the doctor would come into the kitchen. He is… Well, he's nice.” She put her head down. “But no, Sheila's the head of the kitchen. She takes care of e
verything.”

  “What about the residents? Were any of them in there that day?”

  “They pop in from time to time looking to see what we are serving or to visit a little. We all have our favorites. That morning?” Lola hesitated for a few moments. “It was busy, getting everything ready. I saw a few. Anne Niven popped in, said she was doing research on a Christmas book she was writing. A couple others, that nasty new man...Mr. Barnowski. Probably checking out the kitchen staff. He pinched my butt the other day. I gave him a piece of my mind. There were others. Can't remember.”

  Hmm. Barnowski and Anne popped in. I wonder why Anne didn't mention this. “Who put the food on the trays that you served?

  “Sheila arranged the trays.”

  “Did every table receive the same foods.”

  “A few of the residents on special diets sat at their assigned tables but otherwise everyone's was the same, down to the exact number of those little cookies on the trays.”

  So why then would Les have had peanut products in his food, but not Martin's friend at the next table? “Were the trays marked for specific tables?”

  “Why all the questions? You a cop? You don't look like—”

  The kitchen door opened. “Lola, Nancy wants to see you in her office,” the lean, muscular woman looked at me. “Pronto.”

  “You know, when you get summoned...” Lola hurried out of the dining room without finishing her sentence, the door swinging behind her. The muscular woman went back into the kitchen.

  I started putting on my coat to leave. The young woman who had dropped the silverware came over to me and said in a low voice, “Don't believe Lola. I heard what she was telling you. Les broke up with her months ago. Several months ago. Lola was so angry with him. She looked like she could have killed him for days after he broke up with her. That being engaged talk is a lie.”