Cardiac Arrest, page 22
“Well, I had no idea,” Summer said. “Why didn’t you just come out and say something, instead of sneaking around, stalking me?”
“That’s the way surveillance works,” the detective said. “And, as I mentioned, you didn’t bother answering my calls.”
“So, like, this is it? You’re going to arrest me now?”
He shrugged. “No, no. We’re just having a conversation.”
“Excuse me.” Summer grabbed for the wastebasket underneath his desk. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Dorothy awoke the next morning, she wasn’t entirely sure it was morning at all.
Not a speck of sunlight was visible between the voile bedroom drapes. And the illuminated hands of her moonbeam clock read ten minutes to two.
Gracious. If it was daytime, she’d never slept this late in her life. But if it was two hours past midnight, she realized, she’d still be seated between Summer and Marilyn on a hard plastic bench in the Milano Police Station.
Nearly knocking Mr. Bitey from the other pillow, where her furry roommate lay curled like a woolly bear caterpillar, she reached for her cozy robe at the end of the bed.
She was careful not to stand too quickly, as she felt oddly shaky. All the excitement from nearly being arrested, she supposed. At least she had been released from the station house and Detective Donovan’s relentless questioning in time for a few hours sleep.
Marilyn and Summer hadn’t been quite as lucky. Dorothy hoped that Dash’s nice lawyer friend, Julian, had been able to bring Summer home by now. Surely the information they’d given the detective about Eduardo’s connection to Dr. A’s so-called family would have been enough to clear her of suspicion.
For now, at least.
She had just started shuffling toward the bathroom when the phone rang.
Oh, dear. She’d never make it to the kitchen in time to answer. Well, whoever the caller was—even Summer—would have to leave a message on the machine or try again.
Snippets of last night’s events filtered through Dorothy’s foggy brain as she donned her shower cap and carefully adjusted the faucets above the tub. One could never be too careful with the taps at Hibiscus Pointe. The hot water was scalding.
It had been a long evening—possibly more wearing for Detective Donovan than his detainees. He had offered them strong coffee and overly glazed doughnuts upon their arrival at the station, which might have been a mistake.
Summer babbled a mile a minute, attempting to explain the circumstances that had brought the three of them to Dr. A’s office. The detective had glanced up only occasionally from his notes, frowning slightly, as her words tumbled out in that animated, charmingly disorganized way of hers.
As for her own contributions... Dorothy cringed. The lateness of the hour, along with added helpings of caffeine, sugar and stress, had rendered her less than helpful.
She, too, had tried to offer the detective various explanations, but none of them sounded plausible, even to her.
If Dash hadn’t shown up with Julian and their princess-pajamaed little girl in tow, she and Summer might have been in even more trouble.
As far as Dorothy knew, neither of them was facing actual charges. But the detective had given them both stern lectures. Something about the unpleasant ramifications of trespassing, evidence tampering and hindering a criminal investigation.
As always, it was difficult to determine what Detective Donovan was thinking, behind that ruggedly handsome mask. Perhaps he was more a man of action than of words, but clearly he preferred to take his time before making a move.
She wasn’t entirely sure what had become of Marilyn. Five minutes into the questioning, the hysterical woman had grabbed a plastic knife, still covered in cream cheese, from a startled clerk’s desk. She’d been immediately removed to a room down the hall, from which her shrill protestations remained clearly audible.
In addition to her predilection for sharp objects, Dorothy guessed that Dr. A’s personal assistant had considerably more explaining to do about the money in that safe. Not to mention her exact whereabouts and actions around the time of her employer’s demise.
Someone pounded on her front door just as she was applying her favorite coral lipstick. Only one person she knew neglected to use the bell.
“Hey, Dorothy, are you up? It’s me, Summer.”
Relief trumped annoyance as Dorothy unlatched the chain. “Come in, dear. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Summer breezed into the foyer, looking entirely rested and more youthful than ever in spotless tennis shoes, a nautically striped top that failed to cover her midriff, and white shorts that barely hit the beginning of her long, tanned legs.
Dorothy hoped her young friend hadn’t run into Gladys Rumway or Helen Murphy on the way over to the condo. Neither she nor Summer would ever hear the end of the Hibiscus Pointe Dress Code violation horrors.
“Brought you some java.” Summer produced two foam cups from her white leather bag. “I had no idea you liked it so much, until last night.”
“Neither did I,” Dorothy said. It had been a long time since she’d tasted even a hint of the real thing. She hustled the cups toward the kitchen to stem the growing streams of dark liquid dripping from both lids. “We’d better find you some spot cleaner for that beautiful purse.”
Summer dropped the bag on the breakfast bar and settled onto a stool. “Thanks. I’m giving it to Joy for Christmas.”
Ernie poked his head in from the door, which Summer had conveniently left open. “Dot! Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“Ernie. Oh.” Dorothy dropped one of the cups into the sink, splashing a few more drops of coffee onto Joy’s present. “Is something wrong?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” He nodded to Summer as he walked in and took the other breakfast bar stool. “Gladys said you didn’t go with her and Mary Lee to Dr. A’s funeral service this morning. And then she told me some cockamamie story about you being dragged down to the Milano PD last night.”
Dorothy and Summer exchanged glances. “Uh-oh,” Summer muttered. “Mrs. Rumway’s cousin is back on the job.”
“I told Gladys that was crazy, of course. But since you didn’t call when you got home, I started to think the worst.”
“I’m so sorry, Ernie.” Dorothy felt terrible for letting down her friend. “I forgot.”
“About the funeral or about calling?”
“Both, I’m afraid. It’s rather a long story.”
He looked at his watch. “I have time.”
“You know what?” Summer broke in. “I am incredibly superhungry. Do you have anything to eat, Dorothy?”
“Some honey buns from the dining room, I think. And possibly a can of frozen orange juice.”
“That’s not food,” Ernie scoffed. “Tell you what. How about lunch back at our place, both of you? Grace is having a good day and she’s just finishing up with her speech therapist. We have a pretty decent-looking chicken casserole and a whole tin of homemade cookies that Mary Lee brought over last night.”
“Yum.” Summer jumped off her stool almost before Ernie finished speaking.
“Well, that is a tempting offer.” Dorothy grabbed her purse. “And I’d love to visit with Grace. I take it all was well when you got home from the theater?” Oh dear. Why hadn’t she asked that first thing?
“Fine and dandy,” Ernie said, as they started down the hall. “Mary Lee forgot she had to run out—a medication she needed to refill, or something—and Gladys took over with Grace. It was just like we thought. They didn’t hear the phone over the TV.”
Or over Gladys, Dorothy thought.
As the elevator doors closed, she tried not to scold herself for missing Dr. A’s—no, Vince Russo’s—funeral. It would have been another opportunity to garner information for the investigation, of course. But she’d never held great affection for the man, and as it turned out Dr. A shouldn’t have been her doctor in the first place. It was doubtful she and Summer would have been greeted warmly at the service, anyway.
On the other hand, who would have been welcome? Mia had already made known her fury toward her ex-fiancé. Eduardo could be halfway to California by now. Vince’s loving Italian relations were paid actors. And Marilyn was probably arranging for bail at this very moment.
Not much of a memorial for Milano’s most popular cardiologist. But fitting, perhaps.
* * *
“Sure, thanks, I’ll have some more.” Summer piled giant gobs of cheese-slimed noodles and chicken onto her plate as Ernie held out the CorningWare serving dish. “Mary Lee is a fantastic cook. She could go on that Get Baked show.”
“Get Baking,” Dorothy murmured.
“Maybe you should suggest that to Mary Lee.” Ernie looked a little disappointed as Summer scraped up the last of the casserole. It wasn’t like she could put any of it back now, though.
“Have you been spending time outdoors, Grace?” Dorothy asked. “Those are lovely roses in your cheeks.”
Summer hated to be mean, but she didn’t think Ernie’s wife looked that great. Her skin was so white it was almost see-through and she was propped up in her wheelchair with rolled towels. But her hazel eyes did hold a certain sparkle. Summer could tell from the framed pictures around the Conlons’ comfortable condo that Grace had once been a beautiful woman. She still was, Summer told herself, but in a different way.
“And who are you, young lady?”
“Summer,” she answered again, patiently. Losing your memory had to be the worst thing ever.
“That’s a lovely name.” Grace beamed.
“Hey, guess what, ladies? I got a call from the shop this morning about my car.” Ernie pounced on the last orange roll before Summer could make a move. “They finished early so I can pick it up tomorrow.”
“Mary Lee and I drove the car to the beach,” Grace announced. “Ray was furious when we got home, because we got so much sand in it.”
Huh? Summer glanced at Ernie and Dorothy. Had she missed something?
“Ray was Mary Lee’s second husband, before he took off,” Ernie explained, in a low voice. “We all went on vacation to Myrtle Beach together years ago. That car was his baby. A 1957 Continental, designed by Henry Ford’s son. Only about nine hundred left now.”
Summer put down her fork. “Seriously? Dash said the crazy black car that tried to push us off the road the other night was a Continental.”
“Are you certain, dear?” Dorothy asked.
“I think so,” Summer said. “All I remember for sure was that the car was big and dark and kind of evil-looking.”
“Well, that’s one way to describe a Continental,” Ernie said, with a chuckle. “Compared to a Mini Cooper, anyway. A lot of classic car buffs might disagree with you, though.”
“Summer, surely you don’t think Mary Lee was driving that car?” Dorothy looked shocked, as she reached down to retrieve Grace’s napkin from the carpet.
Summer shrugged. “I’m just saying.” As far as she was concerned, Mary Lee was just as Looney Tunes as Marilyn. Well, almost.
“Doubt she has the old jalopy anymore,” Ernie said. “The DMV took away Mary Lee’s driver’s license. She flunked the eye test a couple years back, so Gladys drives her around everywhere now.”
“Then maybe it was Gladys who tried to run me and Dash off the road,” Summer said. She wouldn’t put it past the Battle-Ax.
“I don’t know about that, either,” Dorothy said. “It’s hard to imagine Gladys trying to harm someone. Physically, anyway.”
“Well, no one’s taking my license away when I get old,” Summer said. “If they do, I’ll just drive anyway.”
Dorothy frowned. “What if you injured or even killed someone, heaven forbid? How could you live with yourself?”
“Lots of people around here are terrible drivers.” Summer knew that argument was feeble, but she hated being lectured. “And not all of them are old, either.”
“She may have a point there, Dot,” Ernie muttered.
“She most certainly does not.” Dorothy pursed her lips. “Just because—”
Uh-oh, Summer thought. What if Dorothy’s daughter had been killed in a car accident? Her friend still hadn’t gone into any detail about Maddie’s death. She wished she could take her words back.
“So, ladies, who’s up for dessert?” Ernie broke in, getting up from the table and began to gather their dishes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do everything,” Summer offered quickly. She really should have kept her mouth shut about the driving thing. How could she have been so stupid? “You sit back down and relax, Ernie.” She took the plates and piled them on her arm, along with the empty casserole dish. “I won’t drop them. I’ve waited tables lots of times.”
“Mary Lee left cookies on the counter,” Ernie called after her. “Beside the fridge.”
Summer dumped the dishes in the sink and zoned in on the cheerful, red-and-green plaid tin. A handwritten label, taped over the reindeer on the lid, read “Ernie and Grace xoxoxo.”
“I highly recommend the coconut fudge drops,” Ernie said, as she brought the cookies and a stack of flowered plates out to the table. “I had a couple for breakfast.”
Dorothy drew back the tin foil. “Everything looks delicious.”
“Wait, not those!” Summer quickly withdrew the tin and peered more closely at the contents. “The seven-layer bars have mango in them, I think.”
Dorothy pulled away. “Oh. Well, how about a macaroon, then? The maraschino cherries on top are such a nice touch.”
Summer carefully selected the two cookies furthest from the mango bars for her friend, and offered the tin to Grace and Ernie.
“Thanks, but we’ll have ours later,” Ernie said. “Grace likes a snack with her warm milk at bedtime. I probably shouldn’t mention this, but Mary Lee adds puréed veggies to all her desserts, so they’re actually good for you. You can’t even taste the stuff.”
Veggies? Summer quickly closed the tin and set it down on the table. “Maybe I’ll skip dessert, too. I’m kind of full.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that, dear.” Dorothy’s eyes crinkled, so maybe she wasn’t mad anymore. “You may be hungry later. Ernie, do you think she could take a few for the road?”
Summer glanced warily back at the tin. Whoa, wait a second. Something about the writing over that reindeer looked familiar.
All crooked capital letters, like the ones scratched into Ernie’s car door. And they were written in blurry marker, just like the note Marilyn had yanked off her windshield.
Summer wrinkled her nose in disgust. Had Dr. A’s killer really been too dumb to disguise her own handwriting?
Some blondes gave the rest of them a bad name.
Chapter Thirty
“You don’t think there really are snakes out here, do you?”
Dorothy chose her next step on the dark sidewalk very carefully. “Of course not, dear.”
“Jennifer was probably just trying to scare us,” Summer went on. “I mean, why else would she tell us they like to hang out on warm concrete at night? And not all the snakes in Florida are poisonous, anyway, right?”
“Well, there are a few.” Dorothy made another sweep with her flashlight around the Hibiscus Gardens parking lot. First thing tomorrow morning, she’d put a card in the Residents’ Suggestion Box about replacing some of those defective solar footlights. “The actual term is ‘venomous,’ by the way. ‘Poisonous’ refers to something toxic that is ingested.”
Summer shrugged. “Either way, if they bite you, you’re dead. I looked up all the really bad snakes before I moved here. Rattlesnakes, water moccasins, coral—”
“Please, Summer. Let’s focus on finding Mary Lee’s car, if it’s even here at all.”
“Okay,” she said. “But that’s another thing. I don’t get why Jennifer wouldn’t let us see her list with the resident spot numbers. Even after I told her I wanted to rent one.”
“Well, she does have to protect people’s privacy.” Dorothy shined her flashlight over the last row of covered parking spots and sighed. “It’s odd, no one in the entire complex seems to own a dark vehicle. They’re all white or tan. I never noticed that before.”
“My car’s orange, remember?” Summer hopscotched over two snake-shaped sticks on the asphalt. “I bet Mary Lee still has her car, and keeps it in one of those storage units over by the Towers. That’s what I’d do if I wanted to hide something that big. They’re kind of like garages and they don’t have any windows so you can’t see into them. You can lock those rolling doors, too.”
“I suppose,” Dorothy said, slowly. It would be a long walk to the storage unit area. She hated to admit it, but she wasn’t sure she was up to it right now. They probably wouldn’t be able to discern much in the dark, anyway.
“They’d have to have vents, so we could see in.” Summer stopped short, balancing on one sneaker. “Otherwise, it’d get superhot in there and all your stuff would get wrecked. Or you could get locked in by mistake and suffocate. I got stuck in a storage unit once.”
Was there no end to the awful things that happened to this girl? Dorothy had never known anyone—other than Maddie, perhaps—who attracted this much trouble. And so often.
“It was no big deal,” Summer rushed to assure her. “I remember, it was Valentine’s Day, so it was freezing cold, but the manager got me out real quick. We ended up going for dinner afterward.”
“Shhh, dear, just a moment.” Dorothy snapped off her flashlight. “There’s a car pulling into the Towers entrance up ahead, without any headlights.”
