Cardiac Arrest, page 25
“No.” The tiny woman backed away, waving the can in front of her.
“It has to run out of gas sometime,” Summer muttered, as Dorothy moved closer to her.
“If we’re lucky.” Dorothy arranged a smile on her face. “Now, Mary Lee, please don’t do this. Put that awful thing down. You might hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do,” Dorothy said, soothingly. “You don’t want to set that pretty pink hat on fire by accident, now, do you?”
Mary Lee reached up to her head, appearing slightly torn.
“The police are on their way,” Summer told her, quickly. “Everyone knows you killed Dr. A and pushed your best friend into a pool. You might as well give up.”
“No! I’m never, ever going back to that place.”
Dorothy held up a warning hand. “Why, Mary Lee, whatever do you mean? What place?”
“Jail,” Summer said, much too loudly. “I bet she poisoned all her husbands. Right, Mary Lee?”
Dorothy’s temples pounded, but she didn’t dare move to rub them. When would her partner ever learn to keep her mouth shut?
Mary Lee swung the flaming blowtorch again, her curls bouncing. She looked like an angry Shirley Temple doll. “I did not kill them! Even though they left me, all four of those ungrateful wretches, and they never came back.”
“Oh my,” Dorothy said, feigning sympathy. Mary Lee was becoming more unglued by the minute. “That must have been terrible for you.”
“I gave them everything,” Mary Lee said. “Gourmet meals, a well-kept home, fancy negligees—and my undivided attention.”
“That’d do it, all right,” Summer muttered.
“Shut up, you meddling, know-it-all beanstalk!” Mary Lee stamped her petite, designer-orthopedic black shoes. “Or I’ll singe you halfway to Miami!”
Mercy. Where were the police? Dorothy wondered. She should have called Detective Donovan, as she’d planned. But surely Gladys had told someone by now that Mary Lee had pushed her into the pool.
Stall, she told herself. It was their only chance, unless she could convince Mary Lee to give herself up.
Summer stepped forward. “You’re right, Mrs. Messinger. I’m really sorry.” In the moonlight, she suddenly looked very contrite. “And you must be incredibly tired, after all that packing. You’ll be late for your trip. Why don’t you hand that crazy flamethrower thing over to me?” She took another half baby step toward Mary Lee.
The woman aimed the hot flame at the concrete in front of Summer’s tennis shoe.
“Aargh!” Summer jumped back. “Quit the crap, Mrs. Messinger, or you’ll kill someone else.”
“That’s the idea, dearie.” Mary Lee’s normally high-pitched voice rose an octave.
“Tell us what happened, Mary Lee.” Dorothy edged closer to Summer. “Then I’m sure we’ll understand.”
Summer nodded. “Totally.”
“Against the railing, both of you,” Mary Lee ordered. “Here in front of me, where I can keep a better eye on you.”
Dorothy reluctantly did as she was told, pulling Summer into line beside her. At least the two of them were together now. Perhaps they could catch Mary Lee off guard, and relieve her of the blowtorch.
But Summer suddenly seemed oddly frozen. She’d apparently made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder at the distant lights of Milano, the dark, silent ocean, and the Deco-Turfed concrete of the tennis courts, thirty-three floors below.
Dorothy felt a decided touch of vertigo herself. “Start at the beginning, Mary Lee,” she prodded.
The moon had disappeared behind a cloud. “He wasn’t like my husbands.” Mary Lee stared sadly at the hissing flame. “Anthony truly loved and appreciated me.”
Summer stifled a snort and Dorothy nudged her, hard, with the side of her foot. “I’m sure he did,” she said, encouragingly. “He was very dedicated to all of his patients.”
“But especially to me,” Mary Lee said. “I don’t even have a heart problem, but he was so attentive. I brought him sweet treats at his office every Friday, right under the nose of that clingy assistant of his. He loved my strawberry cupcakes and lemon twists.”
“But not your mango bars,” Summer said.
“You knew he was deathly allergic to those, didn’t you?” Dorothy said.
“The mangos I use are special,” Mary Lee said. “They’re imported straight from India. No one can resist my seven-layer bars.” Her face twisted darkly.
Dorothy’s temples throbbed harder.
“I baked a special batch, just for Anthony, and delivered them to his yacht in person,” Mary Lee went on. “I borrowed a dinghy from one of the docks while the harbormaster was on his dinner break and rowed myself out. Anthony was so surprised.”
“I bet.” Summer said. Dorothy threw her a warning look.
“I had everything planned.” Mary Lee was really warming up to her story now. “It was my last chance to change Anthony’s mind about marrying that bratty rich girl. I brought a lovely picnic basket with the Seventh-Heaven Bars, of course, and champagne and strawberries.”
“And a lacy, black silk number under your trench coat,” Summer added.
Mary Lee nearly dropped her hissing blowtorch, the flame passing dangerously close to Summer’s knees. “Gladys told you that, didn’t she?” she demanded. “She gave me a ride to the yacht club that night, after I told her I was having dinner with an old college chum, but I just knew she’d stick around to spy on me. I made the mistake of telling her about the carrot cake I made for Anthony last Friday, too. That’s why I had to get rid of the big blabbermouth.”
“Gladys didn’t spy on you that night,” Dorothy said. “Mia did.”
“Oh?” Mary Lee thought that over.
“Wait a sec.” Summer frowned. “Carrot cake? You mean the one that was on the counter in the staff kitchen when Dr. A croaked? It was really good,” she added to Dorothy. “Supersweet.”
“Of course it was good.” Mary Lee sounded indignant.
Dorothy’s head swirled. Supersweet. Hadn’t Ernie told them that Mary Lee hid good-for-you ingredients in her baked goods? Like vegetables. And fruits.
Maybe they weren’t so healthy for everyone.
“That cake you gave Dr. A was infused with mango concentrate, wasn’t it, Mary Lee?” Dorothy said, slowly. “You tricked him into eating it, just the way you used that poor waiter to trick me into eating the mango tarts at Mia’s party.”
“Oh, I knew you’d be fine.” Mary Lee gave a dismissive wave. “Maybe a little swollen and splotchy, but you and that one—” she jerked her head toward Summer, “—were even nosier than Gladys. I just needed you sick enough to go home.”
“But what about Dr. A?” Dorothy persisted. “If you loved him so much, why on earth would you want to kill him?”
Mary Lee drew a heart in the air with the blue flame. “I didn’t really want to hurt Anthony. I just wanted to prove to him that I could nurse him back to health, and that I’d be a much better wife than Mia. She can’t cook—doesn’t even know how to direct her own kitchen staff, stupid girl—and I needed to point out to him, very clearly, that none of my culinary creations would kill him. Even if they were filled with luscious mango. Did I mention I only use special ones from India?”
“But what if you were wrong?” Summer asked. “Which you were, by the way.”
“Then at least he wouldn’t marry Mia. Or leave me on purpose, like all my husbands.” Mary Lee shrugged. “And who would ever suspect my Sweet Nothings cake? Mango is a natural ingredient, you know. Just a terrible accident...” Her voice trailed away.
“So it was your phone ringing that night in Dr. A’s office, wasn’t it, when you were supposed to be sitting with Grace?” Dorothy asked.
“I wrote Anthony a note with the cake,” Mary Lee said. “It said, ‘Sweet thoughts of you’ and I signed it ‘Marry Mee.’ Wasn’t that adorable? But I needed to get it back, in case that pesky police detective or other meddlers—like you two—found it.”
“And you scratched the message in Ernie’s car door and left the note on Marilyn’s windshield,” Dorothy said.
“Yes, while Gladys made stops for the ladies room. I made sure she was well hydrated at both Tony’s wake and that odd colonial restaurant. It’s very important, you know.” Mary Lee carefully adjusted the wheel valve on the torch to make the flame brighter. “The warnings were supposed to scare you and the beanstalk off, but you didn’t listen.”
“So you cranked up the heat on the Spunky Seniors class and bumped me and Dash off the road with your car,” Summer said.
“I wasn’t trying to bump you off the road, dearie,” Mary Lee said. “I was trying to bump you off entirely. Since you were the number-one suspect in Anthony’s passing, it would have been case closed.”
Summer’s mouth dropped open. For once, she was speechless. Or so Dorothy thought.
“You know what, Mary Lee?” Summer said. “You are one hundred percent crazy.”
The diminutive blonde woman blinked, and cocked her head. “No!” she said. “No, no, no!” Then she spun into a frenzy with the blowtorch, throwing bursts of flame to every corner of the balcony.
Dorothy and Summer tried to make a break for it, but Mary Lee was too quick for them. She turned the torch toward the sliding doors, searing the glass above their heads and forcing them back toward the balcony.
“I’m not crazy!” she cried. “And I am never going back to that place with the big white pillars and the perfect green lawn. Never, ever. I’m leaving on my lovely trip and you two are going on one, too—right over the balcony.”
Another gust of wind came up, blowing Mary Lee’s hair in all directions and sending her pink pillbox hat sailing over the railing. Summer shuddered visibly as it spiraled through the air, on its way toward the tennis courts.
“I don’t think so.” Dorothy hit the button on her flashlight and shined it directly into Mary Lee’s eyes. The blonde woman recoiled, trying to shield herself from the intense brightness with one hand.
“The keys!” Summer nearly knocked Dorothy over as she reached inside her large bag that Dorothy still wore over her shoulder. Brandishing the pepper spray canister from Marilyn’s key ring, she rushed forward and aimed it straight at Mary Lee’s face.
The tiny woman screamed and dropped her blowtorch onto the concrete. Both the flame and the hissing sound abruptly disappeared. “You’ve blinded me!” she cried, gasping and coughing.
Dorothy hesitated. Mary Lee was clearly in serious pain.
“Don’t even think about it.” Summer pushed her back into the building. “She’ll be fine. Pepper spray is totally organic. We’re calling 911.” She tapped her phone, as someone thrust open the events room door.
“Ladies, are you all right?” Detective Donovan’s concerned glance swept over them as another curdling scream sounded from the small, writhing figure on the balcony. He sprinted past Summer and Dorothy, gun drawn, followed by two puffing Hibiscus Pointe security guards.
“About time!” Summer called after them. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Imagine serving brownies at a cocktail party. And in this heat, too.” Helen Murphy smiled down at the poolside buffet table.
She meant to frown, Dorothy was sure, but Helen’s facial muscles must have been temporarily paralyzed after her latest trip to the cosmetic surgeon. “They look delicious, don’t they?” She placed an extra two on her plate for Ernie and Grace.
“I gave Jennifer the idea,” Summer said. “You know, for Residents Appreciation Day.”
Helen stabbed at a stuffed olive in her dirty martini. “Whether you are an official Hibiscus Pointe resident, Ms. Sloan, remains to be determined.”
“Mrs. Murphy, hello!” Jennifer zoomed in out of nowhere and handed the Residents Board president a glossy flyer. “I wanted you to be the first to see our new brochure. Did you know that Summer has volunteered to head our new aquatics program?”
“We’re starting up a synchronized swimming team, if you’re interested,” Summer offered. She glanced toward a table at the other end of the pool, where a fully recovered Gladys was being fussed over by a group of buzzing ladies. “And a Learn-to-Swim series, too. Mrs. Rumway has already signed up.”
“How very nice.” Helen’s wide-open eyes shot lasered fury at Jennifer, before she hurried off to intercept a silver-haired gentleman on his way to the bar.
“I think we may have another candidate for your beginner class,” Dash said, walking over with Juliette-Margot. Both father and daughter wore huge, striped sombreros and enormous Gucci sunglasses.
“Juliette-Margot is going to learn to swim,” she announced.
“Is that so?” Summer picked up the brightly colored bag beside her daisy-embellished sandals. “Guess you’ll need this present I got you, then.”
Juliette-Margot reached eagerly into the bag and drew out a package from the Chirping Cricket’s Children’s Boutique. “Ooo!” she said, tearing away the tissue. She held up a size 6-X, neck-to-ankle purple surf suit.
“It’s one hundred percent sunproof,” Summer told Dash. “And there’s a cool hat in there, too. No more oversized shirts, okay?”
He grinned. “I’ll run it past Julian.”
Dorothy shaded her eyes as she gazed across the pool. “Oh my goodness, is that our detective friend over there, with the redhead in the wheelchair?”
“What?” Summer’s food nearly slid off her overloaded plate.
“Oh, that’s our newest resident, Peggy Donovan,” Jennifer informed them. “She’s Shane’s—I mean, Detective Donovan’s—grandmother. He just helped move her into a condo in your building, Mrs. Westin. I should go over and say hello. Would you like me to introduce you?”
Panic flashed across Summer’s face. “Thank you, Jennifer,” Dorothy said. “We’ll follow you in a minute or two.”
Dash rubbed his hands together. “Oh, this is good,” he said, as soon as the resident services director was out of earshot. “Wish I could stay to witness the train wreck in person, but Juliette-Margot has ballet at three. Fill me in tonight at Mia’s bon voyage party, okay? Chameleon, ten o’clock. Esmé has everything covered.”
“Got it.” Summer glanced over her shoulder, as Dash guided his daughter toward the gate. “Looks like Jennifer is good buddies with Shane and his grandma already.”
“Really, dear,” Dorothy said. “Everything turned out just fine, as far as the detective is concerned. Your name was cleared, Mary Lee is undergoing psychiatric evaluation and poor Marilyn is probably chewing her manicure, waiting for the results of that embezzlement investigation. That could take a while. With Dr. A gone, there may be no way to prove whether he intended her to have that money or not.”
“They were all so greedy,” Summer said. “Dr. A, Marilyn, Eduardo. The only thing that loony Mary Lee wanted was Dr. A’s heart.”
“Well, I can’t say I feel sorry for her,” Dorothy said.
Summer shrugged. “Me neither.”
Detective Donovan was watching them behind his dark glasses from across the pool, Dorothy noted. She smiled, and gave him a little wave.
He gave a tentative wave back. Summer suddenly seemed very interested in the mini quiches on her plate.
It was such a shame, Dorothy told herself, that young people wasted so much time playing games. “It really wouldn’t hurt to chat with him,” she said. “Gladys’s cousin heard that the police picked Eduardo up at the Fort Myers airport this morning, trying to use Dr. A’s passport. Apparently Marilyn filled Detective Donovan in on the whole blackmail story.”
“Guess we might as well stay on his good side. You know, in case he needs our help on another case sometime.” Summer dumped her plate on a nearby tray, just as her cell rang. “Joy,” she said, with a sigh. “What does she want now?”
Dorothy took her by the elbow. “I’m very anxious to meet Detective Donovan’s grandmother, dear,” she said. “And I’m sure Jennifer would appreciate our giving her a warm residents’ welcome. Why don’t you let that call go to voice mail?”
“Not a bad idea.” Summer grinned and tossed her pink phone back in her bag. “Let’s go, partner.”
* * * * *
To purchase and read more books by Lisa Q. Mathews, please visit Lisa’s website at http://www.lisaqmathews.com/#!books/cfvg
Look for PERMANENTLY BOOKED, the next book in The Ladies Smythe & Westin series, coming from Lisa Q. Mathews and Carina Press in April 2016
Please turn the page to read an excerpt
Coming soon from Carina Press and Lisa Q. Mathews
One member of this club may have Summer and Dorothy bookmarked for the morgue...
Read on for a sneak preview of PERMANENTLY BOOKED, the next book in Lisa Q. Mathews’s THE LADIES SMYTHE & WESTIN SERIES
Permanently Booked
by Lisa Q. Mathews
Chapter One
“Whoa, look out!”
Dorothy Westin jumped to avoid the cascade of hardcover books and colorful paperbacks, just before they hit the carpet next to her AeroLite shoes. “Goodness, Summer. What are you up to now?”
“Oh, hey, I’m really sorry, Dorothy. Are you okay?” Summer Smythe, her twenty-something neighbor and sleuthing partner, hopped lightly down from the plastic-covered ottoman she’d been using to reach the top shelf of an enormous built-in bookcase. It was surprising the girl needed any extra height for the job, really. She was unusually tall, with a model’s build—or, more accurately, a lifeguard’s.
“I’m fine, dear.” Dorothy brushed the dust and the remnants of a particularly stubborn cobweb from her powder-pink cardigan. At her age, she was fortunate to have decent reflexes, or she might have been—literally—buried in books. And well before her time, she might add.
