Cardiac Arrest, page 5
“We wanted to offer our condolences,” Dorothy answered. “You were so close to Dr. A. This must be a very difficult time for you.”
Marilyn’s shoulders suddenly slumped beneath her designer housecoat. “Yes, it is,” she said, sniffling.
Ernie, softhearted as usual, rushed over with a handkerchief. “Here, use this.”
Dorothy reconsidered the idea of asking the poor woman any questions right now. She was clearly distraught.
“It was all that Summer girl’s fault,” Marilyn said. “If it weren’t for her, Tony and I would be together now.” She blew her nose loudly into Ernie’s plaid handkerchief. “Officially, I mean.”
“So you and Dr. A were romantically involved, then,” Dorothy said, lightly.
“But wasn’t he engaged to someone else?” Ernie asked.
Dorothy cringed. She’d been working up to that. She didn’t want to upset Marilyn any further, or they might not get any answers at all.
An awkward silence filled the designer living room, and Dorothy began to wonder whether they should leave. Ernie threw her an apologetic look.
“She didn’t deserve him!” Marilyn suddenly burst out, startling them both. “Mia Rivera-Jones is a spiteful, ungrateful young woman, and they had absolutely nothing in common.” She wiped her nose again. “Why, she and Tony even had a huge fight on the morning he died.”
“My. That is terrible,” Dorothy said. She needed to keep Marilyn talking. “What could they have been arguing about? Perhaps the wedding plans...”
“No, no,” Marilyn said, with a dismissive wave. “Mia hired the top wedding planner in Milano. I’m sure you’ve heard of her, Tatiana Fontaine? Tony left all the details up to the two of them, except for the guest list. Mia didn’t want me invited, can you imagine?”
Dorothy tsk-tsked sympathetically. “And why was that?”
“She knew about us.” Marilyn’s eyes filled with tears. “At least, I think she did. Tony was going to tell her, anyway.”
Ernie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Dorothy carefully avoided looking in his direction.
“So why didn’t Mia break it off with the doctor, or vice versa?” she asked. “Surely she couldn’t marry a man who was in love with someone else.”
Marilyn twisted Ernie’s handkerchief. “I don’t know if he really loved me.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Or her, either.”
“I see.” This conversation was taking a rather unexpected turn. Dorothy drew in a deep breath. “Marilyn, dear, Dr. A mentioned to me that Mia was in the office not long before I arrived for my appointment. Do you know what time she left?”
“I’m not sure.” Marilyn began to gather the lemonade glasses. “Before that Summer girl arrived, I suppose.” Her expression darkened. “She was forty-five minutes late.”
“Yes,” Dorothy murmured. “We were on the same bus. Terrible traffic.”
“I thought it was odd that Tony hired her.” Marilyn started for the kitchen with the loaded tray. “In a bar no less, she said. I can only imagine the worst. But why she felt she had to poison the poor man is beyond me.”
“So it was definitely poison, not a heart attack?” Ernie called after her.
Marilyn had already disappeared. Apparently she hadn’t heard him.
“Wish you hadn’t finished that lemonade, Dot. Who knows what’s in it?” Ernie rose from his chair. “That is one loo-la lady. Let’s get out of here while we have a chance.”
“I just need to find out one more thing,” Dorothy told him, as he reached to help her up.
Marilyn came to the doorway with an apron over her housecoat, holding the cheese knife. “You’re leaving so soon?”
“You need to rest, dear, with all the stress you’ve been under,” Dorothy said. Why was their hostess gazing at her knife like that? How very odd. “I could use a cat nap before dinner, myself. Five o’clock always comes up so fast, you know.”
Ernie gently squeezed her elbow, and Dorothy realized she was babbling. “I did mean to ask you, though, Marilyn, about that health shake recipe,” she added. “I’m sure it didn’t harm Dr. A, and it sounded delicious. I certainly could use some more pep in my step. What is in it, exactly, again?”
Dr. A’s personal assistant-slash-girlfriend half blocked their path down the hall. “Sorry, the formula is top secret. Tony and I were going to take out a patent on it.”
Dorothy began to edge her way out along the wall, with Ernie right behind her. “Oh, I see. But didn’t Summer mention that you told her exactly how to make it?”
“I may have left out one or two special ingredients. I added them in later myself.” Marilyn smiled, twirling the knife in her hand as they passed her. Dorothy hoped the woman wouldn’t cut herself—or anyone else, either.
“Sweet basil, look at the time.” Ernie opened the front door and pushed Dorothy through it. “She needs to get home,” he added over his shoulder to Marilyn, in a conspiratorial tone. “Medication time.”
“Thanks so much for the lovely visit,” Dorothy called, as Ernie hustled her down the front steps.
“Goodbye, and thanks again for coming!” Marilyn waved the cheese knife. “Do stop by again soon.”
“Not on your life,” Ernie muttered.
Dorothy had to agree.
Chapter Seven
Dorothy dropped into her favorite comfy chair and put her aching feet up on the faded ottoman. The odd visit with Marilyn had left her a little drained, and she had only forty-five minutes left until dinner.
Residents started lining up outside the dining room doors long before five, but she was in no rush. She’d be on her own, anyway, since Ernie was dining in with Grace tonight.
She certainly didn’t feel like sitting at a table of ladies, listening to silly Hibiscus gossip. Or worse, any more wild speculation about Dr. A. Fortunately, she’d been able to avoid Gladys Rumway that morning, by visiting the convenient poolside ladies room as soon as she’d spotted the approach of her big, floppy hat.
“Dorothy! Are you there?” Someone pounded at her door.
Dorothy wasn’t sure she had the energy for Summer right now, either, but perhaps she had news about the investigation. Dorothy certainly preferred her as a source over Gladys and her coterie of cackling hens.
“Thanks.” Summer fell into Dorothy’s comfy chair, kicking off her flip-flops. The soles of her feet were slightly dirty, Dorothy noticed, but she did have a perfect, neon-coral pedicure.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Dorothy settled for the white wicker settee. “Your eyes look a tad swollen. Have you been crying?”
“No,” Summer said. “I never cry.” She glanced around the living room, her brow furrowed slightly under her sunny, side-swept bangs. “You don’t have a cat by any chance, do you?”
An enormous orange paw emerged from around the breakfast bar, followed by the rest of Dorothy’s furry roommate. He settled at the edge of the carpet, looking extremely satisfied.
“Oh, my, that’s Mr. Bitey. You must be highly sensitive.” Dorothy sprang up and removed the offending feline to her bedroom. She’d never known anyone to have such a quick allergic reaction. Behind the door, Mr. Bitey issued an indignant yowl of protest.
“Only to some cats,” Summer said. “Thanks.” She cocked her head at Dorothy. “Hey, your eyes are kind of puffy, too. Maybe we’re both allergic.”
“No, young lady.” Dorothy sighed. “I’m just old and tired.”
At least the girl had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. So how come his name is Mr. Bitey? Like, he attacks people?”
“Oh, no,” Dorothy assured her. “He’s quite harmless, as far as I know. I adopted him from a neighbor when she moved into assisted living at Hibiscus Glen. I just didn’t have the heart to change his name.”
“Huh.” Summer cast a wary glance back toward the bedroom door.
“So is there anything I can do for you, dear?” Dorothy asked.
“I looked up your apartment number in the directory,” Summer said. “Hope you don’t mind me showing up, but I really needed to talk to you in person. I ran into Detective Donovan today, at Alice’s Ice Cream.”
Well, that was interesting. Dorothy couldn’t recall ever seeing the same member of the Milano Police Department twice, but then, she’d never paid much attention. Certainly the officers were entitled to an ice cream every once in a while. “Did he have any updates on Dr. A?”
Summer shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me much. Nothing, actually. But...” Her voice trailed away as she inspected a hangnail.
“Go on, dear,” Dorothy urged.
“He’s definitely been checking up on me. And I’m sure he followed me there, too.”
“He must have his reasons,” Dorothy said. “He’s probably gathering plenty of information on all of us. Anyone who’s innocent has nothing to worry about, right?”
“I guess.” Summer’s finger was beginning to bleed now. From the looks of it, she was a habitual nail biter.
“Wait just a moment, I’ll get you a Band-Aid.” Dorothy headed for the powder room and rummaged through the medicine cabinet that was well stocked with pills Dr. A had prescribed but she’d never taken. She’d felt too guilty to flush them down the commode.
“It’s crazy—I didn’t put anything in that shake that Marilyn didn’t tell me to,” Summer went on. “And I hardly knew the guy, anyway, so I had no motive to kill him. I really needed that job.”
A good point, Dorothy thought, as she finally came up with the right-sized bandage. The girl didn’t flinch when she wrapped it securely around her finger. She was too busy talking. Goodness, Summer was so much like her own Maddie.
“I mean, guys try to hook up with me all the time. You can ask my sister Joy, it drives her crazy. I can defend myself just fine. I even know karate. Why would I have to kill anybody?”
Karate? Somehow, Dorothy wasn’t surprised. She had a feeling Summer could do anything she put her mind to in the athletic arena. And she had already proved herself unusually levelheaded in a crisis. But still...
“I bet my fingerprints are all over that glass and the fridge and the cupboards, but that’s no big deal, right? So are Marilyn’s and Dr. A’s. I told everybody I made him that drink, because it was the truth. The stuff that went into it was gross but it all seemed pretty organic.” She stopped for breath. “Well, maybe not. I have no idea what that powder was, and maybe that stuff wasn’t really peppermint oil. That’s what it said on the label, but it didn’t smell like it.”
“I’m sure they’ll have more answers once the lab reports come in,” Dorothy said. “Did Detective Donovan tell you when that might be?”
“Nope.” Summer gazed through the sliding glass doors at one of the endless fountains that graced the complex. “Those are a huge waste of water and energy.”
Did this girl have a problem focusing on things or was she just upset and trying to change the subject? Dorothy wondered. She had to admit, though, she had thought the very same thing about those fountains. “The water is recycled, I believe,” she said. “But you’re right about the energy. So what else did the detective say?”
“He said we’d talk after they get the lab results. And he told me not to leave town. Again.” She gazed at Dorothy with those clear blue eyes. “I guess that means he wants to arrest me later or something.”
“Not necessarily.” Dorothy told Summer about her and Ernie’s visit to Marilyn earlier that afternoon.
“Your friend is right, you know,” Summer said. “That woman is whacko.”
“Well, yes, possibly. But I was very interested in what she had to say about Mia Rivera-Jones.”
“You mean the chick who almost mowed me down on my way into Dr. A’s office yesterday? I saw her on the news.”
“That’d be the one,” Dorothy said. “Dr. A mentioned that Mia was in quite a hurry that morning, and Marilyn confirmed she was there. She also said the doctor and his fiancée had quite an argument. Do you remember what time you entered the building?”
“Well, I was supposed to be at work at eight-thirty. The last time I checked my phone, right before I got off the shuttle, it was about quarter after nine.”
“That sounds about right,” Dorothy said. “After the bus, I made a stop at the CVS for some mints. I move a bit slower than you, I’m afraid, so I must have missed Mia. Did you notice whether she seemed upset?”
“Oh, yeah. She looked really ticked off. She swore at me big-time, too.”
“I’m sure she was just angry at Dr. A,” Dorothy said. “Not at you.”
“I don’t care what she thinks, anyway.” Summer drew her legs up into the chair. “So now what do I do? Detective Donovan is going to interrogate me later, even though I didn’t do anything, and he’ll probably have me thrown in jail, too. I’ll never be able to make bail, either, unless they take platinum cards. But I didn’t kill that Dr. A jerk, I swear.” Her blue eyes filled and she tried to hide the cascading tears with the crook of her elbow, just like Maddie when she was young.
The poor child. Dorothy went over to pat Summer on the shoulder. “I’m sure there’s no reason to worry, dear,” she white-lied. “But I have an idea. Why don’t you and I work together to find out what happened? We can do our own little investigation, and let the police know if we learn anything useful. We’ll just be careful to stay out of their way.”
“You’d do that for me?” Summer brightened, then bit her lip. “It might be dangerous, though, if Dr. A really did get whacked. Are you sure you’d be up for that?”
Dorothy drew herself taller. “And why wouldn’t I be?”
To her surprise, Summer jumped up and threw her arms around her. She smelled like coconut shampoo. “Okay, let’s do it! We’ll be like those partners on Citizen’s Arrest.”
“That might be pushing things,” Dorothy said, smiling. But she had to admit, “partners” did have a rather nice ring to it. Besides, a little excitement might be good for her. Life could get dull at Hibiscus Pointe.
Summer bounced toward the door. “When do we start?”
“How about tomorrow?” Dorothy said. “I think we should find out more about Mia Rivera-Jones. Perhaps a visit is in order.”
“We can’t just show up at her fabulous mansion,” Summer said. “They’ll never let us in. She’s got to have all kinds of cool security. You know, a guardhouse, thugs, attack dogs, some superhigh-tech alarm system...”
Dorothy rubbed her temples. Summer had clearly been watching too much TV. “I was thinking of a less direct route, to start. Do you have a car, dear?”
“Sure,” Summer said. “Well...sort of. It won’t start right now, so it’s stuck in the parking lot.”
“Do you have AAA?” Dorothy asked. “Service calls are free for members. Harlan and I used them all the time.”
“Ohhh... I may have a card around somewhere,” Summer said. “Joy put me on her membership, I think, when I drove down here. She said that way I wouldn’t ever have to call her in an emergency.”
“Why don’t you give them a ring, then, and meet me in front of Hibiscus Gardens at eleven, if all goes well?”
“You got it. Thanks, Dorothy.”
“Don’t mention it. Oh, and Summer?” she added, as the girl started to let herself out.
Summer stuck her head back through the door.
“Wear a nice dress, please. And maybe some heels, if you have them. We’re going downtown.”
“Sure,” Summer said. “I have the perfect recon outfit. I’m a power shopper.”
Well, that was hardly surprising. As soon as her new detective partner had left, Dorothy hurried to retrieve Mr. Bitey from the confines of his bedroom prison. The persnickety feline didn’t like being cooped up any more than she did.
Chapter Eight
It had been a really good morning so far, Summer told herself, as she stood in line at the Hibiscus Pointe Resident Services counter.
Her car was fixed—all it needed, it turned out, was some oil—and she’d talked Joy into transferring enough money into her account to cover the entire month’s rent. Just this one time, since she’d lost her job due to employer homicide.
That gave her a four-week reprieve. She’d promised her sister she’d find a new job by then, no problem. Unless she was in, like, jail.
Summer looked at the fake antique grandfather clock just inside the automatic sliding doors. She was supposed to meet Dorothy at eleven, and she’d been waiting here forever.
It would be a lot easier for people to pay online, but Hibiscus Pointe had barely entered the digital age, other than their fancy website designed to lure prospective residents.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rumway, but I really can’t help you,” the young woman behind the counter informed the mountainous woman in the puke-green muumuu and mongo floppy hat. “You’ll have to take that up with the Residents Board.”
“What do you mean, you can’t help me?” the Battle-Ax demanded. “You people are in charge of enforcing the rules around here, aren’t you?”
“Mrs. Rumway, there are procedures—”
“Procedures, schmecedures. I want to talk to Roger. Now.”
The young woman, whose name tag read “Jennifer Margolis,” glanced into the open office behind her.
The complex manager, who was busy polishing his golf clubs, ducked his head under his desk. Wimp, Summer thought.
“I know Roger’s around,” Gladys said. “Doesn’t he care that there’s a murderer living here, in violation of the Hibiscus Pointe Residents Contract? I think everyone has a right to know.”
