Cardiac Arrest, page 7
“They were going to have the wedding next summer, but since everyone will be in town anyway for the funeral, the party deal got pushed up,” Esmé added.
Dorothy looked up. “And when is the funeral?”
“No clue.” The waitress glanced over her shoulder. “Sorry, gotta go. Eduardo’s giving me the stink eye. Talk to you later, Summer. Great to meet you, Dorothy.”
As soon as Esmé was gone, Summer put her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands. “Aargh!”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Dorothy asked. “Just think, you’re going to have the perfect opportunity to get some first-hand intel on Mia Rivera-Jones.”
Summer peeked out through her fingers. “Esmé just said I have to go through a background check.”
“Oh.” Dorothy put down her fork. “Will that be...a problem? Have you ever been arrested?”
Summer hesitated. “Once, maybe. But they dropped the charges. It was a stupid thing, anyway.”
Dorothy concentrated on her salad. “You really don’t need to tell me,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”
Great. Now Dorothy thought she was some kind of criminal. “I got caught fooling around with a guy on the beach. That was it. We had our clothes on and everything. And it was years ago.”
“I’m sure that won’t be an issue,” Dorothy said.
Summer shrugged. “Yeah, maybe not. But what if Saturday is too late? That detective guy may arrest me for murder before then. That might not look too good to Mia Rivera-Jones.”
Or anyone else, for that matter.
Chapter Ten
“What is she doing here?” Gladys demanded.
Dorothy concentrated on breathing slowly through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, her index fingers and thumbs held lightly in a circle. Her mind was far away from the Hibiscus Pointe chair yoga class. And far, far away from Gladys Rumway.
“She’s practicing her yoga, just like us,” Dorothy said, under her breath.
“No, she’s showing off, that’s what she’s doing. Look at that, she’s all bent over backward with one leg in the air. And in that skimpy little outfit, too.”
Dorothy didn’t open her eyes. “Gladys, we’re supposed to be meditating. Now, shh.”
“Ladies, is there a problem?” the instructor called, from the front of the room.
“Yes,” Gladys said. “That girl over there is a problem. This is a chair yoga class and she is not using a chair.”
The instructor, a slim, gray-haired volunteer from Senior Sunshine named Debbie, glided down the room to stand behind Dorothy and Gladys. “Everyone works at his or her own level,” she said, in a calming tone. “Yoga is not a competitive sport. It’s a contemplative practice, a freeing—”
“Hogwash,” Gladys said. “You know what I’m contemplating? Quitting this class.”
Several ladies and the one male member of the class, Fred Ritter, turned to stare in their direction. Dorothy’s state of peace, such that it had been, immediately evaporated.
“Oh, dear,” Debbie said, as Gladys lumbered up in her tie-dyed unitard, nearly toppling the chair. “It looks as if we’re finished for the day. Namaste, everyone!”
The instructor hurried from the room, without bothering to retrieve her foam blocks and yoga strap.
“Now look what you’ve done, Gladys,” one of the ladies said. “You’ve ruined the class for everyone.”
“No, I didn’t.” Gladys grabbed her towel to soak up the considerable amount of sweat gathered beneath her chair. “She did.” She stabbed an accusing finger toward Summer.
Dorothy’s sleuthing partner was seemingly in the zone. She continued her vinyasa flow, moving easily from one perfect pose to another with an air of complete calm. Dorothy wasn’t sure she’d even heard Gladys’s outburst.
Not wanting to break Summer’s concentration, Dorothy tried to slip quickly into the hall. But Gladys was faster.
“Dorothy, we need to talk.”
“Maybe another time, Gladys,” Dorothy said, feigning exhaustion. “I’m feeling a bit overheated.”
“No, this is important.” Gladys was spitting again. “It’s about Dr. A.”
By now several ladies had gathered behind them. Dorothy sighed. Maybe Gladys would have some useful information. “Why don’t we freshen up, then, and meet in the area off the ladies locker room?”
Twenty minutes later, Dorothy, Gladys, Mary Lee and two other residents were seated around a table that they often used for cards.
“So what did you want to tell me about Dr. A?” Dorothy fervently hoped that no one would bring up Summer again, because she didn’t want to get into any unpleasant confrontations before lunch.
She also hoped that Summer didn’t frequent the ladies locker room.
Gladys delicately patted her face and neck with one of the little white towels from the powder room. Then she leaned in for the kill.
“I know you don’t agree with me about that Summer girl, but I’m telling you, the police certainly do. I have connections at the Milano PD.”
“Really?” Dorothy was genuinely interested in that news. The police probably would be, too. “Who?”
Gladys puffed up like a blowfish. “I can’t disclose my sources.”
“Her cousin Merle,” Mary Lee put in, at the same time. “He volunteers in the file room.”
Gladys glared at her. Mary Lee drooped like her pink lace hair bow.
“My, that’s very interesting,” Dorothy said. The best way to get information from people like Gladys Rumway, she knew, was to butter them up—painful as that might be.
“Merle says they already have a few leads.” Gladys’s beady eyes darted around the table. “It’s all hush-hush. They’re looking at that Summer person, of course, and poor Marilyn—can you believe it?—and even his loaded fiancée. But it seems to me they could use some more muscle, from people who really cared about Dr. A.”
“You don’t mean us, do you, Gladys?” Mary Lee was a tiny thing, prone to heavy-handedness with the pink eye shadow.
“Of course I mean us,” Gladys said. “Who else?”
“Maybe we should just let the detectives do their jobs.” Dorothy said. No need to mention anything about her and Summer providing their own investigative assist. Gladys would probably do her best to make sure every possible clue pointed to Summer.
“Fine,” Gladys said. “I’ll do it myself, then. Obviously, I’m the one who was closest to Dr. A.”
Mary Lee sniffled, and one of the other women handed her a tissue from her tote bag.
“Did your contact give you any other information?” Dorothy asked.
Gladys leaned back in satisfaction. “Well, they’re still waiting for more results, of course, but they know how poor Dr. A died.”
“Really?” Dorothy said. That was big news. “Was it a heart attack, or...?”
“Poison,” Gladys revealed, somewhat triumphantly. “Well, that’s what caused the heart attack, anyway.”
“What kind of poison?” Dorothy pressed. With luck, the answer would point directly to the murderer—and not Summer, somehow.
“Well, okay, they don’t have anything official on the poison thing yet. But something made his airway close up and then—poof!—cardiac arrest.”
Mary Lee gasped.
“Merle wouldn’t give me any more details, unfortunately,” Gladys said. “He’s afraid of losing his job. But I’ll keep working on him.”
I’ll bet, Dorothy thought.
“He did say that the medical examiner released the body to the funeral home, though,” Gladys went on. “Piretti and Sons. Loretta D’Angelo’s daughter is the cosmetologist there, so I’ll keep you all posted on the arrangements.”
Summer breezed into the locker room, passing by their table on her way to the showers. “Hi, ladies,” she said. “Great class, huh?”
“It was,” Gladys said, with a loud sniff. “Until you ruined it.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mrs. Rumway.” Summer gave her a glowing smile as she threw her hot pink sports towel over one tanned shoulder. “I noticed you were having a little trouble with that modified Downward Dog. Maybe you should stick with Corpse Pose. You know, just lie under your chair and play dead.”
Dorothy bit back a smile. With that girl on her team, Gladys Rumway—and maybe even Dr. A’s murderer—may have met their match.
* * *
“Bonjour, Summer.”
Summer opened one eye to see a somber Juliette-Margot standing over her lounge chair. The kid wore a huge, straw hat shaped like a bird’s nest. A matching straw beach bag with a starfish on it was hooked to her wrist.
“Hi.” She sat up, shading her eyes. Juliette-Margot also had on a man’s Oxford shirt, which probably belonged to one of her daddies, over her bathing suit. Not her usual style. “Are you going swimming?”
“Juliette-Margot does not swim.”
“Hey, there.” Dash dropped into the chair next to Summer. He looked even more like a model in his swim trunks, with an unbuttoned shirt like Juliette-Margot’s cover-up hanging casually over his tanned chest.
“Hi,” she said. “Your daughter just told me she’s not a water fan.”
“Not even in the bathtub.” Dash shook his head.
Summer got up. “Want to sit on the steps in the shallow end with your dad and watch me?” she asked Juliette-Margot.
“Okay.” The kid took Dash’s hand and pulled him toward the pool, the shirttail trailing behind her on the concrete like, well...a tail.
Summer dove in and took a few quick laps. When she emerged again at the shallow end, she saw that Juliette-Margot and Dash had moved from the edge of the pool to the second step.
“You know what’s really fun?” Summer pulled herself up on the edge of the pool and wrung out her hair. “Having a tea party under water.”
Juliette-Margot stared at her, wide-eyed. “Really?”
“Yep,” Summer said. “You and a friend hold hands and try to sit on the bottom of the pool. Then you open your eyes underwater and pretend to pour tea and spoon out sugar and stuff. We should try it sometime.”
“Okay,” Juliette-Margot said, slowly.
“First you have to learn how to hold your breath, though.” Summer told her. “How about if we practice out of the water first?” She drew a big breath and puffed her cheeks, until the little girl laughed.
“You should give swimming lessons,” Dash said.
Summer splashed her feet lightly in the pool. “Maybe.” That wasn’t a bad idea. She might be able to score a job at the beach, or even the Y down on Cypress Ridge. Too bad she’d let her lifeguard certification expire.
“So, what did that cop at Alice’s want yesterday?” Dash asked, when Juliette-Margot went to wrap up in her beach towel. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t look now, but that same dude’s reading a book over there, about four chairs down.”
“What? He’s here?” Summer whirled like a shot from a T-shirt cannon.
“Very subtle,” Dash told her.
Yep, it was that sneaky Detective Donovan, all right, stretched out in the shade of a cheerful Hibiscus Pointe umbrella, pretending to be absorbed in a spy novel.
The guy had total nerve. Someone should write a spy book about him. It’d be a freaking best seller. Her dad could turn it into a blockbuster movie.
“So are you guys a couple?” Dash asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Summer said. “He’s a cop. Wait, how did you know that?”
Dash shrugged. “I told you, my mom’s a mystery writer. I thought he was pretty cute, myself, but he’s not my type.”
Summer hesitated. Should she trust Dash? He was friendly and funny, and he seemed like a really good dad.
Besides, he was obviously taken, so he couldn’t have any ulterior motives, right?
She took a deep breath and glanced back at the detective. He was rubbing suntan oil into his chest now. Being in that guy’s arms would be like hugging a surfboard.
She sighed. “It’s kind of a weird story,” she told Dash. Quickly, she filled him in on her and Dorothy’s visit to the fancy wedding planner’s, and their encounter with the snooty maître d’ at Chameleon.
When she’d finished, he gave a low whistle. “Definitely sounds like a setup from one of my mom’s books.”
“I hope they have happy endings,” Summer muttered.
“Oh, they always do,” Dash said. “Except for the murderer. And the murderee, of course.”
Summer sighed. “Fabulous.”
Detective Donovan checked his phone on the table beside him and rose from his chair, wrapping a Hibiscus Pointe towel around his waist. Then he slipped into a pair of leather sandals. Who wore those to a pool?
For some reason, she actually felt a little disappointed as the detective strode through the pool gate, without even a glance in her direction. He had to have seen her behind the cool Ray-Bans. Right?
He was the worst spy ever. She gave the water an angry splash with her foot.
“You know, there are a few strange things about your story,” Dash was saying. “But one in particular.”
“Yeah?” Summer banished Detective Uptight from her mind.
“Well, I actually knew that guy Dr. A. He was very close to an acquaintance of mine for a while, in fact.”
Huh? Incredible. The doctor had been an even bigger player than she’d thought. “What’s her name?”
“His,” Dash corrected. “Eduardo Silva. But it sounds as if you’ve met him, too. He’s the maître d’ at Chameleon.”
Chapter Eleven
Dorothy and Ernie had just ordered decaf coffees when Mary Lee Messinger stopped by their table on her way out of the Canyons dining room. Her eyes were red-rimmed against peony-pink shadow and her lipstick was crooked.
Oh, dear, Dorothy thought. Gladys’s loyal sidekick did not look like her usual Mary Kay self.
“Why, hello again, Mary Lee,” Dorothy said. “Would you like to join us?”
Mary Lee hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude...”
Ernie jumped up and signaled to Walter. “Another chair, please?”
“Thank you,” Mary Lee said, almost in a whisper, after the headwaiter had seated her. “But I really shouldn’t stay long.”
“What is it, Mary Lee?” Dorothy asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Mary Lee said. “I mean, yes. Maybe.” She glanced around the dining room. “Gladys isn’t in here anymore, is she? She wanted to be the first one at Casino Night. We’re all supposed to meet her there at seven.”
“Oh, that’s tonight?” Ernie said, a bit more eagerly than Dorothy would have expected. “I’m always up for a hand of Blackjack.” He grinned. “In fact, back in my bachelor days, I was known as something of a high roller in Vegas.”
“Ernie!” Dorothy pretended to scold, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. She had a feeling there were quite a few things she didn’t know about her friend.
“Gladys would kill me if she had any idea I was talking to you like this, Dorothy.” Mary Lee’s voice dropped even lower, and Dorothy and Ernie leaned in to hear her. “Can I count on your discretion, both of you?”
“Of course,” Dorothy said, immediately.
“Absolutely,” Ernie added. Mary Lee had been a good friend of Grace’s for years, Dorothy knew, and she still popped in to visit her every now and then.
Walter brought a plate of chocolate-covered mints to their table. “Would you like another nightcap, Mrs. Messinger?”
“Maybe another mango martini,” she told him. “Just add it to my resident account, please.”
“Sounds like an interesting drink,” Ernie said, as the waiter moved away. “Maybe more for ladies, though.”
“Not me.” Dorothy shuddered. “You’re lucky, Mary Lee, mangos make me break out in awful hives.”
“That’s too bad,” Mary Lee said. “They give a lovely extra sweetness to things. I think mangos might even be the Florida state fruit.”
“Oranges are, actually,” Ernie said. “And, in case anyone is interested, the state pie is key lime. Wish they’d serve it here in the dining room sometime, instead of all the bread pudding and sugar-free Jell-O.”
Dorothy had to agree. The menu choices at Hibiscus Pointe were sadly limited. “So, Mary Lee, what is it that you wanted to tell us?”
Mary Lee scooted her chair closer to the table. Then she strategically moved the lily and snapdragon centerpiece slightly to the left, to block the view from the dining room doors.
Gracious, Dorothy thought. The woman was acting even more skittish than usual. Or maybe paranoid was a better word. Perhaps she’d had a few too many martinis already.
“You were saying, Mary Lee?” she prodded.
“Remember what we talked about this morning, after yoga?” Mary Lee glanced at Ernie.
“I mentioned it to him,” Dorothy said. “Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of Ernie, Mary Lee.”
Ernie nodded.
“Oh.” Mary Lee paused as the waiter brought her drink, and waited until he had left again. “Well, after our meeting, I told Gladys the same thing you did, Dorothy. That we should leave the detective work to the professionals. And she said she was always professional, and she’d hired a private eye before she got divorced, and she knew exactly how they operated.”
Dorothy and Ernie exchanged glances. “Well, that does sound like Gladys,” Dorothy said.
“I’m worried that she’ll get herself into trouble,” Mary Lee went on. “You know how Gladys can be a little...strong-willed at times.”
