Murder Under the Tree (10 page)

“Peanut butter? At the Home?” This was a bit too easy. But why would Chelsey lie about the peanut butter. I didn't know her, but if she was part of this murder, why bring up the peanut butter? I believed her. “Do you have the jar?” If someone had hidden the jar, there could be some fingerprints on it.

“No. But later in the morning, thinking it might be evidence, I went back, but it was gone.”

“Did you check all over?”

“I looked
all over
that cupboard.”

“In the trash?”

“Too late, if it was put in there. Today's garbage day.”

I pounded my fist on the dashboard. Another dead end. A piece of evidence that was gone before it could even play a part in the case. I glanced over at Chelsey. But it was enough to know that there was peanut butter at the scene of the crime, which I had been assured time and again, that there was no possibility that it could have been in the kitchen. Still, having the actual physical evidence in hand would have been a big break. I pulled over in front of a school and parked.

Chelsea gave me an incredulous stare. Her mouth fell open.

“Sorry.” I smiled. “I'm glad you told me about what you found. Did anyone see you looking in the cupboard?”

“There were others in the kitchen, but I don't think so.”

“Yesterday, you started telling me something and were interrupted.”

She bit at her lips. “Well...Les said something funny was going on at the Home.”

“Such as?”

Chelsey looked out her window and mumbled, “Concerning Nancy and some of the male residents.”

“Nancy?”

“Some kind of scam. He saw her cozying up to them.”

“What do you mean 'cozying up?’”

She rubbed her hands on her pants legs. “Just that some of the men were responding to Nancy. If you're lonely and getting special attention, if you know what I mean,” she cleared her throat, “you're not always thinking with your brain.”

I thought about the Christmas tea. How Nancy had smiled at Dr. Lee and then looked daggers at me. It could just be her personality, acting different around men. I'm glad she was out of Phil's band.

“Les once told me to keep my eyes open, and give him names if I noticed anything unusual.”

“You must have been close to Les for him to confide this to you...”

“We were best buds. Like this.” She crossed her fingers. “We started working at Hawthorne Hills the same day.”

“I keep thinking about Lola and Les...could she have possibly been jealous of your relationship with Les?”

“She was definitely the jealous type, although not of us. She knew we were just friends. I also think she knew that Les was never serious about her, which made her angry. She
hated it
that he took up with Viktor after her. Might have made her feel inadequate. Like it was her fault, something she did.”

I shook my head. I didn't know Les, but you can't help who you love.

“I didn't want to say anything last time I spoke with you, because Lola is better, but she had taken court ordered anger management classes and counseling at the clinic.”

“Court ordered? What did she do?”

“She purposely drove her car into a grocery store. Maybe they didn't give her double coupons that day. I don't know.”

“You're kidding me.”

“She said it was an accident. Her accelerator stuck. I heard someone said she had an insane smile on her face and then gunned her engine and jumped the curb.”

“And she passed the background check at Hawthorne Hills?”

“I don't know. Mrs. Driscoll...Kay, I know she had to pay damages and take the classes. I need to get back.”

While driving the two blocks back, I thought of how I would get into medical records at the clinic. And looking at Lola's medical records could be construed as unethical, but if it meant justice for Les?

When Chelsey said goodbye, a tear fell out of the corner of her eye. She closed the car door.

* * * *

I went to Saturday evening mass and had a quick bite to eat afterwards. Deirdre drove up the driveway at exactly seven o'clock.

We parked in front of the future home of Deirdre's herbal shop and carried buckets of saffron-colored paint into the building. The ladders and painting equipment were waiting for us. I knew Deirdre would follow certain guidelines, to draw the positive chi energy into her shop, enhancing her chances for success, but she hadn't told me those plans yet. We got down to work, poured paint into pans, and started rolling the color on the walls.

“I wonder what the story is on Robert,” Deirdre said, standing back and looking at her paint job. “I'm going to keep my third eye on him.”

We laughed.

“Elizabeth's impulsive. She doesn't look before she leaps,” I noted.

“I thought you said Elizabeth and John were getting engaged.”

“That's what Elizabeth said.” I told Deirdre about Elizabeth finding a receipt for an engagement ring.

“John hasn't mentioned anything to Elizabeth about marrying him? I hope she doesn't get hurt.”

I brought Deirdre up to date about what I had learned from Chelsey: the assigned trays, the peanut butter jar, and Les' suspicions about Nancy. I mentioned the list of suspects was growing and that most were women, but that after all, poison was often a woman’s recourse.

“You know something, I just had this flash. What if the murderer is someone from his past, not his present,” Deirdre said. “You should hold a seance to find out.” She then turned thoughtful. “But if the murderer was from his past, wouldn't someone have noticed a stranger at the Home?”

“Deirdre, the place was filled with strangers that day. When you think about it, it was a great day to act, to murder someone. The place was swarming.”

I moved the ladder over to paint a new patch of wall, thinking about the possible involvement of someone from Les' past in his murder, when my shoe landed smack in the pan of paint. “Oh shoot!”

Deirdre giggled.

“I never said I was good at this.” I took off my shoe and put it in a plastic bag that some brushes came in and continued. “At least we know the murder was premeditated since no one else died from 'the poison.’”

I poured more paint into the pan. “I wish the police would have had the opportunity to have taken fingerprints on the tray.”

“You could take something off the tray, spike it, and put it back without touching the tray itself,” Deirdre said. “I'm sure there were lots of prints on it, the dishwashers, Sheila's, the servers, the men at the table.”

“But what if they had found a set of fingerprints that had no reason to be on the tray?”

“Ah?”

We finished our first wall. “Kay, stand back and take a look at the wall.” I went towards the front of the store and then turned.

“It's a fabulous color! Very Eastern.”

“Imagine it with lots of great lighting and mirrors. Lots of mirrors!”

“I bet the lights will attract chi energy.” I wanted to be positive about her feng shui. “The shop will be beautiful, bright, and airy.”

“I'll hang a wind chime near the front entrance. It will attract positive chi energy.”

Guess I was wrong about the lights.

“The entrance faces East, so the door should be painted green.” Deirdre smiled and glowed. “I'm ecstatic with this. I can already feel the vibrant energy potential.”

“Should we start another wall?” I asked, thinking about my cold foot. I didn't want to disappoint Deirdre by asking to leave.

“Sounds good to me. I can't wait until this is done.”

I started to open a new can of paint.

“What should we do about Elizabeth and our new neighbor?” Deirdre asked. “Her approach to dealing with problems is to deny their existence.”

“True, but in this instance, I don't see a problem yet. You know lots of men are attracted to Elizabeth. She has John. She's talking marriage. We probably should leave well enough alone, for now.”

“I have this feeling about our new neighbor. He's holding something back...about himself. He's not who he seems to be. Like he is...displaced in time. I don't trust him.”

Okay, whatever that meant. I wiped some paint that had splashed on my face. My hands were a mess.

“I'm going to keep my eye on him, anyway,” she said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone pass by the front window. I looked out, and saw Robert, our new neighbor with a woman who looked like she was in her early forties. “Deirdre, come here...quick. You had but to speak his name: Robert is out front. Do you recognize the woman he's with?”

By the time Deirdre came to the window, the woman had already gotten into the passenger seat. “I didn't see her, Kay.”

“He must make friends fast. He just moved in yesterday,” I said.

We stayed until close to midnight finishing the second wall. One more night ought to do it...Phil's next practice night. Which would probably be tomorrow.

“Thanks, Kay.” We cleaned the brushes and rolls. Deirdre got a pair of boots out of her trunk for me to wear. We turned off the lights, locked up, and left.

As we drove home, I kept thinking about who the mystery woman was with our new neighbor. The new neighbor who had an obvious fascination with Elizabeth.

Sunday, December 28

I slept in, having stayed up late listening to music with Phil after coming home from an evening of painting. The day started off relaxing, drinking coffee with Phil over breakfast, listening to my Italian tapes when the phone rang.

It was Elizabeth. “Kay, Robert was here this morning. He just left.”

“What for?”

“To thank me for my muffins. He returned my basket filled with three kinds of biscotti that he had baked.”

And he just moved in. Maybe he bakes biscotti like Elizabeth bakes muffins. “Nice.” Too nice!

“Dark chocolate peppermint, cranberry pistachio, and almond. They're delicious. He's...he's,”

She better not say delicious.

“...a great addition to the neighborhood, don't you think?”

There was a long pause. “Kay, I'd like to get to know him and make him feel welcome, nothing more.”

Another long pause. “The chocolate peppermint biscotti sounds great. That was kind of him.”

“He asked me to lunch tomorrow. I'm working. He's going to come by the college and pick me up.”

I thought back to last night seeing Robert and another woman getting into his car. “What about John?”

“What about him, Kay? I'm only going out to lunch with a neighbor. Robert seems like a nice person.”

“You're right, Elizabeth. Sorry. Where are you going?”

“Not sure. I'll talk to you later. I have another call. Maybe it's
him
.”

They must have exchanged phone numbers. Poor John. On the other hand, this was an excellent opportunity for Elizabeth to find out more about Robert.

After unplugging the phone so I wouldn't be interrupted, I walked on the treadmill for thirty minutes. Thoughts of Viktor, Robert, and Lola flowed through my mind, making it impossible to concentrate on the audiobook,
Confessions of a Murderer
I was listening to for my book club in two weeks. I wondered if Viktor would be working on a Sunday. I needed to talk to him. And I decided I'd have to get into the medical records at the clinic to find out what I could about Lola and her anger management problems. It was a dilemma that I've been going back and forth about. But it was for justice. To what degree did she have trouble controlling her anger and rage? Enough to kill? After I finished walking, I made a phone call.

“Sarah, what's Viktor's position at the Home? And do you know what his full name is?”

“Viktor Petruska. He's the groundskeeper.”

“Do you happen to know where his office is?”

“He comes up out of the basement on the east wing when he heads out to the grounds. Why?”

I side-skirted that question with another. “How well do you know Anne Niven?”

“Considering I've only been here a month, not terribly. Why?”

“Do you think she was obsessed with Les? She mentioned about his flirting with women residents numerous times.”

“Anne must be thirty years older than Les. She's a writer, and she's always observing the behavior of others for her books. I doubt her interest is anything more than that.”

Even so, Anne still sounded a bit strange.

* * * *

Driving over to Hawthorne Hills, sliding much of the way, I hoped Viktor might know more about what was going on with Nancy.

Viktor was putting salt on the sidewalk near the street when I got out of my car and walked up to him. The sharp wind lent a ruddy glow to his cheeks. He had on an old, gray woolen jacket that had seen better days with a blue plaid scarf loosely wrapped around his neck.

“Hello, Mr. Petruska. My name is Kay Driscoll.”

“I remember.” He hesitated for a moment. “I always wanted to thank you, ma'am, for trying to help Les that day.” Viktor's
warm breath escaped from his mouth in concentric swirls and dissipated in the cold winter air.

“You tried as well. I'm so sorry about Les. Please call me Kay.”

“And you can call me Viktor.” We shook hands. He had a heavy accent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone go up the walkway to the entrance. I glanced over in that direction and saw Robert Peterson climbing the steps. Now what could he be doing here at Hawthorne Hills? He was already through the door before I had the chance to ask Viktor if he had ever seen Peterson here before.

“Viktor, is there somewhere we could talk? I wanted to ask you some questions about Les.”

“You a cop?”

“No.”

He glanced at his watch.
“It will take me a few minutes to finish here. Then we can go to my office.”

“I'll wait for you in the lobby,” I said quickly, wanting to see where Robert went.

I hustled into the building and looked around. No sign of Robert. A few residents walked through the lobby. Sheila was waiting by the elevator. She looked over at me before getting in. I went and sat down in the same armchair that I did the afternoon of the Christmas tea and looked up at the Christmas tree. The lights that Les fixed were still working.