Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (24 page)

Me too, but I wasn’t saying it out loud. “Does Thomas know about her?”

“He does now, and it’s one of the reasons I asked you here.”

My brain was smoking. Darren’s voice telling me just a few moments ago that he thought Thomas really loved Polly. . . If he found out she was the ex-wife of his partner after he had told her about the money, taking her into his confidence, he’d be livid. I would. “When did Thomas find out Polly’s ex
was
Thomas’s partner?”

“The day before Polly died in the gym accident.”

I picked up my mocha and took a big gulp. “That’s not looking too good for him.” I was thinking motive.

It niggled at me to tell her about Gertrude’s play in the whole thing. Still, nothing explained how Polly got into the gym that evening. I just couldn’t see Thomas or Gertrude letting her in. “You got any ideas on how Polly got herself into that gym? I was thinking maybe she had a key made for herself.”

“It would be hard for a resident to get a key, take it to have it copied, and get it back without the person missing it. You’re talking a good span of time.” Sue spread her hands. “Maybe someone left it unlocked for her?”

“Doubt it. She came into the cafeteria and made a scene to Otis. He left with her. I looked into that. Hilda Broumhild said he came right back.”

“I discovered that Polly did have quite the reputation as an exercise enthusiast. She made frequent use of the gym. Maybe she and Otis had a quiet agreement on the side, and he let her go in without supervision.”

“Still doesn’t make sense. He’d be downright foolish risking his job like that.”

Sue drained her cup dry. I gulped on my mocha a bit, thoughts swirling around enough to make me dizzy.

One thing stood out above all else. I still needed to have a look at those maintenance records for the treadmills. If I couldn’t find Otis to help me get those records, surely his secretary would know where they were kept. Or Chester. Gave me indigestion just thinking asking him for anything, but checking out that treadmill might give me a clue as to what to have the lab guy look for on the handlebars.

“I got a sample of the powder on the handles of the treadmill Polly fell off of and sent it to someone to analyze.”

Sue’s eyes went huge. “You don’t think
something was in
the cornstarch stuff they use?”

“It was my husband’s idea that it could be something besides baby powder.” I saw no good reason to let her know Mitzi had been spouting poems to me. She probably wouldn’t believe Mitzi could have seen something anyhow. “Found powder stuff all over the floor and even in
. . .
”

A lightbulb popped in my head.

Sue Mie’s lips were moving, as if she hadn’t heard me at all. “The treadmills had been switched. Mitzi’s rhyme seemed to say that.”

And here I thought I was the only one Mitzi spouted those poems to. It gave me a nice boost of courage though to think Sue Mie thought Mitzi’s poems might be meaning something.

She kept on talking. “I’m guessing that Mitzi saw the person dragging the treadmill through that back hallway onto the elevator. It would make sense. He or she wouldn’t be seen that way.”

Hallway? “You saying that door by that service elevator is a hallway?”

“Sure, it runs from Otis Payne’s office and behind the gym. It even has a bathroom, which I think is Mr. Payne’s private domain, although I’m sure his secretary uses it as well.”

“You ever check out that hallway after Polly’s fall?”

Sue’s eyes flashed a question. “I really hadn’t thought of that. I just saw it as a way for someone covering a crime to get the treadmill out of there without having to use the front entrance to the gym.”

“You have a key to it?”

“No, but I’m sure Mr. Payne or his secretary or a cleaning person would.”

I had to look in on that hallway real soon.

Sue Mie tapped her chin. “When I saw that treadmill in the storage room, I was sure Mitzi was right.”

“Chester let you in there?”

“He was one of the reasons I felt like Mitzi’s poem really meant something. Chester told me I had to sign out anything I took from the storage room. Mr. Payne’s orders.”

“Hmph.”

Sue nodded. “I’d never heard of that rule before, and I’ve been into the storage area plenty of times.”

Maybe she was onto something, but I’d better get out what had gone through my head a minute ago before Sue’s talking made me forget. “That powder stuff we was just talking about. It was in the trashcan the day Otis let me in to the gym to examine Polly.”

She wasn’t following me. I could just tell by the look on her face.”

“Meaning someone dumped the powder in the trash,” I added.

“Maybe they do that every night.”

I didn’t want to admit defeat here, but Sue Mie was pulling me down.

“What if we’re wrong about all this?” she asked.

“Then, honey, we’re gonna be rolling the crust,
putting in the
filling, and eating humble pie.”

We decided Sue Mie was going to look into Polly’s health records and find out what prescriptions she’d been on, if any. The maintenance records were mine to investigate. We were set to compare notes the following evening at The Nuthouse.

Hardy and I rounded up our group of singers and had quite a choir going on in the main common area for a good while. We sang song after song, with seven sopranos, three altos, and a couple of men who did decent tenors, and two basses who knew their stuff. At one point, even the nighttime staff got in on the action. Chester came by, a scowl on his face, dragging a trash bag.

“Singing’s good for the soul
.
” I beamed good nature and love. “Join us.”

“I’m doing my job. Got trash to take out for tomorrow’s pick up,” he said, his expression clearly relaying the message to the other two cleaning ladies who’d joined us minutes before that they were being lazy.

“You leave these ladies alone. They were hard at work and will be again afterwhile. Might as well enjoy themselves a few minutes.”

Chester glared hard at me. I lasered him right back.

He rustled his bag and punched the elevator button, his back to me as he waited.

Singing was good for those who had a soul. Chester left me wondering. Lord forgive me.

Hardy sent me a tired look that let me know the bed was calling him, so I wrapped up our night with Battle Hymn of the Republic. Might as well stir some patriotism.

Sally and Mary were among the half-dozen of us left at that point. I thought we’d lose them completely the last song as they fussed over a small man in a wheelchair. The redheaded nurse who’d helped Manny Wilkins in the library the other day stood close to the man’s side. On occasion the man would grimace, but wave off the nurse when she tried to help. Sally and Mary both tried to help him too, but he shook his head hard.

He seemed to settle down after
a
while, and Mary, following Sally’s example, got back into the song until the last note died away and Hardy stood up. We all broke out and applauded one another. A low moan turned heads in the direction of the man in the wheelchair. Mary leaned over him as he desperately pressed a button connected to the arm of his wheelchair.

I made tracks toward them. Nurse Ane leaned over the man. “George? You still in pain?”

Sally leaned toward me. “Mr. Hendricks has terminal cancer.”

My heart fell to my feet, my thoughts turning to our little Sara.

The nurse spoke with Mr. Hendricks for a while, then put in her own call before she wheeled Mr. Hendricks in the direction of the nursing unit.

Sally comforted a teary Mary as they headed toward the elevators. So much sorrow.

Beside me, Hardy yawned and gave a gentle tug on my hand. “You wanting to go play Eskimo with me?”

I glanced at the wall clock, suprised to find it was only eight thirty. “A little early yet. Momma went up with Darren, why don’t you go check on her?”

“You trying to get rid of me?”
H
e pouted.

Maybe it was the caffeine from the mocha making me suddenly restless. Sue might have forgotten to order me decaf. “I got to think.”

“I’m not so tired I can’t think with you.”

“You just got through yawning big enough to swallow a turkey whole and you’re telling me you’re not tired?”

“Some, but as long as we’re moving around, I’ll stay awake.” He held out his hand to me. “Come on and let’s take a walk.”

“You’re forgetting I already hauled myself down to that coffee shop. If I walk anymore, the friction from my thighs is gonna catch me on fire.”

He wagged his eyebrows. “Then we’ll find us a spot to stop and rest.”

I knew what he was thinking. “We’re a little old to be caught making out on a park bench.”

His eyes glittered at me. “We’re all legal-like to do it.”

“You’re like a snake weaving at me back and forth, trying out your charms.”

“Hoping my best gal will relax and have some fun.”

He gave one last tug on my hand that sent my reluctant feet into motion. He pulled me along, giving me a good view of his scrawny form and hiked britches. I grinned. He was cute as a June bug.

I hadn’t given one thought to the cool breeze on the evening air on my way to meet Sue Mie, my mind overloaded with this mystery. Hardy was right, I needed to relax a bit, and every now and again I let him be right.

We walked hand-in-hand for a while, on the sidewalks that led around Bridgeton Towers. Each breath of the breeze on my skin made me grateful he’d brought me on the walk
,
and I tucked him closer under my arm.

“You still thinking on that restaurant?”

He nodded. “Yup.”

“We’d make a good pair.”

“Have made one for all these years.”

“What about visiting our grandchildren? Can’t do that and own a restaurant.”

“Might have to hire someone extra.”

We didn’t talk for a while. Hardy slid out from under my arm and grabbed my hand again, walking faster. It took me a minute to see what had him in high gear. A bench. Straight ahead. One track mind.

The night breezes stirred as he steamrolled us toward the seat. My nose caught
a
whiff of something bad. Hardy stopped stock still, head cocked, nose sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

“Coming from over there.” A white fence cordoned off an area connected to Bridgeton Towers, a little driveway led away from it and disappeared behind the building.

“Here I thought it was you,” I said.

He bared his tooth. “Not this time.” He wagged his hind end down on the seat and put his arm along the back of the bench. What ever had gotten into him, I needed to make good and sure to shake it out of him. He was wearing me out with all that energy.

I didn’t get the chance to sit down though. A scraping sound caught my ears, along with a flow of words not fit to repeat. The sound died. Then started again
,
accompanied by another string of bad vocabulary. Hardy was looking in the direction of the fence.

“What do you think’s going on?”

Hardy hiked himself up and ran over to the locked door along the fence. “Need any help in there?”

“Get out of here.”

Voice sounded mighty cranky but familiar. Chester’s voice. What was he doing?

Not another sound came from the other side of the fence, and the boards were alternated to make it hard to see through, especially with night coming on.

I put my fingers to my lips and pointed up, then cupped my hands. Hardy’s face broke into a huge grin
,
but
he
shook his head. Then he faced the fence, hand working its way into his back pocket, slow but as sure as it could with his pants so tight. He withdrew a pocket knife, unfolded the blade, and made his way real slow-like down the length of the fence, studying it real hard.

When he began digging at a place in one of the boards, I understood. The knothole popped out into his hand and he glued his eye to the new peephole. For a long time. Too long, to my way of thinking. I finally tapped on his shoulder and scowled my impatience at him. He returned his eye to the hole for only a second, then wedged the knot back into place, grabbed my hand, and hustled me away from the fence.