Pineapple Pack III

by Amy Vansant

  Mina stepped into the hall where she could look into the puppy room and Kimber’s room at the same time.

  No more puppies. No more Kimber.

  What am I going to do with all my free time?

  She was about to fetch her cleaning gloves when she heard it.

  A groan.

  She spun on her rubber heel and saw Kimber’s hand move.

  She gasped.

  He’s alive.

  Chapter Two

  Charlotte elbowed her way through the Pineapple Port post-holiday “Swap and Sell” crowd to find Mariska standing at her jelly and relishes table, making change for a customer. Mariska’s normally perfectly poofed hair had wilted, flopping across her glistening forehead like a forgotten August flower.

  Someone had had the clever idea of running a post-holiday bazaar to help the residents unload the things they’d received that they didn’t want. It hadn’t hit anyone until it was too late that presents gifted between the residents would end up on the tables, too. Now half the group sat steaming, glaring at the other half and the Christmas tree mugs and snowman tea cozies they’d gifted them.

  None of the themed gifts bore any resemblance to the holidays Charlotte had known in Florida. It was December twenty-ninth and she wore a spaghetti-strap tank top sprinkled with palm leaves, not snowflakes. Outside, it was eighty degrees.

  “I can’t believe you’re still here. You’re usually sold out by noon,” said Charlotte.

  Mariska motioned to a last loaf of bread on her table, its powdered sugar top visible through a festive green wrapping. “My jellies have been gone for an hour. I’ve been trying to sell Alice’s fruit stollens. They’re less popular after Christmas.”

  “She wasn’t feeling up to selling?”

  “No. That poor woman is in so much pain. Much worse than last year. I don’t know how she does it.”

  Charlotte made a tsking noise. Severe arthritis and complications from lupus made each holiday tougher than the last for Alice. Whenever she baked one of her famous stollens, she chose one resident to serve as her ‘bread elf,’ a person to help her bake the breads, following her exacting instructions. But until this event, she’d always mustered the strength to sit behind a sales table.

  Mariska poked the last loaf toward the edge of the table, nudging it half an inch closer to the potential buyers. “Without her here, the bread doesn’t move.”

  “And stollen has an acquired taste.”

  Mariska smiled, her shoulders waggling as she lifted her chin. “Not like my jellies. Everyone loves my jellies.”

  Charlotte spotted ‘Mac’ MacBrady, Pineapple Port’s retired Boston firefighter approaching. Mac was a tan, muscular man in his late fifties who’d had the local ladies swooning since his arrival, much to the amusement of his wife, Kelly. Kelly was selling only Irish soda bread at her own table—not unwanted gifts. Poison stares in her direction had less to do with rejected presents and more to do with jealousy over her handsome hubby.

  “I’m going to buy your last loaf,” said Mac, arriving tableside. “I need something different. If I have to eat another slice of soda bread I’m going to hang myself.”

  “Is fruit stollen a thing in Boston?” asked Charlotte.

  Mac shrugged. “Sure. In the German neighborhoods. I love it. I like it with butter, but right now I’m so hungry I think I’ll eat it here. Kelly tricked me into helping with setup and breakdown, so I’m stuck here for a while.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Well, we all feel safer having you here. You never know when a jar of Jalapeno jelly might burst into flames.”

  “My jelly would never do that,” muttered Mariska.

  Mac presented his money as Mariska passed him the last loaf. “I heard sirens a little bit ago. Was that a fire?”

  Mac shook his head as he unwrapped the bread. “Ambulance.”

  “In Pineapple Port?”

  He shrugged and spoke between bites, sugar powdering his lips. “Your guess is as good as mine. Kelly bet me twenty bucks I couldn’t go a week without listening to the emergency scanners and I’m gonna win.”

  “Old habits die hard,” said Charlotte, but her mind was already occupied worrying about the sirens. The average twenty-seven-year-old rarely had to worry about ambulance sirens, but Charlotte had been orphaned as a child and sent to live with her grandmother in Pineapple Port. When her grandmother died soon after, Mariska and the rest of the retirement community had unofficially adopted her, allowing her to remain in her grandmother’s home and out of the orphanage. She knew from years of experience that sirens were never a good thing in a retirement community.

  “Did you hear?” Mariska’s best friend, Darla, appeared, craning her neck to peek around Mac.

  “Where’d you come from? Why do you look so flustered?” asked Charlotte.

  Darla nudged Mac aside with her hip to get a spot at the table. “I ran from my car. It’s Alice.”

  Mariska perked and waved a few dollar bills in front of Darla’s nose. “Let her know I just sold her last fruit stollen.”

  “That’s the least of her worries.”

  Mariska frowned. “Why? It took me—”

  Darla put her hand on Mariska’s. “Sweetheart, Alice just died. They found her at home slumped over one of her own stollens.”

  Mariska gasped. “You’re kidding.”

  Darla shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “Did she choke? How did she die? How did you hear about it?” asked Charlotte.

  “Frank told me,” said Darla, invoking the name of her Sheriff husband. “They don’t know how she died yet. He said she doesn’t look right, though. Little green around the gills or something.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Darla shrugged. “They don’t think she choked.”

  “Heart attack?” asked Mariska, clearly preparing to run through the usual list of culprits.

  “Or poison,” said Darla in a stage whisper.

  “Poison?”

  The three ladies turned to stare at Mac, who froze, mid-chew, staring back at them from above the stollen positioned at his lips.

  “Poison?” he mumbled, his mouth full. He glanced at the chunk of bread remaining in his hand. “Excuse me a minute.”

  As he strode back into the crowd, Charlotte watched him spit the bread he’d been chewing into his hand.

  Mariska slapped Darla’s arm to get her attention. “I sold every last one of those stollens. Are you trying to tell me I might have poisoned everyone?”

  Darla huffed. “Why do you think I ran here? I wanted to stop you from selling them just in case.”

  Charlotte frowned. Alice had been ill for a long time. Chances were good she’d died of natural causes. “Did Frank actually say anything about poison?”

  “Only that she looked like her face was bloated or something. Or green. I forget the exact words he used. I just remember thinking, that sounds like poison.”

  “Why would anyone poison Alice?” asked Mariska.

  Darla squinted. “You tell us. You were her elf. You made the stollen.”

  Mariska’s eyes popped wide. “I didn’t poison her.”

  “I wasn’t saying that. I was just kidding.”

  “It’s not funny.” Mariska shook her head so hard her dangling Christmas bell earrings chimed.

  “What do you think we should do?” Darla tapped her front teeth with her fingernail while she waited for an answer.

  Charlotte glanced up at the recreation center’s stage, where a microphone used for the morning’s announcements still stood. “I’ll jump up there and ask everyone with a fruit cake to return them. Just in case.”

  Mariska rested her head in her palm. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Charlotte tried to leave, but Darla grasped her wrist and held her in place. “Charlotte, wait. Make sure you say fruit stollen. Tara sells fruit cake. If you tell people the fruit cake is poisoned, she’ll have a conniption.”

  Charlotte sighed. Living in Pine
apple Port was a little like being trapped in high school forever.

  “Good point. Okay.”

  She again tried to make her way to the stage, only to have Darla jerk her back once more.

  “Come to think of it, if you tell anyone anything is poisoned, there’ll be panic. Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  Charlotte frowned. “What am I supposed to do? Stand up there and tell them we accidentally put gluten in them?”

  Mariska sniffed. “Gluten isn’t a real thing.”

  “It’s like global warming,” agreed Darla.

  Charlotte glowered at her. “Darla, I swear. I thought we had come to an agreement. Global warming is a thing.”

  Darla waved her away. “I know, I know. We don’t have time to talk about stranded polar bears now. There are people walking around here with poisoned fruit cakes.”

  “Stollens,” stressed Mariska. “But I didn’t do it. Make sure you say that, too.”

  Charlotte rubbed her temples with one hand. She had to retrieve the stollens and avoid mass hysteria. Once, someone had confessed to accidently leaving one of the bingo balls out of the cage on bingo night and the residents nearly rioted. Implying poisoned stollens would have people apoplectic with hypochondria.

  Slipping from Darla’s grasp, Charlotte jogged up the stairs to the microphone, flipped the switch and heard the speakers crackle as she tapped the mike’s wire mesh. The crowd’s gazes swiveled in her direction.

  “Attention...um...attention. If you bought a fruit stollen today from Mariska—”

  “Why’d she have to say my name?” moaned Mariska, somewhere below her.

  Charlotte continued. “Um, we need you to return them. The stollens. We used salt instead of sugar.”

  “I would never do such a thing,” hissed Mariska.

  “Will we get a refund?” asked a voice from the crowd.

  “Yes. Full refund,” said Charlotte.

  Mariska moaned again.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte slipped under the crime tape looped across Alice’s doorway and entered the house. There was no sign of Alice. A plate sat on the table without a crumb on it. Sheriff Frank stood nearby, supervising as his deputies carefully placed a box of muffins into an evidence bag.

  “Those are store-bought muffins,” said Charlotte.

  Frank turned to look at her, his thumbs hanging in his belt. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was at the Swap and Sell. I got here as soon as I could.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re a private investigator, not a cop. We weren’t waiting on you.”

  Frank’s tone sounded gruff, but his eyes betrayed his amusement at seeing her. Charlotte had only recently received her detective’s license, having earned it with Frank’s help. She knew he’d learned the hard way she liked to stick her nose into anything that sounded like a potential investigation.

  She shrugged. “I thought I’d come help.”

  “Great. I’ll let the boys know they can head back to the station. You’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked away and then turned back. “Hey, Mariska with you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Neighbor said she was here earlier.”

  “She probably was, picking up the stollens from Alice for the Swap.”

  “She was Bread Elf?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah. That ticks that off my list. Thanks.”

  “Are you saying I’m useful?” Charlotte cocked her head as her self-satisfied smile began to fade. “Wait, are you saying Mariska is a person of interest?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, but technically, yes.”

  “If you tell her that, she’s going to have a heart attack.”

  “I’ll tell her I’ll be sure the guards treat her well in prison.”

  Charlotte slapped his arm. “You’re terrible.” A high-pitched whining caught Charlotte’s attention and she turned towards it. A cardboard box sat in the corner and she leaned forward to peer inside.

  A puppy with rust and black fur exploding in jagged points from its face stared back at her. It yipped.

  “Why is there a puppy here?” asked Charlotte scooping the adorable ball of fur into her arms.

  Frank shrugged. “Guess it was a Christmas present.”

  “So cute.” Charlotte nuzzled it as it licked her face. “Oof. Puppy breath, though. Yikes.”

  She walked the dog to the table and stared at the empty plate. “So you think it really was the stollen? It was poisoned? You should take this plate too. It might be coated with something.”

  Frank frowned. “First off, we’re going to take the plate, Sherlock. Second, who said the stollen was poisoned?”

  “Darla.”

  Charlotte watched Frank’s jaw clench.

  “That woman couldn’t keep her mouth shut if it was wired. I never said Alice was poisoned.”

  “She said you said it looked suspicious.”

  “I said her face looked funny. Bloated maybe.” He waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know. I’m not a damn toxicologist. Right now we’re just wrapping up everything she might have eaten.”

  “But you found her here? At the table?”

  Frank nodded. “She was slumped here, halfway through a piece of stollen.”

  “So if she was poisoned, the stollen is the obvious culprit.”

  “Sure, but no one ever said she was poisoned. Who would poison Alice? Give Darla another ten minutes and she’ll be telling people it could have been alien abduction.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Did she have anything to drink? Coffee?”

  “Tea. And yes, we took that too. Cup and all.”

  Charlotte strolled around the house, shifting the puppy from arm to arm to keep it from squirming away, allowing her gaze to sweep across the counters and tabletops, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

  “There’s no puppy stuff.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s no puppy stuff,” Charlotte repeated, checking the kitchen to be sure.

  “It was in the box. It probably did its business in there.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Not that kind of puppy stuff. I mean when you get a new puppy, don’t you buy bowls and collars and food and whatnot?”

  “I suppose.” Frank turned to look at the box the puppy had been in. “Maybe she’d just bought it. It was still in the box.”

  “You’re making it sound like she had it shipped from Amazon.” The pup made a leap to escape to the ground and Charlotte wrestled it back to her chest.

  “They sell everything else,” muttered Frank. “Last week Darla ordered a zombie garden gnome for the yard. Who comes up with this stuff?”

  “Actually, the box brings up a good point. It means she was out of the house picking up the puppy, doesn’t it? That opens up a million other ways she could have been poisoned.”

  “Again, I never said she was poisoned.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Maybe someone brought the dog to her.”

  “That would mean someone was here, and you have another suspect.”

  Frank’s lower teeth dragged at the ends of his mustache as he stared at her. “You want me to pack up and just let you finish up here?”

  Charlotte grinned. “No. Just trying to be helpful.”

  Frank grunted and jotted something on the notepad he kept in his back pocket.

  Charlotte peeked into the bedroom and spotted half a dozen pill bottles by the bed. “I hate to say it, but I’m kind of happy for her.”

  Frank’s brow knit. “Who? Alice?”

  Charlotte nodded. “You couldn’t say her name without someone mentioning how much pain she was in. Maybe her death is a blessing.”

  Frank nodded. “By all accounts she was one of the nicest, bravest little ladies in the neighborhood. Didn’t deserve half of what life dealt her.”

  “True. And who would want to poison her?”

  The corners of Frank’s musta
che drooped as he looked away, drawing Charlotte’s curiosity. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking about Alice’s mouth. I’ll admit, I don’t think it was the lupus that did her in. Paramedics said her tongue was swollen and she probably died of ana—ana—”

  “Anaphalaxis?”

  Frank nodded. “That one.”

  “Who found her?”

  “Crystal.”

  Charlotte scowled at the mention of Alice’s granddaughter. The young woman had been freeloading at her grandmother’s house, living off her social security and teacher’s pension checks for months.

  “I almost forgot about her. Where is she? Was she here when Alice died?”

  Frank shook his head. “She was working. Came home for lunch.”

  “You think she might have had something to do with it?”

  “Nah. Why would she kill her own grandmother, let alone her meal ticket? Alice was probably worth more alive than dead.” Frank hung his thumbs in his belt and seemed to chew on his last thought. “Probably. Crystal’s a piece of work, though. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind she might have gotten tired of waiting.”

  “For an inheritance?”

  “Yup.”

  “But you don’t think there’s a chance all the stollen was poisoned, do you? We bought back what Mariska sold at the bazaar, but we were one short in the count and I’m a little worried about it.”

  “Hm.”

  “Maybe I should start knocking on doors, just in case? Or I could keep an eye on Mac. He’d eaten most of one before we—”

  Charlotte cut short as Frank’s phone rang. He answered it while she grappled to keep the puppy’s razor sharp teeth away from her lips. For some reason the little squirt seemed to be interested in biting them off.

  “Frank here. What? You sure? All right, keep her there a bit longer. I’m on my way.” Frank hung up. “Nuts.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Charlotte.

  “That’s what’s wrong. Nuts. Crystal says her grandmother had a nut allergy. They checked the stollen and think they smelled pecans, but they couldn’t actually find any. They’re having someone test it now.”

  “Don’t stollens always have nuts?”