A Taste of Death

by Suzanne Rossi

  Rose’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.

  “How does that sound to you, Anne?”

  “What? I’m sorry, I was thinking. How does what sound?”

  “You put out an announcement on the chapter e-mail loop about Fran, and we hold an emergency board meeting to see who takes her place on the board. According to the by-laws, the past president sits on the board for a year in a non-voting position as a kind of liaison. Technically, Fran should be replaced,” Rose said.

  “Oh crap, I forgot about that. I suppose the best thing to do would be to ask the previous president to do it.”

  “I’m not even sure who that is,” Nancy stated. “The one before Fran, Carol Peters, moved away as did the one before her. I think Luella Cranston did the honors before that.”

  “I’ll check when I get home. I hope I can pull off a sincere message for the loop. Praising Fran might be an impossible task for me. If I lavish too much, everyone will know I’m lying.”

  Rose patted her hand. “You’re very diplomatic. You’ll do just fine.”

  Their food arrived and the conversation ceased.

  Anne picked at her salad and tried to form the beginning of her announcement. No matter how she mentally structured the statement, it sounded cold. Surely there was some way to word the statement that sounded both sincere and warm at the same time.

  She sipped the last of her wine, and hoped Fran’s death would be called accidental. But deep down, she was certain it wasn’t.

  ****

  Anne entered her house and met her daughter, Lisa, in the kitchen.

  “Hi Mom, how was the meeting?”

  She wasn’t sure how much to tell Lisa. At thirteen, the kid knew what was what. However, did she want to burden her with the full truth?

  Inhaling a deep sigh, Anne compromised. “Awful! Fran Harrison passed away right in front of everyone. Something she ate, I think.”

  Lisa stopped pouring her soft drink and stared. “Are you kidding? What? She like choked?”

  “She was certainly blue enough. Nobody could revive her, not even a doctor or the paramedics. Really frightening.”

  “Wow, that must have been horrible to watch. Wasn’t she the woman you ran against for president?”

  “Yes.” She hoped this explanation sufficed.

  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Her daughter resumed pouring her drink into an ice-filled glass. “I just asked considering your track record with death.”

  Anne bit her lip. “I assume we’ll know the full circumstances soon. By the way, Gil and I are going out for dinner tonight, so you and Ken are on your own.”

  “Which means he’ll want pizza and I’ll want Chinese. Brothers are a pain.”

  Lisa made a face and left the room.

  Heaving another huge sigh, Anne trudged upstairs, closed the door of her bedroom, and pulled her cell from her purse. Plopping down on the chaise in the corner of the room, she called Jen.

  “Hey Anne, how was your first day as prez?”

  “Not the best.” She gave Jen the news.

  “Holy shit! Was it like a heart attack?”

  She spent the next ten minutes telling her friend the details and her suspicions.

  “A peanut allergy? I sort of remember her reaction when I offered her some one day in the bar at the conference. She backed off like I held a sword to her chest. Did anyone check her purse for an injection pen?”

  “A what?”

  “A lot of people who are highly allergic often carry an injection pen with them, just in case, although I think that may be more apropos for insect stings like from a bee. I mean, if you go out to eat and have a severe allergy to some kind of food, then it makes sense to tell the waiter about that allergy, so maybe she didn’t have one with her.”

  Anne almost ran out of breath listening to Jen who tended to talk in long sentences.

  “To the best of my knowledge, no one did. Not even the paramedics.”

  “And you think it may have been deliberate?”

  “I don’t know, but Gil took samples of the food from both Fran’s plate and others.”

  “Gil was there? If he was called in, then someone must suspect murder.”

  She explained how Gil had come to be there and how Jane swore she was served by a man, not a woman.

  “Sounds like a job for the Snoop Group,” Jen said. “What a shame I won’t be there to help.”

  “I may have to take an interest in the case, since I’m the chapter president, but Susan was there and made accusations.”

  Her friend made a rude snorting noise over the phone. “Screw Susan Lynch! And I’m sure no one thinks you did it—if it turns out to be murder.”

  “I suppose, but it’s still upsetting.” Anne changed the subject. “How’s your mother?”

  Jen rattled on about her mother’s surgery and recovery before they ended the call. Bottom line—Jen might be home by late next week.

  Anne rested in the chaise and thought about what her critique partner had said regarding an injection pen. She assumed it contained some sort of hypodermic pre-filled with a specific amount of a drug to counteract the allergy. But if Fran possessed one, why didn’t she reach for her purse when the attack began?

  Because the dose was so massive, she didn’t have time?

  And she didn’t remember seeing a purse or anything like that near Fran at the meeting. Could someone have removed it? She made a mental note to ask Gil tonight.

  ****

  Since Anne had no idea where she and Gil were dining, she kept her wardrobe choice casual—a pair a black denim Capri pants, an aqua tank top, and bronze-colored sandals. Inspecting her reflection in a mirror, she decided she looked pretty damned good. A recent haircut had taken her shoulder length auburn hair to a sleek, asymmetrical short bob. It took some getting used to. Change was not often in her vocabulary, but the last six months had given her incentive—both professionally and personally.

  Three months ago, her agent had presented her with a contract from a small press on her latest vampire story. It might be her last. Her old publisher who specialized in the subgenre had not shown any interest in more of her work. The realization she was dropped hurt like hell, but at the same time gave her the impetus to move on. Her work in progress was a total departure into the world of romantic suspense. Plus, she was seriously dating a cop, which gave her a leg up on research regarding police procedures.

  She was heading downstairs when the doorbell rang. Both of her kids raced through the foyer to answer.

  “Ha! Pizza!” Ken exclaimed giving his sister a wicked grin.

  “My General Tso’s Chicken won’t be far behind.”

  Ken paid and tipped the delivery person with money Anne had left on the hall table and carted the box toward the kitchen. Her daughter took up a position by the sidelight to watch for her Chinese order.

  “What time is Gil picking you up?”

  “Around seven. What are you and Ken going to do—besides eat, I mean?”

  Lisa shrugged. “I may read. I picked up some home decorating magazines when I was visiting Dad the last time.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Gil’s here.” Lisa opened the door. “Hi, Gil, how’s it going?”

  Gil stepped into the foyer. “Hi, Lisa. Things are fine. And you?”

  “It’ll be great as soon as my dinner arrives.”

  He looked over to Anne. “And speaking of dinner, are you ready?”

  “More than ready. I didn’t eat much at lunch.” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “How about Harbor Lights?” he said naming a popular restaurant on the beach. “It might be a little crowded on a Saturday, but nothing like during season.”

  “Sounds fun. I haven’t been there in a long time. Maybe we can take in a movie later.” She turned to Lisa. “Try to get along with your brother.”

  “I wil
l, and you be good,” she said with a grin at both of them.

  ****

  Anne settled into a cozy booth at Harbor Lights with a wonderful view of the ocean. The drive over had taken less than ten minutes, so the conversation had been general. Now, with Gil finally seated across from her, she could ask the questions burning a hole in her tongue.

  “Any news yet about the food samples you sent in?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I requested a fast track, but it’s the weekend. May not get it until Monday.”

  “But you’re thinking this was no accident, aren’t you?”

  “If it hadn’t been for the one lady insisting she’d been served by a man, I’d pass it off as just that. However, it’s best to play it safe.”

  “I called Jen this afternoon with the news. She said that people who are allergic to things often carry a hypodermic with an antigen in it. Did Fran have one in her purse?”

  “I never saw a purse. Maybe the paramedics took it with them or the officers. Could be one of the other ladies picked it up.” Gil frowned and slid from the booth. “I’ll go check. Order me a vodka and tonic if the waiter comes. Be right back.”

  The waiter appeared shortly after Gil had left. She placed his drink order along with her choice of white wine. The drinks arrived at the same time Gil returned.

  “Well?” she asked taking a sip from her glass.

  “The officers do not have a purse belonging to Ms. Harrison. Neither do the paramedics—and they said the doctor who assisted them at the hotel never showed at the hospital to fill out the paperwork, so we’ll definitely need her address and such.” He took a long swallow of his drink. “Now, I’m tired of discussing murder and mayhem across the dinner table. I’d rather concentrate on you. By the way, you look fabulous. Those pants or whatever they’re called are delightfully tight in all the right places, and that top shows just enough to make me curious.”

  Anne had to suppress a giggle. Gil did this to her all the time. His comments made her feel young, sexy, and desirable. A melting sensation slipped over her. Forget dinner. She wanted Gil. She bit back a sigh. Later.

  When the waiter came back, they ordered—grouper for her and surf and turf with lobster for him. The conversation veered toward family and her work.

  “How’s the new book coming?” he asked.

  “It’s amazing at how fast I cranked this one out. Took only eight weeks from start to finish. It’s going through critique at the moment. So far, the group likes it. Thanks for your help with the technical points of a police investigation. They helped.”

  “My pleasure. Mention me in the dedication.” He grinned as their food arrived. “What’s the title again?”

  “Conferences Can Kill You, but that may change. I’m still not sure if to keep it under my own name and brand or to use a pseudonym.”

  Gil’s eyebrows rose. “Conferences? As in dead agents?”

  “Yep. They say to write what you know, and I certainly know about dead agents.”

  The meal was delicious and Anne couldn’t resist the vanilla ice cream with both chocolate and caramel sauce. But as she ate, the tug of desire reappeared. He sipped his coffee and smiled.

  “So are you really interested in a movie?”

  “Nope.” She popped a spoonful of ice cream and gooey sauce into her mouth, then slowly removed the spoon.

  Gil stared. “Your kids are home, but I’m all alone.”

  “I’ve got a remedy for that.”

  His smile widened. “But you promised your daughter you’d be good.”

  She dipped the spoon into the caramel and licked it clean with slow lapping motions, all the while returning his stare.

  “I plan to be good. I plan to be very, very, good.”

  He took a deep breath and signaled the waiter. “Check, please!”

  Anne inwardly chuckled.

  The trip to his house took under fifteen minutes. It took even less time for their clothing to hit the floor and for them to hit the bed.

  “God, you’re gorgeous. Gorgeous and sexy,” he whispered, his hand caressing her shoulder.

  “So are you.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “You are to me, and that’s all that counts.”

  Then he kissed her, letting his actions speak for him.

  An hour later they were redressed and cuddling on his sofa in the living room.

  “So what movie did we see—if Lisa wants to know?” he asked as his lips found her temple.

  “I noticed that the Vintage Movies Theater in the mall was showing Casablanca. I can recite the dialogue.”

  He chuckled. “What a tangled web we weave…”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  His phone rang. “Collins here…That was quick…I see…What about the rest of the samples…All right, that works for me. Have to wait for the autopsy results anyway. Thanks.”

  He hung up and stared at Anne with a serious expression. Her stomach fluttered and her heart thudded in her chest. This was not good news.

  “That was Gilson at the lab. He analyzed the remains of Ms. Harrison’s food. Definitely ground peanuts. Lots and lots of them.”

  Chapter Four

  Anne banged her fist on the arm of the sofa. “I knew it! I just knew it. What about the rest of the food?”

  Gil shook his head and set his phone on the end table. “Don’t know yet. Gilson analyzed Ms. Harrison’s food first knowing I wanted the information as soon as possible. He just checked for peanuts—nothing else.”

  “And if the rest of the food is peanut-free, then we can assume this is murder.”

  “Unless she did it herself.”

  Anne sat up and stared. “Suicide? Fran? No way in Hell. She was much too fond of herself to do something like that. And besides, who commits suicide by anaphylactic shock? That’s bizarre.”

  “Most of the bodies you deal with come under that heading—or at least the circumstances of your finding them do, not to mention the motives.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “What would be the motive here? Fran was an embittered pain in the ass. She really wanted to remain as president of the chapter. I certainly didn’t do it. She’d have more of a motive for killing me than the other way around.”

  “No one is suggesting you had anything to do with it.”

  “I’m sure Susan Lynch would disagree with you.”

  He sighed. “That woman needs to have her lips sewn shut. One of these days she’s going to get sued for slander.”

  His phone rang again. “Now what?” he muttered as he answered. “Collins here…Oh really, that’s interesting. Don’t mess with anything and I’ll be there shortly. Thanks.”

  “I guess that conversation means the evening’s over.”

  “That was the hotel. Seems a cleaning woman found Ms. Harrison’s purse hanging on the back on one of the stall doors in an out of the way restroom off the lobby.”

  “You’re kidding. What was it doing there?”

  Gil kissed her temple and rose. “That’s what I’m about to find out. I’ll run you home first.”

  Anne also stood. “Can’t I come with you?”

  “I guess it won’t hurt, but let me do the talking.”

  “No problem. How did the hotel know to call you? You’re homicide.”

  “I spread my business cards around this afternoon after you left.”

  “Which means you suspected Fran was murdered.”

  “It means I was being proactive.”

  “I hate that word.”

  “So do I. Are you ready to go?” he asked in an impatient tone.

  “I’m ready and I won’t ask any more questions.”

  The drive to the hotel took twenty minutes. After parking, Gil rummaged in the trunk until coming up with a large, folded, grocery sized paper bag. They walked in the entrance and approached the front desk. A band was playing in the lounge area, yet the lobby seating was empty.

  Either the band i
s really good or the place is dead on a Saturday night.

  “Hello,” Gil greeted the desk clerk before flashing his badge. “Could I please speak with Mr. Goodson?”

  The clerk nodded, picked up the phone, punched in a few numbers, and said, “Mr. Goodson, there’s a man from the police department here to see you… Yes sir.” She hung up and smiled. “Mr. Goodson will be out in a second.”

  “Thank you.” Gil smiled back and moved to end of the long counter.

  Anne fidgeted as they waited. A moment later, a short, balding man emerged from a hallway carrying a blue purse.

  Retrieving fingerprints from that textured faux crocodile surface will be a hard task.

  “Hello, Detective Collins? I’m Thomas Goodson, the assistant manager of the hotel. The cleaning lady discovered this about an hour or so ago. I opened it to find a wallet with an owner’s ID. The minute I saw the name, I found your card and called. Carl Roberts, the manager told me what happened earlier today. Thought you’d be interested.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” Gil said as the man handed over the purse. “Is this Fran’s?”

  Anne shrugged. “I guess so. I didn’t notice her purse at all. She was here and seated when I arrived for the meeting this morning.”

  He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and opened the clasp. Anne peered around his shoulder at the contents. Nestled in the bottom was a yellow box with a brand name and a picture of a syringe along with the numbers .03.

  “Is that…” she almost asked.

  “Looks like an injection pen to me.” He carefully opened the box and shook out the hypodermic. “Doesn’t appear to have been touched.” He next pulled out the wallet. “This is Ms. Harrison’s without a doubt. Money and credit cards are all here.”

  “Maybe it was taken after Fran went down. I mean, surely Fran would notice if someone took off with it. And if not Fran, then another person at the table.”

  “Where did you put your purse?”

  She shrugged. “If it’s a shoulder bag I hang it from the back of the chair. If it’s a handbag, I put it on the floor next to my chair.”

  “And this is a handbag?” he asked.