A Taste of Death

by Suzanne Rossi

“Yes. Chances are she had it on the floor. And Fran was in and out of the room several times. Plus she was also distracted by all that went on, so she may not have noticed it was missing. Maybe no one at the table saw anything that suggested somebody picked it up.”

  Gil replaced the items, closed the handbag, put the purse in the paper bag, and pulled off the gloves.

  “When people are talking or eating, they often don’t pay attention to others walking by.”

  “That’s true.” Anne turned to the manager. “And this was found on the back of a stall door?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The cleaning lady said it was the far end stall.”

  “Where is this restroom?”

  “You go down this corridor, turn left, and then right. It’s down a short hallway.”

  “Thank you.” Gil cupped her elbow and led her away.

  “Certainly is out of the way,” she commented as they followed the passages.

  They passed the men’s room and finally stopped in front of the ladies’ room door. Another door was nearby. Gil opened, and then closed it again.

  “Meeting room.”

  A door with the word “Stairs” was just beyond the meeting room. Across from the restrooms a glass door, now locked, led to the parking lot.

  “Awfully convenient,” Anne murmured.

  “Very,” he replied as he scanned the ceiling. “There’s a fisheye surveillance camera at the junction of the corridors. Looks like I’ll be pulling more tape—lots of tape from all the cameras on the first floor. Let’s check out this stall.”

  “Maybe I should go in, in case someone’s inside,” she suggested.

  “It’s eleven o’clock at night and this is an obscure area. Who’d be in there?” He pushed the door open. As predicted, the room was empty. He used a paper towel from the dispenser to open the last stall door.

  Anne surveyed the restroom. It was small, only three stalls and one sink. It had no doubt been designed for use by those attending a meeting in the room next door.

  “Nothing of interest here,” she said. “Are you going to dust for fingerprints?”

  “Maybe on the door to this stall, but that’s it. The cleaning lady would have done her thing on the rest of the surfaces. And somehow, I don’t think the person who took the purse would spend time washing their hands. Come on, let’s go.”

  They stopped by the front desk again where Gil requested Goodson put up an “Out of Order” sign on the ladies’ room door, asked that the tapes needed be available, and informed him a fingerprint crew would be by as soon as possible. He then called it in to the station. Goodson promised to pull the tapes tonight.

  “Forensics won’t be here until tomorrow,” he informed the assistant manager who nodded and moved away.

  “Why wait until morning?” Anne asked as they left the hotel.

  “Because it’s Saturday night and this is a low priority. Goodson is pulling those tapes right now, which means my Sunday will be spent looking at them, and before you ask, no, you can’t see them yet.”

  She ignored his comment. “There were over eighty people at the meeting. You may need some assistance with talking to some of them.”

  “Let me guess, you and your group are volunteering for the job.”

  “It makes sense. I know these women—well most of them—and they might tell me more than they would you. After all, someone went to an awful lot of trouble to kill Fran. This was no spur of the moment plan.” She drew in a sharp breath. “And maybe whoever took the purse knew she carried an injection pen.”

  “That thought crossed my mind, too. That purse could have saved her life.” He heaved a sigh and gave her a stern look. “You can help as long as you keep it simple and report everything you discover to me. No sleuthing on your own.”

  “Deal!”

  On the drive home, Anne’s mind drifted back to this morning. Sally Crenshaw had made comments about Fran having affairs. And one of those affairs involved a member’s husband.

  Fran’s love life just took center stage.

  ****

  Anne awoke the following morning with a mental checklist, at the top of which was reading the chapter by-laws. She rummaged through the file cabinet in her bedroom looking for the document.

  “Damn it, where is it, Gary?” she asked, talking to a stone gargoyle sitting on top of the metal cabinet. The silly looking thing had been a gift from her kids years ago as tribute to her paranormal books.

  “Are you talking to Grotesque Gary again,” a voice said from the doorway.

  Anne turned to look at a grinning Lisa.

  “I was hoping maybe he had a glimmer of where I’d stuffed the chapter by-laws in this thing.”

  “Well, I don’t think old stone face is going to answer. By the way, Carrie Phillips called last night and invited Ken and me over for a barbeque this afternoon with her family. Is that all right?”

  “What? Yes, I guess so,” she replied absently, opening another drawer. “Just make sure you’re home by nine. Is your homework done?”

  “Yep. Did it all last night. How was your date with Gil?”

  “Great.” She flipped through a couple of useless folders. I’ve really got to clean this thing out.

  “What movie did you see?”

  “Casablanca.” She hated lying, but no way was she ready for her thirteen-year-old daughter to know the truth.

  “Old movies—blech. Have fun searching. I’m going to grab some breakfast, and then read some of an assigned book for English.”

  As Lisa headed downstairs, Anne finally found the by-laws.

  “Gotcha! Thanks, Gary, I know you helped in some way.”

  She settled in at her desk in the corner of the room and flipped through the boring legalese until coming to the part she needed.

  “Nuts,” she said out loud a few minutes later. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but I guess I do.” She laid the thick packet on the desk and took out a sheet of paper along with a pen. A to-do list was in order. “Talk to you later, Gary. I’ve got work to do. Have a nice day.”

  It looked as if a board meeting was necessary, but she’d call board members in the afternoon. I’ll set it up for Monday sometime.

  She then called Kathy Samuels to see if she had found Dr. Smith’s address and phone number and to inform her of the meeting.

  “I’ll be there. Anne, I’ve looked in all the new member files for the past six months and a Doctor Mary Smith from Highcrest is not there. Maybe she was planning to join.”

  “Could be. I’ll let Gil know. He and the police can track her down.”

  It’s odd that she wouldn’t show up to do the paperwork and fill out a death certificate.

  Next she jotted down some words of condolence for the chapter loop. That should go out today. Neither of the two sentences she’d written sounded very warm or comforting. Work on it later.

  She also made a mental note to call Fran’s husband with condolences. Having never met the man, she had no clue what to say. She didn’t even know his name.

  Of course, also on her list was how to begin helping Gil with what was certainly a murder case. Sally Crenshaw was near the top for interrogation, along with Jane. Maybe the treasurer could remember who sat where at the table.

  But first, Anne needed to talk to Rose. Her confirmation of the gossip about Fran’s love life made talking to her better sense. Sally wasn’t always discreet.

  Downstairs, she headed for the kitchen where she fished her cell from her purse. Lisa had finished her breakfast and was sitting on the patio with a book.

  She dialed Rose and waited through four rings until her friend finally answered.

  “Hey, Anne, what’s up? Any more news on Fran’s death?”

  “Some.” She gave Rose the details of the lab report and of her trip to the hotel.

  “So someone took Fran’s purse and hid it. You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Yes, this was a meticulously planned killing. And by someone who
knew Fran carried an injection pen in case of emergencies. Do you know who might have been close with her? I have to be honest; I never paid that much attention to who she hung out with—other than Susan. By the way, Gil gave us the green light to do what we usually do.”

  “Get in his way?”

  “Don’t be funny. He said we could ask questions.”

  “Might be a good idea to wait until we have the rest of the lab reports in,” Rose suggested.

  “I’ll just ask a few innocent questions.”

  “Uh-huh. How innocent, Anne?”

  “Well, Sally Crenshaw mentioned Fran having an affair with another member’s husband. You seemed to know a lot about it. What gives?”

  “Ah, that would be Becky Lawrence. I critique with her in the erotic romance group. She wasn’t at the meeting. I can give her a call on the excuse of telling her about Fran. I’ll also call Sally and pump her for more information if you’d like.”

  “Good idea. I need to call Fran’s husband and express the chapter’s condolences. What’s his name?”

  “George. I met him at the last Christmas party.”

  Anne suppressed a giggle. “George? George Harrison? Like the Beatle?”

  “Yeah, I know. Made me want to laugh, too. You know if you’re going to discreetly ask about Fran’s love life, don’t forget to talk to Jen. She knows everything. I guess somebody should call her.”

  “Already done. She’s the one who brought up the injection pen theory. But I’ll give her another call. As Jen would say, the Snoop Group is on the prowl.”

  Rose groaned. “Leave it to Jen to come up with a silly name.”

  “But appropriate. By the way, I’m calling a board meeting here at ten-thirty tomorrow morning. We have to replace Fran.”

  “Ten-thirty? I guess I can make it, but may have to bring a toddler and the baby, so this better not take too long.”

  “No problem.” Rose’s five kids often made for interesting critique group meetings, too.

  “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call Becky this afternoon and see what she has to say. Talk to you later.”

  Anne hung up and tapped her finger against her lips. It was too early to call the rest of the board members, but she could call Nancy with the information she’d learned last night.

  “After the conversation at the hotel, I’m not surprised,” Nancy said when Anne finished. “The killer had to be either the ghost or the mysterious waiter.”

  “You mean the busboy?”

  “If it was him. I don’t suppose Jane paid any attention to what the waiter wore, did she?”

  “She didn’t say. Why?”

  “Waiters and waitresses usually have some kind of identifying uniform, like the black worn by the waitresses we talked to yesterday, but busboys generally wear T-shirts and jeans. Maybe a place like the hotel would ask them to wear black pants or something.”

  Anne hadn’t thought of this angle. “I’ll ask. I’ll also talk to Jane again. And by the way, Gil said we can talk to people who were at the meeting. You know, gently question them.”

  Nancy sighed. “At least this time I’m not on deadline. I just turned in my last round of edits.”

  “I’m going to call a few people this afternoon. Perhaps we can develop a network for asking questions. Kinda like we did when investigating Dorie’s murder,” she said naming their late critique partner and first case.

  “The meeting was packed, so that makes sense. Why don’t you tackle board members and I’ll talk to a few others who I know had problems with Fran, like Janine Barrett.”

  “Janine? What kind of problems did she have with her?”

  “When Janine first joined the chapter, Fran demanded she show loyalty by volunteering to work on the conference.”

  “Loyalty? You’re kidding. That’s crazy. No newcomer wants to jump in headfirst before knowing how the chapter works.”

  “Janine was there yesterday. I’ll give her a call and see what she has to say.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll do it.” Anne sighed. “I guess I’d better get busy and write this condolence announcement for the loop. I have to have an emergency board meeting to appoint a new past-president liaison. Hope I can find one. Talk to you later.”

  Anne hung up, had a quick breakfast, and then sat down to compose the announcement for the members.

  “Like there’s anybody left who hasn’t heard,” she said to herself as she wrote.

  An hour later, she had what she hoped would be received as warm and sincere.

  Dear fellow members,

  It is my sad duty to inform you of the tragic death of our former President, Fran Harrison, at yesterday’s meeting. Fran was a valuable member of our writing community and will be missed. Her dedication to this chapter was strong. Her loss will be keenly felt by all of us. Our deepest condolences go out to her husband and family.

  As of now, I do not have any details regarding the funeral or a memorial service, but will keep you informed as to when and where such will be held.

  With great grief,

  Anne Jamieson, President

  She contemplated erasing the with great grief part, but decided to let it stay. It might not be the most heartfelt piece she’d ever posted, but would have to do.

  With that chore finished, Anne fished the roster from her files and scanned the names, making a list of who to call when a something licked her ankle.

  “Hello, Bruno,” she said addressing the little shih-tzu.

  His fluffy tail wagged and his eyes sparkled. Technically, she was Candace Warren’s dog, but Anne had taken him in when his owner had been convicted of manslaughter. Candace, also a member of the group, was doing time at a minimum security facility about two hours away from San Sebastian where they all lived.

  “I’ll bet it’s time for your walk.” At the word “walk,” his tail wagged faster. Anne laughed. “All right, you win. Let’s go.”

  In the kitchen, Lisa was stuffing a swimming suit and beach towel into a tote bag.

  “What time are you leaving?” she asked as she snapped Bruno’s leash on.

  “Twelve-thirty. Her brother’s going to pick us up.”

  “Speaking of brothers, where’s yours?”

  “Still in bed. I was about to go up and roust him out.”

  “Well, have a good time and be home at a decent hour.”

  “Will do. I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner, but it won’t be too late. Promise.”

  Anne nodded, walked through the house and out the front door. As Bruno stopped to thoroughly sniff every vertical surface he came across, she thought about the questions she’d ask the people on her list.

  Thirty minutes later, she reentered the house in time to wave goodbye to her kids as they left for a fun-filled afternoon of barbeque and swimming.

  With a deep sigh, she settled down at the kitchen table and placed her first call to Luella Cranston, the last president still living in the area. She explained the situation and asked if Luella would accept the position. She breathed a sigh of relief when the answer was, “Sure, what the hell.”

  Her next call went to the treasurer.

  “Hello, Jane, it’s Anne. How are you doing?”

  Jane sighed. “As good as can be expected, I guess. I’ll be seeing Fran’s blue face for a long time.”

  “An awful tragedy. I just wanted to let you know I’m calling an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning. According to the by-laws we have to replace Fran on the board.”

  “We do? Why? Her position wasn’t a voting one.”

  “I know, but it’s in the by-laws. I had to dig back over ten years to find who was still in the area. Luckily, Luella Cranston agreed to do it.”

  “She was President when I first joined. I don’t know her very well. She doesn’t come to a lot of meetings.”

  “She’s getting on in years and lives about an hour away from San Sebastian. She agreed to help out and that’s all that matters.” Anne took a deep breath. “By the way, w
ho was sitting at your table yesterday? I know Susan and Ellie were there, but who else besides you and Fran?”

  “Let’s see, there was Carolanne Rogers. She was dressed as some kind of a princess—wore a tiara, I remember. Then there was Cheryl Johnson. She was in costume, too. A clown complete with a Bozo wig, a fake nose, and lots of silly make-up. Linda McIlroy sat next to Susan, if I recall. And Olivia Leonard sat next to me. Neither of them bothered to dress up. Ellie moved after she and Susan kind of got into an argument. About critiquing, I think. Susan made a couple of nasty comments about Ellie after she left the table.”

  “Was everyone at the table, other than Ellie, when the food was served?”

  “I don’t remember. I was talking to Olivia when the waiter served me. Fran had been gone for a while.”

  “And a waiter, not a waitress, served you? Did you notice his clothing?”

  “Not really. Like I said, I was talking to Olivia and had to break off the conversation to lean back when he placed the plate in front of me. That’s when I noticed his hands. Definitely male.”

  Anne thought for a moment about what Jane had just said. She remembered Fran as being to the left of Jane. “You leaned back? Where was Olivia sitting?”

  “To my right. Fran was on my left. The waiter served me, and then left the plate in front of Fran’s spot. Why?” Jane asked.

  “Oh, no reason. I was just curious. The wait staff thinks a busboy may have lent a hand. I’ve got to go and finish my calls. How about we gather at my house tomorrow at ten-thirty? That way we can officially meet and enter Luella as the replacement into the records.”

  “Aren’t all meetings supposed to be open to the membership?”

  “I’ll post something on the loop around nine-thirty. If someone wants to come, they can, but I’m not going to knock myself out over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Anne hung up with one vital piece of information. The waiter was no waiter. A professional would have never served from the right, but from the left of the guest.

  So it could have been the busboy. She made a mental note to tell Gil.

  Rose already knew about the meeting. That left Kathy and Ellie to contact. Neither answered their phones, so Anne left messages in their voicemails, then followed up with e-mails to all.