A Taste of Death

  “As you know, I was elected to the board a year ago. I had some ideas for guest speakers that would touch on all aspects of writing. In order to save a few bucks on hotel and travel, I wanted to use two or three members as speakers. Fran shot that down immediately. Said a chapter was judged by the caliber of its speakers and that we needed name presenters.”

  “What did she mean ‘name’ presenters and judged by whom?” Anne asked.

  “I made the same comment, and she suggested people like BriAnnon Ridgeway or Sarah Grant.”

  Anne almost choked. “BriAnnon Ridgeway? She lives in Seattle and rarely travels outside the area. Getting her would have cost a fortune, not to mention impossible. And Sarah Grant only does the national convention.”

  “I know. I brought that up and she said it was my job to extend the invitation. Then she followed up by stating the national organization would be impressed with her leadership skills.”

  “The national organization doesn’t give a flying flip about the chapter programs.”

  Leadership skills? Probably planning on running for a board position at WAA.

  “I told her a few months later that I’d tried, but was turned down. But as much as she hassled me, that was nothing compared to the grief she gave Terry Whiting about the conference.”

  Terry had had the misfortune to be the last conference chair.

  “When and what about?”

  “Before the conference. Fran didn’t like the keynote speaker. She didn’t like the editors or agents Wendy Travers had invited—especially Carmella Radcliff. She wasn’t impressed with the food selections or the facility. Terry finally told her to cram it and run the chapter. She’d deal with the conference. The real dust up came in April, after the conference and the murders.”

  “How?”

  “Fran worked herself up into a frenzy of rage over damned near everything. She screamed at Terry and at Wendy. Wendy was in tears and Terry almost attacked her. We had to literally get between them. Thank God the only outsider at that board meeting was Susan Lynch. And speaking of Susan, I saw her posting. I posted right back that her comments were inappropriate.”

  “Thanks, Kathy. Georgia Yancey is taking care of it.”

  “About time somebody did something with that woman—Susan, I mean. The instant you decided to run for the presidency, she and Fran started a campaign of character assassination. And just so you know, I voted for you.”

  “I appreciate that. And thanks for looking after Cindy. I suppose she was upset.”

  “Very much so. I was going to call her in a little while to offer more apologies and see if she’s willing to come back.”

  “Good idea. I should probably do it myself, but I’m so busy at the moment.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks, Kathy. I’ve got to make some more calls. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Her next call was to Ellie, asking the same questions as she had Kathy.

  “I’ve thought and thought on this and can’t think of a thing. Anne, is Susan Lynch mentally ill? I mean, I don’t want to pass judgment if the poor woman has a problem, but her behavior is so odd.”

  Anne tiptoed through the diplomatic minefield. “I’m not sure about being mentally ill, but I think she’s a bit paranoid. You said the other day that the ghost sat at your table. Did he or she do anything unusual?”

  “She never talked if that’s what you mean. Just nodded or shook her head if anyone asked a question. I thought it was all a part of the costume and theme of Halloween. Kinda mysterious and a joke as to discovering who she was.”

  Anne doubted the ghost had been in a joking mood.

  “You know, she did get up and move around a lot,” Ellie continued. “She’d sit for a while, look around the room, then get up and leave.”

  “Did you see her talking to Fran?”

  “Not that I recall, but I did see her pass by her table at one point. The only reason I noticed was because the waitress served my salad. I don’t think Fran was there, but don’t quote me on that.”

  “You sat on the board with Fran. How did that go?”

  Ellie sighed. “Not good. Fran was always carping about something. If she had won the election again, I was going to resign. I don’t need negativity.”

  “In that case, I’m doubly glad I won. I’ve got to go. I’ll put up a notice that you’re in charge of forming critique groups and post it on the loop as soon as possible. You do a good job with the reservations, so I have confidence you’ll do just as well with this. Have a good one.”

  Anne hung up and composed a brief message concerning critique groups, then posted it. She was glad to notice that the replies to Susan’s vitriolic comments were all supportive of her and not the sender.

  A glance at the clock showed it to be almost two. Gil would be coming for dinner at six-thirty. Time to figure out a menu and go to the store.

  Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him.

  Girl, you got it bad. And that’s a good thing.

  The menu and shopping only took an hour. Anne fumbled with her keys to deactivate the car alarm while trying not to drop the three bags of groceries in her hands. The alarm chirped and she finally managed to open the passenger side door and plop the bags onto the floorboards. Slamming the door shut, she noticed an envelope under the driver’s side windshield wiper.

  Oh, Lord, not another advertisement for car detailing. I know my car is a mess, but I’ll get around to it soon without spending what I just did for food.

  She snatched the crumpled white envelope from its secure place and chucked it into one of the bags. Home again, she staggered into the kitchen and unpacked the food. Finished, Anne was set to stuff the envelope into the trash when she noticed her name was printed on it.

  “What the hell.” She extracted a note.

  Stop asking questions about Fran. It will only buy you trouble. You didn’t like her and no one cares anyway.

  Naturally, it was unsigned.

  Her fingers gripped the cheap, lined notebook paper until it crinkled and tore. Someone had followed her from home to the grocery store. A chill ran up her spine, and goosebumps broke out on her arms.

  ****

  One of Gil’s best features was his punctuality. He arrived at six-thirty on the dot complete with a bottle of wine. Anne accepted both the bottle and his kiss on her cheek.

  “Something smells fabulous,” he said with a grin. “What are we having?”

  “Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, and a salad.”

  Gil followed her toward the kitchen like a starving puppy.

  “Hi Gil,” Lisa said stirring the pan of gravy. “Hope you’re hungry. Mom’s made enough to feed an army.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Open the wine and set this on the table,” Anne replied handing him the salad bowl. “Lisa, go tell your brother dinner is served.”

  When they were all seated, she gazed around the table as the dishes were passed. It was nice to be a family again. She’d never realized how much she missed a male presence during meals.

  She decided not to spoil the close knit feeling the evening provided by informing anyone about the note.

  Telling Gil made the most sense, but if she did that he might instruct her to stop asking questions. And thanks to Susan’s accusations, she didn’t want to do that. She decided to let it pass for a while.

  “So Ken, I hear you are now motorized,” Gil said to her son.

  “Yep, got my license two months ago.”

  Anne bit back a groan. Nothing said you’re getting old like a child with a driver’s license.

  “No doubt about it, a driver’s license gives you that feeling of independence,” Gil replied.

  Ken slid a sidelong glance at her. “Sure is nice, but it’d be much nicer if I had my own car.”

  Anne had been expecting this. “Cars cost money, not only to buy, but to maintain. I suggest a job.”

  “I’m sixteen an
d a junior in high school. I can apply in the usual places. I was thinking of doing it this weekend. Can I borrow the car?”

  Gil burst out laughing.

  Before long Gil was helping clear off the table as the kids went upstairs to finish homework.

  He slipped his arms around her waist while she stood at the sink rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

  “You have great kids. My brother, Brad, is coming for a visit next week and my daughters will be here for a couple of days. Would you, Ken, and Lisa like to drop by for a barbeque next Sunday?”

  She turned and slid her arms around his neck. “I’d like that. I’ve been wanting to meet your girls. Do you think they’ll like me?”

  He kissed her hard on the lips. “They’ll love you, Take my word for it.”

  She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering nerves and turned back to the sink.

  “Your brother…is he the one who’s the geologist?”

  “Volcanologist, actually. He’s been over in Southeast Asia for a while. Indonesia, I think. Some volcano erupted a few months ago, so naturally he rushed to the scene. Brad’s like that—off at the drop of a hat for an adventure. He loves his job.”

  “Sounds fascinating. Is he married?”

  “Nope. He’s thirty-five and hasn’t found anybody interesting enough to take his mind off his work. You know somebody?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of my friends are writers. I just don’t see the two professions meshing.”

  Gil chuckled. “Opposites attract. Look at us.”

  “Yeah, just look at us,” she drawled. “You thought I’d killed Isadora Powell.”

  “And I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  Anne finished the last glass, wiped her hands on a towel, and faced him again.

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. A moment later a cough had them breaking apart.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I just came down for a bottle of water,” Lisa said with an amused expression. She retrieved the bottle from the fridge and looked at them. “Carry on.”

  Gil and Anne both laughed as her daughter exited the room. Before they could take her advice, Gil’s phone rang.

  He pulled it from his pocket. “Collins here… That’s not surprising.” He paused for a long while as he listened. The look on his face turned grim. “That is. What would be the purpose… I have no idea. I’ll have to ask the husband. I take this to mean it’s official now… Yeah, I never really figured it any other way. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”

  He hung up with a frown. “That was Gilson at the lab. The reports came in. The only peanuts found were on Ms. Harrison’s food. All the other plates and the breading from the kitchen are clean. And here’s an interesting twist. Mixed in with the ground peanuts was a healthy dose of ground lobster shells. She was definitely murdered.”

  Chapter Six

  “Lobster shells!” Anne repeated with a gasp.

  “You heard me,” Gil said. “It’s now an official murder. There wasn’t a lobster within sight at that luncheon.”

  “But why? Good grief, was she also allergic to shellfish?”

  “I don’t know. Must have been or else why would it be there?” He leaned down to kiss her. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. I need to make some phone calls and set up interviews. The husband is first on the list.”

  “In that case, you’d better know this.” Anne told him about Rose’s information concerning Fran and Becky’s husband.

  “And this Becky person thinks the affair rekindled?”

  “According to Rose, she wasn’t sure, but suspicious.”

  “Got a number for her? I’ll call and set up an interview.”

  She pulled up the chapter roster on the computer and gave him the information.

  “And don’t forget that ghost. Ellie Campion doesn’t remember her being at the table after the food was served.”

  “I’ll need to interview that ghost, too.”

  “Provided we can figure out who it was,” she replied.

  “Good point. Anything else?”

  She told him the theory that Becky could have been the ghost or the waiter.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll check on an alibi.”

  “Nancy’s working on calling the women seated at Fran’s table. I’m hoping we can get the names of her critique partners. They must have known about Fran’s allergies.”

  “How so?”

  “Whenever I critique, a late brunch or a lunch is usually served, and there are always snacks around during the session. I’ll let you know as soon as I have the names.”

  He turned and walked toward the foyer. Anne followed. So did Bruno. She picked the dog up. Gil kissed her, and then scratched the little shih-tzu behind the ears.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Gil, it’ll help if we call some of these women, won’t it?”

  He hesitated. “It might. Just be sure to let me know if something interesting comes up. Do not try to track down clues on your own.”

  “I won’t.” She paused. “I suppose you’ll be taking another look at the surveillance tapes.”

  “I wondered when you’d get around to that. I wanted to view them again before I said anything to you. I did see something unusual on the one from that short hallway near the ladies’ room where the purse was found.”

  “And…”

  “Around ten-thirty a person who may have been a woman, wearing shorts, a baggy T-shirt, a baseball cap with a large bill, sunglasses, and carrying a huge tote bag entered the ladies’ restroom. Five minutes later, our ghost emerged and took the stairs. She reappeared from the stairwell about an hour or so later and reentered the ladies’ room. Shortly afterward, the first lady came out and exited into the parking lot.”

  Anne sucked in a deep breath. “Oh my God, the killer?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Had to be a woman if she used the ladies’ room.”

  Gil shook his head. “Could be the person knew about the cameras and used the ladies’ room to throw us off the track. The tape from the second floor shows her popping out of the stairwell at ten-forty and entering again at the right time an hour later. But keep in mind that she could have been a legitimate member who changed here, attended part of the meeting, decided she didn’t want to stay, so left.”

  “Why change into a costume?”

  “Ever try driving a car in a costume?” he asked.

  “Oh, didn’t think of that.”

  “It might be easier if you and your friends looked at the tapes, too. You may know her. But this time, you’ll have to come to the station. My lieutenant reamed me a new one for taking the last batch out of the department for you to see.”

  “I understand. We can do that. How many tapes are there?”

  “A lot. And this hotel hasn’t scrimped on surveillance. All cameras were working. As usual, not the best images, but good enough.”

  “What about Fran’s purse? Did you get any fingerprints off of it?”

  “Not really. The texture of the material was rough. We even put it through the Super-glue regimen, but all we got were a bunch of partials and a lot of smudges.”

  “Super-glue?”

  “You put the object in an enclosure with a few drops of Super-glue, then seal it up. The fumes from the glue adhere to the prints. In this case we discovered some of what appear to be Ms. Harrison’s partials and a couple from an unknown source. Unfortunately, we can’t ID them.” He kissed her again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Anne closed the door behind him and hugged Bruno before setting him back on the floor. “Well, Bruno, it looks like the Snoop Group is officially on the job again.”

  Her first order of business was to call Nancy with the news.

  “Shellfish! Was she allergic to that, too?”

  “I don’t know, but Gil is going to talk to her husband.”

  “Good idea. They say a spouse is
always the first suspect in a murder. So, I take it we are once again going to give Gil gray hair,” Nancy commented.

  “He’s agreed to let us talk to a few people and we can view the surveillance tapes when he’s done looking at them. We might notice something or someone he wouldn’t.” She also told her about what the tapes revealed and about the Super-glue. “The Super-glue thing sounds interesting. So the ghost, if she can be ID’d, looks like the top suspect, at least for doctoring the food. Have you talked to the others at Fran’s table yet?”

  “Not yet. I wrote most of the afternoon on that work in progress. I do that occasionally, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, and if this type of stuff keeps happening, I’ll have story lines out the whazoo for the rest of my life,” Anne replied. “Good thing I switched to romantic suspense.”

  The conversation ended with Nancy promising to contact the women first thing in the morning.

  Anne then relayed the information from Gil to Rose. Her response was much the same as Nancy’s.

  “Well someone certainly wanted to make sure she died. Talk about overkill.”

  “And this has to be someone who knew Fran—and knew her well.”

  “Like a husband? Or a family member?”

  “Possibly, but you’d think Fran would notice if her husband or a family member was lurking about.”

  “True, but she was upset about the election, and then you took her to task about a few things. And don’t forget Barb Hamilton. You had to calm them all down. That could have distracted Fran to the point she wouldn’t notice who was who. And besides, nobody really pays any attention to waiters or waitresses. They serve you and they leave.”

  “Hmmm. You’ve got a point. I’ll have to remind Gil about that. He’s going to interview the busboy and the waiter who didn’t show up for work. I’m looking forward to viewing the surveillance tapes. We might be able to identify the person entering the ladies’ restroom.”

  “All right. I’m interested in the ghost. That should be our priority. Could be our killer. Just give me a day’s notice so I can find a sitter for the kids. And speaking of kids, it’s time to force them into a bathtub. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Anne thought about the ghost. Obviously, the tape showed it was a woman. Or perhaps not. Gil had said the tape showed a person wearing baggy clothes entering the ladies’ room. It could have been a man. The odds of a hotel guest using that restroom were slim on a Saturday.