A Taste of Death

by Suzanne Rossi

  “Do you think this man is connected to Fran’s death?”

  “I have no idea, but it’s possible. Now do you see why I was so upset?”

  “I do, and you were absolutely right.” She told him about her latest theory of the cocaine being a payoff.

  “We’ll check it all out.” His tone had turned testy.

  “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” she asked in a conciliatory voice.

  “How about we go out. My brother, Brad, is due in later this afternoon. I thought maybe you’d like to meet him.”

  “Love to. What time?”

  “Six all right with you?”

  “Six is fine.”

  She hung up in a happier mood. Gil was no longer angry with her—well, at least not as angry as earlier—and seemed eager to have her meet at least a part of his family.

  Downstairs, she made a pot of coffee and contemplated her upcoming meeting with Jane. This encounter was not likely to be a pleasant one. While it brewed, Nancy called.

  “Hi, Anne, how did you sleep?”

  “Not bad considering. How about you?”

  “The same.”

  Anne repeated what Gil had said about Wainwright’s police record and her conclusions.

  “Well, at least we found him. After I got home last night, I called Fran’s critique partners. All of them said there was no trouble in the group. Fran was bossy and dictatorial, but listened to what they had to say. Elaine also told me that Susan wanted into the group, but that all of them, including Fran, put the big kibosh on that. She had the feeling Susan was sucking up in hopes they’d change their minds.”

  “Sounds par for Susan’s course.”

  “Beth Whisnant didn’t have time to talk much, but said she wanted to get something off her chest, so I agreed to meet her later this afternoon.”

  “Any idea what she meant?”

  “Not a clue. I’ve got a dentist’s appointment in a while. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She had barely hung up when her phone rang again. This time it was Ellie Campion.

  “Am I interrupting?” she asked in a hesitant tone.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “I had a call last night from Mary Anderson, one of my critique partners. She wants out of the group. I later talked to Patty Webster and Gay Mackey. They’re in Susan’s group, too. All of them want out. Would it be unethical for the three of us to just start meeting without telling Susan?”

  Honestly, why ask me this, Ellie? Anne sighed and tried to reply diplomatically.

  “I imagine you can do anything you want. Sounds as if you all are dumping Susan.” Certainly won’t be a new experience for her.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. I’ve had several beginning writers and a few experienced ones showing interest in critiquing. I was thinking of asking one of the experienced to join us. Susan’s not going to be happy, but honestly, what does she expect after the things she posted on the loop?”

  Anne half-tuned out Ellie’s talk and glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. If she got to work immediately, she could get that chapter finished. And if she did meet that goal, she might post something positive on the loop about next month’s meeting. And when was the last time I was on any of my social media sites? I’ve got some serious updating to do.

  “Is there anything new about Fran?” Ellie asked.

  The question brought Anne out of her thoughts. She liked Ellie—thought she’d make a good board member—but had no intention of imparting privileged information.

  “Just that it was a reaction to her peanut allergy. Ellie, you said you noticed the ghost walking around on several occasions. Did you see her stop by Fran’s table?”

  “Not specifically, but I do seem to recall she stooped down as if she dropped something, and then headed out the door at the back of the room. Whether or not it was by Fran’s table I don’t know.”

  “Okay, thanks. I need to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hung up, poured a cup of coffee, and hurried upstairs to her office. The ghost was looking better and better as the killer. But who was it? Could have been anybody.

  Five hours later, she staggered down the steps, mentally drained, but with a chapter finished and two scenes of another written. Not wanting to interrupt the flow, lunch had consisted of a PBJ. Now, she was starving. With a light dinner the night before, Anne wondered how much snacking she could do and still eat dinner tonight.

  Settling on a bag of corn chips and some salsa, she posted a positive message on November’s chapter meeting and hit her social media sites with comments on her writing adventures, which were nowhere near as adventuresome as reality.

  She finished with the internet and was thinking about what to wear for her night out with Gil and his brother when the doorbell rang.

  Jane Whittaker stood on the doorstep, her arms cradling several manila folders.

  “Jane, come on in.”

  Jane entered and thrust her cargo at Anne as she entered. “Here are all the bank statements for the past year, along with the checkbook. I think you’ll find everything in order.”

  The treasurer had practically thrown them at her. Anne struggled to keep the folders from falling to the floor.

  “Oh, thanks. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks,” she replied in a stiff tone. “I assume you want to go over them now.”

  “No, that’s all right. I’m going out tonight. I’ll take a quick look at things tomorrow, and then call you if I have any questions.” Anne had the feeling she’d have a lot of questions.

  Jane seemed taken aback, as if expecting to explain something and now having to wait.

  “Well, if you have any questions, give me a call.”

  Without any further conversation, the treasurer left.

  Well, that was short and sweet.

  Anne took the folders upstairs and set them on her desk. They represented another chore for tomorrow morning. She just hoped she didn’t find anything too horrible.

  A glance at the clock told her she needed to start dinner for the kids.

  Ken and Lisa came home from their after school meetings and sniffed the aroma of garlic and onions.

  “I’ve been thinking about spaghetti and meat sauce all day,” Lisa said with a grin.

  “I could wade into a couple of plates,” her son added.

  “You’ll be doing it alone. I’m going out with Gil and his brother.”

  “Ah, finally meeting the family, huh?” Lisa commented. “Dress nice and make the most of it.”

  “I intend to, and now, if you will make the salad, I can go shower and change by six.”

  Dressing in a pair of navy blue slacks and a pale yellow silk blouse, Anne was just coming down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Gil was early. She took a deep, only slightly nervous, breath and opened the door.

  It wasn’t Gil, but Nancy. She rushed in, and then stopped to take in Anne’s garb.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Dinner with Gil and his brother. What’s up?” she asked leading Nancy into the living room. “Have a seat.”

  Nancy sat on the sofa while Anne chose a chair.

  “I just had a cup of coffee and a long talk with Beth Whisnant. She told me things had been going fine with the critique group, but that Fran was acting very strange since the conference last March.”

  “Strange how?”

  “Well, for starters, she wasn’t her usual self when offering critiques. I guess normally Fran would get nit-picky about details.”

  “Happens to us all the time,” Anne said.

  “Agreed, but here’s what’s odd. Beth claims that Fran hadn’t submitted anything for critique the last couple of months. Beth put it down to the election. I guess their last meeting was nothing more than Fran blasting you and demanding the rest of the group vote against any proposals you might make.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. She was damned upset. Anything else?”
r />   “Last May she asked Beth for a loan—a personal loan—of three grand.”

  Astonishment jabbed her in the chest. “Three thousand dollars! What for?”

  “Beth said Fran explained it as having overspent her credit cards and didn’t want her husband to know.”

  “Did she pay it back?”

  “Yes, in August. Beth had no idea if she approached anyone else in the group. Personally, if I was having financial problems, my critique partners would be the last people I’d beg.”

  “Same here. Of course, that group has been together a long time.”

  “Oh, and Beth said that Susan called her yesterday saying that since Fran was dead, she’d be happy to take her place in the group. Beth told her it was too soon to think about that.”

  “Apparently not to Susan.”

  “At any rate, the more Beth thought about the loan, the more uncomfortable she became. Said at the September meeting, Fran needed to talk to her—badly. Beth suspected she was about to get hit up again and avoided her.” The doorbell rang. “Oh goodness, here I am yammering away and Gil’s here.”

  Anne hurried to the front door and opened it. Gil and his brother walked in.

  “Anne, I’d like you to meet my brother Brad. Brad this is Anne Jamieson.”

  Brad Collins looked nothing like Gil. He stood nearly six-one and appeared like he’d spent most of his life in the great outdoors. His dark hair was on the long side and his hazel eyes twinkled. He extended his hand.

  “Anne, Gil’s been talking about you for ages. Glad I can finally meet the real thing.”

  She shook his hand. “Same here. Are you in town for long?”

  “A couple of weeks. I’m between volcanoes at the moment.”

  “Volcanoes?” Nancy said from behind Anne having followed her into the foyer.

  “Helloooo there,” Brad drawled. “I’m Brad Collins.”

  “I’m Nancy Carlyle and just leaving. Hi, Gil. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night out. Just had something to discuss with Anne.”

  Gil shot her a look. “Discuss?”

  She waved her hand. “Writing stuff. Look, I’d better get going. I’ll talk to you later, Anne.”

  “You hungry?” Brad asked with a devastating smile.

  “What?” Nancy said giving him a surprised look.

  “Why not join us? I’m a third wheel and would like the company, not to mention the conversation, of a beautiful woman.”

  Anne shot a glance at Gil who shrugged. “By all means come along, Nancy.”

  “Oh, I don’t think…”

  “It’s no problem. Really.” Anne turned to Gil. “Where are we going?”

  “I was thinking The Jigger and Keg. It’s a sports bar, but a nice one.”

  “But I’m not really dressed to go out,” Nancy replied with a gesture toward her jeans and Miami Dolphins t-shirt.

  “You look fine to me,” Brad said in a cheerful tone. “Although we do have to discuss your choice of football teams.”

  Then Nancy did something Anne hadn’t heard in a long time. She laughed.

  “Very well, Mr. Collins, but I warn you; I’m a good debater.”

  “So am I, and it’s Brad.”

  Anne and Gil had little to say on the way to the restaurant. Instead they were subjected to the promised debate.

  “The Patriots? The New England Patriots? Are you kidding me?” Nancy said in a loud voice. “You do realize I have to hate you now.”

  “Convince me otherwise.”

  By the time they arrived at The Jigger and Keg, Anne was stunned at the byplay between the two in the backseat. Brad was definitely flirting, but what astonished her was Nancy reciprocated.

  “Enough about football. I want to know more about this volcano thing,” Nancy said as they were seated at a table.

  “I’m a geologist who always loved volcanoes. It’s nature at its fiery best. We can learn so much about the earth from them—the natural heating and cooling cycles, the age, and much more.”

  Anne leaned over next to Gil. “I think they’re getting along more than well. Whodathunkit?”

  “Certainly not me.”

  During dinner, Gil and Anne discussed the upcoming family get-together at Gil’s while Nancy and Brad didn’t miss a beat in their conversation either. At some point, the talk had switched to writing. Brad seemed dutifully impressed and swore he’d read one of Nancy’s books soon.

  “I’ll bet he hasn’t read anything other than a science journal since college,” Gil said to Anne in a low tone.

  “Amazing, frankly amazing,” she replied.

  “So, Nancy, how would you like to have dinner and take in a movie tomorrow night?”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “How old are you?”

  “A very sophisticated thirty-five.” Brad assured her.

  “I’m forty.”

  “So what? I’ve learned that age differentials are merely a nanosecond in the geological world.”

  “Oh my, you’re good, you’re very good. It’s a date.”

  Back at the house, Nancy smiled and waved at them as she drove away.

  “Congratulations,” Anne told him. “She’s a hard nut to crack.”

  Brad raised his eyebrows and grinned. “And I’m just the nutcracker that can do it.”

  “All right, Lochinvar, let’s go home. I have to be in the office early in the morning,” Gil said rolling his eyes. He leaned down and kissed Anne. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She watched through the open door until the brothers drove down the street.

  “Wow.”

  ****

  After seeing the kids off to school the next morning, Anne got down to the business of reading the financial files Jane had dropped off. It didn’t take a genius to see Jane was in way over her head. A simple family checkbook was more her speed. A non-profit organization was another story. Rarely did the bank statement coincide with the checkbook. The treasurer’s report listed any discrepancies as “miscellaneous expenses.”

  What really disturbed her were the August reports. According to Jane, the chapter had over twelve thousand dollars in the checking account, but the bank statement showed only nine thousand. The September statement was missing, yet the treasurer’s report showed a little under eleven thousand dollars in the account.

  “Something isn’t right,” she muttered out loud.

  Wanting to look at the numbers with a fresh eye, she moved on to credit card statements. The chapter had a credit card to pay for things such as travel expenses and hotel rooms for outside speakers. The president and the treasurer were the only two authorized to use it. The card had a limit of two thousand dollars.

  She riffled through almost a year of receipts. The card had been maxed out after the conference.

  So Fran and Jane paid the hotel with a credit card. Did they pay the balance over time by check?

  Anne pulled the folder with the printouts of the checkbook activity across the table and opened it. She scanned the checks, but found nothing out of the ordinary until late July.

  Sheer anger pulsed through her veins. There in damning black and white was a check made out on July 28th to Frances Harrison in the sum of three thousand dollars—and signed by Jane.

  Chapter Nine

  Anne paced around the kitchen taking deep cleansing breaths and trying to get her temper under control before she called Jane. Finally deciding close counts, she dialed the chapter treasurer.

  “Jane, it’s Anne. We need to talk. Now.”

  “Oh really? What about?” Her voice held a tone of fear.

  “I think you know. Come on over to my place,” Anne said.

  “I can’t…not right now. I…I…I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in less than an hour.”

  Anne inhaled a deep breath. She couldn’t very well demand the woman cancel, but the hesitation and desperation in Jane’s voice suggested she was lying.

  “Well, I
guess I could call an emergency board meeting for later in the day when all of us can be here.”

  Silence greeted her words. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “I thought so. I’ll be waiting.”

  She hung up with a hard thumb press on the end talk button, and then reread some of the statements and treasurer reports.

  I wonder how long she’s been faking it. Should I call for an audit? Of course I should. And how bad is it really? Will the IRS be knocking on our door?

  Anne gritted her teeth. As a non-profit organization, the government scrutinized the details, but being the government maybe they had overlooked the inconsistencies. She had the mind-numbing feeling the chapter was about to get grilled. Either way, they were in trouble. And what will be the reaction of WAA?

  The doorbell rang. Anne hurried to answer. Jane stood on the front porch shifting her weight from foot to foot and refusing to make eye contact.

  “Come in, Jane. Let’s go into the kitchen.”

  She turned and led the woman down the hallway. Once there she indicated Jane have a seat at the table now strewn with sheets of paper. She didn’t offer the woman anything to drink. The hell with hospitality.

  “I think you know what this is all about, don’t you?”

  Jane bit her lip. Her eyes welled until a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “The minute you said you wanted to see the books, I knew you’d find it. That’s why I dumped the files on you yesterday and ran. I was scared. I’m sorry, really I am.”

  “The chapter treasury is not a bank. We don’t make loans, especially something as big as this. And even if we did, the board would have to be in on the decision. What the hell were you thinking?” She pulled out a chair and sat.

  “It started with the conference last spring. We owed the hotel and they didn’t want to take a check for the full amount, so Fran put part of the cost on the credit card, and we paid off the rest by check over the next couple of months. The credit card was finally down to a zero balance in early July.”

  “I don’t see any that reflected anywhere in the treasurer’s report.”