A Taste of Death

by Suzanne Rossi

  “Brad had that all worked out. I can take notes. I’ll be his secretary or assistant if anybody asks.”

  “This is nuts.”

  “Yeah, I know, but kind of thrilling all the same. We fly to Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea, spend the night or early morning, whatever the time change is, and then hop a small flight to Lae. I’m not sure what island that’s on, but the rumblings are coming from near there at a place called Rabaul. I guess that city has been destroyed a couple of times by eruptions.”

  For the first time in a long time, Anne was speechless.

  “New Britain.”

  “What?” Nancy said.

  “I think Lae and Rabaul are on an island called New Britain. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “I can’t either, but you know, if nothing else Brad has taught me that life is too short to let it go by without an adventure or two. So, I decided to have an adventure.”

  “But what about the chapter? We can’t do without a treasurer. Susan Lynch will have a field day crying foul if you’re not around.”

  “You’ve got the election scheduled for next week, right? And Jack said the results of the audit won’t be available for at least another three. Slide, you’re covered. Just don’t tell anyone outside of the group and board that I’m gone. Or just tell them I’m out of town for a while.”

  Anne sighed. Nancy had it all worked out. “Do me a favor, get international calling for your cell and keep in touch.”

  “Already done.”

  “What about a passport?”

  “Got one a few years ago when I went on that cruise to the Bahamas.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In about an hour for Miami. We fly out of there for Los Angeles, then on to Honolulu, and I’m not sure how many other stops there are. Probably Australia.”

  Anne sighed. “Have a good trip, and for crying out loud, be careful. Oh, and by the way—have fun.”

  Nancy laughed. “No matter what happens, I will. Talk to you soon.”

  She hung up and stared at her computer screen. Who would have guessed this turn of events? Not even Jen would do something this impulsive. Thank goodness, the treasurer’s position would soon be filled. She called Gil.

  “Do you know what your brother has done?”

  “I know he’s headed off to another volcano site in a while. He was called last night. Why?”

  Anne told him about Nancy’s phone call.

  “Wow, he must be serious about her.”

  “That’s all you can say? Gil, it’s dangerous. Nancy doesn’t know jack shit about volcanoes.”

  “She’s an adult and Brad wouldn’t do anything that could harm her. If things get rough, he’ll send her home.”

  She hung up from that phone call with a growing sense of frustration.

  I don’t care if one of my best friends is an adult, she’s nuts!

  On the other hand, there was little she could do to stop her.

  ****

  Anne stumbled into the kitchen a bit before noon with a slow-moving Lisa behind her. The doctor’s diagnosis was thankfully not the flu, but just a cold. Her temp had dropped slightly and her cough had all but disappeared.

  “Do you feel like eating lunch?”

  “Actually, I am kinda hungry.”

  “I’ll heat up some chicken noodle soup and make you a toasted cheese sandwich. How’s that sound?”

  Lisa grinned. “Ah, the old chicken soup trick. Sounds good. What’s the old saying—feed a fever, starve a cold—or is it the other way around?”

  “I can’t remember, but since you have both one is bound to work. Scoot on upstairs and try to take a nap later. I do know rest is at the top of the recovery list.”

  “If I sleep too much this afternoon, I’ll never sleep tonight. Do you mind if I use your computer to game? There’s no bed to tempt me in your office.”

  Anne made lunch and took it up to Lisa, and then stayed to chat.

  “So, Mrs. Carlyle is running off to the south seas with Gil’s brother to look at some volcano?” she said as she spooned broth and noodles into her mouth.

  “So she claims. I have no idea what to think.”

  “I don’t know, it sounds exciting to me, although if I had to pick one of your friends to do something like that it would be Mrs. Swanson.”

  “Now that I could understand.”

  “Are Mrs. Carlyle and Gil’s brother like, an item?”

  “Apparently,” Anne replied with a shake of her head.

  “Wow, wouldn’t it be weird if you and Gil got married, and she and his brother got married? That would make her your sister-in-law and my aunt—or maybe a step-aunt. Not sure of the genealogy on this.”

  “So far, no one has even mentioned or considered the ‘M’ word,” she said. “Finish up.”

  Lisa did as asked, and a few minutes later Anne gathered up the bowl and plate.

  “See, I ate all of the soup and most of the sandwich.”

  “Now, try to take a nap.”

  “I will in a while.”

  Anne glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer where she paused. It was nearly one. Becky would be here shortly. Once again, she speculated as to what kind of information the woman had. Whatever it was, she hoped it would lead to finding the killer.

  She took a step toward the kitchen, and then paused again as a shiver rolled over her. Something was in the air. She had that feeling that comes right before a lightning strike when the atmosphere crackled with unseen energy. The hair didn’t rise on her arms or neck, but the sensation was there nonetheless.

  Lord, I wish I’d let Lisa go to school today.

  ****

  Anne cleaned up what little had gone into making lunch deciding that Becky probably knew more than she was telling. If the woman had information that could lead to Fran’s killer then she’d tell her to take it to Gil.

  I’m tired of always being in the middle of things. And while I enjoy helping Gil with some aspects of his cases, I’m also tired of going through all that comes with them. How does he handle the stress?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang. Good. Becky was here and with any luck at all, she’d tell her tale of woe and be gone in less than an hour.

  Anne opened the door surprised to see George Harrison standing on her porch.

  “Mr. Harrison, what are you doing here?” She regretted her aggressive tone, but her dislike for the man mandated it.

  “I’d like to talk to you about Fran, if that’s all right. May I come in?”

  “Um, I’m sorry, but now is not a good time. I’m expecting a friend to drop by.”

  “This won’t take long, I promise.”

  With no graceful way out of his request, she stepped back. He entered the foyer and smiled. His clothes hung on him like a scarecrow. The oversized jacket looked like a bad thrift store buy.

  She gestured toward the back of the house. “Do you mind talking in the kitchen?”

  “Not at all.”

  She led him through the foyer and down the hallway. “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Iced tea? A soft drink?”

  “No, no, thank you,” he replied taking a seat in one of the chairs at the table.

  “What is it you want to talk about?” Anne jerked a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and filled a glass, then stood on the opposite side of the peninsula as far away from him as possible.

  George took a deep breath. “I’ve been going through papers at the shop and found some things that suggest Fran was not exactly, shall we say, accurate about certain business matters.”

  “What kind of business matters?”

  “Well, her deposits didn’t always match her accounts receivable. Sometimes the deposits were several hundred dollars less. I then found bank statements from another bank—not the Fran’s Fabulous Finds account—but a different one. It amounted to well over fifty thousand dollars.”

  Anne sat back. And Fran inve
stigated offshore banks. Was she skimming and planning on taking off for some Caribbean island or Central America after all? With another man?

  “It was her store, Mr. Harrison. I suppose if she wanted to set aside some extra money for whatever reason, then that was her privilege.”

  “Only it wasn’t her store. I own it. I let her run the place.” His gazed sharpened on her.

  That uneasy feeling of a disturbance in the air before a lightning strike returned. Why on earth would he tell her this?

  “Oh, I see. I didn’t know that. But if it was your store, didn’t you view the financials from time to time? I mean, you used to be a CPA, right?”

  “I’m still a CPA, but my wife asked to do the books. She wasn’t a dummy when it came to money, Mrs. Jamieson. I still freelance accounting from home. I kept my eye on things by doing some of the buying for the store and checking the merchandise, but then you already know that. You know, that iced tea does look good. I think I’ll have some after all.”

  Once again, with no clear way out of the situation, she poured him a glass and set it on the table.

  Some of what he said matched what she’d heard from the sales clerk on her first visit to the shop.

  “Yes, your sister-in-law told me how you helped with the shop. How can I help you with any of this, Mr. Harrison?”

  “I was wondering if you found anything of a suspicious nature among her papers from the writers group. I know you took a lot of folders from her office.”

  She sipped from her glass, and then took a larger gulp. He’s fishing for information, but what I’m not sure. Am I missing something in those folders I stole from his office? Good Lord, does he know about them? No, I checked carefully for surveillance cameras. There were none in that part of the store.

  “I’m afraid not. All the papers dealt with the usual stuff a chapter president has to do. There was nothing of an accounting nature.”

  “I see. I’m pretty certain she kept some of the shop files at home. She liked to work on them at night, you see. Unfortunately, my late wife didn’t always keep such a good filing system in place. I often had to call her on that and go searching for things.”

  Something’s not right about this. I remember George telling me how organized Fran was. Maybe the objectionable store clerk noticed I slipped out rather fast. Did he suspect I had stolen something? If so, why didn’t he stop me? She rubbed her suddenly cold arms. I need to get him out of here.

  As she contemplated how to do that, the doorbell rang again.

  “Excuse me, but that must be my friend. I’m sorry, but could we discuss this at a later date?”

  He rose and picked up his glass. “I…I really would like to get this straightened out. I’m afraid the tax man is on my back about things. Do you mind if I stay out of the way, say on your patio, and finish my tea? Perhaps your friend’s business won’t take long.”

  She didn’t buy the pleading look on his face, but the doorbell pealing again had her agreeing. Besides, whatever Becky had to say, might not take but a few minutes.

  “Oh, very well.”

  She hurried to the front door and opened it. Becky Lawrence rushed in.

  “Oh, Anne, I’m so glad you agreed to see me.” Her face was ashen, and her hands trembled. “I don’t know what to do or who to talk to. I’m scared.”

  “Good grief, Becky, what are you talking about?”

  “It’s Jim. He really is leaving me, but Fran had nothing to do with it. It was all so wrong!”

  Anne stood near the stairs in confusion. Why is she telling me this? Her personal problems are none of my business.

  “Becky, I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t think…”

  “No, no, it has everything to do with you,” the woman said with a sob.

  “Me? I don’t even know your husband!” From the bridge above the foyer, she saw Lisa lean over the banister then retreat a couple of steps.

  “Of course, you don’t, but we thought it was Fran and now we can’t undo it.”

  Becky’s words had a familiar ring to them. “You aren’t making any sense. Calm down and tell me about it.”

  “Oh, it makes perfect sense to me,” a voice from the back of the hallway said.

  Anne turned to find George standing there holding a gun.

  Anne gasped. Becky emitted a strangled cry and clutched Anne’s arm.

  Somehow, Anne found her voice. “Are you crazy? Put that gun down!”

  Movement from the bridge above sent a jolt of terror through her. She didn’t dare look directly up. Lisa, go hide! Now!

  “George! What are you doing here?” Becky asked in a thin, reedy tone.

  “Trying to retrieve the folders Ms. Jamieson stole from my office the other day.”

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat. “What…what folders?”

  “Don’t play games with me, lady. You took three of them. They were sitting on the corner of the desk in the office along with a note instructing Carlos to shred them. When I got back to the store and saw they were gone, I assumed he’d done it. Only later I learned he’d never seen them. I’d had a hidden camera in the office and it showed you snooping around and shoving them into a big bag. One of them has information in it that I’d rather the police didn’t know about, so I sent him around to find them.”

  So Carlos was the intruder. Not some neighborhood kids.

  Anne’s chest constricted. The air was supercharged as if the lightning was moments away. She could almost smell the ozone. At least Lisa had left the upper hallway. She prayed her daughter was calling the police, and then hiding.

  George turned his attention to Becky. “I knew you were a weak link.”

  Becky gestured with her hand and sobbed. “You said the peanuts would just make her sick. I never thought she’d die!”

  Suddenly, it was all so clear. “You were the ghost,” Anne said in a tremulous voice.

  Becky nodded. “My job was to hang around, see where Fran was seated, send a text message to George as to where, sprinkle the stuff on her food. The cards on the table told me who was eating what.”

  Of course, the cards placed by the seats that designated who got which entrée. All Becky had to do was text George what other entrée to pick up and serve.

  “And you were the waiter,” she said turning toward George. “Becky sprinkled the ground up peanuts and shellfish on the food, and you served her. How did you know she was eating salmon?”

  “I found the menu selections on her computer. She loved salmon. It was a no-brainer.”

  “You took a hell of a chance. I can’t believe Fran didn’t recognize you.”

  “Fran couldn’t be bothered with waiters or waitresses. Trust me, she’d never give them a second look. I was right. Besides, I layered several heavy sweaters under the jacket to make me look bigger. I caught a break when she wasn’t in the room.”

  “But why? Because she had lovers?”

  “She could ball every man in San Sebastian for all I cared. No, she was planning on taking off with a lot of my money. It’s a ton more than fifty grand. It’s close to a million. No way was I allowing that.”

  A million dollars? What the hell?

  “But why involve Becky?”

  “I needed someone dumb enough to do what I wanted. I knew Fran had slept with Jim Lawrence, so I called Becky one day saying I thought the affair had heated up again. She agreed to help.”

  “You said she’d get sick and we’d teach her a good lesson. You knew the peanuts would kill her,” Becky wailed.

  Anne stared at George. “You added the shellfish just to make sure she died, didn’t you? And the waiter?”

  “I bribed him to let me borrow his uniform for a day. Told him it was to surprise my wife on our anniversary.”

  “You killed him, too.”

  “Had to. I knew the cops would eventually get around to questioning him. He could identify me, so he had to go. I called him to say I had a bonus for him. Showed up with a baggie of almost pure coke. It w
as the perfect set up. I figured he’d have a small hit, love the instant high and do it again. To a casual user like him, the potency would kill within a few hours. I hung around until he passed out, then held the baggie under his nose so he’d inhale more. Problem solved.”

  Just like Gil suggested.

  “And then you took his car and left it in a neighborhood where you’d know it would get stolen,” Anne commented with a glance at a frozen Becky, her face white with terror. “And you drove him to the house next to the apartment complex, then met him again to pick him up.”

  Becky nodded. “He said if I didn’t he’d tell the police what I’d done and that he was nowhere near the hotel.”

  “Fran wasn’t embezzling from the shop. You were.” Suddenly, the baggie of coke made sense. “You were using the shop to smuggle drugs. Where else would you get pure cocaine?”

  “You both know way too much. Guess your intruder of the other day came back. Shame he found both of you here. Had to kill you.”

  He took several steps toward them, then cocked the hammer on the revolver.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Anne stated in a shaky tone.

  “Of course, I will. I’ll say I came by to talk about Fran, walked in, and found you both dead on the floor.”

  Anne detected movement from the top of the bridge. No Lisa! Run! Hide!

  George stepped forward and raised the gun. He was positioned just a bit in front of the bridge. Off in the distance sirens screamed.

  “No! Don’t!” Becky shrieked.

  An object came hurtling over the banister railing. It hit Harrison on the side of the head and his right shoulder. The gun went off with a deafening bang. Becky screamed. He dropped like a sack of cement onto the floor, bleeding profusely. The gun skittered across the tile. Anne rushed to kick it farther into the living room. Becky lay on the foyer rug moaning and blood oozing from a wound in her shoulder. Anne ignored her not caring about either of them. She looked up.

  Lisa stood there, her hand to mouth, and with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I…I saw what was happening, so I hid in your office closet and called 9-1-1. I told them to send Gil.”

  “You should have stayed there!” Anne said.

  “I did for a minute, but no way would I let him hurt you. So I grabbed the first thing I could find.”