TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  “And if her friend Dotty was killed, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Prove it and turn everything over to the authorities, darling,” she added sarcastically.

  “Because you love working with the police,” he added with equal sarcasm.

  “I do,” she said, “unless they’re jerks. Which is most of the time.”

  “Promise you’ll come to me. I’ll help—you know I will. You haven’t made a lot of friends down here.”

  That was an understatement. After she published her first true crime book, about the disappearance and likely murder of her best friend during spring break six years ago, she’d made many enemies because she highlighted the complete incompetence of the initial police investigation. It wasn’t until Marco and his team from the FBI got involved that they made any headway, but by that time, the prime suspect had left the country, and they didn’t have enough hard evidence to extradite him.

  So Karen Richardson’s killer remained free. It burned Max so deeply that she had become a different person, yet if she’d gone much further, she may have enacted vigilante justice. She had the money to hunt down the bastard who’d tortured and murdered her best friend. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d focused on exposing all the flaws in the system as well as warning college students who imbibed heavily. It wasn’t just during spring break when violent predators attacked. It could happen to anyone, though mostly to women; it could happen anywhere, but often on college campuses. Max hated that women had to always be on alert for predators, but better to be alert than dead.

  Had Karen listened to Max, if she hadn’t insisted that everything was fine, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe.

  There was no doubt in Max’s mind that Karen’s killer would have chosen another victim if Karen had not gone out that night. Because that’s what psychopaths did. They hunted their prey.

  Max didn’t know if her book had helped anyone other than herself, but writing it had showed Max her calling. She was good—exceptional, in fact—at weeding through bullshit. People told her things, either because she was good in an interview or simply to get her off their back. She exposed the truth, even if some people didn’t like the truth.

  And she would find out exactly what happened to Dotty Holcomb.

  “Max?” Marco said quietly. “You’re thinking.”

  “I’m always thinking.”

  “You have that damn look again. What can I say to Marco that isn’t a lie but will get him to back off?”

  She smiled and winked. “How about, I’ll call you if and when I have proof, but if you jeopardize my investigation because you come in too early flashing your badge, I’ll skewer you.”

  “Honest.”

  “Always.” She kissed him. The kiss turned from a light peck to something more passionate, and it would be so tempting to go back to bed. Instead she extracted herself from his grip and rested her manicured hands on his muscular chest. “You are a distraction,” she whispered.

  He pouted. “Yet, you’re not distracted.”

  “Yes, I am.” She smiled and ran her fingers down to his waist, but no farther. “You tempt me, but the last two nights are going to have to tide you over until I’m done at Del Sol.”

  She stepped back, picked up her suitcase, vanity case, and purse, and was about to walk out of his bedroom.

  “Check in, okay?” Marco asked, sounding worried again.

  “When I have time.”

  He knew better than lay down an ultimatum with her—it never ended well for Marco or their relationship when he pounded his sexy alpha male chest and ordered her to do anything. Maybe he was learning.

  “Adios, sweetheart.” She hesitated, looked over her shoulder. He still stood there naked. He was still gorgeous.

  She smiled. “If I can get away, maybe I’ll drop by for a booty call.” With a wink, she left.

  Chapter Three

  Max had created a passable identity as Maxine Adler. It was simpler—with less chance of screwing up—to keep her own first name. Lois’s husband, Bob, had a daughter from his first marriage who had married a man named Adler. They had two daughters. Bob had little relationship with his daughter before he died, and no relationship with his granddaughters. If someone dug really deep, they’d uncover the truth, but on the surface, Max had created a solid fake identity, complete with a California driver’s license. Her cover was that she was an art restorer in Los Angeles. She had marginal skill in art restoration that she’d picked up during a college intership, but she’d majored in Art History and English so she could hold her own if anyone wanted to talk to her about the subject. She’d printed up business cards with a number that went to an answering service, which was instructed to tell any caller that she was out of state and to take a message or offer to send the call to Max’s “associate.” She roped a friend of hers to play the part, to confirm certain information if anyone called.

  It was the best she could do on a week’s notice. She’d often spent months establishing a more solid ID when she went to work undercover, and she had several she’d been cultivating complete with social media profiles, but none that fit what Lois needed.

  Florida was known nationwide as the place for retirees. The retired came from all over the country, but mostly from the northeast. Del Sol was the “premiere” retirement village for sixty-two and up built by Premiere Development. While many communities had gone the route of “active 55+”, Del Sol was traditional in their age requirements. A deluxe three-story building, which resembled a high-end hotel, housed the cafeteria, social hall, stylist, realtor, administrative offices, and more—including a small grocery store. The main building also had eighty-two smaller apartments designed for those who had physical limitations or required regular medical assistance. They had two full-time nurses on staff.

  A full eighteen-hole golf course and walking trails meandered through the remaining acreage lined with more than two hundred one-story senior-friendly homes between 1200 and 1500 square feet. Newer, smaller “duplexes” had been recently built along the outer fringes of the community largely due to demand. Another phase would be built next year. A club house with both indoor and outdoor pools was in the center of the community. There was a playground for visiting grandchildren (and great-grandchildren), a koi pond, a man-made lake with boats, a croquet court, and shuffleboarding. Through her research, Max had learned that the waiting list for Del Sol topped out at three hundred—and those were individuals who wanted to move in as soon as something was available. There was a waiting list to get on the waiting list, which was why Premiere Development was designing a sister community in the north end of the state.

  Max was still trying to understand how the community worked. Lois’s friend Dotty had bought into the development years ago, when it was new. She’d been living at Del Sol for nearly the full twenty years it had been open before she died. Others, like Lois, went on a waiting list and were offered the next available place that fit their needs. The information on the website was barebones, and the administration insisted that prospective residents come down for a tour and explanation of the costs and benefits. The one thing that had piqued Max’s interest was that while the residents bought into the community, they didn’t own their property. She wasn’t certain how the financial structure worked, but aimed to learn more about it.

  Max drove up to the security gate, impressed that the community—at least on the surface—appeared even nicer and more welcoming than the photos on the webpage. The entire perimeter was dotted with palm trees, palmetto and privets. Bright flowers bloomed throughout, and pruned ground covering thrived. A central fountain towered in the roundabout in front of the main building. The facility appeared well-maintained and golf carts were the preferred method of transportation.

  “Maxine Adler here for Lois Kershaw,” Max told the guard.

  The guard looked at his clipboard. “Mrs. Kershaw is waiting for you in the main building. You can park in visitors parking today. You’ll need to obtain a
n overnight pass at the main desk. Welcome to Del Sol, Ms. Adler.”

  She put the permit on her dashboard and drove to the main building, clearly marked with directional signs.

  Max had told Lois she’d be here at eight-thirty. She was ten minutes early, but the octogenarian was already waiting for her in the lobby.

  “Maxine!” Lois said as if Max really were the estranged granddaughter she was eager to meet. “I would recognize you anywhere.”

  Max smiled and hugged the diminutive woman. Lois wore pressed red slacks, a white blouse with blue buttons, and a red, white, and blue silk scarf tied expertly around her neck. Her make-up was a little thick, but well-applied, though her bright red lipstick certainly stood out. The sapphires in her ears were both large and real and matched the three rings on her right hand. Her left hand still showcased a simple platinum wedding band coupled with an exquisite ring boasting a three-carat diamond. Max couldn’t instantly appraise jewelry like her grandmother, but she had good enough sense to know that the ring was real, high quality and well-cut. This woman was wearing, all told, at least a hundred thousand in jewelry. To breakfast.

  “Grandmother,” Max said, as if addressing her own grandmother. Though she called her grandmother “Eleanor” more often than not.

  “No formalities, dear. My grandsons both call me grandma.”

  “Grandma,” Max repeated, though it sounded strange coming out of her mouth. Her grandmother would have raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Raised an eyebrow? No, Eleanor Revere would have forbade the word and considered it disrespectful.

  “Or Lois, if you’re more comfortable until you get to know me better. I’m so glad you were able to visit. We have a lot of catching up to do!”

  Max didn’t know if Lois was talking so loud because she had a hearing problem, or to make sure everyone in the building knew who Max was to her.

  Max wanted to talk to Lois in private, in her house, but Lois instead led her to the cafeteria. It was unlike any cafeteria Max had eaten in.

  Tables with views of the man-made lake on the other side of two-story windows sat two, four or eight. The cafeteria was split into multiple stations all with different types of food. For breakfast, three of the six stations were open, one for omelets made fresh, one for waffles, and a breakfast bar with self-serve fruit, pastries, lox, and oatmeal.

  “The weekends are far busier,” Lois said. “All the stations are open. Most visitors come on Sundays, so Sunday brunch is a big deal. That’s why I’d wanted you to come yesterday, dear.”

  Lois had pressed Max to arrive earlier, but she’d wanted the weekend to research and spend time with Marco.

  A peppy young woman approached them. Her straight, long blonde hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail and she wore an ivory business suit with a bright pink shirt. Everything about this place was bright.

  “Is this your granddaughter, Lois?” The girl smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Lois has been talking about your visit all week.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to it as well,” Max said.

  “Debra, this is Maxine,” Lois said. “She’ll be staying with me for the next couple of weeks.”

  How long Max stayed remained to be seen, but she didn’t correct Lois.

  A woman even shorter than Lois came over to them. Her weathered face had no make-up, and she wore jeans that were too loose with an over-sized handmade blue sweater. Where Lois was dressed to the nines, this woman was as simple as they came. She had a cane tucked under her arm, but didn’t use it as she approached.

  She scowled. “I told you eight-thirty was too damn late for breakfast, Lois. The chocolate croissants are gone. I’ll bet Paul and Pearl ate three then grabbed more and snuck them up to their apartment.”

  Debra said, “Let me track down a chocolate croissant for you, Mrs. Riley.”

  “Don’t bother,” Mrs. Riley said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “It’s no bother.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Debra briskly strode off to the kitchen and Mrs. Riley looked up at Max. “You’re damn tall, girl.”

  “I’m five foot ten.”

  Mrs. Riley looked to her feet. “Then why are you wearing heels? They put you over six feet! Lois, what woman is six feet tall?”

  “Joan is five foot eleven,” Lois said.

  “Like hell she is.”

  “She shrunk some, but she was once five foot eleven. Let the girl alone, Flo.”

  “Is there somewhere private we can talk?” Max asked. She should have worn flat sandals. She’d bought these wedge heels because they looked artsy and she liked wearing heels, but in hindsight, she should have realized she’d stand out even more because of her height.

  “After breakfast. I need to show you off. You’re my granddaughter after all.” She said it so matter-of-fact, Max almost believed it.

  She hoped Lois wasn’t completely delusional and made up the entire story of how her friend Dotty died under suspicious circumstances all because she was lonely and wanted attention. Max would find it hard to get angry at the old woman, but she would be irritated. She’d turned down three other potential cold cases because Lois had convinced her to come here.

  “And when I talked to one of the other residents, he said it wasn’t just Dotty. At least six people have died of a sudden illness.”

  Proving murder in a retirement community where the average age was over seventy-five was going to be difficult, if not impossible, but Max loved a challenge.

  Last year, she’d spent months researching sex trafficking along the border. What she learned had been both dangerous and extremely depressing. She hadn’t wanted to write the book she promised to her editor, but in the end, she’d spent two months at her cabin in Lake Tahoe putting it all together. It left her feeling bitter and defeated. Maybe spending a couple of weeks with the older generation would relax her—even if there was a murder or six to solve.

  Lois led the way through the dining hall as if escorting the Queen of England. She stood tall—as tall as her barely five-foot frame could stand—and beamed, regally nodding when people asked, “Is this your granddaughter?”

  Max smiled politely, but steered Lois away from a large table near a group of diners to a more private seat on the far side of the room.

  “Lois,” she said quietly but firmly, “we have a lot to discuss.”

  Lois frowned. “You don’t understand, Maxine.”

  “Please call me Max.”

  “When family visits—especially family that don’t usually visit—it’s a big deal.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What did you tell them about me?”

  “Nothing.”

  But Lois wasn’t looking her in the eye.

  “What, Lois? You can’t tell them what I do.”

  “No ... of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly did you say? I told you my cover,” she said in a low voice. “Mrs. Riley knows everything, doesn’t she?”

  Lois nodded.

  “Who else?”

  “No one.”

  Max assessed her. “Who else, Lois?”

  “Only Beau. When I started asking about Dotty, he pulled me aside and said to stop asking questions. He told me about the six other victims.”

  Max stared at the woman at a loss for words.

  “I promise, Maxine,” Lois said. “Beau is a good man.

  “No more discussion about it here,” Max said, keeping her voice low. Just because these people were old didn’t mean they didn’t have sharp senses. “Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “Flo and Beau. That’s it.” Flo and Beau? She couldn’t make this stuff up.

  “I swear.”

  Max believed her. She turned to Flo. “You can not say a word or I will learn nothing to help us find out what happened to Dotty, do you understand, Mrs. Riley?”

  “I can keep a secret.”

  In fact, she seemed just a
s excited about the prospect of a murder investigation as Lois. What had Max gotten herself into?

  “What did you tell everyone else?” Max said.

  “Exactly what we agreed to. I just—well, I might have added that you may move here, to Miami, and were looking for a place nearby. But I have an excellent reason for the story. Nadine Delacruz is the realtor for Del Sol, everyone who buys into the community goes through her. She also handles some listings in the area. She knows more about the property here than anyone.”

  “Which means that if there is something illegal going on and people are dying because of it, she might be in on it.”

  “Nadine? No,” Lois said. “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “She has small eyes,” Flo said. “My Karl always told me never trust a person with beady eyes.”

  “Her eyes are not small,” Lois countered.

  “Are too. She just wears a lot of make-up to make them bigger, but they’re twitchy.”

  Lois was poised to argue with Flo, so Max cut her off. “No assumptions about anyone,” Max said. “The three of us—and this Beau, to whom you’re going to introduce me today so I can lay down the law—are the only people who can know why I’m here. If you can’t agree to that, then I’m going to leave.”

  “All right,” Lois said with a nod.

  “Flo?” Max asked.

  Flo pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. Max would have to take that as an affirmative.

  “I still need to show you off,” Lois said. “If you just go to my place, everyone will be suspicious. People want to meet you.”

  Debra walked over with a plate and a croissant with warmed chocolate oozing out of the middle. “Look what I found in the kitchen!” she said brightly and put it in front of Flo.

  “Are you sure it’s edible?” Flo asked.

  “Yes, I warmed it myself.”

  “They why wasn’t it out earlier? With the other chocolate croissants? What’s wrong with it?”