TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  Beau was a large, handsome man—tall and wide, though not overweight. His age had him slightly stooped, his shoulders turning in. He walked stiffly, as if he suffered from arthritis. Other than his height, what stood out the most was his full head of completely white hair.

  Beau seemed to be the epitome of a southern gentleman, with a slight accent to boot. Max could see why Lois was smitten with him.

  “Please, sit down,” Lois said, motioning to the elegant couch in her living room. “May I get you coffee? Water?”

  “Water if you don’t mind, Ms. Lois.”

  “Cucumber or lemon?”

  “Lemon, please.”

  Max sat across from Beau. As soon as Beau sat, the two Maltese pups jumped up on the couch on either side of him, walking in circles as they sought his attention. He pet each one with hands nearly as large as the dogs themselves. They settled down a moment later and laid there, one on each side of his lap.

  “You know why I’m here,” Max said.

  He nodded solemnly. “Lois and I have been talking about what happened to Dotty and the others.”

  “The others. Lois didn’t get into details, but said you believe that six people died under suspicious circumstances.”

  Again, he nodded once. He reached into the pocket of his polo shirt, removed a folded paper, and handed it to her. “Dotty was the first who died who wasn’t sick.”

  Her heart sank. When Lois had said there were six suspicious deaths, it had been the clincher for Max. But if Dotty had been the only one, Max would never have come. Beau said Dotty was the only person who hadn’t been sick. If the other six people had been sick, why were they suspicious? She didn’t want to think that Lois had lied to her, but it was becoming clearer that maybe Marco had been right, that Maxine had jumped at this case without thinking things through.

  “Beau,” Max said, but didn’t know how to continue. How did she explain to someone in his eighties that when old people get sick they often die?

  “I know what you’re going to say, Ms. Maxine, but I’ve been digging around and other than Dotty, five people died the exact same way.”

  “Which was how?”

  “They became suddenly sick, but never got better. From the time they got sick to when they died, three to four weeks passed. They all died in their sleep.”

  Max still didn’t think there was anything unusual. “How was Dotty different?”

  “Dotty wasn’t sick. Well, not in the same way. She wasn’t feeling well one morning. Lois, Dotty, and I were having breakfast. It was a Sunday, and none of us have family who visit with any regularity, so we often eat together. Sundays are when most of the families come visit. Dotty wasn’t eating, and I asked her if she was feeling all right—she looked a bit pale. She said she’d had a headache the night before that hadn’t gone away, and her stomach hurt. I suggested she either see the nurse or lie down for a while. She said she would. I don’t know which she did—but Monday morning we were told that she’d passed in her sleep and her doctor said it was related to a pre-existing heart condition.”

  “You don’t believe that?”

  “More than half of us here are on heart medication,” Beau said with a slight grin. “I’m not—my ailments are mostly physical because I abused my body for years.”

  “Abused?” Max asked with a raised eyebrow. She was thinking drugs or drinking.

  “Football. I played back when the NFL didn’t have such state-of-the-art safety equipment. I’m surprised I haven’t kicked the bucket years ago after six broken bones and two concussions—and that’s concussions that I knew about. Sometimes the pain makes it hard to get around, but I manage.”

  Lois came in with a tray of iced tea, water bottles, and cookies. She placed it on the coffee table and sat down. Max poured some iced tea. Not her favorite, but at least it was usually caffeinated. The bottles of water had the Del Sol label, which Max thought was interesting. “They bottle their own water?” she asked.

  Lois said, “The cafeteria provides lightly sweetened, naturally flavored water every week. They infuse the water with lemon, or strawberries, or cucumber—whatever fruit or vegetable is in season. Though they didn’t get many who liked the pomegranate flavor. Too tart.”

  “I’m partial to the coconut water, but they haven’t had it in a while,” Beau said.

  “You should tell Debra, I’m sure she’ll make it happen.”

  “How long have you been living in Del Sol?” Max asked.

  “Three years. My wife became ill, and she knew I wouldn’t be able to do much for myself. She didn’t want me to be alone in the big house, so she bought a membership for me into Del Sol before she died. She was right—I would have withered away from loneliness, I think. She was the love of my life.”

  “You have no children?”

  “We do—four. But we’re from Texas. Lily and I moved to Florida after the kids graduated from high school to be closer to her twin sister.”

  “You didn’t want to go back to Texas?”

  “I have two kids in Texas. One moved to England after college for a job and never came back, and the baby moved to California. I like it here. The kids come to visit every so often, and I go to my oldest son’s house for two weeks every Christmas. The other families come in and out, so I can catch up with everyone. And of course there’s Facebook. I can keep up with what’s going on with my grandkids and great-grandkids. It’s a good life.”

  He sounded content and reasonable. Why would he come up with a wild theory about Dotty and five other residents?

  She unfolded the paper. On it were names, addresses, and dates. “What’s this?”

  “The five people who got sick and died in less than a month, spread out over the last two years. I think there are more. I wouldn’t know how to get more information without talking to people, and Lois and I agreed that might be dangerous. Those on the list are all people I personally knew.”

  “How were you told that Dotty died?”

  “Word gets out. But they also announce deaths in the daily newsletter. There’s a little prayer group I sometimes go to, and they have a list of the ill who we pray for. But if someone dies, they often email a brief announcement. People like to know these things, though sometimes I wonder why.”

  Lois said, “‘There, but for the grace of God, go I.’” She smiled sadly. “Us old folk can be a morbid group.”

  Five people—six, including Dotty—dead over two years. In a retirement community that housed over five hundred people, according to the website.

  “Are these the only people who died in the past two years?” Max asked.

  “Dear Lord, no,” Lois said. “We average one or two a month—sometimes more, according to Flo. When the flu went around a while back, before I moved in, seven people died of complications in two weeks.”

  “That was my first year here,” Beau said. “And all those people had pre-existing conditions.”

  “You know this how?” Max asked.

  “People.” He shrugged. “I knew two of the ladies had been heavy smokers for years, one of them had severe asthma, and the others had been in and out of the hospital. People here talk a lot.”

  “Some people,” Lois said. “Not everyone is a gossip.”

  “Beau, what specifically prompted you to look into this?” Max said. “How did you come up with these names?”

  “Shortly before Dotty died, she told me she thought Margaret Stafford had been murdered. You have to know Dotty—she’d never make an accusation like that unless she really believed it. Dotty and Margaret had been friends, two of the longest-tenured residents. They’d both bought in early, they lived next door to each other, and they had a lot in common. Dotty and I went through some of the newsletters, and she started asking around about other people who had gotten sick. And then—she just dies over night?”

  “That was right after I moved in,” Lois said sadly. “I’d met Margaret several times, and she and Dotty were so happy here—they both convinced me
to buy-in. Then I couldn’t wait to move in because I had already built a community of friends.”

  Beau said, “I brought this to the attention of the police.”

  “You called the police?” This was the first Max had heard of that. She’d made a Freedom of Information Act request for any complaints into Del Sol and came up dry. She’d also had Marco ask around, and nothing.

  “They placated me. Paranoid old man. It just … well, I don’t have much of a temper, but I didn’t have the patience to sit there and be insulted. I talked to Lois, and she, too, had suspicions about Dotty. They’d been friends for years, like she probably told you. Lois said she’d read your books and some of your articles and that she would reach out to you. I’ll admit, I was surprised when Lois told me you agreed to come. I thought you’d dismiss the evidence outright—I know it’s not much.”

  Max didn’t know if there was a crime, but Beau said something that had her instincts buzzing.

  As soon as Dotty started asking questions about Margaret’s death, she died in her sleep.

  “Is there any way to get a directory listing of residents going back, say, five years?”

  “Flo,” Lois and Beau said simultaneously. Lois explained further. “The directories are all printed, and Flo is a bit of a pack rat. She always looks a bit disheveled, and she’s slow to get around, but she’s extremely organized.”

  “Would she have these newsletters with the directories?”

  “Most likely, though the newsletters are also archived in our library.”

  “What do you need?” Beau asked.

  “I’d like to see if there is a bigger or longer pattern,” she said, “though I’ll start with these names. I’ll go through the archives and pull all the deaths in the last two years—maybe go further back. Some will be obvious natural causes.” It would take several days, she realized.

  “I can help,” Beau said. “I want to.”

  She didn’t know if there was anything illegal going on, or if any of these deaths were unnatural, but she didn’t want to risk Beau and Lois.

  “Let me dig around a bit more, and I’ll definitely let you know where you can help.”

  He looked so dejected that Max mentally ran through a list of everything she had to do.

  “One thing would help,” she said. She didn’t quite know how the information would be valuable, but more info was always good. “In addition to a current directory, I’d like to see a staff directory and know how long each employee has been here, as well as that list you say your prayer group prays for. Those who are currently ill, and when they got sick.”

  Beau practically beamed. “I can do that.”

  “And do you still have the name and number of the person you spoke with at the police department?”

  “At home. I’ll get you his contact information.”

  Max didn’t know if she wanted to bring the police into this right now, especially since there were no complaints on record. But in her job, information was king, and she needed every scrap she could get.

  Chapter Five

  Max explained to Lois exactly what she wanted her to do that afternoon at the clubhouse—essentially, be nice to Thomas Hart, then when he sat down for a drink, disappear so Max could talk to him alone. Max wanted to imply a few things that Lois might not appreciate, and she did better one-on-one when she wasn’t worried about the reaction of someone else.

  After lunch they ventured over to the clubhouse. It was two in the afternoon and the place was crowded. “Is it like this every day?” Max asked.

  “Most days,” Lois said. “Golfing is huge here. Plus, this is the only place to get a drink and the food is delicious. Dotty didn’t come often because she was on a tight budget, but the chef adored her. She made several suggestions and he always gave her a discount. Everyone loved Dotty.”

  So it seemed, Max thought.

  Lois found an unoccupied table. “The service is slow, however.”

  “Keep your eye out for Thomas. I’ll get us a drink at the bar. What would you like?”

  “Honey, if I have a highball this early, I’ll be asleep before dinner. Decaf coffee for me. And put your drink on my account—they don’t take cash.”

  Sure enough, Lois had done what Max had wanted—by the time Max returned with the drinks, Thomas Hart was sitting at the table talking to Lois, every inch the golfer with white shorts and a rather hideous green golf shirt with horizontal pink stripes. He was flushed from the sun—or his martini—but still looked happy.

  Max sat down with her white wine and Lois’s coffee. “Good to see you again, Thomas.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat. “Always nice to drink with two pretty ladies.”

  “Have you eaten?” Max asked.

  “Just finished when I saw Lois here and she invited me to sit for a spell. It’s only March and it’s already warm out there. But it was sure a nice morning.”

  “Would you two excuse me for a moment?” Lois stood. “You don’t mind keeping Maxine company while I go over and chat with Gayle and John, do you? They just returned from their cruise.”

  “I’m happy to sit with your beautiful granddaughter,” Thomas said.

  Lois scowled at the harmless flirtation and said, “I won’t be long, Maxine.”

  After Lois left, Max sipped her wine and assessed Thomas. He watched Lois leave. Was he an old letch? Or was it all an act?

  “She’s a good woman, your grandmother,” he said. “She was thrilled that you contacted her. What do you do? Lois didn’t say.”

  “I’m an art restorer. I love history which is how I originally became interested in art.”

  He brightened. “So do I, especially military history. World War One is a favorite time period of mine. My own grandfather served.” He started in on the exploits of Captain John Hart. Max listened for a few moments, wanting Thomas to be comfortable with her and not suspicious of her questions, then when he paused, she leaned forward with a glance over to where Lois was still talking across the room.

  “May I ask you something confidentially?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Dear? “My grandmother has been really upset about the sudden death of one of her friends, Dotty. It worries me because she’s still so sad.”

  Thomas’s face clouded. Max didn’t think he was faking his emotional reaction to the mention of Dotty’s name.

  “Dotty Holcomb was a good woman. She and Lois were friends—Lois visited often before she moved here.”

  “Lois said you and Dotty were close.”

  “I suppose we were. We’ve both been here awhile—Dotty longer than me.”

  “I’m concerned. Lois has it in her mind that I’m going to leave California for Florida. My home and career are in Los Angeles. I think her desire stems from losing Dotty so soon after she moved in. She said Dotty wasn’t even sick and no one knows how she died.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that is true.”

  “Are you saying Dotty was sick? Lois said you were friends with her. Maybe she confided in you? Something to ease Lois’s mind.”

  “Dotty was sick three weeks before she died, really bad bug, but she said it was a forty-eight-hour virus or something. She seemed to bounce right back. Then three weeks after that, she died in her sleep. Could have been she wasn’t better, just felt better, you know? She was eighty-two, and I know that we don’t want to admit it here, but none of us are spring chickens. Most of us here are beyond our average life expectancy. We may talk a lot about dying and funerals, but most of us are still a bit scared of our own mortality.”

  “Are you suggesting that maybe Dotty’s death forced my grandmother to think about her own mortality?”

  “Perhaps. Three weeks might seem like a long time, but when you’re old and you get sick, sometimes there is no bouncing back.”

  “Since you and Dotty were close,” she said with emphasis, “maybe if you reached out to my grandmother and, I don’t know—befriend her?”

  Thomas l
aughed, but he didn’t look Max in the eye. “Lois is a bit prickly. I’ve tried to be friendly, but she gives me the cold shoulder.” He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “She certainly doesn’t give Beau Pomeroy the cold shoulder.”

  Was that jealousy? Or gossip? It wasn’t lost on Max that Thomas hadn’t answered her question about Dotty.

  “So you weren’t involved with Dotty?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell, young lady. Dotty was a good woman.”

  “So you think her death was from her illness.”

  He stared at her. He was becoming suspicious. Max didn’t think she’d tipped her hand, so she pushed a bit more.

  “Do you know who I could talk to? Maybe someone to give Lois peace of mind.”

  “Well, let’s see—there are two nurses here most days. Nurse Jennifer Markson lives here full-time. Her husband, Peter, is the administrator. Fine fellow. A few of us have a standing poker game and he participates.”

  “Would he be the person to talk to? Or the nurse?”

  “Well, I’m sure the medical office knows. Nurse Markson runs it, the other nurse—shoot, I forget her name. She’s here nine-to-five.”

  “Is there a doctor on staff?”

  “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

  “So my mother always told me,” Max said with a light laugh. She needed to be less intense with these people—while the older generation did like to talk, they were often sharp about human nature. If someone thought she was being too noisy, they might become suspicious. Maybe suspect she wasn’t who she said she was. While she wasn’t breaking the law—Lois knew that she wasn’t her real granddaughter, so she wasn’t committing fraud—she could be expelled from the Del Sol property.

  “How long are you going to be staying with Lois?” Thomas asked.

  “At least a week. Lois has so much information about my grandfather and his family. I enjoy talking to her.”

  “Pretty young girl like you spending your vacation with us old folks?”

  “Del Sol is like a resort,” she said. “I’m perfectly happy to be here.”

  Turning the conversation back to Dotty now would definitely be suspicious, so Max said, “I’d better track down my grandmother. Thank you so much for drinking with me—much better than drinking alone.”