TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  “What? Just lie?”

  “I need to interview someone who will likely check my credentials. If they think I’m fishing, they won’t give me shit, and you know it. But if they think I’m writing a legitimate article, they’ll give me what I need.”

  “You call them.”

  “Carlo, I know your friend will do this for you.” Carlo was an asshole, but he was an attractive asshole, and a ladies’ man. She’d kept tabs on him for years, just in case she needed his help, and knew he’d dated the publisher of Fifty-Five Plus for several months.

  Honestly, Max didn’t know how he did it—he never was in a relationship for long, yet his ex-girlfriends all liked him. She didn’t get it. He lied and was smooth and attentive, but couldn’t these women see it was a game to him? Maybe that’s why Carlo had despised her from day one—she didn’t bow down to his Cuban charm.

  “Does your ex-boyfriend know you’re stirring the shit in his jurisdiction?”

  “No longer my ex,” she said. “Call him yourself.”

  “Fuck.”

  Carlo and Marco had a decent relationship—as decent relationship as any federal agent could have with a reporter. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, both first-generation Cuban-Americans, both made something of themselves from literally nothing.

  “When do I get a fucking clean slate with you, Maxine?”

  “Never. You burned my source, you burned me.”

  “You weren’t a reporter!”

  Same old, same old. Max was tired of it. She didn’t say anything.

  Carlo grumbled. “Fine. I’ll do it. Do I get anything out of it other than maybe you losing my number forever?”

  She laughed, though she was not amused. “Right, and here I thought we were such good friends. You get an article out of it if I get anything.”

  “You’re giving me an article. That means crime. What kind of crime? You said elder abuse. Where?”

  “You’ll know when I have proof.”

  “Not even a bone?”

  “Not even a sniff. I don’t trust you, Carlo.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Text me when it’s done—today. I need to set up my interviews and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  #

  “Who’s that?” Max asked. She and Lois were eating lunch in the dining hall when a short, trim man younger than everyone here—except Max—walked in. “The guy in the light blue polo.”

  Lois looked up from her salad. “Peter Markson. The administrator. Nice young man. He often eats here, makes it a point to get to know people. He and his wife have the two-story white house to the north of the main building.”

  Youth was relative, Max thought, when you were in your eighties. Peter was in his early fifties with receding and graying light brown hair. He was pleasant looking, though average.

  As Peter made his way through the dining hall, he stopped at nearly every table to say hello and chat with the residents for a few minutes. People seemed to genuinely like him. By the time he arrived at the buffet, Max and Lois were both done eating. This was the one time Max wished she hadn’t insisted they eat on the periphery.

  But she didn’t have to figure out a way to create a spontaneous meeting with the administrator. He started over toward them, and Max whispered, “Lois, introduce me.”

  Lois smiled. “More coffee?”

  Max had no idea if Lois had heard her. Before she could repeat her question, Lois rose and approached Peter. He greeted her and she said something, then gestured toward Max in the corner. Peter smiled and walked over to Max, while Lois went to the coffee station.

  Peter said, “May I sit down?”

  “Sure,” Max said. She tried to suppress her natural curiosity and questions and be the relaxed, zen artist she was pretending to be.

  “So you’re Lois’s long-lost granddaughter.”

  Max laughed lightly. “Not long lost. I didn’t know my grandfather. Lois reached out to my mother after my grandfather died. My mom knows I’ve always been interested in my family tree.”

  “Family trees can be fascinating,” Peter said. “I’m Peter Markson, the administrator of Del Sol.”

  “A lot of these people don’t have family who visit, which is kind of sad, don’t you think? It’s nice that you’re so accessible.”

  He nodded solemnly. “My parents died when I was in college. I would give anything to spend time with them now. I don’t know why more children don’t realize how lucky they are to have living parents.”

  He sounded so genuine that Max was drawn in by his quiet charisma. “I hope to visit Lois often. She’s a wonderful woman and has so many stories.”

  He sipped his coffee. “I’ve been encouraging the residents to write their memoirs. Some of them feel they can’t write or have nothing to say, but I assure them their families will want the stories. This summer—when it gets too hot for outdoor activities—I’m bringing in an instructor to teach the art of journaling. I thought if they realized these memoirs are for them, their friends, their family—and, maybe, history—that they’ll be more inclined to journal. Have you met Lois’s friend Beau Pomeroy?”

  Why would Peter ask about Beau? “Yes.”

  “He played professional football, long before it became the sport it is today. He coached at a major university in Texas before he retired. He has so many stories. On occasion, he’ll share them at the club. I want him to write them down. And there’s a woman here, Rachel Brock, who was a nurse overseas during the Vietnam War. Unfortunately, she’s been ill. I’ve tried to sit with her, to record some of her stories—she was one of the most interested in writing a memoir—but she hasn’t wanted visitors.”

  “How sick?” Max asked.

  “On and off for the last few weeks. It always saddens me when we lose a resident, even though I know it’s part of this business. That’s why I want the memoirs—the books will keep their spirits and memories alive. I greatly enjoy listening to them talk, I know others would as well.”

  Max believed Peter. He seemed genuine, but not over-the-top.

  Lois came over with a to-go cup of coffee for Max. Max sipped—Lois had remembered she liked it light, not sweet.

  Lois sat down. She poured one of the Del Sol lemon waters into a glass of ice. “Maxine restores art,” Lois said, like a proud grandmother might boast.

  “Fascinating line of work. Do you enjoy it?”

  “Most of the time,” Max said.

  “Are you also an artist?”

  “I’m a better restorer than artist,” Max said honestly. “I love art and art history, so to be able to work in the field has its rewards.” She needed to get the conversation back to Peter and Del Sol, but didn’t want to be too obvious. “I think it’s important to enjoy your work. Art restoration doesn’t pay well, but it’s satisfying.” She looked him in the eye, willed him to talk about himself.

  “I agree. Loving your work is essential to a long life. I’ve always believed that the truly happy people in the world live longer because they don’t allow stress to impact them.”

  “Do you enjoy Del Sol? It seems to be a lot of work, keeping a place this size running smoothly.”

  “I don’t mind the work, and the rewards are worth it. It’s not a nine-to-five job, but it’s less stressful than when I managed a thousand-unit condo complex on the beach. I have a terrific staff who does the heavy lifting, and I’m able to enjoy the facilities and make sure the residents have their needs met.” He smiled and his blue eyes sparkled. They actually brightened. He either loved his job or he was the world’s best actor.

  “Nonsense, Peter,” Lois said. “You do just about everything.”

  “That’s my terrific staff.”

  “It must be great working with your wife,” Max said. “I worked with a boyfriend once—it didn’t go well.”

  His smile remained, frozen in place, but something shifted in his expression. So small that if Max hadn’t slipped in the question on purpose, she would have missed it. />
  “It works for us,” he said. “And we don’t cross paths most days until we get home.”

  Lois waved to someone who had entered.

  Max turned and saw a tall, attractive blonde in a bright pink dress. The woman made a point to look slowly around the room, her face blank, searching for someone. She did a double take when she saw Lois waving to her.

  “Mrs. Markson never comes in for breakfast. Isn’t this nice?” Lois said.

  Lois was putting on an act, Max was certain of it. She was a lot sharper than Max had given her credit for.

  Peter quickly rose. “I should probably see what she needs.”

  Before Peter could leave, Jennifer Markson strode over to their table. “Mrs. Kershaw.” Jennifer looked at Max. The visual assessment was thorough, and it took all of Max’s willpower not to react as she normally would.

  Max smiled warmly, channeling her inner hippie—and realizing there wasn’t a lot of inner hippie to latch onto. “I’m Maxine Adler,” she said. “Lois’s granddaughter.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard,” Jennifer said. “Peter, you silenced your phone again. I need a moment.”

  “Sorry, Jennifer, it’s habit. Excuse me, ladies,” he said. Jennifer nodded to Lois and Max, then turned and strode out of the dining hall without looking back. Peter followed briskly on her heels, as if he were a dog about to be punished.

  “Rude,” Lois said under her breath.

  Max had the tickle in her gut. Any doubts she had before about something nefarious going on at Del Sol disappeared. Not only because Peter seemed nervous—almost fearful—of his wife, or because Jennifer was nothing like Max imagined a geriatric nurse might be.

  And Jennifer Markson had the same ring on her finger as Nadine the realtor.

  They were sorority sisters. That didn’t make them guilty of anything … except it seemed odd that a small, virtually unheard of sorority would land two sisters of the same age working at the same place.

  Max wanted to find out everything she could about those two … and if there were any skeletons in their closets.

  #

  That afternoon, Max called Harper Grey, an accountant who worked for her family trust. Harper’s father was the head of the trust, but even though Max was an equal vote on the board, Harper’s dad didn’t like her. Whenever there was a disagreement, Mr. Grey inevitably sided with Max’s asshole uncle Brooks.

  Harper, however, was only a few years older than Max, and she and Max had been friendly over the years.

  “Hello, Max,” Harper answered, her voice soothing. “How have you been?”

  “Good. I’m in Miami.”

  “Oh? You and Marco get back together?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.” Did everyone know about her love life? Though she was a private person, she didn’t have secrets. It would be exhausting trying to keep information from her family at any rate, and if they didn’t like something she said or did, that was on them, not her. Her cousin William must have said something. The were the same age, they’d gone to school together, they were friends as well as family, and talked a couple times a month. “I have a favor.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m paying, off record.”

  “I really can’t, Max. Last time I helped with one of your investigations, my father made it clear that I couldn’t work for you outside of the trust.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Our firm is hired to manage your family trust—of which you are only one member.”

  “If my uncle asked for assistance in a non-trust related matter, George Grey would do back-flips to help him.”

  Harper didn’t say anything.

  “I’m right, I know it, you know it. And I’ll bet my uncle already has good-old-George doing work for him.”

  When Harper didn’t say anything again, Max said, “What? Is he trying to undermine me again?”

  “I can’t talk about it,” Harper whispered.

  Max wanted to fly three thousand miles away and confront her uncle face-to-face. And maybe she would, when this investigation was over.

  “He’s always looking for ways to get me removed from the board, but he can’t,” Max said. “My great-grandmother made the terms clear. He just wants to mess with me.”

  “Be that as it may,” Harper said, “I have to be careful.”

  “Okay, we’ll do it the hard way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you allowed to take clients on yourself?”

  “Of course. The trust is mostly managed by my father.”

  “I have a shell corp completely outside of the trust.”

  “What?”

  “Do you actually think that I would rely solely on a firm controlled by my uncle—who hates me—to manage my estate?”

  “I—I guess I didn’t think about it.”

  “There’s a reason I don’t have your dad’s firm manage my allowance. But put that aside for now. My shell corp will hire you. It’s nothing that can easily be traced back to me because I use it only when I’m working undercover and need another entity to pay for my expenses.”

  Harper didn’t say anything for a minute, but Max knew she’d do it—if only to get one over on her overbearing father, even if he’d never know.

  Finally, Harper sighed and said, “What do you need?”

  “Everything you can get on a development company named Premiere out of Miami, Florida—and everything you can get on Del Sol Retirement Community, a subsidiary of Premiere. I want to know if they are financially shaky for one, and as much as you can get from their books and public filings without contacting them. Plus, I need information on Peter Markson and his wife, Jennifer Wesley Markson.”

  “Information? Like what? I’m not a private investigator.”

  “Financial information. You’re smart. You know what’s what.”

  “I can’t get any of these books, you know that. I can run them on my end, tax filings, SEC filings if any, check any public balance sheets, look into the finances of the principals, but there’s a limit to what I can get.”

  Max was afraid of that. “If I can get you financial or banking documents, would that help?”

  “How can you do that?”

  “You don’t need to know. And Harper? My shell corp is going to require you to sign a confidentiality agreement. That will protect you and me, okay?”

  “Send me everything you have. I’ll see what I can find.”

  Chapter Seven

  Max was just getting ready to leave Del Sol Thursday morning when Beau came by Lois’s house. Lois had left for breakfast after Max told her she would be gone for the day. She didn’t give Lois details of her plans, just told her she was researching.

  “I have the list of names you wanted,” Beau said.

  It took Max a second to remember she’d asked Beau to put together a list of everyone who was currently ill.

  She didn’t want to brush him off, but she had several things on her plate including a trip to the downtown library and a scheduled appointment at the Premiere offices. She’d played hardball with Carlo, but he’d come through. She’d never forgive him for what he’d done during the Karen Richardson investigation, but she liked him. Odd, she supposed.

  “I’ll go over them when I get back. I have an appointment I can’t miss.”

  “I made notes about how long they’ve been sick, their symptoms, and whether they’re getting better or worse—I hope that helps.”

  “It does. I just need to put it aside until I return. We can go through them tonight when I get back.”

  He nodded, though he seemed sad. Had she come across as brusque? Or that she’d given him busy work? Sometimes she was insensitive to others—she knew that about herself. With most people she didn’t care, but she didn’t want to hurt Beau’s feelings. He was truly trying to help.

  “Do you think you can check on each of the residents today? See how they’re feeling, if they’ve seen their regular doctor. D
on’t let on about our investigation, but if you learn anything unusual, let me know tonight. I’ll talk to Lois on my way out and see if we can meet here for dinner.”

  Beau smiled. “I can do that. I’ll tell Lois about dinner. I don’t want you to be late.”

  He left, and Max was glad she’d given him something to do—something that she didn’t think would tip her hand. Beau was a bright guy; he knew what to say and what not to say.

  Max left and walked briskly to her car on the other side of the community. She had a large bag with her—she had to play two different roles today during her interviews—but she didn’t want anyone at Del Sol to see her in anything other than her floaty Maxine Adler dresses.

  “Maxine! Maxine!”

  She turned to see Nadine Delacruz walking briskly toward her, a wide smile on her face.

  “You’re not leaving, are you? Lois said you were staying for a couple weeks.”

  “It’s sort of a working vacation. I’m going into the city to check out a couple artists for my boss.”

  “How fun! I would love to do something like that.”

  Not so subtle of a hint, but Max smiled. “If they’re any good, maybe we can go over the weekend.”

  “Really? That would be so great. Which galleries? I love working here, I love the people here, but sometimes I just like to hang out with women my own age.”

  Own age? How old did Nadine think Max was? Nadine was 41, the same age as Jennifer. It hadn’t been lost on her when she was researching the sorority that Nadine and Jennifer had not only shared a sorority, but had graduated the same year. That meant that the women knew each other for more than twenty years. If Jennifer was somehow involved in Dotty Holcomb’s death—of which Max had no proof, just a general dislike of the nurse—then would Nadine know about it? Maybe, maybe not—but Max didn’t trust Jennifer Markson, and de facto didn’t trust Nadine.