A Dawn of Death

by Gin Jones

  "Gardening is definitely good for improving your flexibility and strength," Rebecca said. "You should probably add some cardio though."

  "I'll look into it." Helen's friends at the nursing home had mentioned recently that a part-time fitness instructor there was looking into opening an exercise studio that included martial arts. That might be just what she needed and a lot more interesting than some boring old workout class. "But for now, I mostly want to know if there's a recommended lupus diet."

  Rebecca shrugged. "There isn't an official one, but you can't go wrong with the basic dietary guidelines, eating less saturated fat and more vegetables and whole grains. Well, except for alfalfa. It contains an amino acid that can increase inflammation. Something you don't need any more of."

  "But everything else is okay?" Helen said. "Tomatoes and peppers and beans and squash?"

  "Those should all be fine," Rebecca said. "You sometimes hear that the nightshade family—like tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants—can increase inflammation with any kind of autoimmune disorder, but there's no clear scientific evidence to support or refute those claims. You could experiment, though, to see if they trigger a flare. Lupus patients tend to react differently to the same stimulus, which is part of what makes treatment so difficult."

  "What about peas?" Helen said. "I've already got some growing in my plot."

  "Peas are fine." Rebecca shook her stethoscope at Helen. "Now, no more delays. I need to take your blood pressure and pulse. Unless you want to tell me why you're trying to distract me."

  Helen held out her arm. "It's not a big deal. It's just that I only got home a few minutes before you arrived, and I'd been somewhat startled shortly before that, so I wanted to make sure my vital statistics were back to normal before they went into my permanent record."

  Rebecca wrapped the cuff around Helen's arm and began inflating it. Helen closed her eyes and thought happy thoughts, like visiting her pea plants tomorrow morning and then coming home for lunch with Tate.

  Finally, Rebecca released the pressure on the cuff. "It's a little higher than usual, which makes me wonder how high it was when I first arrived. Knowing you, it had to have been something major to rattle you this badly."

  Helen waved her hand. "It was nothing. Just a near-miss accident."

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "No one tried to kill you?"

  "Definitely not," Helen said. "Purely an accident. Nothing to do with me personally. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "So you weren't meddling in a police investigation?"

  "Not at the time." She'd finished questioning Annie several minutes earlier and had been on the way home, not even thinking about murder.

  "But you have been asking questions about Sheryl Toth's death, I bet." Rebecca closed her laptop. "Just remember that any kind of stress can push you into a relapse. And you know how your nieces will worry if you're investigating a murder. Laura, in particular, can't be stressed right now, not so close to giving birth."

  "It probably wasn't even murder," Helen said. "At least, I'm hoping it wasn't. It looked like Sheryl fell off her bulldozer and hit her head."

  "Traumatic head injuries can definitely be fatal," Rebecca said. "Most fatal falls happen to older people than Sheryl, but I suppose her risk was increased by working with heavy construction equipment. If she was alone, that could have made things worse since it would have affected how long it took for help to arrive."

  "So her death wouldn't have been instantaneous?"

  "I knew you were getting involved," Rebecca said.

  "Not involved exactly. Just curious. She was definitely dead when I found her around ten o'clock. But I don't know how long she might have been lying there, and that's been bothering me. It's bad enough that she died, but it would be even worse to think that she'd been lying there the whole time during the blessing of the garden, possibly for hours, and no one noticed her. Perhaps if she'd been seen right away, she could have been helped, and she wouldn't have died."

  "Chances are her death was almost instantaneous," Rebecca said. "Probably some injury to the portion of the brain that controls the heart and lungs. If it were just bleeding inside her brain, it's likely she would have been conscious at some point, and she could have called for help."

  "I guess it's reassuring that at least she didn't suffer."

  "That doesn't mean you should take any unnecessary risks." Rebecca gave Helen a stern look as she slid off the stool. "Instant death from a fall may not be painful, but you're still dead. You may be feeling invulnerable while your lupus is in remission, but you're not as tough as you think. You should take it easy for the next couple of days. I expect to see your blood pressure back down to normal when I come back on Thursday morning."

  Helen heard the implied "or else." And when it came to ensuring a patient's health, the otherwise shy Rebecca could be every bit as relentless as Helen was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Helen woke the next morning with the thought that, so far, her healthy new hobby was making her feel worse instead of better. She'd spent the night tossing and turning, so much so that Vicky had abandoned her usual spot on the bed with an irritated huff. The cat's absence only added to Helen's restlessness as she continued to fret about what had happened to Sheryl and what the answers would mean to the future of the community garden. When she did manage to sleep, she'd had recurring dreams about a bulldozer chasing her down Lee Street, which for once was free of the usual traffic, so there was no one who might stop and help her. She'd tried to look behind her to see who was operating the bulldozer, but her view of his—or her—face was obscured by a hard hat with Toth Construction printed on it.

  Helen got out of bed, noticing as she did that her hip was a little achy. She must have jarred it during the near-miss accident yesterday. As she went about her morning routine, she realized her other joints were a little sore too. Probably just due to the dampness in the air. Rain had been falling steadily for the last twelve hours and didn't show any sign of stopping soon. Her peas were probably drowning, but there was nothing she could do about that. She'd read a few more issues of GreenPrints last night, and if she'd learned anything, it was that gardeners were largely at the mercy of Mother Nature.

  Since she couldn't do any gardening in the rain and Tate was still absent, Helen decided to go visit her friends at the nursing home. They might have heard something from Hank's uncle about the police investigation into Sheryl's death.

  Betty and Josie were in their usual chairs near the fireplace, but instead of working with their yarn, they were dozing. Betty was dressed in red sweats instead of black business-casual clothes. Josie was also in sweats, although the lime-green color was one she frequently wore.

  Helen was reluctant to wake them, so she hoisted her yarn bag onto her shoulder and looked around to see if there was anyone else she could pass some time with. The stroke patient who'd been working on the jigsaw puzzle was at the same table as before, wedged into the corner of the room. A wing-back chair had been placed directly across from her, but from this angle, Helen couldn't see if anyone was sitting in it. The woman had apparently just finished the puzzle and was looking at it with a mixture of triumph and despair. She looked around and raised her good hand, trying to catch the eye of one of the attendants, but they were all busy and didn't notice her. Helen was about to go fetch one for her when the reporter Geoff Loring rose from the wing-back chair. He leaned over the table to hand the woman a box. On the cover was a black-and-white image of dozens of Dalmatian dogs. Most of the regular residents were more than happy to share their stories with Geoff so he could write the personal-interest pieces he specialized in, but apparently he wasn't above bribery when necessary.

  The woman gave Geoff a lopsided smile and took the puzzle with her good hand. Geoff helped to dismantle the completed puzzle and dump the pieces into its box. Once he'd set the old box on the floor for an attendant to collect later, he hesitated for a moment as if uncertain what to do next. The woma
n had already dumped the new puzzle's pieces onto the table and was single-mindedly turning them right side up.

  Geoff apparently understood that his presence was no longer desired, so he turned to leave. As he did, he caught sight of Helen in the doorway and started. He bent down, hiding behind the wing-back chair for a moment, and then emerged with the old puzzle box in his hand. He raced across the room, brushing past Helen. "Sorry. Can't talk. Have to return this to the supply closet."

  "That was a nice thing you did for the puzzle lady," Helen said, but he was already out of hearing range.

  She glanced at the area near the fireplace and saw that something—possibly Geoff's hurried exit—had woken her friends. Helen headed over to join them.

  Josie wiped the sleep from her eyes and yawned before saying, "You must think we're a pair of silly old geezers. We don't usually nap through the day—too many yarns to explore and chemo caps to make—but we had a fitness class first thing this morning. The kind we told you about that includes cool martial arts moves."

  Betty pulled her work in progress, the almost-finished rainbow baby blanket, from where she'd tucked it in between the side of the chair and her thigh. "Anyone would be tired after that workout."

  "I told them we needed some caffeine afterwards, something that would give us wings, but all they gave us was water." Josie looked around to see where her work in progress had disappeared to.

  On the floor beside Helen's chair was something in a pale green that went nicely with Josie's more neon-hued lime green sweats. Helen knelt to pick up the skein of yarn that had a crochet hook stabbed through it. As she stood again, she noticed that her hip was still bothering her a little, nothing like the way it had hurt a few months ago, just enough that she'd noticed it. She thought back over the last few days in case she'd missed a dose of her meds, but she was fairly certain she'd been taking them just as the doctor—and Rebecca—had ordered. The ache had to be because of the damp weather, and the dry heat of the nursing home would soon have her back to normal.

  Josie took the yarn from her. "So what have you found out about Sheryl's murder?"

  "Nothing in particular." Helen dropped into a chair opposite her friends and dug her latest crocheted chemo cap out of her yarn bag. "I'm still hoping it was nothing more than a tragic accident."

  "Bummer," Josie said as she began making a chain with her bright yarn.

  "I, for one, would be relieved to learn that it isn't murder," Betty said.

  "That's just because you want to win the bet," Josie said. "Otherwise you'd be as interested in what really happened as I am."

  "Be careful of what you wish for," Betty said. "If it was murder, Cory O'Keefe is going to be a prime suspect, and you wouldn't want him to go to jail."

  Josie shook her head. "No one would ever convict him. He's too nice."

  Helen had met more than her fair share of killers, and most of them had been considered nice until they'd confessed to the murders.

  "Why would anyone consider Cory a suspect?" Helen asked. "If it was murder, then presumably, the motive was something to do with the land where Sheryl died. I can't see him killing Sheryl simply because she wanted to buy the land. If he didn't want her to have it, he just had to vote against selling it."

  "The reason he's a suspect has nothing to do with the garden," Betty said. "Cory is Sheryl's cousin and her only heir, according to Hank Peterson's uncle. Cory owns her construction company now. Or he will once the estate is settled."

  Cory hadn't said anything about that yesterday. Of course, it wasn't the sort of thing a person might volunteer to a new acquaintance. Especially one who had a reputation for interrogating potential murder suspects.

  "Isn't Cory adorable?" Josie said, her hands stilling for a moment. "He'd be a perfect match for you. Good-looking, the right age for you, and smart too. Not too tall either, so you'd look adorable together."

  Helen had absolutely no desire to look "adorable." She might almost prefer to be viewed as old and decrepit than adorable. Still, that was no reason to avoid getting to know Cory better.

  Betty glanced at her friend. "What about Tate? Didn't we agree that he was perfect for Helen? He might be too tall for them to look like a matched set, but he's got other redeeming qualities. He's easy to talk to, for one thing. No need to sugarcoat anything with him. Cory's more of a politician, always trying to make everyone happy, never wanting to hear that there is no good solution."

  "I know what she should do," Josie said excitedly. "She should keep both of them. Tate for the days when she wants to be blunt and Cory for the days when she wants a little romance."

  "I'm not keeping anyone." Before Josie could get any more ideas, Helen hastened to add, "And I'm not letting anyone else keep me. I've got too much to do. Starting with making sure the community garden isn't shut down because of Sheryl's accidental death."

  Josie huffed in irritation. "I still think she was murdered."

  Much as Helen didn't want to believe it, perhaps Josie was right. She might even know more than she'd said so far. "Why do you think it wasn't an accident?"

  Josie shrugged. "I don't know. I just do. I'm counting on you to figure out the details. You could talk to Cory, see if he's in financial trouble or something."

  Betty shook her head. "First, you want Helen to marry the guy, and then you want to see him arrested for murder."

  "Okay, forget about Cory's possible motive," Josie said. "What about the other people who wanted to buy the garden land? With Sheryl not bidding on it, one of her competitors might be able to buy it at a better price."

  "As far as I know," Helen said, "the only other party interested in the land is the owner of Wharton Meadows."

  Betty glanced at the puzzle lady in the corner of the room. "Daisy has an apartment at Wharton Meadows. Since her stroke, she's needed a bit more supervision than they can provide, so she's staying here for her rehab. She can't wait to go back there."

  Josie nodded. "She's afraid they won't let her return if she's gone too long. All that anxiety isn't good for her, but I suppose the fear is motivating her to do all her rehab exercises."

  "They must be raking in a fortune at Wharton Meadows. I used to do some bookkeeping for similar facilities, and the profit margin is substantial if they can keep the spaces filled." Betty glanced at the puzzle lady again. "From what Daisy has said, it's practically standing room only for their various activities, there's a two-year waiting list for apartments, and it can take almost that long to find a parking spot to visit anyone there. They could probably double their profit if they could expand across the street."

  "Now I'm even more sure it was murder," Josie said. "That Wes Quattrone guy is a jerk. I don't know why Annie puts up with him. He may be the face of the operation, doing all the networking and schmoozing, but she's the brains. She makes everything happen."

  "She's definitely got a brilliant mind for numbers," Betty said. "I took some continuing education classes with her, and she could always explain the difficult concepts when the instructor left me confused."

  "Maybe I should have a chat with Wes Quattrone." Helen tucked away her yarn and hook. "Annie offered to give me a tour of Wharton Meadows. I'm sure I can finagle an introduction to her husband while I'm there."

  "So you do think it was murder," Josie said triumphantly.

  "I'm just considering all the possibilities," Helen said. "And trying to set your minds at ease. Your new friend Daisy isn't the only one who should avoid unnecessary stress."

  * * *

  Helen peered out the front door of the nursing home. The skies were even darker than when Helen had left home this morning. What the forecast had predicted would be nothing more than the typical April showers was turning into a monsoon. Her light windbreaker was no match for the current downpour. She knew Jack had an umbrella in the car and would be perfectly willing—eager, even—to escort her under its protection, but she hated all the fuss. Perhaps if she stalled a few minutes before she went outside, there'd b
e a break in the rain. She could use the time to call Annie and arrange her tour.

  Helen looked up the number for Wharton Meadows and placed the call to arrange for a tour. She'd no sooner hung up than Jack came running up the stairs with the huge, sturdy umbrella he kept packed in the trunk along with the other supplies he considered absolutely necessary to any self-respecting professional driver.

  Once she was settled in the passenger seat, Jack asked, "Where to?"

  "Wharton Meadows," Helen said. "I'm taking a tour."

  Jack put the car in gear. "You aren't planning to move there, are you?"

  "Absolutely not." She brushed a few stray drops of water off her jacket. "And if my nieces start asking me about my interest in assisted-living facilities, I'm going to know who ratted me out."

  "You know I'd never do that," Jack said with only a tiny note of reproach in his voice. "Besides, if you were seriously thinking about moving there, I wouldn't enlist your nieces to help encourage you. I'd do everything I could to talk you out of it."

  She could always count on Jack to know the inside scoop on local people and places. "It seemed like a nice enough place when I had lunch there yesterday."

  "It's not a bad place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there." He pulled out of the nursing home's driveway. "There are too many people crammed into too little space. You'd never have the peace and quiet you like."

  "Is that all?"

  Jack came to a stop at a light. "I can't really explain it, but I've just got a bad feeling about the place. It doesn't make any sense because it's been a great addition to Wharton. The residents are happy and reasonably healthy for their ages, and the owners do hire a lot of local people, so it's good for the economy. They've even got a good record with all the oversight boards. It's getting a little crowded, and I've heard some grumblings about the waiting lists for some of the facilities, but that could just mean it's such a great place that everyone wants to live there."