by Gin Jones
"Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue or fit on a business card."
He laughed heartily until tears streamed down his face. Finally brushing away the wetness, he said, "I'll arrange for your tour now," and hit the intercom button on the ancient phone system.
Helen didn't trust anyone who was that perpetually and blatantly happy. She was starting to think his constant amusement was just a habit he'd gotten into. Like people who grew anxious if they didn't check their smartphones every thirty seconds, Neil seemed unable to go that long without chuckling, giggling, or at least snickering. It couldn't be real. No one was truly amused that frequently.
Which made her wonder what else he wasn't being honest about. Like his supposed alibi.
If the Darling B&B had threatened the future of the long-standing family business that Neil obviously felt a great deal of pride in, he would have had a compelling motive to get rid of Danica, regardless of the limitations imposed by his walking cast.
Even as she left for her tour, she couldn't help picturing Neil chortling as he sneaked into the women's locker room at the Zubov House of Sanyo and then breaking into full-fledged guffaws as he attacked and killed his arch-rival, Danica.
CHAPTER NINE
After a too-quick tour of the premises led by a young woman who worked in housekeeping, Helen had to accept she wasn't going to catch Martha Waddell taking a break from her meetings.
The tour had taken them past the meeting room where Helen suspected the town officials were engaging in their secretive negotiations, but the shabby-looking door was nevertheless solid enough to prevent eavesdropping.
Back in her loaner car, Helen asked Jack what he could tell her about Neil Campbell's obvious dislike of Danica Darling.
"You don't really think Neil had anything to do with Danica's death, do you?"
"He seemed like a nice enough guy," Helen admitted, since she couldn't really hold it against him that he laughed too much, "but people sometimes go to extremes to save a business that's been in the family for generations, like his has."
"He has nothing to worry about," Jack said earnestly. "There's enough business for both places. They're really different from each other too, and it's good to have options for the tourists. Not everyone likes the same thing."
Helen recalled Neil's obvious disdain for the Darling B&B. Given the shabbiness of his own place, she had to wonder what he considered to be inferior about his competition. If she satisfied her curiosity about that, it wouldn't be the same as actually looking for suspects in Danica's death. Although, if pressed, she'd have had to admit that the B&B's employees were likely suspects, assuming that Danica had treated them as badly as she'd treated everyone else around her. "Do you have time to take me over to check out Danica's place?"
"I have all the time in the world this week," he said. "Most of my extended family is away on vacation, and of course Jay and Zee are in Vermont. I told you about the gig they got on the crew of a documentary, right? It's unpaid, but they think it will give them the right experience for their resume, so they can get a paying job in the film industry."
Jay and Zee were Jack's nephew and niece, both of them obsessed with the dream of working in Hollywood. "I knew they were away, but not the details of their trip. It sounds like a great experience for them."
"They're really enjoying it," Jack said as he pulled into traffic. "And this is a slow season for the clay avatars I make, so I've got plenty of free time. We can go anywhere you want, Ms. Binney, any time at all."
The Darling B&B was on the same side of town as Neil's place, so it was just a few minutes later when Jack pulled into its driveway. Even from the outside, it was far different from the slightly worn but solid and simple farmhouse Helen had just left. The building had originally been one of the luxurious homes from the golden age like the Wharton Nursing Home, but smaller. The B&B wasn't an actual mansion, just an elaborate two-story Gothic Revival home with a turret and lacy trim.
Inside the parlor that served as the lobby, there were carpets on top of carpets, stacks of pillows that left no room for actually sitting on the upholstered chairs, and layer upon layer of ruffles everywhere, even covering the cables that led to a massive television and the charging station for digital devices.
The room was deserted, but Helen could hear voices in the back of the building. She followed the sound down a hallway to a dining room with a dozen family-sized tables. The only occupied one held two women and a man. They appeared to be employees on a break rather than guests, and were staring morosely at their pink mugs imprinted with Darling B&B in a font so festooned with serifs and curlicues that it was barely readable. The women wore matching long, gathered black skirts and pink tops with cap sleeves and a deeply scooped neckline above four horizontal tiers of ruffles. The man was spared the ruffles and the skirt, but still vaguely matched them in a loose pink T-shirt with wide-legged black pants.
At Helen's entry, the man, who was the only one of the three who was facing her direction, jumped to his feet. It struck her that here was yet another addition to the cadre of extremely muscular young men in Danica's circles. He was very similar in height and build to Danica's sparring partner as well as Neil Campbell and Kolya Zubov, although he was younger than the others, barely out of his teens. He started to leave and then turned back to collect his pink mug before stumbling through a door marked Employees Only. Judging by his unsteady steps, she had to wonder if there was something stronger than coffee or tea in their drinks, or at least in his.
The older of the two women turned around to acknowledge Helen. "I'm sorry. We weren't expecting anyone today." She got to her feet as slowly and painfully as if she were eighty instead of close to thirty. She was short and chubby, and the horizontal ruffles made her look even shorter and heavier. "I'm Leslie Huston, and I seem to be in charge today. How can we help you?"
Helen could tell the woman was trying to be welcoming, but it seemed to be a struggle, and her words came out barely above a whisper. It didn't help that she looked at her feet while she spoke.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your break," Helen said. "I could come back another time if it would be more convenient."
Leslie glanced at the door where her coworker had exited, and then said, "No, this is as good as it gets for us."
"Except for Jeremy," mumbled the younger woman, who was probably in her early twenties and so petite that the ruffles overwhelmed her, like a child wearing her mother's clothes. "He's taking it hard."
"I heard about the owner's death," Helen said. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." Leslie continued to stare at her feet and rubbed her hands down the sides of her voluminous skirt.
"Is the B&B still open?"
Leslie nodded. "Damian Darling—the owner's brother—will be here soon. Tomorrow. We're keeping things going until then."
The younger woman reached over to tug on the hem of Leslie's top, but she brushed the hand away. "Did you need a room?"
"Not at the moment," Helen said. "I'm just looking into some options for the future."
"Oh. Well. I don't know what's going to happen after today." At another tug on her shirt, Leslie turned and bent down so the younger woman could whisper something in her ear.
The two women were so different from the energetic, confident, and aggressive Danica. Had they always been like this, or was it due to being in mourning? There was no telltale redness or puffiness around the eyes that would have suggested they'd been crying. How on earth had they dealt with someone as verbally abusive as their boss had been? Anyone who could be as publicly judgmental and critical of a stranger as Danica had been toward Helen at the House of Sambo would probably have been even more so when there weren't any witnesses who might stop her.
On the way to the B&B, Helen had wondered if one of the employees might have been so enraged by Danica's treatment of them that she'd snapped and lashed out at her. Instead, what Helen saw—with the possible exception of Jeremy—was a group of employees who we
re all too downtrodden to feel anything. Not relief that they wouldn't have to work for an abusive boss any longer, and definitely not the sort of simmering rage that might have led one of them to plot Danica's demise. Although she supposed their anger could have been so deeply buried that even they weren't aware of it themselves.
The two women at the table were still whispering back and forth, occasionally interspersed with glances at Helen. The younger one had pulled out her phone and was sending a text while she listened to Leslie. It didn't seem likely that Helen would get any useful information from them, so she might as well head on over to the nursing home to see if Betty and Josie had heard anything new about the mysterious meetings.
"I can wait until Danica's brother is here to get the information I need," Helen said, interrupting the women's whispers. "Why don't I come back another time?"
As she spoke, Jeremy came barging back into the dining room. "Go away. We're in mourning." He lurched in Helen's direction, but then turned abruptly to land on the edge of his original seat across from where Leslie stood. He pushed himself into an upright posture and looked at the empty table in front of him. "Where's my drink? I want to propose a toast. To the most beautiful, most brilliant boss in the world. Who died before she could fulfill even a fraction of her potential. She had so many things she wanted to do."
Now she was finally getting somewhere, Helen thought. "Like what?"
"I'm sorry." Leslie stepped between Jeremy and Helen, and even managed to look into Helen's face if not quite in the eye. "It really would be best if you left. And perhaps didn't come back."
Jeremy leaned precariously in his seat to peer around his coworker at Helen. "Are they right? Are you the old biddy who likes to mess around in police investigations? You shouldn't be here. You should be talking to that jerk, Neil Campbell. He killed her. He knew she was going to put him out of business before the end of the year."
Leslie bent down to whisper into Jeremy's ear, but he pushed her away. "I don't care. Everyone thinks he's such a nice guy, always laughing and telling jokes and praising people, but we know better. He hated Danica because she dumped him, and he couldn't accept it. If the cops won't talk to him, maybe the old biddy will."
"I'm really sorry," Leslie said softly. "Don't listen to Jeremy. He doesn't know what he's saying. He's just so upset by Danica's death. Why don't I walk you out?"
"That's not necessary," Helen said. "I can find my own way."
"I'm really sorry," Leslie said again, the whispery tone of her voice at war with the new firmness behind it. "But I need to be able to tell Damian that I escorted you out as soon as we realized you weren't here about a room. If he's anything like Danica, he'll fire me if he finds out you even got this far. We're not supposed to talk to anyone about what goes on behind the scenes here."
"I won't mention my visit today to him," Helen assured her.
"It would be better if you didn't talk to him at all," Leslie said. "Or to us. We just want to keep our jobs and not get yelled at. We can't talk to anyone who isn't a paying guest. So please don't come back."
Helen knew a politely worded warning when she heard one. She would be denied access if she dared to darken the doors of the B&B again. And for all Leslie's timidity, she had to have some strength of character, or she would never have survived working for someone as abusive as Danica. Whatever wiles Leslie had used to keep her job she could now use to prevent Helen from gaining access to the B&B and the loose tongue of her coworker Jeremy.
* * *
With Leslie watching from the front door to make sure her unwanted visitor left, Helen made her way over to where her loaner car was parked.
When she climbed into the passenger seat, Jack was talking on his phone instead of playing games with it. He ended the call abruptly.
"Sorry, Ms. Binney. I didn't see you coming out of the B&B."
"Nothing to apologize for." It was unusual for him to be so unaware of his passenger's arrival, though. "I hope nothing's wrong."
"No, no. Just talking to my niece Zee. She and her brother came back from Vermont for a couple of days, inspired to write up their business plan and look into financing it. They wanted to know what I did for my clay avatar company."
"Does that mean they've given up on their Hollywood dreams?"
"The moving to California part, yes. They're still hoping to work in the film industry, though. Just on a much smaller scale, working with independent entertainment companies."
"If you want, I'll ask Lily to review their business plan and give them some feedback."
"That would be great." Jack started the engine. "Where to now?"
"The nursing home. I want to check in with Betty and Josie to see if they've found out anything more about the nursing home director's mysterious meetings."
Jack checked to make sure Helen was buckled in before heading out of the parking lot. "Any idea how long you'll be there?"
That was odd, she thought. Jack prided himself on anticipating when he was needed and never asked for an estimated departure time. "It depends. I'll definitely visit with Betty and Josie, so I'll be at least half an hour. It could be longer if Martha Waddell gets back from her meeting while I'm there, and I get a chance to talk to her. Is that a problem? I can postpone the visit if you need to be somewhere."
"Oh, no, Ms. Binney. Half an hour would be perfect. If you don't mind, though, Zee is anxious to borrow a book I have on business planning. Shouldn't take more than thirty minutes to go get it, and I'll be back by the time you're ready to leave."
"You should definitely go," Helen said. "It won't even matter if you're running late. I don't mind waiting."
Jack took his focus off the road just long enough to give her a horrified look. "I'll be back in exactly thirty minutes, if not sooner."
She thought about saying "whatever you want," but that was usually his line, and she'd already insulted his professional pride enough for one day.
CHAPTER TEN
The teenaged girl working at the front desk—yet another one that Helen hadn't met before—said the nursing home's assistant director still hadn't returned and wasn't likely to be back for hours.
Before seeing Martha Waddell's car at the Wharton B&B, Helen had thought it was entirely possible that Betty and Josie were worrying about nothing, but for the work-obsessed assistant director to leave the nursing home in the middle of her shift was extremely out of character for her. Especially when she did it two days running. Only something major would make her change her routine like that.
Helen was still puzzling over what was happening behind the scenes at the nursing home when she sat down across from Betty and Josie. They were having an after-lunch nap in their usual wingback chairs by the unlit fireplace in the activity room. Josie's pink tank top was the same color as the uniform shirts at the Darling B&B, but instead of tiers of ruffles, it was decorated with rhinestones that spelled out "keep calm and crochet on." Betty's basic navy T-shirt was free of any decoration other than a few wisps of turquoise lint from her most recent project. Or possibly from Josie's, since it appeared they had quite a large supply of that particular yarn and were both working to use it up.
While Helen waited for them to wake up, she dug in her bag and pulled out the wooden crochet hook Tate had made for her to replace the one that had recently suffered a somewhat bloody accident. Unfortunately, when she grabbed her heathery purple work-in-progress, she found that her last few stitches had pulled out, and the yarn had unwound from the ball, tangling around itself and the chemo cap.
She tugged on the mess, which of course only resulted in a tightening of the knots. She let it drop into her lap, aware that taking out her persistent irritability on the yarn was only making the problem worse. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and imagined herself going through as many of the Tai Chi forms as she could remember. She got lost at her usual sticking point about a third of the way through the routine, but it calmed her enough that she thought she could resume working on her cro
chet project without completely destroying it. She opened her eyes again and concentrated on threading the ball end of the yarn through the various tangles.
She'd only managed to free about a foot of the several yards of clumped yarn when Betty woke up and said hello, waking Josie in the process.
Grateful for an excuse to abandon the tangled yarn, Helen let the mess fall into her lap. "I didn't mean to wake you. I just stopped by to see if you'd heard anything more about what's going on with the nursing home director's meetings."
"Not really," Betty said sleepily, picking up her needles with yesterday's just-started turquoise hat that now had only a few rows left to knit. Or perhaps it was a second or third cap, considering how quickly the woman could finish them. "Whatever's happening, it's escalating, though. Martha's hardly been here at all yesterday and today, and the night shift manager has been covering for her while she's gone."
"When she does make a quick stop here, she looks extremely stressed out," Josie added with a yawn. She reached over to confiscate the tangled mess on Helen's lap before continuing, "At first, we thought she might have been looking for a new job and going to interviews, and that's why she's been gone so much. But she loves this place and the people here, so she'd never leave voluntarily. What if they're trying to fire her? If they do, we'll all go on strike."
"You can't go on strike when you're a patient," Betty said. "It's not like you can give up having medical issues."
"Then we'll…" Josie's face wrinkled in concentration for a moment before brightening. "I know. We'll protest by staging a food fight. I saw enough of them back when I was a teacher, and I couldn't exactly participate. But I always wanted to try it, and this one would be for a good cause."
"No food fights," Betty said firmly as she cast off the last stitches in her turquoise cap and gathered them tight. "That would only hurt the staff, not the management, and they work hard enough already."