A Darling of Death

by Gin Jones

  "Is that all?"

  Helen didn't think the staff had had the gumption to kill their boss, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure. For all she knew, they could be looting the place right now in the absence of both Danica and her brother. "Get a look at the staff if you can. See if there's anything odd about how they interact with their new boss."

  Rebecca nodded solemnly. "I can do that."

  "I'm sure you can." Helen added, "Just don't say anything about this to my nieces. I don't want to get stuck with a new visiting nurse because they've gotten you fired."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  On the ride to the Wharton B&B, Helen convinced Jack to help stake out the Darling B&B with Rebecca later. She probably wouldn't have pushed him too hard if he'd resisted, since she thought both Ronny West and Neil Campbell were much better suspects, but Jack had seemed as anxious to help out as Rebecca had. Apparently he felt indebted to Spencer for having opened up the law office on a Saturday morning recently to give one of the Clary cousins some paperwork that couldn't have waited until Monday.

  Jack pulled up next to the walkway to the Wharton B&B's front door. As Helen got out of the car, she noticed the parking lot appeared full again today. Martha Waddell's distinctive vehicle wasn't in the lot, so the town officials' meetings were probably over, which meant most of the cars likely belonged to overnight guests. If this was a typical day at the B&B, it ought to be in solid financial condition, making it difficult for anyone—even someone as determined as Danica—to take over the business when the owner wasn't interested in selling. If she hadn't been a real threat to the B&B's owners, then they wouldn't have had any reason to kill her. At least not a business reason. There was still the matter of Neil Campbell being Danica's ex-boyfriend and possibly carrying some residual anger over that. Danica might even have been harassing him, since apparently Neil had dumped her, not the other way around. That would have made him the ultimate in "unavailable," and therefore more attractive than ever to her.

  Inside the lobby, there was no one at the registration desk. A little tent sign provided a phone number to call or text in order to summon a clerk.

  Just moments after Helen sent a text, Neil came jogging into the lobby.

  "So sorry. It's been a busy week, and I've had to be in several places all at once." He made his way behind the registration table but didn't sit. "Have you decided to go forward with your reunion?"

  "Not quite yet." Not ever, she thought, and felt a tiny bit guilty about wasting Neil's time, discussing a non-existent business opportunity. She'd make it up to him later by referring some business here. Maybe treat Lily and Adam to a weekend here once Spencer was fully exonerated. Assuming, of course, the B&B's owner didn't end up in prison for killing Danica. "I forgot to take a look at the pool area yesterday."

  "Follow me." He came out from behind the registration table and nodded in the direction of a side exit from the lobby. "Our guests love the pool. They mention it on our feedback forms all the time."

  As Helen went with Neil toward the exit, she nodded at his foot. "You must be glad you can finally cool off there from all this hot weather now that your cast is gone."

  He laughed heartily and stuck out his leg to draw circles in the air with his running-shoe-clad foot. "Isn't it great? The bone is healing ahead of schedule, and the doctor said swimming would be good rehab for me. Now I just need to find some time when my guests don't need my attention. This is supposed to be a family-owned business, but it's more like the business owns the family. No time off, especially during the busy summer and fall months."

  "You could always sell the place and take up some other type of work."

  "Ha!" His laughter rang out even louder, but it seemed genuine. "My ancestors would roll in their graves if I sold out. Besides, I really do love the work. I've never wanted to do anything except run this place."

  "That's how I felt in my previous career," Helen said as he held the door open for her. "Now I'm wishing I'd taken some time to develop other interests. Travel or some sort of creative outlet or sport."

  "I do enjoy working out." Neil raised his arm in the classic pose for showing off muscular bicep mass, of which he had plenty. "This didn't happen just from swimming."

  Helen mimicked his action, showing off an arm that wasn't flabby, but was far from bulked up. "Maybe I should join your gym. Where do you go?"

  "It's a new place." Neil closed the door behind him and gestured for Helen to follow the path that ran along the side of the house toward the sound of splashing. "The Zubov House of Sambo. But don't let the name put you off. They offer a wide variety of services there, not just martial arts. In fact, we're looking into how we can arrange for our guests to have day passes there, since the pool is really the only fitness equipment we have here. We could build some gym space here, but we could never match the personal-training skills of Zubov and the rest of his staff. It's been killing me that I haven't been able to have any sessions with him for the last month. Can't wait to get back into a challenging routine."

  They arrived at the gate to the pool area. Beyond it, the rectangular pool surrounded by what looked like oversized granite tiles had a simple, elegant design in keeping with the Shaker decor of the B&B itself. About a dozen kids were either splashing in the water or—especially the older ones—lounging on the deck chairs, huddling over their phones to protect them from splashing. Three women in their thirties were seated at a round table, chatting over iced beverages in the shade of an umbrella. One of them noticed Neil and waved to catch his attention. He held up one finger to indicate he'd be with them in a minute.

  Helen said, "It looks like you might be in too much demand today to find time for a workout."

  "Things should quiet down soon," he said. "Martha Waddell and her colleagues will be finished with their project in the next few days. Then I'll be able to get over to Zubov's."

  Helen was fairly certain she wasn't going to find any smoking gun to implicate Neil in Danica's murder, but perhaps she could find out something more about the nursing home mystery. "I didn't realize Martha was here again today. Her car wasn't in the parking lot when I arrived."

  "I've lost track of who's still here. It's a smaller group today, but you wouldn't know it from the way they've been keeping me hopping." He chuckled. "At least now I can hop. And jump. And even run."

  "Wish I could say the same," Helen said, only half-kidding. If she wasn't going to be any good at hitting things, she wasn't going to be any good at self-defense, so maybe she ought to get better at running away from dangerous situations.

  He laughed—much more heartily than her joke justified—until one of the women over at the table waved in his direction again. "If you'll excuse me, I do need to go see to my guests."

  "Of course." Helen made a shooing gesture, and he immediately took off at a jog all the way around the pool to the women's table at the far end.

  As she watched, it struck her that Neil had gone from totally disabled to top athletic form in an impossibly short time. It made her wonder just how tied to his desk and, more generally, to the B&B itself, he'd been earlier this week. After all, the walking cast had been removable and replaceable by the patient, not like an old-fashioned plaster cast that couldn't go back on once it had been sawed off.

  Helen still thought he was an unlikely suspect, and she hadn't learned anything useful to pass along to Almeida. She hoped that Tate was having better luck in figuring out a way to keep Spencer out of Hank Peterson's crosshairs.

  * * *

  Tate hadn't been working in Helen's garage when she'd left home that morning. She'd assumed he was working on Spencer's case, and as she was leaving the Wharton B&B, she got a text confirming that he was spending the day at his old law office. He invited her to join him there for their usual lunch. The message had been a little curt, giving her hope that he was abandoning his excessive niceness. Then they could finally clear the air and address whatever was on his mind.

  Spencer was on the phone when H
elen entered the lobby. He waved her in the direction of the conference room where she found Tate seated at the head of the table, talking on the phone and making notes in his laptop.

  She wandered down to the far end of the table where there were two huge take-out containers of salad topped with ham and cheese. Next to them were a bottle of creamy Italian dressing and a baggie of the garlicky croutons that were a specialty of the local diner whose logo was on the packaging. All together, they made up Helen's absolutely favorite summertime lunch.

  Partially hidden behind the salads was a box from the local bakery that was popular with both tourists and locals alike. She peeked inside and, sure enough, there were half a dozen miniature lemon tarts inside, another one of her particular favorites for a hot summer day.

  Maybe Tate's being so considerate of her wishes wasn't so bad. Except she'd give up lemon tarts for the rest of her life if it would get Tate to just be himself again and tell her what was on his mind before it drove them apart.

  Helen helped herself to one of the salads, drizzled dressing on top and then settled in beside Tate to wait for him to finish his phone call. After a few minutes of nibbling on her lunch, it dawned on her that he'd completely ignored her arrival, just like he used to do. Maybe they could finally have a good, no-holds-barred conversation about whatever was wrong with him, and their relationship could get back to normal.

  Helen was halfway through her salad before Tate disconnected his call.

  He didn't apologize for the delay, just rose and collected a couple of bottles of water from a mini-fridge. He set them on the table between them. "That was a contact in the district attorney's office. It seems they're getting some pressure from a state representative to make an arrest. Of one particular suspect."

  "Don't tell me," Helen said. "Your client, Spencer Nagle."

  Tate didn't bother to answer as he chugged down half of one of the water bottles.

  "Would it help to know who the state representative is?" Helen waited for his nod and then said, "Jane Silvia. She called Detective Peterson and got Eleanor Almeida kicked off the case. Or at least taken off the lead position. Peterson was probably thrilled to have an excuse to take over once he realized he'd been wrong about the death being an accident."

  Tate leaned over the table to type something into his laptop. "Any idea why this Jane Silvia is so interested in the case?"

  "Not really. She's been in the state legislature long enough that I probably met her at some function or another. I looked her up online, and she does look familiar, but I can't remember where or when. All I know is that she's claiming to be a friend of Danica. Of course, it's hard to say what that means, since politicians like to call everyone they've ever met—or who's ever sent them a campaign donation—a close, personal friend."

  "I'll ask Spencer." Tate made another note in his laptop. "If they really were friends, he ought to know."

  "If he doesn't know, I can get my old Rolodex out of the basement and see if I've got any notes on her. It's got all my old contacts, and I could ask around, see if anyone's got any dirt on this Representative Silvia."

  "You've done enough for now," he said. "I don't want her to get wind of my interest in her. Not until I know more about what's going on."

  "I made a reasonable career out of knowing the players and working with them," Helen reminded him, although she wasn't as irritated as she might have been otherwise. She found it encouraging that Tate was too distracted by his work to worry about offending her. "I do know how to do some digging without being obvious about it."

  "I know, I know." Tate paused to gulp down the rest of his bottle of water. "If I get desperate enough, I'll sic you on those poor, defenseless politicians in the State House. For now, though, I don't want to risk tipping our hand. I'll see what Spencer knows about Jane Silvia."

  "Just let me know if you need me to do any digging."

  "I will," Tate said. "And you might want to go ahead and get out your Rolodex, just in case. So far, Spencer hasn't told me anything useful. According to him, Danica was a lovely person, with an admittedly short temper, but understandably so, given how much stress she was under, between running the B&B and training for the upcoming Sambo championship. She wasn't everyone's favorite person, but no one had any reason to kill her, least of all himself."

  "Did he tell you about the rumor that Danica was cheating on him, and that it's why they broke up?"

  Tate dropped into his chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Of course not."

  "To be fair, he probably doesn't believe it," Helen said. "I'm convinced he didn't suspect anything until after Danica was dead. I saw his face when he heard Detective Almeida mention it yesterday, and he was shocked."

  Tate sat up and opened his eyes. "So he didn't dump her for cheating on him?"

  "He told me that she dumped him," Helen said. "And I believe it. From what I've heard, Danica liked the challenge of chasing and catching a man who was hard to get. I wouldn't be surprised if she got bored quickly and went looking for some new challenge. She might not have bothered to dump the first guy before she caught the next one. In any event, I think when she first met Spencer, he was busy with moving his parents into the nursing home and getting them settled there, so he didn't have much time for social activities, and she had to work extra hard to get him to notice her. Then, once his parents were settled, he was more available to Danica, so she lost interest and moved on to a new guy."

  "It's a good theory, but not exactly evidence," Tate said. "I'd really like to know who this other guy is that she was seeing. Assuming there was another guy. He'd be a good alternative suspect. Maybe she'd already grown bored with him too, or changed her mind about dumping Spencer."

  "I can ask Betty and Josie to keep an ear out. If anyone knows, they'll hear about it pretty quickly."

  "I hope so," Tate said. "We may be running out of time. According to my contact in the DA's office, Detective Peterson is itching to arrest Spencer. There's no solid evidence pointing to him at the moment, but if Peterson can confirm Danica was seeing another guy, he'll think that's all he needs to get a conviction."

  "I'd better get Betty and Josie looking into it right away then." As Helen stood, she gave the bakery box a longing glance, but if Tate was right, there was no time to waste. Not even with lemon tarts.

  "I'll bring dessert to your cottage when I leave here tonight. We can have them after dinner, and you can tell me what you find out from your friends." Tate was already engrossed in whatever was on his laptop screen, much as he usually threw himself into his woodturning. He seemed as thoroughly unaware of his surroundings as he was while wearing his eye and ear protection in her garage.

  Helen grinned at his back. It really was nice to have him acting like his usual self, the man she liked being with, instead of pretending to be someone he wasn't. She still had to find out why he'd been tiptoeing around her recently, but there would be time for that later. For now, all that mattered was clearing Spencer before Peterson threw him in jail.

  * * *

  On Helen's way out of the office, she spared a moment to ask Spencer how he was doing.

  "I'm fine," he said, reaching for a phone message pad. "I'm mostly worried about my mother. My father's pretty much unaware of what's going on with the police investigation, but she's as alert as ever. And she's always been a worrier. She's convinced I'm going to be sent away for life for Danica's murder."

  "Tate won't let that happen."

  Spencer gave her a lopsided smile. "That's not what he told me. He keeps saying he's going to let me rot in jail if I don't start cooperating."

  "That's just how Tate lets people know he cares," Helen said. "If he didn't like you so much, he'd be nice to you, and, as someone who's experienced it, I can testify that you really wouldn't like it."

  Spencer tore a flimsy little rectangular pink note off the phone message pad.

  "You still use these things?" she asked. "I thought they'd be as obsolete as my Rolodex file."
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  "Some things never really go out of style," Spencer said. "At least not for long."

  "If Rolodexes ever make a comeback, let me know. You can have mine."

  "I'll remember that." He handed her the little slip of paper. "Mr. Bancroft asked me to tell you he was talking to your niece while you were meeting with Mr. Tate. They didn't think you'd want to be interrupted, but she had some information for you about the nursing home."

  "Thanks." Helen glanced at the message, which read Director is up for contract renewal.

  Surely there had to be more to all the upheaval at the nursing home than that. The director had been in his job for long enough that he must have been through the review and renegotiation process before. Several times, in fact. Surely there hadn't been this much disruption to the nursing home routines each previous time.

  "I don't suppose your parents have said anything to you about the goings-on at the nursing home, have they?"

  "They thought the place was being sold, and Mom was getting all worked up about it. In fact, I think she was even more worried about that than the prospect of me rotting away in prison. You might not know it to see Dad, but he's doing a lot better in the nursing home than he was at home. It took him a while to make the transition, though, and we're worried that another change would be too much for him."

  "You and your mother can stop worrying about that," Helen said. "Lily told me earlier that the nursing home is definitely not being sold. I'm just not sure why renewing the director's contract would cause so much commotion. I wouldn't have expected anyone to even notice."