“Grampa and Granny passed on when I entered nursing school,” Kristy said, “and I specialized in geriatric nursing in memory of them.”
“How inspiring,” Winston said.
Kristy pushed around the lingering crumbs on her plate. “Anybody else in my position would have done the same.”
“No, I disagree. I think you’re very unique.”
She let out a tiny smile. “Enough about me. What’s your background?”
“I grew up with both my parents, but they died of natural causes several years back. My sister Marcy is five years older than me and is the family genius. She went to Harvard for undergrad. Then she won a Marshall Scholarship and received free tuition to a university in England. She met her husband there and is currently one of the top herbologists in the world.”
“Herbologist?”
“Yes, she studies herbs. It’s quite specialized.” He told her about all the speaking engagements and conferences his sister attended because of her expertise. He tried to remember all the scientific jargon Marcy had tried to drill in him, but he couldn’t. Thankfully, he was saved when their desserts came.
Winston dug into his peach cobbler, while Kristy placed her crème brulée to the side. He let the fruity sweetness linger on his taste buds. “Peach cobbler always reminds me of my parents,” he said.
“Did your mom bake a lot?”
He shook his head. “My mom didn’t have time to bake. She worked seven days a week, with only fifteen-minute breaks every couple of hours.”
Her jaw dropped. “What did she do?”
“She worked at CalPak, the California Packing Corporation. That was its original name, but it’s better known by its second name, Del Monte. She canned fruit.”
“Tough work.”
“Yeah. She pretty much lost her hearing from all the zipping of the cans on the conveyor belts. She never complained, though. In fact, she called it a godsend, because she met my father through it.”
“Did he work at the cannery?”
“No, he was in the orchards. He harvested peaches. The best way to pick up a peach, he always said, was to use the sides of your fingers rather than the tips to avoid dents in the flesh. One day, the normal delivery man couldn’t make his rounds, so my dad volunteered to take the fruit to the plant. While there, he asked for a tour of the building, saw my mom, and fell in love at first sight. Peaches always remind me of love.” He dipped his spoon into the cobbler and held it out to her. “Want to try?”
“Sure.” She leaned over, pushed the spoon down, and pecked him on the lips.
Later, they ended up sharing the crème brulée using one spoon. Its sweetness didn’t even begin to compare with her kiss.
CHAPTER 11
Winston doubled up on the Macho aftershave in the morning. He brought the necessary materials to the home (clean sheets of paper and an ink pad), but they were only props for his excursion. His real reason for visiting was to see Kristy again.
Everyone was gathered around the upright piano listening to Jazzman play, with the exception of the new resident Harold Meekings. Kristy stood bent over the keys watching Jazzman’s fingers fly. Her hair was secured in its neat single braid once more, and she wore dull gray scrubs. Still, Winston could picture every curve of her figure beneath the loose uniform.
Applause jolted him out of his daydreaming. With the song over, Winston cleared his throat.
“Hi, folks. Hope you’re all having a good morning. I need to get a copy of your fingerprints today for my investigation.” He pulled out his materials and lined them up on the sideboard.
Nobody moved. Guess Kristy was wrong about fingerprinting being the highlight of their day. “Who’s first?” He looked around the room, their emotions ranging from indifference on Eve’s face to anger on Pete’s. “Kristy, why don’t you show everybody how it’s done?”
She looked startled and moved with slow steps toward him. He didn’t know why he’d called her name. She wasn’t on the list. He just wanted to touch her again. He reached out and guided her fingers to the ink and onto the page. Despite their calloused appearance, the tips were smooth and velvet to his touch.
He called everyone up to the table one by one. Eve came docile as a dove, and her prints showed up crisp and clear. She brought the blackened fingertips to her eyes and grinned like a child who’d finished finger-painting a masterpiece. Kristy led her away with a gentle tug, probably to wash off the dark smudges already transferring onto her white muumuu.
Jazzman came next, his long pianist fingers rolling across the paper with grace. He hung around as Winston printed his name on the sheet in clear letters. “Would you like my autograph instead? I could still be famous, you know, and then you might want it framed up.” He winked at Winston, grabbed the pen, and signed his name with a flourish.
Anastasia came next, with a slow waltz up to the sideboard. Her fingers felt clammy, and he had to do them twice because of the sweat marks. “Are you okay, Anastasia?”
“I feel odd doing this. Will you catch the culprit for sure?”
“I hope so.”
After she finished, Anastasia walked away, wiping her hands in a slapping motion against her puffy black skirt.
Pete proved the most difficult to convince. Everyone had already gone back to his or her respective rooms, and the man sat there, refusing to budge from his seat on the couch. Winston had to walk over to the veteran to take his fingerprints.
“It’s bad enough that I have to sit here for mandatory ‘music appreciation’ time,” Pete said. “I don’t need to be fingerprinted like a criminal, too.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
Pete snorted. “The only good thing about this is that I know you understand now that Joe was no saint. He must have messed up real bad to have someone go after him.”
“So cooperate.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“I want to rule out all the logical possibilities, like the residents here who have access to his room.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Quit stalling then,” Winston said.
Pete folded his arms across his chest. “You have nothing on me.”
“What about that stiletto knife you carry around? I found some slash marks on Joe’s IV bags.”
“Not lethal. Did you find any on his body?”
“His death was ruled natural, but I haven’t seen the corpse.”
Pete pulled out the knife from his jacket pocket and handed it over. “Take a look at this blade. I think it’ll prove my innocence.”
Winston saw that the blade was sheathed and dirt encrusted the entire holder, making it impossible to take out the knife and use it.
“This isn’t a weapon,” Pete said. “It’s a sentimental item from my time in the Army. From the private who offered to check for mines in my place when I froze up. Two minutes later he stepped on one. All that remained of him was this knife. I keep it to remind me of his sacrifice. I could have died that day instead of him.”
“I didn’t know,” Winston said. He almost placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder for comfort, but he knew the man would shrug it off. Instead, Winston watched Pete hobble back to his room using his prostheses. Even without the new knife info, there was no way Pete could travel fast enough to have committed a crime. Winston’s previous number one lead in regards to the slashed IV bags had just walked away from him.
Winston decided to find some privacy as he continued organizing the fingerprints he’d gathered. He chose the break room, and it took him an hour with a magnifying glass to try and match the smudged markings, to no avail. At least he’d tried.
When Winston heard the shrill ring of a telephone nearby, he welcomed the distraction. A tiny cell phone perched behind the coffeemaker. Kristy must have left it on her coffee break. He counted five rings but didn’t see her running in, so he picked it up. Maybe he could take a message for her. “Sweet Breeze, Winston speaking.”
“Oh, Winston.” The wispy
voice seemed familiar. “Of course, Kristy must be busy as usual. Could you leave a message for me?”
“Of course, may I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Jacqueline. Joe’s ex.”
He now recalled her dignified tones. “Thanks again for your hospitality. What would you like to tell Kristy?”
“We’re having an open casket for the service. I wanted his friends and family to have a chance to see his face, say goodbye, and get closure, but the funeral home still can’t stop the stink. Must be those new eco-friendly chemicals they use to preserve bodies.” Jacqueline gave a nervous laugh. “I wondered if Kristy had some hospital-grade antiseptic.”
“What kind of smell?” he asked.
“I think it’s vomit. He must have thrown up on himself that last night, poor soul. They haven’t been able to get the odor out.”
“Poor guy,” Winston said. “I’ll give Kristy the message.”
He jotted down Jacqueline’s request. It must be difficult to spend your last minutes covered in your own throw-up. In that case, Winston was not looking forward to turning ninety. Wait, could it have been something else that had caused the vomiting?
He called up Jacqueline again. “Would it be okay for me to see the body?”
“Oh, do you think you can help with the odor?”
“I might be able to provide some assistance.” And not just with the lingering smell.
CHAPTER 12
Jacqueline informed Evergreen Funeral Home of Winston’s visit. She herself didn’t accompany him. She couldn’t be bothered to make the trip from Gilroy to San Jose. Besides, her daughter Emma, who was her typical driver on errands, was busy with her pharmacy work.
The funeral home looked especially drab compared to the splendid greenery that surrounded it. The dull gray squat building didn’t even seem like a place of rest. It reminded Winston of the old packing plant his mother had worked in, slaving seven days a week in its concrete prison.
Winston shivered and walked in. At least the interior seemed more suited for serenity. The walls were painted an innocent natural beige, and haphazard Ikea nature pictures adorned their surfaces. Nobody appeared to notice him enter, but a door down the hallway was open. He could spy a tall figure moving back and forth in the narrow room. He called out as he approached.
A middle-aged blonde stopped her busy movements and extended a hand to him. “Oh, I didn’t hear you. I’m Blaire the mortician.” Her body held the grace of a dancer, and Winston could picture her as a model in her younger years.
He introduced himself. “I have an appointment to see Joe Sawyer’s body. Jacqueline called about it.”
Blaire wrinkled her nose. “The scent has been a problem. It’s been days already. The smell should be gone by now. I already drained out his fluids and inserted the organic embalming fluid. I washed and dried his body for the second time today. Why don’t you take a sniff and tell me what you think? My nose has adjusted to it and isn’t as sensitive anymore.”
She led him to a refrigerator against the back wall and pulled the large handle. It opened up to a view of Joseph Sawyer’s naked body, laid out on a silver table. Winston flinched.
“Oh, would you like me to cover him up?”
“No, no. I just assumed he’d be clothed.”
“I’ll put on his formal attire once the smell has aired out.”
Winston looked at Joe, the shriveled figure drowning in an expanse of metal. Filled with wrinkles, the man seemed a parody of a large prune. Winston focused on Joe’s face, the source of his humanity. Lines crisscrossed it and spoke of numerous years, most of them filled with laughter. Joe deserved to have his death investigated, especially if it hadn’t been a natural one.
He peered at Joe’s skin. He noticed a figure-eight birthmark on the upper left arm. He peeked around folds and moved limbs. No cuts so far. He remembered Pete’s claim about the useless knife, but he still wanted to make sure that no rough foul play had been involved. Then again, wouldn’t somebody have noticed that? Or did people overlook suspicious causes in deaths of ninety-year-olds?
“Are you looking for something?” Blaire asked.
He placed Joe’s leg gently back. “I was just admiring his skin.”
She nodded. “He kept his body really well. Usually, I see a lot of marks. Older people bruise more easily. They get thinner skin as they age. With Joe, though, nothing.”
No signs of unusual force then. Winston sniffed the body. “There does seem to be a rancid odor.”
“It’s not B.O.,” Blaire said. “It’s more of a sharp vomit smell.”
As he took several deep breaths in, Winston started gagging. “Was it worse before?”
“Uh-huh. He must have vomited a lot. Maybe something he ate didn’t agree with him. It takes a lot of throwing up to produce such a pervasive smell. It’s almost like his body was reacting violently against something.”
Maybe his food had been poisoned? He needed to check with Kristy when he got back. He covered his nose as another onslaught of stench assaulted him. “I did bring something for the odor. I’m not sure it’ll work, though.” He pulled out the spray bottle he’d been carrying. He used almost half the bottle of Stench Quencher, misting Joe with the stink-fighting drops. No dice. Something janky was going on, because if anything, the smell seemed to deepen and release a new odor.
“What scent did you use?” Blaire asked.
“It was fragrance-free.”
“It doesn’t smell fresh to me, but it seems sweeter now. I can’t quite place my finger on it...”
But Winston could. It was the comforting smell of apples and cinnamon. And he’d remembered it floating in the air when he had first met Eve Solstice.
CHAPTER 13
Winston returned to Sweet Breeze and found Eve nestled on the back patio. She sat on one of the hard cement benches, her eyes fixed on the birdbath. She seemed to be waiting for birds to appear and drink up, but the water sat untouched, a layer of algae dusting its surface.
“Excuse me, Eve?” Winston asked.
The woman turned to him with a slow swivel. Her dull blue eyes seemed fixated on his chest.
“May I ask you a question about Joe Sawyer?”
A breeze ruffled the cotton candy pink muumuu she wore, but her body remained still. He wasn’t sure if she’d even registered his question.
He tried again. “Were you near Joe when he died?”
Her eyes started wandering back to the empty birdbath.
“Joe, you remember him, right? You thought he was your husband… what was his name again? Teddy?”
Her head snapped up, and she fixed him with a sharp glance. “What’s happened to Teddy?”
He twisted away from her ugly stare. “Uh, nothing. I have a question about Joe. Joe Sawyer.”
“Don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s happened.” She edged up closer to him and yanked the collar of his shirt. The top button popped off. “Family is everything to me.”
He pried her dry fingers off his shirt one by one. “I’m the good guy here. I want to help you, Eve. Your granddaughter Carmen asked for my assistance, remember?”
At the mention of her granddaughter, Eve retreated and settled back down on the bench.
“I’m investigating Joe’s death. Actually, I believe you called him Teddy.”
“What? Teddy’s dead?” She started wailing. The cries must have pierced through the glass doors, because Kristy stepped outside a minute later.
“It’s okay, Eve.” Kristy patted the old woman’s back in a steady rhythm until her cries dwindled. “Why don’t you rest for a bit? I need to speak with Winston alone.”
Kristy pulled him to a bench several feet away. “Winston, you need to be gentle with her.”
“You don’t understand. Joe vomited a lot the day he died. Maybe somebody poisoned his food.”
“His Meals on Wheels?” Kristy shook her head. “No, I monitor the distribution myself. Besides, everybody always eats the same meal.”
“I smelled Eve’s scent on his body. Apples.”
Kristy massaged her forehead using quick circular motions. “Do you really suspect a woman with severe dementia? You’re causing her unnecessary sorrow. Big chunks of her memory have disappeared, including the fact that her husband died. Every time someone mentions it again, she relives the pain.” She pulled out a folded sheet from her scrubs pocket. “Here, let me show you something. This is the MMSE.”
“Mini Mental State Examination,” he read. “Which is?”
“It’s a questionnaire to test your mind for signs of dementia. I was about to come out and evaluate her before she started screaming.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I can give it to her some other day. I use the form every couple of months to record her cognitive status.”
He scanned the sheet. Some were easy, like naming the date or year. “What’s this one? Count backwards from one hundred by sevens?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know if I could answer that one. Most of the questions are pretty feasible, though. The test is scored out of thirty possible points. What do you think Eve got on her last exam?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen?”
“She scored an eight. Dementia has taken a huge toll on her mind. She roams the hallways, aimless. Once, I found her fiddling with Joe’s dialysis bag by accident while he was napping.”
“That sounds dangerous.” Maybe Eve had stopped Joe’s medicine, even if not on purpose.
“I know what you’re thinking, Winston, but she couldn’t have worked out the mechanism in her state. Even if she had, it takes several weeks before the toxins build up to a dangerous level. I would have found out pretty quickly. I think she was trying to play with it like a toy that one time. Eve’s harmless, so please be kind to her.”
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