African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  Lilliana’s head jerked up, and she gaped at Russ Ellison. “Get away with it?”

  Ellison nodded. “It looks to me as if that baseball bat is the murder weapon.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bat. “And who does the bat belong to?” His voice rose a major third on the last word and hung there.

  “You know very well it’s mine. I left my equipment bag in here before the show started. Anyone could have come in the storage room and taken it. The door is never locked.”

  “But you’re the one with the motive,” Ellison continued. “Why, you even spoke to me about Bette supposedly stealing your plant. I think that when she won first prize, you couldn’t stand it any more and decided to take matters into your own hands.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Lilliana couldn’t believe this. Was she going to be railroaded before there was any investigation, any autopsy?

  “Now just a minute.” The chief’s voice cracked as he attempted to assert his authority. Beads of sweat covered his forehead. “Can someone tell me what is going on here?”

  Lilliana gave him the abbreviated version of what had transpired today, minimizing the argument and her feelings about Bette of course, then ending with, “Where’s the crime scene unit? Don’t they need to dust for fingerprints, gather the evidence?”

  “Right,” the chief said and pulled out his cell phone. He punched a few numbers and waited for an answer. “Uh, dispatch? This is Chief Cartwright in Rainbow Ranch. I’m going to need CSU out at the retirement home. And could the ME come, too?”

  There was a pause as whoever was on the other end talked for a while.

  “It appears we have a homicide,” Chief Cartwright said. After another pause, he nodded his head and said, “Roger.” He put his cell phone back in his pocket. After a minute, he gathered himself up and said, “I’d like everyone to go back in the dining room now while we wait for the auth—crime scene unit. I’ll need statements from everyone.”

  Lilliana tapped him on the shoulder. “How long until they get here?”

  “Who?”

  Lilliana began to wonder if she was dealing with Barney Fife. Even her failing memory wasn’t as bad as the chief’s. “The ME and the crime scene unit.” She was not entirely successful at keeping the exasperation out of her voice.

  “Oh. About forty minutes.”

  “Forty minutes? Where in the world are they coming from?”

  “Bisbee. The sheriff’s office. Rainbow Ranch is too small to have its own crime scene unit.”

  Lilliana should have anticipated that. A town of five hundred people wouldn’t have all the facilities of a city like Tucson. Or even Bisbee. “And how soon will the detective get here?”

  “Detective?” Chief Cartwright’s face scrunched up in puzzlement, then cleared as he realized what Lilliana meant. “Oh. There is no detective. I’m the only cop in town.”

  THEY’D hustled all the people who were either exhibitors at the show or visitors—those who had remained—into the television room. The fifty-inch flat screen was tuned to the Game Show Network. Thank goodness someone had turned down the sound. Of course, that made the answers shouted out by the captive audience more annoying.

  The television room ran the length of the dining room wall and was set up like a home theater, only narrower. Ten rows of five chairs with an aisle down the side provided more than enough room for the potential suspects and witnesses. It wasn’t used much, most residents preferring to watch television in the privacy of their own apartments, except for a few like Wayne who were too cheap—or couldn’t afford—to have a television of their own. The exception was Saturday night when the facility supplied a DVD of a special movie they thought the residents would like to see. They even provided popcorn. No soda, though. Housekeeping had refused to deal with the sticky spilled liquid.

  Lilliana fidgeted in her chair. Speaking of sticky residue, she really would like to wash Bette’s blood off her hands, but the chief had been insistent that no one leave the room until the crime scene techs were done with them. Washing her hands wasn’t the only reason she wanted to make a trip to the restroom. The iced tea she had with lunch had percolated through her system, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to wait. Obviously the chief had never dealt with a group of senior citizens and their need to use the restroom on a frequent basis.

  Wayne’s angry voice coming from the doorway behind her interrupted her ruminations. She turned around to see what was going on.

  “You’d better let me out of here, or I’m going to pee all over your leg,” Wayne said.

  Miguel Ibarra, the retirement home’s handyman, who had been pressed into service to guard the door, looked unhappy. The creases which outlined his mustache deepened as he frowned. “I’m sorry, señor. The chief of police says no one may leave the room.”

  Wayne raised his voice to a shout. “Then let the chief come in here, and I’ll pee all over his leg!”

  The sound of a zipper unzipping was clearly audible to Lilliana, and she wondered if Wayne was about to carry out his threat. She certainly could sympathize.

  “Señor!” Miguel’s eyes widened, and he reached out a hand to stop the elderly man from exposing himself and, worse, urinating in public. “Wait here, and I will get Chief Cartwright.”

  Wayne’s face took on a self-satisfied expression.

  Within seconds, Miguel was back with Cartwright, who looked harried and flustered.

  “What’s this I hear?” Chief Cartwright asked.

  “I need to go to the bathroom.” Wayne’s voice was adamant.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but until everyone is cleared, and the CSIs have gathered the evidence, no one can wash their hands.”

  Wayne reached again for his zipper, and the chief, horrified, stepped back.

  Enough was enough, thought Lilliana. It was time to get this situation under control before the assemblage of elderly residents with full bladders started an all out rebellion. She got up from her seat and headed over toward the door.

  “Excuse me, Chief.”

  He turned hopeful eyes toward her. His expression pleaded with her to do something about the obstreperous old man confronting him.

  “Surely it won’t hurt to let us use the restrooms one at a time. As people get older, they don’t have the, uh, capacity that they did when they were younger.”

  Several of the residents had come up behind her, obviously also in need of the restroom and anxious as to what the outcome of this discussion would be.

  “But we might need to gather trace evidence, take fingerprints, and, uh...” He rubbed his jaw as he avoided her gaze.

  “First of all, I don’t think any of us committed the crime. Secondly, you can’t just take fingerprints of everyone without their permission or a warrant. I don’t believe you’ve had time to get a warrant for everyone in this room. And, lastly,” she raised her hand and pointed a finger at him, “you—”

  The chief’s eyes riveted on her hand, still stained with blood. “You’re the one who discovered the body.”

  Lilliana glanced down at her finger and thought about Lady Macbeth obsessively washing her hands. Is this a dagger I see before me? Well, no, but it certainly looked just as incriminating.

  “And our prime suspect,” the chief added.

  “Oh, tosh!” Lilliana exclaimed.

  The chief’s face set stone-like with determination. “For you, I have probable cause to collect evidence and fingerprints.”

  Lilliana sighed. Taking her prints didn’t bother her. Every time she’d gotten a new librarian’s job, one of the requirements was to be fingerprinted so they could assure she wasn’t a criminal or a sex offender. There were probably several sets of prints for her in the system already. One more wouldn’t make a difference. “How much longer until that happens? Wayne isn’t the only one who needs to use the restroom you know.”

  Several heads nodded.

  The chief, taking in the situation, deflated somewhat. “I suppose it would
n’t hurt to escort people to the restroom.” He glanced over his shoulder and down the hallway, searching for someone for the job. “DeeDee,” he called out. “Would you come here a minute?”

  A moment later, a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blonde hair appeared beside him. She smelled of apples and cinnamon, and Lilliana wondered if it was her perfume or if she’d been baking pies when she heard about the murder and, like so many others, come over to the retirement home out of curiosity.

  “Afternoon, Chief. Got your hands full, don’t you?” She looked up at the chief from under long, dark lashes.

  Cartwright nodded. “Yes, I do. I could use some help here.” He turned his gaze toward the waiting group of seniors and said, “Would you please escort these folks, a few at a time, down to the restroom and make sure they come back?”

  DeeDee’s face clouded over. “I don’t think toilet attendant is in the village secretary’s job description.”

  “Please, DeeDee? Otherwise we might have a problem.” He flicked a glance at Wayne, who smiled evilly, revealing coffee-stained dentures between his parted lips.

  “Oh, all right. You—“ she pointed at Wayne, then three others standing nearby “—and you, and you, and you. Come with me.”

  LILLIANA took a seat at the table in the retirement community’s library, a small room off the lobby of the main building. The crime techs had taken a sample of the blood on her hands—silly, because she’d told them where it came from—and allowed her to go to the ladies room and wash up. Now, if she could just have a cup of tea, she might feel civilized. The chief closed the door and took the chair opposite where she sat.

  “I think the first thing you need to do is tell me how you found the body.”

  He really was young, thought Lilliana. How had a boy so inexperienced ever become chief of police? “Am I under arrest?” she asked with feigned innocence. She pressed her folded hands against her abdomen, trying to still the turmoil in her stomach.

  Chief Cartwright raised his eyebrows and looked uncertain. “Why, no.”

  Lilliana gave a curt nod and said fiercely, “Good, because you haven’t read me my Miranda rights.”

  He hesitated, and when he responded, his voice lacked authority. “I don’t have to.”

  “That’s right, but let me assure you that I know what they are. You can’t make me stay here. Even if you think I’m a suspect. You do think I’m a suspect, don’t you?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect,” the chief said cautiously.

  Lilliana was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse they were playing. In reality, she was just trying to find out how competent the young man was. If first impressions meant anything, he was in over his head.

  She decided not to torture him further and launched into a detailed account of the afternoon, the missing button, and her search for a safety pin to hold her pants up. She still hadn’t been able to accomplish that mission. They’d seized her equipment bag as evidence. She hoped they wouldn’t keep it too long. There was softball practice on Wednesday, and she needed her glove, if not her bat, which she held little hope of getting back any time this century.

  Cartwright made copious notes, apparently having trouble keeping up with her recitation as he scribbled rapidly. He was about to run out of paper in the notepad he’d taken from his shirt pocket.

  “Several people mentioned you had an argument with the victim earlier today,” Chief Cartwright said.

  “That’s right.” It would have been silly to dispute that fact, since everyone in the room had heard her. “Of course, I wasn’t the only one. Frank Bellandini told me that Bette had stolen his hybrid and was showing it as one she’d bred. He was quite irate.”

  “But wouldn’t you characterize your disagreement as more... uh... vocal than Mr. Bellandini’s?”

  “I’m not going to say any such thing.” No sense adding fuel to the fire. It was obvious young Cartwright was looking for a quick solution to the crime. Lilliana could only imagine the pressure he was getting from Russ Ellison.

  “Did anyone else go in the storage room today?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I was at the show in the dining room all day. Oh, except when I took a break to have lunch on the patio. But after I put my equipment bag in the storage room, I had no reason to go back until I discovered the need for a safety pin.”

  The chief sat there for a few minutes, his face scrunched up as if trying to remember interrogation techniques from whatever police training he’d had before becoming Rainbow Ranch’s lone law enforcement officer. He failed.

  “I’ll need a written statement from you,” he said finally. “Please write—or type—one up and bring it to my office tomorrow.”

  Lilliana nodded, the chief’s tone of voice indicating the end of the interview, arose from her chair, and left.

  She stuck her head in the dining room, intending to find out if the show would go on as scheduled tomorrow, but no one was there. The other members of the African Violet Club had left their plants on the tables, so she decided that’s what she would do as well. If there was no show tomorrow, she’d retrieve them then and bring them back to her apartment.

  As long as she’d started in that direction, she determined to take a look around. Yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed the closed door to the storage room. She wondered how the staff would get access to the housekeeping supplies. They didn’t do a full cleaning on Sunday, but someone ran a vacuum over the carpet in the public areas every day. It wasn’t really her problem, but it might be if Shirley couldn’t clean her apartment on Tuesday. Shirley only came every other week, and already the dust was accumulating. Not to mention the master bath. If there was one thing Lilliana insisted upon, it was a clean bathroom. Disinfected and sparkling. She wondered if the drug store in town carried cleaning supplies. She might have to clean the toilet herself if the crime scene wasn’t released by Wednesday. Or Thursday at the latest.

  She shook her head and looked at the closed door leading into the television room. Miguel no longer guarded it, so Lilliana opened the door and peeked in. It, too, was empty. Apparently she had been the last one to be questioned. Saving the best for last?

  She wondered if they’d show the movie tonight. On the schedule was My Fair Lady, and she’d been looking forward to seeing it on a large screen with Surround Sound. And popcorn. She hardly ever ate popcorn, fearing damage to her dental work, but made an exception when she attended the weekly movie. Just a cup’s worth, and she was very careful not to bite into any hard kernels. She’d have to stop at the reception desk and ask.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LILLIANA let herself into her apartment, shut the door behind her, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to be home, surrounded by her plants. Four tiered, lighted plant stands, one on either side of the sofa and two in the far corner of the room, were lush with greenery and brightly colored flowers. The more experienced growers kept telling her she should focus on only one kind of cultivar, but so far she found that impossible to do. One four-tiered shelf unit held standards, another species plants, the third trailers, and the fourth miniatures. She loved them all.

  The kitchen staff had left a covered tray on her dining room table. She wondered how long ago. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she should eat something. Lifting up the cover revealed a plate with institutionalized mystery meatloaf covered in a rubbery, congealed gravy that flowed over a lump of mashed potatoes. The vegetable du jour consisted of limp green beans with a few slivers of almonds. A dish of peaches served for dessert. No wonder she was never hungry.

  She carried the tray into the kitchen and scraped the plates into the trash. After filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil, she headed toward the guest bathroom. She paused at the closed door on the opposite side of the hallway and placed her palm against it briefly before continuing to her destination.

  She’d turned the guest bath into a plant nursery with shelves on the walls and planks across the tub to ho
ld more pots. She checked the water level in the small humidifier that hummed on the floor. She raised her show plants here. The living room stayed on the dry side, despite a humidifier running day and night, which was why she’d gotten a second humidifier and set it up in the bathroom. Being smaller, the bathroom more easily kept the high humidity level the plants liked.

  Now that she was here, she couldn’t remember why she’d come. A “senior moment” was how most of the residents referred to this phenomenon. Lilliana couldn’t help but worry those increasingly frequent moments were the first sign of dementia. She turned to leave, but before she could take a step into the hall, the reason came to her.

  Since she’d sold most of the plants she’d taken to the show today, she went through the collection in the bathroom, mentally tagging those she’d bring down tomorrow. If there was a show tomorrow. She hadn’t been able to get a definitive answer to that. The members of the club could see no reason the show shouldn’t continue for the second day. The police chief didn’t want his crime scene contaminated before he was ready to release it. Russ Ellison had disappeared sometime during the questioning sessions, but Lilliana’s opinion was he’d just as soon not draw attention to the retirement home at this point in time.

  The whistling of the tea kettle interrupted her musings.

  A short time later, she carried a steaming mug of Earl Grey out to the patio and sat down with a sigh. Fortunate enough to live in a unit on the back side of the building near the end, the row of casitas at the rear of the complex didn’t obstruct her view of the mountains. To the northeast the sky was already darkening to black velvet. The evening star, Venus this time of year if she remembered correctly from the newspaper, shone bright low in the sky.

  She settled back in her chair. Her favorite time was when the quiet night wrapped her in a cloak of darkness, and she could congratulate herself on making it through another day. And what a day it had been. Poor Bette. As much as she didn’t like the woman, she had had no desire to see her killed. Who could possibly have disliked her so much they’d resorted to murder?