African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  Lilliana felt somewhat chagrined that she’d supplied the murder weapon. If she hadn’t left her softball bat in the storage room, would Bette still be alive? She shook off that idea. It wasn’t her fault Bette had been murdered. Although that young chief of police seemed to think it was—and not just as supplier of the murder weapon.

  How in the world had he gotten the job? He’d appeared as lost as a weekend hiker plunked down in the Catalina Mountains without a compass. She hoped he’d be getting some help from the Cochise County Sheriff’s Office. She had no idea how these things worked, particularly in Rainbow Ranch. She’d grown up in Boston, spent many years in Tucson, both of which had a proper police department with a major crimes division staffed by multiple detectives.

  She touched her lips to the liquid in her cup to test the temperature, then, finding it cool enough to drink, took a long sip. Ahhhh. There was something comforting about a good cup of tea.

  A coyote pack yipped and howled in the distance, sending a shiver up Lilliana’s spine. Wildlife in Arizona didn’t respect city limits. Even in Tucson coyotes strolled along washes near major roadways, trotted down sidewalks in residential areas in the early morning. The retirement community even had its own resident bobcat. The first time Lilliana saw him, she’d been concerned and reported it to the receptionist. The woman laughed and told her about the cat’s privileged status. Bobcats were relatively small. Lilliana hoped the receptionist would show a little more concern if she reported a mountain lion.

  Her skin tingled with the sensation of a light breeze, chilling her even though the air was still. The red flower tufts on the bush separating her patio from her neighbor’s seemed to flutter at the edge of her vision. The hour was too late for the hummingbirds that usually fed on the nectar of the Baja fairy duster. She turned her head and caught a tiny fading shower of sparkles, as if someone had tossed a thimbleful of glitter in the air. It must be a trick of the light.

  As she examined the foliage edging her patio, there was nothing there. Whatever it was had disappeared. If it had been there to begin with. First forgetting things, now seeing things. Is this what she had to look forward to?

  The night air was cooling and, along with it, her tea. With almost no humidity, the desert air quickly lost its heat once the sun left the sky. She should go inside anyway and type up that statement for the chief. She wanted to bring it to him in the morning and get everything settled as quickly as possible.

  She opened the sliding glass door and stepped into the darkened living room. The automatic timer had turned off the plant lights, leaving the room in inky blackness. Lilliana flipped on a lamp, banishing the shadows.

  After rinsing out her mug, she retrieved her laptop from the bedroom and sat on the sofa to type her statement. An hour later, she re-read it with a frown on her lips and a crease between her eyebrows. She’d taken so long because she wanted to be sure she not only had the facts right, but that they didn’t implicate her in the killing. On a second read, she wondered if she hadn’t made a case for the lady doth protest too much.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LILLIANA shuffled down the aisle of Canyon Road Presbyterian Church on her way out, hemmed in by people in front and behind. When the club had first planned the show she’d wondered if she might have to skip services this morning, but everyone agreed they should schedule a later opening—eleven o’clock—on Sunday, so there was plenty of time to attend church at nine o’clock.

  Several people nodded and smiled at her, and she returned the nods and smiles with her own. She didn’t know anyone, other than by sight, except the minister, Pastor Douglas, of course, whom she’d spoken to briefly when she’d first started attending. The congregation consisted mostly of town people. Few, if any, of the residents of the retirement community ever went, except on holidays like Christmas and Easter.

  That was another thing Russell Ellison had overlooked when converting the old ranch to a retirement home. Few of the residents were Presbyterian, and as that was the denomination of the only church in town, few attended. Once a month they ran a minivan into Benson and made a circuit of the churches there, with a stop for brunch at a restaurant, but for the other three, or sometimes four, Sundays, most just didn’t attend.

  Lilliana had been one of the non-attenders until recently herself. She hadn’t been too pleased with God and what he’d done in her life. But about a month ago, as she drank her evening tea on her patio, she’d watched the stars come out one by one until they covered the sky. It had been a moonless night, so she’d been able to pick out the nebula in Orion, if she didn’t look at it head-on. She’d started thinking about the vastness of the universe and the number of stars and planets and galaxies that filled it and how Someone must have created it.

  And there was the fact of her own mortality. While generally healthy and active, she was in what was certainly the last quarter of her life, if not the last decade. As Shakespeare had said in Hamlet:

  Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,

  Passing through nature to eternity.

  And so she decided it was time to come to an accommodation, if not a relationship, with God.

  “Good morning, Lilliana,” the minister greeted her when she finally reached the door. “Will you be joining us for coffee this morning?”

  Pastor Douglas had asked her that question every week since she’d started coming. Unsure about how involved in this church she wanted to be, she’d avoided socializing with the members. She knew from experience that if she started to participate in the life of the church, she’d be persuaded to do more and more, until her time was hardly her own. But she’d started running out of excuses. Fortunately, this week she had a totally valid one. “Sorry, Pastor Douglas. I have to get back in time for the African violet show. Maybe next week.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you then.”

  Lilliana mumbled something unintelligible and hurried out.

  It was a quick walk down Canyon Road, with a left turn on Main Street, and then up the drive to the retirement home. The drive was lined with cars, many of them with out-of-state license plates. Cars filled the parking lot as well, and a crowd milled around in front of the entrance, grumbling to themselves and one another.

  What in the world was going on?

  It didn’t take long for Lilliana to figure it out. As she passed through the crowd, she overheard what most people were talking about.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to see where they found the body?”

  “I hear that old woman was pretty angry.”

  Lilliana couldn’t help but think that one referred to her, despite the fact that “old woman” wasn’t a very distinguishing characteristic given the setting.

  “Someone said this wasn’t the first resident who died here.”

  Lilliana rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd. “Excuse me, can I get through?”

  A middle-aged man turned his angry glare on her. “Get to the end of the line, lady. Wait your turn. We’ve been waiting thirty minutes to get in.”

  “Maybe so, young man, but I live here.”

  Heads swiveled in her direction, and the crowd hushed at her announcement. The man’s anger turned to confusion as he puzzled out whether that allowed her to move to the head of the line or not. The woman next to him—his wife?—touched Lilliana lightly on the arm. “Did you see her? Did you see the body? What was it like?”

  Opting not to answer the question, Lilliana elbowed her way to the glass doors and grasped the handle of one. Unsurprisingly in light of the crowd, the door was locked. She rapped on the glass to get the attention of the worried woman behind the reception desk. When the receptionist recognized Lilliana, she picked up a key ring and came toward the door. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door a crack.

  “Let me in, Beverly,” Lilliana said.

  Beverly’s eyes flicked to the people standing behind her. “I’m afraid all these people will come rushing in if I do t
hat, Mrs. Wentworth. Mr. Ellison has already gone to fetch the chief. Maybe it would be best if you stayed out there until he gets back.”

  “Don’t be silly. These people aren’t storming the Bastille. I’m sure they’ll wait patiently until we open for the African violet show. Let me come in now.” Lilliana turned around and gave the waiting crowd her best reference librarian stern look. Apparently most of them had been to a library, because the tide of humanity ebbed just a bit.

  “Well, okay,” Beverly said, still apprehensive, but she opened the door wide enough for Lilliana to enter. As soon as she was inside, Beverly closed the door and firmly locked it again, sighing with relief as she did so. When she lowered her hands, Lilliana noticed they were shaking.

  “I’m sure everything will be all right,” Lilliana said, although she was a bit surprised at the turnout of ghouls looking for a chance to observe an actual crime scene. Most of them must have come from outside of Rainbow Ranch, Benson maybe, or even Tucson, although Tucson certainly had its share of murders, and there really was no reason for Tucsonans to come all the way to Rainbow Ranch to see one.

  “Are we going to have the show today?” Lilliana asked. She was still hoping to sell more plants and leaves. Not that it would put a dent in her electric bill. Those lights and humidifiers running ten hours a day resulted in alarming statements from the electric company. Now that the show was over, she’d see what she could do about cutting back on those hours, particularly of the lights, without causing too much damage to her plants.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask Mr. Ellison, but I hope not.”

  Lilliana bit her lip. Being optimistic, she said, “Well, I’m going to fill in my plant display just in case, and make sure everyone’s ready for the opening.”

  The quiet in her apartment was a relief after the tumult outside. She wasn’t sure which way Russ Ellison would lean. Would he cancel the show, fearing more bad publicity, or, like actors were quoted as saying, feel that there was no such thing as bad publicity and let them in, hoping to salvage his promotion of the retirement community? She hoped the latter. Then another thought came to her. Would the young chief of police have anything to say about it?

  She gathered up the plants she’d selected last night, placed them on the kitchen counter for staging, and stood for a minute trying to figure out how to carry them down to the dining room. The cart she’d used yesterday was still behind the crime scene tape. A cardboard box would work, but she didn’t have any, having long ago thrown out the boxes she’d used to move in two years ago.

  Ah! It came to her in a flash of brilliance. Or what passed for brilliance in her nowadays. Bending down, she opened the large drawer under the oven and pulled out the turkey roaster. She should easily be able to fit six plants in it. Once she’d loaded the plants and bagged leaves in the pan, she headed for the dining room.

  As she passed through the lobby, she saw Chief Cartwright, pointedly wearing a dress blue uniform, standing outside the door with Russ Ellison and Dale Ackerman, the mayor of Rainbow Ranch. She was somewhat surprised to see the mayor, but he probably thought he had a dog in this hunt, seeing as it was an election year. He wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to be seen acting mayorly. The three of them had their heads bent together, either to be able to hear one another or to keep what they were discussing from the crowd. Lilliana paused, then walked toward the door to try to hear what they were saying.

  Mayor Ackerman raised his head and looked over the crowd. “Now, folks, I know you’ve all traveled a ways to see the African violet show, and we don’t want to disappoint you. But there are quite a few more people than will fit inside comfortably. Since we want to make sure you all get a good view of the flowers, we’re going to let you in a few at a time. As people come out again, we’ll let more people in.”

  It sounded like a reasonable plan to Lilliana. She turned and continued to the dining room. Most of the club members were inside and working on their displays, grooming plants, adding bagged leaves, rearranging things to present the most pleasing positioning in hopes of encouraging a sale. Like herself, almost all the retirees could use the extra money. They looked up as she entered, questions on their faces.

  Lilliana walked to her table and put the turkey roaster full of plants down, then turned to face the group and nodded. “We’re a go for today. I just heard the mayor announce they’d be letting people in a few at a time.”

  A collective sigh went up. It appeared the desire to sell and show off plants was stronger than their respect for the now-departed Bette Tesselink. The club members returned to what they’d been doing before Lilliana entered the room.

  As she started moving the hybrids already on her table to make room for the new arrivals, Lenny spoke up. “Good job, Lilliana.”

  She stopped putting out the new additions and looked at him, wondering what “good job” he was talking about. Then it dawned on her. “Oh, I had nothing to do with it. All I did was hear what the mayor said after discussing it with Ellison and that young policeman.”

  “You’re too modest. I’m sure you had some influence in the decision.”

  Lilliana was going to protest again, but decided it was useless. When Lenny made up his mind, there was little anyone could do to convince him otherwise.

  The sound of footsteps hurriedly tapping on the tile floor erupted outside the dining room. They must have let the first group in. Lilliana crossed her fingers and hoped they were in a buying mood. A dozen or so people came through the entrance and looked around as if they thought they might see a body at any moment. Most of them descended on poor Mary, since her table was closest to the door.

  “Where did they find the dead woman?”

  “Do you know who killed her?”

  A barrage of questions assaulted the shy, diminutive Mary, who was clearly overwhelmed by the attention. Lilliana hurried to her rescue.

  “I’m sure you’ll understand that we have been asked by the police not to discuss the distressing events of yesterday with anyone.” Lilliana wondered where that came from. Probably from reading too many mysteries and watching endless reruns of Law and Order. The chief had said no such thing, although he should have. Another example of his inexperience. “There’s still an active investigation at this time. Meanwhile, we have lots of lovely plants to show you. And sell to you, if you’d like to own one.”

  Disappointment flooded the faces of the attendees. At least half of them headed for the door, but the other half decided to make the best of it and spread out among the display tables.

  “Are you all right, Mary?” Lilliana asked.

  Mary smiled weakly. “Yes, thank you. And thank you for coming over here and rescuing me. They were all so pushy, and I had no idea what to say to them.”

  Lilliana patted her on the shoulder. “It was no trouble. I just hope every group doesn’t start out like the first one.”

  Alarm filled Mary’s eyes at the thought of having to go through that again, and Lilliana regretted saying what she had. But it was better for Mary to be prepared. At least, she thought so.

  “I’m sure everything will be all right now. When they go out, they’ll probably tell everyone we’re not talking.”

  Reassured, Mary tried to erase the concern from her face, but wasn’t entirely successful.

  “I’ll come back if you need me,” Lilliana added.

  “Thank you, Lilliana.”

  “Good job, Lily,” Lenny said again when she got back behind her table. “You always get to the heart of things and fix them.”

  “I’m not so sure I can fix this,” Lilliana confided. “I’m afraid most of the people who came today are much more interested in the murder than in our African violets.”

  Proving her point, a trio of women in their late fifties approached her table. They pretended to look at the plants for a few seconds, then the middle one, a woman with red hair of a shade which certainly came out of a bottle, turned her attention to Lilliana. “You seem to
know what’s going on here,” she began. “Did you see the dead woman? Do you know what happened?”

  The person on her right, a short, chubby woman with tightly-permed, steel-gray curls and eyes as big as saucers, poked the redhead in the ribs with an elbow. “Don’t you recognize her from the news? She’s the one who found the body!”

  “Is that right?” the other woman asked.

  Before Lilliana could respond, a light so bright it would have blinded her had she been looking at it exploded in front of her. To her dismay, a television crew stood behind the trio of women. They must have been let in when the looky-lous from the first group left.

  Biff Buckley, having wedged himself between the tables to stand beside her, stuck a microphone in front of her face. “Aren’t you afraid to live here now that there’s been a murder?”

  Refusing to give the obnoxious reporter fuel for the media storm he was trying to stir up, Lilliana replied firmly, “Certainly not. Unless you’re thinking of murdering me?”

  “We’ll cut that,” he said in an aside to the cameraman, then, resuming his role as star television reporter, asked, “What did you feel when you heard Bette Tesselink had been murdered?”

  “Feel?” Lilliana thought about it for a moment. “Well, I was horrified, of course. You don’t expect to find someone you know murdered like that.”

  “Are you saying you found the body?” Biff’s voice was filled with a false eagerness as if he’d just discovered this potential scoop. Ludicrous, of course, since he’d come directly to her when he entered the room.

  Now Lilliana felt chagrined. She hadn’t meant to confirm her involvement in the crime. But it was too late now. She’d already given herself away. “I did.”

  “How was she murdered?” The reporter’s excitement was palpable. He was having a hard time to keep from jumping up and down.