“That is interesting,” Lilliana said. Her heart was beating faster. A real clue! Maybe someone else knew what Bette had been going to divulge and was hoping to cash in on him—or her—self. “I wonder what she was going to tell him.”
“I have no idea.” Willie hung his head. “I must have lost my touch.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much. But if there really was something Bette found out that was worth money, someone else might have known about it, too, and hoped to take advantage of it. I wonder what Bette knew.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
LILLIANA considered what she should do with the next couple of hours. Willie was going to have another go at Ellison later today and see if he could get more information from him. Lenny and Nancy wouldn’t be back from town until almost lunch time. She doubted the likelihood of Mary’s involvement in the murder.
She wondered if there was anything in Bette’s casita that would tell her what Ellison had been referring to when he slipped and told Willie she knew something worth a fortune. Lilliana doubted it. Ellison had probably gone and looked himself right after Bette had died. But maybe he missed something.
Bette had a daughter, Susan, if Lilliana remembered correctly, who lived in Tucson, but she doubted Susan had come out to collect her mother’s things yet. Even though Bette was such a pain in the butt, Lilliana had felt sorry for her when she found out Bette’s daughter only came out to visit once a month. If that. Although Bette’s incessant complaining tended to exaggerate the facts, it seemed as if Susan didn’t want to be bothered with her mother. Bette had asked her to come more often, but she always had some excuse. And Susan never seemed to remember to bring Bette the little things she liked: her favorite brand of shampoo instead of the one supplied by the retirement home, a box of chocolates, some perfume.
But she didn’t think it would be too long before Susan cleared out Bette’s casita. If Lilliana wanted to search it for clues, time was of the essence. Perhaps this morning she could figure out a way to get inside. It was worth a chance.
The casitas stood behind the main building, with the pool and tennis courts in between. The front entrances of the single-story homes faced the courtyard, and private patios overlooked the mountains to the rear. Lilliana had gone through one before she moved in. She would have liked the privacy, but the individual units cost too much for her pension.
Bette had occupied the end one behind the swimming pool, so Lilliana followed the walking path around the pool, where several residents were doing water aerobics with an instructor who came up from Benson twice a week. If Lilliana wasn’t able to find more players for the softball team, she was going to have to think about signing up for some of the physical fitness classes. Doing so would also have the benefit of letting her meet some of the other residents. Other than the members of the African Violet Club—and now Willie—she hadn’t gotten to know many people here. Since it looked as if she’d be spending the rest of her life at Rainbow Ranch, she probably should think about broadening her social contacts.
She approached the door of Bette’s casita and, after checking to make sure no one was around, tried the handle. She should have known the door would be locked. The living room window was closed and, Lilliana was sure, locked from inside as well. Besides, she’d be in view of the pool and anyone passing by if she attempted to crawl in a window. That included not only the residents, but Kirstie dispensing medications, Shirley coming to attend to the housekeeping tasks, Miguel fixing dripping faucets or running toilets, and Russell Ellison, who wouldn’t be doing anything useful, but often popped up at unexpected moments.
There was another way.
Once again checking to make sure no one was watching her, Lilliana circled around the rear of the building to try the sliding glass door to the patio. She was just about to climb over the railing when she noticed a wisp of smoke out of the corner of her eye. Was something burning?
Lilliana turned quickly, ready to telephone the fire department, and saw Frank Bellandini standing back near a saguaro cactus, a cigarette in his hand. He wore a green plaid shirt, and his knobby knees stuck out beneath a pair of khaki shorts.
Their eyes met, each gauging the other, evaluating what the response would be. Never one to back down, Lilliana held his gaze as she walked toward him deliberately.
Frank raised the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. He held the smoke in his lungs for the few moments it took Lilliana to reach him, then let it out slowly. The ritual reminded her of the sixties, an aging hippy smoking a joint. Except the smell was clearly of tobacco, not marijuana.
“Good morning, Lilliana. I thought you took your constitutional before breakfast.”
“I do.” She waited for him to say something else. After at least a minute had passed, she waited no longer. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Frank gave her a crooked smile. “You’re not supposed to. No one is.” He furtively glanced around, checking for anyone else in the area.
Smoking was forbidden on the grounds of Rainbow Ranch. Not only was it unhealthy for the smoker and those around him, it was a fire hazard. With so many disabled people, a fire could be a disaster, since they might not be able to escape a burning building on their own. Lilliana took a glance over her shoulder. Frank and his cigarette would be clearly visible from the patio door of Bette’s casita. She wondered if he’d had another smoking place, one more secluded, when Bette was alive.
“I hope you’re not going to be as much of a nuisance as Bette,” Frank said as if reading her mind. “She kept threatening to tell Ellison I was smoking on the grounds. What harm am I doing anyone but myself?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“And that isn’t enough? I thought everyone had quit by now. I’m sure you could get Kirstie to give you some nicotine gum or get you those patches or something.”
Frank took another drag on his cigarette, then dropped the filter on the ground and ground it under his heel. “I like smoking. It relaxes me.”
Lilliana stared at the butt, flattened and mixed with the sandy soil of the Arizona desert. “It’s also a fire hazard. And litter.”
“I’m careful. You saw how I put it out. And I’ll take the remains with me when I leave. Toss them in the Dumpster before I go back to my apartment. What difference does it make to you?”
“I believe in following the rules,” she said firmly. In truth, Lilliana wasn’t sure Frank’s smoking was a big deal. She didn’t approve of it, but as long as he smoked away from everyone else and was careful not to start a fire, why shouldn’t he have the pleasure? Lilliana could imagine how she’d react if someone decided to make a rule against Earl Grey tea. She would probably smuggle it in anyway. “I suppose you’re not doing anyone any harm.”
The tension went out of Frank’s body. Apparently he’d been more concerned than he’d let on. “Good. I’m glad you’re being more reasonable than Bette. She even hinted she could be persuaded not to tell anyone if I gave her a little present every once in a while. I pretended I didn’t understand what she was talking about, but she’d gotten more insistent lately. It sounded like she was short of money.”
“Oh? I thought her husband left her a fairly large inheritance. That’s why she could afford to live in a casita instead of an apartment.”
Frank shrugged. “Got me. All I know is what she said.”
That certainly gave Lilliana something to think about.
“Ready to go back now?” Frank asked.
Reluctantly, Lilliana nodded. There was no way she could try the patio doors to Bette’s casita with Frank watching her.
Frank bent over and picked up the crushed cigarette butt. “So how did you do at the sale this past weekend?” he asked as they walked back toward the building. “I sold quite a few plants and leaves myself.”
“So did I,” Lilliana said. Bringing up the sale reminded her of Ted. She wondered if she’d see him again. Other than to buy tea that is. “I hope we also stirred up some interest in the retirement home. We really n
eed more than ten members if we want to be a real club.”
“When’s the next meeting?” Frank asked. A breeze ruffled his thinning gray hair.
“Thursday, in the library. I thought we should talk about our next event and start making plans for it.”
Frank raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”
Lilliana chuckled. “Sarah and I thought the meeting should be right after the show so people who were thinking about joining wouldn’t forget. Most of us have at least a touch of old timer’s disease.”
Frank smiled in return. “Ah, yes. I’ve been known to have a senior moment or two of my own. How about I make up some flyers on my computer and put them around the place? You know, on the bulletin board in the library, on the door to the TV room, wherever. Maybe put one on every table in the dining room at breakfast tomorrow morning. Try to drum up some interest.”
“Why, Frank, that’s a terrific idea. I should have thought of it myself.”
“You don’t have the background. Running a restaurant, I learned to take advantage of every minute to promote the business. Librarians don’t do that.”
Lilliana conceded the point. By this time they’d reached the end of the casitas. As they turned the corner toward the front, Lilliana saw Shirley’s cleaning cart parked outside Bette’s unit. The door yawned open.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AFTER spying Shirley’s cart, Lilliana decided this might be the perfect opportunity for her to get inside. “You go ahead without me, Frank. I need to talk to Shirley about getting my carpet spot-cleaned. Sometimes I’m a bit clumsy when I’m watering.”
Frank nodded. “I know how that is. And you don’t realize you’ve dripped until you see the dirt spot later on. I’ll catch you later, Lilliana.”
“Don’t forget about those flyers,” she called out as Frank headed for the swimming pool.
She stepped around the cart and rapped lightly on the open door. “Shirley?”
Shirley’s friendly face popped out from behind a wall. “Oh, it’s you, Ms. Wentworth. What can I do for you?”
Lilliana stepped into the casita, glancing from side to side to see the state of things. She’d been right. Everything remained as it had been while Bette was alive. Her daughter hadn’t cleaned the casita out yet. “I was wondering if you might have some spot cleaner I could use. There are a couple of places on my carpeting that I’d like to attend to.”
“Don’t you bother yourself about that,” Shirley said. “You point them out to me the next time I clean your apartment, and I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother.” Lilliana tried to figure out a way to explore more of Bette’s home. She wouldn’t find anything that would tell her about Bette’s valuable secret standing in the doorway. Or anything else that might be a clue. She took another step inside. “My, Bette had some beautiful things, didn’t she.”
She scrutinized an oil painting on the wall behind the couch. It looked like an original DeGrazia.
Shirley followed her gaze. “Yes, she does. Did. I don’t particularly care for that one myself, but there’s a nice painting in the master bedroom I always fancied.”
“Really? Do you think I could see it?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s not like Mrs. Tesselink is gonna be looking at it any more.”
Lilliana followed Shirley through the living room, turning her head back and forth to see if anything in sight hinted at a motive for Bette’s murder. Within seconds, she knew it would take more than the casual glances she was able to manage for that.
Opposite the couch, on either side of the television, the wall was covered with photographs, many in black and white, showing Bette and a handsome young man on a cruise, at the Grand Canyon, the Golden Gate Bridge, at the Statue of Liberty and the Capitol, and all the standard tourist sites. More recent photos of family celebrations showed a Christmas tree in the background or the Thanksgiving turkey on a dining room table surrounded by smiling faces.
Lilliana recognized Susan in several of them, along with a man Lilliana had never seen, but whom she assumed to be Susan’s husband, and two adorable little girls. Hmmm. Lilliana hadn’t known Bette had grandchildren. Unlike most of the residents, who would chew your ear off with tales of the latest achievements of their grandchildren, whipping out pictures at every opportunity, she couldn’t remember Bette ever talking about hers. Odd.
Shirley turned into the master bedroom and stopped just far enough inside the doorway for Lilliana to enter. Her finger pointed at a huge painting over the bed. “Now that is a picture!”
She could see why Shirley preferred this painting to the one in the living room. A large red mountain lighted by the rising sun filled the upper half of the picture. Below, still in shadow, a saguaro cactus and desert brush flanked a trail leading off into the desert. The landscape was realistic, while the DeGrazia was more whimsical, more primitive. Lilliana had been to the DeGrazia Gallery often when she lived in Tucson. She wasn’t an art expert, but she estimated the DeGrazia was worth at least ten times what the landscape was. “Very pretty.”
While Shirley admired the painting, Lilliana cast furtive glances around the room, searching for anything unusual. It was impossible. Without having some idea of what she was looking for, there was no way to determine where it might be. A fur coat? That would be in the closet. The deed to a silver mine? That might be in a dresser drawer or a desk or stuck in back of a drawer in the kitchen. Lilliana sighed, drawing Shirley’s attention away from the painting.
“Well, I need to get back to work, Ms. Wentworth. You remind me about those spots next time.” Shirley turned, and Lilliana proceeded out the bedroom door ahead of her, still keeping her eyes open.
A beautiful silver collection was displayed on the oak sideboard in the dining room, a set of dishes behind the glass doors of the matching china cabinet. Silver candlesticks sparkled on the dining room table. Bette didn’t own a desk or a computer as best as Lilliana could tell. It seemed to Lilliana that she remembered talking to Bette once about email, and Bette saying she didn’t get along with machines.
“Thank you, Shirley. I’ll leave a note on the refrigerator for you if I don’t expect to be home the next time you clean my apartment.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.” Shirley had already gone back to her dusting before Lilliana left the casita.
SHE closed the door to her apartment behind her. It was still too early for Lenny to be home. Although she couldn’t water without the fertilizer, she could spend some time grooming her plants. Perhaps she would propagate some leaves as well, get some new plants started to replace the ones she’d sold. With over fifty African violets, there was always something to tend to.
She started in the bathroom, not only because those were her special plants, but because she kept her supplies in an over-the-tank cabinet. Where most people stored bandages and shampoo and bottles of aspirin, Lilliana kept brushes and small knives and a magnifying glass and fertilizer and pesticides. She touched her hand to the door of the second bedroom as she passed, an unconscious action, then opened the door to the bathroom on the opposite side of the hall. As always, a smile touched her lips at the sight.
She slid open the door to the cabinet over the toilet, took out the small scissors, and picked up the first plant. She turned it around in her hand, looking for blossoms past their prime and leaves with any signs of decay. Carefully she removed the spent blossoms and damaged leaves, dropping them in the waste basket. When she was satisfied, she put down the first plant and picked up the next, repeating the process. Later on, she’d sterilize the scissors and cut off fresh leaves for rooting, putting them in plastic bags labeled by variety.
Time passed quickly as she did what she loved best. Being closeted with her African violets immersed her in her own private garden, a foreign land very different from the desert outside. She finished the last plant and stretched out the tightness in her shoulders. She had to remember not to work hunched over for suc
h long periods of time.
She didn’t know what time it was, but she imagined Lenny would be back from his trip to town with Nancy. She should see if she could talk to him now. She washed her hands, dried them, and picked up the waste basket to empty it. It wouldn’t do to leave rotting vegetation in her plant room acting as an incubator for who knows what molds and fungi and pests.
When she dumped the detritus in her kitchen garbage pail, she spied her cell phone charging on the kitchen counter. Usually she carried it with her, but she had been so eager to look for the spring this morning, she’d forgotten to take it. She unplugged the phone and noticed she had a voicemail message. Who would have called her? There was only one way to find out.
“Good morning, Lilliana. This is Ted. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch again today and help me with this plant I bought. It seems to be drooping already.”
Lilliana glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. She had barely enough time to clean up a little and walk into town. Her fingers trembled like a teenager’s as she punched the option to call Ted back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LILLIANA picked up her pace as she hurried down the driveway toward the town of Rainbow Ranch. She certainly was getting her exercise today. And just this morning she’d been thinking she might need to join the water aerobics class.
She stopped to catch her breath once she reached Pulaski’s Gourmet Grocery. She didn’t want to be gasping for air when she talked to Ted, who was waiting on a customer when she opened the door. When the customer turned around, Lilliana was surprised to see Kirstie. Wasn’t Kirstie supposed to be on duty now?
Kirstie blanched when she spotted Lilliana, and she clasped a paper bag to her stomach as if protecting it. “Why, hello, Mrs. Wentworth.”
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