“Well, I’d better get back to it.” Susan turned and headed in the direction of the master bedroom.
As soon as Susan was gone, Lilliana stopped packing dishes and started opening drawers. She didn’t have any idea what she expected to find in them, but it seemed more likely there would be something of interest in the drawers than in the cabinets. Maybe an address book or a checkbook, a note or a letter.
She found none of those. What she did find was old silverware, potholders, and your typical junk drawer filled with odds and ends: batteries, a flashlight, picture hooks, some coasters. That held more promise. She was about to start pulling the junk out of the drawer and putting it on the counter so she could inspect it, when a deep voice with a Hispanic accent resonated behind her.
“Mrs. Wentworth. I did not expect to find you here.”
“Good morning, Miguel.” The handyman stood in the doorway, a toolbox in his hand. His chin-length hair looked particularly greasy today, and he hadn’t bothered to put a regular shirt on over his tank-style undershirt. The proper librarian in her grimaced.
“Is it okay if I fix the pipe?” Miguel asked.
“The pipe?”
“Under the sink. Mrs. Tesselink reported it was leaking.”
Lilliana glanced toward the sink under the window at the end of the kitchen. “I suppose so.”
“Gracias.” Miguel came in and set his toolbox on the floor near the sink. He opened the cabinet underneath, then got down on the floor and peered inside.
“Is it leaking?” Lilliana asked, trying to make conversation. It seemed to her that it would be worthwhile to talk to anyone who had known Bette Tesselink. You never knew who might have information that would lead to the killer.
Miguel got up and shrugged. “It might be.” He turned on the cold water faucet and let it run.
“I’ve always appreciated the way Rainbow Ranch handles problems promptly,” Lilliana said as Miguel bent down to look under the sink again.
“I wish more people were like you. Mrs. Tesselink“—his face clouded over—“never thought I was fast enough or good enough. Always complaining to the boss about my work.”
Lilliana wanted to follow up on that, but just at that moment, Miguel turned on the garbage disposal. It made quite a bit of racket, certainly more noise than the one in her apartment, and she doubted she’d be heard over the sound. Miguel quickly turned the disposal off again. He glanced briefly under the sink. Lilliana craned her neck so she could see as well.
The plop, plop, plop of dripping water reached her ears even as a small puddle formed beneath the pipe.
Miguel looked vindicated. “As I suspected. It is the garbage disposal.”
Maybe she should hire Miguel as a detective. “The motor certainly runs very loud.”
“She must have put something down it she shouldn’t have. People always think they can get rid of all kinds of garbage by putting it down the drain. Then it breaks the unit and I have to replace it. Only she’d never admit to doing anything wrong. She complained the pipe was leaking.”
Miguel’s voice held so much acrimony Lilliana wondered if he might be a suspect. At this rate, she’d be investigating suspects for the next year.
“I think I have a spare in stock,” Miguel said. “I’ll get it and be back in a few minutes.”
Without saying anything further, Miguel left.
Alone once more, Lilliana began emptying the junk drawer on the counter, eager to see if it contained any clues. She had just determined there was nothing of interest in it when Miguel returned carrying a new disposal still in its box.
“I see you found the spare,” Lilliana said.
“Yes,” Miguel said. “I’m glad I didn’t have to order one. Mr. Ellison wants to show this casita over the weekend.”
“He does?” First Susan said Ellison had pressured her to remove her mother’s things from the casita, now Miguel was in a hurry to make repairs to it. As far as Lilliana knew, there were at least two other empty casitas. She couldn’t understand the rush to rent this particular one.
Miguel nodded. “It seems so many people came to your plant show, he has several people who want to see the apartments and casitas this weekend.”
Lilliana couldn’t help but wonder if they were interested in living at Rainbow Ranch—or in seeing the place where the murder victim had lived. She tended to believe it was more the latter than the former.
Miguel opened the box and took out the new disposal, then ducked under the sink and proceeded with his task. Lilliana went back to boxing up dishes.
A short time later, Miguel rose from the floor, the old disposal unit in hand. Lilliana turned at the clanking sound it made as he put it in the stainless steel sink.
“Now let’s see what Mrs. Tesselink tried to dispose of,” Miguel said. There was more clanking and some grunting, followed by a moment of silence. “Huh.”
Lilliana took a few steps toward Miguel so she could see what had come out of the disposal. She drew in a breath so sharply it whistled through her teeth. In the sink, twisted and scarred from the blades of the garbage disposal, sat a little brass key.
“Could I see that?” Lilliana held her hand out to Miguel. He put the key in it. The key wasn’t quite as mangled as she’d first thought. While the top of the key skewed at an angle, the blade, the part that actually made the key turn in a lock and move the parts inside, appeared relatively straight. It would probably work to open... whatever. “Do you mind if I keep it?”
Miguel shrugged. “Not at all, señora. I would just throw it in the trash with the garbage disposal.” He started packing up his tools.
Lilliana turned the key over in her hand. She doubted Bette had dropped it down the disposal on purpose. More likely, it was an accident, and she had been anxious for Miguel to retrieve the key for her. It wasn’t as big as a house key, nor quite as small as one for a metal lockbox or jewelry box. It might fit a small padlock, but there was no brand name on the top part, which Lilliana thought was on all of those. She clearly remembered that the key for the padlock on the gate to the swimming pool fence at her home had had “Master” emblazoned on it.
“Adios, señora,” Miguel said as he walked toward the doorway, toolbox in hand. Once he was gone, Lilliana took a careful look around the kitchen. There was nothing here that had a keyhole.
Dropping the key in her pocket, she stepped into the combined living-dining room area and did a quick scan of the room. Nothing in plain sight took a key. Perhaps inside something? She couldn’t see anything with a lock on the glassed-in shelves of the china cabinet. She opened the large drawer below, slowly, furtively, being careful not to make any noise that Susan might hear. It contained a silverware chest that did have a lock in it, but the lock was much too small for the brass key. Assorted serving pieces—a couple of crystal candy dishes, a silver condiment dish with glass liners, that kind of thing—took up the rest of the space in the drawer.
Lilliana closed the drawer and proceeded over to the sideboard with a glance down the hall to make sure Susan was still in the bedroom. A brief break in the sound of closet doors and dresser drawers opening and closing worried Lilliana. She didn’t want to be discovered snooping around. She waited quietly, holding her breath and trying to come up with a reasonable excuse in case Susan saw her. Lilliana breathed again when the noises from the bedroom resumed.
She opened the left-hand cabinet door and found an assortment of dusty liquor bottles, half of them never opened. Bette hadn’t been much of a drinker or, for that matter, hostess. Lilliana opened the cabinet door on the other end of the sideboard and sighed. It was empty.
Opening the drawers in the middle, all she found were table linens. There was a beautiful damask tablecloth with matching napkins as well as several sets more suited to everyday use. Lilliana slid her hands under the piles, careful not to disturb them too much, and felt for anything solid that might use the key. Just as she was about to give up, her fingertips bumped into something har
d.
She slid them along the length of it, then down the smooth sides of what felt like a small box. She pulled it to the front of the drawer and folded back the tablecloth, exposing her find.
The box was exquisite. A fountain of delicate flowers and leaves leapt from a Greek urn against the black background of the japanned finish. The enamel felt smooth as silk as she caressed it under her fingers. Measuring approximately ten inches wide and five inches deep, the box couldn’t have been more than two inches high. And on the front was a keyhole that appeared to be exactly the right size for the key in her pocket.
Before she could try the key, footsteps thudded from the direction of the open front door. She quickly pushed the box back, covered it with the tablecloth, and closed the drawer before scurrying back to the kitchen. She grabbed another dish and a sheet of newspaper. She hoped her unsteady fingers wouldn’t drop the dish as she started to wrap it.
“Hello.”
She started at the sound of a strange male voice. Lilliana turned to face a man with the brightest red hair she’d ever seen.
“I thought Susan might be in here,” he said. “I’m Jim Frasier, Susan’s husband.”
She fought to keep her voice light and agreeable, without the nervousness she actually felt. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Lilliana Wentworth. Susan’s in the bedroom.”
“No, she’s not.” Susan came up behind Jim. “I heard you come in,” she said. “Mrs. Wentworth volunteered to help me pack.”
“How nice of her,” Jim said. “But I think now that I’m here, we can handle it.”
“Right,” said Susan. It was clear who was in charge in this family. Susan addressed Lilliana. “Thanks for giving me a hand.”
“I was happy to help.” She regretfully stopped packing and walked toward the door. The Frasiers moved aside to let her through. Before exiting the casita, she turned and added, “I’ll stop by later and see if you need any more help.” And perhaps get a chance to look in that box.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’ll probably be finished before you come back,” Jim said.
How odd. As soon as Jim had arrived, he seemed intent on getting rid of her. What didn’t he want her to find? Did he know about the box? Did Susan? Or was there something else?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BY the time Lilliana got to the dining room, it was almost empty. Glancing at her watch, she noted she’d arrived with five minutes to spare before they stopped serving breakfast. Fortunately, Willie still lingered at a table—alone—so she joined him. Half a plate of food remained in front of him.
“Good morning,” Lilliana said as she picked up the day’s menu. The waitress appeared at her side immediately, a sour look on her face. Lilliana didn’t blame her. She was sure the waitress was looking forward to finishing up her shift and going home. But, for a change, Lilliana’s appetite, on a visit from some younger version of herself, hungered for breakfast. She placed her order, and the waitress went to get her food.
“I hoped you’d show up eventually,” Willie said.
“Oh?” Lilliana queried. “Did you find out anything?”
Willie looked crestfallen. “No, but I was hoping you had.”
Lilliana’s food arrived, along with the cup of hot water she’d requested. She took the individually-wrapped package of Earl Grey from her pocket, opened it, and put the teabag in the water to brew. Without pausing, she picked up her fork and cut off a bite of her pancakes. When she finished chewing, she said, “Sorry. I’m very hungry this morning. It’s probably all the exercise.”
“More than your usual walk?” Willie asked. He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip.
Lilliana nodded and took another bite of her breakfast. Eating definitely interfered with her ability to tell a story, but her stomach cried for food like a newborn baby at three in the morning. “I thought I’d try to get inside Bette’s casita and take a look around this morning. When I got there, her daughter, Susan, was already inside packing up. She told me Bette was broke.” She paused again and cut up a sausage link and popped a piece in her mouth.
“She was?” Willie’s eyes widened, waiting for Lilliana to nod her assent, after which he said, “She didn’t act that way.”
“No, she didn’t,” Lilliana agreed.
“In fact, not so long ago she told me she planned on taking another trip to Las Vegas.” Willie stared off into space as if remembering.
“Another trip?” The first Lilliana had known about Bette’s trips to Las Vegas was when Susan told her about them this morning. She wondered why Willie hadn’t thought to mention this detail when they’d first discussed investigating the murder.
“Didn’t you know? She and Lenny had been going to Las Vegas every few months for quite some time.”
“I never thought of them as a couple. In fact, I don’t believe I ever saw them together other than at the African Violet Club meetings. I certainly wouldn’t have expected them to travel together.” Lilliana puzzled over this information for a moment, then resumed eating her pancakes.
“Well, it’s true. For weeks before, Bette was excited about going back, playing the slots, seeing the shows—all the regular stuff people do in Vegas. She usually didn’t say much afterwards, though.” Willie grinned. “There’s a reason it’s nicknamed Lost Wages.”
Lilliana smiled in return. “You know, Lenny never mentioned the trips either. And it doesn’t make any sense in light of what he told me last night.”
“Last night?” Willie picked up his coffee cup again. He hadn’t touched his food since Lilliana had joined him. Three pancakes swimming in syrup and two sausages cooled on his plate. The remains of an egg smeared a yellow stain across one side. Maybe he was finally trying to take off that weight so he could get his hip replacement.
“Oh, I haven’t seen you since then, have I?” Lilliana proceeded to tell him how she’d volunteered to write down Lenny’s statement for the police chief. “He claims she was blackmailing him.”
“Blackmail sounds like a pretty good motive for murder,” Willie said.
“That’s what I was thinking.” Her plate now clean, Lilliana put down her fork and picked up her teacup. She made a concentrated effort to sip, rather than gulp, the tea. “But I have a hard time imagining Lenny as a killer.”
“I would agree, but my experience tells me otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“You would think it would take something major for one person to kill another. But I’ve seen kids stab someone to death for a pair of brand name sneakers. Or shoot them for looking at a girlfriend cockeyed.”
Lilliana conjured up an ugly picture of teenaged gang members attacking some poor, innocent child for footwear. “But Lenny isn’t a teenager. He’s a mature man.”
“A mature man on a fixed income being squeezed by a blackmailer,” Willie said.
“But why wouldn’t he go to the police? Or at least report it to Russ Ellison?”
“Did he say why she was blackmailing him?”
Lilliana shook her head. “No, but I have a pretty good idea what it was.” She told him about the medications she’d seen in Lenny’s apartment.
“And that explains the trips to Las Vegas. At least for him.” Willie frowned.
“How?” She didn’t understand the connection.
“There’s a doctor in Las Vegas, not much younger than Lenny, who prescribes those things for exactly the reasons Lenny is going. You’ve probably never seen his ads since I doubt you read Sporting News or—uhhh—other magazines.”
Lilliana had a good idea what Willie meant by “other” and appreciated his delicacy. But she wasn’t exactly a naive young thing.
“He advocates his treatments for staying young and physically vigorous. There’s a lot of controversy over it, but no one’s shut him down. So far.”
“So that explains the alliance. Bette went for the gambling, and Lenny went for the drugs. You never know about people, do you?”
“No, you
don’t,” Willie said. “Are you about ready to leave? I see Peggy is waiting to clear our table.”
Lilliana took another look at Willie's half-full plate. “You barely ate anything. Is something wrong?”
Willie glanced down and laughed. “No, no. I’m just not hungry this morning.”
Lilliana raised her eyebrows.
“I know, unbelievable, right? Maybe it has something to do with that cookie I found on my nightstand this morning.”
“Cookie?” Lilliana thought about the button she’d found on her nightstand.
“Well, more like a wafer, I think. It was quite tasty. Cookie, wafer, it surprised me how quickly it filled me up. I’m still full, and all I ate was an egg and coffee.”
“Do you have any idea who left it there?” Lilliana asked.
“Not a clue. I’d like to thank them. And ask where I can buy some more. If I can eat less this easily, I’ll get my hip replacement in no time.”
“Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
Willie picked up his walking stick from the floor, and the two of them rose from the table and headed out.
ONCE she was back in her apartment, Lilliana hurried to her laptop computer and woke it up, impatient at the sluggishness the aging machine exhibited for the first few seconds. Kind of like me, she thought. Only there was no equivalent of a cup of Earl Grey for the computer. She just had to wait until it was ready.
She double-clicked on the membership list for the African Violet Club on her desktop. She had agreed to talk to Sarah Higgins while Willie tried to interview Pieter Joncker. She wasn’t sure where Sarah lived, but knew her apartment number would be on the list, as well as a phone number.
It took her a minute to recognize that Mrs. Robert Higgins had to be Sarah. While many of the residents of Rainbow Ranch were single by death, divorce, or never having married, a few couples dwelt at the retirement home as well, most of them in the older age range. She supposed Sarah and—she looked at the list again—Robert fit that category. She thought Sarah was around eighty. Robert was probably a few years older, if they followed the pattern of most couples.
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