African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  She dialed Sarah’s number. “Sarah? This is Lilliana. I wondered if I might come up and speak with you.”

  Sarah sounded overjoyed at the opportunity. She didn’t even ask what about.

  The Higginses lived in an upper floor apartment in the same wing as Lilliana. Although there was an elevator in the lobby, Lilliana decided to take the stairs. They were closer, and she could certainly manage one flight of stairs.

  By the time she reached the top of them, she almost regretted not taking the elevator. The arthritis in her knees was complaining, and all those muscles she’d used yesterday morning in escaping the javelina reminded her they weren’t used to that kind of abuse. Fortunately, Sarah lived in the second apartment from the stairwell on the right-hand side.

  “Lilliana! Come in, come in.” Sarah waved her into an apartment that was the mirror image of Lilliana’s own. Sarah was a tiny woman, under five feet tall, and probably weighed no more than one hundred pounds. She wore her snow white hair in what they used to call a bouffant style, soft curls around her face. You would think the large eyeglasses she wore would overpower her features, but the brightness of her eyes and her constant smile offset the frames.

  A television blared one of those old western shows, Gunsmoke she thought, in the background. In front of it sat an elderly man built almost as sparely as his wife, except for a little pot belly on which he rested his folded hands. His hairline receded half-way up his scalp, not anything like Lenny’s or Willie's bald pates, and the gray hair that remained was somewhat askew, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

  “Bob! Bob! Lilliana’s here.” Sarah announced her arrival as if they were all bosom buddies, even though Lilliana had never met Bob Higgins before.

  Bob looked at her and gave a half-hearted wave in her direction.

  “Bob! Bob! Put your earphones on so we can talk in peace,” Sarah said.

  Bob reached down beside the recliner he sat in and picked up a set of headphones from the floor. After he clapped them over his ears, he picked up one of the three remote controls on the table beside him and pressed something that cut off the television sound from the speakers.

  “That’s better,” Sarah said. “Why don’t we sit at the dining room table. Can I get you coffee? Tea?”

  “Maybe a drink of water,” Lilliana said. The climb up the stairs had made her thirsty.

  Sarah bustled off into the kitchen. Lilliana sat at the table. In a jiffy, Sarah brought back two large glasses of ice water. “Would you get some coasters from the drawer behind you?”

  Lilliana turned and opened the drawer of the buffet, saw the stack of coasters, and picked up two. She put one in front of her place and one in front of the seat next to her for Sarah.

  “It’s so nice to have company,” Sarah said after she sat down. “Bob spends all day watching cowboy shows on that thing.” She gestured in the direction of the television. “I have to watch the TV in the bedroom if I want to see my soaps.”

  Like most members of the African Violet Club, Sarah’s perky plants were in evidence, although she only had one lighted shelf just inside the entrance to the apartment.

  “Your African violets look like they’re doing well,” Lilliana commented.

  Sarah glanced in the direction of the shelf. “As well as can be expected. I’d love to grow more, but Bob thinks I already make too much of a mess, what with watering and repotting and everything. He’s tried to convince me to give up growing them, but I tell him I’ll stop growing African violets when he gives up poker night.” Her tone of voice permitted no nonsense. Lilliana would hate to argue with this woman.

  “Well, not everyone has to be as obsessed with African violets as Frank is. Did you know he’s turned his bedroom into a plant room?” Lilliana asked.

  “Really? How many plants do you think he has?”

  Lilliana did a quick estimate. “Oh, several hundred at least. Maybe a thousand.” Until now, she hadn’t realized how many plants Frank nurtured in that bedroom. That was incredible!

  “It’s terrible about what happened to Bette, isn’t it?” Sarah said.

  Lilliana should have known it wouldn’t take much to get Sarah talking about the murder. With so little excitement, she was sure all the Rainbow Ranch residents spent a good part of the day speculating about it. “Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Me?” Sarah seemed surprised.

  “You,” Lilliana affirmed. “You had the display table right next to hers at the show. I was wondering if she said anything to you that might be related to her murder.”

  Sarah looked thoughtful. “Not that I remember. We didn’t talk all that much.”

  “I can understand that,” Lilliana said. “Most people had trouble getting along with her.”

  “Oh, I didn’t have any trouble with Bette. I meant we didn’t have time to talk, what with setting up our tables before the show. Then all those people started coming in, and Russ Ellison made his speech and...” Sarah held her hands out to the side, palms up, and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Did anyone come over to speak with her?”

  Sarah looked confused. “You and Frank, of course.”

  “No one else?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  Lilliana tried another question. “Did she leave her table at any time?”

  Sarah shook her head again. “I don’t remember her leaving.”

  Although it appeared as if Sarah didn’t have anything to add, Lilliana couldn’t very well get up and leave right away. It would be terribly impolite. And Sarah seemed so desperate for company, Lilliana didn’t have the heart to leave her alone again. “Are you going to be at the next meeting?”

  “Next meeting? Oh, of the club. I suppose so.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. We need all the members we can get, and you, as president, should be there to meet them. Russ Ellison thinks our show was so successful, he’d like us to put on another one in the fall.” She watched for Sarah’s reaction. She wanted to get a feel for what the membership felt about this before she put it to a vote at the meeting.

  Sarah’s reaction was one of alarm. “So soon? I mean, it’s so much work.” She glanced over at her plant stand. “And I’m not sure I can grow too many more plants in that short a time.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I think Frank has enough to sell for all of us.” She chuckled and Sarah joined her. Lilliana took a sip of her water.

  Sarah looked wistful as she said, “It was fun, though. All the people who came to the show were so nice. And they said such nice things about my plants. Bette’s, too. They particularly liked the blue one she won the prize for.”

  Lilliana bristled at mention of the stolen hybrid but decided not to rehash that with Sarah.

  “Except for that one man. He was practically yelling at her. Only not quite as loudly as you were.” Sarah looked pointedly at her.

  “What one man?” Lilliana perked up. A new lead! She ignored the implied criticism of her behavior.

  “You must know him,” Sarah said. “The one who runs that expensive convenience store in town. He has a funny name.” Sarah furrowed her brow as she tried to come up with it.

  “You mean T—Mr. Pulaski?” Lilliana was incredulous. Why would Ted be arguing with Bette Tesselink?

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Did you hear what were they arguing about?”

  “Not really. He just kept saying ‘we have to talk,’ and she just kept saying ‘not now’ and shaking her head.”

  Lilliana was totally flummoxed. This was something she would never have expected. She’d have to talk to Ted and find out what he’d wanted to discuss with Bette. She discretely looked at her watch. It was a little after eleven. Plenty of time to walk into town before lunch.

  “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Sarah.”

  Sarah looked disappointed. “It was nice talking to you, too. We’ll have to do
this more often.”

  With a twinge of guilt, Lilliana doubted she’d be visiting Sarah very much in the future. Maybe she could make an effort to be a bit more friendly. “I’ll see you at the meeting then.”

  Sarah brightened. “Yes, of course.”

  Lilliana made her escape and headed for the elevator. She wanted to avoid more strain on her knees and save her strength for the walk into town.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHE studied Ted’s face from across the table. He looked older than she remembered, a wattle at his neck, deep creases in his cheeks and around his bright blue eyes from years spent in the sun and wind as a cowboy. His mustache consisted of mostly gray, as did the hair that curled over his collar. It hadn’t been any trouble to get him to agree to lunch again. In fact, he’d been eager to go with her. On another occasion, she would have been as eager to go with him, had her reason not been her suspicions in a murder investigation.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  “I’m not sure they’re worth that much.” Lilliana laughed nervously.

  He raised his bushy eyebrows, then lowered them. He picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee. “My African violet seems to be doing better today. I’ve been trying to do like you told me.”

  Lilliana nodded. “African violets aren’t really that hard to grow. I’m sure you’ll do fine with it.”

  An awkward silence stretched between them. Lilliana deliberated over how to broach the subject of Ted’s discussion with Bette Tesselink. Relief flooded her tightened chest when the waitress arrived bearing plates of food. She busied herself with cutting the burrito on her plate and putting some in her mouth. Ted picked up a piece of fried chicken, a drumstick, and attacked it with his teeth.

  She decided to ease into the subject she needed to pursue. “I talked to Sarah Higgins this morning.”

  Ted squinted in concentration, and Lilliana realized he probably didn’t know who Sarah was. She’d started to think of Ted as part of the retirement community, but obviously he wasn’t. “Sarah had the table next to Bette’s at the show.”

  The squint around Ted’s eyes relaxed. “Older lady, right?”

  “That’s right,” Lilliana said, although Sarah was younger than Ted. She put another piece of burrito in her mouth and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. It took a sip of iced tea to get the burrito all the way down. She put down her fork. “Sarah said you spoke to Bette on Saturday.”

  Ted’s eyes widened in alarm, then a bland mask dropped over his face. “I spoke to most of the sellers at the show. Asking questions about their plants and trying to decide who I’d buy one from.” He smiled engagingly and looked into her eyes. “I’m glad I picked you.”

  Lilliana averted her gaze. “Sarah seemed to think you were arguing.”

  “Arguing?” Ted pulled back and blinked his eyes rapidly several times. “I can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

  “She also said you told Bette you wanted to talk to her about something.” The closer she got to what she wanted to know, the harder Lilliana’s heart thumped in her chest.

  Ted finished gnawing the rest of the meat off his drumstick. He took his napkin from his lap and wiped his hands before deliberately picking up his fork. He scooped up some corn. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “Just about African violets. I don’t know what else I’d talk about to anyone at the show.”

  Lilliana thought a moment. Was it possible Sarah had misinterpreted the discussion? Maybe she wanted to tell Lilliana what she thought she wanted to hear, something exciting to liven up her apparently rather commonplace life with Bob. A dead end.

  Relieved, Lilliana said, “So how is your fried chicken?”

  “Excellent, as always.” He picked up a French fry, dipped it in a blob of ketchup on his plate, and stuck it in his mouth.

  “So is my burrito. It’s too bad this café is so far off the beaten track. I’m sure it would be a great success and draw a lot more business in Bisbee.”

  Ted playacted an exaggerated glance to the left and right, then leaned over. “Shhh. Don’t tell Cathy that. If she moves the café to Bisbee, where will I eat?” He flashed her a grin. “Speaking of Bisbee...”

  “Yes?”

  Ted stared at his plate as he said, “I’m thinking about taking a trip in next Sunday afternoon. The saloon in Brewery Gulch offers live music then, and I like to go listen. Any chance you’d like to go with me?” He raised his eyes to meet Lilliana’s.

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. He was asking her on a date. She hadn’t been on a date in over fifty years. Well, why not? It might be fun.

  As she was about to accept, Chief Cartwright walked into the restaurant and headed straight for the booth where Lilliana and Ted sat.

  “Lilliana Wentworth, you’re under arrest for the murder of Bette Tesselink.”

  Lilliana’s mouth opened in a large “O’ at the words spoken by Chief Cartwright. The proverbial jaw-drop. Catching flies. Whatever the cliché, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  The police chief glanced around the room nervously and cleared his throat. In a voice that almost quivered, he repeated much less firmly, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Bette Tesselink.” His voice squeaked a little on the last syllable.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lilliana said. “On what grounds?”

  The chief’s eyes darted from side to side. Lilliana followed his gaze and realized every eye in the place was focused on the two of them. Chief Cartwright lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Let’s discuss that at the police station.” He stared pointedly around the room again.

  “Oh, all right,” Lilliana said. She put her napkin on the table and rose from her seat. “Sorry about the interruption to our lunch, Ted.”

  Ted reached out and put his hand on top of hers. “Let me come with you.”

  Cartwright picked up on this remark and shook his head. “I can only take the prisoner in my patrol car.”

  Lilliana was about to argue, but they’d already made enough of a scene in the café. “I’ll be fine,” she told Ted. “It will just take a few minutes to straighten this out.”

  Ted appeared doubtful, but concurred with her statement—for the moment. “Okay. But let me know if you need me.” He scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to Lilliana.

  She glanced down at the scrap of paper and saw a phone number. She stuck the piece of paper in her pocket. Her fingertips brushed the key that was still there. She’d totally forgotten to tell Willie about it this morning. Oh, well. It probably wasn’t important.

  She turned her eyes toward the police chief and was amazed to see him holding a pair of handcuffs.

  “Surely you don’t think I’m going to attack you in the patrol car or try to make a desperate escape, young man.”

  “It’s procedure. Please hold your hands out in front of you.” Young Cartwright looked slightly worried for a minute, as if afraid she wouldn’t comply. Then his jaw set and his eyes locked on hers as he extended the handcuffs another fraction of an inch in her direction.

  Lilliana sighed and held out her hands. She would argue with him once they got away from the crowd.

  After fastening the cuffs, the chief grasped her elbow and guided Lilliana toward the door. She could feel the eyes of the entire clientele of Cathy's Café following them.

  It took longer to get in and out of the police car with the handcuffs hindering her movements than it did to drive to Town Hall. Cartwright marched her through the lobby and closed the door to his office once they were inside. After she was seated, she held out her wrists. “Are these really necessary?”

  Chief Cartwright regarded her for a minute, then said, “I suppose not.” He unlocked the handcuffs and put them back on his duty belt.

  Lilliana rubbed her wrists. Even in the short time she’d had them on, they’d left red marks. “Now please tell me what this is all about.”


  The chief picked up a folder from his desk and opened it. “I received the results of the forensics tests and the ME’s report. One,” he ticked the number off on the index finger of his right hand, “Bette Tesselink died of blunt trauma to the head consistent with a wound made by a baseball bat.”

  “Softball bat,” Lilliana corrected as he paused to take a breath.

  “Softball bat,” the chief said, but Lilliana was sure the report had baseball bat written in it. People who didn’t play didn’t know there was a difference.

  The chief raised his middle finger and said, “Two. The bay—softball bat at the scene of the crime contained blood, hair, and tissue matching that of the victim. It also had your fingerprints on it.”

  “Of course it did,” Lilliana said. “It’s my bat.”

  Chief Cartwright nodded. “Correct. Three. You have admitted that the murder weapon belongs to you.” Before Lilliana could inject anything else, he hurriedly said, “There was no evidence that anyone—other than the housekeeping staff—had been in the room that day. You have also admitted that you argued with the victim earlier in the day.”

  “Well, we knew all of that the minute Bette turned up dead.”

  The chief ignored her comment. “Motive, means, and opportunity. You were angry at her for purportedly stealing your plant, you brought the softball bat with you to the show, and you were alone with the victim in the storage room. The evidence all supports this.”

  Lilliana frowned and shifted in her chair. For the first time since she’d found Bette’s body, she believed she actually might be convicted of murder. But, surely... She realized Chief Cartwright didn’t have all the information she and Willie had gathered over the past couple of days. Feeling better, she sat up straight and said, “There are some things you ought to know, Chief.”

  “I think I know enough.” He started to rise.

  “But you don’t know everything.” She cleared her throat. “First of all, I wasn’t the only one who had a motive to kill Bette Tesselink. It seems as if she was blackmailing at least two people at the retirement home.”