Christmas Cloches and Corpses

by Leeson, Gayle

  Finally, Grandpa made it into the shop.

  “Well?” Max asked.

  “If my friend can find buyers, she thinks we’re looking at over a quarter of a million dollars.”

  Chapter Twenty

  N ot knowing what to do with the information that Dwight could be gaining such a windfall, we decided our best course of action was to present the information to the man himself and get his opinion. Dwight appeared to be in complete control of his faculties, except for feeling paranoid—which we’d concluded wasn’t an absurd suspicion after all—and not realizing his Aunt Max was a ghost. So, Grandpa and I headed out to Winter Garden Nursing Home.

  Remembering Zoe’s story about the coconut cake Dot had used to bribe Dwight into asking a girl to a dance, I had Grandpa swing by the grocery store. I had no delusions that the slice of cake I bought at the store could rival Dot’s, but it still looked pretty tasty. And I felt that celebrations called for cake.

  Grandpa and I found Dwight finishing up his lunch, so our timing was excellent.

  “This is a nice surprise,” Dwight said. “I’m sorry I don’t have any lunch left to offer you.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I have dessert to offer you.” As I handed him the clear container of cake, I told him Zoe had entertained us with the coconut cake story.

  He laughed. “I enjoyed every bite of that cake. And I’m sure I’ll love this one too. But I’d like to save it until I’m not so stuffed.”

  “Amanda and I need to have a talk with you,” Grandpa said. “Mind if I close the door?”

  “I have a better idea.” Dwight nodded toward the window. “Since it’s sunny today, I’d like to go outside. Amanda, would you be so kind as to help me get my coat and hat on?”

  “Of course.” I went to the closet and retrieved a brown tweed coat and a newsboy cap.

  “Dave, fire up that wheelchair.”

  Grandpa and I got Dwight bundled into his chair, and Grandpa pushed him out into the hall. When we passed the nurse’s station, I saw that the dark-haired nurse with the severe bun who’d offered to sedate Dwight after his friends died was on duty.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked Dwight.

  “I’d like to feel the sun on my face, Penelope,” he answered. “I won’t be long, and my friends will watch out for me.”

  “Okay, but don’t blame me if you come down with pneumonia.”

  Once we got outside, Dwight pointed toward the courtyard. “Let’s talk over there. The staff can see where we are but can’t hear what we’re saying.”

  We positioned Dwight in the sun, where he momentarily closed his eyes and lifted his face to bask in the warmth.

  “What do you want to talk about—does it have anything to do with the box Aunt Max told me about?” he asked.

  “It does.” Grandpa explained that he took the box to a friend who is an appraiser. “She has the box in her safe now, but she won’t try to sell the items until she hears back from me.”

  “Aunt Max said there was a Babe Ruth autographed card in the box.” Dwight pulled his cap lower to shade his eyes. “I imagine that might be worth something.”

  “Monica, the appraiser, said the contents of the box are worth a minimum of two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars.”

  “Minimum?” I gaped at Grandpa. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I’m trying to be conservative and not get anyone’s hopes up. After all, the items are only worth what someone is willing to pay for them.”

  “I don’t suppose the contents of the box would be that much without the card,” Dwight said. “But I’d like Zoe to have something that belonged to my dad. She never knew him, but she reminds me so much of him at times.” He smiled. “You know, little things she says and does.”

  “You and Zoe—and Maggie also needs to be part of this decision—can discuss the contents and decide what to do.” Grandpa gave Dwight a folded sheet of paper. “Here is an itemized list of the contents of the box and the value Monica has assessed each item.”

  Dwight scanned the list. “Huh. It’s amazing that a bunch of—what some people would consider—junk could be worth so much money.”

  “Max wants you to use the proceeds from the sale to live a better life,” I said. “I had a friend in college whose mom inherited a substantial sum of money and set up a living trust with my friend as the beneficiary.”

  “Do you think I could do something like that and take care of Maggie and Zoe?” He gestured toward my purse. “Have you got your phone on you?”

  “Yes.” I took out my phone.

  “If you don’t mind my borrowing it, open the calculator app and hand it here.”

  I gave Dwight the phone. I couldn’t see what he was adding up, but he nodded with satisfaction when he handed it back a few moments later. I glanced down at the screen but saw that he’d closed the app.

  “Let me talk with Maggie. If she’s willing to move me in with her and Zoe, she could quit one of her jobs and take life a little easier.” He folded his hands together. “Have your friend sell it all, Dave. Zoe can have the photos of my dad to keep him alive in her memory. I’ll have them restored for her.”

  “I’m sure Max would enjoy seeing those photos as well.” I paused. “Dwight, do you think there’s anything odd about Max?”

  “No, I think she’s great.” He squinted at me. “Why? Do you?”

  “I love Max,” I said.

  “I was a little bothered by the fact that she’s a ghost at first, but I got over it.”

  I could feel my eyes almost bug out. “You know Max is a ghost?”

  “Well, sure. I’m not losing my marbles yet. At least, I don’t think I am. Of course, I do talk with a ghost—but then so do you.”

  “And that ghost gave you a box of rare collectibles,” Grandpa added.

  “That’s true.”

  “But Zoe said Aunt Max is a little secret the two of you share,” I said.

  “That’s right—Maggie would have a conniption if she knew about Aunt Max. That’s why I’ll have to be careful in telling her where I got the box.”

  “Do you believe you’ll ever be able to introduce Maggie to Max?” Grandpa asked.

  “I doubt it,” Dwight said. “Maggie doesn’t like anything she doesn’t understand.”

  I looked up to see Sally Jane striding across the lawn and warned the men to be quiet.

  “I’ve come to get you, Dwight,” she said. “Penelope wants you back inside. Amanda, Dave, you can walk with me if you’d like to. And I can talk with you once we get Dwight settled back in his room.”

  Sally Jane wheeled Dwight back into the building. Grandpa and I followed them.

  In front of the nurse’s station, there was a well-dressed, balding man lecturing Penelope.

  “—important to potential newcomers, to families, and mainly to the Board of Directors that residents appear calm and happy.”

  “Hi, Mr. Godfrey,” Sally Jane said.

  I couldn’t tell whether she was oblivious to the tension between Mr. Godfrey and Penelope or if she was simply choosing to ignore it.

  Turning an icy stare in her direction, Mr. Godfrey said, “I’m in the middle of something.” Then he noticed Grandpa and me. “Sorry.” Although the ice didn’t quite thaw, he managed a smile. “I’m Larry Godfrey, nursing home administrator. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No, sir, we’re fine.” Grandpa gave him a nod. “Sally Jane, we should get Dwight back to his room.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Godfrey said. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

  When we got Dwight back to his room, Sally Jane made it obvious she wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon. With our plans to again speak privately with Dwight thwarted, we told him goodbye and said we’d talk with him later.

  “Dwight, I’ll be right back, and we’ll play some checkers.” Sally Jane followed us into the hall and looked all around before lowering her voice. “I found out Penelope’s mother
is a diabetic. Do you think that might explain the missing insulin?”

  “Missing insulin?” I wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “Yeah, the insulin missing when the nurse’s dad died. It wasn’t among the meds returned to the pharmacy.”

  Grandpa nodded. “I remember hearing about that.”

  “Well, it was true,” Sally Jane said. “I mean, don’t blame Penelope. Why should a deceased patient’s medicine be thrown away instead of given to somebody else? If another patient can benefit from it, then let them have it—don’t you think?”

  “It would make sense,” I said. “Although I’m guessing the protocols are in place for a reason.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard. I’d better get back to Dwight.”

  When Grandpa and I went back down the hall toward the door, neither the hospital administrator nor Penelope were in sight.

  “I’d have thought the administrator would be nicer to his volunteers,” I said softly.

  “True, but although he was adamant with Penelope that he wanted residents calm and happy, he appeared to be more concerned with the opinion of the Board of Directors than anything else.”

  We walked outside, and I turned back to make sure no one was watching us. “I wonder if the administrator could be instructing his staff to sedate residents who are rowdy or who might not present the proper image to the Board?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I t was about an hour after lunch when Connie came over. After a fluttery tap on the door, she came inside the atelier carrying a bag.

  “Is Jason around?” she asked.

  “He might be upstairs,” I said. “I’m not sure. But if you need him, I can give him a call.”

  She grinned. “No, I’m just making sure he’s not here. I want to show you what I got him for Secret Santa.”

  Always eager to get into someone’s business, Jazzy hopped onto the worktable when Connie opened the bag.

  “You wanna see too?” Connie asked her.

  “Yeah, and so do I,” Max said.

  I hadn’t even been aware Max was around this afternoon until now. She and Jazzy were a lot alike. They always popped up when they thought something interesting was going on.

  Connie removed what at first glance appeared to be a huge camera lens from the bag. I quickly realized it was a mug.

  “Oh, my goodness!” I took the mug and examined it more closely. The detail was remarkable. The mug was clever as well as functional. “He’s going to love this.”

  “You think so?” she asked.

  I handed back the mug so Connie could put it back in the bag. “I know so.”

  “Good. I’m going to put some tea blends with it.”

  “You did very well,” I said. “And, as far as I know, you didn’t even have to hire our on-site detective.”

  “I didn’t. But I did feel bad about being the only merchant in the building who hadn’t hired her for something, so I’m paying her to research what types of essential oils people like best.”

  I laughed. “I’ll be expecting a visit then.”

  “She is precocious, isn’t she? Marielle has always been mature for her age, too—trying to gather knowledge everywhere she goes. Charlie is happy in his own little world.” She smiled. “Kids are funny. They have their own special personalities even before they’re born.”

  I had never met Connie’s son, but her daughter shared many of her mother’s personality traits. I suspected Charlie was more like Connie’s husband, Will.

  “Some guy just walked into Delightful Home,” Max said.

  “I believe you have a customer,” I told Connie.

  Lips parting slightly, Connie inclined her head and looked down at the floor. “I don’t hear anything.”

  I shrugged. “I could be imagining it.”

  “I’d better go check,” Connie said. “See you in a bit.”

  “Thanks for that,” I told Max after Connie left. “I’d have hated for someone to steal something while she was visiting with me.”

  “Me too,” she said. “That mug is the elephant’s eyebrows, though. I didn’t even know they made mugs like that.”

  “I didn’t either, but there certainly are a lot of consumer goods available online. If you can dream it up, odds are someone has already made one.”

  Max took my statement as a challenge. “Are there sewing mugs? Show me on the tablet.”

  I went to the tablet I’d given her, unlocked it, and searched for sewing mugs. She gasped at the dozens that filled the screen.

  “Fashionista mug,” she said.

  There were fewer mugs relating to fashionistas, but there were some.

  “Toucans.”

  Rolling my eyes, I searched for toucan mugs. There were several. One Max and I both particularly liked had a toucan handle and the phrase “Toucan do it.”

  “I love it!” She clasped her hands together. “What about Constantinople? Is there a Constantinople mug?”

  Believe it or not, there was.

  Immediately after we searched for Constantinople mugs, Zoe requested to video chat.

  “Zoe! Did you know there are Constantinople mugs?” Max asked.

  “What’s Constantinople?” Zoe asked.

  “It’s a place. And they have mugs about it,” she said.

  “Do you want one of these Constantinople mugs?” Zoe looked from Max to me, clearly confused as to what was going on.

  “Not especially.” Max flipped her palms. “You know I can’t drink, but I still think it’s a neat thing.”

  “I wanted to come to the shop today,” Zoe said, “but Mom is working, and my friend can’t drive me. I’ve already made one more hat and will finish the other one this evening. Is it all right if I come there tomorrow and work?”

  “Of course, it—”

  I was interrupted by a delivery guy coming in the door to reception. “Got some packages for Designs on You.”

  “Yes,” I said, “bring them in here please.”

  He came on through to the atelier.

  “Well, hello, good looking,” Max said.

  I inadvertently echoed, “Good looking.”

  The man looked at me with a grin. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard how handsome he was, and he was expecting to hear it again. “Excuse me?”

  “Good looking packages,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for these.”

  “Oh, all right.” He winked. “See you next time.”

  As the man walked back through the reception area, Zoe burst into giggles. Naturally, Max joined in.

  “You two laugh it up.” I opened the boxes and was relieved to see that they contained the materials for Marsha Billings’ gown. “I need to cut out this pattern.”

  Jason came over to my house that evening for what we’d hoped would be a relaxing binge watch of all three Christmas episodes of the television series Psych. We had sandwiches, a veggie and fruit tray which included pineapple, and we had maple cookies. Jason had brought Rascal, so I had some treats for him to enjoy while we noshed on our snacks. Jazzy snoozed on her cat tree, not in the mood to play with the sometimes-slobbery dog.

  I was snuggled up beside Jason on the sofa and put my feet on his lap. “I’ve decided to bring banana pudding to the potluck. Do you think that will be all right?”

  “That’ll be terrific. Banana pudding is one of my favorites. And Dad’s too.”

  We’d just finished the episode, “Gus’ Dad May Have Killed an Old Guy,” and Jason was finding the next one when I got a text.

  Looking at the screen, it said the text was from me—that’s how I knew it was from Max. Since I gave her my tablet, when she sends me a message, it shows up as being from myself.

  It read: Somebody slipped Dwight a Mickey Finn! He’s about to go under! Get him help quick!

  I swung my feet off Jason’s lap. “I have to call the nursing home.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  How could I possibly explain to Jason that my fr
iend, the ghost, told me I have to check on Dwight immediately? I decided to defer my answer, other than to say it was about Dwight.

  I called the nursing home and told the nurse who answered, “Please go check on Dwight Hall immediately. He’s losing consciousness.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “We were video chatting.”

  “I’ll go see about him,” the nurse said.

  “I’m on my way there,” I said.

  When I ended the call, Jason was frowning at me. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry about the fib,” I said. “Someone else was video chatting with Dwight—someone who might not have been believed if she’d called herself.” The fact that Max likely wouldn’t have been heard over the phone by the nurse was irrelevant.

  “Ah, I see.” He obviously thought the text I’d received had been from Zoe. He turned off the television. “Let’s go.”

  We slipped on our shoes, put Rascal into Jason’s SUV, and headed for the nursing home. I went onto social media and sent Max a message letting her know Jason and I were on the way.

  “Do you think I should contact Maggie?” I asked Jason.

  “Let’s wait and see how serious the situation is,” he said. “We don’t want to get Zoe in trouble if it turns out to be nothing.”

  “Right.”

  When we arrived, there was an ambulance by the front entrance.

  Jason let me out at the door. “Go inside and make sure Dwight is okay. I’ll park and come on in.”

  “Thanks.” I got out and ran into the building.

  Before I could get to the nurse’s station, I saw Dwight being wheeled out on a stretcher. There was an oxygen mask over his face.

  Hurrying forward, I grasped his hand. “Dwight!”

  “I need you to let him go, miss,” one of the EMTs said. “We have to get him to the hospital.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We don’t know yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I asked Jason to take me home to get my car, but he insisted on driving me to the hospital.