by Carol Culver
“I hope for your sake it’s one of her contemporaries. And I don’t mean your grandmother,” Kate said.
“Me too, although it’s a little embarrassing to have a date to play Bridge with old people on Saturday night.”
“I won’t tell,” she said.
I actually had a lot more to worry about than the plight of a lonely single woman hanging out with her grandmother on date night. I had a crime to solve. This was no time for me to worry about my self-image. Or worry about what anyone thought of my spending Saturday night at a retirement home.
“You don’t have to hang out with the old crowd on Saturday night, do you? Instead of playing Bridge, you could come over for dinner and I’ll invite someone else.”
“Someone else like who?”
“Sam or Blake. You choose.”
“Isn’t it kind of last-minute?”
“You think they’ve got other options?”
“Maybe not.”
“So who is it?”
“Neither. I’m going to Heavenly Acres.”
“The easy way out,” she said, her eyes narrowed.
“You think looking like a dummy at the Bridge table is easy?”
“Go ahead. I’ll have a little dinner party another night. And I won’t tell you who I’m inviting.”
“Can I guess?”
She shook her head.
“Actually, I’m anxious to know what was in Mary Brandt’s will so maybe if Blake was there …”
“He’d tell us what she left him,” she said, her eyes popping open wide.
“Or didn’t leave him,” I said. “I want to know who benefits from her death. So yes, this is really a good idea of yours.”
“Thank you. Just to be clear, if you find out Blake benefits, then he must have killed her?” Kate asked.
“It would give him a motive, but since he was in New York at the time, he didn’t have much of an opportunity,” I conceded.
“How do you know he was in New York?” she asked.
I grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a detective. I don’t know. But that’s what he told me.”
“And you believed him?”
“I did believe him. With him what you see is what you get. It’s refreshing. I just wish I could find out now what was in that will. Blake said the reading is Monday.”
“Then I’ll invite him to dinner after that just in case you haven’t cracked your case wide open. Of course, I’d rather not invite a murderer to dinner.”
“I understand,” I said. Being in that room when the lawyer read the will was the best way I could get close to the family. I so wanted to see the expressions on their faces. Who would be surprised? Who would be disappointed? Who would be happy? Who would not be surprised because he or she already knew? Failing that, next best way was to be there when they left the room. Would I hide in my car in front of the lawyer’s office? Would I stand outside pretending to be hawking pies? No, I had a better idea.
When Kate left, I went to the Yellow Pages and found a number for Attorney Seymour Evans’ “Specializing in Living Trusts and Avoiding Probate” office and made an appointment for Monday morning for a review of my finances and the possibility of making a will. The secretary said Evans could fit me in at eleven though he had another appointment earlier, and I knew it had to be the Brandt family. Believe me, I was congratulating myself right and left. I suggested to the woman maybe I was too young to think about writing a will, and she said to no one’s surprise, “You’re never too young to make out a will. Everyone should have one.”
Seymour Evans sure had brainwashed her. Maybe he’d brainwash me too. Making out a will was a small price to pay for finding out who had a motive for knocking off Mary Brandt. But if I had to go through with it, who would I leave my things to? Who would want the pie shop?
Of course, if by some chance Mary had left me or my grandmother a substantial sum I’d be in big trouble. If you call having a sudden fortune dumped in your lap trouble. But wouldn’t we be summoned by Lawyer Evans to attend the reading if that was the case? We hadn’t been. It seemed to me my grandmother would be the last person to appear on Mary’s list of behests, and since she didn’t know me, I wouldn’t be there either.
Feeling good after selling pie all morning as well as entertaining a few customers in the afternoon, I got ready for my Bridge lesson with Grannie. I was hitting this mystery hard. Of course, it was possible a family member had offed Mary because I heard that it’s often the person who has the most to gain. But I was betting on the retirement community. So first I’d hit the Bridge table because it was accessible and I had an in there. Nothing I was doing was in defiance of Sam’s orders not to take part in solving this crime. I was still glad there was little chance he would find out what I was up to tonight.
_____
It turns out he did find out where I was headed; as I was packing three pies into the back of the Estate Wagon, he came out of the station and walked across the street. I could only hope he had many more crimes to solve or prevent than I knew about. Even on Saturday.
“You’re working late,” I said.
“Paperwork,” he said. Then he looked at my basket. “A late delivery?”
“I have a Bridge class at Heavenly Acres. I’m taking a few pies.”
“I thought you weren’t interested in Bridge.”
“Did I say that?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes in a wild attempt to divert his attention. “I’m always interested in learning something new, whether it’s cards or crime prevention. I confess, I’m a rank beginner and those old folks are sharks. I can only hope they’ll be gentle with me because I don’t know a Club from a Spade. Anyway, the Bridge table is where the action is on a Saturday night.”
“And you love to be where the action is.”
“Right.” Next to the action at the lawyer’s office, I love the Bridge table action.
I waited for him to say something like I told you to stay out of this, but how could he tell me not to play Bridge, so he didn’t. He looked like he was going to say something else, but he just took my basket and lifted it into the back of the wagon.
“Besides, those residents are my biggest fans. I have no interest in learning to play Bridge. It’s just one of the many sacrifices I make in order to hang on to my job and my lifestyle.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“My job and my lifestyle are one. Small-town baker. Early to bed and early to rise. That’s it. I came back to the Cove for a radical change and I got it. I can’t complain. I hope you have an exciting Saturday night planned,” I said. What a lie. I hoped he had nothing to do but read The Police Officer’s Manual all alone in that charming house next door to Lindsey’s beautiful mansion. I imagined Lindsey looking over to see his light on and inviting him over for drinks or dinner. Maybe her husband wasn’t there. She’d said he traveled a lot on business. Maybe she wanted to try out her new sex toys. Or maybe he had a date with Lurline.
“Seen Lurline lately?” I asked. I wanted to tell him how she’d accused me of poisoning Mary, but that kind of whining was beneath me. Unless he brought it up.
He hesitated a moment then he shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I’m on my way to a meeting.” Then he gave me a second look. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I assured him, my face flushed and my heart palpitating at the thought of Sam getting involved with Lurline or Lindsey or anyone. This town was too small. I’d have to see him everywhere with whoever it was. I reminded myself there were no other single women in town except for that hostile cupcake lady. I wondered where his meeting was. I wondered who else would be there. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten dinner and at this hour I’d probably only get a Bridge mix of nuts and candy at Heavenly Acres. My fault.
I said goodbye, got in the car, and drove up to the retirement home on the hill. Again.
I put my pie basket in the small kitchen next to the card room, storing the coconut cream pie and the chocolate mo
usse pie in the refrigerator. I was glad I’d brought them along with the blueberry. That way, I could offer a selection to everyone in the room. Which was good because there was quite a crowd in the card room, several tables of players besides Grannie’s group and her friends. She told me I’d be playing with Donna. It made me a little uneasy to be in Mary’s old seat, considering the outcome of that previous fateful game.
“I hope you all know this is my first time. I have no idea how to play Bridge,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite Donna. No one asked, “Why? Why now? Why don’t you have anything better to do on a Saturday night?” That’s the nice thing about people of a certain age.
Donna gave me an encouraging smile. “I know you’ll catch on right away.”
They all nodded in agreement. They assured me everyone has a first time. No one was born knowing how to bid, how to win tricks, or how to lead or what’s trump.
“All I know is that I want to be the dummy,” I said. “Then I can watch.”
They laughed politely. Naturally, they assumed that was a joke. It wasn’t. It was clear they disapproved of anyone who didn’t want to be in the heat of the game. They were serious players. I knew that. They were going to make me into one too if it took all night. I had news for them. It would take longer than that. It would take years and nobody had that much time. Not even me.
They shuffled the cards, then the dealer, Grannie’s partner, Hazel, a tall woman with dark hair streaked with gray who was wearing a lavender-colored velour track suit, dealt everyone thirteen cards. I hadn’t met Hazel before, but I’d heard she was an excellent player who Grannie hoped would accompany her straight on to the championships.
“This is just for fun, right?” Donna asked anxiously. I knew how competitive she was. How competitive they all were. How every game was life or death. In Mary’s case, it was death. That’s what I had to remember. Why I was there. When would I get a chance to learn something besides how to tell a trump from a trick? “We’re playing, but we’re not really playing,” Donna added.
“Right,” Grannie said. “We’re going to show Hanna how it’s done. It’s about time she learned how to play Bridge. I tried for years but finally she’s shown an interest.” She beamed proudly. I had to admit it was worth spending Saturday night here to see her so happy.
“First pies and now Bridge,” Helen said, leaning over to kibitz from the next table. “Following in your footsteps, Louise.”
Grannie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. I could only imagine she was going to compare my pies to hers unfavorably but thought better of it.
“Wish I could get my grandchildren to play something besides video games. Even my kids think Bridge is old-fashioned,” Hazel confessed.
I was glad no one suspected why I was really there. It was worth seeming like a loser who had nothing better to do on a Saturday night than to hang out with this crowd and learn a difficult game. I reached for a handful of mixed nuts. Then I remembered how Mary had expired right at this table after an innocent piece of pie. I looked around the room, the nuts still clutched in my hand. What if her murderer was here now? What if the group refused to eat my pie? Mary had so many enemies who all took Bridge seriously. Seriously enough to murder her? How easy it would be to tamper with the snacks on the table or with the pills that some trusting someone left out in the open on the table.
Back to the game. They didn’t expect me to become an expert tonight, but they did expect me to pay attention.
Hazel turned to me. “The object is to win tricks for your side.”
“What’s a trick?”
“A trick is four cards, one from each player,” Donna explained.
“Say a Spade is led,” Grannie said.
I didn’t want to ask what a Spade was but they guessed I didn’t know. Grannie went on. “There are four suits—Spades, Hearts, Diamonds, and Clubs.” She set her cards on the table to show me which was which and how she’d arranged them. I guessed this wasn’t the usual way to play the game. “Spades are the highest,” she said. “Then Hearts, Diamonds, and Clubs. I can’t believe I never taught you this.”
I began to wish for the first time in my life that she had forced me to learn to play years ago. “Spades are the highest?” What did that mean? I was afraid to ask too many questions. But I have to say they were very patient and it must have been hard watching me struggle to catch on to the basics.
“Maybe it’s like learning a foreign language,” I suggested. “If you don’t learn when you’re young, it’s twice as hard and you never really get fluent.”
Grannie shook her head. “It’s not the same at all.” They all joined in and assured me it wasn’t too late for me. Then they took turns standing behind me and telling me what card to play. We played a few rounds, I think they call them hands. I was exhausted from concentrating and so far I hadn’t learned a thing. I think everyone was relieved when I said I’d go get the pie I’d brought and someone else could sit in for me.
They took a break until I came back from the utility kitchen with a classic double-crust blueberry pie cut in small pieces as well as the towering coconut cream pie and chocolate mousse pie. When the other players in the room saw the pies, they decided to take a break too. They all raved about the pies, which made me feel good, but I had the feeling the women at my table would rather be playing Bridge nonstop, and not with me.
“Did you use fresh coconut for your pie?” Grannie asked. “I always did.”
I had to admit I hadn’t. Everyone but her said it was delicious with the rich creamy filling and the toasted coconut garnish.
Two of the women at the next table had a small slice of each kind of pie. My kind of pie eater. They asked how I made the crust of the chocolate mousse pie, which was lighter than some of my other dense chocolate pies. I told them I used chocolate cookie crumbs and butter. I saw Grannie frown at this admission, and I knew there was something wrong with that one too. I was sure she’d tell me later.
Riding on a wave of compliments, I reminded myself I would like to accomplish something tonight. Like finding out who killed Mary. Then I could forget infiltrating the family, which remained my backup plan.
While the other tables went back to Bridge, the four of us sat around the table eating pie and drinking coffee from the Cuisinart coffee machine Grannie brought down from her room. Now was my chance to ask questions. But what?
“I notice there aren’t any men playing Bridge,” I said.
“There used to be, but now they prefer something more lively, like shuffleboard,” Donna said. “Or watching football in the lounge. Couch potatoes,” she added disdainfully.
“What about Edward Vaughn?” I asked. “Wasn’t he some kind of Bridge champion?”
“He was. At least that’s what he claimed. But he quit playing here. Instead he took on computer Bridge. He wasn’t much of a people person,” Grannie said, wrinkling her nose. “He was such a hermit I don’t think I would have recognized him if I ran into him in the hall. He died last night.”
They nodded. No remarks.
“No service, no memorial?” I asked.
They shook their heads. Nobody had anything to say about him. Good or bad. “I believe his family is having a private service in his hometown,” Hazel said.
“He wasn’t very popular,” Donna said finally, lowering her voice. “One of the old guard, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what she meant but I wanted to know more. “Did they hang out together, the old guard, the ninety-somethings?”
“Some retreated to their apartments and holed up there having their meals sent up like Vaughn, others just go on about the way things were and complain about the way things are.”
“Did they fly the flag at half-mast at least?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” Grannie said. “That’s the custom. We had a moment of silence before dinner in his memory. But I doubt if many of the new people even knew who he was. If I start hibernating like that, just shoot me,”
she said with her usual good-natured impish grin. I had to ask myself if she really knew what serious trouble she was in. I hoped she didn’t. I hoped her irrepressible good nature could not be dampened by any small-town police chief and his faulty polygraph machine. Everyone knew she would never be the type to hibernate, not my gregarious Grannie. Not even if they put her in solitary confinement. They could accuse her of murder and take away her pie shop, but they couldn’t crush her high spirits.
“Mary knew him,” Donna said. “She stood up to him. He picked a fight with the wrong person. He told her he’d get back at her. I always wondered …”
All eyes were on Donna, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
“If he did,” she said.
“If he killed her?” I asked breathlessly.
“Oh, no. Mary died from a stroke,” Donna said firmly even though she knew full well the official word was murder. Talk about being delusional. “I always wondered what she did to him. She was fearless. She went after what she wanted and she’d never quit. All she said to me was, ‘He won’t bother my grandson again.’”
I looked around the table. No one said anything for a long moment while we imagined what Mary had done to him.
“The police asked us all if Mary had any enemies,” Hazel explained. “So we figured if we told him she had nothing but enemies, he’d never figure out who killed her.”
“If anyone did,” Grannie said. “Which I personally doubt. We were there. We would have noticed if anyone was trying to kill her. But what do we know, really? If Sam thinks she was murdered, she probably was. We’re not in law enforcement. He is.”
“You would have made a great policewoman,” I said, a vision in my head of Grannie in a blue uniform and a matching hat perched on her head. “Frisking suspects. Giving lie detector tests. Reading them their rights. Instead, you were a great pie baker, so we can’t feel too bad about what might have been.” I was getting carried away with pies as usual. Back to the question of murder.