Dying to Retire (4 page)

“I think you might like these better,” Sandy said, taking the glasses and handing me a pair with tortoiseshell-patterned frames. “The lenses change from dark to light when you come indoors,” she said, “so they help your eyes adjust. They’re very popular here. I’m sure they’ve prevented a lot of falls with the older folks. Besides, they’re a nice shape for your face, and a good color for your complexion.”

“All that?” I said, laughing. “Sold! I’ll take them.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so. We’d like to talk to the pharmacist when he has a moment.”

“Harry? Sure. He’s with a customer right now, but he shouldn’t be more than a minute. I’ll tell him you’re waiting to see him.”

While Seth dug money out of his pocket for the razor blades, I thanked Sandy, paid for my new sunglasses, and eavesdropped on Harry’s conversation with Mrs. Lazzara, a diminutive lady in tennis whites.

“Libby swears by the Saint-John’s-wort tea,” Mrs. Lazzara said. “Gives her a real lift.”

“Yes, but she isn’t on blood pressure medicine and you are,” Harry said, taking the box from her hand and replacing it on the shelf.

She frowned. “I want to try it.”

“I know you do,” Harry said, gently escorting her farther down the aisle. “Unfortunately, the Saint-John’s-wort contains hypericin, and that’s thought to act just like the MAO inhibitors. You really have to watch your diet if you’re taking that. Something as common as bologna, or that pickled fish you like, could cause a rapid rise in blood pressure, the last thing you need. You’re a good customer. I want to keep you around a little longer.”

Mrs. Lazzara’s frown turned into a smile. “Are you flirting with me, Harry? I like that in a young man.”

Harry, who was probably in his fifties, smiled. “How about the Marrakesh Mint tea I recommended last week?” he asked. “Did you like that one?”

“That was good advice about the Saint-John’s-wort,” Seth said to the pharmacist, after Mrs. Lazzara had left and Harry came to assist us.

“I could sell it to her, but knowing what I do, it would have been unethical,” the trim, good-looking pharmacist said. “I carry the supplements and I believe in their efficacy, but as in all things people ingest, they have to know what they’re taking and why, and most important, they have to be aware of the potential for interactions.”

“Glad to hear you say it. I’m Dr. Hazlitt, by the way. This is Mrs. Fletcher.”

“We were friends of Portia Shelby’s,” I said, “and came down for her funeral.”

“I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Shelby,” Harry said. “She was a real firebrand in the community, and a very kind lady as well. I’m sure you’ll miss her. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“How can I help you folks?”

“I wanted to show you a particular tablet I found,” Seth said. “I think I know what it is, but I wanted you to confirm it. You’re the expert.”

Harry smiled. “Expert, huh? That’s very flattering, Doctor, and you only just got into town. I must have quite a reputation. I’m not sure if I can identify it on sight, but I’ll try.” He held out his hand.

Seth dropped a pill on Harry’s palm.

“Oh, this,” Harry said, poking at the little blue pill. “I don’t sell it.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a popular diet pill,” he replied. “I used to carry these kinds of diet pills, and they’d fly off the shelf, but I stopped stocking them when a couple of football guys died and it turned out they were taking something like this.”

“What’s in it?”

“It’s a combination of ephedra and caffeine. Some consider it fairly safe and effective for healthy people who want to lose weight.”

“Would you recommend ephedra for someone who had a heart condition?” Seth asked.

“I wouldn’t recommend ephedra to anyone; that’s why I stopped selling it. This pill also has caffeine in it, and the combination is a powerful stimulant. Definitely not safe in my opinion, especially for someone with a bad heart. Could die from that.” He gave the pill back to Seth, saying, “I wouldn’t take it if I were you. There are safer ways to lose weight. If you follow me, I can show you some of the things we do recommend for our overweight customers. And I have a wonderful booklet with easy exercise routines. The retirees have a pretty good gym over at Foreverglades. Have you seen it?” He was halfway down the aisle before he realized his error.

Seth sputtered. “Me? I wasn’t talking about me. I’m not retired, I don’t have a heart condition, and I’m not looking to go on a diet. And if I want exercise, it won’t be in a gym.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, flushing. “I thought that’s why you were asking. . . .” He trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

“Can you believe it, Jessica? I ask a simple question and he has me on a diet. Next thing you know, he’ll be telling me to dye my hair.”

“Now, Seth, it was a natural mistake,” I said, trying not to look down at his ample stomach. “The man certainly didn’t mean to offend you.”

“And besides, I do exercise,” Seth barked to Harry. “I play golf.” He straightened his posture, pulling his shoulders back and stomach in. I wasn’t sure how long he could hold that pose. “Anyway, I found out what I needed to,” he said, starting for the door. He nodded at Harry. “Thank you, sir. Appreciate the information. Coming along, Jess?”

“Why don’t you see if they have a table at the coffee shop next door,” I said, not quite ready to leave. “I could use an iced tea, and you’d probably like one, too. I saw the nicest candle in the other aisle, and I want to buy it for Charlene Sassi. She loves candles. Go on ahead. I’ll meet you in few minutes.”

“Don’t be dillydallying. Time’s a-wasting,” he said, looking back at me while he pushed through the door, nearly knocking over a red-haired woman in a suit.

“I never dillydally,” I called after him.

“Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher,” Harry said. “I just assumed he was talking about himself.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” I said. “He’ll get over it. And I think he may need a reminder every now and again to follow the same advice he gives to his patients about diet and exercise.”

“But he was upset, and I feel bad that I insulted him.”

“He’s not the type to hold a grudge. He’ll forget about it.”

“I hope so. Is there anything else, Mrs. Fletcher? I’ve got to get back to filling prescriptions. Sandy can help you with the candles.”

“Just one or two more things, Harry. It’s a lovely store. Tell me, have you had it a long time?”

“Moved here right when Foreverglades opened, about ten years ago. This place was a wasteland after Hurricane Andrew blew through, but the government put up a lot of money to rebuild, and Foreverglades was the first community to take advantage of the funds available. We’ve grown quite a bit since then. Have a whole village now, shops, library, police department—even a chamber of commerce.”

“You must have a good-sized clientele with the development right next door. It’s restricted to those over fifty-five, isn’t it?”

“I see what you’re thinking, and I thought the same thing myself when I first came here. Older people tend to need more medicines, it’s true. But the people who live here are pretty healthy, and they want to stay that way. That’s why I stock so many supplements. They’re a bright bunch, read a lot, do research, and over the years I’ve brought in what they said they wanted. Law of supply and demand. That’s how business runs.”

“But I can see you’re careful with them. You stopped selling the ephedra.”

“Got to know your customers. That’s the key. But you also have to protect yourself from lawsuits. You’d be amazed how many people are ready to go to court at the drop of a hat.”

“So when did you stop carrying the diet pill, Harry? Was it recently?”

“It was right after I heard about those football players. Probably about a couple of months ago.”

“And up until then, did you keep records of who bought it?”

“Well, if they charged it to their account, I did. But if they paid cash, I wouldn’t have kept a record of that.”

“But if someone asked you who might have bought the diet drug, could you tell them? For instance, do you recall if Mrs. Shelby purchased the pills?”

“I don’t remember her buying them.”

“But if she had an account here, you could look it up, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. Breach of ethics to reveal private information about clients. No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course. I would never ask you to go against your principles.”

“We sold a fair amount, I can tell you that. Just because people get older doesn’t mean they don’t want to look their best. You can ask Donna when she comes in. She runs our cosmetics counter. Lipsticks, eye shadow, face powder. Perfumes, too. Big business, cosmetics, second only to the supplements. Yes, ma’am.” Harry laughed. “They’re a lively lot over at Foreverglades.”

Seth was halfway through his iced tea when I joined him, and from the crumbs on the plate in front of him, I’d say Harry’s faux pas hadn’t had an impact on my friend’s dietary habits.

The coffee shop was busy, and I recognized several people I’d seen at Portia’s apartment the night before. It was only ten-thirty in the morning, late for breakfast and early for lunch, at least by Maine standards. But every table was taken. Customers could help themselves to sections from the local newspaper, which hung from wooden dowels on a rack next to the cash register. Those who wanted the paper all to themselves could buy one from a stack on the counter. Reading the news and drinking coffee seemed to be a major activity.

“Did you buy the candle for Charlene?” Seth asked, eyeing my empty hands.

“No. I completely forgot. But I can go back another time.”

“Find out what you wanted to know?”

“Well, he stopped selling the diet pills a few months ago, but he wouldn’t tell me who had bought them.”

“I would have said Portia was too smart a woman to take a such a chance with her health. Obviously I would have been wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong. And, anyway, Portia didn’t need to lose weight. I think we should have a talk with her husband.”

A shadow fell over the table. “You’re Jessica Fletcher, aren’t you?”

I looked up into the face of a lady in her midsixties who was evidently one of Sandy’s customers at the cosmetics counter in Weinstein’s. Vivid blue eye shadow and black mascara framed large brown eyes. Bright red lipstick matched her fingernails. On her left wrist was a stack of gold bangle bracelets. Tucked in her right arm was a little dog with white curly fur and black button eyes, its red leash wrapped around her hand. “I’m Monica Kotansky. My sister Carrie and I live in Foreverglades around the corner from the Shelbys. I recognized you right away from the picture on your books. I’m a great fan. Is this your husband?”

Seth struggled to his feet. “Dr. Seth Hazlitt at your service. Mrs. Fletcher—Jessica—is an old friend. Would you care to join us?” He was holding in his stomach again.

“A doctor! How nice.” Monica pulled out a chair and sat sideways in it, the dog on her lap. She crossed her legs and let a silver high-heeled pump dangle from her foot.

“What a cute little fellow,” Seth said, leaning over to pat the dog on the head.

The dog growled. Seth jerked back his hand.

Monica pouted. “Ooh, I don’t know what got into him,” she said. “Snowy is a bichon frise. They’re very friendly dogs.” She lifted the little dog and kissed his muzzle, leaving a trace of lipstick on his fur. She smiled up at Seth. “Well,
I’m
delighted to meet you,” she said. “But I can only stay a minute. I have an appointment with my massage therapist.”

“Can’t imagine why you would need a therapist. You look like a very healthy girl to me,” he said, returning the smile and sinking into his seat.

“Woman,” I corrected, thinking that if I disappeared, neither of them would notice.

“Of course. A healthy woman.”

“A massage makes you feel so good,” Monica said, rolling first one shoulder and then the other, thrusting her bosom forward. “And it keeps the muscles in shape. Don’t you think so, Doctor?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Seth said. “It’s important to keep your muscles in shape.”

“I work out, too,” she said, pushing a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “A woman can’t be too careful about her figure.”

A light came into Seth’s eyes. “Do you use the gym at Foreverglades?”

“Every morning from six to seven.”

“Someone was just suggesting I stop by the gym to see the facilities.”

“Ooh, I’d be tickled to death to show you around. I know all about the equipment.”

“And were you a friend of Portia’s?” I asked, deciding it was time to join the conversation.

She tore her eyes away from Seth’s for an instant. “Oh, poor, poor Clarence,” she said. “He lost his first wife in a boating accident, and then Portia drops dead on the beach. That man must just hate the water.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Tell me, Ms. Kotansky—”

“Oh, you must call me Monica. And I’ll call you Seth. Is that all right, Doctor?” I’d lost her again.

“Absolutely. My pleasure.”

She placed the dog on the floor, unwinding the leash from her hand, and rose. Seth rose as well. “I hate to run, but I don’t want to be late for my appointment. So nice to meet you, Jessica,” she said, still looking at Seth. “And if I don’t see
you
at the gym early tomorrow morning, I’ll catch you later at the funeral.”

“What funeral?” I asked.

“Why, Portia’s, of course,” she said, finally turning in my direction. “Hadn’t you heard? The police have released her body.”

Every seat in the small chapel was taken, and the air inside was stifling. Seth, Mort, Maureen, and I sat halfway back, having arrived early. But those who’d come ten minutes later had to content themselves with standing along the sides in front of the tall stained-glass windows, or leaning against the back wall on either side of the entrance. It was gratifying to see that Portia had made so many friends since moving to Florida from Cabot Cove, following her mother’s death.