Getting Old Can Kill You (21 page)

Sophie takes a turn. “And their notes are always handwritten. And usually signed. This was done on a computer. With no signature.”

Fatima, who is leaning against the fridge, is still negative. “So Arlene could have used one of the computers in the tech club room.”

Sandra makes a face. “Arlene was as dumclueless as we are about high tech.”

Fatima crosses her arms, still not convinced.

Sandra continues, “And why would she have done that? She would never have come to class if she knew that was the recipe for the day.”

Elaine adds, as she sips her tea and makes a face—the tea is cold—“So maybe Joyce sent it. She was still trying to get Arlene to talk to her. She figured maybe with us around …”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Evvie. “She had to know how much it would bother Arlene.”

Elaine, taking Fatima’s side, insists, “I’m sure she didn’t think she’d get that frazzled, unless there is something very wrong with Arlene.”

Ida says, getting huffy, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before they erupt into something angrier, I step in. “Then what happened? Arlene had her outburst and then what? After I left.”

There is a pause. I assume they are trying to recollect.

Evvie asks, “Did Arlene leave?”

Sandra says, “She left with Gladdy, but she came back a few minutes later, crying. Joyce had already left. Nobody said a word.”

There is a silence. What are they leaving out? I say, “There’s more. Keep talking.”

Frances shrugs. “I went home next. I had enough.”

Sandra says, “I tried to comfort Arlene, but she wouldn’t let me.”

Elaine says, “I looked around the kitchen in disgust. I was furious. I said who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

Sandra says, “That’s when Arlene spoke again. She apologized and volunteered, since she felt she was the cause of it.”

Fatima puts down her teacup and heads for the door. “That’s when the rest of us left. She ruined our class and I’m not about to forgive her. And I’ve had enough of her tantrums.”

She exits and Frances and Elaine immediately follow.

Sandra, our only ally, shrugs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, so I mumbled something kind to Arlene and walked out, too.”

“So Arlene was left alone in the room?” I ask.

Sandra says, “Yes.”

Evvie asks the next logical question. “And did she clean it up?”

Sandra sighs. “Not really. When we checked later, we could tell she did a little bit. Some of the pies were gone. I assumed she dumped them down the garbage disposal. But I guess it was all too much for her. She didn’t do a good job. And worst of all she left the kitchen door unlocked. We never do that. We have expensive stuff in here, like our Cuisinart and cappuccino machine.”

We thank her and she leaves, wishing us well. At the door, she smiles. “And don’t
you
forget to lock it when you leave.”

For a moment our group is silent.

Finally Ida comments, “Another nail in Arlene’s coffin.”

Bella shudders. “Yuk. Couldn’t you find a better way to say that?”

Evvie says, “But if the door was left open someone else could have come in.”

Ida says, “Like who? Joyce? What for? She wouldn’t want the pies.”

Sophie says, “Maybe the one who murdered Joyce did.”

Everyone heads for home. No one wants to talk any longer.

Everyone has left the kitchen even more confused than when we went in. On the way home, Evvie and I stop to pick up our mail. In my mailbox I find a note. It’s from our ex-Marine Cane Fu instructor, Merrill Grant. Evvie reads over my shoulder. Merrill writes, “Saw your flyer. I did see Seymour leaving one night. He did have a suitcase with him. I was coming home from a late pinochle game and just as I was entering the Lanai Gardens front gate, I saw a Jaguar stop and pick him up. He didn’t hesitate to get in. Seemed like he was waiting for this ride. A man was driving. Sorry I didn’t get a good look at him because I wasn’t paying attention. I hope this helps you. Call me if you need to talk.”

A man? Evvie and I look perplexed.

This is a whole new thought. Did Joyce have an accomplice?

Evvie and I go up to my apartment just as Jack arrives. He reports that he didn’t have too much time to speak to the nurse since she was only on a short break, but he thinks it was very illuminating.

I defrost a chicken casserole for dinner later as we listen to him.

Jack loosens his tie and takes off his jacket. He pours himself a glass of water. “The nurse hated working for Dr. Edward Steiner. She was a married woman and very religious. She felt Steiner was unethical and had the morals of an alley cat. He obviously was sleeping with some of his patients. Unable to stand it much longer, she called him on it and asked how he could betray his wife like that. His arrogant answer was that his wife had her own lover. So it evened out. Besides, he told her, they had an ‘open’ marriage. The nurse didn’t believe him. She’d seen and heard many a screaming tantrum from the very jealous Mrs. Steiner, who dropped in many times, probably hoping to catch him dallying with his patients. They both knew she couldn’t stay any longer. It was right after that she quit before he could fire her and got the job she now has.”

“The plot is thickening,” I say.

“More like sickening,” Evvie comments.

Jack says, “I made another call. So tomorrow we have an appointment with Joyce’s business manager, Kenneth Ryan. I told him Joyce was dead. He sounded shocked. He said we caught him just in time. He is flying off to Hong Kong on a business trip tomorrow, but he definitely needs to see us. She left a will and he’s the executor.”

“Bingo,” says Evvie.

Jack adds, “I know Morrie will want to come with us.”

I heat the oven for the chicken. “And I know what he’ll say when we catch him up. Everything so far is circumstantial and won’t stand up in court. I hope this guy has something we can use.”

A
s we expected, Morrie listens patiently as Jack and I catch him up. We tell him what we know as we drive to the executor Kenneth Ryan’s office. Morrie is interested in what we’ve learned so far about Joyce’s background. But her fights with her hubby seem irrelevant since he died some time ago. So she had a temper, so what? Well, at least we know Seymour was picked up to begin his travels by someone he knew. At least he wasn’t kidnapped. It was probably Joyce’s Jaguar. But the driver was a man? It was dark. Too bad Merrill couldn’t describe him.

Additionally we’ve helped prove that not only Arlene but Joyce also had access to the key lime pies in the empty kitchen. But that doesn’t change Morrie’s mind about Arlene’s guilt. We were right. Everything is still circumstantial.

“About the daughter, Stacy,” Morrie says, “the Sausalito police tried again to reach her. This time the maid said she did hear from her and the family was due back in about a week. They left another message to call both them and you.”

I tell him, “We’ve been phoning her house, since she hasn’t tried to reach us, but this time we got the answering machine, so hopefully she’s returned.”

He can tell I’m distressed that there’s a daughter out there who doesn’t yet know her own mother has died, so he changes the subject. “What’s the background on this guy we’re meeting?” he asks.

Jack says he Googled him. “He’s a business manager with a law degree and another in accounting. Pretty successful it seems. In a high-rent district of Boca Raton. Has some well-known wealthy clients.”

We arrive at the affluent Congress Avenue address, so we’re not surprised at the fancy digs. The office appears as if it was designed by a professional who knew how to stage an office. All of it is done ultra modern in shades of black and white. Even the photos of early Boca are black and white. Very dramatic.

Kenneth has a suite that includes the usual front receiving area, private office, and conference room.

Kenneth, a man in his fifties, looks deliberate as well. The suit is expensive. As are the shoes. The haircut just right. To me he is on the downside of good looking. Probably considered handsome when younger. Maybe too much booze over the years, I’m guessing by the reddish veined nose. There is weariness to his demeanor.

He greets us himself. “I can’t tell you how shocked I was at the news of Joyce’s death.”

Morrie says what he’s had to say hundreds of times as a cop, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kenneth shakes his head as if to indicate, Don’t say any more. He can’t take it.

Kenneth hands us his business card, and Morrie passes back his police identity card, Morrie explaining that “since these two people,” indicating us, “are strangers to you, you might want a person of authority to be here.”

We introduce ourselves, saying we knew Joyce, but for only a short while.

He beckons us to follow him. “Very thoughtful of you. I was wondering about who was coming to see me.”

As we tour our way along his hallway, we express our admiration of his perfect decor. Kenneth thanks us. And remarks that Mrs. Steiner was his decorator. “That was her avocation, besides being a wonderful wife and hostess.”

I think to myself, Joyce has at least one admirer. I guess he missed all the good fights. But I do find it interesting that Joyce had a lucrative career. And it may also be that he and Joyce knew each other for a very long time. What
was
their relationship?

We follow him into his office.

“I gave my secretary a few days off, since I’ll be away, so I hope no one wants coffee.”

I almost expect him to offer us liquor. He doesn’t, but when he mentions coffee he instinctively looks to the elaborate wet bar where bottles of booze are in abundance. I read somewhere that’s a sign of an alcoholic or someone on his way to it.

Morrie says smoothly, “We know you have a plane to catch today. We’ll try not to take too much of your time. You’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Quite late. Have you ever been to Hong Kong?”

We all shake our heads no.

“Extraordinary place. Not to be missed. I heartily recommend the Peninsula Hotel if you do.” He looks at me and smiles. “But the Star ferry to Kowloon calls for a very strong stomach.”

Hmm, how did he know I get seasick? Maybe he assumes it because I’m a woman. Or he’s just being condescending. Hong Kong is not in our budget.

Jack smiles wryly at me. Do we look like the kind of people who could afford such an expensive trip? Is Kenneth Ryan playing us?

Kenneth indicates we should sit down. We do. He takes his seat behind his white marble desk. Marble seems very popular around Boca. His desk chair is an Eames design in black. The office seems excessively neat. No papers anywhere, except for a blue folder on his desk that could be the will. What is this absence of things reminding me of? I’ll have to think of it later. I need to concentrate on that will.

He expresses his concern. “I have to say, your news about my client was not unexpected. I knew Mrs. Steiner was very ill. It was only a matter of time. She was quite important to this office. I’m so surprised I hadn’t already heard the news. What were the circumstances of her death?”

Morrie takes charge of the meeting. “Mrs. Steiner wasn’t living at Sunrise Key at the time. She was residing at a one-bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale on Oakland Park Boulevard. A sublet as it were.”

Kenneth lifts very bushy eyebrows, showing surprise. He knows that’s a lower rent area. “How very peculiar.”

Morrie says, “Then I assume you hadn’t been in touch with her for a while.”

“I did speak to her a few weeks ago to ask how she was feeling. She said she was doing as well as could be expected, as she put it.”

“Did you talk with her on her home phone?”

He thinks for a moment. “I believe I did.”

I keep watching this man very closely. From my angle I can see his legs under his desk. He is tapping one leg—a nervous tic? Well, he’s busy and does have to catch a plane. He’s probably hoping we won’t stay much longer. Aha, another quick glance at the bar. Or is it that he can’t wait to hit that bar the minute we walk out?

Morrie takes a breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, I have shocking news. Mrs. Steiner did not die of cancer, she was murdered.”

It’s almost as if Kenneth turns pale. His face twists into a horrific grimace. “What? What are you saying? You can’t be serious.”

“Very serious,” says Morrie.

“Who? What? Why?”

“We have a person of interest being held. I’m sorry I can’t go into further details of the case.” Morrie is being cautious. “It’s a long story. However, as you can imagine, it is necessary for us to see the will.”

Kenneth shudders. Then pulls himself together. “Of course. You must get in touch with me when the body will be released. I’ll have to cut my trip short.”

“It will be a while,” Morrie assures him.

He starts to open up the blue-covered file, then stops, looking pained. “Sorry. I can’t quite get my head around Joyce’s death. You must give me a moment. You can understand.”

“Of course.”

We stay quiet. Jack and Morrie glance around the room. I can’t take my eyes off him. His eye twitches.