Chapter 7
“So, now what are you going to do?” my mother asked as I watched Shirley execute the most complicated, bizarre K-turn to go down the street.
“I’m going to listen to my own advice and go for a swim. It’s like nine hundred degrees here. Lucky my brain hasn’t melted. By the way, thanks for getting me the visitor’s card.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to the same pool Thelmalee was at when she got stung.”
“You asked me to investigate, so I’m investigating. It’s the pool or a visit to the hospital’s nutritionist to see if I can get the recipe for their Asian chicken salad.”
“You’re stopping everything to get a chicken recipe?”
“The lady in the dog park said it was the last thing Minnie Bendelson ate. Maybe she died from a food allergy to one of the ingredients instead of passing away from a heart attack. They didn’t perform an autopsy. I don’t suppose you’d know if she had any food allergies, would you?” Since you seem to have everything else on record.
“Hmm, she might have. I’ll call around and see what I can find out.”
“Good. Meantime, I’m headed for the pool. Just to be on the safe side, do you have any bug repellent?”
“Check the pantry near the laundry room. And be careful at that pool, especially since—”
“I know. I know. Since I started reading that book. Speaking of which, when did you get the idea it might be cursed?”
“When Marilyn Scutt was run down in her golf cart. That book was one of the few recognizable things they found at the scene of the accident.”
I didn’t wait around for a complete description of the accident scene. I grabbed a towel, my swimsuit, and a few miscellaneous pool items before heading for the door as fast as I could, promising my mother I’d be back by five for dinner. Lighten up, Harriet Plunkett, even the military makes exceptions when you’re out on maneuvers.
Expecting the pool to be packed by early afternoon, I resigned myself to the fact I’d have to park a good distance from the entrance. I was wrong. There were only a handful of golf carts and eight or nine cars in front of the large stucco structure that was part of the recreation center complex. The other buildings included a fitness center, bowling alley, and social hall. An enormous outdoor area for miniature golf and bocce ball was also included in the complex and bordered one of the golf courses. I nabbed a great parking spot and was relieved I could walk the distance without keeling over in the heat. As I approached the gate to the pool, a large man in swim trunks that were at least two sizes too small was having a heated discussion with the monitor.
“I’m telling you, you guys need to enforce the rules around here. It says, NO FOOD. NO DRINKS. Well, I’ve got news for you—sugary snacks and candy are FOOD, and all those kids are dropping crumbs and crap all over the place. No wonder we have so many bees all of a sudden. If you guys were doing your job, that lady might not have gotten stung and wouldn’t have died last week.”
My ears perked up as soon as he mentioned bees, that lady, and death.
“That must have been awful.” I handed the monitor my visitor’s card. “Are there lots of bees milling around now?”
“There will be,” the heavyset man replied, “if they don’t enforce a strict NO FOOD policy.”
The monitor turned his attention to me with a look that said, “I can’t wait for my shift to end.” Then he said, “You don’t have to worry. We’ve sprayed the place. It was an anomaly, all those bees.”
I thanked him, nodded to the other man, and walked inside the courtyard in order to find a spot for my bag and towel. The glaring sunlight stung my eyes and there was absolutely no shade, not even an awning. Blue and white lounge chairs surrounded the pool, some with small tables next to them. Even the bank of mesquite trees a few yards from the water didn’t seem to be providing any relief from the sun.
I wanted desperately to find out where Thelmalee Kirkson had been sitting on the day of the incident but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Finally, I decided to stash my things near a group of women and bring up the topic as subtly as I could. If they didn’t know anything, they might know someone who had been there.
“Wow, I thought it would be more crowded on a blistering day like this,” I said as I arranged my towel on the lounge chair.
“Actually, the worst of the heat is gone,” one of them replied. “Most people usually swim in the morning or walk laps in the evening so they can say they got their exercise. We sunbathers pile on the sunblock and soak it all in during the afternoon. But you’ve got to be smart about it—wide hats, big sunglasses.”
“Yeah,” said another lady, “too bad we can’t bring our own margaritas.”
“You probably could, Peg. No one complains about the passel of kids that arrive with their grandparents and enough snacks to feed an army,” another lady replied.
As tempted as I was to tell them about the conversation I overheard at the gate, I decided not to get involved with pool issues and stick to my original plan of trying to find out about the incident with Thelmalee Kirkson.
“I heard you have to watch out for bees around here.”
A woman with a wide-brimmed sunhat and a striped towel draped over her looked up from the book she was reading.
“Usually we don’t have many bees. They mill around by the bushes behind the pool, but last week, well . . . it was one of those freak things anyway.”
“What was?” I tried to sound surprised.
“A woman got stung, had a reaction, and died. Who would have ever imagined that?”
“Yes,” the woman named Peg added, “especially since she came here every day at the same time to sunbathe. Like clockwork. Day after day. Year after year. And then, without warning—a bee sting and death. It just goes to show that when your number is up, it’s up.”
“Was she part of your group? I mean, did she sit with all of you?”
“No,” Peg said. “See that spot over there by the far end near the showers? That’s where she lounged. The place is wide open like the North Dakota Plains. No one wants to sit there now.”
“When the snowbirds arrive next month, her chair and all the other ones will be taken,” someone said as I glanced at the corner where Thelmalee spent her final moments. Sure enough, there were lots of bushes behind the fence.
By now I was dripping with sweat and the water looked inviting. Across from where I was standing, a large sign read, BATHERS MUST SHOWER BEFORE ENTERING THE POOL. I muttered something about swimming and then headed for a quick shower and a jump into the water. Thelmalee’s chair was across from the showers, with a direct view of the pool entrance. I walked quickly to rinse off, certain everyone was looking at me. Didn’t want to break any rules. I glanced back at the ladies and they had all returned to their reading or sunbathing. No need for alarm. No one was the least bit interested in what I was doing, and that was a good thing. I leaned over the fence to see if I could spot anything unusual by the bushes. At first glance I didn’t see a thing, but when I looked closer, I spied a small piece of paper under the bush. Probably just some litter that blew in from the wind. I decided to enjoy my swim and then take a closer look from the outside when I was done.
Move over, Miss Marple!
The water felt tepid but still did a decent job of cooling me off. It was four-thirty when I changed back into street clothes and left the gated area. The group of women had already gone, but new arrivals were trickling in. I skirted around the back of the building to the bushes behind Thelmalee’s chair, where I swore I’d seen that piece of paper.
Making myself as inconspicuous as possible, I kept my head down and stared at the ground. My hunch was right. There was something unusual going on. The ground below the bushes had been hollowed out as if someone poured something into the cavity. Not your usual method for pesticide. Ant stuff, which we buy by the gallon in Minnesota, is sprinkled directly on the ground and liquid spray is just that—a liquid. So, what was this? I bent down to find the piece of litter that had caught my eye when I was at the pool. Sure enough, I found it. It was a small cardboard edge from a box, and I immediately recognized it when I turned it over.
It was granulated sugar and not only that, it was the same brand I buy with the blue and white cane sugar logo on the box. This was no snack time treat for anyone’s grandkids. Someone had deliberately poured the stuff into the shallow hole they made under the bushes. An invitation for every bee in the county to stop by.
As I pocketed the evidence, I had my suspicions about Thelmalee’s death. Her daily routine was known to everyone who frequented the pool. It was obvious she was reading The Twelfth Arrondissement. The book was right out in the open for every passerby and swimmer to see. Maybe someone knew about her bee allergy and decided to scare her into believing the book was cursed. By pouring that amount of sugar behind the spot where she lounged, they could practically guarantee she would be stung multiple times. The question was, why?