| |
My arm muscles were aching.
It was the next day and I was trying to keep things as normal as possible. Chair Yoga had just ended and I had offered to help Jackie, our volunteer from Yoga Moves, a local yoga studio, restack the chairs in our Activity Room. She’d pulled a muscle in her shoulder and was trying not to aggravate it.
Unfortunately, my shoulder and arm muscles were also screaming in protest after lifting and then stacking the twentieth heavy metal chair.
“Thank you so much,” Jackie said. “I just know I couldn’t have managed to put those away on my own.”
“No problem,” I said, rubbing my arm muscles. “You didn’t get them set up, did you?”
She shook her head. “Goodness, no. One of the aides here offered to help. Aidan, I think?” She slung her rolled up purple yoga mat over her good shoulder. “Nice young man, about your age.”
“That’s him.”
She smiled. I knew she was close to fifty based on the volunteer application she’d submitted, but she honestly didn’t look a day over thirty. Long blond hair, a beautiful complexion, and a body that was better toned than my own. I wondered how much of it she attributed to her yoga-filled, vegan lifestyle and how much of it was simply good genetics.
Jackie left and I started getting the room ready for one of our afternoon bingo sessions. We usually had a half dozen or so on the schedule for each week, mostly because it was one of the activities Anne actually approved of. Start time was usually at four o’clock, which gave residents a good forty-five minutes of playing time before packing up and heading down for the dinner meal.
I set out the bingo cards and the wheel, and pulled the prize cart from the supply closet. We had a number of high school and college kids who volunteered to run the games, and I was grateful for this. It was hard enough for me to block out so much time on the calendar to host bingo times, especially when there were so many other things we could be scheduling instead. I couldn’t imagine how high my resentment might go if I was actually forced to run the activity.
Taylor, one of the high school volunteers, walked into the room with her backpack still strapped to her back. I knew she came straight to Oasis Ridge from school.
We said hello and chatted for a few minutes, and then I got out of her way. She’d been volunteering at Oasis Ridge longer than I’d been employed there, so I knew she was well versed in what to do.
I left the room and was heading back down to my office when I saw Denise marching toward me. She motioned for me to come over.
“Psst,” she whispered loudly, as soon as I was within hearing distance.
I furrowed my brow. “Why are you whispering?”
She motioned again, beckoning me to come closer.
“Seriously, Dee. What are you doing?”
“I found something.” She was trying to be discreet but her voice was more like a stage whisper.
“What are you talking about?”
Her dark eyes were wide. “After you left the dining room last night,” she said. “Something weird.”
We found lots of weird things in the dining room. Dentures. Pills. Even travel-sized bottles of liquor that residents surreptitiously dumped into their drinks. Some of those things ended up in the lost and found. Some did not.
“Okay...” I waited.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the small hallway that led to the upstairs public restrooms.
“What are you doing?”
She put her hand to her chest. “I found something at Arthur’s table when I was cleaning up last night.” She took a deep breath. “Leaves.”
“Leaves?” I repeated. “Like leaves from outside?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
I stared blankly at her. She was whispering about leaves? “You’re not making any sense.”
“They were on his plate,” she hissed.
“Like as a seasoning? Parsley or something?”
“I don’t think so.” Her frown was deep. “We served enchiladas last night.”
I had absolutely no idea why she was freaking out.
“Uh, cilantro? That’s a Mexican seasoning, right?” I didn’t think Lola used cilantro, since some people really hated the taste and because so many of the residents didn’t like their food to be savory, but it was still a possibility. And I also didn’t see why it mattered.
“Lola doesn’t use cilantro,” Denise said firmly.
At least I’d been right about that.
Denise fished around in her pants pocket and pulled out a small, snack-size baggie.
“What is that?”
“The leaves.”
“You took them?” I glanced at the bag she was holding. “And...put them in a baggie?”
She nodded. “Darn right I did. Those leaves don’t belong in our dining room.”
“Denise,” I began, but she cut me off.
“This ain’t cilantro, Sunny. I just know it.”
“Basil?” I suggested.
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think it’s food.”
I folded my arms. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze shifted from me to the baggie in her hands. “I just have a funny feeling about this.”
“What kind of funny feeling?”
She hesitated.
I cocked my head. “A funny feeling about what, Denise?”
“A feeling that something might have happened to Arthur.”
I sighed. I was pretty sure I knew where she was going with this.
“Something did happen to Arthur,” I pointed out matter-of-factly. “He died.”
She nodded emphatically. “I know. But everyone thinks he died of a heart attack or something. But what if he didn’t?”
“You watch too much television,” I told her.
I started to walk away but she stopped me, putting her hand on my arm. “I do watch too much Law & Order,” she admitted. “But hear me out.”
“I already did.” I tried to shift my arm out of her grip but she was holding on pretty tight.
“What if Arthur didn’t die of natural causes?” she asked.
I stopped. Slowly, I turned around to face her, a small ball forming in my gut. “What?”
Her eyes were huge again. She swallowed. “What if someone killed him?” She held up the baggie. “With this.”