Chapter 6

Neither Ruby Mae nor Dorothy had anything to contribute, although Ruby Mae had a third cousin who used to work for the Chicago Sun-Times. She contacted him and was waiting for information about Max Franck.

“I’m not sure where to start with this one.” Dorothy gave Irma a sympathetic look.

All faces turned toward me.

I struggled to find the right words, which must have been evident on my face.

“Spit it out, Sam. No point in trying to sugarcoat anything,” Nana Jo said.

“I think we need to look at everyone on the bus.” I looked around the table. “Present company excluded.”

Irma reached into her purse, which wasn’t unusual. However, when she pulled out a sheet of paper rather than her flask, that shocked all of us. “I thought you might want something like that.” She unfolded the sheet. “I wrote down the names of everyone on the bus. Counting the five of us, there were twenty-five.” She looked up. “If we divide the names, we could each take four.” She looked at me. “If that’s okay with you, Sam.”

“Of course. It’s perfect.” I was shocked and tried to shake it off. Normally, Irma was much more interested in flirting and having a good time. This murder must have really left her rattled.

The girls divided the names on the list, and I noticed my names included Mr. Big, whom Irma described as the large hunk with the mirrored sunglasses. I took a pen and wrote Sidney Sherman next to his name so I wouldn’t forget.

The meeting ended with Nana Jo promising to get what she could from her boyfriend, Freddie, who was a retired policeman and whose son was a state policeman.

Nana Jo and I walked back to my building after the meeting. I was tired but still not sleepy. I helped out in the bookstore for a couple of hours to allow the twins to eat their lunches, but the traffic after Christmas wasn’t nearly as much as it had been prior to the holiday. I puttered around for a while but eventually gave up and went upstairs.

“Are you still stressing about this murder?” Nana Jo asked.

“I don’t know.” I paced. “I just realized I won’t have Stinky Pitt to help with this one.”

Nana Jo snorted. “I never thought I’d hear the day when you’d be missing Stinky Pitt.”

Detective Pitt, Stinky Pitt, as he’d been labeled as a child, was a detective with the North Harbor Police and we’d crossed paths several times in the past. Normally, he wasn’t a fan of what he referred to as “nosy amateurs” meddling in police investigations. However, Detective Pitt, as Nana Jo often said, wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and we’d helped him out several times. Our help hadn’t exactly endeared us, but it had forced him to tolerate us.

“It’s not that I miss him, exactly. It’s more that I’m missing the access to the police and coroner’s report.”

“Hmmm. You might have a point.” Nana Jo poured herself a cup of tea. “Maybe that sexy Sergeant Alvarez will share his . . .”

I was shaking my head before the words left her mouth. “Sergeant Alvarez isn’t a small-town policeman who doesn’t know how to investigate a murder.” I followed Nana Jo into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea for myself. “He doesn’t need our help and he’s not likely to share any information with us.” I took a sip. “In fact, he probably still suspects us of the murder.”

“You’re probably right.” She smiled. “However, you have to admit, he was definitely a hunk.” She started to walk away but stopped abruptly. “Are you done with that book?”

I gave Nana Jo Max Franck’s book from my purse.

She settled onto the sofa with the book and her tea and, within a few moments, was engrossed.

I paced around my bedroom for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. I felt anxious, probably from my lack of sleep. After a few moments, I grabbed my coat and headed out. “I’ll be back.”

Nana Jo grunted an acknowledgment.

I got in my car and drove, something I often did to clear my mind. Despite the cold weather and the snow on the ground, the streets were clear. North Harbor was an economically depressed city situated on prime real estate alongside the Lake Michigan shoreline. The city was separated from its twin city of South Harbor by the St. Thomas River, which flowed out into the Great Lake. In contrast, South Harbor was a prosperous, quaint town of cobblestoned streets, lighthouses, and thriving shops.

Practically on autopilot, I pulled into the lot for the North Harbor Police Department, which was attached to the county courthouse. Memories of an unpleasant experience where an overzealous police officer mistook Nana Jo’s iPad for a weapon reminded me to double-check my purse before I got out of the car.

Inside, I walked through the metal detectors without incident and breathed a sigh of relief.

I recognized the policeman behind the desk, although I didn’t know his name. Apparently, he recognized me too because when he looked up from his computer, he said, “You here for Detective Pitt?”

I nodded and he picked up the phone and dialed.

It didn’t take long for Detective Pitt to come up for me. The scowl on his face told me he was as happy to see me as I knew he would be.

“Whaddaya want?”

I smiled. “I’m glad to see you too, Detective Pitt. I’d like a word with you in private, if you can spare the time.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared for several seconds. Eventually, he sighed. “Might as well come on.” He turned and walked down the hall to the closet he had transformed into an office.

I followed Detective Pitt down the hall, but after many trips to the North Harbor Police Department, I knew my way by heart.

The office had, indeed, once been a closet, and he had to suck in his stomach and turn sideways to get through the doorway if anyone was sitting in the guest chair. Once inside, he flopped down onto his chair and turned to face me. “No one’s died in the past week, so what brings you out.”

Detective Pitt was short, fat, and balding. He chose to take the few remaining hairs that still clung to the edges of his head and comb them over the rather large dome on top. The task of covering his egg-shaped skull was too much for the strands that remained and many of them refused to lie quietly and instead stood at various angles as though looking for an escape route. His fondness for polyester was evident from the too-tight polyester pants and shirt he wore to the polyester jacket that he had draped over the back of his chair. His office reeked from the cheap cologne he wore and the half-consumed liverwurst sandwich that lay on his desk.

“Did I interrupt your lunch?”

“Never mind that. Whaddaya want? No one’s died. No reason for you and those batty old broads to interfere.”

I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was asking for a favor and would need to stay on the detective’s good side. I forced myself to remain serious and not think of how Nana Jo would react if she heard him refer to her as a “batty old broad.” “Actually, that’s not entirely true.” I took a deep breath.

“What’s not entirely true?”

“That one part.”

He leaned forward. “What part?”

“The part about no one having died in the past week . . . That’s not exactly, ah . . . true.”

Now I had his complete attention. He smacked his hand on the desk. “What? Who’s dead? Nobody told me!”

The flash of anger he’d exhibited moments earlier instantly vanished. Instead, the spark was replaced with a wariness that caused his gaze to dart around the small room. He leaned across and whispered, “Who was assigned the case?” He leaned forward. “It’s Wilson, that brownnoser, isn’t it?” He muttered. “Backstabbing traitor.”

“No. It’s not Wilson. It’s not a local murder.”

He stared. “Whaddaya mean?”

The English teacher in me cringed every time he mushed his words together and slurred them into some mutation that barely resembled the English language, but I screwed my smile on tighter. “The murder happened on a bus trip from Chicago.”

I could tell by the way he relaxed and leaned back he was about to dismiss me. “Not my jurisdiction.” He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “Amateurs don’t know how these things work.” He forced the words around his food as he chewed, giving me a good glance of his teeth in action.

“I understand the murder took place in another state, but the victim was on a Michigan bus, in fact Shady Acres chartered the bus. So, nearly all the passengers were locals. Plus, the bus was en route to Shady Acres. So, it really gives you a better chance of solving the murder since you’re already more familiar with the people involved than some out-of-town Chicago policeman coming on your turf and trying to make a name for himself by solving a high-profile murder.”

He sat up in his chair. “High profile?”

My bait had worked. I’d hooked my fish. Now, if I could just reel him in. I nodded, took a deep breath, leaned close, and whispered, “Yes. The victim was a well-known author—a Pulitzer Prize–winning, bestselling author.”

“You don’t say.” He rubbed his chin.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. His cologne, combined with the liverwurst, which was obviously covered in onions, and the closeness of the space was overwhelming.

He reached in a pocket and pulled out a lime-green polyester handkerchief. “Did you know the victim well?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. It’s just the thought that Detective Alvarez will come over here and solve a murder and will probably make a name for himself and end up in the newspaper and on television when . . . well, it could be someone local.” I gave him a pointed stare and blinked to get the tears out of my eyes.

He leaned back. “You say the victim won awards?”

I nodded. “A Pulitzer. Plus, he was about to publish another book, some big exposé about the murder of Robert Kennedy. You know something like that always generates tons of media attention.”

He sat up. “The Robert Kennedy? As in brother to the late president of the United States?”

I nodded.

Detective Pitt looked up and smiled. After a few minutes he looked at me. “I’ll bet you have some angle on this case.”

“Same deal as last time. If you help me get the forensic information and police reports, then when we solve the case, you get all of the credit.”

He was silent for a moment. “It may not be easy to get the forensic information on this one. The Chicago Police Department isn’t just going to turn that stuff over to me.”

“I was thinking maybe you could ask to be added to the case as a local consultant or something. I mean, I can’t believe the Chicago Police Department has the money or the resources to stay in North Harbor. Couldn’t you do some of the local . . . legwork or whatever it’s called?”

“Maybe . . . it’s the holidays and most police departments are short staffed around this time of year, including us.”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to have your help.” I hesitated. “That is, unless you’re super busy.”

Detective Pitt’s desk always looked as though a tornado had passed over the papers. However, the magazines he’d tried to conceal under the files told a different story.

“We’re at rather a slow time right now. Most of the college students from MISU are gone for Christmas break, and we don’t get many tourists during the winter. So, things are slower than normal at the moment. Just a few domestic disputes and bar fights, but nothing to really sink your teeth into.” He leaned back. “I might be able to manage a few hours. You better give me the specifics and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great.” I smiled.

It took thirty minutes to fill Detective Pitt in on what I’d learned about Max Franck. He surprised me by asking quite a few questions about Sergeants Alvarez and Davis. However, I felt the more information he had, the better, so I told him all I knew.

I drove home and went back upstairs. Nana Jo was in the exact same spot where I’d left her with her nose glued to the book. I smiled and headed to my bedroom. I still wasn’t sleepy, so I decided to take a trip to the British countryside.

Lord William Marsh sat in the library of Wickfield Lodge and watched. He was accustomed to his wife, Lady Elizabeth, sitting quietly while she knitted. However, there was something different about her silence tonight. He puffed on his pipe and watched through the haze of smoke. Eventually, the silence grew too much for him. “All right, let’s have it.”

Lady Elizabeth looked up. “What do you mean?”

He puffed. “What’s wrong?”

Lady Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but Lord William interceded. “And, don’t tell me there’s nothing wrong.” He tapped the ashes from his pipe onto an ashtray the butler, Thompkins, had placed nearby. “I know when something’s wrong. Now, you just tell me. It has to do with that woman . . . Forsythe or some such name. Something about that has you bothered.”

Lord William was a kind, portly older man, a blustery English gentleman who enjoyed his pipe, rich foods, wine, and family. His fondness for rich food and wine had led to a bit of overindulgence during his niece’s wedding and the holiday meal that followed and the kindly man was paying for his intemperance with an attack of gout. He sat with one leg wrapped heavily and propped on a cushioned footstool.

Lady Elizabeth finished the row she was knitting. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just know something isn’t right.”

Lord William took several puffs on his pipe. “People do fall.” He tilted his head and stared at his wife. “You said it was crowded. Isn’t it possible she lost her footing and fell?”

Lady Elizabeth knitted. After a few moments, she stopped and looked up. “It’s possible. In fact, it’s highly probable.” She stared at her husband. “That’s what’s so darned difficult. It’s the type of accident that happens every day. An elderly lady loses her footing on the escalator of a busy tube station and falls to her death.” She knitted. “It’s on the back page of the paper and no one thinks twice about it.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She knitted. “If I hadn’t met her earlier. If I hadn’t talked to her . . . shared tea and scones with her, I would write her off as some batty old dear who wasn’t quite right in the head, but . . .”

Lord William waited. “But?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t batty. She was intelligent and she made complete sense. She was scared and she honestly believed someone was trying to kill her.”

Lord William leaned forward and winced. He took a deep breath and patted his leg. “Isn’t that what batty old dears do? They may be normal in every other respect, but they get some bit of nonsense fixed in their heads and they can’t let go.” He sat back. “Like that chap over in Kent who believed he was a Chinese emperor or that fellow in . . . where was it . . . Torquay who believed he was Napoleon.” He shook his head. “Normal in every other respect, except no one could convince him he wasn’t Napoleon Bonaparte.” He shook his head.

Lady Elizabeth smiled. “I understand what you’re saying and, in my head, I know you’re absolutely right. After all, I’d only known the woman a short time and she may very well have been exactly as you say.”

“But, you don’t believe it.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

Lord William nodded. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“I thought I’d call our friend Detective Inspector Covington at Scotland Yard and invite him down for a few days.”

Lord William smiled. “Ah . . . I see.”

Lady Elizabeth glanced over at her husband. “What do you see? He’s always been so helpful before when we’ve had problems. I just wondered if he could find out some information about Mrs. Forsythe and a few of the people in her household.”

“Hmmm.” Lord William smiled and puffed on his pipe.

“I hope you’re not implying there’s more to my desire to invite the detective inspector down than my desire to get his help.”

The corners of his lips twitched as he tried to conceal a smile. “Of course, dear.” He took several puffs on his pipe. There was a long pause. “I’m sure your invitation has nothing at all to do with the fact you’ve received a request from your cousin Mildred to put up her daughter, Clara, for a few weeks.” His lips twitched with the effort to keep from smiling. “Clara just happens to be about the same age as Detective Inspector Covington, isn’t she?”

Lady Elizabeth glanced at her husband for several seconds and then smiled. “She is indeed.”

Before Lord William could respond, Thompkins, the Marsh family butler, quietly entered the room. He stood tall and erect and gave a discrete cough. “I beg your pardon, but there’s a phone call for your ladyship.”

Despite the fact that the Marshes’ prim and proper servant rarely displayed emotions, he was able to convey his displeasure quite well.

“Who the dickens would be calling at this time?” Lord William pulled out his pocket watch and frowned when he saw the lateness of the hour.

Lady Elizabeth looked concerned as she glanced at the clock over the mantle. “I hope everything is okay with Daphne and James.” She clutched at the pearls around her neck.

“I’m sorry, m’lady. I didn’t mean to distress you. It’s a person named Desmond Tarkington.” Thompkins hurried on. “I asked if there was a message I could convey and have your ladyship return the call tomorrow, but he was insistent.”

Lady Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” She stood. “It’s . . . okay, Thompkins. I’ll take the call.”

The butler bowed stiffly.

“Who in the blazes is Desmond Tarkington?” Lord William asked.

“That’s the cousin of Mrs. Eleanor Forsythe, the woman who died today.”

Lord William was momentarily stunned. “What could he possibly want at this hour?”

Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “I have no idea.” She turned to walk out of the door. “However, I intend to find out.”

“Snickers. Oreo. Wanna treat?” My nephew Zaq called from the living room and my two companions, who were just, moments earlier, sound asleep in a dog bed, hopped up and ran barking into the living room.

I glanced at the clock on my computer and realized it was later than I thought. Frank and I had a date and I needed to get dressed.

I stretched and tried to figure out the answer to Lord William’s question. What could Desmond Tarkington possibly want? Nothing came to mind, so I tucked the question back into the recesses of my brain and focused on a more important question. What was I going to wear for my date?

Despite a warm, invigorating shower, the best my brain, and my limited closet selection, could come up with was a black dress and black boots. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and knew this wasn’t my best effort. My dark hair was curly and today was one of the days it decided to rebel. Instead of laying down when I combed it, the static electricity gave it a life of its own and it stuck out like Albert Einstein’s. I grabbed a can of what I thought was hair spray but, after a few spritzes, I realized was starch, which made my hair stiff and sticky. The comb was barely able to make it through the strands. As the starch dried, it acted like glue. My comb was now glued to my hair. I gave it a yank and it broke off. I’d need to go get scissors and cut it out. This wasn’t going well. I took another look at my drab reflection in the mirror and grabbed a colorful scarf Lexie and Angelo gave me for Christmas, to keep from looking as though I was going to a funeral. The lack of sleep had finally caught up with me and, as much as I wanted to see Frank and spend time with him, I couldn’t muster up the energy to make a greater effort at looking date worthy. Tonight, I was a dating fail. My boots weren’t even the high-heeled fashion boots I’d bought in Chicago. One glance at the snow outside confirmed if I tried to walk in those boots, I’d end up flat on my backside before I made it to his car. Besides, those boots cost a small fortune and as a native Michigander, I knew very well the effect snow and salt had on leather boots. My feet would be wet and the boots would be ruined from the white salt residue, and I’d have a broken ankle from the attempt. Nope, those babies would get worn indoors or only when the weather was dry and boots were a fashion accessory rather than a mobility requirement.

I went to the main living area to wait. Nana Jo was still reading on the sofa. She looked up from her book at my entrance and I gleaned her appraisal of my ensemble in her silence and a single raised eyebrow.

“Don’t start.” I flopped down on the sofa next to her.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“No, but your eyebrow spoke volumes.”

She flipped the page of her book. “Going to a funeral?”

“I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours and I’m dead on my feet. It’s going to take all the energy I can muster to eat, make polite conversation, and keep from dozing off during the soup course.”

She patted my leg. “I’m sure Frank will understand if you postpone your date. You’re beat.”

I picked up one of the magazines on my coffee table and flipped to a survey. “Are you pushing your man into the arms of another woman?” I waved the magazine at her. “According to this magazine, I’m a pathetic excuse for a date. I fail in practically every category except keeping date night.”

Nana Jo took the magazine and glanced at the survey. “This is rubbish and if you weren’t so tired, you’d realize it too. Any man would be lucky to have you and if Frank Patterson doesn’t recognize what a prize you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

I smiled and leaned over and kissed my grandmother. “Thank you. You’re sweet, although you may be slightly biased.”

“I’m more than slightly biased. However, it’s true, regardless. Frank Patterson, or any man, will be lucky to have you . . . although.”

I waited for the other shoe to drop. “Although?”

“You should probably take the comb out of the back of your hair.”

I felt the back of my hair and realized that I’d forgotten the comb glued and tangled in my hair. I forgot the scissors. I fiddled with it but only got it more entangled.

Nana Jo reached over. “Here, let me help you.” She grabbed at the plastic comb and gave it a hard yank. “What’s in your hair, glue?” She pulled the plastic out and handed it to me.

I wiped the tears from my face and tried not to notice the strands of hair fused to the comb. “I mistook the starch for hair spray.”

Nana Jo stuck her head behind her book to hide her face, but the laughter rang out anyway. She gave up trying to conceal the fact she was laughing at me and put down her book and laughed heartily until she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“I’m glad one of us is able to enjoy themselves at my expense.”

“Sam, I’m sorry, but you’re exhausted. I don’t care what that magazine says. Canceling a date when you haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours isn’t a dating fail. It’s common sense and Frank will understand.”

“Understand what?” Frank walked up the stairs.

I hopped up and grabbed my coat. “Nothing. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“One of the twins let me in.” He came up and gave me a kiss. “You look . . . nice.” He lied and I appreciated him for that. Although, his eyes kept staring at my hair.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me there’s more of that blasted comb in there?”

He shook his head. “No, but your hair just looks different tonight.”

“She’s trying a new product . . . sizing.” Nana Jo laughed.

Frank frowned. “Starch?”

I handed him my coat so he could focus on something other than the fact that my grandmother was intent on sharing my humiliation. “Yeah, well, we’ll see you later.”

I hurried downstairs before Nana Jo could respond and felt Frank’s presence behind me. He was a gentleman who liked to open doors and I knew he wouldn’t linger once I started. Thankfully, I was right. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned me toward him and looked into my eyes. “You okay?”

I stifled a yawn. “Of course.”

He hesitated but gave up and opened the door for me. The bookstore was a brownstone in downtown North Harbor. The front of the building was on Market Street. Like most of the buildings on Market, the building backed up to an alley. Unlike the other buildings, this building wasn’t as deep as the others and occupied a corner lot. The previous owner had built a garage at the back of the property and enclosed the lot with a fence, which created a courtyard. So, I was able to drive through the alley and enter the garage. There was a door that led to the back courtyard from the building and a side door that led out to a parking lot, which separated my building from the others on the street on one side. Technically, I owned the parking lot, but when I purchased the building, I continued the “gentlemen’s agreement” the previous owner had and shared the parking lot with the church, which worked out well since the church mostly used the lot on Sundays.

Frank had parked his Porsche Cayenne in the parking lot near the side door. He went out and pulled the car as close as possible to the side door and kept the engine running so I only had a few steps on concrete before getting into the warm interior.

I slid onto the soft, supple leather seat and ran my hand across the leather, always amazed at the softness.

Frank came around the back of the car and got in. “Any place in particular you want to go?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m game for whatever.”

“Great. There’s a great little Greek restaurant in South Haven I’ve been dying to try.” He glanced at me. “Are you up for the ride?”

I nodded. “Sounds great.”

He pulled out of the parking lot and I prepared to enjoy the ride.

Frank’s car was luxurious in every respect, and the smooth ride felt like you were floating on clouds. The seats were warm, and I adjusted the thermostat so I was warm and toasty. He had satellite radio and smooth jazz played through the speakers as we drove through the dark.

I leaned my head back onto the headrest and thought about Max Franck. There were no easily identifiable signs to indicate the method of his death. As far as I could tell, there were no gunshots, at least not visible. There hadn’t been a lot of blood that would indicate a stab wound. He could have been poisoned, but I didn’t recall seeing him eat or drink anything on the bus. Although, it could have been administered while we were at the rest area. Someone could have come back onboard and given him something laced with poison and then removed the evidence afterward. It was clear the timeline would be critical. We’d need to find out where everyone was and verify.

“Sam.” Frank shook my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. For a split second, I had no idea where I was. I looked around and saw Frank staring at me.

“I’m sorry. I must have dozed off.” I reached down to remove my seat belt.

Frank reached his hand over and clasped my hand. “We don’t have to do this—”

“I want to . . . I’m sorry about falling asleep, but your car is so comfortable and—”

“And you haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours.” He smiled. “I should have realized you were exhausted.” He leaned over and kissed me. “I’m sorry. Let’s do this another time.”

I started to protest but realized opening my eyes had been a huge struggle. I glanced over at Frank, who had backed the car out of the restaurant parking lot and was turning around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me.”

I could tell by his voice he was smiling, even though it was dark in the car and I couldn’t see his face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. We can go another night.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He stopped at a stoplight, leaned over, and kissed me. “Now that sounds promising.”

I managed to stay awake for the ride home, but I was grateful when we arrived. He pulled up to the side door and hurried around the car to open my door. I unlocked the building and turned off the security system. I turned to Frank and we made our good night brief.

Inside, I rearmed the security system, called on the last dregs of energy, and climbed the stairs. Nana Jo must have finished the book because she had vacated the sofa and her bedroom door was closed.

Snickers and Oreo were asleep in my bedroom. I should have taken them downstairs to take care of their business, but I knew there was no way I’d be able to tackle those stairs again. I didn’t even have the energy to undress. Instead, I flopped down on the bed, boots and all, and fell fast asleep.

I woke up once during the night with a ten-pound weight of a poodle on my chest. I opened my eyes and Snickers was staring into my eyes. I rolled over onto my side, forcing her off. “You’re just going to have to go potty in the house. I’ll clean it up later.”

She marched around for a few more moments but eventually must have decided she could hold it. She walked in circles a couple of times and then curled into a ball near my chest. Within moments, I heard a gentle snore coming from her.

Oreo was in his crate near the foot of my bed. The only sound from him was a soft, “woof.”

I wasn’t sure if he was dreaming about chasing squirrels or ripping the stuffing out of his stuffed toys. Whatever the source of his dreams, he was a happy dog. My last thought was of Oreo running free in a field with his ears flapping in the wind and it made me smile. I snuggled close to Snickers and fell back asleep.

The next time Snickers woke me up, she not only walked on my chest, but this time, she followed it up with a lick to my nose.

“All right. I’m getting up.” I stretched.

Snickers jumped off the bed and ran to the door. Oreo was sitting up in his crate.

I was still wearing the clothes I’d worn last night, boots and all. So, I opened the bedroom door and hurried the poodles downstairs to take care of their business.

Both dogs were anxious to go and barely made it over the threshold.

I appreciated the fact that they hadn’t gone in the house and planned to reward them with extra treats when we got back upstairs.

It snowed overnight and the ground was covered by another blanket of snow. Snickers wasn’t a fan of the cold Michigan winters. She hurriedly took care of the call of nature and was back inside before her paws got too cold. Oreo, on the other hand, liked to run and play in the new snow and was halfway across the small yard before his under belly registered the cold. Then he quickly ran to the door, expecting entré. However, I’d learned from experience to watch and make sure he had not just peed but had also pooped before letting him back inside.

He stood at the door and looked at me with sad eyes that seemed to ask, aren’t you going to let me inside too?

I steeled my heart and kept the door closed and waited. Eventually, he wandered to the side and pooped. This time, I had the door open wide to welcome him.

He shook, and snow flew everywhere. I grabbed the towel I kept at the back door and wiped as much of the excess snow from his underbelly and paws as possible for both of our comfort and well-being. Snow beaded up on his belly, which I was sure was cold. When the snow melted, it left trails across the floor, which I stepped in whenever I walked around without shoes. Snickers rarely ventured too far away from the shoveled path and rarely needed the towel. Instead, she stood by and watched while I dried off Oreo, and looked at me with an expression that said, he’s not the brightest dog in this pack, is he?

I ignored her.

Upstairs, I stripped off the clothes I’d slept in, showered, and allowed the warm water to pelt my skin. I washed the starch out of my hair, which took longer than I’d expected. However, perseverance and a lot of shampoo did the trick. When I finally emerged, dressed and thoroughly refreshed, I sniffed the air. Coffee, sausage, and something cinnamony drew me to the kitchen.

“Hmmm. What is that wonderful smell?”

Nana Jo smiled. “Dawson left us a gift.” She placed a bubbling cheesy dish on the counter beside a plate of warm cinnamon rolls.

“How? He’s in Florida getting ready for his bowl game.”

She took two plates from a cabinet and placed them on the counter. “He called when you were in the shower and said he made us a breakfast casserole and put it in the back of the refrigerator. He also made homemade cinnamon rolls.”

I breathed in the delicious aroma and my stomach growled in response.

“It’s supposed to sit for ten minutes, but I can’t wait.” Nana Jo grabbed a spatula and cut into the casserole, which sizzled and bubbled. She scooped out servings for each of us. I burned my fingers grabbing a cinnamon roll with hot icing, but it was well worth it.

We both tucked into our breakfast and didn’t speak for several moments.

“That’s so good.” I sloshed down some hot coffee.

“How was your date last night? You were back pretty early.”

I was tempted to fib and tell her the restaurant was closed and we decided to make an early night of it, but I was a horrible liar. When I finished explaining that I fell asleep in the car and Frank brought me home, she laughed, making me wish I were better at lying. At least she refrained from saying, “I told you so.” However, the smug look she cast over her coffee cup said what her mouth didn’t.

We sat in blessed silence for several moments.

“What are your plans today?” she asked.

“I think I’ll go to Shady Acres and tackle the people on my list.”

“Great idea. I’ll go with you and work on mine.” She walked over to her purse and pulled her iPad out and brought it back to the kitchen. She swiped a few times and then asked, “Who do you have?”

I unfolded the paper I’d stuck into my pocket before coming out for breakfast. I glanced over the list. “I’ve got the activities director, Caroline Fenton, Sidney Sherman—”

Nana Jo frowned. “Who on earth is Sidney Sherman?”

“Mr. Big.”

She nodded. “Aww. Okay.”

“Lady in the big floppy hat, Bob the bus driver, and Sara Jane Howard.” I paused. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Nana Jo smiled. “Because Sara Jane Howard is the nosiest woman in Michigan.”

I tilted my head back and smacked my leg. “I remember now. When we were investigating the murder of Maria—”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Nana Jo had a lot of bad memories about Maria Romanov’s murder, especially since the police thought she’d had a good reason for wanting her dead. Sara Jane Howard hadn’t helped matters. “Looks like Irma gave you the people she doesn’t know well and the ones she doesn’t like.”

“I was thinking the same thing, although, maybe that’s good. If it’s someone she knows, it’ll be easier for her to talk to them. Plus, if she leaves the ones she doesn’t like to someone else, then it should help eliminate any biases.”

“Good point.”

“Who do you have?”

Nana Jo read off her list of bus patrons. Most were names I’d heard mentioned but weren’t people Nana Jo or the girls had mentioned a lot. The only person who would prove interesting was Velma Levington.

We finished eating just as my nephews arrived. They finished off the rest of the cinnamon rolls and began working on the breakfast casserole like locusts.

* * *

The drive to Shady Acres was short and uneventful. I made a detour on the way and stopped at one of my favorite bakeries and picked up a few pastries. There was nothing like fruit tarts from A Taste of Switzerland Bakery to help put people in the mood to chat.

We pulled through the gates into the parking lot of Shady Acres Retirement Village. The development sat on the Lake Michigan shoreline and contained single-family detached homes, referred to as villas, that were painted pastel colors and sat with views of the lake. There was also a large building that housed condos that could be purchased or rented. Nana Jo bought into the village in the early stages and had a great villa with lake views. Dorothy, Irma, and Ruby Mae all lived in condos. Dorothy owned her unit, while Irma and Ruby Mae rented. Although, now that Ruby Mae had moved into one of the larger apartments, she was contemplating purchasing too. The village was restricted to people sixty and over and the wait list was always very long.

I let Nana Jo out at the main building. She took the large boxes of pastries inside while I found a parking space.

Once inside, I looked around. There was a guard at the front desk, Larry Barlow, who was a friend of Nana Jo’s boyfriend, Freddie. They’d been on the police force together. He was eating a pecan roll and talking to Nana Jo. I decided not to disturb them.

I walked into the main public living space, which was comfortable with a large fireplace and comfortable chairs and sofas placed to provide conversational areas. Ruby Mae sat on the sofa with her knitting and was talking to another woman. She nodded when she saw me, but I could tell she was engrossed in conversation and didn’t want to stem the flow of information.

Back in the lobby, Nana Jo had finished talking to Larry and motioned for me to join her. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want?”

“I need some good news.”

“You’re in luck. Larry said Earl is still here.”

I scoured my brain, but eventually gave up. “Who’s Earl?”

“Earl was our original bus driver. I was afraid he’d have hightailed it back to Chicago.”

“So was I.” I pondered for a moment. “I wonder why he’s still here.”

“According to Larry, he’s staying for a few days.” She raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that suggested she questioned Earl’s intentions for staying on.

I ignored her look. “What’s the bad news?”

“Mr. Big went back to Chicago last night.”

“Darn it.”

“No need crying over spilled whiskey. Let’s just be thankful for what we have and we’ll figure out the rest later.” Nana Jo looked at her watch. “Jujitsu starts in ten minutes. If I hurry, I can get changed and join in.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be investigating, not practicing your martial arts?”

“Velma Levington has a green belt in jujitsu. I’ll bet my vintage Colt .45 she’s in that class.”

“I’m sure cornering Velma Levington is your only motivation for getting to jujitsu class and has nothing to do with the fact you’re hoping to go for your brown belt next month?”

She winked. “Two birds, one stone. Don’t knock it.”

Nana Jo hurried to the jujitsu class and I followed the signs that directed me to the office of the activities director.

Caroline Fenton’s office door was open. She was pacing in her office. She was a husky woman with dark hair, which she wore cropped at her shoulders, brown eyes, and bushy eyebrows.

I rapped on the door.

She turned around. “Come in.”

I extended my box of goodies. “Hello, I hate to bother you, but I was hoping you had time for a coffee break.”

She craned her neck. “Are those from A Taste of Switzerland?”

I nodded.

She closed her eyes momentarily and her face took on a look I’d seen many times from people who thought they could resist the pastries. However, resistance was futile and she opened her eyes and nodded vigorously.

I should have felt bad for tempting her, but all was fair in love, war, and coercing people to talk and give up information when you had no legal authority. So, I did what I had to do.

In her office, she had a small personal coffeemaker. She grabbed two individual coffee pods and two coffee cups and made coffee for both of us. Once the coffee was made, she settled behind her desk and stretched her neck to look over the options in my glorious white box. Her eyes lit up when she saw the lemon tarts. She reached for one and stopped and looked up at me.

“Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

She reached over and grabbed the tart. She bit into it and moaned as the gooey yellow filling squirted out the sides of her mouth.

I was tempted to hand her a napkin, but experience had told me she’d rather use her tongue than waste any of the lemony goodness.

I knew I was right when I saw her lick the powdered sugar and lemon filling from the sides of her mouth and her fingers.

She glanced at me once, but, at the time, I was having a spiritual moment of my own with a caramel apple tart.

We sat and ate in silence for several moments. When we finished, we both sat back and drank our coffees. I suspected she was doing the same thing as me, swishing the liquid around in her mouth to get the crumbs, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Okay, you’ve tamed the savage beast.” She smiled. “What can I do for you?”

I’d thought a lot about how to approach her on my drive to Shady Acres. “Irma was really upset about the sudden death of her friend the other night. I know he wasn’t a resident at Shady Acres, but I wondered if anyone was planning a memorial or any type of funeral services?”

She sighed. “I hadn’t really thought about a memorial since he didn’t live here.” Her gaze darted around the room and she reluctantly put down her cup and picked up a pen and started to make notes.

“I really want to help. I know you’re busy and I’m sure there have to be a hundred things on your to-do list. Would it be okay if I helped? I’m more than willing to organize it.”

“That would be great. There are a lot of things to do and I’m a bit short staffed at the moment with . . . well, you know, they haven’t replaced Denise Bennett, the administrator.” She blushed. “You know what happened to her.”

“Yes, I definitely remember her.”

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’m doing both jobs at the moment.”

I scooted to the edge of my seat. “I’d love to help.”

She smiled. “Great.”

“Would we be able to have the memorial observance here?”

She nodded and pulled a calendar up on her computer. “I’m sure we can arrange that. The only events we’ve got planned for the next week are the New Year’s Eve Dance and a tailgate party to watch the MISU bowl game and cheer the Tigers on to victory.” She smiled at me.

“I don’t think we’ll need much. Do you think Gaston could provide a few . . . snacks?”

She nodded. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“Then the only other thing I need would be a few names.”

She tilted her head. “Names?”

“For the invitations.”

“I have a mailing list for the residents, I can—”

“I’m not concerned about the residents, actually. I’m sure between my grandmother and her friends, they can get the word out to those who live here. I was thinking about some of the people who were on the bus who don’t live here.”

She leaned back. “Most of those people probably didn’t really know Mr. Franck. I can’t believe they’d want to come back to Shady Acres to attend a memorial service for a complete stranger.”

“You may be right, but well . . . we spent several long hours together at that rest area and developed a bit of a bond. Plus, being on the bus when someone dies is a traumatic event. It might actually provide closure for some of them . . . us.” I didn’t want to lay it on too thick, but I needed to make it personal.

She reached across the desk and patted my hand. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t really think about it from that angle.”

I sniffed and bit the inside of my cheek to bring a tear to my eyes. It worked.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a box of tissue and slid the box toward me.

I pulled two tissues from the box and dabbed at my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I guess there’s no harm in giving you the names and contact information for the people who were on the bus.” She tapped the keys of her computer.

After a few seconds, the printer on the file cabinet behind her came alive and spit out several sheets of paper.

When it finished, she reached around and collected the sheets. She glanced at them and then folded them and handed them to me.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you for thinking of this. I’m afraid I’ve only been thinking about the paperwork from our corporate office and filling out the insurance paperwork. I hadn’t really thought about it from the people side.” She shook her head. “I’m sure Mrs. Starczewski must be really upset.”

“She is. Irma really liked Max Franck a lot.”

She scooted her chair back in preparation of rising. “I wish I’d gotten to know him better.”

“Did you?”

She looked puzzled.

“Did you know him?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I only met him that day on the bus for the first time.”

Something about the way she avoided eye contact made me think there might be more to it than Caroline Fenton was letting on. I waited, allowing the silence to work its magic. Eventually, she gave in to the pressure of silence.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I knew him. I knew of him, of course. I was born and raised in Chicago.” She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her sleeve. “You couldn’t grow up in Chicago without hearing of the great, renowned Max Franck.” Her tone implied she thought Max Franck anything but great.

I waited silently and worked to make my face appear as sympathetic as possible, but the inside of my cheek was pretty sore and I wasn’t sure the expression was working. What I hoped was a sympathetic smile felt like a lopsided grimace. Nevertheless, she must have felt some type of compassion because she caved in.

“I don’t know why I’m hesitating.” She sighed. “It’ll probably come out anyway.” She looked at me. “I didn’t know Max Franck, not personally, but I knew who he was.” She swiveled around in her chair so she could look out of the window, which had a view of Lake Michigan. “Max Franck was a mean, vicious, cruel man—a crusader.”

“That’s different from what I’ve read about him.” I tried to hide the shock on my face. “Everything I’ve read indicated he was a highly thought of journalist who dedicated his life to exposing government corruption.”

She snorted. “That’s what the newspapers said. The great Max Franck, investigative journalist intent on uncovering corruption at all costs.” She took a deep breath. “Even if it cost a man’s life.”

“What man?”

“My father. Max Franck killed him. He killed my father.”