Christmas Cloches and Corpses Read online

  I told her about Ford’s call.

  “Yikes,” she said. “I don’t want some little crumb-snatcher cramping our style.”

  “Neither do I. But how can I politely extricate myself from doing Ford’s babysitting for him?”

  “That’s easy, darling. You say no.” She propped herself up on my chair, shook her hair, and said, “Try me—ask me anything.”

  “All right.” I affected a Ford voice. “Max, this is Niece. She’s ever so interested in sewing. Can you show her the ropes?”

  In a tone as sweet as sugar, she replied, “No. I’m far too busy. Maybe I can work with her for a few minutes at the end of the day. I’ll come up and get her.”

  I sat up straighter. “Hey, that was good—you didn’t sound mean at all.”

  “It wasn’t mean. It was honest. Why didn’t modern women ever give up the notion that to be nice one has to be a doormat?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it was passed down from one generation to the next that ‘good girls’ are helpful and go out of their way to be kind.”

  “Then I say poo on being a good girl.” She winked. “Santa isn’t watching. And even if he is, he’ll put Ford on the naughty list for planning to take advantage of you and Connie.”

  “Speaking of Santa, after you left today, Trish Oakes came around and had us draw names for Secret Santa.” I grimaced. “I got her.”

  “Her? The old wet blanket herself?”

  I nodded. “What should I get her?”

  “A personality.”

  “There’s a twenty-dollar limit,” I said.

  “Applesauce. In my day, you could’ve maybe got her a sense of humor or some compassion with twenty clams, but I realize a greenback doesn’t stretch as far as it used to.”

  “Have you ever heard Ms. Oakes mention something she likes? Or overheard her listening to music?”

  “No, but I don’t go around her if I can help it. She’s too negative,” she said. “Want me to check out her office and look for clues?”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Nah. It’ll be as easy as passing through a wall.” She ginned. “That’s about as much as I plan to exert myself today. I’d hoped to talk with you and maybe with Dwight.” Her smile faded. “Did you and Dave learn anything at the funeral home?”

  “Lots of people were talking about how Bea was only a shell of the woman she’d been in the weeks before her death.” Jazzy came over and butted her head against my chin. “Whether that was due to natural causes or sedation, I can’t say.”

  Max took a moment to speak to Jazzy before asking me Bea Jansen’s cause of death.

  “Heart failure,” I said.

  “What do you plan on saying to Zoe and Dwight?”

  “You know Zoe always has her internal lie detector on—I have to shoot straight with her.”

  “And Dwight?” she prompted.

  “At this point, we know nothing for certain. I feel we need to reassure him rather than alarm him.”

  She nodded. “That’s fine, darling, as long as we also protect him.”

  Chapter Seven

  F ollowing my chat with Max, I got up, showered, dressed, put Jazzy in her carrier, and headed to Grandpa Dave’s house. The air was colder this morning, so I was glad to see Grandpa had turned on the gas logs in the fireplace. I was even happier to find that he’d made breakfast.

  “Good morning, Pup.” He kissed my cheek before taking Jazzy’s carrier. “Come with me, Ms. Jasmine. I believe you’ll be delighted with what you find in your dish.”

  He took the carrier to the kitchen and opened the door. Jazzy didn’t even take time to make her usual swish around his ankles—she darted straight to her food bowl where tuna, cheese, and diced hard-boiled egg awaited her.

  Seeing the chafing dishes on the sideboard filled with bacon, hash brown casserole, and scrambled eggs, I felt as excited as Jazzy. “What’s the special occasion?”

  “Aw, I got to missing your grandmother last night, that’s all.” He gave me a sad little smile. “Remember how she used to make all those wonderful breakfasts for us on the weekends?”

  “I do. I always thought the Queen of England couldn’t possibly eat any better than we did when Grandma Jodie made a special breakfast.” Grandma had been an excellent cook in other respects, but she outshone herself with breakfast. I snagged a biscuit from the breadbasket and bit into it. “You’ve done her proud.”

  “Thanks. But you can get a plate, you know.”

  “Really? I thought I’d just eat out of the pans.” I got a plate and some silverware, and Grandpa did likewise. “How are the two of us going to eat all this? Or are you expecting company?”

  “No, it’s just us,” he said. “I wish Zoe could be here. I feel like she’d enjoy a hearty breakfast.”

  “I think you’re right.” I filled my plate.

  “Have you spoken with your mom or dad?”

  “Not in the past week,” I said. “I guess I should give them a call.”

  “You should.” His tone was light and not at all admonishing, even though I knew he wished I’d get in touch with my parents more often. “They’ve decided to postpone their visit until January.”

  Putting my plate down on the table, I turned to look at Grandpa Dave. “What? They aren’t coming home for Christmas?”

  He shook his head. “Too much traffic this time of year, the plane tickets are at their highest rates during the holidays, they want to visit when they’ll have more time to spend here—yadda, yadda.”

  “But we’ve never missed Christmas with Mom and Dad.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice. I wasn’t sure I succeeded.

  “I know, Pup. But this way, we’ll get to celebrate twice.”

  Leave it to Grandpa to find the silver lining.

  He poured us both a cup of coffee. “I’d like to invite Zoe and Maggie to spend Christmas Eve with us, if you don’t think they have other plans or that asking them over would be too presumptuous.”

  “I believe it’s a wonderful gesture. I’ll run it by Zoe before we mention it to her mom,” I said. “I’d also like for the three of us to do something special for Max.”

  “Of course, we will. I imagine she has years of missed celebrations to make up for.”

  “Yeah. Even if she observed other people’s festivities, she didn’t get to join in. How awful would that be?”

  “Don’t be sad,” he said. “We just said we’re going to make this year fun for her.”

  “I know. I’m not sad…although I am kinda bummed that Dad and Mom won’t be here for Christmas, though. Aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “We always knew they’d leave the nest and start their own traditions one of these days. I guess we’ll have to make the best of it.”

  “I suppose we will,” I said. “Inconsiderate so-and-sos.” Zoe wasn’t the only one adopting some of Max’s vocabulary.

  After breakfast, Grandpa and I had sung Christmas carols as we cleaned up the kitchen. Now, as we drove toward Brea Ridge, I could feel my cheerful mood fading.

  “I really hope we find that John McCready was as irascible as ever when he died of something other than heart failure,” I said.

  “So do I.” Grandpa pulled into a parking space at Peaceful Rest. “But even if he was as mellow as a lamb and had a coronary, it doesn’t mean the nursing home folks did anything untoward. Old people’s hearts give out.”

  “I know. It would be an odd coincidence, though, the two of them, same symptoms, same cause of death within hours of each other.”

  When we stepped onto the porch, a white-haired gentleman opened the door for us. “Peter Finlay.” He extended a hand to Grandpa.

  “Dave and Amanda Tucker,” Grandpa said, shaking the man’s hand. “We’re here for the family of John McCready.”

  “Of course. I’m the director here at Peaceful Rest, and I wanted to say it’s nice to see you again so soon.”

  Peter Finlay didn’t really appear to believe
it was all that nice to see us. It was more like he thought our being at his funeral parlor two days in a row was suspicious.

  “Bea Jansen and John McCready were both friends of Dwight Hall,” I said. “We’re here on his behalf.”

  “And is Mr. Hall a resident of Winter Garden Nursing Home?” Mr. Finlay asked.

  “He is.”

  “We provide services to a lot of people from the nursing home, but other than the occasional nurse, no one from the facility—and certainly none of the other patients—tend to visit to pay their respects.” He folded his hands. “I find it refreshing that you not only sent flowers to the family but are attending services on Mr. Hall’s behalf.”

  “How did Mac die?” Grandpa asked.

  “Heart failure,” Mr. Finlay said.

  “Is that a common occurrence among nursing home patients?” I asked. “I believe Bea Jansen also had heart failure.”

  Mr. Finlay nodded gravely. “Yes. Poor dears. Sometimes their tickers simply stop ticking.”

  “Have any of Mac’s family members mentioned that he wasn’t himself lately? We heard several people at Bea’s service saying that about her, so we were curious.” Grandpa’s face was as impassive as if he were asking about the weather.

  The funeral home director wasn’t fooled. “Why, whatever do you mean? Do you think there’s some sort of virus spreading through Winter Garden Nursing Home? Or are you concerned the patients aren’t being properly cared for?”

  “Oh, no, we—” I began.

  “I’m on the Board of Directors at Winter Garden Nursing Home,” Mr. Finlay interrupted. “And I can assure you nothing untoward is happening. Winter Garden patients get the best of care.”

  “We know they do,” I said, quickly backtracking because I was terrified of making trouble for Dwight. “One of the reasons Dwight was so upset about his friends’ passing was because they hadn’t been active in the days leading up to their deaths. While we feel sure that’s because their health was declining, he thought maybe he’d hurt their feelings.”

  Mr. Finlay raised his folded hands to his chest. “Ah, our long-term care residents are so like children sometimes, are they not? Please reassure Mr. Hall that his friends still cared about him and that their health was merely diminished.”

  “We’ll do that,” Grandpa said. “Nice chatting with you.”

  As we walked toward the room where John McCready’s family was receiving guests, I looked back around at Mr. Finlay. He was scowling. Catching my eye, he quickly contorted his face into a benevolent smile. I wasn’t buying it.

  After Grandpa and I had given our condolences to John McCready’s family, we went back out to the car.

  “I think we rattled Mr. Finlay’s cage,” I told Grandpa. “Do you think we should go to the nursing home and check on Dwight?”

  “I do,” he said. “And I think you should call Jason when you get home and ask him if his friend Ryan learned anything interesting about the recent deaths there. Mr. Finlay can say what he wants, but unless someone comes down with a serious illness, I find it hard to believe their personality would completely change in the days prior to their death.”

  “Not to the extent those people were talking about. I heard someone whisper that Mac had gone from a curmudgeon to a zombie within a week.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Barring a brain injury or trauma, I can only chalk that level of change up to sedation.”

  Chapter Eight

  I had called Jason on my way home from Grandpa Dave’s, and he’d invited me to come over and watch a football game on TV with him and Rascal. So, I’d gotten Jazzy settled in, grabbed a box of dog treats and a bag of potato chips, and I drove to Jason’s apartment building.

  It was drizzling when I got there, but luckily, I found a parking spot near his place. Spaces were limited, and they were often full.

  Jason’s apartment was on the lower level, and he met me at the door with a blanket. Draping the blanket over my shoulders, he said, “That rain is cold.”

  I laughed. “Thank you. You’re pretty thoughtful, you know.”

  He nodded at the chips and dog treats. “So are you.”

  Rascal tried to wedge himself between us, and Jason took the chips, treats, and my purse so I could pet the dog.

  After slipping off my jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the bistro chairs in Jason’s kitchen/dining room combo, I went over into the living room to look at his tree.

  “I haven’t been here since you put your tree up,” I said. “This is really pretty.”

  The tree was over six feet tall and stood in front of the living room window. It boasted an ornate star topper, and blue and silver ornaments. A complementary ribbon garland was wound around the tree from the top to the bottom. I was impressed. My tree wasn’t anywhere close to being this coordinated.

  “That’s my mom’s handiwork.” Jason came to stand beside me. “She put it up yesterday while I was working.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah…Mom likes match-y stuff.” He scrunched up his face. “It’s gonna be a pain in the butt to take it all down and store it.”

  “Maybe you could put it in the corner of your home studio-slash-office,” I said. “That way, you could do Christmas photos any time of the year and just move the tree back to the living room when next Christmas rolls around.”

  He pointed his index finger at me. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Nodding toward the TV, I asked, “What’s the score?”

  “Still nothing to nothing,” he said. “You haven’t missed anything.”

  Even if the score was twenty-four to three, I wouldn’t have thought I’d missed anything. I didn’t even know who was playing. “I’m going to put the chips in a bowl. Want anything else while I’m scrounging around your kitchen?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  Jason’s kitchen was tiny. Maybe compact was a better word. The carpeted dining room was merely an extension of the living room. The linoleum divided the dining room from the kitchen. On the right was the washer and dryer, and the refrigerator was on the left. There was plenty of cabinet space, an oven, and a dishwasher. He even had a garbage disposal—I kinda envied him that because I didn’t have one.

  The kitchen was an efficient use of space, but I imagined only one person could cook in it at a time. We’d never put my theory to the test. When we ate at Jason’s—and often, at my house—we had takeout.

  I put the chips into a bowl, tucked Rascal’s treat box under my arm, and returned to the living room. Jason was already sprawled onto the large blue sofa.

  Rascal danced around my feet until I sat down beside Jason.

  I handed the chips to Jason and opened Rascal’s box. As I fed treats to the dog, Jason asked me how the funeral home visit went.

  “It went,” I said. “The funeral director was a little creepy. He wondered why Grandpa and I were there two days in a row.”

  He chuckled. “Did you tell him you just really enjoy the ambience at Peaceful Rest?”

  “No. We explained that both Ms. Jansen and Mr. McCready were Dwight’s friends and that we were there on his behalf.”

  “And did Mr. McCready also die of heart failure?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Plus, we overheard people in the receiving line talking about how Mac had gone from curmudgeon to zombie in less than a week.” I fed Rascal another treat before he climbed onto my lap. “The funeral director told us he’s on the board of directors of Peaceful Rest. I got a bad vibe from that man.”

  “Would you like me to call Ryan?”

  I nodded. “If you don’t mind. You did say you’d already spoken with him and that he’s looking into the deaths, right?”

  “Yep.” He muted the television and made the call. “He’ll come by in just a few minutes.”

  I was nervous about meeting one of Winter Garden’s finest, but Deputy Ryan Hall wasn’t as intimidating as the detectives I’d previously met. In fact, he was rather attractive—not as handsome as Jason,
but cute, especially in his brown uniform.

  Ryan moved Jason’s recliner slightly to face the sofa to make it easier to talk with us. On Jason’s command, Rascal lay down. Jason gave him a stuffed toy to chew on, and the dog was content. He seemed to realize Ryan was here to discuss something serious.

  “Is it all right for you to be here?” Jason asked. “Aren’t we out of your jurisdiction?”

  “A little.” He shrugged. “But Winter Garden Nursing Home isn’t, and the dispatcher will call if I’m needed elsewhere. So, Amanda, tell me what you’ve observed.”

  I told him about Dwight and how he seemed to think that if he was bad, he’d die like his friends did. And I explained about the nurse being very willing to sedate him. “We could all be overreacting, but I have a really bad feeling.”

  Ryan’s lips twitched. “My girlfriend, Amy, gets bad feelings too. And she’s usually right. Besides, Dwight is somehow related to me on my Dad’s side of the family, so I can’t ignore the situation.”

  “Did you learn anything about any of the other recent deaths?” Jason asked.

  “There’s a lot of heart failures.” Ryan spread his hands. “The coronaries could be brought on by over sedation; but if it’s being done only by one nurse who is sedating residents to make them submissive during her shift, they’d likely be all right at other times of the day.”

  “Unless the entire nursing staff is involved in keeping problem patients sedated,” I said.

  “Right.” Ryan stood. “I’ll keep digging. In the meantime, keep an eye on Dwight.”

  “We will.” I stood too. “Thank you for looking into this. If nothing else, we can hopefully put Dwight’s mind at ease.”

  “I hope it’s nothing,” Ryan said. “But the bad news is that autopsies are rarely performed in nursing home settings, so misconduct is hard to prove. Again, be vigilant.”

  Jason walked Ryan to the door. When he returned, I was looking at my phone.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Ryan’s right.” I nodded at my screen. “This news article says that in a wrongful death suit where an elderly man’s death was ruled as natural causes, his demise was found to have been actually brought on by poor care. He had infected ulcers, was dehydrated, and had pneumonia.”