Cherry Chocolate Murder Page 3

  “He’s fine,” said Anabel, but she didn’t meet Bitsie’s eye and changed the subject as quickly as possible. “I heard a friend of Nick’s grandpa got sick off one of our cupcakes,” Anabel said. “Is that true?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Bitsie. “How did you hear about that?” Word sure got around fast in a small town.

  “Oh, I know somebody who works at Shady Grove.”

  “Who?”

  Anabel hesitated, and before she got around to answering, they were interrupted by the bell going off out front, signaling that they had a customer.

  Nick was on his break, so Bitsie hurried out front to serve the customer, but not before saying to Anabel, “I want to know what you heard. It might be important.”

  Bitsie never did have a chance to ask Anabel what she’d heard about that poisoned cupcake, or who she’d heard it from. Anabel and Hector came in at three in the morning to start baking, so they headed home by noon, which left the shop in the hands of Nick—and Bitsie, if things got really busy—until they closed at six.

  Just before closing, Nick came into the storage closet where Bitsie was doing inventory and said, “I heard from Granddad a while ago, and he seems a little worried.”

  “Why?” Bitsie shifted an industrial-sized sack of flour, and a dusting filtered down onto her face. Her hands were full, so she blew upward into her bangs to get it off, but only succeeded in getting it into her eyes.

  “You need some help?” Nick asked, reaching out to brush the flour out of her curly fringe. Bitsie backed away, but there wasn’t far to retreat. Nick dropped his hand and took her clipboard. Bitsie scrubbed furiously at her floured face with her free hand.

  “What’s this about Roscoe?” she asked, to cover her discomfort at Nick’s close proximity in the tiny storage closet.

  “I guess Stan paid a visit to Shady Grove, earlier this afternoon.”

  “In his official capacity?”

  “Yep.”

  “And this worries Roscoe because—“

  “Well, Stan interviewed several people while he was there, but his conversation with Grandad left the distinct impression that Roscoe Crismond is their number one suspect.”

  “Well, you have to admit that from a purely objective perspective—“

  “I know,” said Nick miserably. “I know. If that yellow stuff in the cupcake turns out to be Granddad’s heart medication, then it does look really bad for him.”

  “I don’t think Roscoe has it in him to do something like that.”

  “I don’t either. I’m sure he didn’t do it,” said Nick. “But, he did have a motive.”

  “So did several other people. Both Ruby Sheers and that CNA, James, made threats against Malcolm.”

  “Yeah, and so did Granddad.”

  “But Roscoe didn’t mean it.”

  “Tell that to a jury.”

  Nick looked more worried than Bitsie had ever seen him.

  “Look,” she said. “Even if it does turn out to be heart medication in that cupcake, it doesn’t mean Roscoe put it there. And just because it matches his medication, doesn’t mean it was his. It’s assisted living. There are probably half a dozen residents taking those same pills.”

  “Someone could have stolen Granddad’s pills,” Nick pointed out. “I think that’s more likely. Otherwise, why would he have started showing symptoms of not having taken his medication regularly.”

  “But if Roscoe wasn’t the one who was hoarding those pills instead of taking them, wouldn’t he have noticed that they were going missing?” Bitsie asked.

  “Maybe he’s getting more forgetful than he’s letting on.”

  Bitsie was doubtful. She’d never seen any signs that Roscoe’s mind was going.

  “How many medications does Roscoe take?” she asked Nick.

  “Just the heart medication and a multivitamin. The staff keeps the bottles in their nursing station. Since they like the residents to be as independent as possible and Granddad is perfectly capable, they give him a week’s worth in advance. He has this pill organizer with the days of the week on it. He keeps it in the drawer of his nightstand.”

  “I’d like to know what that heart drug is, exactly, and the dosage,” said Bitsie. “I think I’ll stop by after I leave here and see if I can find out.”

  “Want me to go with you?” Nick asked.

  She did want him to go with her, but if she persisted in spending almost every evening with the man, people really were going to get the wrong idea.

  “No,” she said. “I think it’s better if I go alone this time. I’d like to have a chat with that Ruby person. I don’t have any reason to think she did it, but she sounds like the most unstable individual in our roster of potential poisoners.”

  Chapter Four

  Bitsie didn’t bother going in search of Roscoe right away when she arrived at Shady Grove. She’d arranged with him earlier, over the phone, to meet her in the common room at six, but Bitsie had intentionally arrived earlier in hopes of catching Ruby Sheers in a disposition to talk.

  Bitsie found Ruby sitting on a couch over by the windows, near the spot that Roscoe had pointed out as being the habitual haunt of Miss Lavinia Fay. Bitsie wondered if Miss Fay would show up, and, if she did, what the two ladies might have to say to each other.

  Ruby didn’t recognize Bitsie at first, but after a tedious and repeated explanation of having met before, the lights came on in Ruby’s eyes, and she said, “Oh yes, you’re Nick’s girlfriend.”

  Bitsie was tempted to deny the statement, but since she’d just spent five minutes establishing that Nick was Roscoe’s grandson, she didn’t feel it was worth the effort. Besides, it left her a valuable opener to ask about Ruby’s own love-life.

  “Do you have a gentleman-friend?” Bitsie asked. She wasn’t fond of the term “gentleman-friend,” but “boyfriend” didn’t seem right, either.

  Ruby didn’t answer right away, but her persona abruptly changed from daft agreeability to something entirely different. She didn’t just look angry; she looked down-right scary. Then Ruby followed up this change of demeanor with a string of obscenities that Bitsie wouldn’t have thought a sweet little old lady would even have known, much less have been prepared to speak aloud. Apparently, Ruby was not a sweet little old lady, despite initial appearances.

  Although she didn’t mention Malcolm by name, the string of obscene insults was obviously directed at a man who had rejected her.

  Ruby finally calmed down enough to demand, “Who told you?”

  “Who told me what?” Bitsie tried to remain calm and reasonable, but it was hard to remain calm and reasonable in the face of a woman who looked ready to attack her with whatever she could find at hand—in this case, volume seventeen of The World’s Greatest Classic Literature, which lay on the coffee table in front of them. It was a substantial hardback bound in imitation leather and appeared to have never been opened, but instead to have led its entire literary existence as an improvised coaster for countless coffee cups.

  As a precaution, Bitsie snatched the book from the table and slipped it behind her back, while mumbling something the book offering her ailing spine lumbar support. Ruby appeared supremely disinterested in the condition of Bitsie’s back.

  “Who told you to spy on me?” she hissed.

  “Spy?” Bitsie protested. “Why would I be spying on you?”

  Bitsie was spying, but no good could come from admitting to it.

  “I’m just waiting for Roscoe,” Bitsie continued.

  “I don’t believe you! Malcolm sent you, didn’t he?”

  “Why would Malcolm send me? I only just met the man last week.”

  Ruby deflated a bit and said, “Well, I didn’t do it.”

  “Of course not,” said Bitsie, not bothering to ask what “it” was.

  Ruby looked around suspiciously and motioned her head in the direction of the bookshelves where Clarence Crake, true to form, was taking out the chess set for his after-supper game
against himself. Ruby waited until he had taken the box containing the chess set and walked away to a table across the room before she leaned over close to Bitsie, abruptly chummy, and said, “I think Lavinia did it!”

  This was new. So far, no one had even hinted that Miss Lavinia Fay might be the poisoner.

  “What makes you think that?” Bitsie asked. No matter what Ruby might say, Bitsie wasn’t inclined to believe any of it, but she was still curious. Was Ruby trying to frame Lavinia for something she’d done herself? Was her accusation simply the ravings of a clearly unstable mind? Or did she have some reason to suspect Lavinia of wanting to harm Malcolm?

  “At first, she encouraged him,” said Ruby.

  “Who? Malcolm?”

  “Yes, Lavinia led him on.”

  “Really? Do you think she was just leading on Roscoe, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because Lavinia had another man. The whole month of August, she was carrying on with him. It’s disgraceful!”

  “She had a man? Who?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not supposed to know.”

  Bitsie very much doubted that was the real reason Ruby was hesitant to tell. Bitsie was not even sure Ruby wasn’t just making up a tall tale, but it was more expedient to feign credulity, so she just said, “How did you find out?”

  “I saw them. I saw them together, going into his room. They’d go into his room and shut the door, but then when they were out here—” Ruby paused and motioned around the common room. “—out here, they’d act like they didn’t even know each other.”

  “And you’re sure they were—having a romance?”

  “If you want to call it that. Those two finally broke up, I think, but she’s still stringing poor Roscoe along.”

  Bitsie decided to change the subject before Ruby gave her more details than she wanted to know; the only detail Bitsie really cared about was the identity of the mystery man, and that was the one thing Ruby wasn’t going to tell her.

  “Roscoe tells me that Lavinia used to be an opera singer,” said Bitsie.

  “Oh, she loves telling people all about how she used to be famous—thinks she’s better than the rest of us!“

  Doubtless, Ruby could have gone on at length about her distaste for Miss Fay, but Roscoe joined them, and Ruby suddenly turned bubbly and animated and completely unrecognizable as the hateful woman who’d turned the air blue with her language a few minutes before.

  “Nick not come with you?” Roscoe asked.

  “No, he’s closing up shop as we speak,” said Bitsie.

  “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I—uh—have a private matter I’d like to discuss with you,” said Bitsie, waiting for Ruby to take the hint. Ruby didn’t.

  “I have something in my room I was hoping you could take to Nick for me,” Roscoe improvised. He obviously understood the need to avoid eavesdroppers, particularly Ruby.

  As she and Roscoe left the common room, Bitsie could feel every eye in the place watching them go. Every pair of eyes except those belonging to Clarence Crake. Clarence was immersed in his solitary chess game and only looked up when Miss Lavinia Fay, who came in the door as they went out of it, sat down at the piano on the opposite side of the room and began to play.

  Roscoe lingered in the doorway for a moment until Bitsie tugged at his sleeve.

  “You like her that much?” Bitsie asked as they walked down the hall toward Roscoe’s room.

  “Yeah, I do. Even though she doesn’t have the time of day for me.”

  “But she hasn’t actually told you to back off, yet,” Bitsie pointed out.

  “She finally did tell Malcolm to take a hike, a couple of days ago. She hasn’t done the same to me, not yet, anyway, but then I haven’t made such a pest of myself,” said Roscoe. “Malcolm was acting like a real stinker before she finally gave him the proverbial boot.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He started showing up at her room.”

  “Ah.”

  “I think that freaked her out a little.”

  “And you never visit her in her room?”

  “Certainly not!” Roscoe was indignant. “If I want to speak to her, I wait for an opportunity at meal-time, or for her to come to the common room.”

  “Does she often give impromptu performances like that?”

  “Pretty often.”

  Through the open door of Roscoe’s room, Bitsie could hear Lavinia singing. She might be old, but she still possessed a very powerful voice.

  “You’re sure that Lavinia doesn’t already have a man?” Bitsie asked.

  “Unless you mean her late husband, no,” Roscoe said. “He died several years back, though, so I don’t see why—“

  “Are you certain she hasn’t been seeing anyone since she moved into Shady Grove? Have you ever noticed her spending time with any particular man? Maybe spending time alone in his room with him, or—“

  “Absolutely not!”

  Perhaps, Ruby had been lying or confused. Possibly, Roscoe just hadn’t noticed the signs.

  “I wanted to ask you about your heart medication,” said Bitsie. “What are you taking, and what is the dosage?”

  Roscoe got up and riffled through some papers on his desk until he came up with an old pharmacy envelope. He handed it to Bitsie.

  “Do you mind if I make a copy of this and bring it back?” Bitsie asked.

  Instead of going home, Bitsie went back to the bakery. They had a little printer/copier in the back of the office, and she wanted to get Roscoe’s prescription returned to him as soon as possible.

  Nick’s car was still parked in its usual spot in the alley, and behind it was another car with Nebraska plates. Odd place for a customer to park, Bitsie thought, as she pulled in behind it. Besides, Nick should have closed up shop an hour ago.

  As Bitsie stepped through the backdoor to the bakery and into the kitchen, she heard voices out front. One voice was Nick’s, and he was speaking too softly for her to make out what he was saying, but the other voice belonged to a woman, and she was speaking just loudly enough for Bitsie to catch fragments of her half of the conversation.

  “I didn’t come all this way—“ was followed by a lot more Bitsie couldn’t make out and then she heard the woman say, “But I told you exactly how I feel when we talked last—“ Nick said something after that and then the woman’s voice rose, and Bitsie heard her say, quite distinctly, “Well, then what’s changed for you—“

  Bitsie was about to step back out the back door and give them some privacy for what was obviously a very personal conversation when she was confronted by the strange woman entering the kitchen. The woman stopped in her tracks and just stared at Bitsie. When Nick came through the door a few seconds later, Bitsie and the strange woman were still standing there, silently looking at each other.

  “Hi, Bitsie,” said Nick, as if nothing was wrong. He must be wondering how much she’d heard of his heated conversation with the strange woman, but he didn’t let on.

  “I was just here to make a copy,” said Bitsie, brandishing the prescription envelope she held in her hand. She mentally kicked herself as soon as she said it. This was her bakery. She could come and go at any time of the day or night. It was the other woman whose presence needed explaining.

  “This is Tracy,” said Nick. “Tracy, meet my boss, Bitsie.”

  Not even “my friend, Bitsie.” Nick didn’t meet Bitsie’s eye as he said it, either.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Bitsie, extending her hand.

  As Tracy shook her hand, Bitsie felt a stab of jealousy. This had to be Tracy, the ex-wife that Nick never talked about,

  “See you tomorrow,” said Nick over his shoulder, as he practically pushed Tracy out the door.

  Bitsie told herself that she had no right to feel jealous, but no amount of scolding could tamp down her feel
ing that no one had a right to be as pretty and thin and young as Tracy.

  When Bitsie got home, she fed Max and heated up a cup of soup for herself. Then she fired up her laptop and set to work researching the medication that Roscoe was taking. There was a clue to the poisoner out there somewhere, she was sure, and she was convinced that clue would have something to do with the heart medication. Bitsie felt safe in assuming that when the lab results came back, they would confirm the universal suspicion that the cherry chocolate cupcake Malcolm had been eating when he collapsed had been tainted with someone’s crushed-up heart pills.

  Roscoe’s prescription read: Losartan 100 mg. Bitsie typed Losartan into the search bar.

  “Losartan dosing information,” she read aloud to Max, who lay curled up on her lap. “That’s what I’m looking for.”

  “Usual Adult Dose of Losartan for Diabetic Nephropathy,” she continued reading. “That’s new. I thought this was a heart medication.” Max opened one eye and closed it again. “Initial dosage: 50 mg orally once a day. Maintenance dosage: 25 to 100 mg orally in 1 to 2 divided doses. Hmmm—“

  Roscoe wasn’t diabetic. Why was he taking medication to combat diabetic nephropathy, whatever that was?

  Bitsie kept reading: “Usual adult dosage for hypertension: Initial dose: 50 mg orally once a day. Maintenance dose: 25 to 100 mg orally in 1 to 2 divided doses.”

  That was a more likely scenario. Everyone kept referring to Roscoe’s “heart pills,” but they were actually for high-blood pressure.

  Bitsie read on: “Losartan is a light yellow solid that is formulated into oral tablets.” Next to the written description, there was a picture of two different pills, front and back. The two pills are nearly identical yellow ovals, but they came in two different dosages. The 100 mg tablet was marked with the letters “APO” on one side and had a “100 12.5” on the other side. The 50 mg tablet looked exactly the same, except in the place the number “100” there was a “50” instead.

  How very easy it would be, Bitsie thought, to mistake (or substitute) a 100 mg tablet for a 50 mg one.

  Bitsie skimmed the article until she came to information on overdosing: moderate toxicity would cause a person to experience low blood pressure, muscle cramps and dizziness, only Malcolm hadn’t just gotten dizzy, he’d actually lost consciousness.