Arsenic in the Azaleas, Page 3

  Her entire wardrobe was completely unsuited for her new lifestyle. Along with that fact came another—she had no money to change it. And she wouldn’t have a clue where to buy everyday jeans. The only jeans she owned had designer labels on them, were skintight and didn’t wear worth a darn. Whereas everybody she’d seen so far in this town wore blue jeans or leggings that looked durable.

  That was what she needed. Something she could afford and which would last. She might have to follow Nan’s advice and go to the church bazaar and find something secondhand. Just the thought made her shudder.

  She wasn’t snooty or too proud. She just wasn’t at that point yet of trying to navigate the process. Wearing other people’s hand-me-down clothes made her wonder about the original owner. Who they were? Why they’d discarded the clothes? Had they gained weight? Lost weight? Changed jobs? Speaking of jobs, how much could she expect to earn from a job here in the Mission? Heck, she had no idea what kind of a job she would be suited for. Would anyone want to hire her? Her, a discarded rich man’s trophy wife?

  As she looked down at her Chanel suit, she figured it would probably take a year’s wages at whatever new career she found in this small town just to pay for another one of these. On the other hand, she didn’t need any more Chanel suits. She had those already, should they ever be needed on occasion in Lower Mission. Still, it would probably take a year’s worth of time for her to no longer worry about whether she was perfectly coiffed, all to avoid getting snarky, nasty remarks from her husband.

  Only after she fully got away from her marriage did she realize the stress and pain involved in maintaining appearances for his sake. And how his constant criticisms—when she didn’t achieve the required level of perfection—were more about him and not so much about her.

  How her nails had always been the wrong color, her lipstick had always been too bright. Her eye shadow had never been stylish enough. He said her hair, the last time she had it done, made her look like an old woman.

  Of course it hadn’t made her look old, but, in his eyes, he was ready for a younger trophy wife. Well, he had found her in Doreen’s divorce lawyer.

  How was that for irony?

  One thing Doreen had learned from that mess was to laugh at herself. She knew she was an anomaly. Nobody would feel sorry for her after her years of the rich and lavish lifestyle. But rarely did people see the other side of that lifestyle. How Doreen needed to be perfectly fit, a perfect decoration always. To smile, even though she hated the people her husband brought through the house. And, when his hand cupped her butt blatantly in front of others, how hard it was to not turn around and smack him for his lack of respect.

  She took it because, most of the time, he was fine. He was worse in front of his peers. When she had first met him, she’d been totally in love with him. That had faded quickly. But, by then, she had already been groomed for her role as his wife. Another pretty bauble for him to show off. Never mind that she had a brain.

  But what about her growth as a person? Nobody ever really cared about that. A decade into her marriage, well, that was a whole different story. She finally woke up to seeing how much she was missing in life. Things she’d never have a chance to experience. She didn’t know who she was, what she was, or who she wanted to be. All she knew was what her husband had expected her to be while married to him. But what did she expect to be, to do, to become?

  “Find time to figure that out, idiot,” she said out loud but with affection. “And you promised to never put yourself down again.”

  She had taken enough of that from her husband. Almost worst was his sister. That woman had hated Doreen. The feeling had been mutual. Doreen had never been allowed to say anything catty or mean to her back then. Of course not. Her dratted husband wouldn’t have allowed that. And he’d ruled the roost.

  “Ma’am?”

  Startled, she stood, her tea sloshing, almost spilling on her suit. She walked to the railing to see the younger officer, Chester, standing at the foot of the nearest veranda steps, which led to the uncovered deck in the backyard. “Yes?”

  “Have you been in the backyard at all?”

  She shook her head. “I told you that I just arrived today, around noon, moving into the house.”

  She really wondered why the people in this town didn’t understand what she was saying. She was a British Canadian living in a British Canadian town. It wasn’t like she was French Canadian with an accent. Before she’d lived only a five-hour drive away in the British Properties area of West Vancouver. Yet it seemed she had to keep repeating everything she said three or four times since arriving here. “I can prove that I drove all the way from Vancouver this morning,” she said, “if you don’t believe me.”

  He gave her a surprised look and shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. But we found a lot of footprints back here.”

  “What?” She leaned forward but couldn’t see anything where he pointed. She set her teacup on the little table and walked down the veranda steps using the wobbly railing for support. The old place was falling apart. As soon as she stepped on one of the wooden planks of the deck, it squeaked and groaned under her weight. And she knew for sure that, at five feet seven and 125 pounds, she was not overweight. No matter what her husband said.

  Shrugging off her husband’s insults, she walked toward the officer, now at the far edge of the deck, and noted as he pointed out several footprints in the yard. The area had been roped off to avoid any further contamination of the scene.

  “But those could’ve been here a long time. Maybe they are Nan’s.”

  He looked down at her, his head cocked. “You don’t have anything to compare them to right now. But they’re large, like a man’s size eleven.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “No, not Nan’s. Those are big feet.”

  He pointed at his. “Mine are a ten. Those footprints are bigger than mine.”

  “Maybe they belonged to the dead man?” she asked, her voice rising in horror.

  He stopped and stared at her. “Do you know who the dead man is?”

  She frowned. “No.” Be patient, Doreen. “Remember? I just got here.” Man, she wanted to put that sentence into audio format and just hit the Rewind and Play buttons. It would save her a lot of time and effort.

  But Chester still stared at her as if he couldn’t figure out what made her tick.

  Good luck with that. How could he know when she didn’t?

  Finally he shook his head and said, “No sign of a body yet.”

  “Well, unless somebody is walking around town with an amputated finger and just accidentally left the appendage here on my property, I suggest you keep looking.” She glanced at her heels and said, “I could change my shoes and come out to look too.”

  “No, just stay where you are. The less people out here, the better.”

  She chuckled and looked at the dozen people already on her property. “What possible difference could one more person make?”

  “We’re all professionals, ma’am. We know what we’re doing.”

  “It doesn’t look like you do, when you haven’t found the body yet,” she said in exasperation. She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Okay, fine. I’ll go sit on the veranda.” She delicately made her way to the steps. Before she reached them, she turned to Chester and asked, “Did you check under the deck?”

  He instantly spun to address her. “Why would I check under the deck?”

  She stared at him wordlessly for a full moment, getting a grip on her frustration. “Because it’s a possible hiding place to put a body?” From the doubtful look on his face, she didn’t think she would get any kind of a meeting of the minds here.

  “Of course it’s a great hiding place. I just thought maybe you knew that’s where the body was.”

  “Let me tell you one more time. I haven’t been in this house in years until I arrived about noon today from Vancouver. I don’t know who the man is who belongs to that finger. In the three hours or so th
at I’ve spent here today—the last two hours of which I have had policemen crawling all over my property—I never saw anybody else in this place, and I did not put a dead body under the deck.” On that note she turned away, gingerly went up the steps, retrieved her tea and stalked into the house. Her last act of revenge was to slam the door. Hard.

  Chapter 5

  Back inside she decided to take Mugs for a walk. She changed her heels for Nan’s bright pink garden shoes on the back veranda, put Mugs on a leash, grabbed her purse and walked out the front door. If the police wanted to talk to her, they could call her. Because she’d had enough of them. She sauntered down the street, waving at a couple neighbors who called out to her. She pretended not to hear them when they asked questions, and she just kept on strolling by.

  What was she supposed to say? Oh, the police? No problem. I just have a body in the garden. Or how about, Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sure that finger I found wasn’t connected to anything to be concerned about.

  She refused to contemplate what happened to the poor man normally attached to that finger. Best scenario was a neighbor lost the finger in an accident using power tools. Her husband always said they were dangerous things.

  As a vehicle slowed while passing her, the driver’s gaze curious, she stared resolutely ahead. Not the preferred first day to her new beginning that she’d hoped for. These people barely knew her, and Nan was already eccentric enough. Apparently everyone was checking out Doreen sideways to see if she would be a chip off the old block. According to Chester and Arnold, she probably was.

  Just as she got to the end of the block, she heard a single flap sound behind her. She turned to see Thaddeus flying—no, make that coasting—toward her. He landed on top of Mugs, who immediately twisted in a circle, trying to get at the bird riding him like a horse.

  Goliath streaked past too, the huge cat brushing up against Doreen’s calf in the process.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” She brushed the bird off Mugs’s back. The bird immediately hopped to her arm and did a weird slide step up to Doreen’s shoulder.

  “Thaddeus is here. Thaddeus is here,” he squawked in her ear.

  “Really? Like I didn’t know that already?” she cried out, trying to stare at him. He cocked his head at her. “You can’t just sit there.” She’d come to a complete stop on the sidewalk. How was she supposed to walk with him on her shoulder? But Thaddeus had no problem with it. His claws dug into her shoulder but never hard enough to really hurt. Nan had obviously trained him well. Besides, he was beautiful.

  He looked down at her… as if waiting for her to sort herself out.

  “Okay, fine. But you behave yourself.”

  “Thaddeus is here. Thaddeus is here.” Instead of shouting it, he crooned it softly, rubbing his head along hers.

  She nuzzled back, grinning in spite of herself, and then proceeded to walk toward town.

  Instead of being upset by the crap going on in her backyard, she had a spring in her step. Maybe this would work out after all. She didn’t have any chosen direction to walk or any definitive purpose for going to town. She just needed to take Mugs for a walk and, well, to get away from the madness at her house.

  She turned right, taking a path along the creek.

  She crossed one of the small footbridges and stopped, looking at the water below. It really was beautiful here. She could see how Nan would’ve enjoyed her years spent in this town. Doreen brightened. Maybe that’s what she should do—visit Nan. The retirement home wasn’t very far away. Nan had one of the outer studio apartments on a corner with lots of light where she had French doors leading to a patio and a small garden. She could have her meals at the main center, or she could do her own cooking. But Doreen knew Nan. She didn’t do much in the way of cooking. And only cooked what came from a can, apparently.

  Doreen grabbed her phone and called Nan. “Are you up for a little bit of company?”

  “Oh, my goodness. I would be delighted,” Nan said. “When?”

  Doreen laughed. “I’m walking toward you right now. Thaddeus is on my shoulder, and I’ve got Mugs beside me. And the cat is sauntering close by too.”

  “Oh, my dear, that would be absolutely wonderful. I’ll put on the kettle.”

  When her grandmother hung up the phone, Doreen had to laugh. Nan wasn’t one to hold the phone to her ear while preparing tea. But then Nan had been late getting into the Technology Era. She still felt the phone—a plugged-in landline no less—belonged in the hallway near the front door and nowhere else.

  Doreen changed direction and kept walking until she could see Rosemoor, the retirement home, up ahead. It had both full-care and partial-care facilities. She really didn’t know anything else about it. She had never known anybody who lived in one, until Nan. And this one appeared to be unique in a town that didn’t have a large population, so they had gathered together a lot of people with various needs into a single building. One end was a full nursing home for people mostly bedridden. On the opposite side were small independent living apartments. That was where Nan currently lived. Doreen assumed, when people’s conditions worsened, they were moved to the north end of the complex.

  That kind of sucked. But, on the other hand, Nan was still in her right mind, so maybe it was all good.

  As Doreen walked up to Nan’s apartment, Nan stepped onto her patio and waved. Thaddeus immediately left Doreen’s shoulder and flew across the beautiful lawn toward Nan and landed on her shoulder. Even from this distance, Doreen could see the affection between the two. Her heart warmed. Maybe having Thaddeus around wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Doreen was supposed to go inside the main lobby entrance and around to the front door of Nan’s apartment, but, with Mugs and the bird and the cat, she knew she wouldn’t be allowed inside. So, ignoring the Do Not Walk on the Grass sign, she cut across the lawn and quickly stepped onto the stonework patio.

  Hearing the horrified gasp at the edge of Nan’s patio, Doreen turned her head and stared at an older man. She hadn’t seen him working in the gardens from the sidewalk. He glared at her and pointed at the sign.

  She winced, gave him an apologetic smile and quickly turned away. Shoot. She didn’t want to make a bad impression in her new life, but, so far, she’d done nothing but.

  “Don’t worry. That’s Grumpy George,” Nan said with a chuckle. “He’s a stickler for rules and keeps track of the blades of grass here, like a farmer does his sheep.”

  Chuckling at the nickname, Doreen bent to give Nan a hug, amazed at how strong her grandmother’s hug was. Nan, while aging gracefully even with her somewhat gnarled fingers, was petite with her tiny wrists. And the smile on her face was, as always, full of pure love. It brought tears to Doreen’s eyes. She’d missed this woman a lot.

  “Take a seat, dear.”

  Doreen pulled out the other little wrought-iron chair and sat down at the small bistro table. The patio wasn’t much bigger than a ten-by-ten-foot square, so there wasn’t a whole lot of room for furniture. It was cozy and suited this downsized version of Nan. As Doreen looked at the teapot, she frowned. It appeared to be a flower upside down with its stalk as the spout. “That’s quite a teapot, Nan.”

  She laughed, her voice rippling around the garden, seemingly making even the sunshine brighter. “Isn’t it? I picked it up at a secondhand store. You have to go over there, my dear. They have treasures unlikely to be found anywhere else in this world.” She shook her head and smiled, patting the little teapot. “I know it’s an oddity, but, at my age, I should be allowed a few of those.”

  “We should be allowed those at whatever our age,” Doreen said with a big smile.

  “And yet, you don’t.” Some of Nan’s bright laughter fell away, and Nan’s voice sharpened. “You were barely even living before, my dear. But look at you now. You’re not coated in makeup, and your nails look like you have lived a normal person’s life instead of a model’s. That smile of yours—it’s the best part—because that’s the first real emotion
I’ve seen on your face in a long time.”

  “That’s not true,” Doreen protested. Inside, she hoped it wasn’t true.

  “No, maybe not,” Nan admitted. “Your only other emotions lately have been the pain and loss of your husband to your divorce attorney and the loss of your marriage—or more the loss of a way of life and your complete lack of comprehension of what that meant for you.” Nan shook her head. “I never said anything all those years you were married. But you never looked happy. It’s like you were shaped into a Barbie doll, and that was the role you played. And you played it well. Until your husband was no longer happy with Barbie and changed it for a china doll.” She waved her hand up and down at Doreen. “Look at you. Your super expensive suit, and yet, those must be my gardening shoes.” Nan bent forward under the table to stare at them. “Oh, my goodness, where did you find them?”

  Doreen kicked out her legs. “They were on the back veranda.”

  Nan laughed. “See? That’s what I mean. A year ago you never would’ve been caught dead in them.”

  “But they’re comfortable,” Doreen said. “Besides, I had to run out of the house and get away from the cops.”

  Silence fell at those words. Nan stared at Doreen, and her jaw slowly dropped open. She leaned forward. “What have you done that the cops are in the house?”

  Nan didn’t know anything about it. “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t do anything. I blame your cat for this.” She quickly explained what the cat had brought home and how Mugs had stolen the finger from the feline.

  When Doreen got to the part about the dratted thing dropping the bone onto the front porch and then disappearing in the cracks of the floorboards, Nan shook her head and giggled. “You are a disaster.” Then her giggles turned into full-blown laughter. “I love it.”