Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (13 page)

I snapped off the vacuum cleaner and coiled the cord, all the while wondering if old Chester had burst a valve
because
I didn’t return it in his allotted thirty minutes. Made me feel downright ornery. I stood the vacuum in the corner. It had waited this long. . .

Glancing around Matilda’s place, I decided to finish the cleaning part, then stopped. Another idea blooming. Gertrude had mentioned that tonight was the night of the big open house for Bridgeton Towers. That meant two things
;
cleaning crews would be out in full force, as well as the cook and her assistants, unless they catered the event.

I hustled out of the apartment and to the elevator. On the first floor, Hardy’s piano playing greeted me. He’d drawn quite a crowd. Everyone loved a piano player. You talk to adults who took lessons as a child and most will say they put up a fuss practicing and quit too early, but they had great regrets for giving up.

A smocked housekeeper with wisps of graying hair clinging to her cheeks vacuumed the gym. I stopped dead
—
no pun intended. Her ring of keys dangled at her side. Could Polly Dent have lifted the key to the gym and made a copy? In that case someone wouldn’t have had to let her in. Polly was clear minded enough to do it, but why would she even want or need to get into the gym after hours?

The woman in the gym went farther into the room, disappearing from my line of vision. I strolled right across that hall and into the gym.
W
hen her startled eyes glanced my way
,I
waved a hand of authority to show
,
1) that I had a right to be there
,
and 2) she had no need to worry her head about it. She kept right on vacuuming.

The room seemed smaller than I remembered. All those mirrors gave me more of an idea of how I looked than I liked. How could people stand to sweat and see themselves doing it? I stood over the treadmill Polly had used, even hunkering down to see if the foil paper was still there. It wasn’t. My eyes went over the machine again. Nothing seemed out of place. Safety key in place, handles covered with powder. . . I swiped my finger over the white stuff and rubbed it between my index finger and thumb. I sniffed at it, the very faint essence of baby powder evident. Next I poked at the power button. That’s when the vacuum snapped off behind me.

“Ma’am, no one is allowed in here after hours.”

So much for my authority ploy. “They leave this a mess, don’t they? Had wrappers and baby powder and towels everywhere the other day.” I laid eyes on the trashcan full of paper cups, then skimmed over the mirrored walls, finger-print free today. The hamper was only half-full of towels this time.

“It’s always a mess, but you’re not supposed to be here.”

I turned to levy a huge grin on the housekeeper. “I know that. Do I look like I have plans on getting on one of these things? I’m helping Mr. Payne investigate Polly Dent’s death, and I’m wanting to see this machine in action.”

She considered my words, though I could tell she wasn’t impressed. I must be losing my touch.

“We’ve got that big open house tonight, why don’t you finish up your cleaning? I won’t be a minute before I report my findings to Mr. Payne.” True enough, because now I wondered if the maintenance crew, or whoever took care of the equipment, had tested Polly’s treadmill for a faulty belt. Weren’t gyms and places like that supposed to have scheduled maintenance checks on their equipment? It made sense to look into it, especially since I’d found out about the last death from a faulty hallway railing.

I presented my back to the lady, eyeballing the belt on the treadmill, satisfied when the sound of the vacuum vibrated through the air. Against my better judgment, I peeked at myself in the mirror on the back wall. Didn’t look too hot. I touched my hair, promising myself to get back to Regina Rogane’s hair salon, Wig Out, in Maple Gap and have her give me the works. My hand on the treadmill detected a definite hiccup in the motor’s rhythm, pulling my attention away from my hair. I stood there for a few more minutes, eyes glued to the belt, hand waiting for another hiccup. . .nothing happened.

When the vacuum switched off again, I decided to call it quits. Without a voice to tell its story, the treadmill wasn’t going to release any secrets. Now this made me pure grumpy. Here I had a case to solve and nothing yielding any good clues. In bemused detachment, I watched the housekeeper wind up the cord of the vacuum and roll it out of the gym. She glanced back at me.

I squeezed past her and popped into the hallway, hustling myself to Otis Payne’s office. If the housekeeper saw me heading that direction she’d sure enough know what I’d said was true, but I also intended on asking about maintenance records of the treadmills.

Mr. Payne’s door to the hallway was closed, but neither was Miss Pillsbury in her place. Now I could sit and wait, but that’s not my style, and I heard Otis talking up a storm. I stopped in the doorway of his office. His back was to me, so he didn’t see me as he dramatized his end of the conversation.

Being the polite person I am, I decided to wait for him to finish, besides, his end of the conversation sounded mighty entertaining.

“. . .it’s not like that at all. The press will be here, sure, but my records are open to the closest scrutiny. The other records can be altered.”

A long pause in which he switched ears and did a long sigh.

“Yes, you’ve made yourself very clear, but there’s no way to prove anything, Polly was old.”

I’d sort of leaned in close to get a better grip of the conversation, when Otis spun around in his chair. Never knew the boy had it in him to be so quick, but I was quicker. I leaned on the doorframe, crossed my arms and glared, as if I’d just walked in and was disgusted to find him on the phone. By his suspicious expression, I needed to put on an Academy Award performance.

My performance began where every good performance begins. With my mouth. “You tryin’ to push me out of this here investigation?” I asked in a loud whisper. “Because if you are, I’ve got a thing or two to say.”

He blinked at me, face blank. The person on the other end of the conversation must have said something because he jolted and stared at the phone in his hand a split second before sealing it to his ear again. “We’ll talk later.”

Now I knew a couple of things. No way was he going to ask me what I’d heard. People with something to hide are going to play it cool and innocent. And I didn’t plan on letting him do the questioning anyhow.

When the phone hit the cradle, I hit the chair opposite him, forgoing the sofa in case I needed to get to my feet quick. I crossed my ankles, settling my clasped hands across my stomach. “Rumor’s going around that you didn’t call the police the other night.”

His eyebrows twitched upward.

“I’m thinking it must be true. And if it is true, who called them and why? Another thing, what about this handrail that pulled away from a wall
a few years back
and caused a resident to fall? Does that have anything to do with poor maintenance?”

He opened his mouth to reply.

I steamrolled right over him. “I’m thinking it does
,
and that I need to look over the maintenance records of the gym equipment, namely those treadmills.” I racked my brain to think of some other things to lay on him. “Back to the original subject
—
” and for this I got my finger to waggin’
—
“I’ve got me a load of people who didn’t like Polly too much. I’m going to keep right on digging into this until I’m satisfied. It’d help if you told your staff to trust me.”

Otis’s lips smeared upward into a not-quite-grin. His expression looked more like someone with indigestion. “Mrs. Barnhart.”

I didn’t like the sound of his nicey-nicey tone.

“I assure you I did instruct my faculty to speak with you should you ask questions. However, the police obviously feel Mrs. Dent’s fall was purely accidental, so I passed on that news and let them know they no longer needed to feel bound to answer anyone’s questions.

“Well, I’m not done asking my questions
,
and I’m not so sure Polly’s fall was an accident.”

Otis Payne leaned forward, hands clasped, the veil of authority settling on him as he straightened his back and squared his shoulders.

I leaned forward and lasered him with my eyes. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me, Mr. Payne. Nothing you say will stop me from doing my own investigating. Things are firing up even as we speak, and I’m getting to the bottom of it.”

Otis steepled his fingers. “You’ll do so and report to me your findings.”

I hauled myself vertical. “Don’t play with me. You didn’t include me in your faculty meetings, why should I include you in my findings?”

 
His eyes speared me through, face flushing angry red. “Then you will be asked to leave the facility.”

I was getting him good and riled now. I cocked my head, glued a hand on my hip. “I’m sure the press would find your words quite interesting. Might even feel the need to come over here and find out why you’re harassing the relatives of a resident.”

His brain must have kicked in because his posture relaxed as he ran a hand over the sparse hair on his head, puffing out a breath. “Mrs. Barnhart, I’m sure you have your mother’s
—
”

“
M
other-in-law.”

“Mother-in-law’s best interest at heart, but the police have concluded the case and there is really no need for you tocontinue your, uh, investigation.”

“We’ll be agreeing to disagree, then.” And before the red flush creeping up his neck in the ensuing silence had a chance to burst into his face and out the top of his head, I decided it was time to present my wide rearend to him as I made an exit. “You’ll be seeing me around,” I threw over my shoulder.

Chapter Seventeen

Steamin’. That only began to describe my temper as I left the office of Otis Payne, Director of Administration, Bridgeton Towers Assisted Living & Nursing. In truth, my flare of anger had more to do with my inability to put the pieces of Polly Dent’s fall together. Sure, the police could have been correct thinking it was just an accident. But Mitzi’s poems. . .the tension between Gertrude and Polly over Thomas. . .Matilda seeing Polly in Thomas’s room prior to her fall. . .Sue Mie’s obvious disgust with Otis Payne, coupled with the possibility she may have called the police. . .

Lord send me a goo
d
old fashioned clue to tie all this together.

Notes from Hardy’s piano playing floated to me. I felt the soothing spell of his music and relaxed into it. By the time I saw him, head bent over the keyboard, eyes closed, I felt lighter. Stronger.

I closed in on the semi-circle of residents surrounding Hardy. His eyes met mine and something strengthening passed between us. Thirty-nine years of marriage, and we had a level of communication that defied words. The tune of the music changed to a hymn I recognized and embraced.
“
I will follow thee my savior,
”
flowed from my heart and out my mouth. I motioned for the residents to join in
,
and we made quite the ragtag gospel choir.

Song after song came and went, some prompted by the residents, others by Hardy, a couple by me, until the residents began to clap, one by one. I joined in, making good and sure each of them knew how much fun I’d had.

“We should get Thomas in here. He loves to sing and has the most lovely baritone,” a rather tall resident claimed to her black-haired friend, who obviously sported a dye job.

Black hair’s response interested me greatly. “Shaw, Sally, Gertie’s got him now and won’t let him leave her side for a second. She probably had a party after Polly’s fall.”

The two women were heading out, but their words sunk down deep into my brain. Apparently Polly and Gertrude’s tug-of-war over Thomas was noted by quite a few people.

I gave Hardy a pat on his head. “You do all right for an old man.”

His brown eyes glared at me. “Who you callin’ old, woman? I can take you on any day.” He pushed back the piano bench and stood.

I smacked his rump. “Sure you can, cute stuff.” I lowered my voice. “There’s a vacuum cleaner in your momma’s place that needs to go back to the storage room on the second floor over Otis Payne’s office. Haul it back there for me and see if you can get into that room and have a look around.”

We started toward the bank of elevators, my fingers twined in his. He stopped short. “I’m no detective. How am I supposed to know what to look for?”

“Ask some questions then.”

“How do I know what to ask?”

I rolled my eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You forget how to work those lips in sync with your brain or something? Ask about Polly. Find out where people were, what they know about the movements of others. What they think about Sue Mie, or Otis, or
—
”