detective, but we're at a standstill. And if there has been a murder, it's our duty to tell what we know.”
“As usual, you're the sensible one,” I said. “But I suspect that if we don't want to get on Carol's bad side we'd better go through her, since she's in charge here. If I were younger I'd pursue this more vigorously. But as it is, I seem to get a new ache or pain every week.”
“Growing old is not for sissies.”
CHAPTER 8
“What you've told me is very interesting,” Carol said, pouring me a second cup of coffee. “But I suspect there's a reasonable explanation for all of it.”
“That would be nice,” Tess said, munching on a peanut from a mug on Carol's desk that had UNC printed on the side.
Didn't Carol know that peanuts also caused life-threatening reactions in some people, as I had found out from the book on allergies I had been reading. Silver Acres was not a peanut-free zone. “What do you think the explanation is?”
“I think that whoever put the shellfish in the casserole feels so mortified about what happened that she can't bring herself to admit it. I doubt that there was anything sinister about her motives. She probably felt that the shellfish would brighten up the dish.”
“But why do it in secret?” I asked.
“Oh, you know how women are. It was Harriet's recipe and she might have objected to someone tampering with it.”
“So she waited until the casserole was brought over to the recreation room. But how did she know the fire alarm was going to go off, unless she set it off herself.”
“No, it was an accident. But it was serendipity, in a morbid sort of way. Although I'm sure, whoever she is, she was planning to put the shellfish in, anyway. The fire alarm just made it easier to do without ruffling Harriet's feathers.”
“And then when Gerald died,” Tess said, “whoever did it couldn't bring herself to tell anybody.”
“Exactly. So we don't have to worry about this, anymore. And, Lillian, you can go back to playing croquet. I understand that you and your partner are the favorites to repeat as champions again this year.
“If one of us doesn't choke to death,” I said.
She smiled and said, “By the way, I'm going to a dance recital tomorrow with your son.”
“So I heard. I hope you have fun.”
“Are we on for noon?” asked a voice from the doorway I recognized as that of Joe Turner, the facilities man.
I turned around to gaze at his sleek body and unruly black hair, as I do every chance I get, and wondered what he meant by “on.”
“Yes we are,” Carol said.
“I'm jealous,” I muttered, and she laughed again.
“I think it all fits,” Tess said as we walked back to our apartments. “Carol's explanation has me satisfied.”
“But not me,” I said. “She's telling it the way she wants it to be because a murder would be bad public relations for Silver Acres. For one thing, what she said doesn't explain the 13 diamonds.”
“But you didn't bring them up. She doesn't know that the deal was fixed.”
“She would have had some glib explanation for that, also. It's obvious that she doesn't want the police brought into it.”
“Lil, you've got to put your ego aside for a minute and admit that Carol may be right.”
“It's possible, but she may be wrong, too.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I don't know.”
“I'm doing this under protest,” Sandra said as she wheeled her red Toyota along the Silver Acres road at something above the 20 mile-per-hour speed limit. “I'm not in the habit of frequenting bars, and you aren't, either. And you know how Dad feels about you doing crazy things like this.”
“You didn't tell him, did you?” I asked, momentarily alarmed. Albert was such a killjoy.
“Of course not. You know he wouldn't have permitted it.”
“You look beautiful, Honey,” I said, changing the subject as Sandra pulled onto the main road. “That light green is a perfect color for you.” She wore a minidress that went so well with her blond hair and blue eyes that I wished I could take credit for the looks in our family, but I'm afraid that goes to Milt, my late husband.
“Thanks. That pantsuit looks great on you, Gogi.”
“I'm glad you and your Dad gave it to me.” I usually protested that I didn't need any more clothes, but once in a while they put their feet down. The pantsuit had been a joint Christmas present. I had to admit I looked pretty sharp in it for an old lady, and it hid my legs, which give away my age faster than anything else. “We're just two single women, out on the town.”
“Women don't usually hang out in bars without men, unless they want to be picked up.”
“If anybody tries to pick us up, we're waiting for our dates. Although it's been 30 years since anybody has tried to pick me up-maybe 40. The only thing I'll do is scare away any man who might want to talk to you.”
“Gogi! I do not want to meet a man in a bar. I'm not looking for a one night stand.”
“This is a high-class bar. It's part of the best seafood restaurant in Durham. Who knows, you might meet the man of your dreams there.”
Sandra had left Winston with Audrey, who runs the small daycare center he stays at while she teaches. I was paying the extra charge. I needed Sandra on this escapade for two reasons: because I don't drive any farther than the market and Albert's farm, especially at night, and because I couldn't very well go to a bar alone.
I was finally following up on the tip from Ophah, the receptionist at Silver Acres, who had told me a week ago that a young man named Mark delivered a package from a seafood restaurant in Durham to a resident on the morning that Gerald died. It had slipped my mind at the time, since I hadn't been planning a murder investigation, but now that I was in the middle of one I figured I'd better follow up every lead.
Of course I had forgotten his name was Mark, but I did remember that he had the same name as that of Ophah's son. Tess knows everybody's family history so I asked her the name of Ophah's son. With this information I started calling seafood restaurants in Durham. On the sixth call, to the Sea Chantey, I got a hit. A young man named Mark tended bar during the evening shift, several nights a week. Since the delivery was made during the day it was a long shot, but it was all I had. That's where we were headed now.
We arrived about 7:30. There was ample parking in front of the restaurant, which had a brick front and the solid look of an establishment that served above-average food. As we approached the front door I told Sandra to let me do the talking. Inside, three couples waited in the reception area. A young lady in a long skirt talked on the phone and wrote rapidly on a chart that sat on a dais.
She hung up, looking harried, and said, “Good evening. Do you have reservations?”
“Actually, we're waiting for somebody,” I said. “Uh, don't you have a bar where we can sit for a few minutes? I need a drink.”
“Right through there,” she said, briskly, pointing to the doorway to our right.
“Is Mark on duty?” I asked, in what I hoped was an offhand manner.
She nodded. “He's tending the bar.”
We walked through the doorway. A sprinkling of couples sat at small round tables, the men and women
