Murder at the Falls. Arlene Kay
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met your resident already. Clark Wingate, one of the few males at The Falls.” She bit her lip as she faced Rolf Hart. “I’m sorry to tell you, but there’s been a change to your assignment. Mrs. Whitman is no longer with us.”
A moment of silence was shattered by Babette’s question. “Did she leave just this place or the earth entirely?”
Dr. Fergueson winced. Apparently, she preferred to speak euphemistically about the recently departed. “I’m afraid she was quite elderly. Frail. A sad fact of life around here, but we try to celebrate each day.”
Rolf shrugged, as if it was immaterial to him. “I wondered when I didn’t hear from Sara. She was quite a character, you know. Stayed up on everything and everybody around here. I suppose you’ve assigned a new partner for me?”
Joan tapped the computer screen once more. “Mr. Jennings, a former developer. One of our younger residents. You’ll have much in common.”
I waited patiently for her to mention Magdalen Melmoth. Instead, she continued watching the screen and tapping those keys. Joan Fergueson was no ingénue, and her evasive manner puzzled me. After all, what was the big deal about one elderly resident? “We may have to switch your person, Ms. Morgan,” she said with a saccharine smile. “Not to worry. Our residents signed up to participate and we have a long list.”
“Really? I met Magdalen this morning and she was charming. My dogs liked her immediately. I’d love to work with her.”
The good doctor hesitated, weighing the options before her. “Well, if you’re sure. Ms. Melmoth can be difficult. Fanciful.” She obviously wanted to say more, but discretion won out. That made me probe further.
“Oh? She seemed very lively to me. I took that as a good sign.” I folded my arms, as if the issue was settled.
“It’s nothing. Just don’t believe everything she says about her lineage. Delusions of grandeur, you know. It’s this genealogy craze they advertise. So many residents have signed up. Another way to feed illusions, I suspect.” Fergueson’s dismissive manner annoyed me. Everyone needed some fantasy life, even a pensioner. I could empathize with the need to connect, even if the results were somewhat suspect. Most folks hoped for bragging rights to noble antecedents, but no one welcomed a criminal or castoff swimming in the gene pool. Many families were blessed with both.
“I’m sure you’re eager to get started,” said Dr. F. “So, if you and Mrs. Croy have the paperwork ready, we’ll be all set.” I presented our bona fides and flashed what I hoped was an engaging smile her way. Somehow, winning this small battle in the bureaucratic wars pleased me immensely. Our dogs wore badges, proof that they had graduated from basic and intermediate obedience as well as earned their CGC, or Canine Good Citizen certificates. That assured officials that they had both good manners and temperament and had received the necessary insurance. After witnessing Nurse Ross’s gruff manner, I wondered if she could meet the same standards.
Dr. Fergueson rose, indicating that our audience had ended. “Very well, then. I’ll ask Nurse Ross to introduce you.” Her handshake was stiff and unauthentic, but that was fine with me. No sense in lingering. Nurse Carole Ross lumbered into the office and tried herding us out the door at an unseemly pace. Powered by that scone sugar surge, Babette finally showed some spunk, holding her ground and strutting out in front of the pack. I patted Keats and Poe for reinforcement and meekly followed suit. Had I foreseen the danger awaiting us, I would have clutched them for support and galloped out the front door to safety. But because I lacked the gift of second sight, I dismissed Joan Fergueson’s churlish behavior and forged ahead.
Our adventure at the Falls had finally begun.
Chapter 2
Babette bonded immediately with Irene Wilson over a shared love of books and dogs. She stepped into the cozy studio apartment, sized up the tasteful furnishings, and beamed at its occupant as if they were old friends. Clara sealed the deal by approaching Irene and licking her hand.
“That’s a good sign. She’s particular. Doesn’t do that with everyone,” Babette said. “Clara likes you.”
Irene, a woman in her eighties, was a tall, imposing figure with light brown skin, neatly coiled gray hair, and large, expressive eyes. Her years in the classroom and stately bearing lent her an air of authority. She grinned at Babette and chuckled. “Kids and dogs—my specialty. For years I bred springer spaniels. Showed them too, even at Westminster. Shucks. Sometimes I had more luck with canines than my human pupils, but I loved them all. Still do.”
I excused myself after explaining that I was seeking Magdalen Melmoth. A momentary frown flashed across Irene’s face, but she quickly banished it.
“Be gentle with her. Mags is one of my best friends here. My only friend, actually. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
I was intrigued. “Anything else you can tell me?”
Babette had little patience for delay and tact was seldom her strong suit. “Come on, Irene. Spill. You can trust Perri. Don’t worry.”
Irene bit her lip as she framed her words. “We all have our illusions, even as we age—especially as we age. Just let her talk. Mags …she’s a sweetheart. Not an ounce of harm in her.”
“Good to know she has a friend like you. We’ve already met.” I wagged my finger at them before heading out the door. “Behave, you two, or I’ll report you to Nurse Ross.”
* * * *
Magdalen Melmoth’s flat was a one-bedroom directly down the hall from Irene’s. She answered the door and immediately waved us in.
To my surprise, her head bowed, as if she was too shy to make eye contact. “Oh, Perri. Ms. Morgan. I was afraid you weren’t coming after meeting the powers that be. I made tea.” She pointed to a beautifully embossed silver tea set. “Don’t often get the chance to use this old relic. It’s kind of like me. Put on the shelf. No use to anyone.”
Keats and Poe eyed the goodies on the tray but settled into a sit-stay without complaint. Their good manners were a constant rebuke to me when I felt tempted to overreach. Breeding triumphed over baser impulses every time, and all three of us waited before diving in.
The interior of Magdalen’s flat was art deco, surprisingly modern and tasteful but austere. Reminiscent of a monk’s cell or a convent, it yielded few clues as to the identity of its occupant. The only exception was color: buttercup yellow walls and red lacquered woodwork. One side of the room contained a lovely chinoiserie bookcase filled with red leather-bound volumes.
“You look surprised,” she said. “Not exactly what you expected, is it? You probably envisioned relics and family pieces.”
I shrugged. “It’s obvious you enjoy nice things. I’m fascinated by your library.” I walked over and scanned the titles. Most were classics—Shakespeare, Austen, Tolstoy, and Wilde, although to my surprise, three contemporary books by a certain Wing Pruett were also present. I flushed and turned away, hoping Magdalen had missed my reaction. Unfortunately, she had not. I suspected there was very little in life my new friend missed.
She poured tea and passed the tray of sandwiches my way. “Forgive me, dear. That was my little joke. You see, I read about you and Mr. Pruett, and when you volunteered for this assignment, I couldn’t believe my luck. Forgive me, won’t you?” Before continuing, Magdalen unwrapped two meaty bones, placed each on a Limoges saucer, and shared them with my dogs. “Treats for everyone today,” she said brightly. We sipped our tea in silence before my hostess continued. “Now, let me explain myself.”
I didn’t know what to expect. Why hadn’t I heeded Joan Fergueson’s warning and found a nice, uncomplicated animal lover with no agenda? Stubbornness and pride were the bane of my existence and always had been. Always would be.
Magdalen reached over and patted my arm. “Don’t worry, dear, I’m not a lunatic. Not really. Just a determined woman. At my age, a woman on a mission is either