Thirteen Diamonds Read online

  Dora shook her head. “I'm devastated that we couldn't save him. He was such a nice man. But his heart was too weak to withstand the anaphylaxis.”

  “Anaphylaxis?” I asked.

  “A severe allergic reaction. It can be caused by medication or food, but since Gerald wasn't on any new medications that's been ruled out. They say shellfish caused it.”

  “So the closing of Gerald's throat was definitely an allergic reaction.”

  “That's what the autopsy report says. I talked to Dr. Wacker at the clinic about it on Friday. I was trying to deal with my guilt, I guess.”

  Carol had mentioned guilt also. There was a lot of it going around. I said, “It wasn't your fault he had an allergy. But tell me—how soon does this reaction start after eating the forbidden food?”

  “It can start in as little as five to fifteen minutes.”

  The timing was right. “There's nothing you could have done.”

  “You win some and lose some. The best medicine, of course, is preventive. If only the lunch committee had known about Gerald's allergy to shellfish.”

  “I wanted to ask you about that,” I said. “Did anybody know about it?”

  “Carol asked me the same question. Not that I'm aware of. Although she told me it was on his medical record.”

  “So there's a possibility that even if he hadn't talked about it, somebody may have seen his record.”

  “Medical information is supposed to be confidential...”

  “Of course. What kind of a relationship did you have with Gerald?”

  “We were...friends...good friends. But we were not romantically involved.”

  “Dora, did Gerald have any special girlfriends? I know he was chummy with a number of different women.”

  “It sounds like you're conducting a murder investigation.” Dora stood up from the bench where she had been sitting. “You don't suppose that Gerald's death wasn't accidental, do you?”

  “I don't know. It's just suspicious.” I explained about the 13 diamonds.

  Dora reflected. “He was quite close to two women. “One was Harriet Monroe. The other was Ida Wilson.”

  “They were both sitting at his table,” Tess said. “Keeping an eye on each other. I wonder if there was some jealousy there.”

  “I don't see much point in this romantic nonsense at our age,” I said. “Mooning over men like schoolgirls. It isn't as if there were a payoff. All they do is talk, anyway.”

  “As a nurse, I can tell you that's not true,” Dora said. “It's not all talk.”

  “You mean...they indulge?” Tess asked.

  “You mean they have sex?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Dora, said, smiling at our surprise. “You would be amazed at what goes on here at Silver Acres. They may not be as active as they were when they were younger, but that doesn't mean everybody here is celibate.”

  “Like we are,” Tess said. “So there's Viagra in the medicine cabinets.”

  “Peyton Place,” I said. “I'm shocked.” They say older people sometimes forget about sex. I hadn't forgotten about sex; I just didn't want to have sex with the few doddering single men at Silver Acres. But apparently not everyone agreed with me.

  “One of my friends here even tells off-color jokes,” Dora said. “Here's one she told me. A doctor got mad at his wife for some reason so he chewed her out. At the end of his lecture he added for good measure, 'And you're lousy in bed, too.' The next morning he went to his office. He felt badly about the things he had said so he called his wife around noon and asked about her day. She said she was in bed. 'At this hour?' he fumed. 'What in the world are you doing in bed?' She said, 'I'm getting a second opinion.'“

  After we chuckled, Dora said, “Both Harriet and Ida are on the lunch committee. Since you're talking about suspicions, it would make sense that the murderer would have had the opportunity to doctor the food.”

  “Who else is on the lunch committee?” I asked. I probably should have known, but I tend to forget things.

  “At the risk of incriminating myself, I am.”

  “That makes you a suspect,” Tess said, smiling. “Do you want to confess now?”

  Dora laughed. “Well, since we're naming suspects, there is a fourth member of the lunch committee—Ellen Tooner.”

  “Do you remember where Ellen was sitting?” I asked.

  “Why yes,” Dora said. “If I recall, correctly, she was the fourth person at Gerald's table.”

  “Just one more question,” I said, trying to sound offhand, like Columbo. “Which one of you prepared the fatal dish?”

  “We all worked on it,” Dora said. “At Harriet's apartment. We usually meet at one of our apartments before the bridge club and prepare the lunch together. The recipe we were working from didn't call for shellfish. It called for tuna, which is not a shellfish. In fact, I can remember seeing Harriet put the tuna into it. And I was very surprised when I heard about the shellfish being found in it.”

  The three of us stood looking at each other for seconds, not speaking. Finally, Dora said, “I-I didn't make the connection before. I guess that's significant, isn't it?”

  “Monstrously,” Tess said. “Whoever put in the shellfish is the murderer.”

  “If, indeed, there was a murder,” I said.

  Now the others both looked at me. Tess said, “But you're the one propounding the murder theory.”

  “Just playing devil's advocate. Remember that it's only a theory so far.”

  ***

  After leaving Dora, Tess and I walked back to our almost-adjoining apartments, which were in the same one-story brick building. The cozy apartments all had access to the outside. A narrow lawn fronted the building, as did a sidewalk. A section of woods, mostly evergreen trees, bordered the sidewalk, complete with squirrels and birds. As we approached, a regal red cardinal splashed in the birdbath I had set up.

  Tess invited me into her place for a drink. I was always impressed by how homey it was, with knickknacks and personalized furniture arranged to fill up much of the minimal space in the one-bedroom apartment. My apartment, on the other hand, I had furnished for practicality, and it had more open space.

  We sat near the south-facing windows with the drapes drawn to keep the hot sun at bay, sipping iced tea. Fortunately, the air conditioning worked well.

  Tess said, “Now tell me why, after we had what I would call a breakthrough, finding out that the shellfish was apparently put in the casserole secretly, that you reversed yourself by saying that there might not have been a murder after all.”

  “I didn't want Dora to get her guard up,” I said. “Isn't that what real detectives do—disarm their suspects? But it does sound suspicious, doesn't it?”

  “Yes, but Dora isn't really a suspect, is she? She did try to save Gerald. And she told us she didn't know about Gerald's problem or the shellfish.”

  “That's true. But she is a member of the lunch committee. As far as I'm concerned, they're all guilty until proven innocent. And you have to overcome your gullibility, Tess. Don't believe everything you hear.”

  “Then we need to talk to the other members of the lunch committee.”

  “Now you're getting the hang of it. I seem to remember that you're on another committee with Harriet—the Housekeeping Committee, isn't it?”

  “Your memory isn't as bad as you let on.”

  “Don't be too sure. They say that that giant bird, the emu has such a small brain that it can't remember from one day to the next what the world is like. Each morning is a surprise to it. Lately, each morning has been a surprise to me, too.”

  Tess didn't comment, so I said, “Since you know Harriet better than I do, invite her to have dinner with us some night.”

  “And what are you going to do—if you can remember.”

  “Well, I'm in the croquet tournament. And Ellen is on the team we play next. I need to schedule a match with her, anyway, so I'll work on that. Although scheduling these matches, even with only four people invo
lved is so difficult, we might as well live at the far corners of the earth, instead of just around the corner from each other. You wouldn't think retired people would be so busy.”

  “And when are we going to talk to Ida?”

  “She walks her dog each morning, just as I do. Sometimes I run into her.”

  ***

  It was traditional to have a memorial service in the Silver Acres auditorium for a resident who had died. Gerald's was Monday afternoon. Tess and I went, as did all the other members of the bridge club, as nearly as I could tell. Quite a few people were there. Several got up and said kind words about the deceased, which I'm sure made Gerald's spirit happy. Harriet and Ida were not among them. Those two sat at some distance from each other, in black dresses, and silently observed the proceedings. I didn't learn anything of value at the service.

  CHAPTER 5

  On Tuesday, I drove a mile to the local shopping center to buy groceries for the week. Although I ate dinners in the Silver Acres dining room, I prepared my own breakfast and lunch. As I pushed my cart through the aisles of the supermarket I passed the seafood counter. I checked for shellfish, and sure enough, crab legs were on sale. If the sale had been in effect the week before, the murderer must have gotten a deal.

  After I returned to my apartment and put my groceries away I walked to the main building to collect my mail from my mailbox. I stopped at the Silver Acres library, which volunteers had stocked with donations from the residents.

  Out of curiosity, I checked the primitive card catalog and soon found a listing for Gerald's book, Fiat Money Madness, subtitled, Government Printing Presses and World Financial Chaos. I pulled the book off the shelf and went over to the desk where Sylvia, the volunteer director of the library was busily doing whatever librarians do.

  After saying hello to her, I said, “Have you read this book by Gerald Weiss?”

  Sylvia took the book from me and said, “Oh, he's the man who just died, isn't he? I heard he choked to death or something like that. It sounds grisly.” She looked at the book cover. “I'm afraid this sort of thing isn't up my alley. Give me a good mystery, anytime.”

  I considered saying something about grisly mysteries, but decided against it. I checked Gerald's book out, along with a book about food allergies. I wondered whether I would be able to understand Gerald's book, but when I started to read it I found the concepts not difficult, especially with my mathematical background. The premise seemed to be that currencies backed by nothing but government promises became worthless when those promises weren't kept. That certainly had been the case in half-a-dozen third-world countries, recently.

  Could that sort of thing happen in the United States? I remembered the late 1970s when inflation had soared out of control, and shuddered. Although I was far from poor, there were many people my age living on fixed incomes who couldn't afford to think about a repeat of those days.

  ***

  Later, when Tess and I walked into the dining room for dinner, I excused myself and went back to the main hallway near the mailboxes. Gerald's memorial was still there, consisting of a bouquet of flowers, some appropriate words and the hand of 13 diamonds I had supplied. I picked up the cards and put them into my purse.

  When I returned to the dining room Harriet Monroe had arrived and sat talking to Tess. I said hello to Harriet, and one of the uniformed waiters, recruited from the ranks of local college and high school students, led the three of us to a table.

  As we marked our preferences on the menus with the pencils provided, I wondered how best to bring up the subject of Gerald with Harriet. As usual, Tess beat me to it. “Lillian and I want to express our deepest sympathy about Gerald,” Tess said. “It must have been a terrible shock to you.”

  “It was,” Harriet said. “I screamed when his head hit the table. I couldn't believe it was happening.”

  I remembered her scream. I said, “You were good friends with Gerald, weren't you?”

  “Not as good as I would have liked.” Harriet smiled, sadly. “He was such a nice man that he attracted women like a magnet. He always treated me like a lady. Some of the things he did to help me seem small, but I really appreciated them. For example, I can't stand mice. When I had a mouse problem he set some traps for me and then when the mice were caught he disposed of them. But I wasn't the only one he liked. And I'm afraid my accomplishments don't measure up to some of the other people here. After all, I was only a housewife.”

  “Don't say only!” Tess said, irritated. “I was a housewife too. We are indispensable cogs in the wheels of humanity.”

  I thought I saw Harriet's problem. She was a bit tentative; she didn't exude the confidence that many of the women here did. She dressed neatly, but not as sharply as some of the others. Her hairstyle was a bit frumpy, the color a mouse gray. She wasn't quite sure of herself.

  “I understand that Ida Wilson was an attorney,” I said, watching Harriet to get her reaction. “She used to be a prosecutor, didn't she?”

  “I'm not sure what kind of law she practiced,” Harriet said. “All I know is that she's very smart and Gerald liked smart people.” She clicked her teeth together rapidly. I wondered whether they were really her teeth.

  We got up and walked to the salad bar. As I put lettuce on my plate Harriet picked up tomato sections with a pair of tongs. I said, “You're on the lunch committee for the bridge club, aren't you? You must like to cook.”

  “Oh, yes.” Harriet's eyes lit up. “I always loved to cook for my husband, Bruce.”

  I sprinkled bacon bits on my salad and added oil and vinegar. “Did you ever cook a meal for Gerald?”

  Harriet shrugged. “I didn't have an opportunity because we eat all our dinners here in the dining room.”

  Back at the table, I said, “Tell me about the delicious casserole you served at the bridge club.”

  Harriet shuddered. “They say that's what killed Gerald. But there's one thing I don't understand. He was supposed to be allergic to shellfish, but there wasn't any shellfish in the dish. It was a tuna casserole. And I put the tuna in myself.”

  Tess and I looked at each other. She said, “Did you know he was allergic to shellfish before...the lunch?”

  “No,” she said, softly.

  “You made the casserole in your apartment, didn't you?” I said.

  Harriet nodded. “The other committee members helped me.”

  “Did you carry it to the recreation room yourself?”

  “Yes. I don't see how the shellfish could have gotten into it. Maybe Gerald ate some crab or something before the meeting.”

  Tess said, “He wouldn't have done that because he knew he was allergic to it. He had put it on his medical profile.”

  “Oh.” Harriet looked confused. “Now I remember. He asked me what was in the casserole and I told him. Of course I didn't mention shellfish. I didn't think anything of it at the time.” Tears came to her eyes. “I told him wrong.”

  “It wasn't your fault,” Tess said, placing a consoling hand on Harriet's arm. We'd been saying that a lot lately.

  “Do you have a good recipe for lasagna?” I asked, putting on a cheerful voice. “We're always talking about serving it at our family dinners on Sundays, but nobody knows how to make it.”

  “Why yes,” Harriet said. “My husband had Italian ancestors through his mother's side and he loved Italian cooking.”

  We spent the rest of dinner talking about good food that didn't kill anybody.

  CHAPTER 6

  Every morning about sunrise I walked King a mile around the perimeter road of Silver Acres. On Wednesday morning I started before the sun rose so it was still relatively cool out. Relatively. But at least bearable for King, with her Arctic coat.

  Two cute bunnies sat on the grass near the road, insolently staring at King and not showing any fear. I had trained King to ignore them when she was on a leash. However, if a bunny had the temerity to show itself on Albert's farm when she was there it would be gone in a couple of bites. />
  I walked clockwise around Silver Acres. Ida Wilson, Gerald's other “girlfriend,” walked counter-clockwise. I knew there must be a psychological reason why some people walked clockwise and others counter-clockwise, but none of the scholarly residents had written a paper about it.

  I had not seen Ida since Gerald's death, one week before, but this morning she appeared out of the dawn shadows, heading toward me, her little dog scuttling ahead. This dustmop had attempted to attack King in the past so I kept a tight hold on King's leash, fearing the repercussions if she ever forgot her pledge to be good.

  Usually Ida and I said hello and kept going, but I stopped after our greetings and said, “How are you getting along?”

  “All right.”

  Ida's dog pulled on its leash and yapped at King, who stood just beyond its reach; King didn't acknowledge its existence. Ida was taller than my above-average height, and heavier, and could easily control the pup, but I backed up a couple of steps since Ida didn't seem inclined to pull her dog away, and the beast, apparently annoyed at being ignored, yapped louder and strained harder.

  I searched for words of condolence and finally said, “Gerald's death was such a shame.”

  “A shame? Gerald's death was criminal!”

  The force of Ida's words hit me like a strong gust of wind. I recovered my balance and asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “You must have heard that the crab in the casserole killed him. That was no accident.”

  Not having expected this response, I quickly reevaluated my approach. I said, “I heard it was shellfish. Why do you think it was crab?”

  “I checked at the market. Crab legs are on sale there. It adds up.”

  Was she playing detective too? “But why do you say it was no accident?”

  “Isn't it obvious? Whoever put the crab in the casserole was trying to kill Gerald.”

  “I thought nobody knew about his allergy to shellfish.”