Chapter 19 #2
I spent the drive going over the case in my head, fitting the pieces together in different ways.
Had I overlooked anything? Was there another solution?
Another suspect I hadn’t thought of? Was it possible that Anastasia was lying and she actually had shot Griselda, and the story about someone trying to get into the house was just that: a story?
Yes, of course it was possible. I only had Anastasia’s word for what had happened. So it could be a lie.
But what would be her reason for wanting Griselda dead?
The only person who had a solid motive for that was Araminta. And the only person who had showed up for the money drop at the Arena was Araminta.
Everything pointed to Araminta. No matter how I turned the pieces of evidence around and tried to put them together in different ways, I came back to Araminta.
The first thing I saw when I drove into the parking lot of the assisted living facility was Mendoza’s car.
Or not the first thing. I saw a lot of other cars first, along with several spindly trees and dry grass.
But I did see a car that looked like Mendoza’s, parked in one of the visitor slots. It was the right color, with Davidson County government plates, and the extra antennae and mirrors that differentiate plain police cars from regular cars.
I pulled the Lexus into the slot next to it and got out. And peered through the window of the sedan.
It was empty. If it was Mendoza’s, there was no way to tell for sure.
I headed into the lobby and over to the desk. “I’d like to see Araminta Tucker, please.”
The nurse behind the desk squinted at me. “Weren’t you here the other day?”
I nodded.
She began tapping on her computer, and soon spat out another sticker with my face on it. She handed it across the counter. “She already has someone in with her.”
I had suspected as much. “Good looking cop named Mendoza?”
She nodded.
“He won’t mind,” I said glibly. “I’m meeting him here.”
She looked doubtful, but I guess there wasn’t much she could do to stop me. I headed down the hallway to the elevators.
Between you and me, I didn’t know whether Mendoza would mind me showing up or not. It depended entirely on what he was doing here, and whether he’d gotten my voicemails.
If he had, he was probably expecting me. If he hadn’t, he might not be happy to see me.
Did he know that Araminta was suspect number one in Griselda’s murder?
I had to assume he did, whether he’d gotten my voicemails or not.
I mean, he wasn’t stupid. Solving murders was his profession.
He was the one who had pointed out her motive in the first place.
And if I could figure out that Konstantin and Yuri hadn’t shot Griselda, and that Anastasia might not have, Mendoza certainly could figure out the same thing.
So was he here to arrest her? To look for a confession?
The elevator stopped on Araminta’s floor, and the doors slid open.
I stepped out into the hallway and headed for her room.
Like last time, I could hear the TV from yards away, but this time, the connotation was more sinister.
What if the TV was on so loudly to drown out any noises Mendoza might be making as he choked to death on a cookie?
The door was open a crack. I peered through the opening.
Araminta was sitting, pretty as you please, on the sofa facing the TV.
Mendoza had his back to me, but I could see his head above the back of the wingback chair I’d occupied the last time—and first time—I was here.
Between them on the coffee table was a plate of what looked like scones, and two dainty cups of tea on saucers.
As I watched, Mendoza grabbed a scone and lifted it to his mouth.
“Nooooo!”
I pushed the door open and launched myself through the air, knocking the scone out of his hand and taking him down to the floor while I was at it. His head grazed the corner of the coffee table going down, and when I ended up on top of him on the floor, he blinked up at me, confused.
He has very pretty eyes, in case I neglected to mention that.
“Tsk, tsk.”
Araminta clicked her tongue, and I tore my attention away from Mendoza’s face—with a touch of difficulty—to look at her. “Sorry. I thought there might be something wrong with the scone.”
Mendoza closed his eyes in what looked like pain. I wasn’t sure whether it was because of the head wound or what I said.
Probably the latter.
“Dear me,” Araminta said, clucking. She unwound herself from the sofa and bent to peer down at Mendoza. “Is he all right? Do you need help?”
“I think we’re all right.” I removed myself from on top of Mendoza. It wasn’t easy, in the confined space between the chair and the coffee table. “He hit his head. I think he could use a Band-Aid.”
“I’ll get one.” Araminta bustled out, through the doorway into the rest of the apartment. I extended a hand to Mendoza, who eyed it without favor and proceeded to right himself without my help.
“Sorry,” I said.
He sighed. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Kelly?”
I sat down on the chair he’d been forced to vacate and watched as he pulled himself up on the now-empty sofa. “Did you get my messages?”
“Yes,” Mendoza said. He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but thought better of it. The little trickle of blood at his temple made him look very rakish, although I was sorry to see that he was a touch paler than usual.
I grabbed a napkin and extended it across the table. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. But I was afraid the scone might be poisoned.”
“The scones are fine,” Mendoza said. “I’ve already had one.”
“And you feel all right?” In that case, I wouldn’t mind one myself. They looked good.
I reached for the one Mendoza had dropped—might as well pick it up off the floor—as Mendoza said, “I did. Until you showed up.”
“I said I was sorry.” I took a bite of the scone. It tasted great. Almond and raspberry, unless I was mistaken.
It crossed my mind that there was some old poison that tasted like almonds—arsenic, maybe? Or strychnine? The kind you read about in old murder mysteries—but if Mendoza said the scones were all right, I’d take his word for it. “This is good.”
He nodded. “So what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t get you on the phone,” I said, around the bite of scone. “I figured you were still sitting in on the interviews with the Russians. So I thought I’d come down here and… um…”
I swallowed, since I didn’t exactly know how to end the sentence. I mean, I had told him what I thought on the phone. It wasn’t hard to figure out that I was here to see if I could discover whether Araminta was guilty.
“Uh-huh,” Mendoza said dryly.
“I was just trying to help.”
“And I’m grateful.”
He didn’t sound grateful. I took another bite of the scone so I wouldn’t say so. “Anything new on the Russian front?”
“No,” Mendoza said. “Anything new on your end?”
“Nothing I didn’t already tell you by voicemail.” I popped the rest of the scone in my mouth and chewed. “That was really good.”
“Thank you, dear,” Araminta said from the doorway. “Have some tea.”
I wouldn’t mind if I did. Except Mendoza shook his head.
“No?”
“Remember what happened last time?”
I did remember what happened last time. There’d been something in the iced tea. “Maybe some other time,” I told Araminta over my shoulder. “Thanks, though.”
She made a face. “Then I’m afraid I’ll just have to shoot you.” She glanced at Mendoza. “And you.”
He made himself more comfortable on the sofa. “No Band-Aid?”
“I’m afraid I forgot to look,” Araminta said. “About the gun…”
It was in her hand, where it looked very big and scary, although that might have been because she had very small hands.
“It’s the one you used to kill Griselda,” I said, “right?”
The words hitched a little, I admit it. I was scared, and it was hard to breathe. It isn’t every day a girl is faced with a gun, and a woman with nothing much left to lose.
Then again, I’d been faced with a gun less than twelve hours ago, too, and had lived to tell the tale. And Mendoza didn’t seem worried.
Araminta nodded. “Yes, dear. It was Patton’s gun. It came to me when he passed.”
Of course it had. “And you decided that now would be a good time to kill your sister-in-law?”
“I’d been thinking about it for a while,” Araminta said calmly. “For the money, you know. Places like this don’t come cheap.”
She waved a hand at her surroundings. It was the hand with the gun, and I think both Mendoza and I held our breath until she’d lowered it again.
“Patton didn’t leave me much, you understand. Griselda was the one with the money. And she was happy to share it with Patton, but when he died and it was just me… well, it was a very different story.”
“So you decided to get rid of her. And inherit.”
She nodded. “I’ve thought about it for years. But the time never seemed right. I couldn’t make it too obvious, you understand.”
I nodded. “Of course not. You didn’t want it to look like you were behind it. It had to look like someone else did it.”
She beamed. “Exactly, dear. I knew you’d understand.”
Oh, sure. I smiled back. “So when Steven called and wanted to rent the house for Anastasia, you saw your chance.”
“They made it so obvious, they might as well have come straight out and talked about the Russian mafia.” She shook her head, clucking. “There was no way they’d go to the police. And she was probably illegal, anyway. Nobody would believe that she didn’t do it. It made perfect sense.”
“So you drove over there, and… you have a car, I assume?”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course, dear. This isn’t prison, you know. I come and go as I please. And I’m not so old yet that they’ve taken away my driver’s license.”
No, physically there didn’t seem to be much wrong with her. Her eyesight was obviously good, and so was her mind. Even if it was a little unhinged.
“So you went there, and you knocked on the door, and when Griselda opened it—which she would do, even late at night, seeing as you were her sister-in-law and someone she trusted—you shot her.”
Araminta nodded. “And went next door to spook the Russian girl into taking off. It wouldn’t do for her to be there the next morning, or whenever the body was found.”
Of course not. “And then, when I showed up and told you Steven was missing, too, I guess you got the idea for the ransom note?”
She looked very pleased, with me for catching on, or with herself for thinking of it.
Or both. “It seemed like such a golden opportunity. It might take a while for the insurance company to pay out under the circumstances—not that anyone in their right mind would suspect me of having had anything to do with it!—and I could use a little cash to tide me over until I got the insurance money. And you did say your friend is an attorney. I thought she must be able to afford it.”
“You know,” I said, “when I saw you at the Arena last night, I didn’t suspect you at all. I thought it was a coincidence.”
Mendoza arched his brows at me, and I added, “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it was important. Sorry.”
He didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes. Araminta snickered. “I saw you both, of course. And realized I wouldn’t be getting the money. But at least I could get away clean. Nobody ever suspects a little old lady of anything bad.”
“How do you plan to get away now?” I asked, curiously. “I mean, you just confessed.”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m just waiting for the poison in the scones to kick in, dear.”
There was poison in the scones?
I turned to Mendoza. “You said the scones were fine.”
He shrugged. “Guess I was wrong.”
Guess so. “What kind of poison?” I asked Araminta.
She waved her hand vaguely. The one with the gun. “Something from Griselda’s medicine cabinet. Heart medicine, maybe? She always had a rotten heart.”
It sounded like that particular affliction was going around. “So what kind of symptoms are you waiting for?”
“I’m not sure, dear. I thought you might get woozy, but you don’t seem to be.” She furrowed her brows. “Perhaps another scone?”
“I’m not really hungry anymore,” I said. “How about you just tie us to the furniture instead, and take off while you can? You don’t have to wait. And with the TV on so loudly, nobody’s likely to hear us scream even if you don’t get the gags just right.”
She nodded pensively. “That’s a good idea.”
“You can use my scarf.” I pulled it from around my neck and held it out to her.
“Thank you, dear.” She took a step forward and reached for it. I kicked the gun out her other hand.
It went flying through the air and hit the floor with a loud noise. It wasn’t until I heard an electric sizzle, and then a crack before everything went silent, that I realized the gun had gone off on impact and shot the big screen TV.
The bullet must have passed within a few inches of the top of my head.
Not that I had much time to think about it.
Like me earlier, Mendoza had launched himself across the coffee table, and had landed on top of Araminta.
Unlike me earlier, she didn’t seem to enjoy the proximity.
She was shrieking like a banshee, and beating at him with her fists.
And he was handicapped by the fact that while he had her by ten inches and probably seventy pounds, she was a little old lady with fragile bones, and if he broke any, she’d probably holler about police brutality.
He got her turned around, though, and her screams muffled in the Persian rug, so he could fit handcuffs around her skinny wrists. They had to be adjusted to their smallest circumference, or she’d be able to just slip her hands right out through them.
He hauled her upright and onto the sofa while she was still wailing. “You have the right to remain silent…”
“So now what?” I asked when he had gone through the appropriate motions.
He glanced at me. “I’ll call the Williamson County sheriff and have her picked up. We’re in his jurisdiction. Then we’ll have her transferred to Nashville, since most of her crimes were committed there.”
“I’m more concerned about me and you,” I said. “And dying from ingesting Griselda’s heart medicine.”
“I feel fine,” Mendoza told me, “but the bathroom’s down the hall, if you want to go stick a finger down your throat.”
I felt fine, too, now that it was over. But I thought maybe I’d make a short trip to the bathroom anyway. If nothing else, I could make sure I hadn’t accidentally wet myself when the gun went off. And maybe I could find a Band-Aid for Mendoza, while I was at it. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded and reached for his phone. “I’ll be here.”