“Did she always meet up with your group, or did she have other friends?” Danny asks and I sit back, watching him with a small smile playing on my lips. Although I still need to have a conversation with Trudy, it’s easier for me to just let Danny ask his questions.
“She always stayed with us,” Trudy answers. “We kept her safe. She had a tendency to wander off the minute you weren’t watching.” She shakes her head. “Her carers always had their hands full with her.”
“Were they always the same carers?”
“Usually the same three,” Trudy replies. “That sweet girl, Jane, and Derek, of course, and–”
“Polina,” Violet finishes for her.
“That’s right, Polina.” Trudy turns back to Danny. “Everyone adored Delores. That’s not to say she wasn’t hard work, but it was her illness, not her. Delores was always the kindest, sweetest person you could ever know. Her sister, on the other hand, is as selfish as they come.”
“I heard her sister was out of the country.”
“Is she? Again?” Trudy rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t surprise me. Now I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, but she’s always hopped from one man to the next to fund her lifestyle.” Her voice drops as she leans in closer. “Did you know that when Delores was first diagnosed, her sister tried to get power of attorney so she could access her money?”
“Did she?” Danny tilts his head. “Did she stand to inherit much when Delores passed?”
“Oh heavens, no.” Trudy shakes her head. “I doubt there’s a single penny left. Delores wasn’t a rich woman by any means, and what little she did have was taken by the government to pay for her care. At that point, her sister didn’t even bother to pretend she cared.”
“Unlike Larry,” Danny prompts.
“Ah, Larry.” Trudy smiles. “She loved Delores more than she did her own mother, I imagine. Delores doted on her from the moment she was born, while her mother ignored her in favour of her men.”
“She never wanted children of her own?” I pipe up, seeing an opportunity. “Delores, I mean.”
“It just wasn’t in the cards, I suppose,” Trudy replies, lost in thought. “She was very close to my children too. I think she’d have made an incredible mother, but her marriage didn’t last, and I think they both thought they were too old by that point anyway.”
“Larry said her marriage didn’t work out,” I say, subtly fishing for information. “Was there never anyone else?”
“Not that I know of,” she answers carefully, and I watch as her mouth tightens into a sharp line. Oh yeah, she definitely knows something.
“Shame,” I mutter.
“Found her.” Dusty reappears, holding onto Delores tightly. “What did I miss?” I don’t know why she asks, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s not like I can answer her in front of everyone without them thinking I’m crazy.
“Ladies and gents,” the man on the platform calls out, wincing as the microphone squeals again loudly. “Sorry for the small delay. The cage got stuck and I couldn’t turn my balls.”
I don’t need to look to know that snort came from Dusty.
“Right then.” The man on the stage smiles widely. “Everyone got your dabbers and cards at the ready?”
I turn to see several of the old ladies reaching in their purses and setting out in front of them an impressive array of bingo daubers in a myriad of bright colours and glitter.
“Wow,” Danny mutters under his breath. “They take it very seriously, don't they?”
“Like an Olympic sport,” I agree.
I only know because my friend Henrietta from work has dragged me along several times with some of the rest of the staff from the mortuary. She says it’s a fun team-building experience, but I now know it can go from light-hearted fun to cat fight in seconds.
“Okay then, here we go,” the man on the platform announces. I watch in amusement as he grasps the handle of the small barrel-shaped wire cage and turns it slowly. The numbered ping-pong balls tumble around for a moment or two until he’s sure everyone’s primed and then he stops and pops the door open, pulling out a ball at random as he clears his throat.
“All the threes… thirty-three,” he announces.
Suddenly everyone’s heads are bent over their cards, blotting out the numbers with their brightly coloured felt-tip daubers.
“Knock at the door… number four.”
The whole room quiets down and I get the feeling we’re not going to get much more out of them. I have no doubt Danny will find out who killed Delores, but deep down in my gut I get the feeling that’s not what’s keeping her here. It may be what’s keeping her locked in a death cycle and unable to effectively communicate with me, but I think she’s trying. The same song she keeps humming and the name Beau, the only word she’s spoken. Not to mention the photo. I know I’m onto something. I just need to figure out how to get Trudy on her own and get her to open up.
