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.”
