Page 81 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

“Did he have a reason to kill Ricardo Cruz?”

“I don’t think so. But he’s hiding something about that Fruitful business. Maybe he and Ricardo were secret partners? I think I’d have caught on if Paul was lying about knowing Ricardo. But what if . . . what if I’m wrong?”

Beth stared dumbfounded at her mother. Lana stared back, her eyes wide. Her hands twisted the dishrag into a tight rope, first one direction, then the other.

“It’s not like I’m an expert at this,” Lana said softly.

Both women looked over to the couch. Jack was bobbing her head to the music.

“Maybe we could just keep an extra eye on her the next few days,” Beth said. “Make sure she gets to school and home okay. I already told her I wasn’t sure about her going back to work this weekend.”

“She won’t like that,” Lana said.

“I think she understood where I was coming from.” Beth shook her head. “We’re in this whether we want to be or not, aren’t we? Ricardo. Mr. Rhoads. It’s like we never had a choice.”

Was that true? Lana felt like she’d plunged in headfirst, without thinking about how it might affect her girls. But Beth wasn’t looking at her with anger or accusation. Beth didn’t even look scared. She looked resigned. Calm.

Lana tried to emulate her daughter. She cleared her throat. “I was thinking tomorrow I could make keftedes,” Lana said in a loud, confident voice. “Greek meatballs with yogurt sauce. I remember it was always your favorite.”

“When I was eight,” Beth said. “The last time you cooked dinner.”

“Well. I feel like a thank-you meal from me is overdue.”

“Martin Rhoads asked me to meet him for a drink tomorrow.” Beth started stacking bowls to take to the sink. “I was wondering if you’d want me to go.”

Lana looked at Beth, surprised. “Are you offering to go on a date for me?”

“Ma . . .”

Lana decided not to push it.

“That would be great,” Lana said. “And I’m having lunch with Diana tomorrow after my scans. I think she’s really starting to trust me. When you talk to Martin, make sure to ask him about the doctor. And the creek. And Paul.”

“That’s a lot to pack into a beer, Ma.”

“Hmpf. I’d give it a try.”

Beth smiled. She looked back over at Jack, who was still in her own world on the couch. “Perhaps you could apply your prodigious talents to find out exactly what Paul Hanley’s up to.”

Lana nodded. It was time to dig deeper on Mr. Fruitful. If her granddaughter was working for a murderer, she’d kill him.

Chapter Thirty-Six

There was nothing the residents of Bayshore Oaks enjoyed more than pointing out the deficiencies of the facility to which they had been confined. The checkers in the game room were chipped. The strawberry shortcake was served with Cool Whip and yellow cake instead of fresh whipped cream and biscuits. And they never, ever got their packages on time.

On this last issue, they might have had a point. The mail room was managed on a volunteer basis by a rotating group of residents, a mix of nearsighted bureaucrats and busybodies. After a Mother’s Day fiasco of bungled deliveries, the group decided each package should be cross-checked by no fewer than three volunteers to ensure it reached the correct destination.

In this case, however, it appeared a volunteer had taken matters into her own home-manicured hands. Beth entered Gigi Montero’s room for her infusion and found a manila envelope lying on the bed. It was thick, oversize. And addressed to Hal Rhoads.

“Miss Gigi?” Beth called out.

There was a low grunt from the bathroom.

“All right in there?”

“Beth! The devil is testing me.” There was a shuffle, a bonk, and then Gigi threw the door open in triumph. She gave Beth a brilliant smile and waved a bottle of nail polish in the air. “But today is not his day.”

The tiny woman’s pink hair was perfectly curled. A black sweatsuit hugged her birdlike frame, the words “Auntie Power” looping in silver puff paint across her chest. Beth looked down at her own blue-and-beige scrubs, feeling underdressed for the occasion.