Page 93 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

Lana looked at her daughter. She squeezed her fingers into the doorjamb. She and Beth had never been close enough to read between each other’s lines. The question was pounding inside her head. But she couldn’t ask it out loud. Not yet.

“We’re close to the killer,” Lana said instead. “It has something to do with those plans, that project. I can feel it.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk to the sheriff, then. Keep everyone safe.”

“I will. Once I know what it all means. One way or another, everything will be over soon.” She stepped through the dark doorway. “I love you, Beth.”

“I love you too,” Beth said. But the door to the bedroom was already closed.

Chapter Forty-Two

Lana rolled into a visitor’s spot at Bayshore Oaks the next day at eleven, just as the sun was breaking through the coastal fog. She was finally getting her energy back. Either that, or she’d just hit the time of the month when the chemo took a break from ramming her into a wall on repeat. She’d know more when she got the results from yesterday’s MRI and PET scans.

Before leaving the car, Lana straightened her suit. She touched up her lipstick and the heavy concealer she used to cover the fading bruises from the fire. There was no way she’d let anyone clock her for a potential resident of Bayshore Oaks.

Lana clicked her way down the antiseptic hallway to the nursing station, where Beth was listening to a tiny, animated woman with pink hair and a turquoise strapless evening gown. The older woman appeared to be berating her daughter, and Beth was using the Formica counter as a shield.

“Beth, I swear to you, Dr. Ramcharan says I have the heart of a seventeen-year-old! Not joking!”

“You sure he didn’t say ‘seventy’?” Beth asked.

“No!” Miss Gigi said. “SevenTEEN. It is the candles my Angela lights at Our Lady of Virtues for me every week.”

“I am happy for you. But you still need to take your lunchtime pills.”

“Why do they make the pills so huge? Why can’t they make them easy to swallow, like Tic Tacs?”

“I know it’s a pain, but . . .”

“My back is a pain. Left hip is a pain. Giant pills are just stupid.”

Lana found herself agreeing with the wrinkled mermaid on this one. She’d often wondered if there was some kind of business opportunity in manufacturing miniature, coated cancer pills. Even taking a handful of small ones would be better than some of the whoppers she choked down every day. Lana stepped up to the counter, careful to stay out of range of the sparkly woman’s long press-on nails.

Beth looked up. “Ma?”

“I brought you lunch.” Lana put the brown paper bag on the counter, the Moon Valley Café logo stamped on its side.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have coverage today to eat with you—”

“Of course. You’re busy. I just wanted to bring you something.”

Beth stared dumbfounded at the bag with its twisted hemp handles. Her mother had never brought her lunch. Ever. Beth had started making her own sandwiches in the first grade, graduating from peanut butter and jelly to turkey, lettuce, and tomato when she reached middle school. She kept granola bars in her locker, well aware no one was bringing her a replacement if she forgot her lunch at home.

Miss Gigi used one long fingernail to inspect the bag’s contents.

“Moon Valley. Very nice.” She nodded. “You get the triple tri-tip sandwich? The best.”

Lana looked at Beth. “Are you going to introduce me to your . . . friend?”

“Ma, this is Miss Gigi Montero. Miss Gigi, this is my mother. Lana.”

The mermaid beamed at Lana. “Your mother? Ha! More like a sister. Why have I never met you before?”

Lana smiled back. “I live in Los Angeles.”

“Very nice. Good market for 7-Elevens, always busy, even three, four a.m.”

“Miss Gigi owns convenience stores,” Beth said.