Murder Is Uncooperative (18 page)

“Gwen and I. And Aaron. But I don't know what happened.”

“She was unconscious. And she'd been sick,” Gwen offered. “The office was locked. She could have been in there all night for all I know. Poor little thing.”

I smiled at the expression Gwen had used. She was tall, but Ruth had still towered over her. But I knew what she meant. Ruth was very young.

Is
very young,
I reminded myself. I didn't know for sure she was dead. But I had seen her. I was sure.

“First Les dies and then this happens to Ruth,” she went on. “I really don't know what's going on.”

“You know,” I said. “There's this homeless woman that hangs around here. She just showed me a dead rat in the back lane. She seemed to think that the rat had been poisoned. And
I'm not sure, she wasn't really clear, but she might have been saying that Ruth was poisoned too.”

Gwen gasped in surprise, but D'Onofrio looked thoughtful. “Well, it's certainly strange that things keep happening to your staff. We're still investigating Mr. Walter's death, and we're thinking he was murdered. And now this happens. I'm going to ask you to keep the office closed until I find out what happened. Don't touch anything.”

“But there's vomit everywhere. Ruth must have vomited a lot, and then Aaron threw up when we found her. We should clean up.”

D'Onofrio's phone rang then, and he moved away to take the call. His face was grim when he hung up. “We checked with the hospital. She didn't make it. The autopsy will show for sure, but the emergency room doctor thinks she may have been poisoned.

“Don't touch anything,” D'Onofrio repeated. “You better show me this rat.”

I led the sergeant around the back of the building, pointing out the bushes where the rat lay.

He pushed the branches aside and glanced at it. “I see,” he said. “Well, a dead rat in an alley is not really surprising, but I suppose it might be related. I'll get one of the technicians to pick it up, and we'll test it. Who did you say showed it to you?”

There was no sign of Betty, but I imagined she might be leery of authority figures. “It's this woman I've seen around the co-op. I think she's homeless, at least she's always pushing a shopping cart around the neighborhood. She told me someone had poisoned the rat and that they had poisoned Ruth too.

“At least, I think that's what she was saying. She wasn't really clear, you know. I think she has mental health problems, so who knows if she's just imagining things.”

“We'll look into it. What did you say her name was?”

“Betty,” I answered. “She said Betty, but I thought for a moment she was going to say something else.”

“Okay, we'll try to track her down.”

He gave me a serious look, and I found myself staring back into those golden eyes.

“You know,” he said. “One of your neighbors pointed out that all the trouble with the co-op staff started after you moved in. Do you have any explanation for that?”

I sighed. “I know I seem to have gotten on the wrong side of a few people, but I can assure you at least some of my neighbors like me,” I answered quickly.

I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I'm sure,” he replied.

“And I know Les's death and now Ruth's happened after I moved in. But I had nothing to do with either of them.” I took a deep breath. “You know, you asked me at one point about a plaque and whether I'd touched something like that. I guess I should have told you earlier, but I do remember touching something like that . . . not on the day I found Les though,” I went on quickly, seeing he was about to speak, “but earlier, before I moved into the co-op. I tripped over a metal plate in the office, and I moved it. I don't know if it's the same thing you were talking about.”

“Sounds like it,” D'Onofrio said. “You're right, you really should have told me this earlier. That's why I gave you my card, in case you had anything to add to what you told me.”

“I'm sorry.” I stopped. I didn't really have any excuse for not telling him. “I know I should have called you. But that happened months ago. I don't know how long fingerprints last. I probably touched a bunch of things that day. And I suppose I also touched all sorts of things in the office when we were trying to save Les. It's all a bit of a blur.”

“Yes, well, our forensics people did find your fingerprints on a bunch of things in the office. Including the plaque we think he was hit with. But I'm told they weren't in the right position to have struck that kind of blow. And they were covered up by a number of other marks, so they seem to agree with your story that they were made earlier. “

I sighed with relief. “You know . . .” I began. “You know there was another murder in this building, years ago. A teenage girl. At least, I don't know if she was murdered in the co-op. Her body wasn't found here. But apparently this is where she was last seen.”

D'Onofrio frowned. “Yes, we did a search on other events in the building, and the background of some of the people who live here. So we know about it. Are you saying it's related?”

“I don't know. I don't see why it would be. It was a long time ago. But I've been working on a history of the co-op, and I just found out about it through old newspaper clippings in a bunch of papers. And Ruth had mentioned that Les has been looking through the old co-op files and had been worried about something. I wanted to find out if whatever was troubling Les was related to his death. But then I found this note, a warning.”

“A warning?”

“It said, 'This is none of your business. Stay out of it.' But the thing is I didn't see it the first time I went through the papers. But I might have just missed it. I wondered if someone had been threatening Les.”

I didn't add the other possibility, but it was clear to D'Onofrio. “Or someone was warning you,” he said. “You're not trying to play some amateur sleuth, are you? Miss Marple? Or Nancy Drew? I guess you're a little young for Miss Marple.”

I laughed, in spite of his serious look. “Well, I'm a bit old to be a teenage detective, so Nancy Drew isn't really appropriate either. And I'm not trying to do your job. But I used to be a reporter, and I guess I can't help being curious. And trying to find out what happened.”

“Well, you better give me this note you found. And I wouldn't advise trying to do my job,” D'Onofrio said. “Believe it or not, I'm actually quite good at it. And I wouldn't want you to get involved. People are dying. You could be in danger.”

I knew that, in the mystery novels my mother had been so fond of, cops are always warning the amateur sleuths to stay out of the investigation. Maybe it was just wishful thinking but I
thought I heard a more personal concern in D'Onofrio's voice when he added, “I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.”

Ruth's funeral was eerily similar to Les's. The same church, same minister. I drove Gwen and Mariana to the service and found many of the same people there. Gwen and I were wearing the same dark suits. I was sure we would find many of the same women serving tea at the reception after the service.

But the differences were heartbreaking. Where Ruth had been with her mother at Les's funeral, today her mother, Carol, walked to the front of the church escorted by a middle-aged woman who seemed to be almost holding her up. Carol's face was haggard. I could almost see Ruth's tall, slim ghost following her mother to the front of the church.

There were more people attending this funeral. Some younger people, likely friends of Ruth, sat together. They whispered quietly, their faces streaked with tears. They looked uncomfortable, unfamiliar with the funeral service.

I hadn't seen Aaron at Les's service, but he was here for Ruth's. I saw his bulky frame a few rows in front of us. His partner, Kevin, sat beside him. I caught sight of D'Onofrio as he slipped into the back of the church just as the service started. He nodded at me, with what might have been a smile on his face. I smiled back and then turned around quickly as the music started.

I had hoped to get through the service without breaking down the way I had at Les's funeral. But I thought of the way Ruth had moved around after the service for Les, organizing things and greeting people in a friendly manner. Then I remembered finding
her body in the vomit-covered office. It was hard enough losing my mother, but I couldn't imagine the grief Carol must feel at losing her daughter. Tears filled my eyes, and I tried to wipe them away. Gwen patted my hand. Mariana reached over and placed her arm around my shoulders. They were comforting gestures, but they reminded me again that my mother was gone. I could feel the tears spilling over and running down my cheeks.

“Do you want to leave?” Mariana whispered to me.

I shook my head. “No, I'm okay,” I whispered back. “I just can't stop thinking about poor Ruth. And Carol. I can't imagine what Carol must be going through.”

I suddenly remembered that she had lost her daughter too, if she was really Amy's mother. But she didn't say anything. She simply patted my arm in a motherly way, and we turned our attention back to the service. I would have to try to be more tactful. I wouldn't want to bring up painful memories for Mariana.

The reception after the service was more crowded than Les's had been. There were the same sandwiches, the same women from the church serving tea. But it was livelier and noisier. The young people were shocked and grief-stricken. They cried as they hugged each other. But their natural exuberance soon took over and they started to chat together, sending text messages to friends who were not there and reading them to each other.

“Could you excuse me for just a minute?” Gwen said. “I just want to check if they need any help in the kitchen.” She hurried off to the other end of the hall.

I turned to Mariana. She was wearing a black suit today, very different from the flowered purple dress she had worn to Les's service. The color was a bit too harsh for her complexion and the fabric stretched tightly against her hips. The purple had been more flattering on her but maybe she had decided it was too bright for
a funeral. Or maybe it was just at the cleaners or in the wash. Or maybe she just wanted to wear something different.

“You both brought baking again,” I said. “Do you think I should have brought something?”

She shrugged. “There seems to be plenty of food, although with all these young people it might go fast. It's too late to worry about more now. And I hope we won't be going to many more funerals. Gwen and I both like to cook. She's always bringing cakes or cookies to the co-op meetings.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Ruth mentioned that Gwen quite often brought stuff for the office staff to eat. In fact, I think she had brought something the last time I talked to Ruth.”

I spoke without thinking but Mariana's gasp made we realize what I had just said.

“Did you mention that to the police?” she asked.

“No, of course not. I'd forgotten until just now.” I could feel myself growing cold. “But I don't even know for sure if Gwen gave her anything the day she died.”

“But she could have. It's worth finding out,” Mariana insisted.

“Even if she did, there couldn't have been anything wrong with food that Gwen brought. That's ridiculous.”

“She wouldn't do anything intentionally, I'm sure. But people get food poisoning all the time, in restaurants or wherever. You're always hearing about food recalls. I'm sure there are lots of things that could go wrong when you're buying ingredients or cooking.”

“That's a comforting thought!”

“I still think you should mention it to that handsome young police officer. He might be around. I saw him at the service

Gwen bustled up then, dusting off her hands.

“Everything seems to be under control in there. I don't know why I even asked. Those women from the church do these kinds of things all the time. They must be experts by now. I did put out another plate of the pastries I brought. The other ones were all gone.”

She stopped talking and looked at us.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Gwen,” I asked. “Did you bring any food to Ruth on the last day she was in the office, the day before we found her?”

“Yes, of course.” She looked at Mariana. “You know I like to bring treats to meetings, and quite often I brought something to the staff. On that day I knew she was working very hard, trying to do her job and Les's. I knew it would be hard for her. I left some muffins for her in the office, with a little note to thank her. I stopped in later to ask if I could make her something for lunch but she said she had enough.”

She smiled at us tentatively. “Why are you asking?”

“Gwen,” I asked. “Is there any chance there was something in the muffins that made Ruth sick?”

“What? No, of course not. Do you think she died because of my muffins? There was nothing wrong with them. I ate some myself for breakfast. They were lovely.” She was talking faster and I could tell she was very upset.

“Unless she had allergies. Let me think. Did I use nuts in those muffins? No, I'm sure not. So many people have allergies.”

I patted her arm. “No, I'm sure it's not your fault. But perhaps you should mention it to Sergeant D'Onofrio. They're probably trying to sort out what Ruth ate that day. But just to rule it out.”

“I'll find him right now. I saw him earlier. I'll see if he's still here.”

She hurried away.

“Hi, fellow co-op members.” Jeremy had come up behind us. “What's up?”

“I believe Rebecca just accused Gwen of killing Ruth,” Mariana said. “Excuse me. I think I'll go find her and see if she's all right.”

Jeremy was looking at me with a curious look on his face. “What's she talking about?”

“It appears Gwen baked some muffins for Ruth the morning before she died.”

“What? But that's just Gwen. She's always baking things. If I ate all the stuff she brings to the board meetings, I'd weigh 300 pounds. But no way she'd hurt Ruth.”