Naval Gazing: SILVER HILLS COZY MYSTERIES, #6

CHAPTER ONE

FLO STOPPED DEAD IN her tracks, a cry of horror on her lips. She looked around for Agnes but didn’t see her in the crowded lobby. Her knees buckled beneath her and she covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

The floor of the lobby was covered in boxes and furniture. It looked as if a moving truck had exploded, spewing all of its contents in a jumble on the marble floor. A man and woman were standing near the door, arguing about something. The man held a box and his arms were jerking as he argued with the woman, jabbing the box between them like a shield.

The woman kept brushing hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. She looked to be in her sixties and Flo wondered if she was the one moving into Silver Hills or if it was the tiny, ancient woman who was laid out on one of the disgorged couches like a corpse, her gnarled hands twisted into the fur of Agnes’s fat, orange cat.

Tolstoy, a.k.a. the grim reaper.

Flo took a step forward, knowing she had to capture the attention of the quarreling couple. If the frail, elderly corpse on the couch belonged to them, she needed to make them aware that their loved one had been extinguished by the reaper while they battled.

Her gaze swung from the couple to the couch, where Tolstoy happily perched upon the woman’s belly, diligently cleaning his paws. His work was done. He’d clearly killed another resident of Silver Hills. This one even before she’d had a chance to move in.

What are you gaping at, Flo?

Agnes pulled up beside Flo, her jaw working over whatever she’d just shoved into her mouth. She took in the chaotic state of the lobby and grinned. Looks like somebody’s moving in.

I wouldn’t bet on it. Flo pointed to the prone almost-resident on the ugly gilded settee and Agnes frowned. Your cat’s already killed her.

Don’t be ridiculous, Flo. Tolstoy doesn’t kill people. How many times do we need to have this conversation?

Flo glared up at her friend. At least once per soul he reaps.

Rolling her eyes, Agnes moved past Flo and approached the dueling duet, her meaty paw extended. Hello. I’m Agnes Willard. This is my friend, Flo.

Flo waggled her fingers and gave them a smile that felt more like a grimace.

Agnes didn’t seem to notice Flo’s lack of enthusiasm. Are you moving into Silver Hills?

The woman holstered her verbal gun and turned her glare on Agnes. Hello. Yes...I mean no. My mother is. She flung a negligent hand toward the corpse on the couch. It’s nice to meet you, she said to Agnes by way of pleasantries and then stopped, turning back to the settee and frowning. Whose cat is that?

Totally clueless, Agnes grinned. He’s mine. That’s Tolstoy. Would you like to meet him?

I’d like him to get off my mother.

Oh, Agnes said, finally realizing she’d ambled into enemy territory. He’s fine. See, she’s petting him.

Everyone turned to look at the woman on the couch. The dueling twosome frowned. Flo grimaced. It was hard to tell if the old woman had been trying to fight off the reaper when she’d died, or if she had, in fact, been petting the fat feline. The hand clutching Tolstoy’s fur looked a bit rigid. Was it possible rigor mortis had already set in?

Mother?

The corpse didn’t respond.

The woman at the door spun around and started toward the couch. Mother! Are you all right? She rolled up on the settee like a tornado ripping across a field in Kansas and Tolstoy’s head came up, his freshly cleansed paw still hanging in the air. His eyes went wide as he realized he was under fire.

Despite his soccer-ball-like shape, the cat could move fast when he needed to. He was off his victim’s belly and halfway up the stairs to the second floor before the embattled daughter could shriek, He’s killed her!

Agnes rolled her eyes. Flo nodded before she caught herself. Thankfully nobody noticed.

She’s fine, Agnes said. Reaching for the gnarled hand that had fallen to the settee when Tolstoy unceremoniously decamped the couch, Agnes pumped the rigid body part once and let go. See?

The hand smacked down hard on the ugly, mustard yellow fabric of her death bed.

Mother! The daughter grabbed a bony shoulder and shook it so hard the tiny dead woman flopped around the surface of the settee like a fish on a hook.

Flo covered her eyes, unable to watch for another moment.

A raspy voice sent a swear word into the air and Flo flinched.

What the H-E-double hockey sticks is wrong with you, Thelma? You just about dislocated my shoulder.

Flo’s eyes flew open. The woman wasn’t dead?

And aside from that, she’d heard the voice before. Recognition kicking in, she hurried over to smile down at the crotchety ninety something year old. Scarlett? I can’t believe it. Are you moving into Silver Hills?

No, the old woman said, touching her flat chest under a flower cotton shirt. I just thought it would be fun to move all my furniture into the lobby here and hang out.

Flo chuckled happily. She reached down and grasped Scarlett’s hand. I’m so glad to see you again. When the cranky nonagenarian peered up at her through narrowed gray eyes, Flo felt compelled to clarify. We met when poor Piers Gergon’s house burned down.

The birdlike eyes narrowed further, until they were nearly closed.

Your neighbor, Piers, the fireman? Flo tried again.

I know who Piers Gergon is, young lady. I’m not feeble-minded. But I don’t recall which house you live in.

Oh, we don’t live on your street, Agnes said.

No. We live here, Flo said brightly. At Silver Hills.

Then what on God’s green earth was you doin’ skulkin’ around Piers’s house? She shoved herself upright, her twisted, bony frame so tiny as to barely dent the cushions of the ugly settee. Are you the scoundrels what started his house afire?

Agnes snickered, earning herself a glare from Silver Hills’s new resident.

Flo touched Scarlett’s arm. No. We were driving past and saw the fire. We spoke to your nice neighbor, Barnie. Do you remember?

Scarlett stared at Flo for a moment and then jerked her head around, glaring at her daughter. Well, don’t just stand there, missy. Let’s get this stuff upstairs. It’s almost time for my nap.

But, Mother, I told you, David forgot to confirm with the moving company. The people who were supposed to move this stuff upstairs are already booked on another job. We don’t have anybody to help.

Then you best roll up your sleeves and start movin’, missy. She glared over at the man, whom Flo guessed was missy’s hubby. You’re about to learn the hard way that poor planning breeds poor results.

The man Flo assumed was David tightened his lips but didn’t attempt to defend himself. He simply inclined his head. Flo figured the poor thing had given up trying to battle Scarlett and her daughter all alone. She could only hope the marriage had produced at least one son so he wouldn’t be perpetually outnumbered. I think we can probably scare up some help, hun, Flo told Scarlett.

Scarlett inclined her chin. That would be good. Thank you, young lady.

Flo glanced at Agnes. Will you round up your bar buddies from the singles side? I’ll go talk to Richard and see if he’ll ask some of the staff to help.

As Flo hurried toward the office, she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her. Ma’am?

She stopped, turning back to find Scarlett’s daughter rushing after her, tugging on a straight strand of graying brown hair. Flo smiled. Yes?

The woman rushed up and wrapped Flo in an impulsive hug. When she pulled back there were tears in her eyes. Thank you so much. You’ve been very kind. She wrung her hands and Flo noticed the dark circles under her brown eyes. She looked exhausted.

Flo squeezed the other woman’s hand. Thelma, is it? When she nodded, Flo went on, It’s my pleasure. I think you’ll find that’s the way of things here at Silver Hills. We all help each other.

Well, I’m very grateful. Mother can be a trial... Her lips quivered and Flo realized she was an emotional wreck.

You look tired, hun. Would you like some coffee? Maybe a slice of pie? Cook bakes excellent pastries.

No. But thank you. It’s just been a huge job getting Mother here. And now I have to manage the cleaning up and selling of her home. She stopped, blinking rapidly and shook her head. "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a whiny girl. It’s just that I am tired and I’ll be really glad when I get this all behind me."

I understand. I’m going to talk to the manager now but when I come back out I’ll ask Cook to make us some coffee. I could use a cup myself.

Thanks again. I owe you one.

Not at all. I’m looking forward to getting to know your mother. She seems delightful.

Thelma grimaced but wisely chose not to respond.

Flo headed for the office and pulled the door open. She was inordinately happy that Richard Attles, the day manager at Silver Hills, was still on duty. If she’d had to deal with the two night managers, Vlad and Morty Newsome, she wouldn’t have gotten very far.

Flo was learning that compassion wasn’t the vampire-like twosome’s forte.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, when Flo opened the office door, she came face to death mask with Vlad. As usual his chalky countenance was formed into a smug, judgy smile.

Flo tried to step around him.

Can I help you, Mrs. Bee?

She shook her head. I’m looking for Richard.

Unfortunately, he’s not here. He had a dental appointment. I’m covering for him.

Flo fought to keep the look of disappointment from her face. Oh. Okay. Well, I came to request some staff to help a new resident move her belongings into her apartment.

Vlad just stared at her.

She waved a hand in front of his unmoving face. Hello?

His black eyes shifted slightly and the smug smile turned chilly. Okay. Thank you. Have a nice day.

Excuse me?

You came to make your request. You’ve made it. Now toodle-oo. I need to get back to...things.

Flo put hands on hips and glared up at him. I think you’re forgetting the part where you grant my request.

No. Vlad shook his slicked black head. I didn’t forget that part. I have no intention of allowing you to use the hired help as movers.

But this poor woman is a new resident. She’ll think management doesn’t care about her. Is that really the first impression you want to give?

Vlad shrugged. "If she thinks that she’d be correct. This management doesn’t care. As long as she pays her rent and stays out of trouble, a.k.a. doesn’t hang out with you, she and I will get along famously."

Do I need to speak to Morty?

He stilled, his black eyes flashing angrily. Are you really threatening to tattle on me to my wife?

I believe I am.

He stared down at her for a full minute before responding. Why is it you think Morty will step in on your behalf?

Because we’ve helped her more than once and she owes us.

She owes you nothing. I believe she gave you and that annoying blob of a sidekick two month’s rent the last time you ‘helped’ her. You’re dead even.

Funny you should use the word, dead. I believe Detective Peters is still trying to figure out how we got to the corpse at Morty’s temple before he did.

Vlad’s cold, flat gaze turned downright blizzard-like for a beat and then he wiggled the fingers of one hand toward the door. Go away. I’ll give you the janitor and one housekeeper. That’s all I can spare.

Flo smiled. That will do nicely. She went to the door, pulled it open, and then turned back. Toodles!

She could almost hear his fangs lengthening as she closed the door.

CHAPTER TWO

FLO WAS EXHAUSTED. It had taken most of the day to get Scarlett into her apartment and everything arranged to suit her. She was a harsh taskmaster, clearly still clinging to the military way of doing things, with a little Eastern Feng Shui thrown in for good measure.

When they finally left at nearly six that evening, All of Scarlett’s furniture was standing at attention in the spots she preferred and the elderly woman was nowhere to be found.

Somebody thought she’d already gone down to dinner, which normally would be irritating since several people were still putting her stuff in the specified locations...but since she’d been barking orders at everyone all day, it was really more of a relief.

Agnes closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. I thought Vlad and Morty were hard to be around. I’m starting to think they’re going to have their cold, dead hands full with this one.

As the idea sunk into their tired brains, Flo and Agnes shared a smile. They slapped five and headed wearily down the hall. The delectable scent of Cooks’s hearty pot roast wafted up from the dining room on the first floor. Agnes’s stomach rumbled loudly in response.

Flo gave her a shocked glance. I just realized you haven’t eaten in four hours. I’m surprised you’re still upright and moving.

I know! Agnes responded energetically. That box of powdered donuts barely made a dent.

Flo lifted an eyebrow. Powdered donuts? Where did you get those?

In the box marked ‘kitchen food’.

You ate Scarlett’s donuts? Flo exclaimed in shock.

Well, yeah. You didn’t expect me to work all those hours without sustenance did you?

The rest of us did.

Yeah, but you don’t have a blood sugar problem, Flo. I have to manage my delicate digestion very carefully. You know that.

Flo blew a raspberry. The only problem with your blood is that it’s about ninety percent sugar. And your digestion is about as delicate as rhinoceros hide.

Just the person I’ve been looking for.

Flo and Agnes turned to find Roger Attles bearing down on them from the direction of the stairwell. He grinned happily, taking Flo’s hand as he approached and giving it a kiss. How are my lovely ladies today? His expression fell. I see weariness in those pretty hazel eyes.

Flo nodded. You see right. I’m tired and hungry. And you’re certainly in a chipper mood.

He nodded. After his morning appointment, Richard and I spent the day at the car auction. It brought back such happy memories.

Agnes snorted out a laugh. You don’t need to go to a car auction for that. Just go on out to the parking lot and take a gander at Cook’s boat.

Cook drove a beautiful 1975 Plymouth Valiant that she and her son had restored. 

He nodded. That is a sweet ride, no doubt about it. But I’m a few years older than Cook. My memories lie in a slightly older model year.

Were there horses hooked to the front? Agnes asked with a wink.

Roger laughed, taking hold of both their arms. The only horses were under the hood. But close enough. Now, let’s go get you lovely ladies fed. Unless something nearby is about to explode, I’m pretty sure I hear Agnes’s stomach grumbling.

It isn’t nice to notice a lady’s rumbling belly, Agnes told him with a frown.

It also isn’t nice to tell a man he’s older than dirt, young lady.

She broke out into an irrepressible grin. Okay, you might have a point. I apologize. All I can say in my defense is that my bones are weary and I haven’t eaten a single thing since lunch.

Except for that box of donuts, Flo added helpfully.

That didn’t count, Flo. It was a tiny little box.

Oh? Flo asked, skeptically. How tiny?

Just a mere dozen. Barely enough to get my blood sugar up.

Emphasis on the ‘sugar’, Roger said with a grin.

The threesome descended the stairs to the lobby and headed for the crowded dining room. They were a bit late for dinner and headed automatically toward their usual table. The tables at Silver Hills