Murder at Meadowlark

2

2LUELLA ARRIVED AT MEADOWLARK Retirement Residence with two lasagnas—one meat, one roasted vegetable and ricotta. She’d stacked the trays one on top of the other and wrapped them in a towel to preserve heat and keep them from burning her hands as she carried them from the car to the front entrance.

Luckily, the doors were equipped with accessibility features, or she’d have had trouble getting through with her hands full. Luella bumped the push-button panel with her hip and the double doors opened slowly, giving her time to admire the Community Potluck poster accentuated with sparkles and glitter.

For a pill thief, that Chandelle certainly had a knack for papercrafts. Probably a skill she picked up on the inside. Or perhaps she’d carried out her community service hours in an afterschool arts and crafts program for underprivileged youths. Were juvenile offenders permitted to work with children? Seemed counterintuitive, except that, technically speaking, juvenile offenders were children themselves.

Children who steal an old woman’s pills with no regard for her wellbeing...

The audacity of that girl, to come into a stranger’s home and steal a prescription that could have been life-saving medication, for all she knew. Certainly, Luella could have tracked down the little criminal via the contact information on the flyer, but wouldn’t it be so much more satisfying to confront the girl face to face? See the whites of Chandelle’s Bambi eyes while she made the accusation?

Don’t play innocent with me, young lady. The jig is up. You stole my pills and I want them back, pronto!

She’d rehearsed a variety of speeches while preparing her lasagnas. This one was far more succinct and, she thought, more effective than the others. As soon as she saw the girl, she’d hand off her lasagnas and let the confrontation take shape.

Luella had never been inside this building, but she didn’t find the atmosphere (or the odour) as offensive as she’d anticipated. She entered the foyer and approached a utilitarian reception desk, which sported everything from a ringing telephone to an overflowing printer. All it lacked was a receptionist.

Fortunately, there was another poster tacked to the front of the desk, this one sporting a sparkly arrow. This way to the Community Potluck!

No need to fear confrontation simply because she’d gone out of her way to avoid it all her life. The time was nigh. No guts, no glory. If not now, when?

Luella repeated to herself all the words of wisdom she’d seen embroidered on throw pillows at the home goods store. She steeled herself against jittery nerves. Holding her lasagnas close to her chest, she marched across the foyer, toward the community room.

She expected to find the place hopping. Perhaps she’d arrived too early. Inside, there were more tables and chairs than people, and most of those were seniors, likely residents of the facility. Her heart slumped when she noticed the balloons and streamers pinned to Dollarama tablecloths, and the hand-painted signs that spelled out Welcome in a variety of languages.

Chandelle had gone to so much trouble, and for what? Unless Meadowlark Retirement Residence played home to a mere nine seniors, even the people who lived there couldn’t be bothered to attend.

The community room had the feel of a school cafeteria—complete with cliques, but minus the jollity. If Tony Bennett hadn’t been serenading the room via the boom box in the corner, the various groupings of elderly people would have been sitting in utter silence.

“Lasagna Lady!” a familiar voice called from across the room. “You came!”

Chandelle’s smile shone like the sun as she raised one long arm above her head and waved like a flag. Luella hadn’t noticed her standing behind that white industrial folding table. In fact, Luella was almost 100% certain the girl hadn’t been there when she’d entered the room.

This was it. Now or never. Don’t play innocent with me, young lady...

“Wow, you’re early,” Chandelle said, beaming brightly as she waved Luella over.

“Early?” Luella tried glancing at her watch without toppling the lasagnas. “But the flyer said—”

“Thieves!” a woman cried out from the foyer, interrupting Luella’s train of thought. “Thieves, the lot of you!”

A well-dressed older lady marched into community room, waving a pair of lace gloves with the velocity of an oncoming tornado. Her pillbox hat sat atop a neatly coiffed nest of white hair, secured with a jewelled hatpin. The hot pink skirt suit would have appeared audacious on a lot of women, but the colour was a lovely complement to her medium-brown skin.

Out of nowhere, a young attendant with Meadowlark Retirement Residence embroidered on her hospital scrubs appeared at the woman’s side.

“Hush now,” the attendant said, in an Eastern European accent. “We don’t want to disturb other residents.”

“I will not hush!” the woman replied. “I refuse to cover up the crime that’s been committed against me!”

A tall black man in loose-fitting dungarees rushed across the room to take the woman’s hand. “What crime, Mrs. Hayburn?”

Her expression softened when he bent low enough that the much shorter woman could press her palm to his cheek. “Oh, it’s Jerome, my Jerome! You haven’t been to visit me in donkeys’ years. What brings you here today?”

“They’re having a party for the neighbourhood, Mrs. Hayburn. But it’s not Jerome—I’m Wade, remember? I volunteer every Sunday.”

Mrs. Hayburn’s expression hardened. “Yes, Wade, I know who you are. You’re not Jerome. Of course you’re not Jerome. I misspoke, simple as that. Isn’t a person allowed to misspeak once in a while without everyone thinking she’s lost her marbles?”

The female attendant threw her hands in the air, as if that accusation had been aimed at her. She spun on her heels and left the community room, shaking her head and grumbling under her breath while the young volunteer consoled the older woman. “Nobody thinks you’ve lost your marbles, Mrs. Hayburn. Now why don’t we sit down together and you can tell me what’s going on?”

“I have no interest in dining among thieves. They stole my precious jewels. You see?” She showed Wade her bare fingers. “My rings. They’re gone. Stolen!”

“Why don’t we have a look for them in your room?” the volunteer said, guiding her toward the foyer. “Remember a couple weeks ago we found them beside the bathroom sink?”

“I didn’t lose them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know, Mrs. Hayburn, but let’s have a look anyway.”

Before they’d quite reached the foyer, they were headed off at the pass by the female attendant in Meadowlark scrubs and another woman—the manager, maybe? Her shock of orange curls betrayed her formal expression, hinting at the frenzy behind the poise. She wore a black pantsuit and a blouse that was nearly the same shade of cream as her freckled skin. Her little gold nametag read Mallory.

“What’s this I hear, Mrs. Hayburn?” Mallory asked, sounding very much as though she were speaking to a naughty child. “Polina tells me you’ve been kicking up a fuss about your jewellery again.”

“They’ve stolen my rings!” Mrs. Hayburn said, showcasing her bare fingers.

“I can see that,” Mallory said, placing one hand on the woman’s hunched shoulder. “Come with me and we’ll have a chat about it.”

“What do you care?” Mrs. Hayburn asked. “You probably took those rings yourself.”

When both staff members left the community room with the elderly woman, the volunteer Wade gazed slowly around before following along.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Chandelle said, surprising Luella by stealing the lasagnas out of her hands. “Oh, these are heavy. Your arms must be killing you!”

Luella hadn’t yet snapped out of the conversation the whole room had overheard. “Hmm? My arms? They’re fine. I’m not an invalid.”

An elderly woman in a wheelchair snapped her head in Luella’s direction so quickly her neck made an angry crackling sound. If looks could kill, Luella would be a goner for sure.

In which case, she wouldn’t have any use for those sodding sleeping pills.

Sleeping pills!

The jig is up, Chandelle. You stole my...

“Maybe you can help me set up, since you’re early.” Chandelle grabbed a sheet of sticky labels and handed it to Luella: appetizers, salads, hot dishes, desserts. “Could you stick these on different parts of the table? That way it’ll keep things organized. The kitchen staff said it’s okay if we use their cutlery and dishes, so I’m just going to run and grab those now.”

Chandelle was wearing the same fox-brown suit she’d had on the day she’d knocked on Luella’s door. When she whirled around, she made a rattling noise, like maracas, and Luella’s gaze shot to her suit jacket.

The pills—they were there in that pocket!

She started to say Chandelle’s name as the girl headed toward the foyer, but held back when Chandelle stopped short. Community members had begun to filter in, and Chandelle gazed at the grouping like a deer in the headlights. Perhaps she’d bitten off more than she could chew with this event.

Chandelle quickly turned her back on three new arrivals—an Asian teenager and a middle-age white couple—and stared at Luella like she’d seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” Luella asked, feeling genuinely concerned despite herself.

“That girl,” Chandelle whispered, pointing without turning. “You can’t let her see me.”

“Too late for that, I’d say. She’s looking right at you.”

“Hide me!”

“Oh! Em! Gee!” the girl cried. “Chandelle? Is that you?”

Chandelle stepped so close she was practically standing on Luella’s toes. “Pretend we’re talking about something.”

“Who is she?” Luella asked. “A girl from school?”

“From my old school,” Chandelle said.

“Well, go say hi. I can take over here, or fetch the dishes from the kitchen.”

So much for the monumental confrontation Luella had rehearsed. Right back to playing the lamb. Story of her life.

“No, no.” Chandelle straightened up and tugged at the hem of her suit jacket, causing Luella’s pills to rattle. “This is my function. I’m the chief organizational officer. I can’t be distracted by socializing.”

She didn’t have much of a choice. The Asian girl ran over and threw both arms around her, covering her eyes. “Guess who!”

“Eugenia,” Chandelle said unenthusiastically. “Hey, hi...”

“I can’t believe it’s you!” Eugenia bounced like a bunny as Chandelle spun around to give her a proper hug. “Oh my gosh, I’ve missed you so much! What are you doing here?”

“Organizing the community potluck,” Chandelle said. “What are you doing here? You’re not part of this... community.”

“My grandma lives here—my Grandma Rankin. We try to visit every other week. Sometimes we don’t. Anyway, she told us there was this potluck thing today, so we brought a cake.” Eugenia gave Chandelle a playful slap on the arm. “I can’t believe you organized it. You’re so good. I’m always telling everyone you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks,” Chandelle said, though she didn’t take the compliment particularly enthusiastically.

The middle-aged couple approached and said hi to Chandelle, said Eugenia talks about her all the time, which would have embarrassed most teens, but this Eugenia girl seemed perfectly happy for her parents to sing her friend’s praises.

Luella offered to take the cake, which was obviously store-bought, while the girls chatted.

“Your page is gone from the Almighty Book of Face,” Eugenia said. “Did they throw you in jail again?”

Luella listened all the more closely when she heard the word jail.

“No, I shut it down myself.”

“I don’t blame you,” Eugenia said. “Some of the things people were posting on your wall? It’s like... I couldn’t even believe it. People are the worst.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Some people.”

“I reported all those nasty comments. I want you to know that.” Eugenia reached for Chandelle’s forearm and gripped it tight. “You are, like, the nicest person I’ve ever met. I mean it! Anyone who’s got nothing better to do than harass you obviously doesn’t have much of a life.”

Had other kids been cyber-bullying Chandelle? There was that girl out east who’d killed herself because of cruel things teens were saying to her on the internet. Luella had watched an entire investigative report on the subject. She still didn’t understand quite how it worked.

Is that how Chandelle got herself in trouble with the law? Did she bite back when the other kids came after her?

“Sometimes I text you,” Eugenia went on. “You never text back.”

“I got a new number.”

Eugenia nodded gravely, as if to say: I understand. “Well, give me the new one. I miss you so much!”

“Okay,” Chandelle said. “Maybe later.”

Strange that the girl would shy away from a friend who thought so highly of her. Of course, Luella had spent her entire adult life doing the same thing, so who was she to judge?

Eugenia’s parents told her it was time to visit with her grandmother before the potluck started, and Eugenia told Chandelle they’d catch up later and she’d for-sure-for-sure get that new phone number so they could keep in touch. Chandelle said okay, but she looked exhausted, so Luella offered to go to the kitchen to grab the plates and things, except that she didn’t know exactly where the kitchen was.

“We can go together,” Chandelle said, reigniting as she got back to work. “Thanks again for all your help, Mrs. Genova.”

“Please, call me Luella. Genova is my husband’s name.”

“But aren’t you your husband’s wife?” she asked.

Luella wanted to say something snarky like: don’t remind me!

Instead she said, “My husband has passed on.”

“I know, but...”

Chandelle never did finish that sentence.

She led Luella through a maze of corridors that felt more like a hospital than a home. On the way back, while they carried plastic busboy tubs heavy with clean dishes, there was some commotion down one of the corridors.

“That sounds like your little friend,” Luella said.

Chandelle stopped in her tracks. Her expression read blank as they both listened.

That was definitely Eugenia’s voice crying, “How can she be dead? We just talked to her and she was fine! She sounded fine! How can you be fine and then suddenly die?”

“Sometimes that’s how it happens,” her mother was saying as Luella and Chandelle sped toward the flurry of activity. “Sometimes death is quick, doll. It’s better that way. No pain.”

“You don’t know she wasn’t in pain.”

“Maury,” the girl’s mother said in a calm, commanding hiss. “Go get someone.”

“Get who?” the man asked.

“The girl from the front desk. Or one of the attendants. Anyone on staff. They’ll know what to do.”

When Luella and Chandelle located the source of the commotion, Eugenia’s father was on his way out of the room. His arm smacked into Luella’s busboy tub so hard it made a hollow knocking sounded, but he appeared not to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to see them at all. His skin was ghostly white and his face stricken, his expression utterly absent.

Eugenia sobbed forcefully, her face tucked into the crook of her mother’s neck. Her mother patted her gleaming black hair, sliding her bright green elastic farther down her ponytail with every pass, until it couldn’t cling on any longer and fell to the floor.

Eugenia’s mother looked up at Luella and Chandelle as they entered the room, but her gazed passed right through them, like they were ghosts. She stared out the open door, petting her daughter’s hair, waiting for someone else to enter.

On the bed lay the body of an elderly woman fully dressed in a purple cardigan and tan slacks. Her hands were folded across her chest as though she’d planned to die when she lay herself down on that folksy bedspread. It bore images of farmers and goats and flowers and barns, primary colours on a white background. No pillow beneath her head. Her sandy grey hair was neatly set and coiffed. Her eyes remained wide open. A body without a soul.

The air was still, despite Eugenia’s vulgar show of emotion. Her mother had stopped petting her hair, and now remained as motionless as the body on the bed.

Death had a way of sitting heavily on any space it occupied.

This, Luella knew from past experience.