you. Especially not Stephanie. Sheâd ask him about me. And it will be night againâ¦.â She hung up.
Â
Annie juggled the folder under her arm as she unlocked the front door of Death on Demand. She reached out, flicked on the lights, welcomed the cheery bright colors of book jackets, heard Agathaâs irritated yowl.
âOkay, okay. Coming.â She moved down the center aisle, heading for the coffee bar. Where was Chloe? She should have opened the store an hour ago. She certainly couldnât have picked a worse morning to be late. Annie plopped the green folder on the coffee bar. Agatha jumped up, spat out a series of querulous meows.
âSweetheart, Iâm sorry.â Damn Chloe. Annie shook her head. To be fair, she hadnât called the store to report she was running late. Annie filled Agathaâs bowl, and the imperious black cat, still meowing, leaped to the floor, hunched over the food, and began to eat in a fury of impatience.
âChloe?â Annie didnât try to keep the irritation from her voice. There was no answer. Annie grabbed the phone, hesitated, loosened her hold. Max would be glad to take over, but he was busy. For her. She touched the folder. It was amazing how much informationabout Snug Harbor, its owners, employees, and residents heâd retrieved on the Internet from government records and articles that had appeared in The Island Gazette . If Chloe didnât show up, Annie would simply hang out the Closed sign. She had no intention of being late for her appointment at Snug Harbor.
The phone rang.
Annie snatched up the receiver. Chloe better have a good excuse. âDeath onââ
âHe was known to have written a novel over the weekend.â Henny sounded as satisfied as if she were sipping a Singapore sling created especially for her by Madeline Bean, Jerrilyn Farmerâs sleuth in Dim Sum Dead, a catering mystery featuring a Chinese New Year banquet.
Annieâs reply was equally smooth. âOh, sure. Edgar Wallace.â
âOh. Yes. Rightââ Call waiting clicked.
âTalk to you later.â Annie ended Hennyâs call, took the incoming call. âDeath on Demand, the bestââ
âAnnie.â Chloeâs husky voice dragged. âIâm sorry. Iâll be there as soon as I can. I overslept.â
Annie frowned. âCan you hurry? Iâve got an important appointment at eleven.â Annie glanced at her watch. A quarter after ten.
âYes.â Chloeâs voice sounded as if she were at the far end of a cellar. âIâll be right there.â The connection ended.
Annie glared at the phone. Up to now, Chloe had been utterly dependable. Of course, anyone could oversleepâ¦.
As Annie brewed her favorite smooth Kona, she opened Maxâs folder and began to read the information Max had gathered:
Snug Harbor
Opened three years ago, the Browardâs Rock retirement home is a franchise granted by Warman Corporation of Atlanta, Miami, and Chicago, a holding company for retirement, assisted living, and nursing homes, which operates in eleven states. The local franchise is held by Crispus Markham of Charleston. Markham visited the island when the community opened. The local manager is Stephanie Hammond. Snug Harbor has twenty-four employees, including a cook, kitchen help, custodians, and aides.
Annie highlighted the name of the manager. She scanned the text impatiently. Ahh. Hereâs what she wanted:
Joseph J. Brown, 62, is a resident assistant in charge of the premises after hours.
Brown was the big moon-faced jerk. Annie was impressed. Max had certainly found out buckets about the retirement homeâs bad apple, proving once again that the Internet, assiduously searched, could provide more than most people would want revealed about their lives.
Brown, 62, is a native of Butte, Montana. Married three times. Each marriage ended in divorce. No children. Has lived in