Murder Takes a Dare: The First Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 1) by Jada Ryker

ears, and stopped at his hairline. In a habitual move, he hitched up his pants. The waistband immediately slid back to its normal position under his protruding belly. “When Fred called and asked for help, I was glad to oblige. Just let me know when you’re ready to head back to the church.”
    As Marisa turned away, Sierra caught her arm. Since she was six inches taller, Sierra bent down to whisper in Marisa’s ear. “Thank you, Marisa, for your quick thinking. A man will pinch your ass, but a woman will save your ass.”
    They gently bumped their fists together.

CHAPTER FOUR
      
    In the fading sunlight slanting across the patio of the Home Away from Home nursing facility, the hopeless, hunched elderly men and women strapped and tied in their wheelchairs were scattered like haphazard tombstones, each erected in memory of forgotten lives.
    In that moment, the nursing home reminded Marisa of heart-rending photos she’d seen of concentration camps. The despair was thick and choking, spreading like a relentlessly insidious wave. It oozed over the blank, wrinkled faces and the emaciated, androgynous forms covered by tatty polyester. As if waiting to be consumed by the thick tide of misery and ultimately death, the thin bodies lifelessly hung against their bonds, any fight against their fates long extinguished. Perhaps the sticklike limbs would rise in welcome or even supplication, if Death were to approach them.
    At a corner of the patio, a nursing assistant in her maroon uniform was like a disinterested prison guard, slouched in the metal chair with her eyes on the magazine fluttering in the gentle breeze.
    Waiting for Althea Flaxton to join her in the shade, Marisa felt her nose prickle and tears wet her eyes in the presence of the residents, elderly prisoners of their own deteriorating muscles, bones, and brains. She wanted to bundle Althea in her car and take her away from this soul-sucking place. Marisa knew Althea would not go with her. The older woman was fiercely independent, and would dig her heels in and lay her ears back like a stubborn mule.
    In resignation, Marisa forced herself to focus on the gentle sound of water dripping on concrete. The warm summer breeze changed direction, sliding over Marisa’s flushed face. With it, the strong, acidic smell of urine filled her nostrils. With a start of repugnance, Marisa realized the dripping sound was coming from an ancient lady hopelessly drooping in her wheelchair, slightly upwind from her. The old woman’s bulky diaper, visible in the wide gap between her patterned smock and worn pants, leaked yellow liquid which continued to steadily drop to the concrete patio floor beneath her wheelchair.
    Marisa’s nose wrinkled as she looked toward the nursing assistant engrossed in her magazine. Why doesn’t she change the poor woman? When a figure joined her on the bench, Marisa jumped. “Althea! I didn’t hear you coming!”
    Her triangular, lightly lined face reminiscent of a small, finicky cat, Althea grasped Marisa’s hands. “Marisa! What’s this about a murder at the hospital?  I saw the report on the evening news!”
    “Althea! I am so sorry! I should have realized you’d see it on television.”
    “What happened, my dear? Please tell me.”
    Marisa’s full lower lip trembled and her brown eyes filled with tears. She shook her head helplessly, sending the loose braid at the back her neck flying into greater disarray. Marisa squared her shoulders and said, “Let me alert that nursing assistant to this poor woman’s need for a dry diaper.”
    When her friend returned, Althea turned to her. Sternly regal in her elegant green, long-sleeved, high-necked silk blouse with her treasured cameo pinned at the throat and her hair swept up at the back of her head in a neat bun, more silver than black, Althea’s thin, sensitive fingers tightened on her friend’s hands. “Marisa, my dear, I’m not a fragile old lady who must be packed in cotton wool, safely