The Stiff and the Dead by Lori Avocato Page B

Not just yet. I hadn’t found out anything. Not even what the prescriptions were for. And maybe she had more of them stashed in other places. I tried to stall for time. Shifted my legs. Pulled down on my dress and yanked my jacket tighter.
    â€œGoodbye.” She stood staring at me. No wonder. She probably thought I was crazy or some criminal.
    â€œMind if I use your little girls’ room?”
    She wrinkled her forehead. “I only have boys. Grown ones.”
    â€œOh.” I laughed. “That’s nice, but not what I meant. I meant the powder room.” I laughed again. Alone.
    This time she shook her head and pointed toward the stairs. “Only one in this place is upstairs.”
    I followed her pointing finger thinking, Good. One less place to have to snoop around in. When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw only one open door. White tile covered the floor, so I knew it was the “little boys’ room.” I was tempted to sneak a peek in the other rooms, but I figured I wasn’t adept at opening a door quietly while the suspect was home. So, I headed into the bathroom.
    Sophie was neat and clean which made my job easier. At least there weren’t any piles of clothes thrown on the floor that I could slip on or have to dig through. I opened the medicine cabinet above the sink.
    No medicine.
    Facial creams. Shaving cream. An old bottle of rubbing alcohol and two peroxides, but no prescription bottles. Hmm.
    Someone with all the meds she had gotten reimbursed for had to keep them somewhere.
    Unless she never got them.
    â€œYou all right up there?”
    Uh-huh. “Fine. Fine. Support hose, you know.” I quietly shut the cabinet door, did a quick look in the linen closet to find only linen, flushed the toilet and hurried out.
    When I got downstairs, she was really giving me an odd look now. No doubt I deserved it, but so what if I got a reputation around the senior citizens center as a nut case.
    â€œThanks so much. Feel better now. Too much coffee.”
    â€œGoodbye.”
    I smiled and headed toward the kitchen door. When I opened it, I noticed how close Mr. Wisnowski’s house was. Only a few feet away with a joint driveway in between. The house was dark. “You must be pretty close to your neighbors.”
    She looked at me like I had two heads. “Obviously. These houses were built after the war. Not much property, so they are close.”
    â€œYou must miss having someone next to you.”
    She paused. “How do you know no one lives next to me now?”
    Oh, boy.
    â€œI . . . someone mentioned it. That he was . . . that he died. They mentioned Mr. Wisnowski died. For the life of me, though, I can’t remember who. Who told me. Not who died. You know how we forget things at our age.”
    She looked at me suspiciously but said, “Won’t be long before someone moves in.”
    Hmm. “Oh, are you getting new neighbors?”
    She shrugged. “Soon. House just went up for sale today.”
    Then that meant someone looking to buy could get a tour of Mr. W’s house. I reached out my hand to shake hers. She just looked at it.
    Before the words could filter through my brain, I said, “I’m looking to move here.” Where the hell did that come from?
    She looked at me, again oddly. “I thought Helen said you were only here for a few months.”
    Damn. For gossip to spread so fast, there had to be a senior-citizen grapevine the size of which could produce oceans of wine. “I . . . you know, Sophie, my mind isn’t what it used to be. I don’t know what I said to Helen. She kind of makes me nervous, you know.” I moved closer as if pulling Sophie into my confidence. Worked too.
    She nodded.
    â€œAnyway, I love it here and the people are so nice. So I said to myself, Pau . . . Peggy, why not stick around?”
    Again she nodded, then looked at the door.
    â€œRight. I should be