Murder Under the Tree by Susan Bernhardt

Thoughts of Viktor, Robert, and Lola flowed through my mind, making it impossible to concentrate on the audiobook, Confessions of a Murderer I was listening to for my book club in two weeks. I wondered if Viktor would be working on a Sunday. I needed to talk to him. And I decided I'd have to get into the medical records at the clinic to find out what I could about Lola and her anger management problems. It was a dilemma that I've been going back and forth about. But it was for justice. To what degree did she have trouble controlling her anger and rage? Enough to kill? After I finished walking, I made a phone call.
    “Sarah, what's Viktor's position at the Home? And do you know what his full name is?”
    “Viktor Petruska. He's the groundskeeper.”
    “Do you happen to know where his office is?”
    “He comes up out of the basement on the east wing when he heads out to the grounds. Why?”
    I side-skirted that question with another. “How well do you know Anne Niven?”
    “Considering I've only been here a month, not terribly. Why?”
    “Do you think she was obsessed with Les? She mentioned about his flirting with women residents numerous times.”
    “Anne must be thirty years older than Les. She's a writer, and she's always observing the behavior of others for her books. I doubt her interest is anything more than that.”
    Even so, Anne still sounded a bit strange.
    * * * *
    Driving over to Hawthorne Hills, sliding much of the way, I hoped Viktor might know more about what was going on with Nancy.
    Viktor was putting salt on the sidewalk near the street when I got out of my car and walked up to him. The sharp wind lent a ruddy glow to his cheeks. He had on an old, gray woolen jacket that had seen better days with a blue plaid scarf loosely wrapped around his neck.
    “Hello, Mr. Petruska. My name is Kay Driscoll.”
    “I remember.” He hesitated for a moment. “I always wanted to thank you, ma'am, for trying to help Les that day.” Viktor'swarm breath escaped from his mouth in concentric swirls and dissipated in the cold winter air.
    “You tried as well. I'm so sorry about Les. Please call me Kay.”
    “And you can call me Viktor.” We shook hands. He had a heavy accent.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone go up the walkway to the entrance. I glanced over in that direction and saw Robert Peterson climbing the steps. Now what could he be doing here at Hawthorne Hills? He was already through the door before I had the chance to ask Viktor if he had ever seen Peterson here before.
    “Viktor, is there somewhere we could talk? I wanted to ask you some questions about Les.”
    “You a cop?”
    “No.”
    He glanced at his watch.“It will take me a few minutes to finish here. Then we can go to my office.”
    “I'll wait for you in the lobby,” I said quickly, wanting to see where Robert went.
    I hustled into the building and looked around. No sign of Robert. A few residents walked through the lobby. Sheila was waiting by the elevator. She looked over at me before getting in. I went and sat down in the same armchair that I did the afternoon of the Christmas tea and looked up at the Christmas tree. The lights that Les fixed were still working.
    Viktor came into the building. I stood up. “My office is this way,” he said.
    We went down into the basement. His small windowless office, filled with bright fluorescent lights, held two metal desks. In one corner was a work table with tools attached to it. Other tools hung from the wall. He took off his scarf and put it on an old brass hook near the door. “I shared this office with Les.”
    How could two men work in such a small space? And the harsh lighting...I wonder if they had many headaches. “It's bright.”
    “Would you like some coffee?” He motioned to a small coffee pot over in the corner which stood on a small, rough sawn table.
    “No, thank you.” I unbuttoned my coat.
    He poured himself a cup of coffee, then said, “Please, have a seat.” He