Swag Bags and Swindlers by Dorothy Howell

long ” could mean anything.
    Plus, Rosalind’s receptionist had been asleep and she was really old. I wasn’t sure she knew who Rosalind was, let alone where to find her.
    â€œThanks,” I said, and left.
    I figured I’d give Mr. Stewart a try and see if he knew where I could find Rosalind. I walked down the hallway and saw that the door to his office was closed. I glanced around, didn’t see anyone, and leaned closer, listening. No raised voices this time.
    Rosalind could have been inside meeting with Mr. Stewart, since he’d closed the door. Or maybe he was napping. Or maybe he was dead.
    No way was I going in there.
    I headed back, crossed the lobby—still no Karen—and went into the hallway that led to the residents’ wing. Someone was at the piano playing a tune that was kind of familiar. When I reached the dayroom I saw four women crowded around the pianist, singing along. Alden the Great was in the far corner presenting a bouquet of flowers that he’d pulled from his jacket sleeve to an elderly woman. His daughter Emily was beside him. She saw me and waved. I waved back.
    Emily seemed to be here a lot, so I decided I’d ask her if she’d seen Rosalind. I headed that way.
    â€œHaley? Haley, dear,” someone called.
    I spotted Delores, Shana, and Trudy hurrying toward me. All of them sported updos and bright orange nail polish, like they’d had a sleepover and done each other’s hair and nails. If so, the party was definitely over, because they all looked troubled.
    â€œWe heard,” Delores declared.
    â€œSay it’s not so,” Shana implored.
    â€œIt can’t be true,” Trudy insisted. “It simply cannot be true.”
    â€œTell us, honey,” Delores said. “Come on now, be straight with us. We can take it.”
    All three of them gazed wide eyed at me. I had no idea what they were talking about.
    â€œThe gala,” Trudy said. “We heard it might be canceled because that horrible Derrick went and got himself murdered.”
    I wasn’t sure how they’d found out the home’s upper management had doubts about going ahead with the gala. Maybe Mr. Stewart had said something, or perhaps it was another staff member. I didn’t like this kind of rumor circulating. I had too much at stake—oh, and it would be nice for the residents to attend the gala, of course.
    â€œI’m sure the gala will proceed as planned,” I said. “Some of the staff members were a little concerned that it might look bad to go ahead with it unless the murderer is caught.”
    â€œIt was that Mr. Stewart, wasn’t it?” Delores said. She shook her head. “He’s such a wimp. That’s what he gets for letting everybody else run the place all this time. He’s forgotten how to make a decision.”
    â€œAnd besides,” Trudy said, “everybody knows it’s that Vida who had it in for Derrick.”
    â€œThose two,” Delores agreed. “Like oil and water. That’s what they were. Oil and water.”
    If I’d had this-might-be-a-clue antennae, they would have stood straight up and wiggled.
    â€œVida Webster?” I asked. “The head of HR?”
    â€œHer and that hair of hers,” Trudy said, and sniffed distastefully. “A bad dye job, if you ask me.”
    â€œThinks she’s Liza Minnelli,” Shana said, rolling her eyes.
    â€œShe’s no Liza Minnelli,” Trudy said. “We heard them arguing.”
    The other two ladies nodded.
    â€œHoney, you should have heard the things those two said to each other,” Delores told me.
    â€œVida and Derrick?” I asked, just to be sure.
    â€œIt got ugly, honey,” Delores said. “Let me tell you, it got very ugly.”
    â€œShe told him he wasn’t fit to walk through the front door of this place,” Trudy said, “let alone be the assistant