The Chocolate Bridal Bash by JoAnna Carl

concealing her interest in the proceedings very well, told us that we could get coffee in the main lounge, in an area behind her. We said we’d wait there. Joe used his cell phone to call Mac McKay and tell him we might be late for dinner. Then we found seats where we could see the comings and goings.
    And there were lots of comings and goings. A man Joe recognized as a Dorinda doctor came rushing in the main door within ten minutes. Not long after that Priddy and the administrator put their heads together near the receptionist’s desk and talked in low voices. We couldn’t hear them, but there was a lot of vigorous gesturing and scowling. The administrator ended it by shaking his head and going to stare out the entrance, arms folded, anger in his shoulders and neck. Apparently the doctor had agreed with Priddy about the suspicious nature of Van Hoosier’s death, because a sheriff’s car pulled up out front, and almost immediately after that a Michigan State Police car drove up. The administrator met them, glaring and talking vigorously. He didn’t seem to approve of murder in one of his nice apartments.
    There were no sirens, but the residents of Pleasant Creek knew something was up. A crowd was gathering in the lounge—two old ladies leaning on walkers, a man bent almost in two by osteoporosis, a couple who sat down at a card table and pretended to play gin rummy, assorted women who gathered in clusters and eyed the activities. A few of the people obviously lived in Van Hoosier’s wing, and they made periodic forays down the hall to see what was going on, then came back to report.
    I guess we were gawking as much as the Pleasant Creek residents, because I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone behind me called my name.
    “Lee? Joe? What are you two doing here?”
    I turned to see Rollie Taylor, grinning from ear to ear as usual.
    “Rollie?” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
    “It’s bingo day,” Rollie said. “And, Lee, did you know that if Bea Arthur married Sting, she’d be Bea Sting?”
    I rolled my eyes and groaned. “I thought you said you called bingo on Sundays.”
    “And on alternate Wednesdays.” Rollie gestured at the assembled crowd of residents. “These folks usually go straight from bingo to dinner. What’s going on?”
    I let Joe tell him. I didn’t want to think about the scene in Van Hoosier’s apartment. I walked over to the window and looked out at the wintry scene. I was beginning to dread the next act in this little drama. Anytime now a representative of either the Warner County Sheriff’s Office or the Michigan State Police was going to find out who had discovered Carl Van Hoosier’s body. And they were going to want to know why two complete strangers had dropped by to see the old guy.
    And I didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer that question. It wasn’t that I wanted to lie. It was just that the reason we’d come was going to sound so stupid.
    I stood there, staring at the snow and stewing until my nerves had turned into needles and were poking holes in my skin. I barely acknowledged Rollie’s good-bye, and when Joe joined me by the window, I clutched at his sleeve as if I were grabbing a lifeline.
    “Joe, is there any kind of a sensible lie we can come up with?”
    “What do we need to lie about?”
    “About why we went into Carl Van Hoosier’s apartment. Neither of us ever met the guy before.”
    Joe grinned. “I’ll play the city attorney card. Maybe it will work.”
    “You can’t claim you were on any kind of official business!”
    “I know. But they’ll be polite.” He gave me a onearmed hug. “Relax.”
    A few more minutes went by, and the bald nurse came through the lounge. When he saw us, he came over. Joe stuck out his hand in shaking position.
    “I’m Joe Woodyard,” he said. “This is my fiancé, Lee McKinney. We didn’t exactly get a chance to introduce ourselves in there.”
    The tall nurse shook hands with both of us.