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“You mean you don’t want me collecting lint and turning it into a dog scarf?”
Her laugh snorted out, which was my intention. “You’re silly sometimes. I like it.”
Then I’d keep dreaming up ways to make her laugh.
She went to take a shower. Whistling between my teeth, I left her apartment and walked to my truck, driving to Bob’s home. I’d called the day before, and he said I could come by early, that he woke at five every morning and by eight he would’ve had his breakfast and his mind would be sharpest.
I knocked on the door and a woman about thirty-five years old opened it. “Elrik?”
I showed her my ID and she let me inside, urging me to follow her into the living room to the right of the entrance. “Bob’s in here.” Her gaze sought mine, and she frowned. “I’m not sure what this is about. I’m Ginny, his caregiver, by the way.”
She was Rose’s younger sister’s stepdaughter. Ex-stepdaughter since they’d divorced.
“I’m investigating the poisoning on behalf of Grannie Rose,” I said.
“I see. She didn’t do it.”
“I don’t think so either.”
“I don’t know who did, but it couldn’t be her. She’s too sweet. Too kind.”
Inside the living room, I settled on the sofa. Bob sat on a recliner with his feet up. His gaze took in my tall frame, narrowing as he studied my eyes. I wasn’t sure what conclusion he drew, but his face relaxed.
A large metal device with a canvas sling had been collapsed and parked near the wall, and I had no idea what it was.
“That’s Bob’s lift,” Ginny said. “He’s not able to get around on his own any longer, and with his maculardegeneration, he can’t see well either. I use the lift to get him out of his bed and into his chair.”
“If I could, I’d stand to greet you,” Bob said in a crotchety voice.
“No problem.”
“What can I do for you today, Elrik?” His gaze drifted across Ginny before settling on me again.
I didn’t know much about macular degeneration other than it was a degenerative disease of the eyes and that the person usually lost their sight. Once it had progressed, they weren’t completely blind, but they couldn’t see well enough to drive or do many daily tasks.
“I wanted to question you about the night of the poisoning,” I said.
“Of course. Have a seat,” Bob said.
I dropped into a chair near the coffee table. “Could you tell me when you arrived that night?”
“I was the last one inside, like usual,” Bob said. “Ginny brings me in the handicap van I bought. It has an amazing lift like the one we use here.”
“You can’t walk at all?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t been able to do that for years. I use an electric scooter to get around most of the time. It’s amazing mobility.”
I had a hard time believing that someone who couldn’t see well and wasn’t ambulatory could’ve poisoned the punch, but I had to question everyone who was there that evening.
“Ginny brings me to the social club event each week,” he said. “Which is quite kind of her. She gets me out of the van and brings me inside.”
“I usually sit in the van while the social club members meet,” Ginny said. “I scroll on my phone. Read. I’ve got three thousand followers on TickingClock, so I make some videos for that and post them. Gotta keep my followers happy.”
“I stay in my chair throughout the evening, and the others are nice enough to help me with my food and drinks,” Bob said.
“Did you have any punch that night?” I asked.
“Never have. Never will.” His lips tightened. “It’s much too sweet for my taste. Contrary to popular belief, noteveryoneloves Rose’s punch.”
