Read Murder at the Villa Maria-Sedona Retirement Home Page 2
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After Calliope paid her daily penance to the Lord for her unholy thoughts, and while their husbands watched the evening football game on television, she assembled her friends, The Saving Grace Brigade, they jokingly referred to themselves, in the solarium.
Calliope shared the sofa with Madge O'Leary, Bitsy Green and Florence Jones, all eighty years old like her, but dressed and coifed more conservatively.
Across from them on the love seat sat Hannah Williams and Rose Smith, robust women and younger by a whopping three years.
The overstuffed chair sandwiched between them all but swallowed up Celia Cooke, a spit of a woman with dyed red hair and the freckles of a teenager.
"Something needs to be done about Frederick and fast," Calliope said, getting right to the point. "He's going to put Grace in her grave." She shuddered for effect.
Madge tsk-tsked. "The poor dear. She can't go on much longer."
The other women murmured their agreement.
Celia leaned in toward them and said conspiratorially, "She told me the other day Frederick's like a frickin' rabbit, wanting it morning, noon and night." She raised her eyebrows and stuck her tongue in her cheek, apparently happy with the reaction this latest revelation had on the brigade when they gasped and shook their heads. " Uh-huh," she said, grinning slyly. Her dentures clicked together, keeping time with the rapid nods of her head.
Calliope wasn't aware of that, but Grace didn't tell her everything. Maybe with good reason. Without warning, a man’s hairy butt, The Third’s hairy butt, she guessed, thankful the Lord, in His infinite compassion, had spared her the reality, flashed before her eyes. She blinked repeatedly to shake off the imagery, but the effigy held on. Damn him. Take deep breaths, Calliope. Deep, deep…deep breaths. Even as she concentrated on breathing, her mind filled with centerfolds of The Third. Oh, good Lord. Bile rose in her throat. She gagged. Come on, girl. Don’t fold. She took one deep from the bottom of her stomach breath and exhaled, sending the disgusting effigy to the netherworld. She huffed a great sigh and smoothed her hair, certain it looked electrified.
With a renewed interest in the meeting, Calliope’s attention rejoined the women.
"Oh, my," Olive said, placing her hand against her heart. "The poor woman."
Florence's mouth fell open. "How dreadful for her." She crossed herself and gazed heavenward. "God have pity on her kind-hearted soul."
Hannah placed a hand on the side of her face. "I can't imagine ...morning, noon and night, you say?" She stared into space, then shook her head.
Rose swallowed and crossed her legs. "We must start a prayer vigil for her immediately."
Calliope patted Rose's hand. "We will, dear, but just in case He doesn't hear our prayers, we need to do something about The Third and quickly before he screws Grace to death and he will, if we let it continue. The man's an ogre and is getting more obnoxious and contrary every day."
"What more can we do?" Rose asked. "That potion didn't have any affect on him. The witch said it was guaranteed to make him happy and carefree."
Calliope grimaced. "I agree. If anything, it had the opposite effect."
"The magic spell didn't work, either," Hannah said and sighed. "I'm convinced Esmerelda isn't a witch at all. She probably doesn't know toadstool from cow shit. Waste of good money, that's all it was."
"The same goes for travel tabs," Beatrice said, leaning forward. "They put me out like a light. The Third must have the constitution of a horse."
Florence heaved a sigh. "Let's face it, ladies, we're out of options. There's nothing more we can do."
“Not so fast.” Calliope raised a finger in the air. "Maybe there is. We're all agreed something needs to be done about him?" The other women nodded. "And it's up to us to do it?" They nodded again. "Okay." She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one lurked behind them and beckoned her friends closer. "Here's what I have in mind."