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  Death by Jello

  By S. Furlong-Bolliger

  Copyright 2010 by S. Furlong-Bolliger

  Cover Copyright 2010 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  Death by Jello

  By S. Furlong-Bolliger

  “Jello?” squawked Judith, eyeing me with disdain. “That wasn’t your assigned dish,” she pointed out. Judith was the uptight type. Which is probably why she was the top seller at Getmore Real Estate.

  “Well, I happen to love jello,” Bill piped up, adjusting his collar so that it peeked out neatly from under his sweater vest.

  “Yes, but Bailey was assigned a side dish, not dessert.” Judith took my deli container and gave me a nasty once over. “Did you happen to bring a serving bowl?”

  I shrugged. What did it really matter? “Geez, Judith, this is just an office party, not fine dining.”

  “What is that?” interrupted a voice from behind.

  I cringed, and glanced over my shoulder to find our newest, youngest, and my least favorite associate, Ron Newbauer, strutting in with a large silver platter with a domed lid. Out of the four realtors in the office, he was the most egocentric, cut-throat jerk around; although, to his credit, he could sell houses. Even in the economic downturn, Ron was selling. In fact, he’d met the million dollar mark the first six months at the office.

  “It’s jello,” I mumbled.

  Ron chuckled. “Well, I brought the meat,” he said, lifting the dome with flourish. Rows of turkey, dark and light, were lined neatly on a bed of ruffled lettuce. “At least turkey is a traditional Thanksgiving dish.”

  “Looks good,” I lied. I hated turkey. I looked around trying to find a way to escape. Conversing with Ron was always a downer. The guy could find a thousand ways to insult me.

  “By the way,” he started. Too late. I bristled for what was coming. “Did you see my newest listing? Wicker Park. Nice, huh?”

  I nodded, still looking around for an escape route.

  He continued, “The listing price has too many zeros to count.”

  “Good for you.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, good for me. What was your last commission, Bailey? Five hundred bucks?”

  I blew off his comment and walked over to where Sally Hanson, our receptionist, was busy converting our seven-by-five conference table into a festive holiday setting. I grabbed one end of a disposable tablecloth and helped her position it so that the giant turkey wearing a pilgrim hat was precisely in the middle of the table.

  “How ya doing, honey?” Sally asked, peering at me through double-layered eyelashes and tossing a blonde lock over her shoulder. Tonight, our long-legged receptionist was looking quite festive in a short black skirt and a slightly tight sweater featuring a giant horn of plenty across the front. For some reason, every time I saw her, that catchy Eric Clapton tune popped into my mind, “Lay Down Sally.” And, the tune seemed to fit. At least that’s what I’d heard. Although, I hate to listen to office gossip.

  “Well,” I sighed. “What made Gilmore want to have a Thanksgiving party? I mean, I would understand a Christmas party or maybe a company picnic, but Thanksgiving? Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

  “You know Gilmore—always thinking outside the box.”

  Gilmore Jones did think outside of the box. Hence, our company motto: Getmore Real Estate…where you always get more with Gilmore.

  Sally glanced quickly around the room and leaned in closer. I thought I heard a hitch in her voice as she whispered, “Gilmore is going to make an announcement tonight.”

  “An announcement?”

  Her expression soured as she busied herself smoothing bumps and wrinkles in the paper cloth. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” she said.

  “Mentioned what?”

  “He’s turning the business over to one of the associates and retiring to Florida with…with his wife.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the way she said wife. It made me think that the rumors were true. Maybe Gilmore wasgetting more from Sally than fast typing and efficient filing.

  “What do you mean? Turning the brokerage over? Which associate?” All I could think of was that Newbauer, or even worse, Judith-the-potluck-nazi could be my new boss. “You must be mistaken, Sally. It doesn’t make sense. Especially since he just took on the big Chadmore Development. It’s worth millions.”

  Sally snorted. “Are you kidding? Gilmore’s set for life. Besides, he says he’s tired of all the headaches. He wants out. He wants to enjoy his retirement years with his…I just can’t believe that he’s leaving me.” She snatched a paper napkin off the table and began dabbing at the edge of her eyes. “Is my mascara running?”

  “Sally, who’s he turning the Chadmore deal over to?”

  She kept dabbing, sniffing, and babbling on about Gilmore. “He didn’t even tell me in person. He just gave me this.”

  She handled me a waded up piece of paper. I was about to open the crumpled note when in walked Gilmore.

  Sally spied him and panicked. “Oh my God! I can’t let him see me like this,” she said, hightailing it down the hall to the restroom, leaving me with the note. Unsure of what to do, I put it in my pocket planning to give it back to her later.

  “Everyone’s here, I see,” Gilmore said, surveying the break room counter with glee. Gilmore did love to eat. He paused at my dish. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Jello. It’s a side dish,” I added. I was starting to feel down right defensive about my jello.

  He raised a brow but didn’t comment. Reaching into his suit pocket, he extracted a set of keys. “Tonight, my friends, I’m breaking out the good stuff. We have a lot to celebrate. I have a big announcement to make.”

  He crossed the room to the supply cabinet, which doubled as the office’s liquor stash.

  I glanced around the room. No one else seemed to be surprised that Gilmore was going to make a big announcement. Even Bill seemed to know what was going on. So, I walked over to where he was standing with Newbauer. “Hey guys, do you know anything about this big announcement?” I asked, watching Gilmore line up highball glasses and begin filling them with ice.

  “Hey Boss, no ice for me. I take it like a man,” Newbauer said, scurrying across the room to suck up to Gilmore.

  I rolled my eyes and turned back to Bill. “What gives Bill?”

  He fidgeted with his sweater. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. Probably something about the Chadmore Development. You know Gilmore—any reason to break out the scotch. By the way Bailey, did you have the chance to stop by the warehouse and get my signs?”

  “Yup, I sure did. They’re out in my trunk.”

  He pushed his wire rims back onto his nose bump and smiled down at me. “Thank you. You saved me an extra hour of work today.”

  “No problem, Bill. It was on my way.” I was always glad to help out Bill. He was my one true ally in the office. As a seasoned agent, h
e was always there to help me learn the business, sort of like a mentor. So, when he needed me to pick up his sale signs at the warehouse he had just sold, I was more than happy to help.

  Judith clapped her hands together to get our attention. “Okay, everyone. Let’s all form a line and fill our plates. We can hear more about Gilmore’s announcement over dinner.”

  We all obeyed. Newbauer headed through the line first, followed by me, Bill, Sally, Judith, and Gilmore. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Gilmore was the only person besides me that took any jello. Oh, well, at least he took an extra big helping.

  Once we were all comfortably seated at the table, Gilmore raised his glass. “My dear friends—”

  The room became so still, it was like all the air had been sucked out.

  Judith spoke up, “Shouldn’t we wait until after dinner to discuss business?”

  “Of course,” Gilmore resigned, setting his glass back on the table and digging in to his plate with gusto.

  That’s when I noticed it. There were several cherries scattered on top of Gilmore’s jello. The jello I brought didn’t have any cherries—pineapple, grapes, and some unidentifiable fruit, but definitely no cherries. How’d they get in there?

  Newbauer swirled his highball glass and started the small talk. “Great party, Gilmore.”

  What a suck-up.

  “Delicious green bean casserole, Bill,” Judith said, smiling at Bill.

  Why was she always so nice to him? She never complimented me on anything.

  I really hoped that Judith wasn’t going to be my new boss. We had nothing in common. She wore Chanel and pearls, while I preferred the sales rack at the T.J. Maxx. Her name was feminine yet powerful; while mine was…well, I’ve noticed that a lot of yellow labs have the same name as me. Plus, at any one time, her listings consisted of several multimillion dollar homes, while I was more of the starter-house seller.

  “The turkey’s moist,” Sally mumbled in an attempt to perpetuate the conversation.

  “Organic,” Newbauer boasted.

  I rolled my eyes. Of course it was.

  The dinner conversation was turning out to be quite dull. That was until Gilmore leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Still studying for that broker’s exam, Bailey?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good, because I’ve been watching you and I like what I see. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” He chuckled. I nodded. Where was this going? I looked around. Everyone seemed busy, although I had the feeling they were hanging on every word of our conversation.

  Gilmore took a bite of turkey and continued, “You’re honest and hard working. Not afraid to sell smaller properties.” He paused, shoveling in a large scoop of my jello, cherries and all. “I always say that, in this business, if you can sell a shack, you can sell anything.” He laughed as if it was the funniest joke he’d heard.

  My heart raced. The boss liked me.

  I looked around the table. Was it my imagination, or was everyone glaring at me?

  I eagerly turned back to Gilmore. Talking between bites, he lifted another forkful of my jello. “I wanted to save this announcement for later, but just between you and me,” he started before taking a giant bite of turkey. I waited patiently for him to finish chewing, anticipating his next words. He couldn’t be planning to hand over the Chadmore deal to me, could he?

  He swallowed and continued, “I think you’re just the person I need for the Cha—”.

  His words were stopped short by an odd gurgling noise coming from his mouth. Suddenly, he reached toward his throat and slumped forward in his chair.

  “Oh my God!” I yelled. “Someone do something. He’s choking!”

  I jumped up, moved into the Heimlich position and began lifting and thrusting. I looked to my colleagues for help, but they seemed unconcerned. That’s when I noticed that Gilmore wasn’t choking. He wasn’t even breathing. He was dead.

  I jumped back, unsure of what to do. There room was strangely quiet.

  Eventually, Judith’s voice broke through the silence. “Gilmore Jones is dead,” she was saying into her cell phone.

  I looked down at Gilmore and then around the room. Everyone seemed strangely calm.

  “Dead?” Newbauer chuckled, thumbing his finger at Judith’s conversation with the police. “Murdered is more like it. Murdered by jello salad. What a way to go, huh?”

  Several chuckles eschewed from around the table. I listened in horror. Was this a dream? Laughing about Gilmore’s death? Then it sank in—jello salad. That’s what I brought to the potluck.

  My face started burning. Was it my imagination or was everyone looking at me funny?

  “The police will be here any minute,” Judith announced, grabbing a hold of my elbow. “Come over here, Bailey,” she ordered, sequestering me to the corner where she hovered over me apparently making sure that I didn’t make a run for it.

  Across the room, Newbauer and Sally were huddled together whispering like school kids. Just a few feet away, Bill was standing alone. “Bill,” I pleaded. “You can’t really think that I did this?”

  Bill didn’t answer.

  “Bill! You know I didn’t kill him! The cherries. Didn’t anyone notice the cherries? The jello I brought didn’t have any cherries on it.”

  Judith glared down at me. “Save it for the cops, Bailey.”

  As if on cue, I heard sirens outside. Judith, real estate agent extraordinaire turned crime scene specialist, ran out to let the police into the office. I took the opportunity to scurry over to Bill. He turned his back as I approached.

  “Oh, come on, Bill. Look at me,” I hissed, grabbing his arm. “Listen, did you know that Sally was having an affair with Gilmore?” I lowered my voice and glanced over to where Sally and Newbauer were standing. For someone who had just lost their lover, Sally didn’t seem that upset. “Well, Gilmore dumped her. Maybe she was ticked enough to kill him.”

  I squinted at Newbauer. “Or maybe it was Newbauer. I know you don’t like him either, Bill. I mean, really, the guy’s a jerk. Murder would probably come easy to a guy like that.”

  Bill shrugged. “Maybe, but it was your jello that killed him. How do you explain that?”

  I was shocked. Everyone was turning on me, even Bill.

  Coming down the hall, I could hear the sound of footsteps and static bleeps from the cops’ radios. They were coming for me. I began to panic.

  First in was the EMT, followed directly by a couple of uniformed police officers and a heavy-set man in a suit who was busy listening to Judith explain Gilmore’s demise.

  From where I was standing, I could barely hear what she was saying, but from time to time she pointed in my direction. “Bailey Sweeny.” She enunciated loudly, leaning over and pointing to the detective’s notepad. “That’s Bailey with an ‘e-y’,” she corrected.

  I cringed. Leave it to Judith to make sure they got every detail correct.

  The detective nodded and started across the room in my direction. He was looking at me like a fox might look at a wounded bunny. I was in big trouble.

  “Miss Sweeney,” he started. I pegged him to be in his fifties. He had more hair on his face than his shiny head. His pocked-marked cheeks and dark eyes made him appear tougher than nails. “I’m Detective Steel.”

  Even his name was tough.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.

  I nodded, looking around nervously. Everyone was watching. I started to feel shaky. Where did I put my scotch? No, I better be cold sober for this. “Hey, listen,” I started. “I’m not sure what Judith told you, but I didn’t kill Gilmore. I wouldn’t kill anyone. I’m just not capable. Just ask anyone who knows me. I’m really nice. I mean, sure I brought the jello, but really…do we know if that’s what killed him? It could have been anything.”

  I glanced over to where one of the crime techs was removing a partially eaten cherry from Gilmore’s mouth. The other was sniffing the left over jello on Gilmore’s plate.r />
  “Detective,” he yelled across the room. “This looks like the culprit. I detect a faint odor of hydrogen cyanide. I’ll bag the jello and send it to the lab.”

  “And it was you that brought the jello?” Steel asked, moving in a little closer.

  “Well, yes. I did bring the jello, but I didn’t put any cherries on it. Someone else must have done that—the murderer,” I added, in case he couldn’t put two and two together.

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you have access to chemicals such as cyanide, Ms. Sweeney?”

  I shook my head. My mouth had gone dry. Did I have access to cyanide? I didn’t know. Where did a person get cyanide?

  “Did you recently have an argument with the victim? Or perhaps a lover’s quarrel?” he asked, raising a brow suggestively. God, the guy had about as much charm as the grim reaper.

  “No, no, and no.” I was starting to get angry.

  Sally walked over. She started patting my back. “Oh, honey. You didn’t have to kill him. You’re so young. There would have been someone else.”

  “What! What are you talking about Sally?”

  “Oh, Bailey. Don’t try to pretend that it didn’t happen,” she started. “I saw the note.”

  “The note?” What was going on here? Had all these people lost their minds?

  “What note is that, Ms.…?” the detective asked, pen poised over his notebook.

  “Ms. Hanson. Sally Hanson.” Sally looked at me apologetically. “I shouldn’t have looked, but I just couldn’t help myself. Bailey seemed so upset recently. I knew something was going on between her and Mr. Gilmore, but…well…the note says it all. I think it’s in her pocket.”

  “But….” My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled note that Sally handed me earlier. “But, this was your—” I tried to explain, but my voice only came out in raspy spurts. Why was she doing this to me?

  The detective scrutinized it and then looked at me for an explanation.

  Before I could give him one, Bill interrupted. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Bill cleared his throat and stepped forward. “But, I’m afraid that Bailey may have had access to cyanide. You see, I just sold off the old Casey Street warehouse, which used to be an old steel finishing plant. Everyone knows that hydrogen cyanide is a common element used in steel polishing.