Anita rested her chin on her palm. “I know you said you got yourself into doing that article by mistake, but you’re really enjoying it, aren’t you?”
“I am. Sweet Louise really looks forward to our chats. You know the article is about the residents who never have visitors. I knew it was a problem, but talking to those lovely old people has really brought it home. They’re lonely, but they never complain. And they’re so appreciative of any attention I give them.”
“Maybe you have a new ministry.” Anita was into ministry, always looking to help the less fortunate.
“I don’t know about that. It’s sort of time consuming. I’ll see you girls later. I want to finish the article tonight and get it submitted. The newspaper won’t pay much, but it’ll be something.” I deposited my cup on the counter on my way out.
Would my writing ever be more interesting than, “Nursing Home Tidbits”?
Chapter Eleven
T he sign read Beaver Creek Resident and Rehabilitation Center.
I really had to lose the habit of referring to it as the nursing home. None of the residents wanted to think of it in that way.
I’d become accustomed to the sterile, medication-scented, air that hit me in the face as I opened the door. The usual group of residents, manning wheelchairs and walkers, were stationed to greet me. Not just me—anyone who happened to come in.
“Hello, Edward.” He never spoke, but liked to stand very close to each new arrival. I wondered if he was nearsighted as I nudged him back a couple steps in order to close the door.
How’re you doing today, Mildred?” She smiled and stared at a point just left of my face.
None of the greeters, as I’d begun to call them, knew me. I’d introduced myself several times before I realized that every day was a new experience for them.
I edged my way through the old-timers, waved at the receptionist, who did remember me. Louise Humphreys’ room was in the first hallway to the right. At ninety, her mind was still intact. She had a pretty good command of history. Her short-term memory wasn’t so good, but long-term was great. During our last conversation, she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a particularly exciting tale. I thought the story would make a great finale for my article, once I heard the ending.
A nurse I didn’t recognize stood beside Louise in her room, so I stopped at her open door and tapped on the frame.
As she removed a blood pressure cuff, the nurse glanced at me. “Come on in. We’re all finished.”
Louise’s face crinkled into a grin. “Lauren, this is my new nurse, Paula. She transferred here from the Rehab Center in Warrenton. Paula, my friend Lauren’s a writer.”
Paula smiled at me, then turned back to Louise. “You’re doing fine. Give me a call if you start to worry again. I’m here until six.” She gathered her equipment and passed me in the doorway.
Louise occupied a massive, green arm chair—a size too large for her small frame.
“Lauren, it’s so good to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too. Are you feeling okay?”
She patted her hair and blushed. “Well, Paula said I’m fine, so I must be. Felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest a little while ago. It’s better now.”
Louise inclined her head toward the room across the hall. “Probably because of my neighbor. Deloris was up all night, and her cackling kept me awake.”
“Cackling? What was causing that?” I tried to picture what that meant. Maybe a chicken clucking?
“Oh, she’s got a computer in there, and she runs some sort of business. Every time she makes a sale she laughs out loud or claps her hands or shouts. You’d think that woman was making a million dollars. I doubt an old lady like her could earn much. I wonder if she’s even allowed to have a business in here. But I don’t say anything to the staff.”
“This doesn’t happen all the time, does it? Keeping you up?”
“Nope. She’s not usually so loud. Or if I wake up, I have to go to the bathroom anyway. Last night was the worst. It went on for hours.”
“It’s interesting, a business in the nursing home. Um, in Beaver Creek. I bet it helps to pass the time. I’d love to hear about it. Do you think she’d tell me about it?”
“Oh, that woman would brag about it to anyone. Probably would talk your leg off. She loves having her own income. Come on, I’ll take you over.” Louise eased off the chair and began to shuffle from the room. At the door, she paused and checked the hall in each direction before starting across.
I suppose speeding wheel chairs might be a danger if you’re ninety.
We crossed the hall holding hands, me matching shuffle for shuffle. I’d learned this mode of transportation since meeting Louise.
The black-and-white name plate with little flowers in the corners read Deloris D’agostino.
Louise tapped on the door and shuffled in. “Hey Deloris, I brought someone to meet you.”
The room was identical to Louise’s, but Mrs. D’agostino packed a lot more into it. Along the far wall sat a single bed, covered in a bright red comforter. At the foot, a mobility scooter, complete with basket on the front, was plugged into a wall outlet. A large flowered recliner, occupied the space to the left of the bed, and a smaller matching chair snuggled next to that. To our right, a shorter wall held a closet and the bathroom door. To our left, as we entered, the wall was monopolized by a massive dresser and mirror.
In the center of the room, a large woman perched on an undersized desk chair, in front of a small desk. She busily tapped on a laptop computer.
“Deloris, this is my friend, Lauren.”
Deloris was as round as she was tall. Her startling black hair was pulled back in a bun, showing an inch of extremely white roots.
The woman glanced up from the computer screen, and smiled broadly. “Come see what good business I’m doing, Louise. I have thirty-five auctions running all at the same time. And half of them will be paying off by dinnertime. I’m having so much fun, I can’t stand it.”
“Good for you, Deloris.” Louise didn’t put as much enthusiasm in the remark as I might have. “In fact, that’s why we’re here. Lauren is a writer, and she wants to hear about your business.”
Deloris tore her attention away from the screen. “I’ve seen you around. You’re writing the newspaper article about the old people nobody wants to visit.” She cut her eyes to her neighbor. “Sorry Louise.”
She pointed to the computer screen. “Anyway, let me tell you. I have my own store. My son Mallozi—who visits me every day—set it up for me on this auction site. I monitor the sales, collect the money, and email my buyers. That’s the best part. Some of them are from other countries. It’s very interesting.”
Deloris grabbed the sides of the desk and studied the computer screen for a moment. “They’re bidding like crazy.”
“I’m fascinated, Deloris. What do you sell?”
Deloris pursed her lips for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Um, odds and ends my son finds at garage sales and such. He keeps all the stuff at home. Wouldn’t have room here.” Deloris eyed me as she spoke. With one hand, she slowly closed the laptop.
She clasped her hands in her lap. “Mallozi tells me I talk about it too much. Someone might cut in to my business and sell the same stuff.”
“I promise I wouldn’t do that. It must be exciting to run a business and earn your own income. Do you share the proceeds with Mallozi?”
“I give him a cut, sure. There’s plenty of money for both of us. He’ll be here shortly to load pictures of my next batch.”
“It wouldn’t fit in my current article, but I’d love to do a follow-up piece and interview you about your business. You wouldn’t have to say anything about what you sell. I can see it keeps you busy and I bet it gives you quite a sense of accomplishment.”
“Oh yes. I’d never worked in my life, except for keeping house and raising kids. Now I’m an executive. Sometimes I even eat in my room so I can watch my auctio
ns. It’s great.” Deloris’s smile fled and she glanced to the side. “But I don’t think I should be in the newspaper. Mallozi doesn’t like publicity. He’s a private person.”
She brushed some imaginary dust off the top of the computer. “It’s not that interesting. Nothing really, just a little thing I do to pass the time.”
What caused the quick change in Deloris? She didn’t seem to be one of the memory care residents.
A knock on the door interrupted us. A man stepped into the room. He was about my height, a lot bulkier, and in need of a shave. “Hey, Ma. How’s it going?”
Deloris’s face brightened. “Mallozi. Come in and meet my friends.”
She turned glowing eyes to me. “This is my son, Mallozi. I told you he’d be here. Like clockwork, he’s here every day to check on me and make sure I have everything I need. Don’t you sweetie?”
“Sure do. I take care of my ma. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Mallozi crossed in front of me to kiss his mother on the cheek. When he straightened, he spread his hands, narrowing his gaze at Louise and me. “What did I break up, ladies?”
Deloris spoke up. “Nothing much. Lauren is a newspaper writer. She’s writing a story about the old folks who live here and don’t have any wonderful children like you. The ones who don’t have anyone to visit them. Poor things.” She shot a glance at Louise.
Her son eyed me for a few seconds before a smile lifted his face. “That’s real nice of you. But you aren’t interviewing my mom, are you? As she said, she’s got me. I’m here every day.”
Louise shuffled to my side and put her tiny hand my arm. “Oh no, Mallozi, I brought Lauren over to meet Deloris and show her the business. We all know Deloris is one of the lucky ones with such a dutiful son.”
“Your mother must have a good business sense. I’m amazed she’s so productive, even while living in assisted care. It’s quite an accomplishment.”
He nodded and continued to eye me.
Louise was tugging on my arm, so I took the hint. “We were just leaving. I know you’ll want to have your visit. So glad I met you, Deloris, and you, Mallozi.”
Louise and I shuffled out the door and back across the hall.
When we reached her room, I whispered. “I don’t think Deloris’s son appreciated me visiting her.”
“Oh, you know boys. He was probably in a mood, and he’s a little possessive. Sort of wants all her attention, but it’s lovely he makes time for her.”
Louise took her place in the big green chair, and I sat on the edge of the bed.
I took out my notebook. “Now, about that story you were telling me last week. The one about you and your brother trying to stow away on the train? I can’t wait to hear how it turned out.”
~
As much as I enjoyed Louise, I was glad to leave Beaver Creek. I trotted to the parking lot filling my lungs with glorious, non-medicated air.
My hand had just gripped the door handle when I heard the footsteps. I glanced up to see Mallozi stalking toward my car.
Where had he come from? I’d assumed he was still with Deloris. Had he been sitting on the bench in the little park nearby?
Mallozi closed in, and I wondered if I should jump out of the way. He finally stopped with his face about six inches from mine. His damp breath on my face made me attempt to back up, but I was trapped between Mallozi and the car.
This man had no concept of personal space. I held my breath to keep from inhaling his recycled air.
His whisper sounded like a dog’s growl. “That’s a commendable thing you’re doing for Louise and the old people. Nice.”
He glanced from side to side before returning his gaze to me. “But I don’t think you need to talk to my mom anymore. She has me to look after her, and she sure doesn’t need to be bothered by any newspaper reporter.”
“I’m not a reporter, I’m…”
Without another word, Mallozi pivoted and walked away.
I gulped a full breath. What was that about?
Shaking my shoulders to get rid of the creepy feeling, I yanked the car door open. Once inside, my trembling hand missed the ignition. Taking a deep calming breath, I concentrated and tried again, this time with success.
In the few blocks to my house, I must have checked the rear-view mirror twenty times. The streets were quiet. No one followed me.
Secure in my living room, with the door bolted, I laughed at such paranoia. The guy simply wanted to protect his mother. An admirable quality. He couldn’t help being weird. Probably harmless.
Chapter Twelve
T he three of us occupied a booth at Burgers & Bean Sprouts, a trendy little restaurant, housed inside a refurbished sixties-era filling station.
Clair shoved her plate to the center of the table.
Anita stopped in mid-bite. “Girl, you only ate half your sandwich, and you’ve barely touched those curly fries.”
“No more for me. Can’t even look at it. I’ve been eating way too much since joining the dating site.” A smile crossed Clair’s face. “Guess I shouldn’t complain, I’ve had some great meals. All the guys are out to impress me.” She gave her middle a pat. “But, it’s beginning to show. Lauren, when are we going speed walking again?”
I’d hoped Clair had given it up. “I’ve barely recovered from our last walk. I’m still having nightmares. Maybe if we stay away from the woods?”
“Sure. But I doubt we’ll find another body. I think Evelynton’s hit its limit for the year.”
Anita dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Clair, you haven’t put on an ounce since high school. Skinny then. Skinny now.”
I wanted to echo the sentiment, but my mouth was full. My turkey burger, smothered with sautéed onions and bean sprouts, was the best thing I’d eaten in weeks. Dining out anywhere was a treat for me.
Clair blew out a loud sigh. “Guess I’ll have to stop responding to every flirt message a man sends me. Or maybe, I’ll cancel my membership, since I ran into an old acquaintance a couple days ago.”
I watched Clair’s smile expand into a grin that crinkled her eyes, and had to ask. “Who did you see?”
She twirled her straw in her lemonade. “I was in Indianapolis on business, and a certain someone with smoldering eyes and a dangerous edge happened to be there.”
Anita made no attempt to hide the rolling of her eyes. “Who did you meet this time?”
“Mr. Tall Dark and Gorgeous. Remember the FBI agent, Jack Spencer? He was in Evelynton when that insurance agent, Earl Clooney, was killed. You know, he was chasing Philip Townsend, the jerk I dated a few times. You remember Agent Spencer, don’t you, Lauren?”
I remembered him very well. But for Clair, I put on my best impersonation of disinterested. “Sure. He came into The Rare Curl during the investigation.”
I’d thought about him many times since he left town. The first man I’d had a crush on since Marc died. Jack was just as Clair described him. I could add warm, strong, and sincere.
And I needed to jump off that train of thought right away. A relationship wasn’t meant to be. The last time I’d gazed into those dark eyes, I’d slammed a door in Jack Spencer’s handsome face. He’d made the mistake of voicing suspicions about my late husband. Insinuated Marc had been involved in a crime, before being killed by the stray bullet six years ago.
Clair went on, unaware of my darkened mood. “I thought Jack was gone forever, but spotted him in a coffee shop when I was in the city for a realtor meeting. Isn’t that funny? The first time I laid eyes on him was in Ava’s Java, when he’d stopped in for coffee. We already have something special going for us.”
Anita pointed a french fry. “I remember. Aren’t you glad you were already finished with that Townsend character when Agent Spencer told you he was a criminal? I thought the agent went back to Florida.”
“He did.” Clair’s expression went all dreamy. “But now he’s living in Indiana.”
I fought to sound casual. �
��What’s he doing in Indiana?”
“I didn’t have a chance to get the whole story. He was with some other guys. I just said ‘hello’ and introduced myself to make sure he remembered me. He did say I don’t have to call him agent anymore. He retired and formed his own company. Security consulting, I think.”
Clair picked up one of Anita’s French fries and stuck in her mouth. There’s another realtor motivational meeting in Indianapolis this weekend. I hadn’t planned attend, but I sure will now. I may have to camp out in the coffee shop until Jack comes in again.”
Former Agent Jack Spencer didn’t stand a chance. Once Clair set her sights on a guy—well, she knew how to flirt. He’d be hooked and in the net before he knew what was happening.
Shoot.
I massaged my jaw where a pain had begun to creep in. Clenched teeth, a dead giveaway for jealousy. Something I hadn’t experienced since high school.
This wasn’t Clair’s fault, she didn’t know. I’d always been private about my feelings. Hadn’t even admitted it to myself, until now. My friend didn’t know I had feelings for him.
Clair slapped both hands on the table. “Girls! What was I thinking? When I see Jack, I’ll tell him about my dreadful experience of finding the body alongside the path. And I’ll ask his advice on how to get over the trauma.”
She batted her eyelashes and did a passable imitation of a southern belle. “You know, Jack, I just don’t feel safe anymore. I’m afraid to be alone.” With a satisfied smile, Clair said, “Manly men can’t help but offer assistance to a damsel in distress.”
Damsel in distress? That woman was as independent as they came. Besides, her apartment building had more bolt locks and security cameras than anyone should need in a small town.
I picked up the last bit of turkey burger, but couldn’t put it in my mouth. My appetite was gone. When I saw the waitress walking in our direction, I held up my plate for her to take.
Anita finished her last curly fry and wiped her fingers on the napkin. “This was great. Thanks for coming out at the last minute. I’d forgotten my hubby was going to be out of town, and I hate to eat alone.”
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