Her reply rolled out as smooth as silk, “Of course. Won’t you have a seat.” She directed me to a royal blue sofa. “I’ll see if Mr. Sizemore is free, Ms. Halloren. May I offer you a cup of coffee or a soft drink, while you wait?”
“Thank you, no, I’m fine.” I sank into the velvet cushions and Judith soundlessly slipped from the room, her footsteps muffled by deep pile carpeting.
I’d begun sorting through home decorating magazines when Perry burst into the room. His impressive mass propelled toward me, and I froze, fearful of being smothered in a massive bear hug. But he skidded to a stop and grabbed my hands.
“Hey beautiful, it’s so good to see you. I’m glad you stopped in.” Releasing one hand, he gestured toward the door from which he’d been ejected. “We’ll talk in my office.”
The door opened into a short hallway. We entered a drab little office. The room was maybe ten by ten, with a desk and bookshelves constructed of fake wood. Perry pulled out one of two stained, upholstered chairs for me, and with some difficulty, squeezed behind the desk. A rush of air escaped the cushion as he settled into the massive vinyl chair. Perry leaned back and tented his fingers in front of his chest. “How is everything, Lauren? If it’s possible, you are even more gorgeous now than you were in high school.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “You know, I always had a crush on you.”
Eew.
I sat, speechless. What was I supposed to say to that? The twinkle in his eye made me nervous.
After a slight pause, where he gazed past me with glassy eyes, Perry raised his voice to sales pitch level. “So, are you thinking of selling the Cape Cod? Interested in a new home?” He gave a quick nod and a wink. “Something more up to date? I have two outstanding listings that are just your style. Ultra-modern, open concept, country setting. Lots of room for entertaining.”
My style?
I shook my head and tried to smile. “I’m sure they’re beautiful, but I’m here on a different mission. I’m constructing a story line for a book, and I knew you could be of help. It’s a mystery. The idea came to me at our class reunion.”
Perry leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. His eyes got big and his voice came out in a secretive hiss. “Ah, a mystery. Of course Lauren. This is exciting. What’s it about?”
“I can’t tell you much. That goes against a rule I have—never let anyone in on the plot until it’s well underway.”
Perry maintained his conspiratorial tone. “I understand. What’s your question for me? Shoot.”
I leaned forward and smiled. “I can tell you this much. One of the characters moves back to her hometown after many years, and no one remembers her. Of course, I have lots of experience from my own return, but what would I do if no one knew me? For instance, I know Paul Cooper lived out of state for quite a while, and moved back several years ago. What do you remember about his return?”
Perry looked up at the ceiling and scratched his second chin. “As I remember it, that would have been five or six years ago.”
My pen poised above the notebook, ready to record his revelations. “Uh-huh, how did you first run into him? Did he come to see you? Did someone introduce you?”
Perry aimed a blank stare at me. “I don’t know.” He pointed a chubby index finger toward the ceiling. “Wait. I saw his name on a roster of homes sold. Took notice because the house was on my street. I like to know my neighbors. Well, I saw the name and thought ‘Old Paul’s back in town.’ As soon as he’d moved in, I went down to see him. Turned out, I was the first of the old gang.”
I made a note. “Really? That’s a coincidence—Paul moving into your neighborhood. I’ll bet he was glad to see you. What did he say? Did he recognize you right away?” I leaned back and directed my pen toward Perry. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all since high school.”
Perry sat up straighter and his smile widened. “You know, I try to keep in shape. Play a lot of golf.” After a pause, he continued. ”No, I think Paul was kind of puzzled at first and shocked to see me standing on his doorstep.” Perry slapped the desk. “Then, I identified myself. Let him off the hook, you know. After all, it had been over fifteen years.”
I nodded, smiling. “That’s a long time. How about Paul, did you think he had changed at all?”
Perry rotated his chair to the side and made two attempts to cross his legs before giving up. “He’d aged, for sure, but I have an eye for faces, and a strong memory.”
“That’s a gift, Perry. I’m afraid my memory isn’t that good.”
Perry laced his fingers across his ample stomach. “It’s important in my business. I work at it. As luck would have it, Paul’s in real estate, so I got him a position right here at Empire.”
Here?
“He has an office here?” I blew out a slow breath in an effort to maintain a calm facade.
“He does, even though he rarely uses it. He works from home most days. I see him more on the golf course than in the office.” Perry’s chair squeaked as he pivoted it toward me again. “Say, your book isn’t about Paul, is it? He’s a private kind of guy. Got a little peeved at me when I introduced him around. ‘Course I told him, in real estate, you have to know people.”
I waved a hand in Perry’s direction. “No. The book isn’t about Paul. I’m only building characters right now. I thought of Paul because of his experience, wondering if it was the same as mine. Everyone seems to know me.”
“Hey. How could anyone miss you? You look the same, only more alluring.” He winked at me.
Eek.
“Have you talked to Paul yet? I could set it up for you. He’s a loner, but I’m closer to him than anyone—except Missy of course.” He chuckled.
I glanced at the closed door. “He isn’t here today, is he?”
“Oh, no. Probably at home, but just say the word and I’ll call him. Or maybe I could drive you over to his house, in my Caddy.”
I retrieved my handbag from the floor. “Thanks, Perry, but I don’t think I’ll need to bother him at this time. I doubt it’ll be necessary at all. I have a lot of information already.”
“Okay, but I’d be happy to call him and pave the way for you. Maybe we could all meet for drinks?”
“That’s very kind of you, but don’t bother Paul. I’m sure I have all I need.” I tucked my notebook into my handbag and pulled the strap over my shoulder.
“It’s been great talking to you Perry. You’ve been so much help.” I put out my hand before I thought about it. “I won’t keep you any longer. I know you have work to do.”
Perry stood up, quickly pushed himself around the desk, and captured my hand in both of his. “It’s been great talking to you, Lauren. Stop by anytime. We’ll have lunch.” Maintaining a one-handed grip on me, he pulled a business card from his pocket. “Take my card. It has both my private office and cell number on it. His eyes bored into mine.
Carefully extracting my hand. “Oh, I have your card, Perry. Thanks so much.” I pulled open the office door and made a hasty exit down the hall and through the sitting room, hearing the chimes as I escaped to the parking lot.
While I turned the ignition, the conversation replayed in my mind. Perry said he’d recognized Paul, but did he really? Was it simply because of the name and expectations? Would Perry admit to being wrong about anything? I had yet to find anyone who changed my suspicions about Paul’s identity.
At the first intersection, I pulled to the curb and slammed on the brakes.
Chapter Twenty
I pulled out my notebook and flipped back two pages. The names Harry Cooper and Beaver Creek Nursing flashed at me like a neon sign.
Oh crap.
I’d forgotten to check out that lead. Or maybe, since it didn’t fit into my scenario, I’d intentionally pushed it aside.
No time like the present to make that visit.
~
Acrid fumes of antiseptic assaulted my nose and stung my eyes in the Beaver Creek foyer. The wheelchair-bound re
sidents, clustered inside, seemed unaffected by the smell. I smiled and answered the chorus of greetings, murmuring “hello” to each as I wove through the wheels. With a slight wave to the elderly group, I headed toward a reception desk at the end of a short hall.
I waited to speak until the young aid looked up from her magazine. She must have been engrossed in the article, for she seemed surprised to see me.
“Hi. I have a question about a former resident. I wonder if you remember Harry Cooper.” She directed a blank stare at me and I was about to repeat myself when a tall, slim woman stepped to the desk, clipboard in hand. Her badge read Helen Peters—Activities Director.
I began again. “Hi, I’m Lauren Halloren. I—.”
Her face lit up with a ready smile. “I know that name—Ruth James’ niece, Lauren Grace. I heard you inherited. Ruth was a wonderful woman. She was here quite often, reading stories to the residents, and planning birthday parties.”
“Really? My aunt volunteered here?” I still struggled to digest the idea of this new Aunt Ruth.
Helen put her hand on my arm and leaned in. I breathed in her flowery cologne, a welcome deliverance from the antiseptic cloud. “Oh my, such a loss. The residents loved her—we all did. She is missed.” She slowly shook her head.
Speechless, my mouth hung open for a moment. “I had no idea.”
“She was a jewel. We’ll never find another volunteer like her.”
Helen pulled the clipboard to her chest. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m a freelance writer doing a newspaper story about forgotten nursing home residents. I want to bring to light the plight of living out their last years without visitors.” Lying again, but I think I sounded sincere. So I will do the story, sometime. “I’ve been doing research, and a friend mentioned a man named Harry Cooper.”
Helen’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I remember Harry. Sweet man. He didn’t say much, but always had a smile on his face.” She paused. “But he did have family. His son visited every week toward the end.”
“He did visit?”
You see, the son had lived out of state for a long time, then moved back, and was very attentive until Harry passed away.”
“Oh, that’s nice, Harry got to be with him before he died.” I nodded, and mentally shredded my notes.
“Yes. The son—I wish I could remember his name. Anyway, he didn’t think Harry knew him, but I like to think somewhere in his heart, Harry knew his boy had come home. He—.”
I put up my hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Oh wait, did Harry have Alzheimer's?”
“No. It was vascular dementia from years of high blood pressure, not that it matters much to family. They just feel forgotten. Harry didn’t outwardly recognize anyone, but I’m quite sure he was with us in spirit. Such a shame his son didn’t make it home while Harry was lucid. They could have had some nice talks. Harry passed a few months after their reunion.”
Helen chuckled and tapped herself on the head. “But about your story, I’ll introduce you to some other residents. How wonderful, to have a story in the paper, letting people know that even Alzheimer and dementia patients love visitors. Come with me.”
Helen put her arm around my shoulders and guided me into the first hall. “Louise is in the first room. We’ll start with her.”
The intercom squawked nearby and caused me to levitate a few inches. Helen merely raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you know it? I’m needed. You go right in.” She began backing away, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “I’ll check back with you soon. If I get tied up, check please come in anytime. There are more residents who would make perfect subjects. I can’t wait to tell the director about your story.”
Helen took a few steps backward down the hall. “Check at the desk. Debbie will give you my hours.”
She then turned on her heel and speed-walked toward her destination, blond hair flying in the breeze.
I glanced in the direction of the receptionist. She eyed me with interest, so I smiled and opened the door to Louise’s room.
How could I escape?
A diminutive woman sat in an upholstered chair. Her tiny feet, in orthopedic shoes, dangled an inch or so above the floor. A halo of white fuzz surrounded a face composed of softly folded skin, that appeared almost transparent. On her television, women jumped up and down in front of a game board, while bells rang, and music played. The noise was enough to drive me bonkers, but Louise sat peacefully with her head tilted to one side.
I raised my voice above the ruckus. “Hello, Louise. My name is Lauren. May I talk to you for a few minutes?” No response. I’d leaned over to repeat the question when I noticed her closed eyelids. I stood still and watched her chest until it raised and lowered, confirming she was breathing. I tip-toed out.
The receptionist’s attention was now buried in her magazine.
I slipped out the front door and walked away clenching my fist. “What have I gotten myself into now? Writing a story about a nursing home? I’ll have to stop by the newspaper office, talk to the editor, sell him on the idea. They probably don’t pay much, if anything.”
A man studied me as I passed. Talking to myself. Probably thinks I’m an escapee.
I wrote in my notebook. ‘Harry Cooper—not a reliable witness to the identity of his son.’ Then again, that didn’t prove Paul wasn’t who he claimed. It might be just as Helen said. He’d waited too long to come home.
Chapter Twenty-one
I t was a typical Saturday morning at The Rare Curl as I walked in and took my place at the reception desk—every chair already filled with a woman anticipating her new hairstyle.
Every chair? Patsy’s workplace captured my attention. Although I didn’t see Patsy, her chair held a customer, complete with shampoo cape and cup of coffee. A brief scan of the appointment book confirmed Patsy had indeed returned to work.
Rarity scurried from the break-room and joined me.
“Patsy’s back to work already?” After Marc died. I’d stayed in seclusion for months, which in retrospect wasn’t a healthy way to cope.
Rarity ran her finger down the column of her appointments. “Yes, poor thing. She’s so brave. Just wants to move on with her life, and I know she needs the income, at least until Earl’s life insurance pays.”
“Yeah. The bills don’t quit coming in just because you’re in mourning.”
“Right now, Patsy’s in the break-room, speaking to a police officer about Earl’s death.”
Forgetting where we were, I spun around to face Rarity. “They’re questioning Patsy? Why don’t they leave her alone? Can’t a woman grieve in peace?”
I sputtered. “Patsy has enough to deal with, without having to repeatedly talk with the police. They can’t think sweet Patsy’s involved.” I took a breath and shifted my gaze around the shop. The room had grown deadly quiet. Chatter had ceased and every eye focused on me.
Rarity put her hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Oh, they’re probably asking if Earl had any enemies or if he’d had any run-ins with anyone. I’m sure they’re just doing their job.”
Why must she always be so calm?
Still sputtering, but quietly. “I’m afraid I’m not as understanding as you are. It’s unthinkable to put a woman through that. She has to live with the knowledge of her husband’s murder and then defend herself against stupid questions and accusations. After they questioned me about Marc’s death, I was a mess for weeks.”
“Oh dear, how could I forget?” Rarity whispered. “You have firsthand experience. This must bring back a lot of pain. Don’t worry, I don’t think the investigator will be hard on Patsy. I spoke to him earlier and he seems like a nice man.”
We turned at the familiar squeak of the break-room door. Patsy emerged, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She put on a smile and walked straight to her customer.
Sure, I just bet he’s a nice man.
My mouth dropped open when the door squeaked again. It was Mr. Beautiful from the Java Shop, Mr
. Tall Dark Stranger from my first day in Evelynton. Not as appealing now, he appeared more sinister than I’d noticed before. I turned and picked up my pencil, busying myself with studying appointments, as I heard his footsteps approach.
Rarity chirped an introduction. “Lauren Halloren, this is Agent Spencer. He’s with the FBI.” She made him sound like a visiting celebrity.
I raised my chin, keeping my expression noncommittal. “FBI? In this small town?”
He smiled down at me and I squeezed my lips together, fighting the urge to smile in return. “Yes, ma’am. I’m in town on an unrelated matter—visiting a friend.” His deep voice made me want to sigh, but I warned myself not to be fooled. “Officer Farlow is ill, so I offered my assistance for a few days. I see in my notes, you’ve been interviewed.”
“So kind of you to help out. Yes, I spoke to Officer Farlow. Told him everything I know—which is nothing.” I congratulated myself on maintaining a professional tone, although, in retrospect, it may have sounded sharp.
Agent Spencer blinked. “I won’t take up any more of your time. Unless you’ve thought of something since that interview?”
His warm, soothing, voice threatened to undermine my resolve. With effort, I kept my countenance stern. “No, I don’t have anything else to say.” I turned my eyes to the appointment book. “So, you don’t have to waste your time on me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him straighten and slide his notebook into his pocket.
To Rarity, he said, in that penetrating voice, “Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. I’ll let you know if we need any more information.”
I could hear the smile in Rarity’s words. ”Thank you, Agent Spencer. Just let me know if I can do anything. I hope you find the person who did this.”
I looked up briefly when he said, “Thank you, Ms. Halloren.” With a sideways glance and a nod, Mr. FBI left the salon.
Heart Strings Page 9