Dearly Departed
Page 4
“Sorry, Mr. Cooper,” Kevin mumbled, heading back to his desk.
“Sorry, Mr. Cooper,” Eden echoed, and tried to get back to work as well, but Mr. Cooper wasn’t quite finished.
“I need all those obituaries done by tonight,” he said, placing a beefy hand on her desk. “All of them.”
She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be so emphatic; there were only five obituaries and it wasn’t like they were going anywhere. “I’ll have them done, sir.”
He was gone again as quickly as he’d come, and Eden reached into her drawer for that candy bar. Now was as good a time as any.
“Kevin,” she said softly after checking for Mr. Cooper’s haunting presence, “do you want to go to Shady Aspens with me tomorrow?”
4
“Peggy said her mother was in room 305,” Eden said, checking her information against the piece of paper she held in her hand. “And the doctor in charge was Nancy Brent.”
As Eden and Kevin walked up to the well-kept building, she noted the thick stands of aspen trees that surrounded the establishment. They tied in well with the theme—the place was called Shady Aspens, after all—but Eden couldn’t say she considered an aspen to be a shade tree.
Kevin held the door open for her as she stepped into the lobby, a rush of cool air hitting her cheeks.
“Excuse me,” she said to the receptionist, “I’d like to speak with Dr. Nancy Brent.”
“That’s not possible,” the receptionist replied.
Eden glanced at the woman’s name tag. “Heather, it’s good to meet you. My name is Eden West, and I’m a journalist.” She pulled out her ID. “I work in the obituary department at the Salt Lake Sentinel, and I’m doing a piece on the elderly and their care in the latter days of their lives. I’m told Dr. Brent is an expert in her field, and—”
Heather held up a manicured hand. “I don’t doubt your credentials. But Dr. Brent isn’t here. In fact, she hasn’t been here all week.”
“When will she return?” Eden asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Eden glanced at Kevin, who was trying to look nonchalant. “Do you mind if I look around the establishment for a few minutes? I won’t go into any private living quarters.”
“If you stick to the common areas, that should be all right,” Heather said. “But if you’re planning to write a piece about Shady Aspens in particular, it would be best if you spoke with the director, who handles our public relations.”
“I’d like that,” Eden said. “Can you get me in touch with him?”
“Her,” Heather corrected. “Yes, I’ll give her a call and see if she can come out.”
Eden and Kevin wandered into the main common area, where plush couches were arranged in a semi-circle. Large arrangements of fresh flowers stood on the tables, and while Eden was no florist, she could tell they’d cost a fortune.
“I wonder if we could speak to some of the inmates—I mean, residents.” She blushed slightly at her slip of the tongue.
“We’d probably better check with the director first,” Kevin said. Eden noted his use of the word “we.” Was he considering himself part of this venture? He was sure everywhere all of a sudden.
“So, what’s up with this article you’re supposedly writing?” Kevin asked softly.
“It wasn’t a lie,” she said, lifting her chin. “I fully plan to write the story. Notice I didn’t promise it would get printed. I just said I was writing it.”
“You are so sneaky,” he said with a hint of admiration. “I could take some lessons from you.”
“I think you’d better,” she replied. “It might be good for your career.”
At the sound of high heels echoing behind them, they turned and greeted the tall, suited woman who approached.
“I’m Debbie O’Donnell,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m the director of Shady Aspens. I understand you’re with the press?”
Eden passed over her ID and business card.
“I see,” Debbie said, handing the cards back. Eden noticed her nails were painted the same eggplant shade as her outfit. What was with the women in this place and their perfect manicures? She wanted to stuff her hands in her pockets so no one could see her short, stubby nails.
“Why don’t you come into my office?” Debbie gestured back the way she’d come, and Kevin and Eden followed her across the marbled floor toward the elevator. Everything about the establishment screamed money, from the mahogany reception desk to the rich carpeting down the halls. Eden wondered just how much it cost to live in a place like this.
Debbie led them to an opulent office just to the right of the elevator. “Please, have a seat.”
Eden sank into a leather chair. If she ever had a high-powered job, she would get a chair like this. And if she ever sold a book to the national market and made a million dollars, she’d do her whole house in chairs like this.
“I understand from Heather that you’d like to do a story about our residents,” Debbie said.
“Not your residents specifically, unless they’d like to be quoted,” Eden said. “I’m mostly interested in generalities. What avenues are available to the elderly in their last years, what various alternatives cost, if there are advantages to living in a care center as opposed to being nursed by loved ones at home—that sort of thing.” She was amazed at how glibly the lie rolled off her tongue. It would make an interesting story, though, just like she told Kevin.
“I see. And what made you choose Shady Aspens as your research target?”
“The newspaper I work for recently ran an obituary for a woman who lived here, and I thought it sounded like a good place to start.”
Debbie tapped those perfect fingernails on the desk. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Eden pretended to consult a notebook from her bag. “Mrs. Partridge.”
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Partridge. She was a dear. We miss her already.”
Eden waited a moment for a follow-up comment, but none came. “May I ask you some questions?”
“That would be fine, but I’m rather busy today. Why don’t you talk with Heather and schedule an appointment for next Monday? I think that would be best.”
“Of course. We’re sorry for coming unannounced. I wonder if I could also make an appointment to speak with Dr. Brent.”
Debbie stiffened. “I don’t think that will be possible.”
“Oh?”
“Dr. Brent is no longer with the establishment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eden said. “Do you know where she’s working now? I understand she’s the best in her field, and—”
“Dr. Brent hasn’t been heard from in a week,” Debbie said, rising from her chair. “Even if I did know where she was, I would have to fire her. We can’t have our staff physicians taking off without warning. It’s not fair to their patients.”
Eden blinked. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I could meet with her replacement.”
“Arrange it with Heather,” Debbie said, motioning toward the door. “I’m afraid I really must get back to work.”
Eden and Kevin walked back toward the lobby area. “She was in a hurry to get us out of there,” Kevin said. “And she got sure uptight when you asked about Dr. Brent.”
“She really did.” Eden paused in the hallway and looked back. “She’s scared of something. I could see it in her eyes.”
“Yeah, I see something in your eyes, too,” Kevin told her. “You’re a little dangerous, aren’t you?”
“A little.” Eden smiled. “Not really, really dangerous, but a little.”
They set up two appointments for the following Monday, one to meet with Debbie and the other to talk with Dr. Wilson, who had come in to replace Dr. Brent. Eden made a mental note to stock up on Ben and Jerry’s—she had a feeling she’d need it after talking to Debbie again.
“Where to now, oh fearless leader?” Kevin asked.
“Back to the office. I’ve got a couple of obits to edit.”
“Sorry, no such luck. We do have jobs, you know. That is, I think we still have jobs.”
Ida Mae held up her twisted yarn and heaved a sigh. “It’s no use, Arlette. I’ll never get the hang of it.”
“Didn’t you make all the doilies in this room?”
“No.” Ida Mae hated to confess it, but she’d collected those doilies at yard sales over the years and had been content just to let people think she’d made them herself. She figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and the doilies did lend a certain homey quality to the place. Besides, was there some kind of rule that said you could only display handicrafts you’d made yourself? If that was the case, why were boutiques so popular?
“Well, let’s see what we can do.” Arlette took the mess out of Ida Mae’s hands and turned it over, then back, and then upside down. After a long moment of critical observation, she said, “There’s not a thing that can be done with this. Let’s start over.”
“Start over? Start over? Arlette, I’ve just spent two whole hours of my life on that afghan. Hours I will never get back. Hours I could have spent doing genealogy or canning or caring for the sick and afflicted, and you want me to throw it all away?”
“You’re hardly in a condition to do canning, you are the sick and afflicted, and you know full well your genealogy is done back to Adam.”
Tansy bustled in just then, her arms full of flowers. “Sister Hanover was outside in her garden, and she flagged me down and asked if I wouldn’t mind bringing some of these lovely things over to you. Of course I told her yes.” She busied herself arranging the blooms in Ida Mae’s biggest vase while Arlette continued to sigh over the ruined afghan.
“I’m just so bored,” Ida Mae said. “I know you’re trying to entertain me, and I appreciate that, Arlette, but I think we should call it quits. I’m not good with yarn.”
“We might call you wool-challenged,” Tansy said from the kitchen. “Is that a politically correct term?”
“Politically correct or not, I stink at this.”
“I know what you need,” Tansy said, bringing the vase into the living room. “You need a man.”
Ida Mae nearly choked. “What on earth would I do with a man? And what man would want me, in this condition?”
“Men like to rescue women,” Tansy said. “It makes them feel strong and brave.”
“The only man I’d be interested in right now is a massage therapist,” Ida Mae told her. “Well, I’d also love to see Ren.”
“I got a letter from him yesterday,” Arlette said. “He sounds like he’s doing well.”
“I got one too,” Tansy said. “It’s probably just a copy of yours, but it was wonderful to get it.”
“A year to go,” Ida Mae said, wistfully thinking about that dear boy. She wanted the time to speed by, but then again, she didn’t. What would his goals be when he returned? Would he be content to stay in Omni, or would he want to move off to a larger town, as he’d done before? It was his life to live, certainly, and she didn’t want to hold him back, but a part of her, a very large part, hoped he’d find the answers to all his questions in Omni.
“Now, I know just the man for you,” Tansy said. “He wears dentures on top, but let’s face it, any man your age is lucky to have teeth at all. And—”
“Hand me that yarn, Arlette,” Ida Mae commanded. “I’ll take my ruined afghan over Tansy’s toothless old man any day.”
Kevin’s face held an expression of either shock or bemusement. Eden didn’t know which, but she’d be willing to bet it was a combination of both, and maybe just a little bit of horror, too.
“Let me get this straight. You bugged the house, infiltrated the workplace, dated the villain, and solved the crime?”
“Well, I didn’t bug the house personally, but yes, all the rest of what you said.” She’d just told him the story of her adventures with the Secret Sisters about a year and a half ago, to the present accompaniment of his chuckles, guffaws, and looks of incredulity.
“I can’t help but think you’re making this up,” he said, lifting a forkful of enchilada.
“It would make a great story, wouldn’t it? I’ll have to think about writing it someday.”
Eden had been looking forward to this Friday night date, a chance to tell Kevin the promised story of her illegal activity and to get to know him better as well. Now that she’d filled him in on all the details, she wondered if she liked having so much of herself exposed. He knew about her publishing aspirations, too. Maybe she should have remained a little more mysterious, just to keep their relationship interesting. Now that he knew all there was to know about her, he’d probably get bored and stop wanting to hang out with her.
“You’re something else, Eden, you know that?”
“What kind of something?” Was this a compliment, or was he really saying, “Get away from me, you scary chick”?
“You just amaze me, that’s all. You’re smart and funny, you stare danger in the face and think nothing of it, you’re beautiful, and you’re gutsy. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Had he just called her beautiful? Stop, rewind, go back. “Gutsy?” she asked.
“Yeah, gutsy. And beautiful.”
Ah, there we go. He did say it. “Oh,” Eden said, unable to come up with a suitable reply.
“You know, I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while, but I couldn’t get up the nerve. Thanks for coming with me tonight.”
“No problem.” At last the explanation for why all the attention, all of a sudden, but why did she feel like she was being played? Was it just her child-of-divorce brainwashed condition that made her think all men were bad, or was Kevin really up to something?
They drove home after a quick stop at the store so Eden could buy some fish food. Kevin didn’t try to kiss her at the door; he just touched her hand and said, “See you Monday.”
She couldn’t put her finger on why she felt uneasy. He hadn’t done one single thing wrong since she’d met him, yet her senses yelled for caution. Was it the change in their relationship from coworkers, to partners in crime, to people who’ve eaten Mexican together? Or was she just missing Ren?
5
Dr. Wilson took a seat at her desk, her blonde hair dangling around her face like a wispy veil. “What can I do for you?” she asked, her tone implying that she didn’t have all day.
“I’m writing an article on the last few years of life, and I would like to ask you some questions,” Eden said, placing her tape recorder on the desk. “Do you mind if I record our conversation? It’s just to make sure I don’t misquote you.”
“I was told to cooperate with you in every way possible, so I suppose I must allow it,” Dr. Wilson replied. “It doesn’t make me happy, however.”
This woman didn’t look like anything made her happy. Eden cleared her throat, glanced at Kevin, and began to ask questions. She started out with some basic inquiries about the elderly and the aging process, then began to work in her real reason for wanting the interview.
“When a patient is close to dying, do they exhibit any signs that they might be ready? I note here that a Mrs. Partridge passed away recently—maybe she would be a good example.”
“I was never Mrs. Partridge’s doctor. She was seen exclusively by Dr. Brent.”
Eden checked her notes. “I thought you were here part time until recently, when you became a full-time employee,” she said. “Didn’t you ever care for Mrs. Partridge during your part-time hours?”
“Now, for the record, I was here as a consultant on many occasions. There’s no need to speak of my status as part time, as though I were a short-order cook at a diner.”
“Of course not,” Eden said reassuringly.
“Furthermore, I have stated that I never attended Mrs. Partridge, and I never did. That answer should be
clear enough for you.”
Eden bit back a sharp retort. “I see.”
She asked a few more questions to cover her tracks, then motioned that she was ready to go. “Isn’t he going to take my picture?” Dr. Wilson asked, indicating the camera around Kevin’s neck. He didn’t want anyone to know he was a crime reporter, and as Eden suspected no one besides Peggy studied the newspaper’s bio page, she figured it was safe to have him pretend to be a photographer.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” Eden replied, but the daggered glare she received from Dr. Wilson was enough to convince her. “All right, then. Over here good?”
Kevin took a few snaps and made a pretense at posing the doctor just so, although Eden wasn’t sure he knew the difference between a shutterbug and a tsetse fly. They ducked out of the building soon after, unable to see the director after all; she’d been called away on crucial business.
“I don’t think that doctor cracked a smile the whole time we were in there,” Kevin said, removing the camera strap from around his neck.
“That’s my camera,” Eden reminded him, and he obediently handed it over.
“We’ve got to figure this out,” she said as she unlocked her car.
“Figure out what?” Kevin said. “No one said anything significant at all.”
“Precisely.” She wonder how a guy who seemed so intelligent could be so clueless. And a crime reporter, at that.
“I don’t follow.”
She started the engine and explained as she backed out. “No one said anything. No one could answer any of our questions.” She used the term “our” generously, since Kevin had been as mute as a telephone pole. “Someone in that building should have known something, and they didn’t. Even the chambermaid I caught on the way out had no answers.” Eden tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “And we couldn’t talk to the residents—we were asked not to. They’re probably the ones with the real skinny.”
“You sound like a hard-boiled detective,” Kevin commented.