Dearly Departed

by Tristi Pinkston

  “I just don’t know what else to think,” Ida Mae said. “Beverly insists she wrote something down and hid it in her special hiding place.”

  “But how much of that might be the Alzheimer’s talking?” Arlette asked. “She could have imagined the whole thing.”

  “She could have, but Alzheimer’s usually affects the memory, doesn’t it? I don’t think it causes hallucinations.”

  “I wonder if it affects different people in different ways.” Arlette paused, tapping her finger on her phone. “Could you ask Dr. Greene some questions when you have your next appointment?”

  “I could do that,” Ida Mae said.

  It was nearly lunch time, and she was starving. “Are you going to stay for lunch?”

  “I don’t think I’d better trespass on their hospitality too often,” Arlette said. “I don’t want to call undue attention to you and get the kitchen staff talking about your mooching sister. I’ll go grab a sandwich, and I think I’ll pick up some groceries for Eden’s apartment while I’m at it. She has practically nothing in her fridge.”

  Arlette left and Ida Mae had a few minutes alone before a nurse came to get her for lunch. She was tired of relying on others for her mobility.

  “Michelle,” she said as soon as the nurse came into the room, “what do you think of motorized wheelchairs?”

  “I think they’re great,” Michelle said as she turned Ida Mae toward the door.

  “I don’t mean in general, I mean for me.”

  “Hmm.” Ida Mae couldn’t see Michelle’s face, but the noise she made gave every indication she was thinking. “Might be a good idea. And I think we still have one in the storeroom that someone bought and didn’t like. I’ll ask Alex—he knows everything.”

  “I just feel so bad, making you and Andrea take me everywhere,” Ida Mae explained as they rounded the corner to the dining room.

  “You don’t need to feel bad. We like helping you.”

  “I know you do, and I appreciate it. I just want to be a little more independent.”

  “I’ll ask Alex next time I see him,” Michelle promised. “Oh, wait—here he comes with George.”

  She arranged Ida Mae at the table and then stepped to the other side. Ida Mae wanted to listen in on their conversation, but her attention was immediately taken by George, who handed her a beautiful flower.

  “I met with Dr. Greene this morning, and he said I could bring one of his flowers to you,” he said, presenting it like a trophy.

  “It’s lovely.” Ida Mae inhaled the scent. “Thank you.” She placed it in her water glass, sure she could get another from the server.

  “Stupid name for a man who grows flowers,” the general said. “Greene. I suppose he has a green thumb or something.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right.” Hattie laughed. “And he lives in a Greene house, whether or not he grows flowers there. Get it? Greenhouse?”

  Eloise nodded impatiently. “I’ve known many a person with an unfortunate name. My sister married a doctor by the last name of Payne. Now, I’d really like to concentrate on lunch, if you don’t mind.”

  Ida Mae was surprised at Eloise’s sudden burst of orneriness. That woman was like an emotional yo-yo, cheerful one minute, snarling the next. That might be something else to ask Hattie about. Not for the first time, Ida Mae missed her notebook. How was she ever going to remember to ask all her questions if she couldn’t write them down?

  She had a strong feeling she’d already missed one of the most important questions to be asked, but try as she might to remember, it wasn’t rising to the surface, and she could hardly carry a notebook around with her just in case someone made a comment.

  As soon as she got back to her room after lunch, she rummaged in her drawer and pulled out her journal. She might not be able to take notes while people were talking, but she could do her best to transcribe everything after it happened.

  A little while later, Michelle knocked on her door. “Ida Mae, Alex just checked the storeroom, and surprise!” The nurse held the door open with her foot and brought in a motorized wheelchair.

  It was sleek. It looked aerodynamic. It was beautiful. Ida Mae felt her heart accelerate as she looked at it. She swallowed. “I get to use it?”

  “Sure, why not? It was just sitting in the storeroom. Alex wiped it off—it was a little dusty, but he tested it out and says it works great. Do you want to go for a ride?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  Michelle laughed. “Okay, then, let’s give it a whirl.” She helped Ida Mae pull herself up and then over into the new chair. When her back made contact with the soft leather, Ida Mae sighed.

  “That good?” Michelle asked.

  “Better,” Ida Mae replied. “I don’t know why it should make such a difference, but this chair really does feel more comfortable.”

  “Money. They can charge a lot for these motorized things, and we women always know when we’re dealing with money. It’s in our blood.” Michelle pointed to the controls. “Okay, now, here’s the deal. Move the stick this way to go right, this way to go left, and front, and back. It’s like a joystick on an arcade game.” She paused, frowning. “But I don’t suppose you play arcade games.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ida Mae asked. “I can take you in a round of Pac-Man with my eyes closed. Half asleep. Wearing two casts.” She rested her hand on the arm of the chair and moved the stick slowly, then more firmly. She felt the engine come to life and she rolled forward.

  “Whoa!” She could feel the gravitational pull in her neck. “That was a little too fast.”

  “I think we should take you out to the hall and let you get the hang of this where there’s more room,” Michelle suggested.

  “I agree.”

  Michelle wheeled her out to the hall, and then stood back. “Let ’er rip, Ida Mae!”

  Ida Mae flexed her fingers. She looked at the hallway ahead—yards and yards of carpeting, all hers for the taking. She licked her lips and braced herself. It was now or never. She pushed on the stick and peeled out.

  Well, not quite. The wheelchair’s maximum speed was about five miles an hour, maybe a little less on the carpeting, but she was sure she could feel the wind in her hair. The freedom was exhilarating. One day the hall, tomorrow the freeway!

  “Look out!” she heard Michelle call, but it was too late. Lee Ann rounded the corner, pushing a cart piled high with towels. Ida Mae looked frantically at the controls. They had discussed turning, but not stopping. Before she could register Michelle’s yell of “Just let go!” she ran smack dab into the front of the cart.

  Michelle dashed over immediately. “Ida Mae! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I think,” Ida Mae said. “But I killed the towels.”

  Lee Ann laughed and started picking up the linens that had fallen onto the floor. “I guess you didn’t see the Towel Crossing sign back there.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you want to have fun with your new toy, but you’ve got to be more careful,” Michelle said. “What would your sister say if you took a spill and broke your other arm?”

  “She’d say I deserved it,” Ida Mae answered, feeling very ashamed of herself.

  “Well, let’s not give her any reason to scold you. Do you want to keep practicing, or do you want to rest for a little while?”

  The freedom-induced adrenaline rush had worn off, and Ida Mae thought a rest sounded wonderful. Michelle helped her back down the hall and onto the bed. “Just ring if you need me.” She stepped to the door. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll plan to help you back in the chair for dinner.”

  “Okay.” Ida Mae fully intended to stay awake to work on her notes, but instead she fell fast asleep.

  16

  “Eden!” Mr. Cooper’s voice thundered down the hall.

  She sat up straight and ran her fingers through her hair, trying her best to look like a professional rather than a tired, overworked
woman who just wanted a nap. The heat in Peggy’s garage that morning had wiped her out.

  “I need you to pull some overtime,” Mr. Cooper said, appearing in her doorway. “We’ve had a lot of ads placed this week, which is great, but they all need proofing. Can you do it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “Do you need them done here, or can I take them home?”

  “You can do them at home. Just make sure they get done.”

  He was gone as quickly and imperiously as he came. Eden relaxed somewhat against the back of her chair, wondering why that man always made her feel less than worthy. She was fully aware of the fact that he held her journalistic fate in his sadistic fingers, but why did that make her feel uncomfortable? She shook her head. She shouldn’t try to cheer herself up with hyperbole—it never worked.

  She’d seen Mr. Cooper fire people for spelling a word wrong. She’d seen him yell at secretaries for bringing his coffee too hot, too cold, too dark, too creamy—the man didn’t know how to contain his stress, and she worried she’d be next on his list. How indispensable is an obituary editor, anyway? As long as you can spell “chrysanthemum” and “hearse,” you’re a shoo-in for the job, right?

  Kevin’s face appeared a moment later. Eden assumed the rest of him was there somewhere, but she couldn’t see it behind the cubicle wall.

  “Cooper was pretty uptight,” he said. “But at least he wasn’t yelling.”

  “Yeah, be thankful for small miracles.” She turned to her computer. “I’ve noticed he never yells at you.”

  “I’ve noticed that too.” Kevin brought his whole self around the corner. “I must goof up nearly as much as the other people here.”

  “You’re just special.” Eden focused on her work to keep him from noticing her suddenly red face. She had to learn how to keep a lid on her mouth. Maybe she could try one of those really big bolts—the kind they used to hold down manhole covers.

  “You think I’m special?”

  Obviously her distraction technique could use some work, because he picked up on her slip of the tongue. She tried to recover with, “Well, if Cooper thinks so, it must be true.” She flashed Kevin a corny smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “And now she’s trying to get rid of me. I’m wounded! Wounded, I say!” He paused a moment. Eden wasn’t sure if he was looking for sympathy, but she didn’t give him any, and he seemed to recover without lasting side effects. “When are we going to try that house across from Dr. Brent’s again?”

  Eden glanced at her watch. “Can’t be tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got to work.”

  “Chinese food, or plants?”

  “Chinese food. The plant job was just a week long.”

  “Did you kill them all off?”

  She threw a paperclip at him. “The homeowner came back from vacation.”

  “Amazing how that happens sometimes.”

  She scowled. “Kevin, I really do need to work.”

  “Yeah, I probably should too. I’ve got two pieces to finish.”

  He disappeared. A moment later, Eden got a new message in her e-mail folder.

  Late dinner after you get off work?

  She hit reply.

  Fine. I’ll bring the egg rolls.

  She heard him laughing through the wall.

  Ida Mae felt much better after her nap. A look at the clock told her she still had half an hour before Michelle would be back to collect her for dinner, so she opened her notebook and continued her task of writing down everything she’d learned, plus all the questions she had. There were still a few elusive facts buzzing around in the background somewhere, but maybe she’d be able to pin them down after dinner.

  She’d been at Shady Aspens for four days, and while that wasn’t a long time, she felt she should have made more progress by now. Shouldn’t she know who the murderer was, how they did it, and why? At this point, she wasn’t even sure there had been a murder. For a moment, she had a suspicion. What if there was no murder, and Eden cooked up this whole thing to get Ida Mae to come to a rest home for a while? What if they were all in on it—Arlette, Tansy, and Eden—stringing her along until the casts came off?

  Ida Mae knew it was a silly thought, but she really had been stubborn about getting help. And trust those dear ladies to do whatever it took to keep her from hurting herself worse. She’d have to break another arm or another leg to make that happen, but she’d already proven anything was possible.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Ida Mae quickly shoved her journal under the pillow.

  “Michelle went home early with a headache,” Andrea explained as she entered. “Are you ready for dinner?”

  “That’s too bad. I hope she feels better soon.” Ida Mae scooted herself to the edge of her bed. “What are we having?”

  “I’m not sure, but it smells like Italian.” Andrea helped Ida Mae in and out of the small private bathroom, then into her chair. After a hair brushing and a spot of lipstick, Ida Mae felt ready to face her public.

  “Let me just get your bed ready for later,” Andrea said, straightening the pillows. Ida Mae tensed, wondering if she would discover the journal. It was closed, and she couldn’t picture Andrea flipping through a book that didn’t belong to her, but it would be dangerous for the whole operation if someone knew Ida Mae had been taking notes on conversations she’d been having. How would she ever explain it?

  Andrea finished the pillows without stumbling across the book, and Ida Mae took a deep breath. She was getting a little too paranoid for her own good.

  Dinner was excellent, a vegetarian lasagna with lots of ricotta cheese. Eloise was absent again, and after witnessing that woman’s attitude at lunch, Ida Mae thought it was a welcome subtraction from the table. She would have to remember to ask Hattie about Eloise—that particular note hadn’t made it into her journal yet.

  Luck smiled upon Ida Mae when the general excused himself early. Only George, Hattie, and Ida Mae were left at the table, and she took advantage of the opportunity.

  “Tell me about Eloise,” she said. “Sometimes she seems very friendly, and other times . . . well, there was lunch today.”

  Hattie nodded. “It’s her pain medication. It’s been doing some strange things to her emotionally.”

  “Can’t they put her on something else?” Ida Mae asked.

  “I dare say they could, but I’m not sure she’d admit there was anything wrong,” George replied. “She hates having weaknesses.”

  “I think we all hate it,” Ida Mae said.

  George nodded. “It’s a reminder that we’re mortal, and we won’t always be here. And then we start to wonder if we really did all we came here to do. What if the trumpet sounds and we’re still sitting in the corner, putting on our shoes?”

  “Or looking for our shoes,” Hattie said.

  “Or trying to remember if we have shoes,” Ida Mae added, and they all laughed.

  “What have you discovered lately?”

  Ida Mae glanced around, then leaned in a little. “I went to visit Jane Howell yesterday. She told me Beverly was convinced she’d seen something wrong or odd, and wrote it down. Supposedly, she put it in her safe hiding place, but no one seems to know where that might have been. Do you?”

  George shook his head. “I never heard Beverly mention it.”

  Hattie paused before answering. “I know she kept things in her jewelry box sometimes, but that’s the only place I can think of.”

  “Arlette’s granddaughter went over and looked through all Beverly’s belongings, and didn’t find a thing,” Ida Mae said. “It’s just vanished.”

  “Maybe it’s written in code, and she didn’t know it when she saw it,” George said.

  “Or maybe it hasn’t left the building,” Hattie suggested.

  Ida Mae nodded, the possibility of a code not having occurred to her. She’d have to ask Eden as soon as she could. “Are you in the mood for egg rolls?” she asked.

  “After that meal? I don’t think so.” Ge
orge patted his stomach.

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait.”

  17

  “I’ve been thinking all night,” Ida Mae said on Tuesday morning, “and I just don’t see how we can wait for two weeks to get those medical records back. We need them now.”

  “But how are we going to get them?” Tansy sat on the edge of Ida Mae’s bed.

  “I’ve been working on that, too, and I think we’re going to need to come up with a little distraction.”

  “What exactly do you have in mind?” Arlette asked, her face showing her displeasure—or suspicion.

  “I think I should feign a spell of some kind, right outside Dr. Wilson’s office,” Ida Mae said. “It’s usually just her and a nurse, and if Tansy helps me, we can keep both of them busy while you sneak in and look for the file, Arlette.”

  “Should I have a spell too?” Tansy asked.

  “No, you’ll just help me with mine.”

  Tansy looked disappointed, so Ida Mae quickly added, “The next time we need to break into a doctor’s office, you can be the one to have a spell.”

  “Okay,” Tansy said. “I guess I can wait.”

  “Would Dr. Wilson have Beverly’s file?” Arlette asked. “Beverly was never Dr. Wilson’s patient.”

  “From what George told me last night, Dr. Wilson took over Dr. Brent’s office. So the files should all be there.” A horrible thought passed through Ida Mae’s mind. “Unless they took it out of the filing cabinet when Beverly died. If they did that, we’re out of luck.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to look and see,” Arlette said.

  Ida Mae was heartened by the fact that Arlette was getting into the spirit of things. “The doctor’s office opens onto the courtyard, with sliding glass doors,” Ida Mae said. “The last time I was in there, I noticed the door was slightly open and there was a screen. It’s warm today, so I bet the door will be open again. We’ll take that chance. Arlette, I think you should wait in the courtyard, and when you notice the doctor and the nurse leave the room, you slip through the door and head for the filing cabinet.”