by GP Gardner
Dolly ignored him. “You saw the condos when you came in, and there’s another set at the back of the complex.”
“And an Assisted Living building.” Jim tapped his temple. “Thinking ahead.”
“Something we hope we’ll never need.” Nita smiled.
“Hope for the best, plan for the worst.” Jim took another section of sandwich.
Dolly continued, “And then there’s the wedding cake.”
“The what?” I was puzzled again, which amused them. “I’m detecting a bakery theme.”
Riley shook his head, smiling and chewing.
“Some people think the main building looks like a wedding cake,” Nita explained.
“Three tiers,” Dolly said.
I nodded, recalling the huge white building with the imposing black roof and red shutters. “I might’ve said a house from a fairy tale. It needs round-faced children hanging out of the top windows.”
“Most of us call it the big house,” Jim said. “You know, like a prison.”
“Well, I don’t like that connotation.” Nita frowned.
“Tell me about living here. Is there a waiting list?”
There was a burst of laughter.
“Oh, I was hoping you’d consider it,” Nita said. “But can you get in? There’s supposed to be an age limit, but I don’t know how strictly it’s enforced. It would be so nice to have some young people here.”
“Not too young,” Jim cautioned. “You don’t have children, do you?”
“I wonder about vacancies,” Riley said. “The upstairs units in my building are usually empty, but I see people going up there all the time lately. Some of them look pretty young.”
“Age fifty-five and up,” Jim said firmly. “Says so on the sign out front. Now, Dolly, what were you saying about security not coming when somebody pulled the cord? What night was that?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. A week ago.”
“Last Thursday? I’ll see who was on duty. Might need to say something to management.”
Nita steered us back to the apartment question. “Do you think you might move here, Cleo?”
I nodded. “But I should go slow and see how the idea wears. I’ll have a house to sell, and I haven’t moved in fifteen years.”
“One step at a time,” Riley said.
“Hire it done,” Dolly said. “That’s what I did.”
“People say Fairhope is an ordinary little California coastal town,” Jim said, “that just happens to be located in Alabama.”
When we finished eating, we cleared the table and the four of us played dominoes until the clock chimed 8:30. Riley won.
“Riley always wins.” Nita smiled sweetly.
“How does he do it?” Dolly wondered. “I tried to watch tonight, to see what strategy you use, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
Riley smiled and got out his wallet. “Nine dollars, everybody, for the sandwiches. I’ll treat you, Cleo, since it’s your first time.”
I protested, but it did no good.
And Nita waved away my offer of assistance with the cleanup. “No, honey. It’s just loading the dishwasher now. And I’m so happy you might be moving here. It’s given me a burst of energy.”
“Get a unit with a garage.” Jim had come out of his lair to see us off. “That’ll be this building or the one across the street. Garages are in the next building but that’s better than not having one.”
“Upstairs units are the bargain,” Riley said. “Cheaper and less noise.”
“And you can sleep with the windows open,” Dolly said.
“No, you don’t.” Jim shook his head.
“I didn’t say I did. I said you could if you lived upstairs. Anyway, how do you know I don’t?”
Jim reddened and chuckled. “I pay attention, Dolly. Security, you know. I’ve never seen your windows open.”
“That sounds like an excuse to snoop around. Somebody may shoot you.”
We lingered at the table until Dolly looked at her watch and stood up abruptly. “Nine o’clock. Bedtime.”
“Dolly swims at six every morning,” Jim said.
“Just weekdays.” She picked up her glass and set it on the ledge of the pass-through to the kitchen. “Would you like to join me tomorrow, Cleo?”
I shook my head. “Maybe next time.”
“I’ll walk you out as I go,” Riley said to me. “That is, if you’re ready to leave. We keep early hours here.”
“No, no.” Jim ignored a sharp look from Nita. “I’ll see Cleo to her car. Almost time for my nightly patrol, anyway.”
“I hope you find a house or condo tomorrow, dear. Don’t forget the materials Vickie left for you. Did you make an appointment with her?”
I told her we were meeting at ten the next morning and verified that I knew where to find Vickie’s office, while Jim let the others out.
He waited beside the door for me, holding his cane, a flashlight and an overstuffed envelope from the realtor. “Looks like you’ve got homework to do, Cleo. If I were you, I’d think about housing from an investment standpoint. Harbor Village isn’t cheap but it’s good value for the money.”
Nita gave me a hug.
Jim and I walked across the porch and down the sidewalk.
“Did you say you do a patrol every night?”
“Oh yes. Just keeping an eye on things. Part of the military training.”
“You were in the military?”
“Thirty years. But that was then, and this is now. Where are you staying?”
I clicked the car unlocked and named the motel, and he nodded.
“Nice place. They have a little Continental breakfast every morning. Lots of fruit. Get yourself a banana for later in the day.” He closed the car door with a slam and gave me a salute.
Chapter 2
I called Stephanie when I got back to the motel. She sounded a little grim and asked immediately, suspiciously, “You haven’t made a decision, have you?”
“I think I may do it, honey, but I don’t want to worry about money. Everything okay with you?”
“Dad called. He’s getting married again.”
“Good for him.” I hadn’t seen Travis in years and wasn’t even sure where he lived now, but it seemed he and Stephanie were trying to get to know each other. I suddenly wondered if he had other children, but it wasn’t the right moment to ask. “You know what they say, third time’s the charm.”
“Yeah, but this is the fourth time. That I know of.”
“Oh. Well. Anyone you know?”
“Some woman from Louisiana. I met her once and she was rude to both of us. Mom, are you sure you don’t want to drive up here tomorrow? I can cancel the sitter and we’ll stay home and visit.”
I hated to let her down when she was clearly feeling a little insecure, but I was pretty sure I was dodging a bullet on this moving-to-Birmingham proposal. “I’ve still got a few things to do here, but I’ll see you Saturday.”
Vickie, the real estate agent, had two houses and one condo lined up to show me Friday morning.
The houses looked good from the street but inside we found small, dark rooms, low ceilings and musty odors. And the prices were well above my absolute maximum.
“Don’t worry too much about list price,” Vickie told me as I sputtered over the first one. “Agents are always hoping some fool will come along. And you’d be surprised how often it happens. But I don’t waste my time if a place is really off the chart.”
The final place we saw, a condo, was affordable and nicely customized with oak cabinets and granite counters in the kitchen and bath and built-in bookcases surrounding the sliding doors to the patio. A hall closet had been converted to a mini-office, but there was no room for Stephanie to stay over occasionally. The location was ideal, right on the
bay and a short walk to restaurants and shops, but the only view was of the next building, and it was on the ground floor.
“I don’t think I’d like people looking in the windows.” I looked out at a woman walking past.
She waved, and I waved back.
“But there are no steps,” Vickie said. “Maybe you’re not old enough to appreciate that.”
“I’m old enough to be thinking about Harbor Village. What do you think of it? Can I get in if I’m not fifty-five?”
“Probably. If they’ve got vacancies. Ask Jim Bergen. He’s got some favors to call in, I’m sure.”
She turned off the lights and locked the doors and we walked back to her car. “I’ve got a nice place I’m about to list in the fruits and nuts, but I can’t show it until Monday. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. What are the fruits and nuts?”
She laughed. “The streets in the old part of town are named for local fruits and nuts. Pecan, Pomelo, Satsuma. So when we say fruits and nuts, we mean near the bay and pricey. And maybe a little weird.”
I invited her to join me for lunch.
“I wish I could, but I’ve got a closing in Daphne in an hour. To be honest, I never have time for lunch.”
Her emaciated appearance suggested that time was pretty scarce for the other meals, too.
“Business must be good.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s cutthroat. Most people can’t take it. I hope you aren’t thinking of trying.”
I rode to Vickie’s office with her, got my car, drove back into town and lunched at Andree’s, a cute deli that had caught my eye earlier. About twenty tables were crowded together on a black-and-red checkerboard floor. The food was good, the staff friendly and the prices reasonable. And while I ate, I planned my afternoon.
My first job involved a little shopping. I left the car where it was and walked a block to de la Mare Street, where I got another box of chocolates. Then I spent some time browsing through Fairhope Soap Company, making up a gift basket for Stephanie. After that, I had to rush in the bookstore, where a knowledgeable clerk helped me choose a couple of books for Barry, my grandson who was almost two.
The next stop was the motel, to leave the chocolates in a cool place. While I was there, I returned some phone calls, including one from my dean. I caught him still in the office.
“I was wondering if you’ve made a decision. Looks like everybody else will take the money and run.”
“I’ve got a month to decide,” I reminded him.
“You do, but I don’t. I’ve got a new semester looming.”
“Do you know anything about Fairhope?”
He groaned. “Is that our competition? I’ll just activate your retirement now.”
I laughed. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
And then I was off on my final errand of the afternoon, a visit to the rental office at Harbor Village.
The administrative offices of the retirement community were located in the wedding cake building—the big house, as Jim called it—so I parked in the same lot I had used the night before. Automatic doors opened with a gush of cold air, and I walked into a two-story lobby with a giant chandelier and a soaring wood ceiling. A sign gave two possible destinations. “Dining Room” was written on an arrow pointing right; “Administration” had an arrow to the left.
The lobby was furnished in natural rattan with colorful, tropical-print fabrics and glass-topped tables. An end table between the couches held a tall metal lamp shaped like a parrot, with a square, red lampshade. I took my phone out and snapped photos for Stephanie, moving from the chandelier to the seating area then the fountain and fern bed visible through the back window wall.
There was a wide archway to the office area, where a young woman wearing round red glasses was smiling at me. I walked toward her and we exchanged greetings.
“I’d like to talk with someone about an apartment.”
She hopped up, tall and slender with a happy smile, a cute little nose and brown curls that bounced when she moved rapidly. “I’m Patti.” She stuck out her hand.
“Cleo Mack. And are you—what would it be—the rental agent?”
“Oh! Cleo!” She looked startled and bobbed her head, setting her curls aquiver. “Jamie’s expecting you.” She sat down again and reached for the desk phone.
Now I was startled. “What?”
She held up one finger, stalling me while she punched in a number. “She told me to call as soon as you got here. If you’ll just have a seat in the lobby…” She pointed while speaking softly into the phone.
I was stumped but followed directions and sat on one of the colorful couches. Had I possibly told someone I was coming here? Jamie, the receptionist had said; wasn’t that the woman whose table I shared at lunch yesterday? I tried to remember making an appointment with her but knew I had not.
When Patti finished her phone call, she walked out to join me. “Let me be sure I understand.” She smiled nervously and raised one finger to count. Bright green nail polish with cherry red dots. “You’re Cleo Mack?”
I nodded and a second finger went up.
“And you asked about a job?”
“Cleo Mack, yes. A job? No. I don’t know anything about a job.”
Patti rolled not just her eyes but her entire head in exaggerated relief. “Okay, I thought so. You asked about rentals, right? But Jamie doesn’t handle rentals, and she’s expecting you.”
“About a job? That’s news to me.”
“Yes, it’s all very curious.” She plopped down on the second couch and leaned toward me, her manner suddenly conspiratorial. “But I know that’s what she said. I even wrote it down. See?”
She showed me a sticky note with my name written on it and an abbreviation I didn’t understand—RES SERV.
“We couldn’t believe it either, not after all the lectures about cutting costs, but you know Jamie. She can pull strings when she wants to.” She pursed her lips and gave a shrug. “I got her on the phone, but she’s at the bank. She’ll be back in a minute. Why don’t I get us something to drink and then I’ll tell you all about Harbor Village. Water?”
“Great.” I used her absence to reflect on Jamie Barnes. I’d told her about the early retirement offer and that I might need a part-time job, but nothing about renting an apartment at Harbor Village, because the idea hadn’t occurred to me until last night. And she had said nothing about finding me a job. I was sure of that.
Patti fetched bottled water for us and sat on the second couch, folding one leg under her. Her name was Patti Snyder, and she appeared to be about twenty-five, going on fifteen—which made her the exact same age as my daughter and gave me an immediate sense of intimacy.
“What do you do here?”
“Transportation,” she answered promptly. “The residents call me Patti Wagon, because I drive them everywhere. To doctors’ offices, mostly. And when I don’t have a passenger, I work at the reception desk or take photographs for the newsletter. Just whatever.”
“And this job you mentioned—what is it?”
“Resident Services. See?” She showed me the note again. RES SERV, it said. “We had somebody but she left at least a year ago.”
“What sort of things did she do?” I had told Jamie I was a social worker, so maybe this would be an appropriate job for me.
“Everything. We all do everything, to be honest. I help out in the dining room sometimes, delivering food to people who are sick or just want to eat in their apartments.”
“Who handles rentals?”
She grinned. “I forgot you asked about that. That would be Cyn-thee-ah.” She stretched her mouth dramatically and emphasized the first syllable: sin-thee-ah. “We’re almost full, and there’s a waiting list. That’s what she tells everybody, but I don’t really believe it. I don’t really believe anything Cynth
ia says, if you know what I mean.” Another eye roll. A swig of water. “The dragon lady says we need more residents. How can that be if we’re almost full?”
“How many people live here?”
She shrugged. “A bunch. Cynthia might know.”
“Who’s the dragon lady?”
She shook her head and her curls bounced. “Our boss, but she’s never here. Just stops by occasionally to fire somebody.” She giggled. “Not that it’s funny. We all live in fear.” She giggled again.
“If I took a job here, do you think I could get an apartment too?”
She grinned and shrugged. Her curls shook. “Don’t ask Cynthia, ask Jamie. If she wants you to take this job, she might bump somebody off.”
My eyebrows shot up and she rushed to correct herself. “Oh no, no! I didn’t mean that. Bump somebody off the list, I mean. That sounded bad, didn’t it?” She turned and looked toward the door. “Oh, here she comes. Thank goodness.” She raised a hand and waved vigorously, bangles clinking down her arm.
Jamie Barnes was walking toward us, looking like she’d just come from an exercise class, rather than the bank. Her leggings were black, with dangling ties that wrapped around the calf, and with them she wore a tank top and a gauzy, floating shirt.
“Good luck,” Patti Wagon whispered and scurried around me, taking her bottle of water with her.
* * * *
“So, you got my message.” Jamie gave me another of her power handshakes. “I should’ve gotten your phone number yesterday, but I had no way of knowing this job approval would come through so fast. Never happened before. You know how I found you? Had my assistant call every motel in town and leave a message for you.”
I didn’t admit that I hadn’t received any message. “Did you? Every one? Well, I’m here now. Tell me about this job.”
She frowned, distracted momentarily, and reached out one finger to wipe a layer of dust off the parrot-shaped lamp between us. “I can’t remember how much I told you yesterday. It’s part-time, a resident services position. Are you interested?” She lifted her hair up off her neck and fanned herself with it. She had damp circles under her arms.