Murder at Harbor Village

by GP Gardner

  In contrast, I freely admitted I could barely balance my checkbook.

  But I did acquire one quasi-mathematical skill from Robert. I had become a devotee of Sudoku puzzles. I purchased the Will Shortz collections from the bookstore and worked on them daily, usually before I fell asleep at night. I started at page one and went straight through to the end of the book.

  According to Robert, Sudoku wasn’t actually mathematics, but a logic puzzle. “You could work them just the same if you substituted emoticons or the first nine letters of the alphabet for the numbers one through nine,” he told me more than once. Nevertheless, he solved them without difficulty.

  And now I solved them, too, sometimes with considerable difficulty. I never gave up on a puzzle without solving it.

  Somehow Sudoku seemed like a link to Robert, all those numbers arranged in tidy squares. Ridiculous I knew, but it was part of my daily routine now and I was convinced it exerted a calming influence, like meditation did for its practitioners.

  Robert’s approach had become my way of dealing with life, too. Use logic, he would say. Be systematic. Try different approaches. Find out what’s true and, just as importantly, find out what’s impossible. Complete every cell, every box and every puzzle. The difficult ones would yield at some point.

  As I prepared to go to bed Sunday night, I resolved to spend the next month applying the Sudoku approach to Harbor Village and its problems. I planned to use logic, to be systematic and to try new approaches when necessary.

  Find out what was wrong with this facility and how it could be fixed. Find out why the staff was unhappy, why Jamie left so abruptly and why no two people had exactly the same view of the place. Figure out what was wrong with the financials and how the problems could be fixed. Make residents and employees want to stay here.

  I flipped off the bathroom light and added a final objective. Find out why Lee died. I didn’t expect to infringe on the law enforcement role, but I was about to be in a unique position to access inside information. I certainly hoped Travis wasn’t involved in any way—after all, he was Stephanie’s father—but I wouldn’t start with preconceptions. Travis was one cell of the puzzle. If I was going to do this job, I’d try to do it right.

  I got into bed, picked up my Sudoku book and a pen and waited for Stephanie to call.

  * * * *

  At a few minutes before eight on Monday morning, I gave the cat with no name a good brushing, checked her food and water supply and walked down to the big house. I was wearing khaki slacks, a nubby black sweater set, my gold chain and matching earrings and black sandals. In other words, I looked like a cross between an Atlanta college professor and a tourist, and nothing like a business executive.

  My plan for the first day involved three simple tasks. I wanted to meet all the staff and figure out who did what, get my new office organized and equipped to my liking and get an RN on duty in assisted living.

  Patti Wagon was walking from the side door toward the reception desk as I crossed the lobby. We waved to each other and converged at her desk.

  “Oh, you’re here! I’m so glad. Have you seen your office? It’s right this way.”

  She led me down a hall. Executive Director, the sign on the door said, and below that was my name and a string of letters signifying the degrees I held, of interest to pretty much no one outside academia. The top sign would be easy to remove, I saw.

  “Mr. McKenzie had Stewart put it up.” Patti looked a little starry eyed. “Even with all the problems he has right now.”

  I assumed she was referring to Travis’ problems, not Stewart’s, but I wasn’t sure which of them was responsible for the starry eyes. My own eyes were wide open, I fancied. Travis must have hatched the idea of making me Executive Director on Friday, in order to have nameplates in place at the beginning of the workweek. Less than twenty-four hours after his new wife died, the CEO was taking care of business. Could that be normal?

  The office Patti took me to was furnished simply but felt stale and unused. Pathetic was another word that came to mind. There was a desk in front of the single window, a three-tier letter tray on its corner and a large desk chair with a mesh back. In front of the desk three chairs were arranged in an arc. I walked to the desk and began opening drawers. All empty.

  Looking back toward the door, I saw a plain worktable and two green file cabinets in the corner. No computer. Not a scrap of paper in sight. Where should I start?

  Patti sensed the despair, I guess, and made a weak apology. “We gathered up some furniture when we thought you’d be taking over Resident Services. There wasn’t a lot to choose from. Things got sort of cannibalized over the last year.”

  I looked around again. “Did Lee have an office here?”

  “The cops were in there Friday and the tape’s still up. Maybe they just forgot to take it down?”

  I didn’t know anything about Lee’s office. “I think I’m going to need your help, Patti. Can you get someone else to handle the driving today, so you can follow me around?”

  “I’ll call Goldie.” She rushed off to her desk.

  Ivy Stafford arrived early, wearing white running shoes and a white uniform with buttons that pulled open across the bosom. “I didn’t ask if you wanted me to wear a uniform or scrubs.” Her handshake revealed rough skin.

  “Scrubs are more comfortable, I imagine.”

  Ivy was about my age, with yellow hair curled under at her shoulders. Her eyes looked like they’d seen a lot. “Oh, definitely more comfortable, but some employers want the authority look. I aim to please. I’ve got scrubs in the car, just in case.”

  “Why don’t you get them and change. I think it’s better to avoid the hospital look, so people don’t start thinking they’re sick. And when you’re ready, I’ll walk over to assisted living with you.”

  I introduced Ivy to Patti, just hanging up the phone. “Goldie’s going to drive. She’s glad to get the hours.”

  “Good.” I made a mental note to find out who Goldie was.

  While Ivy went to her car, I stood beside Patti’s desk and thought aloud. “I need a list of all the residents, with apartment numbers. And a copy of the standard lease form, plus any special conditions that might be included—pet policy, secondary occupants and registration and insurance requirements for vehicles kept on the premises. Anything of that nature. We may as well put the list on a spreadsheet, so we can add to it as things change. Then, in another spreadsheet, I’d like a list of all employees with their job title, salary, how long they’ve been here. Grouped by department—housekeeping, maintenance, grounds, dining room, administrative, whatever.”

  Patti’s eyes were beginning to bulge.

  “Somebody’s got all this already,” I assured her, “and there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. I just need to get a copy on my computer. Speaking of which, I need a computer. Got an extra one somewhere?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll look.”

  “Is Emily working today?” I had a few questions for the bookkeeper.

  Patti shook her head. “Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. That’s what the dragon lady wanted.”

  “Then leave a note for her. I need a financial report, showing what we owe and to whom. Are any tenants behind on rent? If so, by how much? They all pay by bank draft, I suppose, but I’d like to know if there are any problems. How much money is in our bank account and where is it and who can sign checks. It may not be necessary to put me on the account, since I’m temporary in this job, but we need at least a couple of people here who can sign checks.”

  Patti was jotting down notes.

  “Now the apartments. This isn’t the same as the residents. Who can give us a summary of the status and condition of all apartments?”

  “Cynthia.” Patti used her usual pronunciation.

  “Okay, a list of units by building, showing which ones are empty and the b
ase rental rates. And again, don’t reinvent the wheel. Just get whatever she has. Reports from last month will be fine, or she can update them if there’ve been changes. And give me a list of anybody besides Cynthia who handles leases, and what the incentive is. I suppose an employee gets a bonus or something for bringing in a new resident? By the way, Jamie said she’d leave my lease here. If you will, get it for me. I need to see what I’ve agreed to.” My laughter had a little edge of wariness.

  Ivy returned wearing pink scrubs.

  “I’m going to assisted living with Ivy right now. I’ll be back in half an hour.” I gave Patti my phone number and patted my pocket to be sure I had my phone with me.

  I recognized Michelle, Jamie’s assistant, standing in the front hallway of the Assisted Living building, talking with two female aides. She had gotten a shorter haircut since I first met her but was just as remote and sullen as I remembered. All three of them froze and watched as Ivy and I came through the automatic door. I wondered if there were any male CNAs on staff. I hadn’t seen one.

  “Ladies, I haven’t met all of you yet, but I’m Cleo Mack, Executive Director of Harbor Village for the time being.” I introduced Ivy. “She’s an RN and she’ll be overseeing the Assisted Living program for a few days. Everything going okay here?”

  “When will Jamie be back?” one of the aides asked.

  Michelle took a step backward and tried to blend into the wall, but she was attending to events. And it was obvious she wasn’t happy to see me.

  “I was hoping one of you would know. Jamie didn’t tell you her plans?”

  Michelle stared.

  Another aide answered. “She told us she’d see us today, right?”

  The younger woman nodded. “Where’s she gone?”

  “Have you tried calling her?”

  They had. “She doesn’t answer.”

  “Goes right to voice mail. First a drowning, now Jamie disappears. I’m beginning to wonder.”

  I wondered, too. Did the staff still think Lee had drowned?

  I opted for a pep talk. “Let’s just be sure we’re doing the best we can. Ivy’s here to help, and you can call on her as needed. Now, who’s got a key to the drug cart?”

  Two of them looked at Michelle, who hesitated a moment before responding. “It should be in Jamie’s desk. I’ll see.”

  I followed a few steps behind and saw her remove something from her pocket as she turned in at the office. When I got to the door, she pretended to scramble the drawer contents before producing the key.

  “And where’s the spare?”

  She shrugged. “Up at the big house, I guess. We only have the one.”

  “And who gives out meds when Jamie isn’t here? What about the night shift?”

  She pursed her lips, twisting her mouth sideways, and didn’t make eye contact. “I don’t really know.”

  On the job an hour and I was already making an enemy. I gave the key to Ivy in front of the three of them. “We’ll let the nurse hang onto this key. Is that the way you’d like it?”

  “Sure,” Ivy said. “And why don’t I come in earlier tomorrow, so I can give out morning meds and help with dressing and breakfasts?”

  The two aides perked up at that idea, and I felt the dynamics of the Assisted Living program begin to shift in my favor.

  But Ivy had more ideas. “Then I’ll do afternoon meds before I leave and have a little med tray, with its own key, to leave for the evening shift. How does that sound?”

  The aides nodded approval.

  “And I’ll do a drug inventory right now, if one of you will assist me.” She looked at me. “And we’ll go from there.”

  Wow! Clearly Ivy knew how to run a unit. And she was protecting herself, too. Maybe some of that competence would rub off on the others.

  I went back to the main office and found Patti still busy. Even here, the atmosphere felt subtly changed, less musty and more businesslike, with a hum of activity. She handed me a two-page printout.

  “Here’s a list of the department heads, with phone numbers. If they supervise other people, those names are listed on the lines below. All together there’s twenty-six of us. I took Lee’s name off and put you in her place, but I left Jamie on the list and put Ivy right below her. In case things change again.”

  “Perfect.” I scanned the list. There were three housekeepers, three maintenance men, including Stewart, and seven CNAs for the Assisted Living program, with Goldie’s name among them.

  “Maintenance takes care of the grounds, too. I know you named grounds as a separate department, but that’s not the way it is here. Not the way it has been, I mean. And tomorrow I’ll get Emily to fill in the salaries.” She was breathless by the time she finished.

  “Good work. I want to meet everybody today, but I don’t want to interrupt work. Is this a good time to start with the office staff?”

  Patti went with me. Nelson Fisher was listed as the office manager, but I’d never seen him. Patti led the way down the main hall, turned right and went to the last door. If my personal orientation system was working, we were at the back corner of the building.

  She whispered, “He’s a little funny.” Then she knocked and opened the door.

  There were windows on two sides of the room, one with a view of the parking lot through wide gaps in a bamboo roll-up shade. The other window framed a pleasant view of the koi pond and the garden area. The office itself looked like it had been lifted straight out of an English cottage. There was a navy blue rug, a pair of wingback chairs upholstered in a small print, side tables, a pair of lamps—even an ottoman. An electric heater sat under a table, its cord wrapped around the handle. Stacks of newspapers and magazines mostly obscured a mahogany desk, and music was playing softly. Nelson was in there, too, a shrunken, hunched man with a prominent nose and combed-back hair. He had a jigsaw puzzle spread out on the available portion of the worktable. And he wasn’t happy about being interrupted at his leisure.

  We chatted for a few minutes, but he stuck with short answers and didn’t initiate conversation. I didn’t get a clear picture of what his responsibilities were. “A little bit of everything,” was all he said when I asked.

  “Do you sign checks?”

  He stared at me and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not anymore.”

  “Do you handle procurement? Things like computers? The reason I ask is that I need one.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He was still staring.

  I noticed a little tea station with an electric kettle, tea bags and a tin of imported shortbread. There were paintings on the walls, in nice old frames, and at least forty jigsaw puzzles, in their boxes, were stacked beneath the table.

  “I love your office.”

  “It’s mine.” He swiveled back to his puzzle.

  We closed the door and walked a few steps away before Patti twittered and I laughed out loud.

  “Any idea what he does in there?”

  “I should’ve told you, he’s a member of the Ferrell family. I don’t know exactly how he’s related. He feeds the fish and works in the garden sometimes. I guess you could say he’s semi-retired.”

  Cynthia Quarles was on the phone when we stopped at her door. She noticed us and waved but kept talking. She was my age, with a better haircut, wearing a double strand of pearls and a flowery dress, with a matching short jacket hanging on the back of her chair. She made sweeping gestures while she talked.

  “She handles rentals,” Patti said in a loud whisper. “Shows apartments, writes up leases, that sort of thing.”

  Cynthia waved again, and rings sparkled on her fingers. She had a big smile on her face, too. I imagined a little light beam shooting off one tooth, like in cartoons. “I’ll be delighted to show you what we have available now,” she told someone. “When can you come? Oh, perfect. How about two o’clock. Is that too
late? Let’s allow a couple of hours.”

  There was a large key box on the wall beside her desk, its door folded back against the wall. I saw hundreds of keys, with color-coded tags on their pegs.

  “A good way to see at a glance what’s vacant.” I directed Patti’s attention to the key box.

  “I never thought of that. Do you want to wait?”

  I shook my head and heard Cynthia say, “Just a minute.” She put her hand over the phone. “Welcome aboard, Cleo! I thought social workers just handled adoptions, so I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” She went back to her phone conversation and we walked out.

  Patti asked me, “What exactly do social workers do? People ask and I’m not sure what to say.”

  “It’s a varied field. In general, we solve problems, get people the help they need. Often from government agencies.”

  We reached the next office, which Patti said belonged to Cynthia’s assistant, Matthew Conyers. The door was closed.

  “He’s part-time and I barely know him. Works weekends, I think, and does whatever Cynthia needs.”

  We moved down the hallway, away from Cynthia’s voice.

  Patti whispered, “I guess you’ve seen the Marietta Johnson statue on the bluff? Cynthia claims she was the model for the little girl with pigtails, but everyone knows that’s Mary Lois. Her initials are even hidden on it.”

  “I’ll have to look more closely.” I had seen the statue a couple of days ago but hadn’t paid much attention.

  Ivy phoned as we turned onto the main hallway. “Looks like somebody cleaned out the pain meds. What do you want me to do?”

  “I have no idea.” I froze in mid-stride. “Can we get refills?”

  “We don’t use a drugstore, you know. We use a prescription service. I can call them and tell them what happened. They’ll probably get replacements, but we’ll have to pay, since the residents have already been billed. Are you going to file a police report?”

  “I need to think about that.”

  Ivy offered little sympathy. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”