by Jada Ryker
Anita laughed. “My, you old folks can really think up some whoppers, can’t you? Come on now, let’s go on in before you get chilled out here.” Her hand clamped onto his arm with the strength of a vice, and pulled him toward the door.
As he resisted her efforts, Clay stealthily readied the cane. One more try, he thought. “Anita, Mrs. Hill plans these impersonations for nights when you and Rose are scheduled to work, and Mrs. Carter is on duty as the night nurse. She knows you two sit out on the patio all night, talking and smoking. She also knows Mrs. Carter lies in the nurses lounge all night, sleeping.”
Arrested by his words, Anita was perfectly still. As she struggled to process Clay’s words, her forehead wrinkled. “She brings in someone to impersonate the patients so she can have a lawyer draw up a will?”
In his urgency, Clay shook the nursing assistant. “That’s right! And what do you think will happen to Mrs. Craft once that fake will has been made? What usually happens shortly after a sighting of the so-called ghost? A patient dies, that’s what! And Mrs. Craft will be next!”
The front door of the nursing home opened, and Mrs. Hill stepped out. “Anita, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the nursing assistant called.
“The old man Napier has escaped from his room. He’s broken the window and climbed out. I’ll need you to stay inside with the patients while Mrs. Carter, Rose, and I search the grounds. It’s imperative we find him immediately. His mind is wandering, and he thinks he’s some sort of secret agent. He’s convinced we are all enemy spies, and he must eliminate us. We have to find him before he hurts himself or someone else.” The hospital administrator took a step forward, squinting into the darkness. “Is someone there with you?”
Clay raised the cane, but for reasons he couldn’t define, didn’t bring it crashing down on the nursing assistant’s head.
“No, ma’am. I was getting my cigarettes out of the car. I’ll be right there.”
“Leave those cigarettes! You’re going to be too busy for smoking.”
Anita lumbered across the parking lot and through the door without looking back, closely followed by Mrs. Hill.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I can’t believe you called Mrs. Millicent Rockingham Crayton Mrs. Cretin.” Henry Worthington giggled like a schoolboy.
Flora May looked into Henry’s eyes, alight with laughter. When they sobered and didn’t look away from her, she cleared her throat nervously. Determinedly, she hauled her bulk up off the luxurious sofa and picked up her empty glass. “Okay if I grab myself some more tea?”
In a graceful movement, Henry rose from his place near her. “I’ll get that for you, Mrs. Masters.” His fingers touched hers as he reached for the glass, and he deliberately prolonged the contact. His slenderness emphasized by his khaki pants and polo shirt, he reached for the pitcher.
Frantic ringing of the doorbell and pounding on the front door startled Henry so that he dropped Flora May’s glass on the hardwood floor, shattering it. He strode through the living room, automatically turning his head to meet Flora May’s concerned eyes. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Flora May had lied about being a widow and her husband was at the door. Almost immediately, he rejected the thought. Her eyes were wide with surprise, not fear.
Henry stepped to the sturdy oak door. “Who’s there?”
“Please let me in! They’re after me! It’s a matter of life and death!”
Henry unlocked the door and opened it cautiously.
An old man staggered in, panting and holding his heart.
Flora May jumped up from the coach. “Oh, my Lord! You poor man!” She guided the man to the coach, and loosened his shirt collar. “That silver hair and strong nose look familiar, but I can’t tell who it is, Henry. His face is filthy, the jacket ripped, and the pants smeared with mud.”
Henry threw his hands up in silent supplication.
“What do you want?” Henry’s neutral tone was a sharp contrast to Flora May’s nurturing crooning.
When the man looked up, the light from the end table lamp fell on his red face. He gasped, but he was unable to speak.
Flora May’s hand flew to her mouth. “Mr. Napier!”
Henry turned to her. “You know him?”
“He’s a resident at the nursing home. What’s he doing wandering around in the woods? Look, his face is all scratched, his hands are bleeding, and he’s filthy.” Flora May used the hem of her cotton print dress to wipe at the old man’s contorted face.
“Then he needs to go back to the nursing home.” Firmly, he gripped the man’s shaking arm. “Come on, old timer.”
Clay managed to shake off the other man’s arm. “Mrs. Masters. Please listen to me. Mrs. Hill and her mother are holding Althea Flaxton prisoner. They are going to kill Althea unless I can get help.” Succinctly, Clay gasped out a synopsis of the night’s events. “I heard them in the woods behind me. They’ll know this is the only place I could have gone. They’ll be here any minute! You’ve got to hide me!”
Henry tightened his grip on Clay’s arm. “You’re confused. Now come on...”
Flora May stopped Henry with a touch on his arm. “Henry. Today, I told Mrs. Hill if she didn’t do something about Anita and Rose spending their work hours on the patio, I was calling the state regulatory office. She told me she was the boss, she’d run the place whatever way she liked, and if I disagreed, I could find employment elsewhere. Otherwise, if I wanted to stay, I could keep my trap shut.”
“So?” Henry was frankly puzzled. “That doesn’t mean she is killing the residents...”
“I know,” Flora May nervously rubbed her hands together.
An autocratic knocking sounded at the door.
“It’s Mrs. Hill!” Clay gripped Flora May’s arm, his eyes beseeching.
“Henry! We have to hide Mr. Napier! Please!”
“Flora May! This is crazy. He belongs at the nursing home. It’s probably a crime for us to hide him.” Henry was positive he’d lost his mind, but found himself leading the rumpled man to the bedroom, with Flora May close behind.
Henry closed the bedroom door behind him, and stepped to the front door. “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Hill, administrator of the nursing home! I’m looking for a runaway patient!”
Fervently sending his prayer heavenward, Henry cautiously cracked open the door. “Good evening, ma’am. I haven’t seen a missing patient.”
Mrs. Hill pushed her way into the room. Her short hair was sticking up on her head, her nose was running, her hose was in tatters, and her clothes were torn and filthy. “I know he’s here. It’s the only place he could be.”
As the determined woman strode through the foyer, Henry quickly blocked her path with his wiry body. “Hold it right there.”
“That old man is in there, and I’m getting him. Get out of my way!”
Her green eyes flashing fire, Mrs. Hill used her weight and height advantage to try to push Henry out of her way.
He braced his legs, and pushed back at her bulk. “I’ve never hit a woman before, but I’m about to make an exception—”
Behind him, he heard the angry clatter of house slippers on the wood floor. He twisted his neck to look behind him.
Flora May was standing in the doorway, covered from her neck to the floor in his bathrobe, with his slippers peeking from the hem. Her chin was up and her eyes were blazing with temper. “Mrs. Hill! What the hell are you doing here?” She advanced. “And you got your hands on my man!” Her face contorted with fury.
Mrs. Hill’s mouth was hanging open, and she’d stopped pushing against Henry. “Flora May! What are you doing here?” Her eyes travelled from the slippers, up the tightly closed bathrobe, and back to the outraged male face close to her own. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
Flora May charged into the room, magnificent in her fury. “If you want a man, you’ll have to find one of your own!” She grabbed Henry, and pulled him against her.
&nbs
p; He was too surprised to resist, and besides, her body felt so good, he decided to make the best of it. “Ma’am, your presence is definitely not welcome. Please leave my home at once.” He leaned against Flora May’s generous curves.
After Mrs. Hill had flung herself out the room, slamming the door behind her, Clay slowly walked out of the bedroom. “Thank you, Mrs. Masters. And you, too.” He bowed in Henry’s direction.
Henry grabbed his cell phone from his charger and flipped it open. He shook his head. “We’re not out of the woods yet, if you’ll forgive the expression. My phone’s not working.” He met Flora May’s eyes as she shrugged out of the bathrobe. “What about yours?”
She pulled her outdated, large cell phone from her purse. “Nope, not working.”
Henry frowned. “Could Mrs. Hill have sabotaged it, just in case?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Now, we’ve got to go!” Clay shook Flora May’s arm.
“Henry was going to pick me up at the nursing home for dinner, but we decided to take a romantic walk back here through the woods. And my pick-up truck is there as well. We can’t take Mr. Napier back out the way he came. Mrs. Hill and the staff will stop us. What are we going to do?”
Henry heaved a sigh. He met the older man’s silver eyes, surprised at the determination in them. “The only alternative is for us to use my four wheeler. We don’t have any choice. We can take it the long way through the woods and come out on the road a short way from the nursing home, hopefully far enough away Mrs. Hill and her minions can’t stop us.”
Clay trembled with reaction. “Thank you. Thank you both. Let’s get started immediately. I’m convinced Althea’s life is in imminent danger, as well as the other residents.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Alex stood on his brakes to stop in time to avoid the all terrain vehicle in the middle of the road leading to the nursing home. He frowned at the tableau caught in the headlights. “Marisa, that can’t be—”
A bedraggled older man, a woman with a high, towering hairdo, and a wiry man in stained khaki pants abandoned the vehicle and converged on the car.
“Mr. Napier?” asked Marisa in disbelief as she exited the car. Slowly, she turned to the other two. “Mr. Worthington? And Ms. Masters! You work at the nursing home!”
Another car squealed to a stop behind them, barely missing Alex’s bumper. Tara and Lieutenant Camden ran to join the group in the headlights. Tara yelled, “What the hell is going on here?”
Everyone stopped talking and turned to stare at her.
“Althea is in danger! Although you,” Marisa turned on the old man sprawled on the hood of Alex’s car, “may be the source of it! How dare you pay Linda Borders to have Althea transferred to that horrible place with you!” In her agitation, Marisa grabbed the old man’s lapels and shook him. His head flew back and forth.
Without warning, Marisa found her hands trapped in an iron grip. She blinked.
“Marisa! Please listen! I paid Ms. Borders to have me transferred to the Home Away from Home because my best friend is a patient there! I wanted to be near him in his final days.”
“And Althea? What did she have to do with your friend?” Marisa’s voice was rising.
“I met Althea when we were both patients at the hospital. They were getting ready to transfer me to the Home Away from Home. I had no idea where she would wind up. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again. I wanted, no, I needed the opportunity to get to know her … and I paid Ms. Borders so I did have the opportunity. Now, please, you must listen! Time is short and Althea is in grave danger!”
With the crickets’ song as his background accompaniment in the summer darkness and the trees pressing in on either side of the deserted road, Clay told them the whole story, beginning with his suspicions regarding the sightings of the ghost, and continuing through the possible tie to the murders of Jonah Graham and Zoe Walker. Clearly and succinctly, he told them about his and Althea’s investigation, and the connection between the sightings of the so-called ghost and the patients’ deaths. As he told them about his and Althea’s capture of the ghost, who subsequently proved to be Nurse Crimpton, he was horribly aware of the passing time.
When his pocket rang, Lieutenant Camden pulled out his cell phone. He turned back to the group. “Zoe’s grandmother and a man named Fred Wilkins, who drives a bus, turned up at the police station. The woman’s story matches yours. Let’s go!”
“Thank God your cell phone is out of range of Mrs. Hill’s gadget! Lieutenant, I have a better idea than all of us descending on the nursing home.” In spite of his muddy, torn clothes, Clay’s air of command was unmistakable. “They know I’ve escaped. You go there, on your own, in a squad car. You ask for Mrs. Hill. You apologetically tell her you had to check out the story of a crazy old man, but you’re sure there’s nothing in it. As you keep Mrs. Hill busy in the lobby, we will sneak in through the patio doors. Because those two layabouts sit out there and smoke all night, the doors will be open.”
Lieutenant Camden set his jaw. “I can’t send in a bunch of civilians.”
Tara grabbed his arm. “Send in your men as well, but you can’t keep us out!”
As Lieutenant Camden punched the numbers on his cell, Marisa reached in her purse for her phone.
“Who are you calling?” Alex whispered.
“Checking on my reinforcements.”
* * * * *
The small clearing off the winding road to the nursing home was packed with plain vehicles, police cars, police officers, and civilians.
As another vehicle bumped into sight, Lieutenant Camden’s eyes widened. “Is that a freakin’ bus?” As it creakily turned off the road and bumped into the clearing to the join the other vehicles, his voice rose. “Is that a freakin’ city bus?”
The door of the bus opened, and the driver pounded down the steps, a large bag over his shoulder. Recognizing the bald head and round belly, Marisa trotted up to him. “Fred! For goodness sake! I didn’t know you were going to bring the big bus!”
“Yes, ma’am. I called everybody I could think of, even groups that meet on other nights.” He turned back to the open door. “Come on, you all!”
Tara, Lieutenant Camden, and Marisa said, “You all?” at the same time.
As men and women poured down the steps and out into the clearing, Marisa recognized some. “Jason! Maurice! Janet!” Some she did not recognize, but they all hugged her as they passed.
Henry left Flora May’s side. “Marisa.”
“Dustin! I mean Henry!” Marisa took his outstretched hands.
“Yes, Henry. I’ve left Dustin behind. No more disguises.” He patted her hands. “And now, Flora May and I will join the rest of the troops!”
“Troops!” Lieutenant Camden pressed his hands to head. “Who the hell are all of these people!”
Marisa felt tears fill her eyes. “Members of my support group, and it appears members of other support groups.”
The last figure to get off the bus was familiar in the moonlight, even without the thick glasses. “Parvis! What are you doing here?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Continuing to learn my lesson, I think. I was sitting at Denny’s with some of the group members when they started getting the calls for help.”
Marisa was relieved he didn’t try to hug her. “That’s great. They can teach you a lot. All you have to do is be quiet and listen to them.”
Parvis laughed. “That sounds like something Fred would say.”
“By the way, Parvis, something has been bugging the daylights out of me. Why were you working at the nursing home before Jonah’s murder?”
“I received an anonymous tip regarding insurance fraud. I decided to investigate on site, so to speak.” Parvis shook his head. “Some investigative reporter I am. I promise you, I had no idea dangerous things were going on here.” He took a deep breath and reached for her shoulders. “Marisa, I—”
Marisa adroitly evaded his fingers and turned
away. “Sierra!” Marisa called in relief as a tall woman in white approached.
Garbed in a short white dress, white hose, white high heels, and an old-fashioned, winged nurse’s hat, Sierra twirled around on the uneven terrain. “How do you like it? When Fred called and said you needed us, and we were going to a nursing home, I thought it might help if I dressed in my nursing uniform. I had this in my closet, but I left my fake shot thingy at home…it’s not like I really have to give injections.”
“Marisa Adair.”
At the growl, Marisa sneaked a peek at Lieutenant Camden. He was shaking his head in disbelief. She decided not to tell him the large car that had pulled in behind the bus a bit earlier was loaded with dancers from the club.
“If they didn’t hear that huge bus belching up that road, then they have to have heard all that damned giggling! Quiet, everyone!”
* * * * *
Clay, Marisa, Parvis, Alex, and Tara, accompanied by several police officers, ran to the patio. Through the glass, they had a view of the lobby.
Behind them, Maupin waited in his wheelchair, his hands tense on his camera. Diana and Sarah flanked him in total silence.
Fanned out on the patio and the grounds behind them were the rest of the troops: addiction group members and exotic dancers had paired up with the police officers.
Marisa tensed, and she heard Tara’s indrawn breath. In contrast to the darkness of the patio, the lobby was lit up like a stage. Lieutenant Camden strode casually into the lobby, looking around as if for help. Anita Crebs hurried across the common area to intercept him. Anita wrung her hands. Like a silent movie, the lieutenant’s lips moved. He pointed toward the Administrator’s Office, and started walking to it. Anita followed him, her hands fluttering.
“I don’t see Mrs. Hill or her mother. I have to go in.” Clay slipped inside the door, and sprinted down the hallway.
“Clay! Wait!” Marisa leaped up to follow him, Parvis and Alex at her heels.