"I'm not too crazy about having Jennie out here either, but look at the positive side. With me here, I can look after her, and you'll have an excuse to come out as often as you like in an unofficial capacity. Kincaid apparently wants the case closed. Fine, let him think it is."
"You have a point, but I still feel like I should be warning you off."
"Before your disappearance, you always used to come to me for advice. We'd talk things out and…"
"And I'd go away feeling better. We didn't always come up with the solution, but you helped me see the problems more clearly." He nodded and grinned. "It's good to be home."
At Edgewood Estates, Andi greeted Helen like an old friend. "Got you on the list this time, Mrs. Bradley. In fact, Dr. Chang just called to see if you'd showed up. You get slowed down by that explosion in Troutdale?"
"As a matter of fact, we did." Jason signed in on the sheet and handed it to Helen, then told Andi that Helen had been injured in the blast.
"No kidding? You look okay."
"I was lucky, just some minor cuts. How did you hear about it?"
Andi nodded toward the guardhouse. "Police radio scanner. I'm a volunteer deputy for Clackamas County when I'm not working here. Like to keep track of what's going down."
Helen signed in and checked the signatures on the list of check-ins. "Andi, do you have everyone sign in?"
"Sure do. I'm a nut for security. I like to know where people are at all times."
"So if Paul Kincaid were here this morning, he'd have signed this?" Helen handed the clipboard back.
"Would have. Dr. Kincaid hasn't come in yet. He called around eight and said he had some business at the medical examiner's office. Did you want to see him? I can call him on his car phone and find out when he'll be back."
Helen's stomach tightened. "No, that's all right. I'll catch him later."
"Okay, you're all set then. I'll call Dr. Chang and let him know you're coming."
When the gate opened, Jason put the car in first gear and drove through. "So Dr. Kincaid was at the ME's office this morning."
"I take it you plan to question him about the bombing."
"You got that right. Looks like your Dr. Kincaid might not be as worried about his reputation as you seem to think."
Chapter Eighteen
Mrs. Bradley, I must say I'm surprised you came." Dr. Chang met her at the door to the manor, and after meeting Jason, he escorted them inside. "Andi told me you'd been injured."
Helen nodded. "I was in the deli when the bomb went off."
"Deli?" He offered her a chair in the waiting room and took a seat next to her. "Forgive me if I seem confused, but I understood it was a car."
"It was." She explained what had happened. "My injuries are minor, so I decided to come here straight from the hospital. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. I'm pleased you decided to accept our offer." Dr. Chang didn't look especially pleased. He smiled briefly, then turned toward Jason. "You're welcome to stay and tour the facilities as well. We like having the family participate as much as possible."
"Appreciate the invitation, Doc, but I have to get back to work. Don't worry, we'll be visiting Mom a lot while she's here. If there's anything we can do, you let us know."
Jason gave her a one-armed hug and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you tonight."
When he'd gone, Dr. Chang picked up the thread of their conversation about the bombing. "You mentioned that Dr. Fergeson had sustained some injuries. How is she?"
"Still being evaluated, but the doctor assured me she'd be fine."
Dr. Chang nodded, his dark eyes registering concern. "Well, then, I suppose we should get you settled. I'll have one of our other doctors admit you. I'd do it myself, but something's come up in the lab that requires my attention." He left the room and came back in less than two minutes with Stephanie and an empty wheelchair.
The head nurse had apparently purchased a new uniform, one that was better suited to her growing figure. From the fullness of the pastel pink top, Helen suspected that Stephanie's rounded tummy entailed more than overeating.
"I believe you've met Miss Curtis. I took the liberty of filling her in on your rather traumatic morning.”
"Yes, how are you?"
The nurse ignored the question. "I understand you'll be staying with us for a while." She glanced around. "Did you have a suitcase?"
Helen grimaced. "I did have. It was lost in explosion. My laptop as well. I can't believe I didn't think about it until just now."
"That's understandable." Dr. Chang gave her an empathetic smile. "You've had a major crisis." He turned to Stephanie. "We need to get her admitted. Take her into the exam room. I'll talk to Dr. Lawson. Do we have her room ready?"
"Yes, 134."
"Good. That has one of our best views. I'll leave you then, and try not to worry. You're in capable hands."
Stephanie assisted Helen into the wheelchair and rolled her out of the waiting area and down the long hall. One of the residents shuffled toward them, using a carved wooden cane for balance. His snow-white hair and beard and red suspenders reminded Helen of Santa Claus, until he spoke.
"Mornin', Miss Stephanie," he drawled. His sky-blue gaze dropped to Helen. "Now don't tell me y'all are checkin' in here. Young beauty like you?" He chuckled and winked.
Helen liked him immediately.
"Now you quit your flirting, Henry," Stephanie said, sounding almost animated. "Mrs. Bradley is here for our rehab program." To Helen she said, "Don't mind old Henry here. He flirts with every woman in the place. That southern charm of his even makes me feel young and pretty."
"Why, Miss Stephanie, you are young and pretty. Nothin' more beautiful than a pregnant woman, I always say."
"How did you…" Stephanie glanced down at her rounded abdomen. "Uhh… thank you, Henry. Now if you'll excuse us, I need to get our new patient admitted."
"Surely, I will." He dipped his head and winked again. "Reckon I'll be seeing you at dinner, ma'am."
Helen grinned. "Reckon so, Mr….what was the last name?"
"Butler, ma'am, Rhett Butler." He shuffled down the hall whistling Dixie.
Helen glanced up at Stephanie. "Rhett Butler?"
Stephanie smiled, looking friendly for the first time since they'd met. "He was an actor in his younger days. This morning he's doing Gone With the Wind. We never know who he'll be next. Sometimes he's himself, but most of the time he loses himself in characters he's read about or played. They're always southern, though. In that at least, he's consistent."
Being admitted to Edgewood was a matter of filling out a six-page form questioning everything from prescriptions to bowel regularity and listing every disease known to the human race. When Helen had finished the questionnaire, the administrative assistant asked whether or not she had a living will. If not, did she want one.
"I'll think about it," Helen said.
"Okay, I'll put down no for now." The woman opened a file cabinet and pulled out a thick gray folder.
"This is your admitting packet. In it you'll find information on Edgewood and what we do here. There's also a brochure that explains living wills and one on our retirement package. We have a wonderful program for retirees that guarantees life-long care. If you have any questions, our business manager will be happy to answer them for you."
Helen tucked her packet beside her and waited. A few minutes later Stephanie showed up again. About halfway down the corridor a wiry woman in a wheelchair whipped out of her room and nearly collided with them. Her wrinkled face sank inward at the mouth. She pinched her lips together and leaned forward in a mutinous pose.
"Did you lose your dentures again, Iris?"
"Nope. Just don't want to wear 'em. They hurt my gums." She clamped her lips together again as if to say you can't make me.
"I know they're uncomfortable, but you'll never get used to them at this rate."
"Don't want to." She bent her elbows and grabbed hold of the wheels, then shoved off
and sped down the hallway in the same direction Henry had taken.
"Speed limit's five miles an hour, Iris," Stephanie called after her, the words unheeded.
"She's quite a character." Helen watched her a moment, then turned back around when Stephanie pushed her forward again.
"A terror. She's eighty-five years old and popping wheelies. One of these days she's going to hurt herself or one of the other residents."
"I must say you have some rather colorful patients."
"We get all kinds here. Actually, people like Iris and Henry make our jobs more. interesting." Stephanie wheeled her into a room that looked like a beauty shop.
"This is our styling salon." Stephanie locked the wheelchair brakes. "We have licensed beauticians fix our residents' hair and such twice a week. I thought you might like to have yours washed by one of our staff nurses."
"Washed?" Helen felt the back of her head where the blood was still caked. "Oh, dear, I… um…I forgot. Normally I don't arrive at appointments in such disarray. I guess I should have gone home first."
Stephanie's full lips parted in an empathetic smile while she helped Helen into the salon chair. "Don't give it a second thought." She glanced toward the door and smiled. "Good, here's Thelma now."
A woman the size of a refrigerator filled the doorway. "Got here as quick as I could. Miss Ellsworth's gone and pulled out her IV again. Bled all over creation before I could get to her." Thelma's stark white uniform made her dark skin appear even darker. "I put a dressing on it and cleaned her up."
Stephanie sighed and looked at her watch. "Great. That's all I need. As soon as you finish with Mrs. Bradley, take her into exam room two and call Dr. Lawson."
"Sure will." A grin broke across Thelma's face as she chuckled and shook her head. "This place is feelin' more like a zoo every day." She turned her attention back to Helen, took one look at the matted mess of hair, and frowned. "Okay now, let's get you cleaned up." She released a lever and tilted the chair back. "What's this I hear about an explosion?"
Thelma directed a gentle warm spray of water over Helen's head and in a few moments, her tense body settled into the padded chair. Helen closed her eyes and retold her story.
"If that doesn't beat all," Thelma said as Helen finished. "What's this world cornin' to? All this killing." She sighed. "Wouldn't be at all surprised to find out it was a prank pulled by some drug-crazed hoodlums. Nothing surprises me these days."
"Hmm." Helen listened as Thelma expounded on the prevailing violence of children in today's society. In a way she wished Thelma's theory about the explosion were true, but the events leading up to it strongly suggested that either Helen or Sammi, or both, had been deliberate targets.
All too soon, Thelma turned off the water, draped Helen's head in a towel, and raised the chair to an upright position. "All set."
"Have you worked here long?" Helen asked.
"Two years. Worked at a hospital for ten years before that."
"Do you like it here?" Helen transferred back to the wheelchair.
Thelma shrugged. "It's like any other job. Some days good, some not so." Thelma wheeled Helen to a bank of mirrors, picked up a brush, and pulled a dryer from its well. Without asking for preferences, she began blow drying and styling
Helen's hair. "It was better before Dr. Kincaid passed away. Dr. Paul isn't at all like his daddy."
"Really?" Helen hoped the nurse would elaborate, but she didn't. Thelma clamped her jaw as though she'd already said too much.
"You do that very well." Helen watched her hair turn from wet and limp to fluffy.
"Used to be a hairdresser. One of the reasons they hired me, I expect. I fill in when the regulars aren't here."
Helen smiled. "A woman of many talents."
Thelma turned off the dryer and set it aside, then whisked the brush through Helen's hair, carefully working around the abrasions. The short blunt cut fell into a natural style. She caught Helen's gaze in the mirror and smiled. "Not bad if I do say so myself."
"It's wonderful." Helen tipped her head from side to side, admiring Thelma's handiwork.
"You have good hair."
“Thanks.”
Thelma wheeled her into the hall and down an empty corridor. Depositing Helen in room two, then handing her an open-backed gown. "Just put this on, honey, and I'll let Dr. Lawson know you're here." She set the wheelchair near the door and left.
Twenty minutes later, Helen scooted off the paper-lined exam table and pulled a current copy of Newsweek out of the oak magazine rack on the wall and thumbed through it while she waited in the uncomfortably cool exam room.
She'd been ruminating over her lost computer the entire time and repeatedly told herself it could be replaced. In part that was true. Insurance would cover a new laptop, and she had most of her work on her desktop at home, her beach home, but the unfinished articles she'd been working on the last few days would have to be rewritten.
The door opened and Helen tossed the magazine onto the chair where she'd set her clothes.
"Mrs. Bradley." A woman wearing a lab coat, blue jeans, and Birkenstocks entered. "I'm Dr. Lawson." She'd pulled her wavy dishwater-blond hair into a leather clasp at the back of her head. "I understand you were involved in some kind of explosion. And let's see, we're admitting you for rehab on your arm?" She set the clipboard down, leaned against the counter, and settled a skeptical gaze on Helen's shoulder. "Which is from a gunshot wound?"
"Yes."
"I know it's probably a really stupid question, but how did all this happen to you?"
"It's a long story." Helen briefly outlined both incidents. "I understand Edgewood has an excellent rehabilitation program."
Dr. Lawson nodded, a smile stretching her already thin lips. "Which is why I'm here." She moved to Helen's side and began probing her injured arm. "You've been wearing a sling?"
"Faithfully." Helen winced as the doctor raised the arm up and out of Helen's comfort zone.
"Show me what exercises you've been doing."
Helen went through the routine she'd developed. "I've been working with five-pound weights."
"You've got pretty good range of motion. I'm going to recommend pool exercises as well as some work on the weights. We'll combine that with a daily massage and some ultrasound therapy. I'd say three or four weeks and you'll be good as new."
"Will you be working with me?"
"Occasionally. I run the department, and that keeps me pretty busy. In the meantime, I'm tracking all the clients, trying to see what works and what doesn't."
"Sounds like you enjoy your work."
"Oh, I do. Keeping older people active helps them live longer and more productive lives. Of course we don't only deal with the elderly. We often have younger residents who have physical limitations and disabilities."
"Have you been here long?"
"Five years. I was a trained physical therapist before going to med school. Thanks to Andrew Kincaid, I'm going for a second Ph.D. in geriatric rehab." She frowned. "Unfortunately, now that he's gone I don't know if they'll continue to fund the program."
"Why's that?"
"Money."
Helen wanted to know more, but Dr. Lawson glanced at her watch. "I'd better get over to physical therapy. I have an appointment with one of my greatest successes. You're welcome to come watch. It'll give you an idea of what we do."
"I'd like that."
"Great. I'll tell Stephanie and she can have someone bring you down."
Helen had just finished dressing when Thelma came in with the wheelchair and insisted Helen climb into it.
"I really don't need this thing."
"Maybe not, but Dr. Chang said we should keep you in it today because of that explosion. No sense taking any chances."
"Are you taking me down to physical therapy?"
"Yes, ma'am. Dr. Lawson is putting Lars through his paces. And that is a sight to behold."
"Why's that?"
"Mr. Olsen is ninety-two years old. A
year or so ago he had a stroke and his family gave him up for dead. But Lars and the good Lord had other plans."
Edgewood Manor's physical therapy department looked like a state-of-the-art fitness center. Mirrors lined the walls and treadmills, stair steppers, and stationary bicycles filled the area to her left. Royal blue exercise mats occupied the center of the room, where a large number of residents, mostly seniors, were trying to mimic a bouncy middle-aged aerobics instructor to the tune of "La Bamba." Off to the right a white-haired man with a torso every bit as muscular as an Olympic gymnast's was doing arm curls.
Helen nodded toward him. "Now don't tell me that's Lars Olsen?"
"That's him."
"What do you think of our facility, Mrs. Bradley?" Dr. Lawson came up behind her, making eye contact in the mirror.
"Very impressive." Helen nodded toward the man. "I'm having trouble believing your Mr. Olsen is a day over fifty, though."
The doctor beamed. "Wonderful specimen, isn't he? Lars!" she shouted above the music. "Come here a minute. I'd like you to meet someone."
Lars set the weight in its holder and moved toward them. His left foot dragged slightly as he walked.
"Did Thelma tell you he's had a stroke?" Dr. Lawson asked.
"Yes. He seems to be doing quite well."
"His entire left side was paralyzed when he first came to us."
"I'd say you are a miracle worker."
"Ya, that she is." The big Scandinavian grinned down at her, revealing a beautiful set of what must be false teeth.
“Lars has good genes.” Dr. Lawson said and then introduced them.
"Vill you be joining us then?" Lars glanced down at her sling before fixing his bright blue gaze on Helen's.
"Yes, and the sooner the better. I need my arm back."
"Vel, if anyone can fix you up, the Doc here can." After an awkward pause and a few more comments on the attributes of Edgewood, Lars went back to his exercising.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share the secret of your success. I'd love to be that fit at ninety."
"Better. We'll be putting you on a similar regimen. We treat the whole person here at Edgewood. The doctors from the various departments work as a team, outlining what's best for each patient. When I have more time I can answer some of your questions. Right now, however, I need to get back to my patient. You're welcome to stay and watch."
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 2) Page 13