by Metsy Hingle
“You’re not.”
“I’m not what?” Meredith asked.
“Taking advantage of me. Since it looks like I’m going to be in town for a while, anyway, I’d already decided to do an ad layout for you as a favor.”
“You did?”
Kelly nodded. “But I liked your offer better,” she said with a grin.
Sixteen
“You’re sure you don’t have any record of an Eve Tompkins here?” Jack asked as they hit the last of what had to be twenty nursing homes in the three-county area. Since the woman had been discharged from the Good Shepherd mental facility, she seemed to have disappeared. So he and Leon had tried calling hospitals and nursing homes, hoping to locate Dr. Gilbert’s former nurse. When they kept coming up empty with the phone calls, they had decided to drive over to the Gulf Coast and see if they had any better luck in person. So far, they hadn’t.
“She used to be a nurse in Pass Christian,” Leon explained to the woman at the desk. “She’s probably in her late sixties or early seventies now.”
“I’m sorry. But we don’t have any Eve Tompkins here,” the receptionist told him. “Did you check at Magnolia Gardens? Some people get us confused with them.”
“We checked,” Jack assured her. Just as they had checked every other nursing home and medical facility in the area. “Well, thank you for your time, ma’am,” Jack told her.
“It was a longshot, Jackson. Who knows? Maybe Gilbert’s ex was wrong and this Eve Tompkins left the state,” Leon said as they headed for the exit.
“Just a minute,” the receptionist called out.
Jack turned, as did Leon. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Did you say this Eve Tompkins worked for a Dr. Gilbert?” the woman asked.
“That’s right. We were told she was his office nurse at one time.”
The brunette stared at him from behind her tortoise-shell-framed glasses. “Well, we don’t have an Eve Tompkins here, but we do have an Evelyn Gilbert.”
“Eve could be short for Evelyn,” Leon pointed out.
And if the nurse was as hung up on the now-deceased doctor as the man’s ex-wife claimed, it was possible that she’d either convinced the man to marry her or simply decided to take his name. “Is it possible for us to see this Evelyn Gilbert?”
“I don’t see why not. Just let me check with my supervisor.”
Ten minutes later, the supervisor led them to a large room where at least thirty men and women were engaged in various forms of entertainment—all of which were going on at the same time. “This is our recreational area,” the woman told them, raising her voice to be heard over the television set, radio, piano-playing and conversations. “Some of our residents like to gather here in the afternoon before going in to dinner.”
“It’s only four-thirty,” Leon pointed out.
The woman gave him a patient smile. “I know, but our seniors have delicate constitutions. So we think it’s best if they have their evening meals early.”
And it also meant that they could send the old people off to bed early and be done with them for the night, Jack thought cynically as he looked around the room. Though the sofas and chair groupings were bright and cheery, there was something sad about the sight of all these people—mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers—now living under one roof with strangers.
He glanced around the room. Three women and one man were gathered around the television, with the snowy-haired gentleman commandeering the remote and the volume blaring. The ladies stared at the screen as though unaware that the pictures were changing every three seconds and that they were only catching snippets of dialogue.
A quartet of women sat around a table, engaged in a lively game of bridge and sipping iced tea. And they appeared to genuinely be enjoying themselves. A frail-looking gentleman sat in a wheelchair, gazing out the window, not appearing to notice the efforts of his son trying to speak with him. In the far corner a woman in a bright pink dress, with a pink bow in her hair, played a lively old tune on the piano and sang off key.
“Excuse me,” the supervisor who’d called herself Mrs. Floyd said. “Let me see if I can get the remote from Mr. Willie and turn the volume on the TV down a bit. Then I’ll take you to see Miss Evelyn.”
Once she had left them, Leon said, “Man, I feel like we just stepped into the Twilight Zone.”
“I know what you mean. Makes me grateful that my mother is still so active and that my dad was playing golf when his time came.”
“That’s the way to go, all right. Lucky for you, you got good genes.”
He was lucky, Jack thought. And he couldn’t help thinking about Kelly. He’d taken his genetic history for granted, whereas Kelly had been denied hers. She’d said she hadn’t wanted to know. Was that the truth? Or had she simply been afraid of the answers she might find?
“Sorry about that,” Mrs. Floyd said. “If you come this way, I’ll introduce you to Evelyn. She’s the one playing the piano. But as I warned you, she’s in the third stage of Alzheimer’s. She has good days when she’s quite sharp for a little while before the confusion sets in. Unfortunately, those episodes are more frequent and lasting longer now.”
“We understand,” Jack replied. They stopped beside the piano.
“Evelyn? Evelyn,” Mrs. Floyd repeated. She touched the woman’s thin shoulder. “You have visitors.”
The piano playing stopped. Evelyn pivoted on the piano seat and stared up at him with big brown eyes. She grinned at Jack from pink lips that looked as though they’d been painted on by a child who had been playing with her mother’s makeup.
“Hello, Miss Evelyn. My name’s Jack Callaghan.”
“Did you like my song? Mama says I play it pretty.”
“It was lovely,” Jack told her, and tried to contend with the fact that this woman might be Kelly’s grandmother.
She reached for a framed photo of a young woman holding a baby and showed it to him. “This is my mama and me when I was a baby. Isn’t she pretty?”
Since the woman in the photo was wearing a modern dress and had her hair styled in that Farrah Fawcett look from the seventies, Jack doubted she was Evelyn’s mother. “Yes, she is,” Jack assured her. “This is my partner, Miss Evelyn. His name is Leon.”
“He’s very tall. Almost as big as my papa.”
Since Leon was bigger than most men, he couldn’t help but wonder how big the woman’s father had been. “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes if we could. Would that be all right?”
She lowered her head, looked up at him out of shy eyes. “Mama said I mustn’t ever talk to men again unless her or papa are with me.”
“It’s all right for you to talk to these men,” Mrs. Floyd told her.
“You promise Mama won’t get mad? She was really mad at me for talking to Johnny Connors. She said he was up to no good and that I was a bad girl ’cause I let him kiss me.”
Oh, boy, Jack thought, and exchanged a glance with Leon.
“Neither of these gentlemen are going to try to kiss you. And I’ll be right here with you, so it’s all right to talk to them. I promise,” Mrs. Floyd assured her.
She grinned again, the grin of a young girl. “All right. Do you want to sit next to me and I’ll teach you to play the piano?”
“Tell you what? Why don’t I sit next to you and we’ll just talk. Would that be okay?”
After a glance at Mrs. Floyd, who nodded, she said, “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” she asked as she scooted over on the bench to make room for him.
“I wanted to talk to you about Dr. Martin Gilbert. Do you remember Dr. Gilbert, Miss Evelyn?”
She frowned. “Marty?” A confused look came into her eyes. “Did Marty come back?”
“No, Marty isn’t here right now. But we need to talk to you about him,” Jack told her. “He needs your help, Evelyn. He needs us to get in touch with his good friend. Remember his good friend? The one he used to call when he needed a favor?”
“Mustn’t tell. Mustn’t ever tell or he’ll hurt the baby.”
“What baby, Evelyn? Who will hurt the baby? Is it Marty?”
“Do you know how to play ‘Jingle Bells’?” she asked. “I know how to play ‘Jingle Bells.’ Listen, I’ll play it for you.”
And as she began playing the Christmas tune, Jack knew further conversation now wouldn’t yield any results. “Thank you, Evelyn,” he said, but she gave no indication she heard him. She simply continued to play.
“As I said, she drifts in and out,” Mrs. Floyd told them as she escorted them from the room.
“Does she ever get any visitors?” Jack asked, hoping maybe someone close to her might know something.
Mrs. Floyd shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Her husband—or at least the man she said was her husband—only came a couple of times since she’s been here.”
“When was the last time?”
“Oh, gee, it must be about a month ago. And the visit was really short, if you ask me. Didn’t seem at all concerned about her.”
Sounded like Gilbert, Jack thought. “You mentioned she was in stage three of Alzheimer’s. Does that mean it’s going to get worse?”
“Unfortunately, yes. When a patient reaches stage five, they often become violent. So when that happens we’ll have to move her to another facility. But for now, our Evelyn is quite delightful.”
“Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Floyd,” Jack told her, and shook hands.
“Yes, thank you,” Leon echoed.”
My pleasure. I’m just sorry the visit didn’t prove more productive for you. Perhaps you can come back and try another time.”
“We’ll do that,” Jack said, and exited the nursing home with Leon.
And the next time he came, he would bring Kelly, Jack decided. If Evelyn couldn’t provide them with the answers they needed, maybe…just maybe…Kelly might be able to help him get them.
“Okay, that’s the last of them,” Kelly told Meredith as she finished unpacking the boxes of ridiculously priced and incredibly uncomfortable shoes. Although she worked in fashion and had a healthy love of clothes, she wasn’t a slave to it. So she didn’t understand why any woman would spend a small fortune on strips of gold and silver and colored leather or plastic that would make her calves ache for a week.
“We still have the evening bags to unbox,” Meredith told her as she dashed back into the storage room to get an armload of shimmering wraps.
“Forget it. If I have to spend another minute sifting through boxes of tissue and peanut packing, I’ll slit my throat.”
“Well, I guess we could take a short break,” Meredith conceded. “Come on, I have a fridge out back. But just remember, we need to make this quick. We’ve still got to get those evening bags unpacked before we leave this evening.”
“What is this ‘we’ stuff?” Kelly asked as she followed her to the rear of the shop, past more boxes and racks filled with merchandise to an area that had been set up with a desk, filing cabinet and fax machine. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m free labor here. That means I’m working for nothing.”
She opened the fridge. “Water or diet cola?”
“Any real cola?”
Meredith gave her a look and handed her a regular Coke and snagged a diet one for herself. She sat down behind the desk. “I’d hardly call being paid with an Elie Saab original nothing.”
“I thought you said it looked like an Elie Saab,” Kelly corrected her, and moved a stack of fashion magazines from the side chair and sat down. And it was a darned good knockoff, Kelly admitted.
“What I meant to say was that it looked like one of the higher-end designs I’d seen by Elie Saab. But this one was priced to accommodate the everyday woman. That’s why I got it for the shop.”
Kelly laughed. “Meredith, the everyday woman does not spend five thousand dollars for a dress. The truth is, I can’t believe I’m doing it. I must be out of my mind.”
“You’re not paying for it,” Meredith reminded her after taking another sip from her drink. “You’re swapping your services as a photographer for it. And don’t even think about trying to renege on our deal because I’m holding you to it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to renege on the deal.”
Meredith sat forward, a mischievous gleam in her light eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider and do the brochure for Christmas?”
“No. And unless I get moving and find a place to set up a darkroom, you won’t have it for Valentine’s Day, either.”
“So you’re really serious about sticking around New Orleans?”
“Yes,” Kelly told her, although her agent had been none too pleased with her about that decision. Yet she had little choice if she was going to find out who killed Sister Grace and why that person wanted her dead.
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a month, maybe two.” Or longer, depending on what she was able to find out. “Long enough to do your brochure and take care of some personal business.”
“That personal business, does it have anything to do with Jack?”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
Meredith brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her winter-white slacks. “I’m just wondering what your intentions are toward my brother. Are you serious about him?”
“Meredith, I really don’t think—”
“That it’s any of my business? You’re right. It’s not. But when has that ever stopped me?” she replied smoothly.
“Probably never.”
She ran one beautifully manicured nail down the side of her cola bottle. “Exactly. But the truth is I think Jack’s serious about you. And no matter how much I want you to do that brochure for me, you should know that I’ll cut your heart out and ship it back to New York in one of my pretty little boxes if you do anything to hurt him.” She lifted her gaze to Kelly’s and smiled. “I do hope you understand.”
“Of course. I just hope you understand that Jack is the last person in the world whom I’d want to hurt.” And the person most likely to be hurt was her.
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way,” Meredith replied. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for in the way of a rental?”
“Something with a couple of rooms, preferably at least one without any windows, where the landlord will allow me to install some tanks for developing film,” she explained. “I spoke with Peter and he recommended I talk with Alicia Van Owen. I met her at your mother’s party and told her I’d call her.”
“Forget about Alicia. The little viper will probably lock you into a long-term lease on something you don’t want or need,” Meredith insisted.
“Both Peter and Jack said she was very good.”
“What do they know? They’re men,” Meredith said with no small amount of disdain. “Besides, why would you want to waste your time with Miss Butter-just-melts-in-her-mouth Van Owen when I already have the perfect place for you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And just where is this perfect place?” Kelly asked.
“Upstairs,” Meredith told her with a grin. “I’ve rented the spaces above me for the next two years. The place directly above this one used to be a gift shop, but it’s been empty for a while. So I asked that an option to expand Indulgences to the second level be built into my current lease. That way if the shop’s a hit, I won’t be faced with a major jump in my rent too soon and will only have to handle the build-out.”
“Very clever,” Kelly said.
“I thought so,” Meredith said. “I was planning to use the third floor apartment for storage space. But I don’t have to have it.” She pulled open the desk drawer, snagged a set of keys and said, “Come take a look and tell me what you think.”
“I think it’s perfect,” Kelly told her fifteen minutes later after she walked through the apartment a second time. Located on the third floor of the build
ing above Meredith’s shop, the place was small with a combination kitchen/living room, a medium-size bedroom and a surprisingly large bath. “I’d need to blacken or board up the windows in this room, but I could set up my developing tubs here and here. And I could have lines running across there for hanging my proofs,” she said, more to herself than to Meredith as she envisioned dressing out the room. She turned to Meredith. “How much?”
Meredith told her the figure.
“How long a lease would I need to sign?”
“A year.”
“Three months,” Kelly countered.
“Six months, and not a day less.”
“All right, six months.” Compared to what she was paying for her place in New York and the added cost of the hotel suite during peak convention season, the place was a steal. Exiting the bedroom, she scanned the living area. She could also continue searching through Sister Grace’s correspondence and journals without worrying about the housekeeping staff seeing any of the nun’s personal writings. She’d also feel better knowing that no one else had access to the items. “There should be enough room in here for a sofa sleeper, maybe even a coffee table and a couple of chairs. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose so. But why would you want a sofa sleeper in here?”
“To sleep on,” Kelly informed her.
Meredith looked appalled. “Kelly Santos, don’t tell me you’re thinking of living here?”
“Why not? I’d have everything I need, plus a darkroom for my work. And it was obviously designed as living quarters.”
“But where would you put your clothes? And what about your dressing table and your makeup and accessories and…and…”
“And what?” Kelly teased, unable to help but be amused by Meredith.
“Essentials,” the other woman said, exasperated.
“Meredith, what I consider essentials and what you consider essentials are two different things.”
“Obviously.” She looked around the small space and shuddered. “You know, we have a huge house with lots of empty rooms. My mother would love to have you stay with us.”