Mayhem in Miniature

by Margaret Grace

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. I’m going to ask for extra cream cheese.”

  I clicked the phone off just in time to take Linda’s call.

  “I’m on my own phone now, on my lunch break,” Linda said. “The Mary Todd phone might be wiretapped anyway. I came out to the garden so I can talk freely.”

  A bit dramatic, but she had my attention.

  “I was very lucky, Gerry, and very smart. I timed my little trip to the records room to coincide with the new girl’s shift and got a lot of info. She let me sit at her monitor while she got a soda.”

  I hoped the new girl’s name wasn’t Olara, banished to records, about to receive her second violation.

  My fingers traced the Christmas wreath on the napkin Lourdes had provided. “Good for you, Linda. What’s the scoop?”

  “Oh, before I forget. Jason promised to work on whatever it was you told him to do, so he should be ready for another session tomorrow, okay?”

  “Tomorrow’s fine.”

  I was sure in her mind, Linda had just made a deal— information in exchange for attention to her son, which she could have gotten from me anyway. But that was Linda being Linda, as Beverly, Ken, and I always said.

  “Your Ethel Hudson is on some lists, but not others. We have no medical records for her, for example.”

  “What if she’s just never been sick?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We should have a file on everyone from the day they come in, from the primary care physicians.”

  “That makes sense. Maybe the file is misplaced?”

  Across from me, Maddie gestured madly. She pointed in the direction of Sadie’s Ice Cream Shop, two doors up, and made table-to-mouth eating motions with her right hand. Her eyes asked permission.

  Sadie’s and Willie’s had a reciprocal agreement that Maddie knew about—a bagel customer could take Sadie’s ice cream in to Willie’s for dessert, or vice versa. I nodded permission, pointing to my own chest: I want some, too.

  I handed over a ten-dollar bill. Maddie put on her jean jacket and went off.

  Linda was still talking. With my new multitasking skills I didn’t miss a word.

  “She has a CG designation, which means she’s here on a charity grant.”

  “Some charity supports residents at the Mary Todd?”

  “Uh-huh.” I heard the crunch of Linda’s daily serving of potato chips, and the sound of a lawn mower in the distance. “Some county-wide group—it’s called the Senior to Senior Foundation—supports up to three residents at a time. When one dies, they take on another. I think they also fund housing at the other Lincoln Point homes. I knew about this but never paid much attention. It’s like a scholarship.”

  “From the name, it sounds like some old rich people are giving money to old poor people.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “How does one get such a grant?”

  “Every now and then I see an announcement in the paper or on a flyer around here, telling you there’s an opening and you can apply. I’m not sure what the prerequisites are, other than you can’t afford the Mary Todd on your own.”

  Something Dolores could have looked into instead of blackmailing Carlos Guzman. I understood, however, that would be completely out of character for her. She’d never make her situation public that way. How ironic that now it was as public as it could be.

  “Tell me how that charity grant works. Do they send money to cover the expenses for the residents?”

  “I can’t tell. It looks like they deposit it into the resident’s regular account. Maybe the home draws monthly expenses or the bank sends a check. I’m assuming money is coming here to pay Ethel Hudson’s bills, but I have no way of knowing that. That would be Hawkes’s department.”

  Hmmm. “Linda, do you know the names of the other two charity residents at the Mary Todd?”

  “You’d be proud of me, Gerry. I wrote out the names on the list. There are three residents, compliments of the foundation. Looks like they’re going for diversity. We have your Ethel Hudson, Juanita Ramirez, and Dominik Ostrowsky.”

  A chill went through me. I pulled my jacket over my shoulders. I looked over at Lourdes and Kyle, taking care of a small line of customers. I needed the reassurance that there were real people in my world, and not just names. “Have you ever met these residents?”

  “Nuh-uh. I’ve never seen any of them.”

  “Is that unusual—that there would be residents you’d never come across?”

  “I’ll say. Between my days here as a part-timer and now, I’ve covered every part of this home and met everyone at least briefly. I can’t figure it out. Maybe they’re embarrassed or the Mary Todd is embarrassed to have them in the general population. Like prison, you know?”

  I didn’t quite get the analogy. “Is there anyplace else you can look?”

  “I checked a couple of other lists, besides medical, like the meal tickets and laundry. Sometimes the names are there, sometimes not. Isn’t it strange, Gerry?”

  “Yup.”>

  I sent a nonverbal, long-distance apology to Mr. Mooney.

  Chapter 20

  I was glad Beverly hadn’t arrived and Maddie was taking her time returning to Willie’s. I needed a minute to sort out the information from Linda’s call. I asked Kyle for another cup of coffee and sat at my table doodling away, pen to napkin. I made a flowchart of where money was coming from and where it was going. From the foundation to the residents’ bank accounts to the Mary Todd? By check from the bank? To the residents themselves and then to the Mary Todd?

  Where on the way could the money be intercepted? I tapped my pen.

  I’d just about decided that was what was happening. Someone—my first choice was Nadine Hawkes—was skimming money from the foundation and/or the Mary Todd Home. Not that I had an innate mistrust of accountants. I usually tried to resist that kind of categorization in any profession. I’d personally known several people in the field who were very honest and likeable, Ken’s financial manager among them. I also hoped the general public would be as kind in their overall evaluation of high school English teachers. But money manager Nadine was another story. There was a reason she was keeping the public (me) away from Ethel Hudson. I thought of trying to deliver See’s candies to Juanita and Dominik.

  I wished I knew what Mr. Mooney had seen in Nadine’s office and why she was so intent on his not telling anyone. She could be very intimidating and had clearly strong-armed or threatened Mr. Mooney in some way. I was convinced he saw Nadine, or thought he saw her, in the lobby while he was talking to me.

  I tried to remember Mr. Mooney’s exact words. Had he found checks to Ethel Hudson? From Ethel Hudson? And what did he mean that Dominik Ostrowsky was his twin? I needed to talk to him again. It was almost one o’clock, however, and Mr. Mooney was probably on his way to Santa Clara with Jane for a well-deserved family reunion.

  Just as well. I couldn’t ask Maddie (who was bounding in to Willie’s right now) to succumb to another trip to the Mary Todd so soon.

  I’d have to sneak away another time.

  “How’s it going, Grandma? Did you and Mrs. Reed solve the case?”

  I looked around. Fortunately, there was no one near enough to hear her. The Sunday traffic at Willie’s had been mostly for take-out—dozens of bagels at a time left the store in brown bags, each with a grainy photo of Abraham Lincoln’s son, William Wallace Lincoln, who died just after turning twelve years old.

  Maddie’s question reminded me of my tire-slasher. I wondered if Skip was right, that someone didn’t like my snooping around, as he called it.

  “Aunt Beverly’s going to join us in a few minutes,” I said, knowing that would easily distract Maddie from “the case.”

  “Cool.”

  “What did you bring me from Sadie’s?” I asked.

  She reached into a pink-and-white paper bag and brought forth a tall malt shake for me and a hot fudge sundae for her. Then she showed me her empty pockets.<
br />
  “There was just ten cents left so I left it as a tip.”

  What had made me think the ten-dollar bill would cover it all? A throwback to the days when a single would have done it? I pulled two one-dollar bills from my wallet. “Would you mind running back and giving these to Sadie? I promise not to start dessert without you.”

  But I might make a phone call, I said to myself.

  “It was Colleen, not Sadie, but I’ll do it.” My literal granddaughter ran off again.

  Giving me time for a quick call to Linda. I’d be off the phone before Maddie returned.

  Linda picked up, still on her lunch break, I gathered, from the chewy “Hello” I heard.

  “Linda, could you do me a favor and see if by any chance Mr. Mooney is in the lobby? He was supposed to be picked up at twelve thirty, but you know with traffic and all, his great-granddaughter might be late.”

  “Where was she coming from?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “Thanks, Gerry. You always make me laugh.”

  “Someone has to do it. I’m not sure where Jane is staying locally.”

  “I’ll check the lobby and call you back.”

  I placed the phone on the table, in front of me, looking alternately at the tiny cell phone screen and at Willie’s “snow”-covered door. Was it only Californians who insisted on a white Christmas, no matter what? I wondered if the windows in Florida were spray-painted white also at this time of year. From all the Christmas cards I’d seen and the legends I’d heard, the original Nativity was in a desert not unlike Southern California.

  The door proved to be more interesting than my phone. Steve Talley walked in, alone. No Bambi on his arm, and no flock of children. He was wearing the very unattractive clothing of a serious bicyclist—skintight black shorts, long-sleeved red T-shirt with a tiny logo I couldn’t make out. He carried a helmet that looked like the brain it was intended to protect. He gave me a sweeping wave and headed for my table.

  “Geraldine, imagine running into you. My favorite craftswoman.” He pointed to the third chair at the table, the one I’d dragged over for Beverly. “May I?”

  “Certainly.” I knew Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to linger. He’d make his point and move on. “I was surprised to see your name on the bidders’ list for my room box.”

  “High bid, too. It’s a Christmas present for my youngest, Caitlin. She fell in love with it. Luckily, she wasn’t paying any attention to the bidding so I’ll be able to give it to her from Santa.”

  This was a new, very pleasant side of Steve Talley. I wished Dolores could see it.

  The mention of a small child sent my attention to Maddie’s sundae, now starting to melt. I reached over and put the plastic cover back on the cup, wondering if that would help keep it colder or make it melt faster. I wished I’d paid more attention in grade-school science. Even then, my idea of science was as another road to a crafts project: one year I built a miniature volcano that took many hours and spent only ten or twenty minutes on the science part, copying a “scientific” paragraph about it from the encyclopedia.

  “Does Caitlin do crafts herself?” I asked Steve.

  “A little. She’s only five, so she’s not too dexterous. She strings large beads onto leather strips to make jewelry and knits with those big needles. That kind of stuff.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “Say, I’m sure you heard about the murder over in the old neighborhood.”

  Not much of a segue. Steve must be in a hurry. “I heard. It’s very upsetting, isn’t it?”

  “No kidding. I hope this will help people understand why my proposal is so important. That part of town is a disgrace and a breeding ground for all kinds of criminal activity. Where else are you going to find pieces of rusty rebar lying around, unless you’re at a construction site? It’s a slum and we need to clean it up, Geraldine.”

  I looked over at Lourdes, neat and professional, ringing up a sale, and at Kyle, wiping down a table in the far corner, happily neither of them near enough to hear Steve trash their neighborhood. I wondered how the Pinos felt about the Talley Restoration Plan, if perhaps they’d seen the computer model in city hall. If they even knew about it—often those most affected were the last to know. How would I feel if I knew my bedroom was destined to be a fancy ethnic restaurant I couldn’t afford, for example?

  I felt obliged to speak up. “Cleaning it up doesn’t have to mean tearing it down and putting up high-rent condos that the current residents can’t afford.” I seemed to be channeling Dolores and councilwoman Gail Musgrave, but I did agree with them on this point.

  “I’ll have to give you one of my brochures, Geraldine. Say, speaking of crime and murder and all, how’s that investigation going?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was just wondering, with your nephew being a cop and all, I thought you might have the inside story. The papers are pretty quiet about it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do. Do you have some special interest in the outcome?”

  “No, no. But it is my town, you know, and I do want to say again—this situation is just what the Talley plan is meant to correct.”

  Having made his point—twice—Steve slapped his hand on the table and got up. “Well, I’ll be off. I gotta take breakfast back for the troops. I just wanted to say hi.”

  Sure you did.

  Maddie smacked her lips at every spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream, while Beverly scraped the extra cream cheese from her bagel and poured much less cream than usual into her coffee. She also cut back to only one packet of sugar.

  This was serious. “You said you wanted some advice, Beverly?”

  She looked at Maddie, seeming to question the timing. “Why not? I’m having a hard time deciding what to wear on a”—she looked at Maddie—“a date.”

  Maddie grinned. “It’s okay, Aunt Beverly. Devyn’s father left and her mother is dating and she’s always modeling for us to see which dress she should wear when she goes out. We get to vote and all.”

  “What’s this world coming to?” Beverly asked. “Don’t kids just play games anymore?” She gave Maddie a gentle poke in the arm and took a nibble from her bagel. “I’ve been through every outfit in my closet and found a reason to reject each one. Too short. Too long. Too bright. Too dull. Too loose across . . . you know.”

  “Devyn’s mother has the opposite problem,” Maddie said. “She says she’s too busty.” She ran her hands across her own flat chest, causing an eruption of laughter from her grandmother and aunt.

  “Where are you going on this date?” I asked, when we’d calmed down.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “To a retirement dinner.”

  I kept my laugh in check. “You’re going to his retirement dinner as his date?”

  “Not his. Someone else’s. John Bodden’s. John actually retired a few months ago, but he was on vacation, so we’re just having it now.”

  “Wouldn’t you be going to that anyway?”

  “Uh-huh, but not as Nick’s date.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “He’ll pick me up and we’ll go to the restaurant, and we’ll sit together and dance, and he’ll drive me home.”

  We both looked at Maddie, who had lost interest. She was chasing a cherry around her paper cup. I knew she was itching to pick it up with her fingers.

  “Okay, then. It’s a date,” I said. “Now, what to wear? Nothing fancy, right?”

  “Right. But no microfiber. That’s only for travel.”

  “What about that paisley pants suit with the flared tunic top?”

  “It’s very ‘look at me.’ ”

  “The beige sleeveless with the embroidered jacket?”

  “Too ‘old lady.’ ”

  After several more rounds, Maddie had the answer.

  “Let’s go back to Lori Leigh’s and buy you something.”

  Beverly seeme
d as shocked as I was that Maddie had suggested a visit to a dress shop.

  “Really?” Beverly asked her.

  Maddie scraped the last of the sticky hot fudge sauce from her bowl. “It’s across the parking lot from the Toy Box.”

  That cleared things up.

  I stepped to the register to pay the bill for our bagels and drinks.

  “No, no, Mrs. Porter. It’s all taken care of.”

  “Who—?”

  Lourdes had a big smile on her face. She pointed to her son, who had finished restocking Willie’s large refrigerator. “Kyle paid from his share of the tips.”

  Kyle’s smile was equally wide, and accompanied by a wave as he lumbered toward us in his too-tight Willie’s jacket. “Thanks for helping my mom, Mrs. Porter.”

  “He’s proud of me like I am of him,” Lourdes said.

  “That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, but you don’t have to do this.”

  Kyle, nearly as tall as me, and considerably broader, met my gaze. “Yes, I do, Mrs. Porter.”

  Sometimes it was easy to hold on to my great faith in the youth of today.

  “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

  My cell phone tune rang through Lori Leigh’s shop. Annoying as the song was, it served the purpose of bringing a smile to Beverly’s face. She was treating the details of her date with Nick far too seriously to suit me.

  Skip was on the line. (Was there a “line” for cell phones?)

  “You called?”

  “Did Dolores talk to you?” I asked.

  “Yup.”>

  “Anything you care to tell me about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you been to Kentucky lately?” I asked, though Skip’s clipped tones were nothing like Mr. Mooney’s long, drawn-out syllables.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. What’s going to happen to Dolores?”

  “It’s not up to us. Dolores knows city hall as well as we do. She’s probably already talked to the DA.”

  I covered the speaker of my phone and whispered to Beverly, who had exited the dressing room wearing a knee-length little black dress. “Too formal,” I said. Then, pointing to my phone, “It’s your son.”