“Here’s my outline,” he said, making my heart swell.
I looked over his plan, which was to give each character his or her own section, with an explanation of why the person might be lonely and how it was revealed in the novel through Steinbeck’s choices of words and imagery.
“Cool,” I said.
I wanted badly to go to the Mary Todd, to see both Sofia and Mr. Mooney. And whoever else might be around. But I had to cut my curiosity off somewhere, especially now that the police apparently had their culprit in the form of Financial Manager (or not) Nadine Hawkes.
I thought of inviting Beverly over for lunch, as a distraction. Surely her date with Nick was over by now. But maybe not.
I played it safe all around and decided to devote the afternoon to finally getting the house ready for Richard and Mary Lou and finishing up my Christmas cards.
“What will you charge for putting stamps on fifty cards?” I asked Maddie.
“Do I have to lick them?”
“No.”
“Then it’s free.”
I insisted on a reward and we settled on pizza for dinner (her idea) and a supplement to the spending money her parents had given her (my idea). I’d wanted to do that anyway, indulgent though it was.
By two o’clock my secondary crafts room looked like a storage locker, with hardly room to open the door. The neatest room in the house was the guest room, now ready for Richard and Mary Lou, dust-free, with fresh sheets and two empty dresser drawers for their use. Maddie planned to buy flowers for the night table just before they arrived.
We sat with my cards, envelopes, and stamps arranged on the dining-room table, the atrium table being unavailable due to a mound of odds and ends that had been in the guest room.
From somewhere we heard the unmistakable, majestic strains of the 1812 Overture. I traced the sound back to the kitchen counter where my cell phone battery was charging.
Maddie looked up, confused. I savored the moment, silently thanking Jason Reed for his technical prowess and his taste in music (or guessing mine). Maddie looked around, frowning, and then saw the green light of my cell phone.
We broke out in gales of laughter. “How did you figure it out?” she asked me.
“I’m smart.”
I was dismayed by her doubtful expression. “Don’t you think I’m smart?”
Clearly a pivotal decision for my granddaughter. Then the light—she made an attempt to snap her fingers, producing a soft rubbery sound. “Jason, right? When?”
“While you were wrapping your parents’ presents.”
“Nuts.”
I was having such a good time with this coup, I almost forgot to answer the call.
“Breaking news,” Skip said.
“You took Nadine Hawkes in,” I said.
“It’s hard to beat your hotline.”
“But that’s all I know.” Silence. “Please, Skip?”
“I do owe you.”
“Oh, tell me more.”
“First, I’m sure you’d want to know, Dolores made a deal just in time. She got the DA out of his daughter’s wedding yesterday and told him what she knew about Hawkes’s scheme. She was able to leverage that against her own case. Another half day and we would have had the grant people in tow and not needed her.”
Maddie gestured to me that she was going to her room. I blew her a kiss, happy that I wouldn’t have to watch my language while talking to Skip.
“I’m sure Dolores realized you’d be on it once the banks opened this morning.”
“And that we were. She’d tried to get Mooney to testify to corroborate her story, but he wouldn’t do it. I think he was afraid of Hawkes.”
I agreed. I’d seen the frightened looks myself. I mentally put one more checkmark in Mr. Mooney’s column. He did have an argument with Dolores, as he claimed—another kernel of truth from someone whose proclamations were more than likely discounted on a daily basis.
“How much can you tell me about Nadine’s scheme?”
“You mean how right were you?”
“Sort of.”
“We met representatives from that senior foundation today at the Mary Todd.” The one day I didn’t go there. As Maddie would say, nuts. “Not surprising, none of the three current grant residents could be found. Meanwhile, other reps of the foundation were at the banks they send checks to. Making a long story short, the clerks in all the banks ID’d a photo of Nadine Hawkes as either Ethel Hudson or Juanita Ramirez.”
“And Mr. Mooney was Dominik Ostrowsky.”
“Yeah. She was pretty clever—she recruited Mooney so she could collect on a male resident also. Who knows why?”
“Maybe to make it all look more legitimate?”
“Could be, since she was presenting these fake names to the foundation. One time on an unannounced visit by the grant people, she was able to at least produce the so-called Dominik Ostrowsky, if not the women.”
I guessed when he wasn’t afraid of letting the secret slip, Mr. Mooney had had a good time with the plot, calling himself Dominik’s twin, and then Dominik himself. I wondered if what he thought was a joke had nearly cost him his life.
I was reminded of the fake mailman Beverly had uncovered in the course of her LPPD volunteer duties. I was astounded, not for the first time, at how many ways people came up with to cheat others out of their money.
“I think I owe you an apology or a thank-you or something,” Skip said. “Dolores’s confession really started things off.”
“Let’s not stop there. How is Nadine connected to Carlos’s murder? Is she in his book?”
“Oh, that’s right. You and Lois Lane don’t have the whole book.”
“What happened to the apologetic and grateful tone?”
“Okay, one more minute of this, then I have to go. Nadine Hawkes was not in Guzman’s notebook, but that doesn’t mean Guzman didn’t know about her scheme. It certainly would be better for us if we had evidence that he knew, but we can work with what we have.”
I gulped. “Did she try to kill Mr. Mooney?”
“There’s every reason to believe that, although she’s ranting that she didn’t kill anyone. That she really did try to help the old man. She claims someone else must have given him the overdose.”
“So it was an overdose of his own medication? What was it?”
“I think that’s enough. Why don’t I just copy you on my report?”
“That would be nice.”
I heard his standard guffaw. “In your dreams. Gotta go.”
“Wait, wait. One more thing. Was she working with Gus?”
“She claims she barely knew Gus or any of the van drivers. He was just a name on her payroll. Say good-bye, Aunt Gerry.”
He hung up before I had a chance to ask if Nadine Hawkes could have visitors in jail.
Chapter 25
I couldn’t believe I’d missed the excitement at the Mary Todd. After all the time I’d spent there, four days in a row, I felt I deserved to see some action. My goal now was to get there today, to see Sofia and Mr. Mooney. I mentally scratched Ethel Hudson and her two imaginary friends off my list.
Maddie came out of her room with a Christmas gift bag spilling over with red tissue. Since she had chosen to wrap this in her room, I took a wild guess. “For me?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
I’d already devised a plan to trick my granddaughter into another trip to the Mary Todd.
“Remember that sink we started a couple of nights ago for Mrs. Muniz?” She nodded. “How would you like to finish it and deliver it to her today?”
Her face morphed into a doubtful expression as she processed the idea. “Shouldn’t we wait until Christmas?”
“She’s had a very tough time lately and this might cheer her up.”
“What will we have for dinner?” the ten-year-old master negotiator asked.
“Pizza, of course.”
She knew when she was being had, and so did I.
Maddie
and I had worked on and off on the sink for Sofia. My original idea had been to build a whole old-style kitchen, such as Sofia might have had as a child, but now I was in a hurry. I needed the sink as an excuse for both Maddie and Dolores. I hadn’t heard the details of Dolores’s deal with the DA, but I imagined it included no jail time. I expected her to be hovering around her grandmother.
We’d already made the basic sink from white modeling clay and the faucets from brass jewelry findings. Adding a skirt, with a tiny fifties-style floral pattern, was the fun part. I showed Maddie how to make two rows of loose stitches and then pull on the ends to make gathers.
We tightened the skirt around the top of the sink, leaving an opening in front for access to the underside of the sink.
“Why do we need the skirt?” Maddie asked.
“To hide the pipes.”
“This sink doesn’t have any pipes.”
“We’re pretending.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting.” She gave me the cutest smile.
Poor Maddie. She must have tired of the employee lounge. She asked to be dropped at Rosie Norman’s bookstore. It was quite a distance in the opposite direction, but I didn’t dare refuse.
“This means you won’t be with me when I give Mrs. Muniz her little sink.”
“It’s okay. You can give it to her.”
A pang of guilt nearly threw me off balance as I entered my car. “You can pick out as many books as you want at Rosie’s and I’ll buy them for you,” I said to her.
“I know,” she said.
I cringed. Another home-grown lesson from Grandma— bribery as a form of contrition.
Since Linda was not working today I was worried that I’d have to resort to legitimate means to gain access to Sofia and Mr. Mooney. To my delight, however, I recognized the young woman reading a book in the lobby of the Mary Todd.
“Jane Mooney?” I asked, remembering the same lovely features and strawberry blond hair from a photograph her great-grandfather had showed me.
She looked up from, of all things, Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. “That’s right,” she said, in a lilting voice.
“I’m Geraldine Porter. I teach crafts here and—”
Jane jumped off the easy chair and took my hand. “Oh, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” She pointed to the reception desk. “They won’t give me your phone number.” They don’t like me very much, I almost admitted. “They said to wait until your class on Friday, but by then I’ll be gone.”
Jane’s “gone” rhymed with “bone” and “phone,” which I supposed made sense. “What a coincidence,” I said. “Here I am, wanting to talk to you, too.”
“Gramps has been asking for you. He’s in therapy right now, so I decided to wait down here where it’s so nice and cheery.”
I pointed to her book. “Are you a Steinbeck fan?”
“Not yet, but I thought since I’m so close to his part of the country I should read at least one of his books.”
Lincoln Point was more than an hour from the Salinas Valley, but compared to the trip from Kentucky, Jane was “close.” We spent a pleasant few minutes talking about the Steinbeck museum, which Jane was planning to visit before returning home. I resolved to take Maddie there next time. I thought she might be impressed at seeing the truck that Steinbeck and his poodle, Charley, traveled in on their journey around the country. The idea of a museum might not thrill her at first, but she’d see that it would be more interesting than all the break rooms she’d spent this vacation in.
“Do you know if your great-grandfather had something in particular in mind when he asked to see me?”
She shook her head. “Just that he says you believed him about a lot of things that have been going on around here, when no one else would.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Jane didn’t need to know about my poor record with Sandy Sechrest. I hoped Sandy enjoyed the flowers and the See’s candy and that she and I could consider ourselves buddies.
“People think old folks don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t realize that most of them, such as my gramps, have had full and productive lives and are capable of a lot more.”
Jane’s rhythm almost forced an “amen” from my lips, but I checked it, lest she think I was ridiculing her. “I know your gramps is an amazing craftsman. Did he do that for a living?”
“No, he had a very responsible position as a manager with a shipping company for many years. He oversaw a ton of employees, negotiated contracts, and controlled a huge budget. And this was in the day when you did it all without an MBA, if you know what I mean. But he was always whittling things for all of us kids.”
Jane’s gaze shifted back through time, where her memories were apparently fond ones. I hoped Maddie’s would be as pleasant, in spite of the frustrating hours she’d spent in Lincoln Point this vacation. “You’re lucky to have each other,” I said, meaning Maddie and me as well as Jane and Mr. Mooney.
“I wonder why that is.” Why they were lucky? No, Jane was back on the earlier topic. “That no one takes them seriously once they reach a certain age?”
I’d given this some thought already, especially during the last few days, and especially since I’d proven myself guilty of the same prejudices. “I think once physical faculties start to go, younger people assume it’s all over for that person. If you don’t hear as well, people think you’re dumber than you used to be, for example. Or if your bones start to creak, it’s perceived as a mental failing as well.”
“Wait until they get there themselves, I say,” Jane mused.
Another “amen” formed on my lips. Jane had a much longer wait than I did. I decided it wasn’t too soon for me to pitch in and try to change some attitudes. I could start by making sure I treated my Mary Todd students and all the older crafters I knew with the healthy respect they deserved.
Mr. Mooney sat in the living area of his one-bedroom apartment—the Fort Blakely floor plan, if I remembered correctly from Linda’s tutorial. He was wrapped in a plaid blanket from the waist down, his walker nowhere in sight. I expected there would be a long recovery from the attack on his body and he wouldn’t be the Wandering Irishman, cruising the hallways in the very near future.
“Mr. Mooney, I’m glad to see you looking so well.” It seemed to me I’d been down this road with him before. “I’ve been eager to see how you were doing. I had a nice little talk with Jane just now.”
Jane had remained in the lobby, having decided that her great-grandfather and I should have a private conversation. “I think he worries about me and he might not be so candid about whatever it is, if I’m there,” she’d said.
“Truth be told, Jane’s my favorite of the bunch, though we’re not supposed to have them,” Mr. Mooney said. (One advantage of having an only child who had an only child.) He picked up a paper cup with two very large yellow pills in it. “I’m waiting till later to take these suckers, so I can think and talk better.”
“Do those pills make you sleepy?”
“Yup. And fuzzy, too, and that’s when I can get confused. They’re supposed to help my liver do its work, but they can make me crazy.”
“Jane said there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”
Mr. Mooney’s nod was so animated, I was afraid his nose plug would disengage. “I heard Miss Hawkes was arrested. I know she was cheating some organization out of money, and, God forgive me, I helped her.”
“You’re not to blame if someone took advantage of you.”
“Maybe not, but I feel bad all the same. But I have to tell you, crooked and scary as that lady is, she wasn’t the one what gave me the pill in the lobby. And the police won’t listen.”
“I think at first you said she was the one who gave you medicine.”
Mr. Mooney slapped his knee in frustration, a gesture I’d come to enjoy. “I know that, but I told the police this morning that I was wrong. Can’t a person make a simple mistake and try to correct it? It was a
man there in the lobby. I’m tired of no one paying attention. Now you don’t believe me, either.”
“No, no, that’s not true, Mr. Mooney. That’s why I came here this morning. To find out what happened directly from you. I was confused when I saw you yesterday.”
“Do you know they sent a Santa Claus here last week?”
Uh-oh. Had I lost him? “Santa came?”
“They had us all in the ballroom, seated in rows, like when someone comes to give a lecture. I like those, by the way. We had a black man come talk to us about the Tuskegee airmen from the war.”
I knew when Mr. Mooney referred to “the war” he meant WWII, notwithstanding the unfortunate dozens there had been since then. “You were telling me about Santa.”
“Santa came through the rows with his ‘ho, ho, ho,’ and foisted presents on all of us, asking if we’d been good boys and girls. Can you imagine?”
I groaned. “How offensive.”
“Insulting, it was. Did you know that Gertie was a high school principal up in the Napa Valley? Her grandchildren brought her down here so they could watch over her.”
Gertie was also the best knitter I’d ever met, still coming up with her own intricate patterns. “That was thoughtful of them.”
“My point is that Santa was talking to us as if we were three years old. Gertie kept telling him, no, she didn’t want the presents from that stupid bag on his back, but he kept trying to leave the gifts with her, talking more and more baby talk. Finally, she threw the box back at him. Got him on the noggin.”
Good for her, I thought, and joined him in malicious laughter.
I was feeling guilty that Mr. Mooney had delayed his medication too long. “I should go soon,” I told him, “but I want to be sure I have this straight. You’re certain that it was a man who gave you the pill in the lobby yesterday?”
“Yup. And I’m pretty sure it was the guy who drives the van.”
My heart sank. I didn’t have the will to tell him that Gus Boudette had been lounging on a beach for the past few days, in a country with a name I’d forgotten. He wouldn’t have been at the Mary Todd or anywhere near Lincoln Point yesterday unless he had a fervent wish to be arrested.
Mayhem in Miniature Page 23