by Bill Clem
“That sounds good,” Paul said. He was trying not to yawn but his poor night’s sleep, and the contents of the diary running through his head like a tape loop, had left him drained of any energy whatsoever.
After Margaret left, he turned to Jennie. She gazed at him and blew a ragged breath. “Well, that certainly was interesting” she said, rolling her eyes. “What are we going to do for lunch?”
Paul shrugged. “Let’s grab a couple of sandwiches and take a walk. I have some things to tell you.”
The courtyard at Harbor View was a maze of English Boxwood, with granite benches placed at intervals along a gravel path. The path led to a clearing in the center of the maze where a large stone fountain sat, complete with two cherubs spouting water.
“So, what’s all this important stuff you have to tell me?” Jennie asked.
Paul drained half his soda and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a belch. “Sorry.” He got his breath back and started again. “Last night, I went back to the North Hall.”
Jennie cocked her head. “I thought you said it was off limits?”
“It is. But after seeing that room full of stuff, I had to go back. Call it professional curiosity.”
Jennie’s eyes lit up. “That’s why you wanted the flashlight batteries.” Jennie took a bite of her sandwich. “So, what’d you find?”
“A diary.”
“A diary?’
“A very old one. It appears it was Baxter’s father’s. Apparently, he took a trip to the Amazon right before he died.”
Jennie perked up. “Ooh, this sounds exciting.”
“The strange thing is,” Paul said, “Margaret told me he was killed in an accident. According to the diary, he’s dying of some illness. From what I can figure out, he went to the Amazon to look for a cure. He was some kind of ethno-botanist.”
“What the heck is that?”
Paul shrugged. “I don’t know exactly, but obviously it has to do with the study of jungle life. The journal says he was looking for some native tribe down there.”
“For what?”
“Maybe they had the cure he was talking about. One of the entries in the diary said it was his ‘last hope.’”
Paul finished his sandwich and glanced at his watch. “We better get back. The witch might send out the dogs for us.”
Jennie stood and brushed off her skirt.
“One more peculiar thing,” Paul said. “There were some pictures there. I’ll have to show you, but I did some quick calculations and the dates written on the photos don’t add up. Maybe I was tired and added wrong, but if I’m right, everything Margaret told me was untrue.”
Jennie frowned. “Why am I not surprised? She’s not honest. Trust me.”
“Why do you say that?”
Jennie shifted uneasily. “Because Barbara, my predecessor, Margaret’s so-called friend, told me she didn’t like Harbor View. At all. In fact, she said the place down right frightened her.”
Chapter Seventeen
Paul and Jennie promised to pursue their discussion later over a bottle of wine. Margaret was waiting when they got back to her office.
“The courtyard’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Margaret said.
Jennie wanted to call her on her spying, but resisted the temptation and just let it pass. “Yes, it is pretty,” Jennie managed, though her tone was clearly patronizing.
Margaret put her coffee aside and stood. “Well, what do you say we–“
“Margaret,” Jennie said, “I need to talk to you in private.”
Margaret blinked at the statement. “Certainly.”
Although she hadn’t told Paul, during lunch Jennie had decided she was going to take control of the inspection. As the licensed inspector for the state, she held the power over the nursing home, not the other way around as Margaret apparently assumed. She was not going to be intimidated by this gold-plated bitch.
“Excuse us, Paul,” Jennie said. She winked at him as he closed Margaret’s door.
“May I ask what this is about?” Margaret demanded, although her confidence seemed to have deflated.
“This is about you and me, Margaret.”
Margaret Melvin’s head shot up. “I beg your pardon.”
Jennie leaned across the desk and bore down on Margaret. “Ever since I arrived here, you have treated me with utter condescension. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I know who I am. And since you seem to have forgotten, let me refresh your memory. I am the Nursing Home Inspector for the State of Vermont. And as such, your facility is under my jurisdiction, which means we play by my rules. Are we clear on that?”
Margaret started to open her mouth to speak, but Jennie put her hand up in a stop gesture.
“The first thing I want is the location of all the patient records. Then I want a list of all their medications. That should keep you busy for now. And oh, by the way, Barbara was not your friend; in fact, she didn’t like you one bit.”
Jennie grabbed her briefcase and turned toward the door. Margaret wore a blank expression, and the color had drained from her face. She reminded Jennie of an embalmed corpse.
“I’ll be back in the morning for those records,” Jennie said with renewed confidence.
Jennie opened the door and nearly stepped on Paul. His eyes were wide and excited. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.
Jennie walked by him. “I think Margaret and I understand each other now.”
Chapter Eighteen
Margaret Melvin was livid as she broke away from her desk and marched into Phillip Baxter’s office.
“Dr. Baxter, we have a little problem,” she said. Margaret always stated anything out of the ordinary as a ‘little problem.’
Baxter stopped writing and looked up from his desk. “And what might that be?” He poised his pen to start writing again.
“That... that girl. The inspector. She is demanding to see the patient records. She knows something about Barbara, too.”
Baxter suddenly stopped as if his hand had become paralyzed. “What did you tell her?”
“I stalled her. But she is expecting to see the records tomorrow morning.”
“I see. Alright, I‘ll handle it myself. What about Grant?”
“He seems to have become very friendly with her. They had dinner together last night, and lunch today. I think we need to get rid of both of them.”
“I’ll handle the girl. Paul Grant, we need. Just keep an eye on him.”
Margaret heaved a huge sigh. “Yes, sir.”
Margaret backed away from the desk and stood against the door. Baxter flipped open his Rolodex and thumbed through until he found the number he wanted.
Chapter Nineteen
Jennie Bradford felt a precarious uncertainly when she arrived at Margaret Melvin’s office the next morning. Paul had stayed and shared the strange diary he’d found and she found it fascinating, yet troubling, at the same time. She believed Paul was right about one thing. Based on the contents of the diary, Margaret had intentionally covered up facts about Phillip Baxter’s father. That, coupled with what Barbara had told Jennie about Harbor View, proved to be perplexing and frightening.
True to form, Margaret showed up right on time. She looked more haggard than Jennie felt. She wondered if her chastising had caused Margaret to lose sleep.
She hoped so.
Margaret glared at Jennie as came in. “You need to call your office right away. You can use the hall phone.”
Jennie punched in the number for the State Health Department and got the usual automated instructions. A moment later, she had her supervisor on the line.
“What do you mean, come back? You’ve got to be kidding me. I just got here. I haven’t even had time to-–yes, I understand. Alright.”
Jennie hung up the phone in stunned silence. After just forty-eight hours at Harbor View, her office was telling her to return. They offered no explanation, other than to say Dr. Baxter had filed a complaint and, she was informed, Baxter carried
a lot of clout.
“I’ll be goddamned if I’ll be intimidated,” she said out loud. She stormed down the hall toward the exit just as Paul walked out of the bathroom.
“Jennie, what’s the matter? You look like you’re ready to explode.”
“I’ve just been relieved of duty here.”
“What?”
“I was instructed to call my home office. When I did, they told me to return immediately. It seems Baxter has filed some sort of complaint.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of complaint?’
“They wouldn’t say, but I’m sure that bitch Margaret does. Baxter must have connections. This is bullshit.”
Paul shook his head. “I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It has nothing to do with anything you did. I can tell you one thing, though. I’m not leaving here until I find out what they’re hiding. I still have my room for another week and I intend to stay. Will you help me?”
“Sure. What can I do?”
“I need to get into Baxter’s records.”
Paul bit his lip. “That might be tough. He keeps them under the watchful eye of the bitch herself.”
“That figures. Something is very wrong here, Paul. Is there any way to get at those records?”
Paul heaved a sigh. “I can try. The thing is, they’ve got more security cameras around here than Fort Knox. I have an idea, though. Meet me tomorrow night at the gate. Leave your car down the street. Seven thirty.”
“I’ll be there. And Paul... be careful.”
* * *
Phillip Baxter looked over at Margaret.
“Is she gone yet?”
Margaret nodded. “Just now. She talked with Paul before she left. They seem to have hit it off.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. Well, let’s just make sure she stays gone.”
Margaret’s voice turned to ice. “Don’t worry. It’s too bad, though. She would have been perfect.”
Chapter Twenty
The morning went by quickly for Paul. Although he hid it from Margaret, he was still stunned and disappointed by what they’d done to Jennie. It was obvious that Baxter was well connected at the health department, since Jennie had been removed, literally overnight. No doubt it was a result of her run-in with Margaret.
Paul’s workload for the day was light, mostly mingling with the residents and getting them what they needed. He felt more like a baby-sitter than a nurse.
At noon, he took a light lunch to the courtyard and sat where he and Jennie had been the day before. He missed her already and he was looking forward to their meeting tomorrow night.
Looking across the grounds, Paul noticed a scarecrow of a man gazing across the lawn at him. Evidently the guy saw Paul and was waving and moving toward him. He had a hose in one hand and a shovel in the other. When he got closer, he looked to Paul like a good candidate for a liver transplant. Yellow as saffron, with a road-map face that said he done years of hard labor and drinking.
He approached Paul and leaned in close. Paul smelled whiskey. Had he just met the town drunk?
“You the new guy?” he asked.
“That’s right. And who are you?” Paul responded.
“Hudson Cregg’s the name. I think we outta talk.”
* * *
Hudson Cregg knew things. As Baxter’s personal groundskeeper for fifty years, there wasn’t much that escaped his attention. He knew about Baxter, he knew about Harbor View, and he knew about the residents there.
And he also knew some other things.
“Talk about what?” Paul asked.
Cregg scratched his stubble of grey beard. It seemed to be connected to a mat of chest hair that grew from his red flannel shirt.
“Baxter. He’s not what he seems.”
“What do you know about him?” Paul asked.
“A lot more than anyone else. I’ve worked here fifty years.” Cregg belched and made a face as if gall were in his throat.
Paul looked up. “Doing what?”
“Keeping up the place. You didn’t think all these flowers and trees just grew like that on their own, did you?”
Paul nodded. “So you’re the groundskeeper?”
“That’s right. Along with anything else ol’ Baxter can think up for me.”
There was a long silence.
“You had something you wanted to tell me about Baxter?” Paul asked.
Cregg jaundiced eyes squinted. “Man should have been dead years ago. Cancer had him all but eaten up. Then he went down there. Down to the jungle. The Amazon. All I know is, when he came back, he was better and healthier than I’d ever seen him. There were stories about voodoo and magic potions. Nobody paid much attention. ‘Cept me. I saw it with my own eyes. He was gettin’ younger while the rest of us got older. Even his own wife. Then some of his patients got better after they were sent here to die. About the same time, some folks started disappearing. Rumors went around, but nothing was ever proved.”
“What about the law?”
Cregg grinned. “Baxter’s got more money than God. All those folks in that house up there were rich at one time. When they came here, they gave it all to him.”
“What about their relatives?”
“Ha! Those people have outlived their great-grandchildren.”
Paul stared at him and almost laughed. “What?”
“That’s right. Take Baxter. He claims to be sixty-five. When I came here to work, I was eighteen. Two years later, he was dying of cancer. He was sixty at the time. I’m seventy now. You do the math.”
“That’s impossible,” Paul said. “That would make him–“
”You don’t believe me? C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Cregg motioned for Paul to follow him. They walked about fifty feet to a small enclosed area surrounded by eight-foot-tall boxwoods. A large archway made of fieldstone led into a clearing where four graves sat side by side. Cregg paused by the second one. “See here.”
Paul gazed down and read the headstone.
LILLIAN BAXTER
BELOVED WIFE OF DR. CHARLES BAXTER
BORN DECEMBER 5, 1901
DIED NOVEMBER 20, 1952
Cregg yanked a pint of whiskey from his hip pocket and took a long pull from it. He swallowed hard and stared at Paul. “Baxter was fifteen years older than his wife.”
Paul shifted his weight. “Look, Mr. Cregg, this has all been very enlightening but I see your mistake. Charles Baxter was Phillip Baxter’s father. I have the proof. You’re just mixed up, old fellow. Well, I have to go now.”
Paul started to walk away and Cregg grabbed him by the sleeve. “Don’t believe me, then. Be a fool. That’s just what Baxter wants. You better get out while you can or you’ll end up just like the others.”
Paul jerked his arm free and hurried across the courtyard. Cregg was still yelling as he rounded the fountain.
“You’ll be sorry. You better listen. Get out while you still can...
Chapter Twenty-One
Paul was on his way back to the residents’ hall, still musing about Cregg’s ridiculous ranting, when Baxter stopped him.
“Paul, I happened to see you talking to our groundskeeper Mr. Cregg earlier.”
“Yeah. Colorful character.”
“Yes, isn’t he? I have to warn you though; his mind is not all together there.”
Paul nodded. “I kind of gathered that.”
“I’m afraid his drinking has petrified what’s left of his brain. He’s delusional. I suppose he took you to the family burial plot and wove some interesting tales?”
“Matter of fact–“
Baxter smiled ruefully. “Just so you know, Paul, Lillian Baxter was my mother. She died of typhus in 1952. Sometimes Hudson gets confused and tells people she was my wife.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul said.
Baxter exhaled silently. “It’s all right. I was a small boy. At any rate, Paul, if Mr. Cregg bothers you any more, just let me know. I’ll speak
with him.”
Paul smiled. “I’ll be sure and do that.”
Baxter paused. “So how are you finding things around here?”
“Great. I love the job.” Paul wanted to say he found things stranger by the minute, but knew he had to play along if he and Jennie were going to get to the bottom of all the secrecy at Harbor View.
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. We’ll talk again soon. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got a meeting to attend.”
Paul was more certain than ever that someone at Harbor View was lying. Cregg may be a delusional drunk, but some of what he told Paul didn’t sound like a delusion.
More like a warning.
* * *
Phillip Baxter liked Hudson Cregg. For longer than he could remember, Cregg had been his faithful employee. Not only a groundskeeper, but also a gopher of sorts, always willing to help out with whatever Baxter needed. On several occasions over the years, Cregg had discarded things for Baxter without as much as a question. Lately though, Cregg had been getting careless. And careless was something Baxter could not afford. Cregg was old now and had outlived his usefulness. His brain, now constantly fogged by alcohol, at one time had allowed Baxter to persuade him to do anything. Now, Cregg was becoming a liability.
The time had come to do something about it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Back in his room that night, Paul wondered what to do next. He had promised Jennie he’d try to get into the patient’s records. In order to do that, he’d have to wait for Baxter to leave. Then he’d attempt to gain entry into Baxter’s office. He would watch for the absence of Baxter’s car in the parking lot, of which he had a bird’s-eye view, then go down and try to get in.
Paul decided to make the best of his time while he waited. He picked up the diary, got into bed, and started reading. Most of the entries were references to specific plants and their possible uses. Not something Paul knew anything about. He thought he’d be able to take a quick nap while he waited for Baxter to leave but, given his state of fatigue, that was just not the case. Feeling frustrated, he continued to turn the pages of the diary, looking for clues about what Baxter was seeking in the Amazon.