by Gin Jones
"Detective Almeida is in charge of the police investigation," Helen said. "I'm sure she'll do a fine job without me."
"We've heard good things about her," Betty said. "It's just that we're worried about Kolya being blamed for what happened at his place. Someone needs to watch out for him. He's such a good person, and bad things keep happening to him. He never talks about his life in Russia, but I don't think he was particularly happy there, and then his gig here as a private nurse didn't turn out well at all."
"And don't forget his soul mate," Josie said, striking a dramatic pose with both of her hands over her heart, the bright turquoise yarn of her current project dangling down her chest. "The woman he will love forever, but tragically, he can only have a few, infrequent, stolen moments with her."
Helen had heard Betty's and Josie's theory before. They believed Kolya's frequent disappearances from town were to visit a woman he was madly and eternally in love with, but their relationship was somehow forbidden, so they had to limit themselves to furtive meetings every few months. The secret love affair supposedly also explained his seeming disinterest in any other romantic relationship here in Wharton.
Betty and Josie did spin their stories from the smallest of clues, but they were surprisingly close to the mark on many occasions, even if they got some of the details wrong. Helen was starting to think they might have been right about Kolya being in love with someone he couldn't have, considering his apparent obliviousness to Mia's crush on him.
Still, Helen couldn't see how Kolya or his mysterious disappearances could have had anything to do with Danica's death in his martial arts studio. For one thing, there didn't seem to be any reason why he would have wanted her dead. Kolya was almost as hard to read as Tate, but Helen was reasonably certain he didn't have any personal feelings for Danica. At least not positive ones. He might have felt a bit of irritation with her immature outbursts, but he had more invested in keeping her alive than wishing something would happen to her. She'd been his star pupil, someone whose performance in competitions would have improved the reputation of the Zubov House of Sambo and brought in more gym members.
"I can't see why anyone would suspect Kolya of killing Danica."
"You know better, but some people don't look beyond the obvious. He's big and strong and he teaches a martial art. Of course, we all know he would never hurt anyone." Josie stopped to think for a moment. "Well, he could probably kill someone with both hands and feet tied behind his back, but he wouldn't do anything like that without good reason. You should see him when he's here leading an exercise class. He's incredibly gentle with the really frail people who could fracture a bone just by sneezing."
Betty put a marker on her needle and looked up from her work. "You know, it might actually be worse for Kolya if it turns out the death was an accident. What if the woman's estate sues him, claiming the shower was defective?"
"The shower looked safe enough to me." Of course, the blood mixing with the water around the drain was pretty good evidence that appearances could be deceiving. Someone had died in the safe-looking shower. And then there was the towel that had been blocking the drain. How had that ended up there? Could someone blame Kolya for that?
"Showers are dangerous, no matter what. I'm surprised they let us use them here. It's about the only remotely risky thing we're allowed to do." Josie peered around the room, as if worried one of the attendants would hear and immediately mount a campaign to convert all the showers into something boringly safe. She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Before I moved here, I was in a really rotten nursing home. One of the patients slipped and fell in a shower stall, and it was the next day before they found her cold, dead, waterlogged body."
"Josie," Betty scolded. "You shouldn't talk about such things."
"Well, it's true."
"Still, there's a time and place for everything. And I don't think morbid topics are appropriate at the moment. Not when we have visitors."
Josie narrowed her eyes at Helen. "I don't think she's too fragile to hear the truth."
"Not Helen. She doesn't scare easily." Betty glanced meaningfully at the door, where a middle-aged man in a conservative navy suit was peering in from the corridor. "I'm more concerned about our other visitors. The ones who are here for meetings. Some people can't handle the realities of life and death. And we don't want to give them any ideas about how much risk the town might be assuming by retaining control of the nursing home, with all its nice amenities—like showers—that other places don't have."
Apparently Helen wasn't the only one wondering if the meetings might have been about privatizing the nursing home. Still, she didn't want to add any fuel to the speculation, so she kept quiet.
"Sorry," Josie said. "I don't think he heard me, though. He's too busy mentally measuring the rooms so he can calculate what the town can sell the nursing home for. Unless he represents the buyer, and he's looking for reasons to reduce the price."
"I don't see how you can be so nonchalant about it," Betty said. "If they sell the nursing home, we might be separated."
A look of terror briefly crossed Josie's face before she resolutely schooled her expression into one of only mild concern. As a career-long teacher of adolescents, she'd had decades of experience putting on a brave facade in order to maintain her authority while the students were trying to shock her with their boundary-testing behavior.
Once she had herself under control again, Josie reached over to pat Betty's hand. "Don't worry. Helen won't let us be separated."
"You're both probably worrying about nothing," Helen said, although she wasn't confident she could help if their worst fears came to pass. "Why don't you just ask the selectmen or the nursing home director what's going on?"
"Hank Peterson's uncle already tried that," Betty said. "They told him it was none of his business."
Josie wrinkled her nose. "For an ex-cop, he's a real wimp. When he couldn't get an answer easily, he just shrugged and went back to his seat at the window. You wouldn't have given up that easily."
Betty nodded at the doorway again. "Why don't you go ask the guy in the suit now?"
Helen turned to stare at the man. There was something about the dismissive way he was looking at the people in the room that made her want to go tell him what a jerk he was for even thinking about ruining the lives of all the people in the nursing home.
And why shouldn't she? All the other people who'd annoyed her recently had been well-meaning for the most part, and she hadn't wanted to alienate them by venting her frustrations on them. This guy, though—she didn't care what he thought of her, and he seemed arrogant enough that he wasn't likely to be hurt by any harsh words she might fling at him.
It was even possible she would get some answers from him. And if not, well, confronting him would at least allow her to let off some steam. It might be almost as therapeutic as hitting things, and she wouldn't have to wait until she learned to breathe properly.
* * *
By the time Helen had tossed her yarn into her bag and crossed the room, the guy in the suit was jogging away in response to his name being called. When she reached the corridor, he was already on the staircase that led to the patients' rooms on the second floor. He took the stairs two at a time, as if to remind Helen that she could barely climb them one at a time.
She did manage to take a quick picture of him with her phone, so she could see if Jack or Tate knew him. It was the best she could do for now since she couldn't win a foot race against him. If neither of them knew who he was, she'd have to find another way to get some answers about the nursing home. A way that didn't require any physical stamina on her part. Maybe a visit to the Wharton B&B where the meetings were being held. She'd ask Jack to take her there after he finished dealing with her car repairs.
Or, simpler than that, she could just ask Martha Waddell what was going on. She was the assistant director of the nursing home, and, truth be told, did more to run the place than her boss did. Or at least Martha
thought so. She and Helen had a good relationship, so there was a reasonable chance that Martha would at least share whether there was anything for the patients to worry about or not, even if she couldn't go into any greater detail.
Helen turned toward the front desk. It seemed as if there was a new person there every time she visited, mostly girls in their late teens, participating in a work-study program.
The latest iteration was a black girl with long hair pulled back behind a yellow scarf as bright as Josie's outfit. Helen asked her, "Would you let Martha Waddell know that Helen Binney is here and would like to talk with her if she has a minute to spare?"
"She's not here. She's in a meeting, and it will probably last for hours," the girl said politely. "I'm not sure when she'll be back, but you can wait if you'd like."
Helen didn't have the necessary patience to sit around doing nothing today. "Never mind. I'll catch her another time."
"Would you like to leave a message?"
She considered it, but decided there were other ways to get the answers she needed, possibly before Martha even got the message. "No, thank you."
Helen wandered closer to the front door to call a cab to take her home. While she waited for her ride, she had an idea for how she could get some answers about the nursing home, which didn't depend on Martha Waddell's schedule. Helen could sic her niece Lily on the guy in the suit. He wouldn't be able to run away from her as easily as he'd done with Helen.
Even better, the assignment would give Helen something safe to talk about when Lily called tonight, like she always did on Monday evenings. Lily liked to pretend it had nothing to do with making sure the visiting nurse's regular Tuesday morning visit hadn't been cancelled, but Helen knew better. Lily's sister, Laura, used to call every Monday night too, but recently she'd been too busy with her infant son to meddle in her aunt's life. Despite all the anticipation and preparation for the first of her planned large family, Laura was finding that the reality of parenthood was considerably more challenging than it had seemed in theory.
As expected, Helen's phone rang around seven o'clock, and Lily even had a semi-legitimate reason for calling on this particular Monday night.
"I talked to your insurance agent today." Lily got straight to business, skipping the usual updates on her nephew's preciousness, and which previously missing items—stolen by Helen's cat, who had resented being left alone in the condo for hours on end during their stay with Lily in Boston—had been found in some new hiding spot.
"Whatever for?" The little thefts certainly hadn't justified contacting her insurance agent to file a claim, and virtually everything had turned up again eventually. Some of them had shown up before anyone even knew they'd been missing.
"It seems that your insurance agent wanted me to know that today's accident might mean an increase in your premium next year," Lily said. "Which was particularly interesting, since I didn't know you'd had an accident."
Helen was glad they were just on the phone and not doing a video call, so her niece couldn't see how annoyed she was by this latest bit of meddling in her life. Lily really did have her aunt's best interests in mind, and it was Helen's own fault that her niece was in touch with the insurance agent.
Back when Helen had first separated from her ex-husband, it had seemed like a good idea to ask Lily, a highly qualified business consultant just opening her own office, to manage the bulk of her finances, including the invoices for her insurance policies. The deal was supposed to benefit both of them. Lily could impress prospective clients by having the ex-First Lady as a satisfied customer, and Helen was freed from the daily hassles of making sure the bills were paid and no one was draining her investment accounts. Still, there were times when she thought she'd have spent far less time and effort simply dealing with the financial matters herself than justifying her actions to Lily, and her niece was bright and energetic enough to have succeeded without Helen's support.
"I hadn't had a chance to tell you about the accident," Helen said, trying to keep her tone light. "It just happened this morning, and I've been busy. Besides, it was a simple fender bender. Nothing for you to worry about. The car was barely moving at the time, and no one was hurt. Definitely not me."
"But you'll tell Rebecca about it tomorrow, right? So she can check you over and confirm that you didn't suffer any hidden injury?"
"Of course."
Rebecca Grainger was Helen's visiting nurse. The twice-weekly appointments weren't medically necessary, but they kept her nieces from worrying. Helen had resisted hiring the nurse initially, but as it turned out, having regular access to a medical professional—one she liked and respected—had come in handy occasionally. Sometimes even for her own health issues.
"I'm certain that Rebecca won't find anything to worry about tomorrow morning. At least not anything more than usual. You know Rebecca. She worries about everything."
There was a pause at the other end of the line that suggested Lily was trying to decide whether to believe her aunt or to bring in her sister to get a second opinion and ratchet up the pressure.
To distract her, Helen said, "You should tell the insurance agent that we'll appeal if the premium goes up. The accident was definitely not Jack's fault."
Lily must have opened her laptop, because the sound of clicking keys came through the phone. "I'll get a copy of the police report, so we'll have it in case the other driver tries to pull a fast one. Did he realize he'd hit a car owned by someone with a significant financial worth? I've heard of situations where everything seemed all agreeable at the scene of the accident, and then one of the drivers finds out that the other driver has deep pockets and decides to sue, hoping to be enough of a nuisance to get paid to go away."
"I never talked to him at all." He hadn't seemed like a pleasant person, and she'd had no desire whatsoever to ask him whether he planned to sue her. Suddenly, the decision to turn her financial matters over to Lily struck Helen as having been a brilliant move rather than one she occasionally regretted. "I'm perfectly happy to leave that to you. But I've also got another project for you if you're not too busy. Something's going on at the Wharton Nursing Home, and I was hoping you could find out what it is."
"No dead bodies, I hope."
"Not at the nursing home." Helen tried not to think about the corpse she'd seen at another location. "But I'm worried that the town might be trying to privatize the facility. I took a picture of someone I think might have some answers, and I'll text it to you. Could you ask around, see if anyone knows of any plans to sell the place? And if there are, perhaps you could find out what we'd need to do to stop it. I know that nursing homes are highly regulated, but I'm not sure how we could use that to prevent a sale."
The clicking of Lily's keyboard slowed to a stop. "I'll look into it if you promise you won't do anything drastic until you hear from me. No chaining yourself to the nursing home's front door, no throwing yourself in front of demolition equipment, nothing else like that."
"I never would have thought of any of those things if you hadn't mentioned them," Helen lied. "But if you can get me some answers quickly, I think I can restrain myself for a few days."
CHAPTER SIX
"I really don't think you're quite ready for martial arts lessons," Rebecca Grainger said the next morning when she saw the flyer Helen had brought home from the Zubov House of Sambo. It had been on the kitchen island right next to where the nurse set up her laptop to record Helen's blood pressure and pulse rate. Rebecca waved it at Helen like a wagging finger punctuating a scolding. "It wasn't that long ago that you were experiencing lupus fog. Imagine what would happen if you were in the middle of a sparring session and you got lightheaded."
"Sambo isn't the only thing they teach there," Helen said from her comfortable seat in the recliner, a few feet away in the great room that, with the kitchen, comprised the front two-thirds of her cottage. Vicky was curled up on her lap, keeping a close eye on the silver mini flashlight dangling from the nurse's computer bag. The cat d
id like shiny things, and the flashlight would probably end up in one of her hiding places eventually. "I'm starting with Tai Chi. I had my first class yesterday."
The premature worry lines that were a permanent part of Rebecca's round, young face relaxed slightly and she went back to the kitchen island and climbed onto one of the stools. "Oh, that's much better for you. Not just the gentle movements, but the breathing and the meditational aspects too. How did you feel after your session?"
Helen had felt fine, if a little tired and sweaty, at least until she'd found the body and then had to deal with Hank Peterson's condescension. This morning her back had been a little achy, but she thought it was more likely to have been caused by the vehicle collision than the exercise.
"Did Lily tell you I was in a minor accident yesterday? A pickup hit my car. It was enough to trigger the airbags, but still a fairly minor impact. I didn't notice any pain until this morning, and now my muscles are a little tight."
"The Tai Chi will help with that," Rebecca said, making a note in her computer. "You might feel worse during your next session or two as you're calling on under-utilized muscles, but you'll feel better in the long run."
"I hope so," Helen said. "I'm tired of the ups and downs of my symptoms. One day I feel like my old self, and the next day I feel worse than ever. It's like any good day has to be balanced out by a terrible one. Or several of them."
"It's just a matter of getting your medications fine-tuned. I'm sure you'll be back to your usual—" She caught herself, probably having intended to refer to her patient's usual sweet self, which was patently untrue and a bad reminder of a previous nurse who'd treated Helen like a child by invoking a wide range of sugary nicknames. Instead, Rebecca finished with, "You'll be back to your usual tough self in no time at all."
"I hope so," Helen said. "It's frustrating not having any real answers about what to do now and what to expect in the future. I know the doctors are doing their best and would love to understand more about lupus, but it feels like they're just throwing everything they can think of at the symptoms and hoping something will stick. I need answers, something more than 'we really don't know.'"