She blushed, and her cheeks lit up with a flattering glow. “Just doing my job.”
“You go above and beyond your duty,” he said. “Since you’re so in touch with the residents here, I wondered if you could answer a question I have. Jacqueline mentioned that Joe used to have a pair of lucky socks. Did he keep them here?”
Kristy laughed. “Yeah, he kept a crazy-looking pair of fuzzy socks in his drawer. Never let anybody touch them. They were an enormous, rainbow-striped affair. He never wore them either. He would just look at them and sometimes touch their soft exterior.”
“Did you see them this morning?”
She shook her head. “I retrieved just his cell phone to send back to Jacqueline—that was the only significant item he owned.”
Right as she finished talking, the front door opened. A uniformed paratransit driver, his handicap-accessible van clearly marked behind him, ushered in a gaunt elderly man in a wheelchair. The old man’s posture seemed sloped, tilted a little to the left. Winston didn’t know that a human could look so much like a skeleton. Only his full head of glinting silver hair contradicted the bony image.
Kristy stepped forward and smiled at the patient. “Harold, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m glad that Green Hopes Nursing Home released you to us. Welcome to Sweet Breeze.”
She gestured to Winston. “By the way, this man’s Winston Wong. He’s a detective working on a case here. Winston, meet Harold Meekings.”
Winston gave him a brief head nod. He didn’t think the old man could endure a handshake in his condition. “Pleased to meet you.”
Harold gurgled out an unintelligible response.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Kristy said. She dismissed the driver with a quick thanks and a wave. “Winston, want to keep me company?”
“Certainly.” Winston rushed to open the door to Joe’s previous abode, while Kristy maneuvered the wheelchair into the spacious room.
She eyed the Victorian bed with distaste and turned back to her patient. “I wanted a hospital bed instead of that ancient-looking thing for you, but your family insisted on keeping the ‘normal’ furniture.”
Kristy pulled down the plaid comforter and laid Harold in the bed. She fussed with the blankets around the old man. “There, that should be more comfortable. Let me fetch you a snack.”
She excused herself and returned with a long clear tube and a can of Ensure. “Ready?” Harold gave a wobbly nod. Kristy pulled up his crinkled polo shirt and inserted the tube into what appeared to be a plastic button in the man’s stomach. Winston took a step backwards, and Kristy looked at him, saying, “This is a typical G-tube. I’ll insert Harold’s nutritional drink through it.”
“Um, I’ll just meet you outside when you’re done, Kristy.” Winston flashed a queasy smile at her and hurried out of the room. He took several gulps of crisp air to revive.
Kristy showed up during one of his oxygen refills. “Sorry, I didn’t warn you. You get used to that stuff as a nurse.”
“It’s okay. That’s what I get for following you into the trenches. What happened to Harold? Why can’t he eat by himself?”
“He suffered a stroke five years ago. His whole left side was paralyzed. Since then, his health has deteriorated to the point where he can’t even use his tongue to swallow foods. His family placed him in Green Hopes Nursing Home in a hospice program a month ago.”
“Hospice? Isn’t that for people who are dying?”
“Yes, they give palliative care and relieve the pain of those with terminal illnesses.”
“How come he transferred over here?”
Kristy shrugged. “Rob talked with the family, and they wanted Harold ‘out of that horrible place.’ They wanted a home-like environment for him when he passes away.”
“Sweet Breeze is a nice place,” Winston said. “And I hear the nurse is excellent.”
She gave him a full smile, one that brightened her mocha eyes, and he drowned in their chocolate depths. A shrill beeping pierced the air and broke the moment.
“Your chastity belt, Princess Vespa?” Winston asked. He did a mental cringe.
“I think you’ve watched Spaceballs too many times,” Kristy said. At least she got the reference. “That’s the noise of the garbage truck coming down the road.”
Garbage truck. Winston remembered that Kristy had stripped down Joe’s bed after his death. Maybe some of those contents could provide a clue in this case. “Wait for me, Kristy. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” She stayed still, a great feat for a much-needed nurse, while he sprinted outside.
The truck hovered two doors away from Sweet Breeze. Winston spied the large and bulging metal dumpster at the side of the house, hidden from the residents’ view on the patio by a strategic hedge of bushes. He opened the lid with a heavy clang and looked at the contents. Flies darted out of the messy container. Remains of uneaten Meals on Wheels splattered the rusted metal interior. He spotted two neatly tied bags on top, no doubt courtesy of Kristy’s prim handiwork.
He took them and peeped inside. One contained soiled adult diapers and used cleaning wipes. He held his breath and tossed it back. The other, equally noxious, held soaked bed sheets, blue plastic liners, and IV bags. He assumed Joe was the only resident who had needed his linens tossed out. He took the entire bag and locked it in the trunk of his Accord.
Winston ran back indoors, pleased to see Kristy still standing there. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”
She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
He must have acquired an eau de garbage from his trip. “I don’t smell anything,” he said.
“What’s that brown blob on your shirt sleeve?”
Winston eyed the mysterious substance with disgust.
“Did you go dumpster diving?”
“I needed to get some evidence.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and finish what you need to do?”
Winston grimaced. He’d lost his tenuous connection with her. He stood there, uncertain of how to gain her back. Then he heard Rob’s rough footsteps stomping down the stairs.
“Hey Kristy,” Rob said. “Can you get that report on the new patient written up by six this evening?”
She faced him with her hands on her hips. “Right now? I have all night to write it up when everybody’s sleeping.”
“Don’t you remember? I’m covering for you tonight. Once I get that report, you can bail.” Rob rubbed his hands and winked at Winston. “I’m going to Comic-Con this weekend.”
Winston understood Rob’s love for comic books and knew that the trip to San Diego would be a dream outing. He gave the administrator a thumb’s up.
Rob spoke to Kristy. “So I’ll watch the chickadees tonight, and you can get them for the weekend. You’re free to escape from Meals on Wheels tonight and get some real food.”
“I need to take a break from investigating tonight, too,” Winston said. “Want to join me for dinner, Kristy?” He held his breath.
She eyed the stain on his shirt again. “I don’t know….”
“I’ll pay,” he said.
“Okay, just this once but only because I’m too tired to cook.”
“Great, I’ll meet you back here at six.”
CHAPTER 9
Winston dumped the contents of the trash bag he’d scavenged from the dumpster onto his office floor. Work before pleasure, he thought. At least the home’s beige carpeting (now weathered to a dull gray with blotches of unknown origin by his bachelor ways) wouldn’t be affected.
The immediate reek of decay grabbed his throat and choked him. There were wet bed sheets swathed in the acrid tang of vomit, bright blue plastic liners sprinkled with wetness—not urine, thankfully—and two clear IV bags with jagged rips in their plastic casings.
He knew enough not to touch the evidence outright with bare hands, but he hadn’t remembered to purchase any professional gloves when he opened up his detective business. He scurried to his backyard a
nd found a pair of unused gardening gloves from his dusty tool shed.
He was concerned about the gaping tears in the IV bags and wanted to know what had caused those gashes. The raging slashes could have come from one of Pete Russell’s attacking PTSD mood swings. Plus, the man kept a stiletto knife in his room. What Winston required, though, was concrete evidence, not hunches. He needed to do some fingerprint testing. With care, he lined up all the incriminating materials in a straight row on his carpet.
Since the only thing he knew about fingerprint testing came from the Phoenix Wright game series on the Nintendo DS, he Googled the information. Thanks to the Internet, he scrounged around in his kitchen and resurfaced with starch powder, a match, and a basting brush. Following the directions on the computer screen, he lit the match and heated up one of his chipped pea-green porcelain dinner plates. A black film formed on the plate, which he scraped off. After gathering an equal amount of soot to starch ratio, he mixed the two together. He used the brush to place the homemade powder on all the items of evidence. He brushed and blew, waiting for dark telltale swirls to appear. The work was grueling; it reminded him of the experience spent grinding in a video game, trying to level up his avatar. He must have tried twenty times before he got any semblance of fingerprints. Finally, he wiped his sweaty brow and reached for a roll of clear tape from his desk to lift the prints.
He placed each image on a clean, white sheet of paper. Unfortunately, the smudges looked more like Rorschach blots than anything else. He could only find prints on the IV bags; the wet sheets and liners were useless for evidence. There seemed to be two sets of prints on the bags, and one set was smaller than the other. He wasn’t sure how to distinguish them beyond that. Winston sighed and glanced at the wall clock, measuring how long it had taken him to arrive at a dead-end. It was 5:30 p.m.
Wait a minute. He needed to pick up Kristy at six. Winston ran into the bathroom and splashed his face with water. He used the lingering drops on his palms to tame the salt and pepper strands that stuck up on his head. He rubbed one hand over the slight stubble on his chin. He hadn’t taken the time to shave this morning, so he pulled out a straight razor, added the cream, and went to town. For aftershave, he splashed on something called Macho, and hoped the label would prove accurate. A tad more deodorant, and his personal hygiene was done.
He pulled on a pair of jeans without holes in the knees and a dark black polo shirt, the only dressy wear in his closet. He zoomed back to Sweet Breeze and arrived on the doorstep five minutes past six. He found Kristy in the main lobby, with her back to him.
Her raven braid hung down her back as her fingers swept over the piano. A slow rendition of a vaguely familiar tune traveled to his ears, and he started tapping his feet to the beat.
“You play wonderfully,” Winston said.
Kristy’s hands froze above the piano keys. She whipped her head around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Then her fingers massaged the ivory pieces again with light strokes. “Jazzman’s been teaching me a little. I’m very much a beginner, as you can see.”
The teasing notes caused a clear image to appear in his head, a shark with gleaming white teeth. “Are you playing ‘Mack the Knife’?”
She shrugged. “I wanted to start with a song I knew already. What about you? Can you play an instrument?”
“No, I defy the Asian stereotype.” He hid his stubby, useless fingers behind his back. “On the other hand, my sister Marcy quadrupled my aptitude, so I suppose that makes up for it. She plays the piano, the clarinet, the violin, and the Chinese harp.” Marcy always teased him that his ineptitude came from Mom being pregnant with him during her cannery work, but Winston knew better. He would never be man enough to equal his sister’s numerous talents.
Kristy’s voice brought him back to the present. “Hmm, I wonder if your compliment holds any weight then.”
“I can’t play well, but I’m an excellent listener and judge of talent.”
She smiled at him. “In that case, thank you very much.”
Kristy stood up and faced him. He noticed then that she’d changed out of her blue scrubs. In their place, she wore a black scoop-neck tee with dark denim jeans. The curve of the shirt’s collar, the slight exposure of bare skin, along with the glitter of her necklace drew his eyes to her body. He followed its lines down to her kitten heels, realizing how her everyday uniform didn’t do justice to her figure.
Kristy cleared her throat. “Are you ready to go?”
“Definitely.” Winston led the way out to his car and opened the passenger side of the Accord for her.
CHAPTER 10
As they drove to the restaurant, Winston saw Kristy unbraiding her hair. The resulting tousled dark waves softened up her triangular face.
“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot about rearranging my hair before you arrived.”
“Looks good. It’s nice to see your hair loose.” He ran a finger down one silky strand after he’d parked in the lot.
“A girl’s got to let her hair down sometimes,” Kristy said. “It’s been a while since someone’s taken me out.”
They walked together, not holding hands, but close enough for him to feel a potential surge of electricity if they did touch. Winston had chosen a chain steakhouse restaurant, a bit more upscale than Outback. He would’ve taken her to someplace fancier, but his budget didn’t include wining and dining these days.
They found a table for two in the corner. A tealight resting on a tiny candleholder filled with miniature marbles cast a warm glow on their faces.
“How did your evidence digging go?” Kristy asked.
“I uncovered my first sets of fingerprints.”
“Ooh, just like on TV.” Her eyes widened. “You know, when I was little, I was a big fan of Nancy Drew.”
“Thanks, I think. You’re not saying that I remind you of a young girl, right?”
She locked eyes with him. “Not with your manly build.”
He puffed out his chest. That Macho aftershave must be working full blast. “I was a fan of The Hardy Boys myself,” he said. “And Encyclopedia Brown.”
“I’d forgotten all about that brainy detective.”
“That’s why I call myself a ‘sleuth,’ in honor of one of his books.”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Winston Wong, Senior Sleuth was printed on your card. You didn’t want to write PI on it?”
He took two marbles from the centerpiece, rolling them in circles around his sweaty palm like mini Chinese stress balls. “You need to get hours of training and take an exam for that…which I didn’t.”
“So you’re working under the table then?” She stopped his nervous marble cycles and placed the stones back. “Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping secrets. I won’t tell.” He felt a weight of pressure leave him.
They ordered the three-course meal deal; he opted for prime rib while she chose the Porterhouse. He liked women who ate real food, not just salad at restaurants. Not that he had much experience. During his younger, not-so-bad-looking years, he’d suffered through a string of blind dates. The most disastrous one came from the personal ad his parents had placed in the local newspaper. He should have known trouble was heading his way when she showed up looking for “my side of sweet and sour.”
Winston felt Kristy tap him on the shoulder. “Thinking about work?” She leaned close to him and lowered her voice. “What did you find out?”
It took him a moment to clear his head and respond. “Well, it’s top secret—hidden even from me. I copied down some sloppy fingerprints that I need to match to suspects.”
Her eyes sparkled. “You should have fingerprint testing on-site tomorrow. I think it’ll make our residents’ day. They often complain about it being boring at Sweet Breeze.”
“That would make it easier to understand the clues,” Winston said. “While we’re talking about the case, I wondered if you noticed anything odd when you cleaned Joe’s bed.”
“Hmm,
his bedsheets and Chux were wet.”
“Chux?”
“Yes, those plastic blue liners we place on the bed to keep it from getting soiled.”
“I noticed that as well. It wasn’t urine, though. I checked. I think it had to do with the ripped IV bags.”
“They were ripped? I was too busy bundling everything to notice.”
“I hope to find out how they got torn tomorrow with the fingerprint testing.”
“What else did you find?”
Winston ticked the items off on his fingers. “The IV bags, Chux, and bedsheets.”
“Poor Joe.” The sparkle of a tear slid down her cheek, and he rubbed it away. She looked even more beautiful in her melancholy. He wanted to keep his hand on her smooth cheek, but the waiter appeared bringing their food.
When the server left, Winston said, “You seem to feel a lot for your patients.”
“Only natural.”
“Because you’re a nurse?”
“Not exactly…but let’s eat before our food gets cold.” She pointed at the juicy fare on their plates, and Winston’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. He dove into his dinner. As they were chewing, there was a long stretch of silence, but he didn’t mind. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that if you were really comfortable with someone you didn’t need to talk? Maybe he’d found a real potential girlfriend here.
Kristy finished off her dish but still didn’t speak. Winston had to remind her about their previous topic of conversation. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “There’s really not much to say. Basically, my grandparents raised me and my two younger brothers.”
“What happened to your parents?”
Kristy lifted her fork and twirled it in the air. “They…weren’t around, but Grampa and Granny were very hands-on.” Kristy talked about her grandparents’ unending dedication. They never failed to show up at recitals or sports practices, even when they were the only white-haired couple in the seats. She also spoke of her brothers; they fought a lot when they were younger. She, as the oldest, tried to boss them around more than they’d wanted. Now, although living in different states, they stayed in touch.
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